CHAPTER 7 - Destinations, In E Major (Act 3)
[Date - REDACTED] - Office 2 - Unreachable Chamber - Department of Mysteries, [Time - REDACTED]
"No. Nooooo… NO!"
"Circe's sake Deuce, you shouting 'Nooooo!' however many times isn't going to change the fact that Chime #6 went off! What do you think is going to happen; your moaning and groaning is going to un-ring it?!"
The Voice continued to scowl as Seven snickered in the background.
"I'm well aware of that little factoid Three, but forgive me for expressing my displeasure with yet another catastrophe unceremoniously dumped oan oor doorstep!" The infamous thickening of Saul's brogue was a sure sign of his displeasure.
That, and the tightening of his glowering expression.
"As…difficult as this may be, I have to concur with Two." The assembled Directors gaped in varying degrees at Six's statement, knowing this matter was truly dire if these two were agreeing with each other! "We've faced a fair few crises within these past months, but for this to land on our proverbial doorstep is a cause of tremendous concern. The death count alone from the last time was, all things considered, alarming."
Murmurings of agreement rose in response.
"Not to mention all of those autobiographical accounts from the few surviving witnesses Double-Deuce made us read. Blimey…" The Time Director visibly shuddered, picturing the carnage in her mind's eye.
"Precisely my point!" Saul exclaimed. "We could have a bloody massacre on our hands courtesy of whatever madness this damned thing cooks up and unleashes! A dinnae ken aboot th' rest o' ye, bit ah wull nae speil host tae literal butchery! A WULLNAE HAE IT!"
He slammed his hand down on the table and loudly rattled all their teacups, causing Three, Eleven, and Seventeen to visibly jump as the others rolled their eyes. The Chief Unspeakable cleared his throat quietly, leveling a look at the Voice. With great difficulty, Saul dialed down his Tendency to Anger from a boiling 62% to a simmering 31%, grumbling as he harshly bit into a blueberry tart courtesy of Tanner.
"And I can assume that we have to comply?" asked Ethics as he calmly sipped his chamomile tea. "Is there a possibility that it goes through its activation phase and we allow it to go dormant once complete? It's a significantly shorter process than the Cryptohedron's unfurling, and it doesn't need to be…engaged in a manner similar to that particular artifact."
"Unfortunately, no." Control sighed. "According to 013 this is olde magick, High Magick really. We can no more ignore it than not do our required duty. Once the Chime rings, it means that the process has already begun and even if we manage to keep the Object-In-Question hidden away, its magic will initiate the event it heralds."
The Voice grumbled furiously, glowering a hole through his plate of tarts.
"The consequences of us attempting to circumvent it has great potential to spell even worse disaster for us all. High Magick going haywire… it may very well force Thirteen's intervention."
Time shivered in horror at the prospect, the Chief Aide mimicking her movement. Records paled whilst Prophecy and Ethics grimaced, the others shifting in varying degrees of discomfort as they cast askance glances at a bemused Twenty-Six who was representing the ever-mysterious Division 13 of the DoM.
All except Death, who snorted in amusement at their reactions. He was one of the few in the entire Department of Mysteries who wasn't intimidated by enigmatic 013 and went out of his way to initiate banter with the… wizard.
"Per the established bylaws," Control continued. "Chime Six's activation means that an emergency session of the ICW will be convened per the 1792 Addendums. Once he is appropriately informed the Supreme Mugwump - along with 002 - will be tasked to provide a debrief to the assembly to begin the preliminary logistics. The Tournament will be officially announced during Mabon before the competitors are selected on Samhain."
Saul grumbled but otherwise didn't speak up.
"Granted," 001 continued. "There will only be three nations truly involved but still, tradition demands. With that said," he turned expectantly to Number 11. "Can you give us a quick historical rundown?"
Straightening with an excited smile, Records whipped his notes out of his magically-altered pocket before clearing this throat:
"Well, the Object-in-Question, more formally known as 'The Goblet of Fire' is at the heart of this entire situation. It's an ancient and powerful relic forged from High Magick by Arch-Mages during the Era of Legends… which means some combination of blood and soul-based rituals with a heavy dose of… That-Which-Is-Forbidden. The Goblet was created to settle conflicts between ancient wizard-rules societies from territories we recognize as Albion, Hibernia, Alba, and Cambria; opposing leaders would submit the names of their mightiest mage-warriors to fight on behalf of their respective clans, and as the ages progressed, their respective empires. The Goblet would select the Champions based on some combination of their magical ability and that which is called 'fearlessness' in facing certain death. Selection of a Champion established a form of Unbreakable Vow that would force the competitors to complete a series of three challenges until only one Champion would remain."
He paused to take a sip of tea, inwardly pleased to see his colleagues' eagerness on the topic.
"The invasion of the Roman clans ensured the continuation of the Tournament, and quite frankly it can be thanked for 'regulating' the frequency of clashes between opposing factions. Once the first period of peace was achieved with the formation of the Wizards Council, the respective Lords and Ladies incorporated the Tournament's continuance as one of their 'Statutes of Governance'. The aftermath of the Norman Conquest and the establishment of the Wizengamot saw the Tournament halted indefinitely, especially with the formation of the Knights of Albion whose responsibility in protecting Britannia helped satisfy the whole 'trial by combat' piece. That, and the rise of modern nation-states and the increased fraternization of muggles and magicals in the sociopolitical sphere that led to the diminishment for battles to the death given the inherent advantage a magical would have over a muggle. Anywho, our Unspeakable forebears did…something that forced the Goblet into magical hibernation. Its lifecycle was already tied into Chime 6, so you can imagine their surprise when it reactivated of its own accord on 11 June 1215. The resulting Wizengamot session on the following day was one for the books, considering it was three days before the proclaiment of the Magna Carta. According to Lords Audley, Cavendish, Fawley, and Malfoy, it was a 'sign of sure doom' for the proceeding peace treaty."
