Unforeseen Trials (Completed)

The Bulgarian Ministry had fallen overnight.

That was the headline greeting the student body on the morning of September 21st.

A small group of Death Eaters, led by Bellatrix Lestrange, had infiltrated the Bulgarian Ministry in the heart of Sofia, leading a surprisingly bloodless coup.

"They must have had inside help." Terry muttered from next to him.

Harry agreed, wondering how Bulgaria's star seeker would take the news.

While nobody was entirely sure where Durmstrang was, he did know that most of Bulgaria's magical population attended the school if they could afford to, and Krum definitely fell into that category.

The surprisingly large Viktor Krum seemed to always have a scowl on his face in pictures, and he was curious for the opportunity to observe him in person later that evening.

He caught Daphne's eyes for a second and she glanced slightly towards Nott.

The look was obvious to him by now, she had been pushing for him to branch out and meet new people, and while he had found her constant comments on the topic annoying, he had brought it upon himself.

He could hardly blame her for making breakfast plans for the pair of them and Nott for Saturday, he just wished she hadn't made a commitment until asking him first.

"How do you think the Bulgarians will react?" He asked Terry.

' When in doubt, ask Terry.'

The boy just shrugged; "she's not a Bulgarian, I doubt she'll get what she wants. Nobody likes a foreign invader."

Harry would disagree with that - remembering a comment he once overheard his uncle make to his cousin about Paris welcoming German invaders with open arms.

Boot browsed the paper for a few more minutes; "it looks like Nott sent Crouch as an emissary."

He frowned; 'what does Lestrange accomplish by taking over Bulgaria?'

It didn't make sense, they had granted her exile in the country for the past year, there was no need for her to take such a risk.

He sighed and returned to his breakfast, taking the opportunity to glance around the great hall.

"What the hell is between those two?" Harry groaned as he saw Goldstein catch Malfoy's eye briefly."

"The Malfoy family just invested in his father's business, it has elevated their status."

Harry shot Terry a confused look.

"Why would he do that?"

Terry shrugged; "for the same reason they do anything - influence."

An annoyed look came across his face. "What is it with everyone trying to gain influence?"

The brunette boy gave him a perplexed look. "What do you mean?"

"Between you, Lily, and Daphne it seems like the only thing that matters in this world is who you know; shouldn't something matter more than that?

Boot snorted. "You're so naive."

Harry felt his temper rising and began to formulate a comeback when Terry cut him off.

"Ideas should matter more than personal agendas or owing favors. But that's not human nature. We want what we want - how we get it doesn't matter, and legitimate channels are slow. It's much easier to get legislation through the Wizengamot if someone owes you a few favors."

"Corruption? That's the only way to get things passed?"

Terry formulated his response carefully.

"Some of it is corruption - Malfoy has been known to buy votes - but most of it is coalition. Every member of the Wizengamot is part of one. Malfoy has his, so does Dumbledore. There are some other smaller factions as well."

The fourth year Ravenclaw paused for a second to take a sip of tea.

"Coalitions are about finding a group of like-minded individuals and banding together to accomplish the goals of the coalition. You won't always agree with each other on the details, but you fight for the same goal."

He didn't like it but couldn't deny that it seemed to make the best of a difficult situation - "pragmatism." He stated bluntly. "Building a coalition you can count on is about being pragmatic."

Terry nodded his head. "Exactly."

Harry could live with being pragmatic, even if he didn't like it.

Gabrielle sipped her coffee slowly, only half paying attention to her older sister yammer on about her perceived rivals within Beauxbatons.

Despite being several hours from Hogwarts, Fleur was the picture of perfection - her flawless silver hair tied back in a perfect bun, highlighting her avian features while the Beauxbatons crest proudly adorned her breast.

Unlike her sister, Gabrielle's honey-blonde hair flowed loosely down past her breasts and to her belly-button as she relaxed in a light-blue robe - a gift from her mother for her birthday a few months earlier.

The pair were striking, even for those of veela heritage.

It was a myth that all veela were beautiful, sexual creatures, the ultimate femme fatale's.

Patrice - her cow of a cousin - was proof of that.

While most looked better than your average witch, they had minimal ability to actually control their targets.

Rather, veela have the ability to elevate their targets dopamine and norepinephrine levels on command, filling them with excitement and temporary desire.

The rest was genetics and hard work.

"Fleur!" She interrupted the older girl's ramblings.

Her sister shut her cute mouth instantly and their father's beautiful, stormy blue eyes - a trait shared by both sisters - stared questioningly into her own.

"You're the obvious choice for champion. Everyone knows that; even Mathieu doesn't truly believe himself to be your equal."

And it was true. Fleur excelled in anything that caught her fancy - much to her own chagrin.

Her sister let out a sigh and cleared any vulnerability from her face.

The confident witch eyed her cockily. "Of course, dear sister." Fleur said with a smile. "But sometimes I need the reassurance."

The sisters sat quietly for a long while, both enjoying the English countryside below their carriage before Fleur dismissed herself, leaving her to her own thoughts.

Shaking herself from her revelry, Gabrielle refilled her espresso and began the laborious process of styling her hair and getting ready for their imminent arrival.

' Maybe just a touch of makeup?'

She hesitated; Gabrielle Marie Delacour did not use makeup, she would not stoop to the level of the average witch.

The door behind her creaked as she was finishing her bun, leaving a strand of twirling honey on either side of her face, drawing attention to her own stormy blue eyes.

