This is the continuation of a story I have already published. Part 1 can be found here:
https/s/14346918/1/Harry-Pentex
I do not own Harry Potter nor World of Darkness.
Slytherin common room, Hogwarts, 15th October 1994 (Saturday)
Daphne and Astoria re-read the letter they received that morning. They had both felt betrayed by the actions of their father and refused to speak with him, and the man seemed to have understood that, passing over a message via Theo that if they needed anything from him he would always be there for them.
Yet, this time, the man had decided to send them a letter.
While Daphne had tossed her own into the flames, Astoria had not found the strength to do so. In what she had described as a moment of weakness, she had opened the letter and once she read its content, she knew she had to show it to Daphne.
Dear Astoria,
I know you probably wish to shred this letter, but I implore
you to finish this letter before you do. I do not know what
happened that night. I have only faint recollections and were
it not for the fact that I checked for both compulsions spells
and love potions I would be inclined to believe that none of
what happened was consensual. When the test results came
back negative, I had to come to the conclusion that, somehow,
I wasn't the victim that I believe I was, but the monster that
everyone else made me out to be. Or at least, that's what I tried
to convince myself until yesterday.
As you certainly know, our estate houses an enchanted
painting of our family tree, which automatically records any
descendant of the Greengrass family line.
Yesterday, the tree sprouted some new branches. While such
an occasion normally signifies the birth of a new Greengrass,
the tree did not sprout one or even two new branches, but a grand
total of fifty five new branches, all named either Male-M or
Male-F, accompanied with ascending numbers from one up to
fifty five.
With the appearance of these new names, the names of the
mothers also appeared on the tree: Male-S 1 and Male-S 2.
I honestly am at a loss of words as to what that means, but now
that I have evidence of foul play I will stop at nothing to ensure that
justice is done and that our family returns back to the way it was
before all of this.
I am sorry for failing you.
I am sorry for failing your sister.
I am sorry for failing your mother.
Despite everything, the three of you are and will always be the love
of my life.
I love you,
Dad
Daphne lowered the letter. She knew she ought to be enraged, to be furious at her father for coming up with an absurd lie like this to try and get them back, but something in her mind was telling her not to. The story in the letter was utterly ridiculous, it made no sense whatsoever and Daphne knew it. But what was more important was the fact that her father also knew it. It was too insane, too convoluted for it to be an excuse. If he wanted to come up with a lie, why something so outrageously insane as this? Why not just claim it was a Veela or even something as banal as a love potion?
Why build up this whole elaborate, nonsensical conspiracy plot? And what for? It wasn't like the Greengrass family was particularly powerful, wealthy or even particularly old. The Malfoys were much older than them and way, way richer. Merlin's beard, Harry himself, even without counting the revenue from Power Potter's, was richer than them! What could anyone possibly gain with something like that? And… fifty five children? She wasn't even sure it was humanly possible to carry a third that amount of kids over an entire lifetime, but all of them at once? Nonsensical.
She leaned to the side, letting the letter fall to the ground as she hugged her sister.
"It's ok, Tori. It's going to be alright."
Agdleruussakasit, Greenland, 20th October 1994 (Thursday)
"None, you say?" asked Francesco, looking at his researcher in confusion.
"Not a single one of them, sir. We had them all seventeen tested many times, but none of them grew so much as a strand of hair."
That… wasn't possible. Every single werewolf had reported their first change on the full moon after they were bitten, with no exception. And yet, somehow, none of the seventeen people he had deliberately planted to be infected during the last full moon had been turned into a werewolf.
"That is… unexpected. Is there anything particular about the subjects?"
"No, sir. We made sure to gather a group as diverse as possible. If I may offer a suggestion… could it be the location?"
Francesco stroked his chin. "It might. We'll take one of the werewolves and one of the survivors back to wizarding Britain the day before the full moon. And a test subject… a local hobo will probably suffice. I wanna see if the determining factor is the location of the bite or that of the first change."
