Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin

Chapter 10: The Quidditch World Cup (pt 3)

The boy lay in his bed dreaming a strange dream. A disturbing dream and yet one with an odd familiarity. But above all, a dream from which he could not awaken.

In the boy's dream, he was in a chair near a roaring fireplace. Odder still, the chair seemed unusually large, as did everything else in the room. But then, the boy suddenly realized the truth. The chair and the room were normal-sized, but he was somehow small, much smaller than he should have been. The boy wondered at this in confusion, for he soon realized that he was not actually sitting in the chair but rather was being held by someone who was sitting in the chair. Someone who he couldn't see, for his head would not turn the way he wanted it to. But he knew one thing. Whoever was holding him like he was a babe in his mother's arms ... was very, very, cold.

"Report," said the boy in a raspy yet sibilant voice so unlike his own and yet so familiar. "Miss Direction?"

An incredibly beautiful woman spoke first. She also seemed familiar, though in his dreaming haze, the boy could not put a name to the face.

"I have confirmed that Chevenoir is no more. While it grieves me to have lost the great citadel of my ancestors, it also means there is no chance of anyone interfering with that aspect of the plan. The Devil's Tor will be unattended. Indeed, with the manse itself destroyed, the ley lines which once powered it have reset themselves to their original course. The Devil's Tor is more magically active than it has been in over a thousand years. Ideal for our needs."

The boy nodded imperiously. "And Mr. January?"

"I have conveyed him to the site personally, and he has mapped out its coordinates. He will have a reversible Portkey available well before the moment it is needed."

"Good, good. This also means, does it not, that killing Sirius Black is no longer essential to our plans? No matter how desirable you might consider it?"

The woman hesitated. "It is as you say, my Lord, though it may still be necessary since he will no doubt try to protect his Heir from us."

The boy nodded. "It matters little. Advise Mr. Nimrod that the Wilkes children are his primary objective. Kill Sirius Black if he presents himself as a target of opportunity, but not if it endangers his main goal."

"It shall be done, my Lord."

"Mr. Misericorde?"

A man in a long brown coat stepped forward and bowed respectfully to the boy.

"Security arrangements have been ordered according to our specifications. DMLE personnel assigned to the campgrounds have been briefed to expect violence from the Australians. More importantly, the personnel specifically assigned to that sector were chosen for their temperament and the likelihood that they will exacerbate any conflict rather than resolve it. Our people at the Daily Prophet will focus their reporting on inflaming nationalist fervor while spreading as much anti-McAvity propaganda as they can get away with. Through third parties, we have used a mixture of bribery, blackmail, and mind control to suborn Crick, Schultz, Chavez, and Gunnersdottir to ensure that they will act as needed leading up to the finals."

"You have done well, Mr. Misericorde ... in most things. But I have one additional thing I need from you."

"Anything, my Lord."

"Your badge of office. Leave it on the table when you depart."

"My ... badge? My Lord, I do not..."

Instantly, a wand sitting on a nearby end table leaped into the boy's tiny hand.

"CRUCIO!"

The man in the long coat dropped to the ground screaming. The curse lasted just under two seconds before the boy released it, but the man's agony lasted far longer. From somewhere beneath the boy, a soft yet deep and resonant "Ki-ki-ki!" could be heard as a snake of some kind registered its amusement at the man's suffering. A very big snake. Far from being alarmed by this, the boy shared the snake's pleasure at the man's pitiful weeping.

"There are those among my Inner Circle, Mr. Misericorde, whose insights and opinions are so valued that I will permit them to question me. You are not one of them. Do you understand?"

"I ... Y-yes, m-m-my Lord," the man said from the floor. "P-please for-for-forgive my impertinence."

With obvious difficulty, he pulled himself up off the floor and removed a gold badge from his lapel, which he then placed on a nearby table. Then, he moved to stand next to a young woman who sneered at him contemptuously.

"Miss Vespertine?"

That same woman stepped forward and then snapped her fingers. From outside of the boy's field of view a man stepped forward. He wore a white robe that came down to his knees with a belt cinched at the waist. Below that were white breeches tucked into white boots, while his head was covered by a plain white hood and a featureless mask the color of bone.

"This is the uniform which our people will be wearing, though its base features will not be so apparent. Behold!"

She tapped her wand to the man's shoulder, and instantly, the featureless white ensemble changed shape and color until the man appeared to be wearing wizarding robes of lime green and canary yellow, with a black balaclava mask covering his face. On his chest were three black letters, two uppercase separated by one in lower case: McA. She tapped the man's shoulder again, and his clothing changed once more, with the robes darkening to a rusty brown and then reshaping into an Auror's long coat. The balaclava morphed into a fedora, but the face beneath it was not revealed but instead remained covered in shadow. Then, she touched him a third time, and the entire ensemble darkened further until it was jet black, while the fedora changed into a pointed hood over a terrifying skull-like mask.

The uniform of a Death Eater.

"How will you determine which combatant will be dressed appropriately when the attack begins? Not all of them will be wizards after all."

"We need not bother, my Lord," the young woman said with a smile. "While a loyal wizard will be able to change his uniform's appearance with the touch of his wand to the form of his choice, for those who are either acting under the Imperius or who are mercenaries—whether wizard, Muggle or ... otherwise—the uniform has an additional function. Witnesses will perceive it as taking whichever form the onlookers would fear the most, whether a Death Eater, an Auror, or ... an Australian Muggleborn hooligan."

She smirked at that last remark before continuing. "Naturally, all the Muggles we have enslaved for this mission will appear as Australians, since they will be wielding Muggle weapons instead of wands. And there is one final innovation, my Lord. Each uniform will have a Portkey sewn into its material. When the signal is given, every one of our people will be transported away from the campsite to an appropriate location."

"An ... appropriate location, Miss Vespertine?" the boy said with some amusement.

She chuckled demurely, but there was no mistaking the cruelty beneath her good humor.

"Yes, my Lord. Those who we deem loyal or of value to the Cause will be conveyed to one of several safehouses across Wizarding Britain. Those we deem expendable—including all the Muggles, naturally—will be sent to a particular spot in the North Sea about ten miles off the coast ... and 200 feet below the surface!"

The snake laughed again, and this time, the boy joined him, gasping out a strange sibilant "ki-ki-ki" to show his mirth.

"Ingenious, Miss Vespertine. You are a credit to your family. Please convey my appreciation to your Grandfather when next you see him."

She smiled and bowed respectfully.

"And finally, Mr. Norvegicus."