Number 11 chuckled as though he'd told a most funny joke, going over the heads of most of the office's occupants as they stared blankly in response.
"Anywho," he continued. "Lords Potter, Malfoy, Doge, FitzGerald, and Lady Marchbanks came up with the brilliant idea to tie the Goblet's activation as a 'tournament of wills" between the three great magical schools of Europe resolved to pit themselves against one another in a spirit of competition. Better that than the Wizengamot descend into bloody feudal chaos. Successfully convincing Headmaster Eryl Doge of their plans, the five aforementioned individuals sent emissaries to the representatives of Scholomance and L'Academie Magique - the predecessors of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons respectively - all of whom all agreed. The Triwizard Tournament Accords were established by Midsummer in Helvetia, one of the fastest-pioneered treaties in wizarding history. Hogwarts played the inaugural host, and Samhain of that year saw three Champions selected with the first gauntlet held on 24 November."
"Can we make an educated guess as to whom will be chosen this time around?" asked Ethics curiously.
Records shrugged. "Honestly, no. There was no winner in 1792 due to…well…the Champions and most of the viewing audience dying." He registered 003's wince, expression wrinkling sympathetically. "Alphonse Delacour won the 1642 tournament hosted by L'Academie after surviving three arduous trials within Brocéliande, including a faceoff with the sentinel-specter of La Demoiselle du Lac to win the right to wield Caliburn, ultimately helping him survive the gauntlet of Val sans retour out of the other competitors."
Seventeen gaped. "Blimey!" he exclaimed. "He actually found and used Excalibur?!"
"According to the records," replied Eleven cheekily. "Xerxes Gaunt emerged as Champion in 1531 during Hogwarts' hosting turn. He somehow succeeded in taming a Selma which surfaced from the Stymphalian lake deep within the Forbidden Forest during the Second Task, using it to defeat the other competitors in the Final Task held in the Black Lake."
"How did he move it from the Forest to the Black Lake?" asked Five confusedly.
Eleven peered at his notes. "A modified Reducio coupled with specialized Stasis Charms. Engorgio returned it to its aggressively carnivorous fighting form."
Creatures nodded, though he couldn't help the grimace at the thought of erstwhile Gaunt using the Class XXXX sea-serpent to potentially eat his fellow Champions in order to emerge victorious.
"Moving on," Records said. "The 1426 Tournament hosted by Durmstrang saw Zaharinka Krum win the title, successfully scaling the Făgăraș Mountains all while fighting off a rather persistent school of balauri in the Final Task. Though her wand was destroyed during the fracas, she was able to wandlessly summon her ancestor's Leviathan Axe forged of mithril, conjuring an 'unending storm' of ball lightning strikes that destroyed the balauri. 1316 saw the Tournament back in France, and this time Constantin Lestrade emerged as victor. The Final Task involved traversing a Cretan Labyrinth, with several miniature challenges that the competitors were meant to overcome before reaching the middle."
"Let me guess," interrupted a grimacing Five. "There was a Minotaur waiting to eat him?"
To his surprise, Eleven winced. "...Something like that." The wizard's eyes widened in tandem with the other Directors as they ruminated over a creature worse than a homicidal half-man half-bull.
"Who won in 1215?" Death's eyes sparkled boyishly, eagerly leaning forward as a few of his colleagues rolled their eyes at his excitement.
Records shuffled through his notes. "That would be… let me see…ah-ha! Menelaus Gore of Gryffindor House!"
"Menelaus?" Saul looked incredulous. "Let me guess - there was a Helen somewhere in the mix? And I'm sure a Paris, an Agamemnon, and an Achilles to boot." He snorted for good measure.
"Actually…" Records trailed off as he quickly scanned his parchments. "Ah, here we are! Menelaus did marry Helena Flint, daughter of Durand Lord Flint. It's rumored that she carried on a fling with Alexander Avery, and per the Homerian sagas, Prince Paris was also known as Alexander. Some testimonial accounts insist that Helena and Alexander would rendezvous at Lake Ilion in Westmorland. No mention of an Achilles though!"
Six cackled in delight at a gaping Croaker's direction, vindictively pleased at the confirmation that the power of nomenography - as a form of Divination - could not be denied. Seven also laughed whilst Control, Creatures, Ethics, and Twenty-Six smirked into their tea. Even Three couldn't help but cackle at the incredulous look on the Voice's face.
"Moving on," said Control whilst Saul started to grumble in earnest. "What were the tasks in 1215?"
"Three tasks directly inspired by the Labours of Heracles; the first involved taming a herd of feral Abraxans, the second was to obtain a feather from the right wing of a sphinx, and the third was slaying a giant Hebridean Black tasked with guarding the Triwizard Cup. Per the accounts Menelaus completed the final task with the legendary Sword of Gryffindor, though the judges may have mistook Menelaus' own ruby-hilted sword for that of the Founder's."
He paused to sip his tea.
"Anyway, the list of Champions before the Tournament's reemergence are a rather intriguing mix of warriors with quite a notable handful from Clans Prewett and McLaggen, most notably Hereward the Wake of the latter. There is one curious…hmmm…" Records' voice trailed off as he frowned at his notes, expression wrinkled.
"What?" interjected Time. "What is it?"
"It's… it's strange. There's a portion here that refers to Britomartis Nott and her defeat of Madoc ab Idwal and Ríoghnach Prewett. But all the notes pertaining to the tasks look to be obscured with Perma-Ink…"
Snickt.
Eleven methodically waved his 11½ inch reed wand as he cast a series of Anti-Obscuring Charms… only to have a curious runic sigil spring above the parchments.
Records blinked. "It's Level 9 Classified." He looked to Control and the Voice, both of whom turned to Twenty-Six.
"Indeed," she replied glibly. "All you need to know is that the Goblet of Fire selected the necessary Champions to compete in a series of perilous tasks that ultimately ended in Britomartis' victory."