"We'll send a first draft of the experiment and send it to you for approval. With your permission, we would like to interrogate our werewolves in greater detail regarding the specifics of their infection as well as their first change to potentially narrow down the possibilities."
Francesco nodded absent-mindedly, his mind spinning with the possible implications of what they just discovered.
"Good idea. I expect a full report before the end of the week."
The scientist saluted. "Of course, sir. Have a good day, sir."
Francesco sat on his chair, pondering the news. There was something that prevented the newly infected from changing, or maybe something that made them unable to get infected. He did remember Zettler mentioning something along those lines when speaking to a specific type of vampire with 'diluted blood', or something of that nature… perhaps it was something along those lines? While it sounded unlikely, these Werewolves were but a pale imitation of a Garou, maybe they had some kind of issue? Generations of inbreeding between Metis, perhaps? They were well-known for being born deformed, so it was theoretically possible, with centuries of inbreeding due to how insular wizarding Britain was, for these deformations to accumulate until their sum total caused them to become… this. But…
Francesco shook his head. No, it didn't make any sense. Even if it would explain their appearance, almost everything else was wrong. Why would the transformation be caused by a bite? Was it perhaps a sign of collective hallucination this particular breed had during their first change? First changes are a relatively traumatic event as is, if one added the stress caused by wizarding Britain's view on werewolves, some sort of fear or rage-based hallucination wouldn't be a particularly unlikely scenario. And the small wizarding population would suggest that with the introduction of a single Garou would inevitably cause their entire population to be Kinfolk, thus the seemingly random appearances of werewolves from their ranks… but what about the non-magicals in the mix? The Muggles? One of them even had video evidence of their attack, so the collective hallucination idea could't offer a perfect solution to the mystery.
Lorenzo smirked. What an interesting puzzle.
Outside the castle, Hogwarts, 30th October 1994 (Friday)
As the students went down to breakfast that morning, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms, flanked by two smaller banners, one bearing a simple purple flute over a golden harp and the other a golden circle with a four-pointed star in the middle, to represent the Bardic College and the Celestial Chorus respectively.
Professor Snape and the other head of houses instructed their students to look at their best, pointing out that, while they were caught unprepared by the appearance of the bards and the Choristers, they knew the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were coming and they ought to look their best.
For the occasion, the Choristers were all wearing an all-black habit with a white priest's collar, the four nuns adding a scapular to cover their heads, while the Bards had all decided to color their hairs the same shade of blue.
They were pushed to the side and lined up around in front of the castle, divided by house. It was a cold, clear evening with a pale moon shining over the Forbidden Forest.
"How d'you reckon they're coming?" asked Sally, to his right.
"Somehow, I don't think they took the train." said Daphne.
"Broomsticks?" Harry suggested, looking up.
"A Portkey?".
They scanned the darkening grounds, but nothing was moving. Harry was starting to feel the cold and wished they'd hurry up… Maybe they were preparing a dramatic entrance, but still…
Then, Dumbledore called out from the back row.
"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"
Something large was hurtling across the sky toward the castle, growing larger with concerning speed.
"It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.
"Don't be stupid! It's a flying house!" hissed Astoria, trying to hold the first year from breaking ranks.
As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, they saw a gigantic carriage the size of a large house pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, each the size of an elephant.
The front rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled lower at a tremendous speed, landing with an almighty crash, bouncing upon its wheels.
Harry just had time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms with two crossed, golden wands emitting three stars before it opened.
A boy in pale blue robes jumped down and unfolded a set of golden steps for the largest woman Harry had ever seen in his life. She was easily as big as Hagrid, and only slightly smaller than Barnaby in his rampaging form. As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, the light revealed her olive-skinned face, large inky black eyes and rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck.
Dumbledore started to clap, with the students following his lead.
The woman's face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward towards Dumbledore, extending a ring-covered hand.
"My dear Madame Maxime. - he said, kissing her hand. - Welcome to Hogwarts."
"Dumbly-dorr. I 'ope I find you well?"
"In excellent form, I thank you." said Dumbledore.