She sighed internally. 'How many times do I have to tell them?'

Schooling her features, she adorned her face with a smile, greeting each girl with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Marcie, Amelie!" She greeted kindly, deciding to let the rude entry pass; "you both look magnifique !" She said, accentuating her French accent at the end just like she had practiced.

Each girl blushed lightly, and she counted it as a victory; as a personal policy - she had kept her abilities completely to herself, allowing her personality to shine through.

"And Amelie! I saw you saunter onto the carriages with much more confidence, you look absolutely incredible this year!"

The dark-haired girl with thick curly locks and violet eyes turned a darker shade of red. Amelie, she had heard, had spent the entire summer with a personal trainer, rumor had it she had a crush on Jacque, the charming fifth year quidditch captain.

If the stares her keeper was sending Amelie's way was any indication, then her hard work had paid off.

She turned to Marcie, the strawberry blonde she had literally known her entire life.

According to the registry, the pair were born a mere four minutes apart in the same hospital in Marseilles, where they had apparently enjoyed sharing a crib.

Gabrielle got a loyal best friend that day, while the Beaucourt's finally became relevant in French society.

She held the slightly older girls hands a little longer, knowing her friend relished the contact.

Beautiful Marcie; smart, charming, and loyal. Everything Fleur had been looking for in a friend her entire life, Gabrielle had always had.

The honey-blonde had always felt guilty that she hadn't ever been able to reciprocate her friends love.

"Will you be guarding my flank in this silly little tournament?"

Marcie let out a pretty laugh at the ridiculous statement.

In second year, in an attempt to impress a boy - Marcie had convinced them both to try out for the quidditch team.

While Gabrielle had made the team as a chaser, much to her own surprise, Marcie had broken the target of her affections arm with a bludger, effectively ending any chance she may have had.

That was also the day Marcie began to focus almost entirely on finance - leveraging her relationship with Gabrielle Delacour to foster a working relationship with Gabriel Delacour. A relationship her father says would pay off dividends in the future.

A future Marcie would never have realized without her help.

The trio chatted amicably as they began their descent over Scotland.

"Are you excited, Gabrielle?" Marcie began, her English coming out in a thick, French accent.

She smiled at the progress her friend had made over the past year, and with only the faintest French accent of her own replied; "Hogwarts is said to be beautiful." She said with a soft smile.

"I've heard Harry Potter is also beautiful." Marcie said, her voice containing only the slightest hint of suggestion.

She frowned - that was a confidential conversation.

Gabrielle subtly flashed her eyes from Marcie to Amelie and back at Marcie before shaking her head slightly.

To her relief, Marcie picked up on the gesture, and let the conversation turn to other topics.

' Damn you Marcie!' She thought to herself as they waited to enter the great hall; her eyes landing on a head of messy black hair chatting idly to an athletically built blonde.

The attractive girl radiated a dangerous confidence as she chatted amicably with Harry and several others.

' She reminds me of Fleur.' Gabrielle thought to herself with a frown as she watched those speaking to Daphne Greengrass approach with a timid caution.

The girl oozed an attractive sense of danger that she had only ever seen in her older sister.

' Maybe I should have worn a touch of makeup?' She thought as she continued to study the girl.

As if she knew she was being looked at, Daphne Greengrass caught her eyes, cockily raising an eyebrow before leaning in and placing a tender kiss on her boyfriend's lips.

Oblivious to the powerplay unfolding a few meters away, Harry leaned into her happily, continuing his conversation with a pale, black-haired witch.

Returning her focus to their well-choreographed entrance, she dipped and twirled past the Hogwarts student body and into the great hall.

After a quick applause, the Hogwarts and Durmstrang contingents took their seats - she idly noticed that Durmstrang - led by Viktor Krum - was heading towards the table of the snake, not too far from a scowling Daphne Greengrass.

With a smirk, she realized that her year mates were taking their cues from her.

Gabrielle caught Fleur's eyes and flickered them towards the blue and bronze table.

As Fleur sat down, Gabrielle gathered her nerves, catching Harry's attention in the process.

With more confidence than she felt, she walked confidently towards the end of the table towards Harry and his book-wormish looking friend, and politely interrupted their light conversation.

"Is anybody sitting here?"

Harry met her eyes with a bright smile; "it's great to see you again, Gabrielle."

Terry observed the greeting from behind his glasses, taking in Gabrielle Delacour and her small group of friends.

' I wonder how much of this she has planned out?' He thought to himself as the small contingent got to know each other better.

' I wonder if Harry is aware of any of this?' He watched as the part veela laid her long fingers across his wrist, massaging his knuckles with a well-manicured fingertip.

Harry seemed to understand the situation more than Terry had thought; that much he was sure of as he clumsily rejected some - but not all of the other girl's advances.

Coming to a snap decision, he turned around searching out Daphne's green eyes, catching them a second later.

He let the moment pass, conveying his message to her as best he could.

When Daphne turned away a few seconds later, he returned his attention to where it belonged; the enchanting Marcie Beaucourt, who was finishing up a wonderful story about her summer in Palma.

He enjoyed another link of sausage as he eyed the couple across from him nervously.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Lord Potter."

The boy in question, predictably, rolled his eyes. "I'm not a Lord, Nott, and neither are you."

Potter's response was neither firm nor relaxed.

Theodore Nott would take that.