Another man stepped forward, one who the boy recognized at once.

"Nearly everything is ready, my Lord. I am fully confident that I can perform the ritual when the time is right. My werewolves will play their part. I am in communication with Mr. January, and we have the timing planned out to the last second. The only thing that remains is the final ingredient for the potion."

The boy nodded. "Mr. Nemo, are you quite certain there is no more information to be wrung from our guest?"

"Quite so," said yet another man who stepped forward while half-carrying a pitiful-looking woman with a vacant expression and a trail of drool leading down from the corner of her mouth. He dropped the woman to the floor, and she immediately collapsed into a fetal position while weeping softly. "There is nothing left to be gained from further interrogation."

"And you are sure, Mr. Norvegicus, that the final ingredient for your potion can be harvested posthumously?"

"The effect will last longer if it is still beating when removed, my Lord, but for our purposes, it need only be taken while the body is still warm."

The boy snorted contemptuously. "Well then, let us kill two birds with one stone, shall we?"

He pointed his wand at the woman on the floor.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The boy shot up in his cot with a loud gasp. His whole body was shaking and drenched with sweat. Suddenly, someone nearby cast a Lumos Charm, and a bright light instantly illuminated a small room contained within a magical Expandable Tent. The boy's best friend who had cast the spell sat up in his own cot and stared at him blearily.

"Ron?" asked Jim Potter. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Ron Weasley stared at the Boy-Who-Lived and struggled to answer. But now that he was fully awake, the details of the strange dream, which had been so vivid when he was in its grip, had already begun to fade, leaving only flashes of images for him to recall. That, and a strange inexplicable dread. He took a deep shuddering breath.

"It's ... nothing, Jim," Ron finally said. "Just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Well, okay. But let's try to get back to sleep. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Jim extinguished the Lumos and lay back down on his cot. Ron did the same and pulled the blanket tighter around himself as if to ward off a chill. He closed his eyes, but it was some time before sleep came once more.

17 August 1994
The Quidditch World Cup, Day Nine

On Wednesday, Harry slept in. The night before had been an exciting exhibition match between the Tutshill Tornados and the Bigonville Bombers from Luxembourg. Exciting but long, as the Snitch evaded capture until nearly midnight and it had been after two o'clock in the morning when he'd finally made it to bed. During the course of the ten-hour long match, Draco explained to Harry why there was such widespread antipathy towards Luxembourg and its Quidditch teams.

"Basically, Luxembourg was always a small nation with an even smaller wizarding population, but by the end of the Grindelwald War, it was literally down to fewer than two dozen wizards in the whole country. At which point, this incredibly rich bloke from India calling himself the Kumar Pasha essentially bought the country. Or at least all the magical bits of it."

"Okay," Harry answered. "So it's just bigotry against a non-European wizard coming in and buying a European country?"

"No," Draco continued. "No one would have cared what some rich foreigner wanted to blow his Galleons on ... except the Pasha's son and Heir was really into Quidditch. So, starting in the 1960s, he brought in enough wizardfolk to live in Luxembourg to justify the country having its own national team. And then, he started poaching talented players from all over the world, offering them lots of Galleons just to move to Luxembourg and play Quidditch for him. Despite being one of the smallest nations on Earth, Luxembourg has been a QWC contender since 1968 and has won the Cup three times. And every one of its players in those championship seasons was actually born in another country and bribed into moving to Luxembourg just to compete. And then, to add insult to injury, the Pasha started his own private club, the Bigonville Bombers, and staffed them the same way, basically buying his way into a top-tier league team that's won the Western European Cup eight times in the last twenty years! It's no wonder everyone hates them!"

As he retired for the evening, Harry filed that information away. He knew the current Kumar Pasha, Shakti Kumar (the "Pasha" title he and his forefathers insisted on using was a meaningless hereditary title dating back to before the Statute of Secrecy), only vaguely and even then only because Parvati Patil was in a marriage contract with his son Sanjeev. The previous summer—back when they were still on speaking terms—Jim had given Harry the outline of that bit of domestic drama, and he'd described Sanjeev Kumar as "Draco Malfoy in a turban." Not that there was anything wrong with turbans so long as they weren't used to conceal possessing Dark Lords, of course.

In any case, a lie-in the next morning seemed appropriate as he'd been invited to ten o'clock brunch with the Abbott family. Or more accurately, the Abbotts, the Greengrasses, and the Cresswells. Harry knew nothing about the Cresswells beyond Dirk Cresswell being in the papers several months earlier for displaying what the Daily Prophet called "unusual heroism and resourcefulness for a Muggleborn" during Peter Pettigrew's infamous rat-plagued escape from the Ministry the previous Spring. Also, he understood Hannah Abbott's mother was Dirk's younger sister.

Accompanying Harry to the Abbott tent were Sirius, Regulus (disguised as Archie Goodwin), Amy, Neville, and Theo. Hermione begged off, saying that she and Dan would be staying at the tent with the Malfoys until it was time for that afternoon's Ireland-Transylvania match. Harry was only mildly surprised. While Lucius Malfoy was initially polite but cool towards Hermione's Muggleborn father, Dan had mentioned in passing that he'd played cricket in his student days back at King's College. The elder Malfoy's demeanor changed at once, and the two spent over an hour discussing the current state of British cricket to the embarrassment of both Hermione and Draco.

Still, Harry had thought that Hermione might prefer spending some time with fellow witches her own age, but the Muggleborn was decidedly opposed to the idea of visiting the Greengrasses. Harry resolved to talk with her later and see if she was still holding a grudge against Daphne over the Hogwarts Cultural Preservation Society and its rivalry with SPAM or if there was something else going on.

"Are you sure you want me along?" Theo had asked.

"Definitely," Harry replied. "This meeting is about strengthening our alliance. But we both saw how the CPS evolved from an 'anti-Outcast' group into more of an 'anti-Muggleborn' group despite their claims otherwise. If we're going for closer ties with the Greengrasses, I want to know what their real feelings about blood purity are."

"Uh-huh," said the other boy. "And you want to use the Outcast as a stalking horse in the process."

"Uh, yeah?" Harry replied. "Is that a problem?"

"No, no," said Theo. "I just wanted to hear you say it. And to be honest, I'm kind of looking forward to seeing how Daphne reacts to me getting Outcast cooties all over the place.

Later ...

To Theo's disappointment, neither Daphne nor Astoria seemed at all discomfited by his presence. Of course, neither were they at all apologetic for their attitudes towards him over the previous school year. Like Cedric Diggory, they both seemed to take the position that Magic had condemned Theo as an Outcast but then Magic later exonerated him, and so all was right with the world.