"And theze 're your guezts? - she asked, approaching the rest of the delegation. - I 'ope you'r finding 'Ogwarts and ze rest of Britain as magnifique az we do."
"Mr. Dumbledore has been a very gracious host." said Uninnseann in a small bow.
"C'est un grand honneur d'être invité dans un magnifique château comme celui-ci." said Sister Isobel, earning a surprised smile from Madame Maxime.
"Et c'est une agréable surprise de rencontrer quelqu'un qui parle français avec un accent exquis comme vous. - replied the Beauxbatons headmistress, before turning her attention back to Dumbledore. - My pupils." she said, waving one of her hands, as a dozen boys and girls in their late teens started to emerge from the carriage and were now standing behind her. They were shivering, which was unsurprising given that their robes seemed to be made of silk.
" 'As Karkaroff arrived yet?".
"He should be here any moment. - said Dumbledore. - Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"
"Warm up, I think. But ze 'orses…"
"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them." said Dumbledore, gesturing at an awe-struck Hagrid who seemed to be unable to look away from Madame Maxime.
"Very well," said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly to the man. "I neez to inform you zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey."
"It will be attended to." said Dumbledore, snapping Hagrid out of his trance.
"Come." said Madame Maxime to her students, as the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow them passage.
They stood, shivering slightly now, gazing hopefully up at the sky waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. After some minutes, an oddly eerie rumbling and sucking sound was carried by the wind towards them.
"The lake! - yelled a Gryffindor, pointing at it. - Look at the lake!"
From their position, they had a clear view of the disturbance on the normally still waters: great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves washing over the muddy banks… and then, out in the very middle, a whirlpool appeared, with a long, black pole slowly rising out of
the middle, shortly followed by rigging. Slowly, a magnificent ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look of a resurrected wreck, with dim and misty lights shimmering at its portholes like ghostly eyes. With a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged in its entirety, bobbing on the turbulent water, and they could almost hear the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.
People were disembarking, walking in a military-like march up the lawns into the light, their cloaks of shaggy, matted fur making them appear as an army of monsters. The man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing sleek and silver, the same color as his hair.
"Dumbledore! - he called heartily as he walked up the slope. - How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"
"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied, shaking hands.
"Dear old Hogwarts. - he said, looking up at the castle and smiling. - How good it is to be here, how good… Viktor, come along, into the warmth. You don't mind, Dumbledore?"
Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Harry caught a glimpse of a familiarly prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He didn't need Theo's whispers to recognize that profile.
"Harry… it's Krum!"
"I don't believe it!"
Ron said, in a stunned voice, as the Hogwarts students mingled and filed back up the steps behind the party from Durmstrang.
"Krum, Theo! Viktor Krum!"
"For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player." said Hermione, sharing an exasperated look with Daphne.
"Only a Quidditch player?!" almost shouted Theo, with Ron looking at her as if she had sprouted a second head.
"Hermione, he's one of the best Seekers in the world!"
"I had no idea he was still at school!"
Sally was frantically searching her pockets for a quill.
"Do you think he'd sign my hat in lipstick?"
"Really, Sally? You too?" asked Daphne, exasperation dripping from her voice.
"I'm getting his autograph. - said Ron. - You haven't got a quill, have you, Harry?"
"Nope, they're upstairs in my bag," said Harry, offering an apologetic look to Ron as he and Hermione split and walked over to the Gryffindor table.
The students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang sat at the black table, with the Choristers having a nice chat with the French students… Was French part of their curriculum? Sister Isobel did seem rather proficient in it…
The Durmstrang students were pulling off their heavy furs, revealing their deep crimson red military-looking uniforms underneath, and looked impressed at the starry black ceiling. Up at the staff table, Filch was adding five chairs.
The students settled down at their House tables, followed by the staff and, last in line, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, Sister Isobel, Nadurrachd Uninnseann and Madame Maxime.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and, most particularly, guests. - said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. - I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast, but for now I invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"
He sat down, and Harry saw Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation. The plates in front of them filled with more elaborate food than usual, adding a greater variety of dishes than Harry had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.