There was no way she would be telling them that the Goblet had somehow created a task that resulted in a spatiothaumaturgical breach that brought forth a legion of demons in the current Reality.
And by some even greater miracle the warrior-witch had somehow succeeded in acquiring Mythcarver, the Blade of Legend from The Great Time Before. Somehow binding her life-force to the sword to not only destroy the fiendish monsters, but also close the chasm between the dimensions.
Records lightly gulped before nodding, rearranging his notes to place them back in his inner robes' pocket.
"So in conclusion," said Six quietly. "The Goblet self-activates in a period spanning from 100 to 200 years, and whichever school serves as the host seems to have a home advantage for their Champion to win. In addition to wanded prowess, there's also some element of sword combat involved in overcoming one or all of the Tasks the Goblet creates."
"Seems that way," replied Eleven. "Though it's entirely possible that it may not be the case this time around." He shrugged at the wane look Prophecy leveled his way. "It's important to recognize that past tournaments occurred during times where swordfighting was commonplace given the degree of intermingling with muggle nobles. It was entirely the expectation for a witch or wizard to be both skilled in wanded magic and fighting by blade, especially if one came from a family who served as a Knight of Albion. The practice has fallen out of favor since the Statute's implementation and general shifting of trends. It's entirely possible that this round of the Tournament won't result in any kind of sword fighting at all."
"Well let's hope you're bloody right," Saul snorted snidely. "Otherwise Hogwarts is fresh out of bloody luck!"
27 July 1994 - Teatro Romano - Mérida - Spain, 10:34AM
'And here I thought he'd have tired of hearing his own voice.'
Barely resisting the urge to scoff, a blank-faced Gabriel Delacour tuned out the incessant nattering of Chief German Delegate Kellen von Reichenbach, whose pinked cheeks and overly puffed up robes gave the impression of being filled with hot air.
Despite being in one of his preferred ICW Assembly sites, Gabriel was not in the best of moods as his eyes drifted over the details of the Teatro Romano de Mérida. Sat on the Emerita Augusta ley line that ran through the entirety of the Spanish city, first identified by magicartographers sent by Vipsanius Agrippus - on behalf of Emperor Augustus - sometime between 16 and 15BC. The Teatro was built soon after, both to entrench a claim on the tremendous magical resource (and thus strengthening the Roman claim to Lusitania), in addition to fighting off the opposing forces of the powerful mage-generals of the Carthaginian Empire.
Like the international protections granted to the Teatro by the muggles, their wizarding counterparts had also placed unique protective magicks on the site; a series of Notice-Me-Nots, Muggle-Repellers, wizardspace charms, Glamor magic, and a touch of a modified Fidelius ensured that the muggle tourists would never be able to encroach the interior, modeled in a similar manner to its non-magical facade.
The expansive space featured an elaborate cavea-style seating; the highest section reserved for each nation's attachés and pre-approved guests of the representatives. The middle and lower tiers were adjudicated to the ICW representatives of all the recognized magical nation-states, with each of the three delegates required to sit together.
The Scaenae frons backdrop was as highly decorative as one would expect with its intimidating Corinthian pillars, forged in the Augustan style and bearing the motifs of the erstwhile Emperor and all his successors. The massive dome-shaped ceiling featured sigils of several Roman emperors past, animated paintings from a plethora of magical Renaissance-era artists, the varying insignias of each applicable nation-state, all paired with prominent features of the golden olive-leaf motif emblematic of the ICW. Emblazoned in the center of the ceiling in an ouroboros-style was the gilded letters of the ICW's motto - Nemo Autem Regere Potest Nisi Qui et Regi.
Seated in the orchestra-style pit behind an impressively ornate podium was Albus Dumbledore in his stead as Supreme Mugwump. He was dressed in his usual flamboyant robes, this day's iteration in shades of brocaded lemon yellow. His lips were set in a thin line as he peered at Herr von Reichenbach from behind his glasses, looking every bit the displeased Headmaster. Seated next to him was The Voice of the British Unspeakables, who looked as though he would rather be chewing glass than to be part of this assembly. His disdain for Kellen was obvious, practically glaring a hole through the prattling man's head.
"And quite frankly, I do not think it's fair that only the British faction received forewarning of the Goblet's activation, just like I don't think it fair to any of this august body that they retain custodianship of the Object-in-Question that affects-"
Herr Reichenbach was still pontificating, though in Gabriel's opinion, whatever point he thought he was making had been long lost the very second he opened his mouth. It absolutely grated the Chevalier's nerves that Familienclan von Reichenbach were allowed anywhere near the political sphere given their staunch support of Grindelwald in the Crisis Years.
So much so that Lothar von Reichenbach - Kellen's uncle - was chosen as one of the Dark Lord's mage-generals, tasked with leading leagues of combat-trained Acolytes against the auror forces of Western Europe.
It was Lothar's invasion of the British Ministry of Magic in 1943 - following the successful siege of the German Ministry - that led to the institution of the Reichenbach Protocol, allowing the head of the DMLE to seize full control of most of the Ministry's wards in the face of a large-scale, hostile invading force.
The only reason the Ministry hadn't fallen to Grindelwald that day was due to the intervention of Fleamont Potter and his Special Branch division alongside the fabled Silver Spears, both groups leading a unified full-frontal assault against Lothar and his forces and driving them out.
With such an illustrious history, the von Reichenbachs should have been pariahs once the Dark Lord fell.
'But… I guess hefty restitution helps heal all wounds too.'
That, and their direct descendancy from Ludwig der Deutsche, an ancestry that begat royal cadet status and all the privileges of being a wealthy highborn magical family. Old blood yielded old ideals, and despite Magical Germany's adoption of many of the tenets of La Déclaration de Droits de Personnes Magiques by Wizarding France in the aftermath of the French Revolution, some traditions still lingered.
Sniffing, Le Garde-Chiourme tuned out Kellen and turned his attention towards the hall's other occupants.