What was interesting to Harry about seeing the Greengrass sisters casually dismiss everything as water under the bridge was the reaction of both Hannah Abbott and Tracey Davis. The two witches—both Halfbloods, if Harry remembered correctly—glanced towards one another as Daphne spoke about her hopes for the CPS in the coming year now that "Theo's unpleasantness" was resolved. A distinct undercurrent of worry passed between them both in response to Daphne and Astoria's views about the Ultimate Sanction.

Despite that, the Abbotts were perfectly amiable hosts, and over brunch, they presented themselves as the model example of a liberal Pureblood family, respectful of wizarding traditions but fully open to equal rights for Muggleborns and legal protections for Squibs raised within wizarding society. Gilbert Abbott, the head of the family, gushed with appreciation for their in-laws among the Muggleborn Cresswell family, and if Dirk and Pamela Cresswell had any qualms about being held up as token Muggleborns, they hid them well.

The group also chatted pleasantly about wizarding politics, and for the most part, their political views meshed well with those of Harry's alliance. His official political alliance that was. Whether they would be welcome in the Azkabal was quite another matter, and in any case, that particular conspiracy was already probably too big for its own good. The only discordant note came when Alexander McAvity's name came up at one point. The Abbotts and Greengrasses were unanimous in their disdain for the Muggleborn Dark Lord, and it seemed that Daphne had picked up her famous hostility towards McAvity from her parents. Understandable, perhaps, considering that Daniel Greengrass's father and predecessor as Lord Greengrass had died in one of the terrorist attacks attributed to McAvity's movement after his expulsion.

For his part, Harry took the opportunity to broach an uncomfortable topic of his own.

"Mr. Abbott, I had a question about a member of your family: your nephew, Lester Abbott, who's one of those Hit Wizards in St. Mungo's with seemingly irreversible curse damage."

Gilbert Abbott's expression went stony, while several of the other Abbotts stiffened. "Go on, Lord Wilkes," Gilbert said slowly.

"I've followed the news reports about what happened to him and the other Hit Wizards. I gather the cursed toy that harmed them was one created by the Toymaker, who was also my predecessor as Lord of House Wilkes."

Gilbert nodded. "It was. But I assure you, Lord Wilkes, that none of us blame you or your house for the actions of a distant and deranged relative. You have nothing to apologize for."

Harry nodded. "I appreciate that, but I wasn't going to apologize so much as perhaps offer a possible avenue for treatment."

Gilbert's eyebrows rose as Harry continued.

"I know that the Healers haven't been able to reverse the curse that's on your nephew or the others. Alastor Moody was one of my tutors last year, and he told me that You-Know-Who could also cast curses that St. Mungo's couldn't reverse. Moody theorized that it was because You-Know-Who cast the curses in Parseltongue. I've read that the specific cursed toy that Pettigrew used was based on a snake design, and I was wondering if it was possible that, I don't know, maybe You-Know-Who was involved in creating those toys and he incorporated Parseltongue into the magic?"

"Perhaps so, Harry," said Sam Abbott, Gilbert's son, who was also a Junior Auror, "but I don't see what the importance is."

"Well, the importance, I think, is that if the curse can't be broken by the Healers because it uses Parseltongue, maybe it needs another Parselmouth to break it instead."

The Abbott patriarch's eyes lit up. "One such as your brother? The Boy-Who-Lived?"

Harry coughed. "Well, I was going to suggest a foreign Parselmouth Healer named Bhaskar Gupta who treated Jim last summer. And Jim's not exactly my brother anymore. But he'd be the best one to reach out to Healer Gupta, I suppose, since they know each other. If you do approach Jim about it, I'd prefer it if you left my name out of it though."

Several of those present who were related to the poor cursed Hit Wizard became quite excited, and after brunch was over, Gilbert and Sam both made their apologies and Apparated to St. Mungo's while the rest of the group left for the stadium. With a subtle hint, Harry had Theo and Amy distract the Greengrass sisters while Harry walked with Hannah Abbott and Tracey Davis. He'd known the blonde Slytherin since the night of their Sorting, but the red-headed Hufflepuff was a bit of a mystery.

"Do you really think my Uncle Lester can be cured?" Hannah asked hopefully.

"I don't know, but I definitely hope so." He turned towards Tracey. "So, what do you two think about all these political maneuvers?"

Tracey shrugged. "Well, I hope you will consider Aunt Winnie's proposal. But I'm only a ward of House Greengrass, so I really don't have a dog in the hunt."

"Obviously," added Hannah, "I'll benefit from being the daughter of a Noble House even though there's no way I'll be the Heir if it happens. But I just think it would be wonderful to really be a part of wizarding society. I mean, you don't have to be a part of elite Pureblood culture to be successful nowadays, but obviously, it doesn't hurt."

"That's an interesting viewpoint, Hannah, coming from a member of the Cultural Preservation Society," Harry said slyly.

Hannah winced. "To be honest, I only got involved in that because Cedric sold me on 'learning more about my heritage" and all that. Plus he's ..."

"Absurdly handsome?" Tracey supplied mischievously.

"Merlin!" Harry exclaimed with a huff. "I think every girl I know must have discovered hormones at the same time! Can we not get into a discussion about which guys you both think are good-looking?"

"If you insist," Hannah replied with a laugh. "Though I was hoping you might give me some pointers for asking Neville to go with me to a Hogsmeade weekend."

Harry had a coughing fit, and the Hufflepuff laughed.

"Shall I warn Neville that's he's also on the Hufflepuff Most Desirable List?" he finally asked.

Hannah blushed, but Tracey just snorted. "I'd be more curious as to which Slytherins are on it, if I were you, Harry. With Flint graduated finally and Draco moved to Durmstrang, it's pretty much you and Cassius Warrington that are beginning to draw attention from the witches of Hogwarts."

The boy looked gobsmacked. "I genuinely don't know how to take that. Me and ... Warrington?!"

"Don't take it the wrong way, Harry," the blonde Slytherin said. "You've filled out rather nicely over the years and have always been popular. And it helps that you're richer than Midas and the youngest Lord in centuries. For Warrington, on the other hand, good looks and the Heirship of a minor Noble House are pretty much his sole redeeming features. And even then, he's only good-looking when he remembers not to scowl or sneer. His father's like that. Antonius Warrington has the dubious distinction of being the first Wizengamot Lord to make the cover of Witch Weekly in decades."