He had been planning for this meeting all week and had thought he had been prepared.

Then Bellatrix Lestrange took down a foreign government and all of a sudden, his father was under added scrutiny.

Octavius Nott had no intentions of being a puppet in the Dark Lord's quest for power.

"What do you want, Theodore?"

Potters voice was still cautious, but contained a slight warmth to it, causing him to relax slightly.

For days he had rehearsed this moment; he had planned on slowly easing into the conversation, allowing the three of them to get to know each other over breakfast before getting to the point.

It's what his father would have done.

But in that moment, Theodore took a chance and followed his gut.

"Between the four of us in this room, we have direct influence over four of the twenty-eight votes in the Wizengamot. If we recruit your friend Boot, that gives us five votes and direct access to both the Chief Warlock and the Minister of Magic."

Greengrass was the first to interrupt him; "what's your point, Nott? We are all fourth years at Hogwarts, none of us attend meetings. Like I told you a few days ago, you overestimate our power."

Daphne Greengrass intimidated him when she held a wand in her hand; but in a battle of wits over breakfast, he was confident in his own abilities - at least against Greengrass.

"Your father obviously knows and approves of your relationship with Potter; he will at least listen to what Potter has to say, Potter, in turn, can control his own proxy while whispering in his godfather's ear; let's not forget that Black nominated Boot and spurred Dumbledore publicly; he's clearly willing to think for himself."

It was Harry who spoke up.

"My godfather votes my proxy with very little input from me, I tend to focus on school. And while Sirius, and to a much lesser extent Alfred, will entertain my input, they are both very independent men. If you're goal is to control the government through a Hogwarts coalition then you've wasted my time."

Harry was blunt and using a mocking tone.

He was clearly losing this battle.

' Should have stuck with the plan, Theo!' He admonished himself before taking a bite of his omelet.

"Of course not. But between us we have enough eyes and ears across the world that exchanging information could be greatly beneficial."

The couple exchanged a look before Daphne spoke up.

"How do we know you don't support Voldemort?"

He refused to flinch at the name.

"You only have the word of me and my father."

The pair scowled, but he just smiled.

"How about some information then?"

He had their attention, and he knew just what to say to draw Daphne in.

"Bellatrix Lestrange has a spy in Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy, and in turn Draco, is desperate to discover who it is."

A cascade of emotions passed over the pretty face of Daphne Greengrass in that moment; disbelief, confusion, anger, and hatred before finally settling on a deadly calm.

"And how do you know this?"

"My father told me." He answered honestly. "He tells me lots of things."

Harry appraised him.

"That means nothing without proof, Nott."

Theo took a sip of tea; "the spy killed Flitwick and has been feeding information about you to Bellatrix Lestrange and the other Death Eaters hell-bent on seeing the Dark Lord return."

Harry and Daphne shared a silent conversation before Harry turned his attention back to him.

A frown passed over Potter, and he sighed; "watch Malfoy, and anyone else you may think supports Voldemort in your house. We'll meet here again next Saturday."

"Antonin!" She screamed over a stack of parchment as she massaged her temples.

It had been three days since her small group of compatriots had taken over the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic, and she was starting to believe that the cons outweighed the pros.

But orders were orders.

The sallow, clean-cut man appeared in her office several seconds later.

"Yes, minister." The bastard greeted sarcastically.

She let out a frustrated growl but pushed forward.

"How are Sykoran and Trebsky taking our proposals?"

The younger man frowned; "it's Sykora and Trovsky" and they'll live with them, for now; but don't expect there to be any long-term support on their end."

"We'll see about that." She said more to herself as she knocked over her tea kettle.

' Shit.'

"PETRA!" She yelled.

Several seconds later a frightened looking young girl with black hair entered her office timidly carrying a new tea kettle.

She didn't miss the hungry look Antonin gave her, and for a brief second, she pitied the girls fate.

' Men.' She thought with disgust.

"Well, Antonin. We'll have to have them sit down with our lord when he is back to his old health."

Dolohov smiled cruelly, and despite herself she shuttered.

Antonin Dolohov was as fanatical and cruel as she was, but Azkaban had robbed him of his sanity; making him unhinged and unpredictable.

Once upon a time the handsome man had made a terrific lover; but that was before the insanity.

"Is he there?" She added suddenly, changing the topic.

The man pursed his lips into something resembling a smile; "he should be."

With a nod of her head and a cruel smile, she disappeared from her office with a *pop* reappearing at the south end of Georgi Rakovski Street.

She peered into the dingy, unnamed bar and saw her brother-in-law sitting at his usual place, several cards in one hand, a fresh drink in the other.

' Disgusting.' She thought to herself.

Of the two brothers, Rodolphus had always been the smart one; adapt at politicking and investing - the man had fashioned himself as a younger Lucius.

With him gone there was nothing stopping Rabastan from pissing away the Lestrange fortune.

' And we can't have that.'

She twisted her face into a cruel smile and cast a disillusionment charm on herself, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

She didn't have to wait long.

Barely a quarter of an hour later, Rabastan stood up, placing both arms on the wall of the bar to steady himself as he did so.

' He deserves a harsher death than he'll get.'

She watched patiently as the drunken man made his way to the washroom in the corner.

Silently she froze a puddle of liquid outside the door, hoping for the best.

Bellatrix watched patiently as her husband's brother staggered closer to the washroom; stopping periodically to yell at various patrons.