His colleagues in the French faction were a mixed bag, though Alexandre Kama's standard expression of friendly politesse was unmoved.
L'Enfant was nothing if not utterly professional in the face of unpleasant diplomatic relations.
The Representatives of the United Federation of the Consolidated Egyptian Empires were perfectly blank-faced, mirrored by those of the Republic of Unified Nubia and the North African Federation of Mages. The remaining nine factions of the twelve Magical African Nation-States all stared in varying degrees of indifference.
Delacour expertly repressed a snort of laughter upon seeing some of the wane and wary looks leveled Ambassador McAvity's way by some of the hall's occupants. The so-called 'Dark Lord' looked as serene as ever, a slight smile playing upon his lips.
Surprisingly enough Reinaldo de Moura - Chief Delegate for the Spanish faction - looked keenly interested in the ongoing discussion. Gabriel was surprised since the younger wizard rarely took any interest in an ICW session, his expression usually one of churlish boredom.
The Chevalier then realized that de Moura had two nieces who attended Durmstrang, and it was entirely possible they may end up entangled in the Tournament's affairs.
The English Representatives of Crouch, Malfoy, and Wolpert made conscious effort to pay attention to Reichenbach's rambling, though the soft ticking of Crouch's jaw indicated that he was surely reaching his limit. His aide Percy Weasley - who was seated a few rows to Gabriel's right - took diligent notes at the proceeding, his miniaturized Dicta-Quill gliding smoothly over his notebook.
The aides accompanying many of the present Representatives did the same, though quite a handful had allowed their eyes to glaze at von Reichenbach's continued jabbering.
After a few more minutes, the Senior Chevalier registered that Kellen had finally stopped speaking.
"If I may, Supreme Mugwump?" The warmly lilting voice of Iskra Krum sounded, red oak wand raised to be called upon. She was the youngest of the thirty-member congregation representing the ten magical nation-states of the Balkan Alliance.
"You may, Madame Krum." Dumbledore's eyes regained some of their twinkle as he nodded in the younger witch's direction.
"While I understand Ambassador von Reichenbach's numerous…concerns, we cannot ignore precedence set by the Triwizard Accords and adapted into the ICW Statutes and Directives we all swore to abide by. Part of those Accords mandate that the Goblet remain in the custody of the British magical government. Likewise, this isn't an arbitrary matter we can simply vote on to do or not do; this involves an ancient High Magick artifact that will not allow itself to be forced into quiescence due to lack of fulfillment. Objects of that nature have a tendency to be mercurial, and I imagine none of us desire to be caught in its crosshairs should it reach its breaking point. Or worse yet, judge all of us as the impediments that prevented execution of its will."
Kellen sneered reflexively, ego smarting at a girl young enough to be his daughter correcting him. Even worse was the chorus of agreement that sounded at the witch's astute statement.
"Hmph!" he retorted contemptuously. "You would know all about 'mercurial' given your family's tendencies, wouldn't you, Iskra?" Kellen's colleagues gaped at his condescending rudeness, incurring mutterings of displeasure at the man's blatant lack of decorum. Iskra's expression tightened as her light brown eyes blazed at his temerity.
It was subtle, but Gabriel and those with fine-tuned magical sensitivity felt… it. The gentlest ruffle of a breeze dancing across the skin that resulted in the slight eruption of gooseflesh, like the sensation one would feel before the heavens opened in a torrential downpour.
Le Garde-Chiourme realized that the idiot man had insulted the last Kniazhna - a blood princess - of the royal Krum lineage who, according to long-standing rumors, could directly trace her ancestry to an Archmage descended from a god.
A god of the sky, from whom thunder, lightning, and storms were born.
"Madame Krum is absolutely correct in her statement, Kellen." The growly burr of Saul Croaker's voice halted the tense moment. "High Magick artifacts are exceptionally prickly, and one as ancient as the Goblet of Fire wouldn't take too kindly to anyone attempting to subvert its will." His expression turned coy. "And as I am sure you were paying attention, the unique sentience of the Goblet may end up identifying you as the cause of its interference. Imagine that."
The look of absolute horror that bloomed on von Reichenbach's face was quite poignant as it was comical, and Saul had absolutely no qualms about mockingly laughing in the man's direction as a result. He wasn't the only one, though the others were much more diplomatic in hiding behind their hands (like the Supreme Mugwump), behind a delicate cough, or a well-placed handkerchief.
Iskra was content to sneer vindictively, her ire temporarily soothed at the contemptible man being put in his place.
"I am curious about one particular matter, if you should be so inclined, Supreme Mugwump." The strikingly handsome form of Haaibre Magdy - one of three delegates for the Egyptian faction - leaned forward, dark eyes gleaming in the ensorcelled lights as he waited to be acknowledged. Receiving a responding nod "How exactly does the Goblet create the tasks? I assume the gauntlets don't just spring into existence per the artifact's preference?"
"Each task the Goblet wishes to set is communicated through a Diviner through a series of 'visions', so to speak." Saul paused to take a small sip of water. "The organizers create the gauntlet in accordance with said visions, and the Goblet's magic exerts its…influence to make it as dangerous as is required of the Tournament."
"And may I inquire upon who the chosen Diviner is?"
Dumbledore and Croaker exchanged a brief glance. "Discreet missives have been sent to the applicable parties. He or she will be selected come Mabon when the Tournament is officially announced."
Satisfied, Haaibre nodded diplomatically before exchanging whispered conversation with his colleagues.
Additional questions were fielded for the next half hour, before conversation shifted towards the upcoming Quidditch World Cup.
11:51AM
"You alright?"
The witch grimaced in response to the gentle question, adjusting the edges of her pretty muggle-style summer dress. "I reckon I'm as alright as can be expected."
Tom nodded sympathetically, giving the newly named Delphini White a once-over.