The wizard did a double take. "Antonius Warrington made the cover of Witch Weekly?"

Tracey nodded with a smirk. "Until he married Cassius's mother, he was considered 'a highly eligible young bachelor.' And he's still considered very handsome ... at least until he opens his mouth. I've had some fun tweaking Cassius about it in CPS meetings. Cassius is a complete jerk most of the time, but at least he's not actually vain about his looks. Not like some people I know, Mr. Sleekeazy!"

"Yeah, well," Harry said with a laugh. "If you've got it, flaunt it."

"Ahem!" Hannah interrupted good-naturedly, "To get back on topic, I was going to say that Cedric is ... well, really influential in our House. Yeah, he's good-looking, but it's more than that. For as long as I've been a Hufflepuff, he's been the guy everyone listens to and respects. He's really smart and amazing on a broom, but also charismatic as hell. People are already predicting he'll be Head Boy year after next because no one else in his year is even close, and they're wondering if he could end up as Minister of Magic someday. And when he tries to talk you into something, it's hard to say no. Anyway, he sold me on joining the CPS so I could learn more about actual Pureblood traditions and history, since my family hopes to join the Wizengamot someday. I mean, our family is mostly Pureblooded, but my dad's a Squib and my mother is a Muggleborn, so I think I need all the connections I can make. I just wasn't expecting the CPS to be so ..."

"So what?" Harry asked, surprised at her hesitation.

Tracey looked around to make sure none of the Greengrasses were nearby. "So creepily obsessed with Theo No-Name and later so hostile to Muggleborns in general."

Tracey's blunt comment caught Harry off-guard, and before he could respond, she changed the topic. "And speaking of student organizations, is SPAM supposed to be a pro-Muggleborn, anti-Pureblood group? Or is it really interested in 'preventing abusive magic' like the name says?"

Harry blinked. "Bit of both, actually. Why?"

She hesitated. "Because just between us, I was ... uncomfortable with how the Ultimate Sanction played with everybody's heads last year. I love Daphne and Astoria like sisters, but it was kind of frightening watching them get swept up in it like that. It kind of gave me a feel for how so many people got taken in by the Death Eaters back in the day."

"But not you?"

"Not either of us, really," Hannah said. "Neither of us have any close relatives under any sort of Ministry oaths, at least none on par with a Wizengamot Oath, so we were only slightly affected by the Ultimate Sanction. It was more like we just got ... caught up in the emotions. I feel like I should apologize to Theo for being in a group that was so down on him."

"I'm sure he would happily accept an apology," Harry said noncommittally before turning back to Tracey. "And you? Were you immune to the Sanction as well? Or did your connection to House Greengrass mean you were affected like Daphne?"

Tracey hesitated. "I'm ... I wasn't affected because I'm not actually a member of House Greengrass. Being a ward isn't the same thing as being a daughter, you know, even if Uncle Daniel and Aunt Winnie treat me like one in most respects."

"If I may ask, how did you become a ward of House Greengrass?"

She chuckled darkly. "You may ask, Harry, but it's not something I'm willing to answer. At least not on a crowded fairground where just anyone can hear."

Harry nodded, and the three of them moved to catch up with the others. They stopped to pick up some memorabilia for the Irish National Team. Having had a large brunch earlier, Harry had no interest in stopping off at Molly's Magical Morsels, which was probably best for all concerned in light of who was running the till at the time.

Of course, Harry wasn't the only one playing avoidance games. Once they were in the VIP box, he noticed that Hermione made a point of sitting as far away from the Greengrasses as their private box would allow.

18 August 1994

From the Daily Prophet Sports Page

Final Score: Ireland 310 Transylvania 130

Cup Organizers reject accusations of
pro-Irish favoritism by Referee Henning Schultz

19 August 1994, Day 11

Thursday saw yet another exciting exhibition game between the Appleby Arrows and Germany's Heidelberg Harriers, but Friday was the main event for the week: Bulgaria vs. France. It was also the day Blaise Zabini joined Harry and company in their private box, though only for the day, as he would be returning to Marseilles the next morning. But he was not the only new arrival, for this quarterfinal match also saw the debut of Bulgaria's "mascots." The French team made a spectacular entrance accompanied by a platoon of wizards on winged stallions who waved French flags in one hand while shooting fireworks from their wands with the other. Sadly, they were completely ignored in favor of the hundred beautiful (and scantily clad) women who began to dance sensuously to what Harry assumed was the Bulgarian national anthem.

Harry leaned forward before catching himself. For a brief moment before he could reassert his Occlumency, he felt a wave of pure hypnotic power wash over him. A somewhat familiar one at that. And while he was able to resist, he noticed that Theo and Draco both had to grab hold of Neville before the boy could try to climb over the railing. And he was hardly the only one so affected, as all across the stadium, dozens and dozens of wizards practically frenzied at the sight of the beautiful dancers, including both Sirius and Regulus! Lucius was not amused by their testosterone-laden antics, and neither was Hermione.

"Honestly," she muttered from the other side of Zabini, "you'd think wizards would be familiar with the concept of cheerleaders well enough not to turn into drooling imbeciles at the sight of them!"

Harry was surprised by her apparent resistance to the effect he was actively trying to block with some difficulty. But then, he noticed that only men were affected by the strange attraction. The witches around him were not drawn to the dancers. If anything, most of them were as annoyed by the response of the wizards in attendance as Hermione. And then, he remembered when he'd experienced this strange sense of hypnotic attraction before: it was the same effect that Fleur Delacour had tried to use against him at the French Dueling Tournament just a few months earlier.

"Calm down, Hermione," he said. "After all, it's not their fault ... right, Blaise?"

Blaise gave him a cool expression, and while he didn't answer Harry directly, they were both good enough at Legilimency to know what was on each other's minds. While Blaise knew Harry had specific questions about Fleur, they would not be answered here and now. The boy turned to Hermione instead.

"The ... cheerleaders as you put it are actually Veela, Hermione. The allure they generate is magical and instills an overpowering supernatural desire in any man who falls under its spell, absent Occlumency or ... other defenses."

Harry studied the women more closely. "I haven't really studied Veela yet. I think they're NEWT level material since they're rare and aren't found in Britain."

"True," Blaise said. "The only Veela left in the wild are contained on a special reserve in Bulgaria. There's only a few hundred of them."

"On a reserve?!" Hermione spluttered. "Do you mean those women are ... enslaved by the Bulgarian government?"