' This isn't going to work without some help.' She sighed to herself. Bellatrix Lestrange did not like it when her plans didn't work out as planned.

' Time for plan b.'

Bellatrix raised her wand again, hitting Rabastan with an imperius curse.

The man fought briefly, but his inebriated state didn't give him the mental capacity needed to throw her off.

She guided the man outside with ease, leading him into an alley.

' Why not?'

She thought to herself, removing her disillusionment charm while simultaneously sobering Rabastan up and petrifying him.

As he fell to the ground she removed a silver dagger that had been gifted to her by Count Alaric.

In that moment she saw a flash of realization, followed by terror cross her victims face.

The combination of emotions turned her on.

With a cruel smile she slowly moved the sharp silver across Rabastan's femoral artery, watching the dark red blood flow from the wound.

' Maybe I should give him to Marcel?' She thought for a second.

The old necromancer would undoubtedly appreciate the gift, but he had more important things to work on.

' Best not to distract him.'

Deciding to stick to her plan, Bellatrix Lestrange casually left her brother-in-law to die alone in a dark alley.

She let out a deep sigh as she watched the students hustle around Hogsmeade, trying to fit in as much as they could in their final hour in the little town outside of Hogwarts.

"At least it's warm out." Septima said to herself as she checked her watch one more time.

' 45 minutes. 45 minutes and I'll have an hour to get ready.'

She frowned - normally the runes professor needed at least 90 minutes to make herself presentable, but tonight she'd have to impress Sirius with only an hour to spare.

"Excuse me." A delicate, French voice said from behind her.

Turning on her heel, the brunette was greeted by a beautiful French woman with long, silver-blonde hair.

' Must be that Delacour girls sister.'

She smiled warmly at the small group of French witches, paying attention to how they all seemed to hover around the beauty in front of her.

She offered the girl a wide-smile; "how can I help you."

The once confident younger witch broke eye contact, choosing to observe the scene behind her instead of looking at her directly.

"We noticed you are a Hogwarts professor, and we were hoping you could direct us back to the castle."

As if on autopilot she spit out directions; more interested in the pair of redheads exiting Zonko's with several loaded bags. One of them caught her eye, offering her an exaggerated wink, causing her to nearly roll her own.

' Those two will never learn.' She thought with an amused smile.

Just that week the young professor had caught the pair setting a trap for anyone walking into the Great Hall - confiscating a large amount of contraband in the process.

Finished with her explanation, she turned her attention back to the girl in front of her, who had been left alone by her friends, and was now eying her curiously.

"You are the head of Ravenclaw House, yes?"

Following her gut, Septima offered the girl her hand. "Professor Septima Vector."

"Fleur Delacour." The younger witch replied.

"What is it you want to know about my house, Miss Delacour?"

She blushed prettily, and Septima offered her a coy smile, but said nothing.

"Harry Potter is in that house, yes?"

She gave Delacour an appraising look.

' Don't tell me she's interested in Harry as well?'

"Harry Potter is one of my students, yes."

The shorter girl fidgeted with her fingers for a second.

"Is he dangerous? I've heard rumors that he is dangerous."

Septima took a minute to formulate a response, her gaze drifting to a hushed conversation between Draco Malfoy and Anthony Goldstein.

' Interesting.' She thought to herself, vowing to keep a closer eye on the pair.

Taking her silence as anger, Fleur quickly added; "it's just that we have all read the Daily Prophet, and we know he was a dueling champion last year and is in advanced classes. My sister is interested in him, and I need to know if I should be worried."

"Oh yes, Harry Potter is likely the most dangerous student in the school." She added truthfully; between daily lessons with Tonks, and his continued practice with Daphne, there was no doubt in Septima Vectors mind that Harry Potter was a deadly young man.

"But you don't have to worry about your sister. He's harmless as long as you're not hurling spells at him or his friends."

Her response seemed to placate the girl, and Septima barely noticed when the she silently walked off towards the castle. Her eyes were still on the pair of students in front of her, whispering quietly about something or another.

Knowing what she must do, she turned on her heel and followed the swaying hips of Fleur Delacour back to the castle. There were some things more important than guarding Hogsmeade.

He stood up, perhaps a little too quickly out of nervousness, straightening his simple, yet elegant back dress robes out of habit as he entered the formal dining room.

"You look…" His breath hitched as he took in the angel in front of him.

' Did she know?' He thought to himself as he drank in what his girlfriend was wearing.

Septima had gone all-out in a form-fitting violet gown adorned with small diamonds along the collar, accenting her body in all the right places.

"… radiant." He finished breathlessly with a slight smile.

Septima responded with a shy smile of her own as she twirled her thick, brown hair on a fingertip.

"You don't look so bad yourself, Sirius Black." She said softly as he helped her take a seat.

"Lumpy!" The head of House Black called out politely, summoning a healthy-looking elf in a fine uniform.

In a moment of wisdom, he had decided against a grandiose night on the town, preferring instead to order in from one of Whisper Alley's premier restaurants.

"A bottle of Domaine Leroy Richebourg Grand Cru 1949, please."

' I hope Moony knows his wines.' He thought nervously.

His girlfriend raised a well-manicured eyebrow at him, shooting him a look of faux surprise.

"Sirius Black when did you become so cultured?"

He was saved from answering as Lumpy chose that second to return with the full-bodied Pinot Noir, pouring them each a generous glass before quietly disappearing.