Through an amalgamation of human transfiguration-based Glamor Spells with a dash of Spagyric potions (along with several Mind-Healing sessions with Tom and Severus), the witch-formerly-known-as-Bellatrix Lestrange was the healthy, bright-eyed 17 year-old witchling who was ready to take on her future.
In lieu of her hooded dark eyes were fawn-like warm hazel orbs, complimenting an angular jaw and high cheekbones. Ink-black tresses were replaced with sun-streaked medium brown hair that framed her face and tumbled down to her shoulders, fashioned in a flattering half-up half-down style.
If anyone were to ask or go searching, they would find that she resembled her late mother with her late father's eye color, bearing her deceased grandmother's height and the bright smile of her long-dead grandfather. Her new identity was that of the maternal cousin twice-removed of the erstwhile Lazarus White, born and raised in a small wizarding enclave of Broome in Western Australia.
Though never attending a formal magical school, she'd been taught enough to earn an impressive 8 OWLs, seven of which were O's.
(To maintain continuity, Tom had provided the means for Delphini to take her OWLs in Wagga Wagga, signed off by Tessie Cooper - Senior Personnel for the Australian Wizarding Examinations Office. A few rare Obfuscation Charms backdated the tests as required.)
Unfortunately, poor Delphini found herself orphaned a few months shy of her 17th birthday after both parents died in a paragliding accident whilst on holiday, and deciding upon a much needed change of scenery, sold her childhood home and moved to America, with full intent on pursuing her goal of being an Auror.
Moved by her inspirational story, Tassos Burke - Senior Advisory Fellow for the Office for Magic Relations and Education for MACUSA - agreed to provide her a written recommendation to attend Blacksburg Magery Institute so long as she successfully passed her NEWTs exams. The Institute - Wizarding America's equivalent of West Point or Sandhurst - served as the premiere academy for any witch or wizard seeking to join American Wizarding law enforcement.
"No time like the present," Tom said softly, gesturing towards the Floo. They were currently in a safehouse owned by Tom, nestled deep within Hogsmeade under a bevy of secrecy magicks she'd never even heard off. It was spacious yet not lacking in warmth and comfort, always kept clean and well-stocked by the ever-attentive Mab. For the first time since her Hogwarts years, Delphini knew the peace of a real sanctuary.
Nodding, Delphini entered the activated Floo, Tom a few paces behind her. Giving their destination, the two disappeared in a gout of emerald green flames, arriving at their endpoint a few seconds later.
Gingerly stepping out, the nervous witch took in her new surroundings.
They stood in a large receiving parlor, the walls painted in a cool eggshell to maximize the natural light pouring in from the large wood-framed windows. Built-in bookshelves and china cabinets framed with beadboard paneling lined the walls, filled with all sorts of knick-knacks and family portraits that added to the cozy feel of the home. Children's artwork framed the walls, many of them moving about with the aid of Animation Charms. Delphini soon registered the sound of waves and seagulls, internally excited to be near the sea.
"Ah, right on time!"
The smiling form of Tassos Burke emerged from the living room, embracing Tom warmly and granting a friendly greeting to Delphini. He'd been fully read in on the truth of whom Delphini White was, and the witch was surprised at seeing genuine kindness in the wizard's countenance. Despite a head full of silver hair, he retained the handsome noblesse of his youth, rendered softer by time away from familial formalities and the peace of a normal and loving family.
A Consiliarius Emeritus of Riddle's Prince Administration and a dear friend of the erstwhile Prince, Tassos had been a loyal and dedicated member of the Knights of Walpurgis under codename Lancelot. That was in direct contrast to Herbert and Lucia's expectations for their second-born son, who desired for the young man to follow in lockstep with the Dark Lord's agenda like his elder pureblood prat brother Elias and his twatty wife Estelle of the notoriously pureblood supremacist La Famille Volant. Tassos declined as politely as he was able, further incurring his parents' disapproval after rejecting betrothal proposals from Houses Avery, Rosier, Lestrange, and Warrington.
That all changed when Elias got himself killed during a Death Eater raid, leaving the mantle of the Burke heirship and the full weight of his parents' expectations on Tassos' shoulders.
Which included joining the Death Eaters and becoming a member of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle.
An outraged Tassos outright refused, but knew his words would not be enough if his father - in his stead as Lord Burke - compelled him as his newly-instated Heir.
Desperate, he went to his Prince for help to escape England. With an additional assist from the goblins, Tassos emptied his Gringotts account of almost 70,000 galleons, alongside an additional 30,000 Tom gifted him to make his emigration easier. Pulling some strings with a select few contacts in MACUSA, Tom succeeded in resettling his friend in a wizarding enclave in New Haven.
It was there that he met muggleborn Kennedy Fontaine, drawn to her bubbly persona and optimistic joie de vivre. A Mistress within Care of Magical Creatures, Kennedy served as the Eastern Regional Director for the Body for Protection of Magical Species (B.P.M.S.) for MACUSA. It was a role that often saw her interact with their muggle counterparts, utilizing a lot of their conservation efforts in her department's projects. The happy couple married within a year of meeting each other, and were now parents to four daughters.
"Thank you again for helping me," Delphini stated shyly.
Tassos smiled warmly. "You are very welcome, young lady. My family's pleased to support you with this journey." His expression turned serious as honied green orbs bore into Delphini's slightly nervous own. "Everyone deserves a second chance, especially from circumstances not borne of their own hand."
Before the witch could respond, a small blur raced into the foyer screaming excitedly:
"UNCLE TOM! UNCLE TOM! YOU'RE HERE!"
A beaming smile illuminated Lord Gaunt's face as he replied: "There's my Rye-Rye! Come here!" He bent down with open arms, laughing upon impact as he twirled around the 7-year-old form of Ryan Fontaine-Burke through the air, eliciting loud peals of delighted laughter.
The baby of the family, little Ryan was outfitted in bright yellow Laa-Laa footie pajamas, her long brown hair up in pigtails with matching yellow ribbons. Her mouth was stretched wide in a happy grin, showing missing front and bottom teeth.