Blaise gave a sour expression. He should have known that Veela would present a thorny ethical topic with Hermione.

"Women is not the word I'd use, Hermione. The common perception of Western Europeans who are unfamiliar with them is that a Veela is a woman of such incredible beauty that it can enslave a man's will. But if angered, a Veela can transform into a terrible and ferocious bird-woman who can shoot fireballs from her hands and tear the flesh from your bones when provoked."

"The common perception?" Harry asked. "I take it the truth is different?"

"More like the exact opposite. A Veela is actually a terrible and ferocious bird-woman who can shoot fireballs from her hands ... and who can disguise herself as a beautiful woman in order to use her hypnotic allure to draw in her prey."

Harry crooked an eyebrow at that, but it was Hermione who spoke.

"Prey? You make them sound like ... predatory animals." She glanced back down to the field where the Veelas' synchronized dancing continued to drive the male spectators into a frenzy.

"That's because they are," Blaise continued. "The dancing is an innate skill they have that augments the range of their allure. While Veela are intelligent, it's in exactly the same way that Acromantula are intelligent, i.e. smart enough to say hi before they try to eat you. By their very nature, Veela are not capable of looking at human beings except as a food source. And also as breeding stock. Or both, I guess. They reproduce by entrancing human males into sex, which is such an intense experience for the male that it's almost invariably fatal. At which point, the Veela uses her flame-generating powers to roast her lover's body before consuming it."

Both Harry and Hermione looked aghast.

"Wait, so the Bulgarian government sent cannibal bird-women to the Quidditch World Cup to act as their mascots?!" Hermione exclaimed.

Blaise shrugged. "Technically, they're not really cannibals since it's not members of their own species they're eating. But otherwise, yeah. The Bulgarians maintain the numbers on the Veela preserve by sending them prisoners convicted of capital crimes for breeding purposes followed by swift consumption. Which sounds awful, but the victim apparently dies in the throes of absolute ecstasy, so it's better than Azkaban, I suppose."

Harry thought back over his friend's words. "Hang on. You said the only Veela in the wild are on that Bulgarian preserve. Are there Veela not in the wild?"

The boy seemed uncomfortable with the question. "Yeah. Veela are magical creatures, which means that some parts of their bodies have magical applications. Veela hair can make a potent wand core, though Ollivander refuses to use them. Veela feathers and claws can be used in all sorts of potions. Most infamously, there's a highly illegal potion that requires organs harvested from a live Veela that can make an ordinary witch incredibly beautiful and also give her the benefits of Veela allure. So naturally, there's a thriving black market for Veela, whether dead or alive. And while Veela can't truly interbreed with humans, the term "half-Veela" is a slur used in Eastern European nations for a witch who's made use of that potion, or simply a witch who uses her beauty to manipulate men."

Harry and Hermione both stiffened in their seats. Hermione because Blaise had once told her of another kind of half-Veela, one of the magical crossbreeds created by the Dark Witch Lady Echidna who also bred Rubeus and Gunther Hagrid. Harry because he'd been warned by Lucius Malfoy that Narcissa Black Nott possessed a synthetic "Veela allure," presumably from that same potion. He glanced back at Draco who was still remonstrating Neville over the Gryffindor's continuing desire to run down to the field and declare his love for one of the Veela dancers. Or perhaps all of them. Harry wondered if Draco even knew what his own mother had done to herself, let alone how.

Then, a completely different thought occurred to him, and Harry looked up to the top of the stadium which was ringed by Eye-Spies floating in mid-air awaiting the commencement of the match. And despite himself, he couldn't help wondering if the Eye-Spies were also recording the Veela performance, and, if so, what sort of market there might be for it. He only knew that it was an idea he didn't dare mention to Hermione.

As it happened, the Eye-Spies had not recorded the seductive pregame performance. Luckily, however, Bulgaria defeated France soundly, and so the Veela would be performing again the following Monday before the Bulgaria-Luxembourg semifinal match. The next morning, Harry took the opportunity to suggest recording the Veela to Anthony, Sue, Ginny, and the Weasley Twins. The boys were all for it. Sue Li just glared at them but conceded that there was probably money to be made off "the ingrained sexism of the Patriarchy."

"Besides," said Ginny, "it's a sin to not take advantage of guys who can't keep their hormones in check."

"That's what I just said!" Sue Li responded.

"Yeah," Ginny replied. "But I said it in English."

It was to be a big day for Eye-Spy Productions. Harry's little venture had opened a kiosk (ironically not far from where Molly Weasley had set up her food stand) where the first run of Eye-Spy viewing mirrors would go on sale along with free recordings of the pre-Cup exhibition games by the four British Isle teams. Harry had resigned himself to skipping that afternoon's exhibition between the Holyhead Harpies and the Sweetwater All-Stars from the United States, although he did assure Ginny that she would be allowed to leave in time to watch her favorite team in action. The Slytherin girl was splitting her time between Eye-Spy and "3M" (as the Weasley children had taken to calling their mother's enterprise).

To his astonishment and delight, however, the Eye-Spy booth was shut down in plenty of time to catch the exhibition simply because they had run out of product! The first run of Eye-Spy viewing mirrors had consisted of 100 mirrors priced at 20 galleons each, and they were sold out by noon! Anthony, Sue, Penelope, and Titus would remain at the booth for the rest of the afternoon, but only to answer questions about the product and to take pre-orders for the company's coverage of the Quidditch World Cup which would be available through owl-order in October. To spur interest, they had rough footage from the last several matches playing constantly on oversized mirrors mounted on the sides of the booth, each of which had a crowd of amazed watchers in front of it. But the rest of the Eye-Spy team members would have the afternoon off to enjoy the exhibition match, especially Ginny, who was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Gwenog Jones waving a Beater's bat beneath the caption "No one can beat you as hard as a witch can!"

As the group left the booth for the stadium, none of them noticed a ginger-headed boy glaring at the large Eye-Spy Productions sign with the heat of a thousand suns.

"Unbelievable," said Jim Potter to himself while on the way back to the 3M booth. "Un-bloody-believable!"

As Harry's group approached the stadium, he noticed a large and somewhat angry group of wizards and witches just outside. They were clustered around a beleaguered QWC official in the area set aside for souvenir booths. In addition to general QWC merchandise, there were individual booths set up for every national team that had made it past the prelims and also every one of the exhibition teams. As Harry passed the Chudley Cannons booth, he had to avert his eyes to avoid being blinded by the horrific orange that covered every inch of it. On drawing closer to the official, he noticed several Ministry personnel on hand to help keep the peace, one of whom Harry knew quite well.