Seeming to sense his nervousness, Septima kept the conversation light as they enjoyed their salad, finishing off their first bottle of wine before ordering a bottle of Cheval Blanc 1947 St-Emilion to pair with the main course.

It was hard for him to focus as he toyed with the box sitting absentmindedly in his pocket.

It had taken him 4 trips to Gringotts, in three countries before he had been able to find the perfect ring sitting in a vault in Belgium.

' When do I do it?' He thought nervously to himself as he began to sip on his third glass of wine.

He thought back to what James had said after his own, drunken proposal had almost gone off the rails.

" Make sure you can annunciate without slurring." His friend had warned him.

He frowned and subtly pushed his glass of wine to the corner. At the time he had found James's advice to be hilarious, some fifteen years later he had come to see them as prophetic.

' Fuck it.' He thought to himself. 'It's now or never.'

He smiled softly at Septima Vector, slowly removing the box from his pocket and getting down on one knee.

He swore Septima was smirking in amusement at his nervousness as she quietly stood up.

"Septima Ann Vector." He said, slowly opening the box to reveal a single sapphire surrounded by a smattering of diamonds on a white-gold band.

"Will you marry me?" He rushed the last part, knowing if he said it too slow the words may never come out.

For an agonizingly slow moment Septima stood their smiling at him.

"Of course, Sirius Orion Black. It's about time."

Sirius exhaled heavily, placing the ring on his fiancée's finger before catching her with a passionate kiss as she led him out of the dining room.

"Hmm?" He sighed, his eyes still shut as he rested his head in Daphne's lap.

The couple was spending an enjoyable Saturday afternoon watching a pickup quidditch game.

Harry felt her fingers run through his untamed black hair as she repeated herself.

"I said, it's amazing how quidditch brings people together."

She smelt of roses and sweat as he slowly opened his eyes, taking a moment to watch Fred Weasley swat a bludger away from Viktor Krum.

He shrugged; "none of our differences matter when it comes to team competition." Harry agreed, not bothering to try and sit up.

He was sore and tired - the result of the daunting schedule he had been sticking to since the beginning of the year.

Daphne gazed down at him with a smile, the sun shimmering off her white-blonde locks, causing him to squint as he tried to look into her eyes.

"When do we learn who's on Hogwarts dueling team?" Daphne asked as she continued to pet his hair as if he were a dog.

He shut his eyes again, a small smile gracing his lips.

"Septima told me we would find out before the champions were announced."

The couple went silent for a moment, taking the time to enjoy each other's company as Katie Bell slipped a bludger past the French Keeper.

Both he and Daphne had been operating under the assumption that they would be chosen to represent Hogwarts fourth year students.

"Do you think there is anyone at Durmstrang of Beauxbatons who can challenge us?"

He frowned internally - Daphne tended to assume she was the best.

"I'm sure they have plenty of competent duelers." He countered.

Sitting up slowly, Harry caught site of a laughing Terry Boot with his arm around an attractive French witch he knew as Gabrielle's friend Marcie.

Watching them closer, he saw the strawberry blonde point to a corner of the pitch where Gabrielle stood with her broom, ready to sub in as a chaser for one of the two teams.

From the corner of his eye he saw Daphne's eye twitch slightly as she caught site of the French veela. Although the blonde witch would never admit it, he had noticed how much she seemed to dislike his beautiful French friend - and appreciated that she seemed to trust him - at least to the extent where he was able to have a conversation with Gabrielle without having to worry.

' For now.' He thought to himself.

"Come on." He said, suddenly standing up and offering his girlfriend his hand.

The blonde witch gave him a questioning look but followed him out of the quidditch stands anyways.

Ducking behind the stands, he quickly cast a disillusionment charm on the both of them.

"What are we doing?" Daphne asked in curiosity.

"You'll see." He said, grabbing her soft hand and leading her away from the quidditch pitch towards Hogsmeade.

"We're going to Hogsmeade?" She exclaimed, excitement evident in her voice at the thought of breaking up the monotony.

"You'll see." He said, smirking from beneath his disillusionment charm.

The truth was, Harry had no idea what they were doing, or where they were going - he just knew that they needed a few hours away from the castle, and he had the means to make that happen.

The pair walked hand-in-hand along the winding path for several minutes, stopping in front of the Shrieking Shack.

"What are we doing?" Daphne asked as she dispelled their disillusionment charm.

"I thought we could escape for a few hours."

She offered him a brilliant smile as he wrapped her in a tight hug, apparating them away a second later with a soft *pop.*

The couple re-appeared a half-second later outside of the small cafe he and Sirius regularly ate at in Whisper Alley.

"I figured we could grab some lunch and wander around for a bit."

She pulled him close, giving him a quick peck on the lips through her smile.

"I'd like that."

The couple quickly grabbed a table and placed their order with a waiter who eyed them suspiciously but said nothing about the presence of two fourth-year Hogwarts students randomly appearing at his restaurant on an October Saturday.

"Who do you think the champions will be?" He asked Daphne - the girl was much more observant than he was.

She chewed a bite of her salad slowly before wiping a splatter of ranch dressing from the side of her mouth.

"Durmstrang will be Krum or Petr Federov." She said speculatively.

"Krum?" He questioned - the man was a brilliant Seeker but didn't seem all that studious.

She shrugged. "It depends on what Karkaroff thinks will be best for his school - winning or receiving positive publicity."