Halfway through the dinner, the doors of the Great Hall swung open, revealing three figures making their ways to the three empty chairs at the staff table. Harry and Theo paled, exchanging a worried look to each other.
"Who's that guy walking with Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch?" asked one of the Slytherins within earshot of Harry.
"Zettler…"
The voice was barely a whisper on Harry's lips, but was loud enough to be heard by Sally.
"THAT is Sir Harold Zettler?"
The name soon spread among the students like wildfire, staring at the man wearing a heavy brown leather coat over a doublet held together by a number of belt straps and empty holsters, his bald head and scar covered by a wide captain hat. Harry remembered seeing that particular outfit: the vampire claimed it belonged to a witch hunter during Salem's witch trials. At first Harry had thought it was a spoil of war taken from an enemy, but now… He wouldn't be surprised to learn that Harold Zettler had worked as a witch hunter in the past. He frowned, knowing that his domitor had picked that particular outfit on purpose. He glanced at the staff table, frowning when he realized that Sister Isobel and Professor Binns seemed to be the only ones to recognize the significance of the vampire's outfit choice. Or at the very least, they were the only ones to show any reaction to it.
"Sir Zettler, I have been waiting for years to finally meet you. I heard so much about you." said Dumbledore, shaking the vampire's unusually cold hand.
"Only good things, I hope."
"Of course, of course. Would you like to sit? Our house elves have prepared a great feast for the occasion."
"That sounds lovely, headmaster. Unfortunately, I think I won't be able to enjoy much of the banquet. Between various meetings, inspections, jet lag and a particularly unfortunate encounter with a Scavenger Bane about two hours ago, I think my stomach wouldn't be able to hold its content."
Dumbledore nodded, remembering his own experiences with Spirits and how nasty the consequences of an encounter could be. The headmaster introduced Zettler to the staff, most of which the vampire claimed to know by reputation already thanks to Harry's letters.
"If you don't mind me asking, Sir Zettler - finally asked Professor Binns when he was introduced to the vampire. - How come you opted to wear such a… peculiar outfit? I am sure a man of your intellect knows of its historical origins."
"Of course, professor. I wouldn't have expected anything less from such an esteemed scholar of history. You don't need to worry about my outfit. - Zettler turned his head towards Ludo Bagman, sending the wizard an icy glare. - It is merely a reminder for a certain ministry employee that without my sponsorship this tournament wouldn't have taken place at all."
Ludo chuckled nervously, unable to meet the glare of the vampire, trying to start a conversation with a rather uninterested Uninnseann.
Breaking his glare, Sir Zettler smiled at the ghost, his canines well hidden under centuries of practice. "As you can see, professor, you have nothing to worry about. I apologize if I have re-awakened unpleasant memories."
"And you zo not think that there waz a more proper way to exprez thiz message?" asked Madame Maxime, clearly dissatisfied.
"I believe that the most proper method of delivery is the one that makes the recipient remember the message, französische schlampe."
Karkaroff coughed, half choking on his wine as he heard the last sentence.
"Professor Karkaroff, please! Be careful with that wine!" said Zettler, sitting next to the foreign professor and ignoring the hateful glare Madam Maxime was sending his way.
"So… Sir Zettler… - started Professor Burbage, trying to change the topic . - Are you enjoying Britain? From what I understand, you're American, right?"
"Quite so, Miss Burbage. I do think Scotland is quite beautiful, even though it doesn't hold a candle to my beloved Deutsches Vaterland. From what I heard you have been the first to start using our products in your class… Do you find them satisfactory?"
"Oh, they've been magnificent, sir. That projector your clerk recommended is by far the best purchase I've ever made in my teaching career."
The vampire nodded in approval.
"I am pleased to hear that, professor. I was wondering whether some of your seventh year students might be interested in a small internship in our shop? We will soon open new branches of Power Potter's across Europe and are in desperate need for qualified workers."
The professor seemed to beam with delight.
"Of course, sir! That seems like a wonderful idea! Perhaps we can talk about it… tomorrow morning?"