"Ladies and Gentlewizards!" said the QWC official, whose name badge identified him as Carlos Chavez, Director of Merchandising. "I have made my decision. I understand some of you are offended, though honestly, I fail to see why. But there is nothing in the merchandise you are all complaining about that violates QWC guidelines for what can and cannot be sold at the Cup. My decision stands!"

The group around the official made their displeasure known with a round of heavy booing and grumbling which was offset by the sound of cheers and rude remarks from a nearby booth flying the Australian flag. Harry glanced over and immediately realized what the commotion was about. For among the merchandise being sold by the Australians were a number of shirts, jerseys, and even flags that bore their team colors of lime green and canary yellow ... along with a large black "McA" logo, presumably added in support of Alexander McAvity.

"Merlin," said George, "the Australians are really rubbing it in everyone's face about McAvity being back in Britain, aren't they!"

Harry agreed that selling merchandise adorned with the symbol of a Dark Lord—even if it was a Dark Lord in name only—seemed unnecessarily provocative on the part of the Australians. But before he could say anything, the crowd was silenced by a round of loud sparks from an Auror's wand.

"Alright, everyone! That's enough!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Chavez has made his decision, and that's that. If you don't like the stuff that the Australians are selling, don't buy any! Otherwise, disperse! Now!"

With some surly grumbling, the crowd did just that, but not before hurling a few insults at the unrepentant Australians. Harry took the opportunity to call out to Tonks before she moved on, and she turned to him with a smile.

"Harry!" she exclaimed brightly. "Good to see you! Have you been enjoying the Cup so far?"

"Yeah, it's been brilliant! Weasleys, this is my cousin..." He paused suddenly. "You know, I don't actually know what to call you right now. Have you made a decision?"

The Auror grinned and related her conversation with Andromeda and Ted the night before.

As the Tonkses sat across the kitchen table from their only daughter, she took a deep breath before making her announcement.

"After careful consideration," she said, "I have decided to adopt the Black surname."

She noticed a brief flash of disappointment on her father's face.

"Are you okay with that, Dad?" she asked hesitantly.

Ted shrugged. "We said it was your decision to make, dear. And I understand how accepting that part of your heritage can open a lot of doors for you going forward. But I have to confess, I'm a little disappointed that the Tonks name is going to die out with me."

She smirked. "Well actually, it's not. Not entirely, anyway. I've decided to adopt Tonks as my first name since that's what all my friends have been calling me since I was in Third Year!"

Andromeda scoffed. "Your name is going to be Tonks Black?!"

Tonks raised her chin haughtily. "Actually, it's going to be Tonks Nymphadora Black! That way, you can continue to annoy me with it at every opportunity! Consider it an early Christmas present!"

"Right then," said Harry with a laugh. "Weasleys, this is my cousin, Junior Auror Tonks Nymphadora Black! Tonks, these are some of my friends. George Weasley, Fred Weasley, and Ginny Weasley. George is the one with the mole."

"Hey!" the Twins exclaimed in mild outrage.

"Don't let him get away with that, boys!" Tonks said merrily. "I've heard about your reputation as pranksters. Surely you can figure out how to make a fake mole or something!"

Then, she shook her head, and instantly, her hair turned a bright ginger to match the amazed Weasleys, and her face sprouted a large mole in the same location as George's. With a wave, she headed off into the crowd.

"Your cousin is cool!" the Twins said in unison.

"Yes," said Harry with pride. "Yes, she is."

To Ginny's delight, the match between the Harpies and the All-Stars turned into a rout, with the all-female Holyhead team utterly dominating their all-male American rivals. While Harry understood Ginny's reaction, he himself was somewhat bored with the proceedings, as he preferred exciting Quidditch regardless of the genders of the players involved. In fact, the most interesting part of the match came after its conclusion, when he noticed Cassius Warrington and some of his friends exiting the stadium nearby. Cassius snidely (and loudly) said that the Harpies were "alright for a bunch of girls." Cassius didn't realize that Millie Bulstrode was standing just a few feet behind him, not until she called out his name and asked if he wanted another lesson in the "Muggle approach to dealing with loudmouthed jerks," her preferred euphemism for a quick knee to the crotch.

Cassius paled and moved on quickly. Theo and Neville both laughed, while Harry turned to Tracey Davis, who also observed the exchange.

"And he's my rival for most fanciable Slytherin?!" he asked with a smirk.

She shrugged. "Eh. He's still good-looking. And then he ruins the effect by opening his mouth."

The next morning ...

There were no matches on Sunday, but Harry, Sirius, Lucius, and Augusta met for an hour over breakfast to discuss the Greengrass-Abbott proposal. While they all obviously had reservations about dealing with House Selwyn in any capacity, it was decided that the Abbotts would make a good addition to their Wizengamot alliance provided that certain mutual oaths were made. Aside from everything else they brought to the table, having such a progressive House in their alliance might help to divert any negative press attention to the "unpleasant family histories" of House Black, House Wilkes, and House Malfoy.

"And if nothing else," Lucius said languidly. "I can always speed up Uriah Travers' inevitable departure on his next Great Adventure."

"Lucius!" snapped Augusta. "Kindly refrain from comments that might make us all accessories before the fact!"

Meanwhile, at the Weasley tent ...

"Wait, I thought your Mum closed her stall today," Jim asked. "What do you mean she's off making a lot of food for," he suddenly made a face, "Lucius Malfoy!"

"The food stall is closed today," Ron replied. "But Mum still has a catering contract with Mr. Malfoy for some big shindig he's doing tonight at the BMW tent."

"The ... BMW tent?"

"Yeah, that's what everybody's calling it. Apparently, it's some in-joke Harry came up with about a Muggle car manufacturer."

Jim winced at the mention of his ex-brother. "Still, if she's working today, I'd like to help. And honestly, I could use the money!"

Ron frowned. "Jim, I think you can survive without one day's worth of wages, especially since you're only getting paid one galleon a day. You've worked hard all week. Honestly, harder than most of my siblings. So let's take today off and go exploring the campgrounds. Mum has all the help she needs. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny are with her over at Black ..."

The boy caught himself, but just a second too late. Jim's eyes narrowed.

"At Black ... what?"

"Never mind, Jim. It's not important."

"Ron!" Jim snapped. "Please, don't try to hide stuff from me just because you think it will upset me, okay? I've had enough of that from my Mum and Dad over the last few years."