"How's my favorite goddaughter today?"
"Uncle! I'm your only goddaughter," giggled Ryan, delving into full-blown laughter as Tom tickled her.
"Hmmm… that's why you're favorite!"
"Where are Auntie Libra and the baby?" Ryan's tone turned a little sad as she cuddled into her favorite uncle's neck.
"At home sweet girl," replied Tom, tone indulgent as Tassos and Delphini looked on with smiles of their own at the precious scene. "They'll be by soon, I promise. Where are your sisters?"
"Queso, Evie, and Zozo are in Paris with Mommy for Queso's tournament! She's gonna win for sure! I couldn't go 'cause I had day camp, but Mommy promised I can go next year for sure!"
Fast as whiplash, Ryan changed the topic:
"Did you bring them?! Did you bring them?! You promised you would!" Her dark brown eyes shined eagerly, excitedly tugging at the collar on Tom's cardigan.
He chuckled in response, before his expression turned conspiratorial. He brought his fingers close to her face before wiggling them. Five gilded pentagon-shaped Chocolate Frog Cards appeared in his hand, making Ryan's eyes widen in wonder. Another wiggle saw the cards float out of his fingers and encircle the amazed witchling, spinning by the subtle force of Tom's wandless magic.
Delphini was astounded; despite the seeming simplicity of the act, wandless magic of any kind was tremendous. Sustained wandless magic was considered a true rarity, serving as yet another reminder of Riddle's immense natural talent and innate discipline.
"Pick a card, any card!"
Ryan laughed in delight whilst clapping her hands, before narrowing her eyes in concentration as she snatched one out of the air.
"Wooooow!"
In her little hand was a limited edition young-Newt Scamander card, autographed by the famed magizoologist himself. The wizard and his faithful bowtruckle familiar waved shyly at the girl, who waved back eagerly.
A sharp snap of her godfather's fingers saw the cards halt their spinning, stacking on top of each other below slowly landing in the wide-eyed witchling's palm.
"Thank you!-Thank you!-Thank you!"
Ryan proceeded to hug the stuffing out of a chuckling Tom, before finally realizing that there was another guest amongst them.
"Hi," she said shyly, peeking at Delphini sweetly.
"Hello," the older witch replied, smiling nervously at the girl. "I'm Delphini, pleased to meet you."
The young witch's eyes widened. "You're our guest, right Daddy?!" She whipped her head towards her amused father, who verbally confirmed her statement. She whipped her head back towards a slightly startled Delphini:
"You'll be staying with us before you go to Blacksburg, right?" The older witch nervously nodded.
"YAAAAY!"
Ryan tapped Tom's shoulder to be let down, grabbing Delphini's hand and practically dragging her from the room whilst chatting a mile a minute as the two men chuckled fondly at her enthusiasm.
"We made the guest house real nice for you! Well… it was mostly Mommy, Daddy, and Queso, but I helped lots! Evie and Zozo too! You get your own library and it's right across the beach so it's really pretty too! Oh, and you get to meet Garfield, he's our cat! He's a little bit grumpy because Queso's not here, he's her familiar so he gets pretty sad when they're not together for a long time. But he loves me, and he'll love you too!"
Nodding dazedly at the witchling's rapid-fire commentary Delphini allowed herself to be led away, throwing a nervous look at Tom and Tassos who granted matching nods of encouragement.
"Thanks again for doing this," said Tom, bracing an arm against Tassos' shoulder.
Burke returned the gesture, smiling warmly. "Anything for you, old friend. Like I said before, everyone deserves a second chance. And from what you told me about her, she never even had a chance to begin with."
He shook his head sadly, before leading Tom to the kitchen for a spot of tea and several baked goods.
They had much more to discuss.
12:29PM
"WINNER, OLGA ZEDESCU!"
The Bogatyr crowed internally, allowing herself a small smile at the resounding cheers from the audience.
She'd just defeated Quinn Fontaine-Burke, eliminating her from the Finals Round.
The American witch had put up an impressively strong fight, far surpassing her own expectations and that of her prior opponents. Her specialty was battle transfiguration, and the sight of the defense golems she'd transformed out of rubble had impressed the audience and the judges alike.
Unfortunately, it had not been enough to push back against the full frontal assault of offensive combat magicks Olga unleashed, tiring her out before successfully disarming her. As it stood, Quinn was the Cuprum Champion, unseating Borys Tkachenko.
He was currently seething in one of the uppermost rows in the bleachers, though the sweet smiles and fluttering eyelashes of Fleur Delacour helped soothe the worst of his bruised ego.
At the current time, the penultimate finals match would be between Olga and Nolan. They would be playing an untimed version of jusqu'à la mort, and the person to be first disarmed would be the loser.
Well, not the loser, but Wolfram Champion was not the option Olga wanted.
Handing Quinn's wand over to Monsieur Toubeau, Olga nodded at a revived Quinn who granted the Bogatyr a small smile and a sharp nod, clapping at her victory as she dismounted the stage. Upon Toubeau's proclaiment Olga returned to her Aunt Lumi's side, nodding proudly at her niece. The Bogatyr's excitement compounded at seeing her mother and brothers seated a few rows behind, lightly laughing as they beamed and whooped in excitement whilst shouting "GO GILLY GO!"
As always, she ignored the ever-familiar twinges of disappointment at her father's no-show.
Second-place was an unacceptable position for the firstborn of Boian Zedescu, doubly so considering she wasn't the son he'd wanted. Their family's reputation as a battle clan existed since before the First Bulgarian Empire, feared and revered in equal measure thanks to the frightening prowess of Kavkhan Zedescu and his blood-sworn legions of combat mages who helped secure the Bulgarian Empire for the first Khan Krum.
Save their king, Zedescus stood second behind no one.