While he knew nothing about Federov, he did know that Durmstrang would receive a lot more coverage with international quidditch superstar Viktor Krum as their champion.

"Beauxbatons champion will be Fleur Delacour." Daphne said with confidence.

"Why?" He asked, more curious as to what Daphne knew than worried about the possibly sensitive topic.

"She's brilliant. At everything." His girlfriend replied a tinge of respect lacing her voice. "She's a prodigy when it comes to charms, and the French media would consider it a failure if she didn't win. She has more pressure on her than just about anyone."

Harry took a bite of his sandwich instead of responding, allowing his girlfriend to continue uninterrupted.

"Our champion could be anyone - but I'd wager it being either Cedric Diggory or Angelina Johnson."

Harry thought about those two names for a moment; both were top of their class, champion duelers, and respectable quidditch players.

Despite that the possibility of either one of them representing Hogwarts left him severely underwhelmed.

"I'd be a better choice than either of those two." He responded confidently.

Daphne favored him with another smile, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "You'd win the tournament outright, Harry. I have no doubt about that."

The praise made him smile, and he couldn't help but be amazed at how far they had come.

Thinking back to something she had said to him in their second year, he smiled.

"I'm just glad I became a worthy opponent for you."

The couple enjoyed the rest of their lunch exchanging meaningless banter before he paid the bill and took off towards Monument Park.

"Let's stop here!" Daphne said excitedly a few blocks later, pulling him into a cramped clothing store.

Various mannequins showed off a number of gowns and expensive-looking dress robes that Madam Turney had displayed in her tiny shop.

"Madam Turney is the best seamstress in Britain!" She said with an uncharacteristically girlish squeal.

"Why thank you, my dear."

The pair spun around to be greeted by a middle-aged witch with reddish-gray hair.

Not entirely sure what separated Turney from Malkin, Harry decided to take the safe route and agree with his girlfriend; "but why are we here?"

Daphne smiled at him sweetly; "as long as we're hear I figured now would be the perfect time to have our robes made for the Yule Ball."

He was pleasantly surprised Daphne had brought the ball up - saving him from thinking of an appropriate way to ask her to be his date.

Relief must've shown on his face, because both woman laughed.

The trio chatted amicably as various instruments took their measurements and Daphne picked out their material, motioning for him to pay the lady upon completion.

"I will send these up to Hogwarts in a few days, my dear." Turney said to Daphne with a fond smile. "Please tell Victoria that we must grab drinks again sometime soon, it's been too long."

His girlfriend smiled, and in a rare display of affection offered the seamstress a brief hug.

"I will, Matilda."

Walking out of the shop he noticed the sun was beginning to sink behind the trees of Monument Park.

"How do you know Madam Turney?" He asked as they began to walk back towards the apparition point.

"She went to school with my grandmother." Daphne said with a sad smile; "she used to babysit my mother as a child - I've known her my whole life."

They walked in a slow silence for several minutes, not wanting the impromptu date to end as they approached the cafe they had lunch at, both satisfied with the way they spent their Saturday.

Marcel DuPont hummed softly to himself as he made his way through the heavy Saturday morning crowd.

Taking a left onto Las Ramblas, the elder necromancer picked up his pace.

' It wouldn't do me any good to keep Riddle waiting.'

The French wizard hung another left, making his way through the crowded muggle market, as he approached the back, he dipped into a small butcher shop, feeling a warmth pass through his body as he did so.

Heading through the double-doors at the back of the shop, he removed his wand, quickly undoing the transfiguration to his robes.

"Marcel."

The cold voice came from someone unseen in the corner, and the old wizard took a second to orientate himself before shifting his gaze.

"Voldemort." He chanced, daring to use the Dark Lords taken name.

From the corner the man undid his disillusionment charm, and Marcel took a moment to evaluate the man in front of him.

Sallow skin clung to a sickly figure, the hosts hazel eyes contained large specs of red, while a black robe hung loosely off his body.

"Your host is dying." He pointed out the obvious, hoping the Dark Lord would forgo the small talk and get to the point.

"Yes." A bored voice responded. "That's why you're here."

Marcel DuPont exhaled and conjured himself a comfortable looking chair.

"But why here?"

"Catalonia is beautiful this time of year." Was the dark lord's bored response. "And I need your advice." Riddle said, ignoring his question about geography.

He raised a grey eyebrow at that; the man hadn't asked for his advice since he was still known as Tom Riddle.

The wise, old necromancer let a small smile grace his lips; "is this about restoring your body?"

The face of Bartemius Crouch frowned; Voldemort hated asking for advice, and he really hated being asked the obvious.

"Stop asking the obvious, Marcel, or I'll kill you myself." The voice was more tired than threatening, they both knew that in his current state the dark lord couldn't touch him.

"But yes, I admit horcruxes fall into your area of expertise."

DuPont contemplated his next words carefully; "I assume you already have the necessary supplies to complete the ritual?"

"Blood of the enemy," he knew, Voldemort would have to acquire in the moment, but the rest could be acquired ahead of time.

"It has."

"Then what is your question?"

The ornery dark lord eyed him harshly for a few seconds, before seemingly swallowing his pride.

' If I ever need a patronus…'

"I lack humanity in my current state." Voldemort said bluntly. "I wish to know what I can do to regain a portion of it."

They both knew that creating a horcrux robbed one of some of their humanity, lord knows how many Tom Riddle ended up creating.