Ron took a deep breath. "Okay. Promise me that you won't get mad, okay?"

"Oh Merlin, is it that bad?!" Jim said almost plaintively.

"... Maybe? Anyway, Mum's doing all her specialty cooking in the kitchen at Blackstone."

Jim blinked in confusion. "Black ... stone? What's that?"

Ron licked his lips nervously. "It's what Harry renamed Potter Manor to."

Jim stared at him.

"On account of the fact that he and Sirius Black are under that Oath of Enmity thing, you see? So living in a place called Potter Manor was making them all ... squirrelly!"

"Harry Black renamed my home?! The one that's been called Potter Manor for over a thousand years?!"

"Well, it's just temporary, Jim. You can change it back when the lease runs out."

"IN EIGHTEEN YEARS!"

Ron shrugged helplessly, and then, Jim fell back onto his cot and put his hands over his face.

"Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable!"

Ron gasped, as it was the first time that he'd ever heard his friend use that degree of vulgarity. Then, Jim pulled his hands aside from his face and looked up at Ron.

"Why did he name it Blackstone? Just because of his new name?"

The other boy made a face. "Well, yeah. I mean, um, that ... and the fact that he had all the masonry on the outside changed to look black."

Jim said nothing. He couldn't even if he wanted to, as he was suddenly limited to a faint gargling sound not unlike that of a small frog lodged in his throat that was presently being throttled to death.

Lucius Malfoy's "big shindig," as Ron had dubbed it, was actually a formal banquet paid for by Lucius but thrown on behalf of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. In addition to the members of Malfoy's political alliance, the guests would include the players and coaching staff of all the semifinalist teams (Australia, Bulgaria, Ireland, and Luxembourg) and all the exhibition teams, various dignitaries from the semifinalist nations, a number of Ministry officials, and various miscellaneous guests who "knew the right people."

While 3M handled the catering, Lucius and Harry summoned their respective house elves to handle the actual serving. As for the Weasleys themselves, Harry had issued the entire family an invitation to the gathering, as well as free formal robes for the whole family from Madam Malkin's. Arthur demurred, but Harry insisted.

"I still owe George a life debt, Mr. Weasley," Harry had said when he'd first offered the invitation. "Humor me. An invitation to a party is the least I could do. And besides, Mrs. Weasley has worked so hard to help this come together. I'd really like her there to be recognized."

Arthur grimaced before responding. "I'm very grateful, Harry. And I do want my Molly to get the credit she deserves. But there's just one problem. You see ..."

He hesitated and coughed nervously.

"Jim Potter is staying with us in our tent through the finals. And given his status, I'm ... uncomfortable just leaving him alone in the tent by himself. So I suppose either Bill or Charlie will have to stay with him. Or them, really—I'm sure Ron will want to stay with him. Though it's a shame Ron would have to miss this since he idolizes so many of the players who'll be there."

Harry's eye twitched, but he reinforced his Occlumency and persevered. "Say no more, Mr. Weasley. Despite our ... differences, Jim is welcome to come as a guest of your family. Of course, I would expect that one of your older sons stay with him at all times to keep him out of trouble. And also away from both Sirius and me. And probably my cousin Tonks, now that I think about it. And it goes without saying that I am not buying brand new formal robes for him."

"Oh, no fears, Harry!" Arthur said excitedly. "I'm sure we can find something for him to wear. And I promise, we'll keep him out of trouble and away from any members of House Black!"

Harry nodded but privately resigned himself to something going wrong. Where he and Jim Potter were concerned, it seemed an inevitability.

Later ...

"I'm still not sure this is a good idea," said Jim cautiously. "I mean, there will be a lot of people at this party that really hate me."

"Maybe so," said Ron. "But there will also be a lot of people to look out for you. All the Weasleys will be there, plus a bunch of Aurors and Hit Wizards and Ministry officials. I mean, yeah, Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater, and everyone in Sirius Black's family is cursed to hate you. But surely no one's gonna try anything in front of that many important people!"

Ron leaned in closer. "And besides, wouldn't you be willing to risk death if it meant meeting Viktor Krum?"

Jim laughed. "Probably so. But I don't have any dress robes here. Or at all, if I'm being honest."

"Really?" asked Arthur, who'd joined the boys in their room at the tent to extend the invitation. "I'd have figured you'd be decked out because you go to official functions all the time."

Jim looked away somewhat bashfully. "We, um, had to sell 'em all," he mumbled.

All three were silent for a few seconds.

"Well, look, Jim," said Arthur kindly. "We'll all be taking a Portkey to Diagon Alley around three o'clock. You can come with us and we'll see if we can find you something appropriate that we can afford."

"Mr. Weasley!" Jim exclaimed. "I ... I can't ask you to buy me robes! I'm supposed to be working for you!"

"Well, it's more like you're working for Molly, truth be told. But you're also our guest and Ronnie's best friend, so I'm happy to do it."

Jim smiled weakly. "I tell you what. I'll go with you to Madam Malkin's, and we'll see what I can afford first. Then, if we still need to, we can talk about you loaning me money for dress robes."

"Fair enough," Arthur said with a smile.

While the fittings for the Weasleys went without a hitch, finding something for Jim that was within his price range was another matter. In fact, literally the only set of dress robes for sale in his size was second-hand, maroon velvet, and had some rather moldy-looking lace frills at the collar and both cuffs. Ron's eyes bugged out at the sight of them, and he bit back a laugh at his friend's distress.

"Better you than me, mate," he said. "Personally, I'd go starkers before I wore those in public."

Madam Malkin clucked her tongue at Ron who blushed at having offended the seamstress.

"Well," she said, "they were quite fashionable back in the day, but if you don't like them, so be it. Of course, if you can't afford to buy anything, you could always hire robes for the evening."

"... Hire robes?" Jim asked in confusion.

The witch nodded. "Yes. If you only need the robes for a single event, I can let you have them for a reduced rate, usually an hourly rate. But once the event's over, at the stroke of midnight, they'll instantly be summoned back here to the shop. We call it our Cinderella Special."

The figure she quoted for hiring for the evening a set of robes of the same style as Ron's was something he could afford, though it would take half the galleons he'd earned over two weeks working for 3M, and at the end of the night, he'd have nothing to show for it. Well, nothing but the chance to meet Viktor Krum and a few dozen of the world's best Quidditch players.

"It's a deal," he said.

That evening ...