Sighing those heavy thoughts away, Olga settled next to Lumi's side, gratefully accepting the cold water and light snack. This was an hour-long intermission to allow the two finalists to collect their breaths before the ultimate showdown. Neither was allowed to interact with anyone save their coaches, a specialized warding charm in place to prevent them from crossing the threshold beyond their current seating area.
She noted the presence of the entirety of Heir Parkinson's family, currently seated beside and chatting pleasantly with Lord Wilkes and coterie, including his mother and godfather.
With as much subtlety as she possessed, the Bogatyr looked in the direction of her opponent.
Nolan was the very vision of calm, eyes closed with palms flat against his thighs as he took deep, even breaths. His thick inky locks framed a sharply aristocratic face, a perfectly handsome blend of his parents.
Olga quickly shook off that train of thought.
She was certain he was an Occlumens, barely reacting when hit with Bonebreakers, Cutters, Bludgeoners, or any spell that incurred serious physical damage.
In fact, one of the most intimidating things about the Black Wolf was his composure - equal parts unflappable and razor-sharp.
That mindset was reflected in his spell arsenal; advanced and unconventional offensive and defensive magicks that dealt maximum damage. His choice of intimidation was purely psychological, and by Circe was it effective.
Borys Tkachenko's humiliating defeat was a prime example.
She could still remember the look of sheer terror on Gaultier St. Yves' face when Parkinson summoned three boggart cupboards out of thin air, gurgling out a hysterical scream as three massive and rotted Crups burst out and lunged at him.
Mercifully Gaultier had already passed out, making it easy to disarm him before Banishing the boggarts away.
Veering off memory lane, Olga settled into her own meditative state, knowing she would need all of her strength and wits if she were to be victorious in this ultimate faceoff.
1:59PM
Oak blurred in Arresto, halting the barrage of poisoned arrows in their track. A snarled "APISIFORS!" saw them transform into a swarm of angry bees that raced towards her opponent.
A wave of beech caused the bees to shiver, before a non-verbal Vespafors saw the creatures blur into an even angrier nest of wasps that turned tail to race in Olga's direction.
Naturally they split into three groups that charged her head on, from behind, and up above, having her well-surrounded with not enough time or room to spell all the projectiles away.
With a snarl Olga made an X-formation with her arms, before turning in a rapid pirouette movement that made her spin in like a twister. The resulting rotational force of the The-Tasmanian-Cyclone created a full-body column of air that repelled most of the wasps into the direction of the Certamen shield and Nolan, who dispersed the creatures into sand with a sharp wave of his wand.
Olga slowed to a stop, and sensing an opening, Nolan softly whispered "HOMORPHUS GEMELLUS" whilst waving his wand in sinuous figure-8's over the witch's form.
Her wand snapped in Protego on instinct upon seeing the movement of his wand…before freezing as her eyes widened in shocked amazement.
She watched as one Olga emerged from her form and strode to flank her left…before another flanked her right…with three more flanking her front!
'By Nimue…my own doppelgängers!'
Their audience gaped in varying degrees of astonishment, the judges impressed at the ingenious application of the Doppelgänger Defense Charm.
Flexing his wand like a conductor, Nolan commanded "FINISH HER!"
Grunting, the Bogatyr parried and deflected the magicks launched at her by her own clones, unnerved at seeing identical copies of her own form intent on destroying her. It was coupled with having to stave off the Black Wolf's own spells, a mixture of Tripping Jinxes, Stickfasts, and Acid Hexes.
It took a few moments to realize that her duplicates were casting no more than colorful light that would do no real harm save distract her whilst Parkinson went in for the kill. Upon that realization, she tucked herself into a crouch and thrust her wand straight upward whilst bellowing "DELUMINARE MAXIMA!"
Pitch-blackness.
The Delumination Charm temporarily absorbed every speck of light within the confines of the dueling shield, and would hold for almost twenty seconds.
It was more than enough time for Olga to place her non-wand palm flat down on the platform floor, channeling a smidge of her magic through her hand to detect vibrations.
A moment passed…
'There you are.'
Though he'd been clever enough to Silence his feet whilst slowly encroaching upon her, the spell only worked on sound and not motion.
When he reached four feet to her right, Olga struck:
"COLLOSHOO! PEREDO! INCARCEROUS! EXPELLIARMUS!"
Nolan parried the Stickfast but caught the tail-end of the Acid Hex, grunting in pain as the right side of his face and hair were singed. He dodged the Incarcerous and in a motion too quick for his opponent to comprehend, erected an invisible shield that blocked the Disarming Charm and dissipated it without effect.
Once more, the judges were impressed by the flawless execution of the Anti-Disarming Counter-Jinx, non-verbally to boot!
A bellow of "VENTUS!" saw the Bogatyr flying through the air, deftly slipping into somersault to land on her feet. She rapidly parried back an Incarcerous and Diffindo, forcing Nolan on a brief defensive.
"METELOJINX!" bellowed Olga, waving her wand in wide sweeps at the ceiling. Cracks of thunder boomed throughout the auditorium as a whirling maelstrom of storm clouds gathered above.
A flash of lightning arced from the clouds, multiplied by Olga's cry of "FULMINATA!"
Bolts of lightning hurtled towards Heir Parkinson, who had a brief moment to widen his eyes before nonverbally casting Ebublio around his person. The witch maintained her weather-based assault for a few seconds, hoping to shock him into unconsciousness before finishing him off with an Expelliarmus.
The Aurum Champion would not be so readily overcome.
A nonverbal command saw the Ebublio stretch into a sizable barrier that granted almost six vertical feet of cover. It was enough protection for him to cast a rapid-fire slew of Confringo, Deprimo, and Reducto in Zedescu's direction, forcing her on the defensive from the explosive magicks and resulting rubble.
Taking advantage of her distraction, the Black Wolf waved his wand in sharp X-motions at the vortex above.
"TEMPESTAS HORRIBILIS!"