For years Marcel had regretted teaching his student the art of necromancy, did he really want to teach him a little more?

He could end it, right now, he knew. Two simple words would rid the world of this horcrux.

' But at what personal cost?'

"Horcruxes, by nature, seek out their like parts. A splintered soul desperately wants to become whole. I would recommend re-introducing your current soul to its counterparts."

Crouch eyed him for a long moment; "that would eliminate my redundancies, yes?"

It was true, once re-joined a soul could not be split again, he would be making himself mortal once more.

"It would…" he started, slowly. "But you would be closest to your best self. A horcrux can only provide you with a fraction of your natural power. The more pieces you re-introduce, the stronger you become, the more human you become."

He chastised himself for falling into this old argument, he knew all-too-well Tom Riddle's thoughts in regard to humanity.

After his debates with a young Riddle, he had come to realize that it was life not death he was obsessed with. Mapping the soul and pushing life to its limits had become his passion.

Riddle had also been obsessed with life, but he had been willing to make sacrifices that would allow him to cling to it at any cost.

"Yes." Voldemort started with a smile that looked foreign even on Crouch's face. "It took me decades, but I see the wisdom in your words."

"Will you heed my advice?"

Voldemort thought quietly for a few moments; "I believe you speak the truth, Marcel."

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Marcel slowly stood up.

"I wish you all the best, my friend."

Grabbing the galleon in his pocket, Marcel felt the familiar tug at his navel, and like that - he was gone.

"Not bad, William." The elderly man complimented from next to the young cursebreaker.

Nearly 50 meters away sat a dummy with a small hole in its chest, victim of an unseen piercing curse.

"Let's try again."

Bill Weasley gave his former headmaster a determined nod, taking a second to wipe the sweat from his brow, he took a deep breath, and began again.

Albus watched as one of the Orders most effective leaders took a deep breath, and with a soft whisper and a slight flick of his wrist, unleashed a steady flow of color from his wand, missing the dummy by a few centimeters.

He hummed softly to himself, catching the younger man's attention.

"I'm sorry, headmaster." The young man next to him muttered in frustration.

Albus Dumbledore waved off Weasley's concerns and slipped into teacher mode.

"It's quite alright, my boy. Magic, by nature, gets weaker with distance."

The elderly wizard lived for these increasingly rare moments where he could truly impact a young person's life. Once upon a time he had pursued a career in teaching for just these moments.

But that was six decades and two wars ago.

"While your wand motion is concise, you're still pushing out too much magic at the start of the spell, causing it to dissipate much quicker than we would like. The key is to relax, clear your mind, and let your magic flow in a narrow, controlled, manner."

To demonstrate he needlessly took a deep, calming breath, calling his magic to his fingertips, and, in one concise motion the headmaster flicked his wand and whispered 'preforo.'

Dumbledore smiled as he felt Bill Weasley's intense gaze watch him perform the difficult feat - it was one thing to be able to perform a spell, it was another act completely to land a spell on an enemy from a distance. The act took control, power, and practice - very few had the patience to learn such a feat.

"Would you like to get back to dueling?" Albus asked, knowing the other man's answer before the question left his lips.

"No." Was the red-heads determined reply. "If I need to teach this, I need to be able to perform at will."

Albus couldn't help himself - he beamed. It was rare to find such a talented, determined young man - and while Mr. Potter may fit that bill, William would be the man to lead the Order to victory.

' Nymphadora fits that description as well.' He reminded himself as Bill's piercing curse successfully hit the mark.

He smiled a nervous smile as he thought about the pair of wizards he had chosen to lead the light through such troubled times, cautiously optimistic that the Order may survive the upcoming war.

Scene

" Tempus" he muttered to himself, sighing as he saw that he still had another fifty minutes of guard duty before he could drag himself to bed.

' Idiotic tournament.' Severus Snape thought with a sneer.

Between his duties as a professor and his other duties he had questioned the headmaster on the necessity of having him take shifts guarding an ancient relic.

' This is what I get for speculating that Potter could be entered into the tournament.' He chastised himself, vowing to take it out on the brat in class the next morning.

A few meters away the bronze cup exuded an ethereal blue flame that seemed to flicker in the dark hall.

The potions professor had kept guard over the goblet for the last several hours, watching with amusement as several underage students probed the goblet of fire for weakness.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a slight creak from near the entrance.

' That's odd.' He thought, his wand in his hand immediately.

Most of the students chose to examine the goblet before curfew, not at a quarter past three in the morning.

He observed the entrance quietly, trying to catch a glimpse of the student, seeing none, Severus relaxed slightly.

' You're beginning to become as paranoid as Moody.' He thought with a grimace as he began to holster his wand.

Light bounced off an invisible barrier some ten meters in front of him, and his senses were back on high alert as he fired a wide-area stunner towards the disillusioned intruder.

A silver shield absorbed his spell, as his invisible opponent returned fire with a familiar green curse.

His beady, black eyes widened slightly as he stepped out of the way of the killing curse, his wand already in motion.

' Ignem Aestifer, Glacius Sagitto, Avada Kedavra!' Snape countered immediately, putting his opponent on the defensive.

His opponent pirouetted gracefully, dodging each of his spells with ease before returning fire.

The potions professor batted away the blood-boiler and responded by conjuring several hundred wasps, directing them towards the far end of the great hall.

He heard a high-pitched hiss before the wasps exploded in a ball of fire as he heard a pair of feet retreating through the halls.