Zettler shook his head. "Terribly sorry, but I'm afraid my body still works on an American clock. Knowing myself, I'll have a very difficult time falling asleep and will most likely be out of commission from dawn to dusk. Perhaps we can have that conversation after this feast? Or maybe tomorrow at dinner?"
Once the plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again, a pleasant tension filling the Hall.
"The moment has come. The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket…"
"The what?" asked Sally, blinking as to make sure she hard it correctly.
"... just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and Sir Harold Zettler, representing Power Potter's and acting as the main sponsor for the event."
There was a loud round of applause for the trio.
"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament - Dumbledore continued - and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, Sister Isobel, Nadurrachd Uninnseann and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."
"Wait, the bards and the chorists have their own judges?" asked a surprised Theo.
"You think they'll participate?" asked Daphne.
"I mean… it would make sense."
Their little discussion was interrupted by Dumbledore.
"The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."
Filch, who had been lurking in a far corner of the Hall, approached Dumbledore carrying an extremely old wooden chest encrusted with jewels.
"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways: their magical prowess, their daring, their powers of deduction and, of course, their ability to cope with danger. Now, normally only three champions compete in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. However, due to certain… unexpected reunions, it has been decided to allow one additional member from both the Celestial Chorus and the Bardic College."
"FUCKIN CALLED IT!" shouted Blair, jumping on the table, fist raised in the air.
"Yes, Mr. Stuart, thank you for expressing your enthusiasm. - There were a few chuckles as Dumbledore cleared his throat. - The champions will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore took out his wand and tapped the casket, causing the lid to creak open, revealing a large, roughly hewn wooden cup, emitting jets of multicolored flames from within. "Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the five it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete."
"To ensure that only wizards and witches of age participate." interjected Sister Isobel. "Every judge will be placing their own protection spell, ensuring no foul play from anyone's part. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to enter their names and we will not be held responsible for those stupid enough to injure themselves in the process."
Barty Crouch stood up, his stern voice echoing through the hall with all the authority he could muster.
"I wish to impress upon any of you that this tournament is not to be entered lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see it through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet."
"Well, there goes your chance at participating, Harry. As if tricking Dumbledore wasn't enough, you gotta bypass the protections placed by all of the judges. Why don't you just give up?" asked Theo.
"I can't. Not with Sir Zettler here. I have to at least make an attempt."
"What if you get injured?"
Harry shrugged "Then I'll have an excuse for when Sir Zettler complains that I wasn't picked."
"Ok… so, how are you going to do it?"
"I was thinking of not writing a school name on the paper. That should disqualify me from the tournament, right?"
Daphne pondered the suggestion. "That's… not a bad idea, actually. If you don't have a school, you can't be picked, after all."
"Ok… but how do you put your name in?"
Harry frowned. "Well… that's what I need your help with."
Notes
New chapter! And new story, hopefully that's going to fix the issues with chapters 41-45 dissapearing
Mysteries abound! What is going on with Jericho Greengrass's family tree? What's the deal with the werewolves?
Zettler shows up in person wearing a witch hunter costume is... very extra, but I think it fits a Malkavian quite well. He's unhinged, but there's a method to his insanity, as one would expect from someone who has survived that long and was able to reach his position. And, as expected, he exploits the situation to strenghten his grip on wizarding britain, one seemingly innocent step at a time: offering internships at his shop opens up a door to eventually start offering suggestions regarding the Muggle Studies curriculum...
Why no one suspect Zettler to be a vampire? Because Zettler doesn't act anything like what they would expect a vampire to act... or dress, for that matter. Zettler isn't a fang-flashing creature that stalks dark alleys during a moonless night, he's american millionaire who just happens to have certain... excenticities.
I decided to make Harry's participation a bit more involved. The fact they let someone who couldn't and didn't want to partecipate always struck me as a pretty massive plot hole, so I decided to make my own twist with it. You already knew Harry was going to get picked, but this time it is a bit more nuanced. Stay tuned for next week to see how the champion selection changes