The dark clouds shuddered, before multiplying into a massive billow of dark gray. As the veritable storm unleashed unrelenting sheets of rain and wind, Nolan whispered "LOCOMOTOR WIBBLY" at a distracted Olga, who went down with a thud. A sharp slash of Incarcifors saw some of the rubble blur into chains that wrapped around her entire body, tightening as she struggled and leaving her wand hand at a seriously awkward angle.
Casting a silent Colloshoo and Duro on his shoes saw Parkinson stuck solid to the platform, before a whispered "SANUSPIRANTES" caused a bubble of oxygenated air to wrap around his head.
Dispelling the storm clouds, the Black Wolf stretched his arms wide and whispered "AGUAGEMINIO", commanding the water to multiply and rapidly rise. The Bogatyr's eyes widened as the stage filled with water, outlining the protective orb of the Certamen shield.
From their respective vantages in the audience, Vasilka, Bojana, and Slavna goggled at the impressive feat of weather magic, that which they'd only seen their Uncle Branislav perform.
Wandlessly.
Growing desperate, Olga dialed up her Occludic shields as she expertly dislocated her wand hand wrist before rapidly casting a Bubble-Head Charm as to not aspirate water into her lungs. She tightened her form into A-Rock-As-It-Sinks-Slow, the 8th Step Earth Path kata ensuring she would stay upright with feet planted on the platform whilst submerged.
This was an entirely unforeseen circumstance, and the Bogatyr wasn't sure how in Circe's name she would overcome this!
As far as her opponent was concerned, it was time to end this.
In a blink, Nolan pointed his wand straight at Olga and roared "PARTIS TEMPORUS!", creating a large partition from himself to his opponent.
An instinctive Protego sprung from the witch's wand, but it did nothing to stave off the nonverbal Oscausi that sealed her mouth shut, causing her eyes to widen in a panic as her Shield Charm dissipated.
"BRANCHIAMORPHUS!"
A strange itching bloomed alongside her jaws and chin, hazel orbs widening in horror as her desperate fingers registered gills on her face!
It was immediately followed by her desperate chokes as she clawed at the appendages, unable to breathe!
Flopping downward the Bogatyr continued to claw frantically at her face, feeling her vision narrow and blur as she properly suffocated. A cry of "EXPELLIARMUS!" sent her wand sailing into her opponent's own, signaling the match's end.
Though she registered the crowd go wild at Nolan's victory Olga soon lost consciousness, mercifully surrendering to the darkness.
Later that Night…
The frozen form of the real Reinaldo de Moura shivered in instinctive horror upon the arrival of his captor, though the modified Stasis Charm on his person prevented him from properly expressing that reaction.
The sight of his own face and form leering at him was deeply disconcerting, though no more than his blood frozen in suspension from a lacerated neck. Being stuck between life and death was both illuminating and terrifying, though like any mortal, he would choose life any day.
A sharply hissed spell saw his suspended blood slowly re-enter his body, before a Parsel-enhanced Episkey saw the skin reknit. He choked in a strangled breath, unable to claw at his own throat as the entirety of his body was still under the effects of a Petrificus.
The metamorphed form of Roderigo Slytherin watched with a dispassionate expression as Reinaldo loudly coughed and sputtered as he reacquainted himself with the joys of not having a gaping gash through his neck.
Getting annoyed, Roderigo cast a nonverbal Anapneo before wordlessly summoning a large glass of water he magically tipped down Reinaldo's mouth, rolling his eyes as his captive greedily drank.
"Looks like I will be borrowing this form for a while." The real Reinaldo made an odd noise, but was smart enough to keep his outrage to himself.
"Are you wondering why?" pressed Roderigo, shivering back into his true form as he bit back a chuckle at the impotent fury that flashed on Reinaldo's face.
"Well, I'll tell you anyway." The metamorph leered as he drew closer. "It seems the Triwizard Tournament will be active this year, what with the Goblet of Fire being reacti-"
He suddenly paused at the choked gurgle that left Reinaldo's mouth, his dark eyes wide in horrified recognition.
"...Do you know about the Tournament? About the Goblet?" His captive vigorously shook his head in the negative, tightening his lips for good measure.
Roderigo snarled. In three quick strides he loomed above the frightened wizard, wresting his head back and his wand snapped under his chin.
"You… will tell me… everything you know!"
A surge of defiance surged in the Bogatyr alumnus as he glared hatefully at his captor. "I will do no such thing cabrón! You cannot make-"
"SsSILENCcCIO! LEGILIMENSsSsS!"
AN 1: And that marks the end of our Paris jaunt! Onward to Marseilles and Potter Twin birthday celebrations, then the QWC.
AN 2: While Olga and Nolan could've finished each other off less dramatically, but of being a duelist is to put on a show. And Nolan definitely knows how to do that.
AN 3: The Teatro Romano is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, as is most of the other sites utilized by the ICW when having their assemblies. The theory is that post the Statute of Secrecy, magicals use historical/world wonder/great sites right under the muggles' noses as a result of powerful Obscuring magic that allows them to do so. These sites are typically on powerful ley lines that cannot be allowed to just... sit idle.
AN 4: The role of Tassos Burke is played by Rufus Sewell (The Diplomat), Iskra Krum is played by Hailee Steinfield in her role as Emily Dickinson (Dickinson). Olga Zedescu is played by Florence Pugh in her role as Yelena (Black Widow, Hawkeye), and Quinn Fontaine-Burke is played by Kathryn Newman (Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania).
AN 5: Rye-Rye was originally meant to be a boy and thus a potential Heir Presumptive Burke, but I changed my mind at the last minute as the Burke heirship isn't a necessity for any of the plot. That may change in the next Book, we'll see. She's played by Abby Ryder-Fortson as a young Cassie Lang (Ant-Man).
AN 6: I hope you like Delphini's backstory, she'll be in America from hereon out. She'll definitely reemerge in Book 5: Requiem For a Reprisal (RFaR) as there'll be more American characters brought into the plot. She's played by Rooney Mara in her role as Fernanda (Tanner Hall).