' My opponents female.' He realized with surprise before taking chase after the imposter who was shooting to kill.

The footsteps began to die down as he glanced around the empty corridor.

His eyes fell on a half-open statue twenty meters ahead of him, revealing a narrow passage and a winding set of stairs.

Footsteps echoed across the floor as his enemy tried to escape.

" Avada Kedavra!" He shouted, hoping that the narrow stairwell would leave the imposter no room to dodge.

A marble shield sprung into place not too far above him, absorbing his killing curse.

His opponent countered quickly with a flesh peeling curse, forcing the pale man to duck before he returned fire with a bone breaker.

His spell must have found its mark as his opponent let out a yelp of pain, causing their disillusionment charm to drop.

Standing before him was a vaguely familiar figure in black robes concealing her face with a mask.

With a sneer she hurled a metal orb at him.

The orb hit the ground with a loud explosion, disorienting Snape and leaving the entire passageway covered in a thick, black powder.

Snape continued slowly upwards, hoping to catch up with his injured adversary - but when he got to the end of the passage, she was already gone.

The door to his office creaked open and he looked up from the documents in front of him with a smile.

"Good morning, Harry." He greeted with his usual cheer.

Albus Dumbledore had always enjoyed his mornings; it had saddened him to see the younger generations sleep through theirs.

The young Ravenclaw returned his greeting with a smile while taking his time to examine his office a little more thoroughly.

The headmaster allowed Harry to take his time examining some of the books and knick-knacks in his possession. Albus had always felt you could learn more about a person through observation than interrogation.

"What is this, sir?" Harry asked in a polite tone, his emerald eyes gleaming in curiosity.

' It's a shame we don't have more time.' He thought with a frown; the young man in front of him had the potential for greatness and given a few decades to hone his skills he could become the adversary Tom had always desired.

"That, my boy, is one of Merlin's staves; brought to this school by Roland Ravenclaw shortly after his sister opened this school."

The boy ran his long fingers across the legendary artefacts jagged length, pausing to shutter in pleasure as he touched the milk-white orb near the top of the staff.

"Does it have any magical significance? Or is its value purely historical?"

' Such a well-thought-out question!' A genuine smile tugged at the ancient warlocks lips.

"What do you think?"

Harry Potter thought for a second before drawing his wand with a flick of the wrist.

"Do you mind?"

Dumbledore merely smiled before motioning for his student to continue.

' Impressive.' He thought as the boy silently cast several of the more advanced diagnostic charms.

Several minutes later Harry gave a barely perceptible nod of his head, as though a long-held theory had just been confirmed, and with a smirk the young man turned back to him.

"I wonder if Merlin thought making this staff was worth the effort?"

Amusement twinkled in his eyes as he thought back to Harry Potter's first year at Hogwarts; his uncertainty and desperation to be liked contrasting with the calm, confident young man that other's gravitated to today.

"Your father asked a very similar question during his seventh year, and I'll tell you the same thing I told him."

He had the boys' full attention now, his intense gaze stared unblinking into his own eyes.

"Merlin, like all warlocks, was constrained only by the limited knowledge of his time. The enchantments and protections on that staff are of his own creation and considered to be some of his greatest achievements. Had he been alive today, it is likely that Merlin - like myself - would still be striving towards unraveling the mysteries of magic."

Harry seemed to be satisfied with the answer, so he moved on to the point of the meeting.

"Thank you for meeting with me so early, Harry."

The Ravenclaw waved him off; "it's not an issue, headmaster, I'm an early riser."

He eyed the boy thoughtfully as he considered how to broach the next topic.

"A few hours ago, someone tried to illegally enter a student into the tournament; thankfully Professor Snape was able to stop them."

He and Severus had spent a lot of time discussing the previous night's events; considering the sophistication and skill of the intruder they had both determined that Voldemort wished for Harry to compete in the tournament - for whatever reason.

"It is our belief that someone wished to illegally enter your name into the goblet."

"It wasn't me!" The young man blurted out immediately, losing his composure in the process. "My focus is on winning the dueling tournament."

In his desperate response Harry forgot to keep his occlumency shields in place, and Albus was pleased to see the boy was telling the truth.

"Never worry, my boy, we never felt as though you wanted to be a champion, but we did want to make you aware of this development."

Harry appeared to regain his composure upon hearing his words.

"What now?"

He pondered the question for a moment.

' What now?'

Did he tell Harry about horcruxes and plans for the future? Or did he just make the offer Severus had begrudgingly agreed to.

With a slight hesitation, he went with the later.

"You are incredibly gifted with a wand, Harry."

The boy didn't react to the praise.

' He knows he is.' He thought with a smirk.

"Between your work with Nymphadora, Miss Greengrass, Miss Moon, and Mister Boot you have easily outpaced even my most lofty expectations for you."

He did blush slightly at that.

"After speaking with Severus, we both agree that on Monday and Wednesday evenings you will skip your practice with Nymphadora, and report to the dungeons instead."

Harry frowned; "he hates me, sir. Why would I agree to deal with his immaturity more than is necessary?"

' A very mature observation of his own.'

"Severus is the most gifted practitioner of magic in this castle outside of myself. He, more than anyone, can push you further than you thought possible."

Harry paused for several seconds, contemplating what he was just told.

"I'll do it." He said with a frown. "But if he continues with his petty insults then I will end our training; he has no right to treat me the way he does."