As Jim entered the palatial tent along with the Weasleys, he couldn't help but be impressed. The circular interior was enormous, more than half the size of the Hogwarts Great Hall, and fully occupied by well over a hundred guests. The tent had been roughly divided into six zones: one with tables for each of the four semifinalist teams and their guests that had been decorated with that nation's colors, a fifth area on the far side set up for dignitaries from all the participating nations, and a large central area that served as "neutral ground" and would later become a formal dance floor.

And in the section reserved for the Bulgarians, Jim couldn't help but notice Harry Black standing next to Draco Malfoy ... and headed straight for Viktor Krum. But before he could say or do anything, Jim was distracted by a familiar voice from nearby.

"Well, well, well! Don't you look civilized for a change!"

It was Padma Patil moving towards Jim and the Weasleys from the direction of the Luxembourg section. Jim did a double take. He was used to seeing Padma in either her Hogwarts uniform, the martial arts outfit she wore for Wu Xi Do practice, or in casualwear. In particular, she'd never been one for makeup. Tonight, however, her hair was styled in long flowing curls, and she wore a knee-length Ravenclaw-blue dress of some kind (one that really brought out her eyes) with dark grey form-fitting trousers underneath and a shiny golden shawl over her shoulders. She looked radiant.

"Padma!" Jim exclaimed. And to his utter mortification, his voice broke in the process. He coughed and tried again. "Ahem. Padma! You look ... amazing!"

"Thank you," she responded. "It's called a salwar suit. Muggle fashion from back home. Perfect for parties, but much more practical than a sari, I think."

"I, ah, don't know what that is." Jim glanced at Ron, who shrugged.

"Well, let me show you both," she said with a smirk. "Sanjeev bought Parvati a rather extravagant one for this event. Come sit with us for a while." Then, she turned to Ron. "I'm pleased you're here too, Ron. My father wanted to meet you."

"Me?" Ron asked in surprise. "Why?"

"I suspect he wanted to finally thank you for saving Parvati last summer. He never found the time back then, which Parvati and I thought was rather rude of him to be honest."

"Oh, that's okay," Ron said bashfully. "It was nothing."

"It was hardly nothing to save my sister's life, Ron," Padma said. "Particularly since, as I recall, it put you into a coma for several hours."

"Wait, what?" said a confused Charlie Weasley, who was standing behind Ron and Jim, the other Weasleys having moved on to their reserved table. "Why am I just now hearing about a coma?"

Ron blushed furiously as he tried to stammer a response followed by an introduction for his older brother. Then, Padma moved to stand between Ron and Jim and took each of them by the arm.

"I tell you what, Charlie Weasley. Come join us, and Parvati can regale you with tales of your brother's heroism. By the way, apparently, we're all honorary Luxembourgers tonight. I hope that's not a problem."

And with that, she led the two boys off towards the Luxembourg section, with a slightly stunned Charlie following behind. And as Jim Potter suddenly found himself entranced by Padma's new look, Harry Black, for once, was forgotten.

As Harry followed behind, Draco Malfoy made his way to the table where the Bulgarian national team sat. A stern man who appeared to be a Bulgarian Auror moved to block them, but Viktor Krum called out in some harsh Eastern European tongue (Bulgarian, presumably) and the man stepped aside. Then, Krum himself moved over to them and, to Harry's surprise, nearly pulled Draco off the ground into a bear hug. Harry's surprise only grew when Draco spoke to Krum in what sounded like a completely different Eastern European language (Russian, maybe?), though he could clearly make out words that he thought sounded like "Harry" and "Black." Krum's face lit up in response.

"Ah! Harry Black! Used to be Harry Potter but unpleasant family excrement of cow! I have seen memories of Harry Black fly! Very good! Not as good as Dragon here, but very good!"

"Um, thank you," Harry said as he tried to process the comparison of his family history to excrement of cow. He turned to Draco.

"Was that Bulgarian you were speaking, Draco, er, Dragon?"

"Russian," Draco said with a smug expression. "I also speak French, Italian, and I'm learning German next. Viktor here speaks Russian and French, but his English is a work in progress."

"Dragon!" Viktor exclaimed with a hurt expression. "Do not mock Viktor! Viktor is learning your Englander speech as fast as can!"

"Well, I regret that I don't speak any of those languages, Viktor," Harry said. "I've taken the potions for both Elder and Younger Futhark, but they don't really lend themselves to casual conversation."

"Futhark is good for other things. Harry Black rune casts?"

Harry blinked. "I ... do runic enchantments. Or at least I'm beginning to. I was part of a group that put together the Eye-Spies, if you're familiar with them."

"Ah, yes!" Viktor said with sudden excitement. "Camera things! They float above stadium recording games! Harry Black did those?"

"With the help of others," Harry said slowly. Draco was quiet but was smirking for some reason.

"Viktor is to be getting NEWT in Ancient Runes after end of year! Maybe Viktor will design own brooms! Haha!" He clapped Harry on the back rather forcefully. "What else is Harry Black working on?"

Harry looked back and forth between an increasingly smug Draco and the effusive Bulgarian Seeker.

"Well, this is just a side project, but I've been working on modifying the Protego Orbis and incorporating it into a broom so as to make it submersible."

Viktor's eyes widened. "Broom that flies underwater? Like fish? Ingenuitous! But how does Harry Black solve problem of drag on thrust when moving through water in spheri ... spherio ... in ball shape?"

Harry tilted his head slightly and studied Viktor for a second. Then, whir-click-kaleidoscope.

"Well, I'm still working on that part." He paused to take a sip of punch. "Not to change the subject, Viktor, and I hope you won't take this the wrong way ... but am I right in assuming you understand English just fine? You just can't speak it?"

Viktor's eyes widened in surprise. "What Harry Black mean?" he asked cautiously.

"Well, you're obviously having problems with pronouns and with subject-verb agreement. But on the other hand, you can follow words like submersible. Oh, and excrement, I suppose."

Draco laughed suddenly and then held out his hand. Viktor shook his head in amazement before pulling a galleon from a pocket and handing it over to the boy.

"A Legilimens. At fourteen. Amazement!"

Harry turned to Draco in consternation. "Um, Dragon, have you been spreading all my secrets with your friends at Durmstrang?!"

"Don't be silly, Harry! All your good secrets are under oaths!"

Viktor laughed. "Fear not, Harry Black. Viktor will keep all secrets! But only if Harry Black will keep Viktor's! Please to not tell that Viktor understands Englander speech?"

Harry chuckled. "Agreed. But how can you understand so well but speak ... like that?"

Viktor sighed. "Let us just say unfortunate mishap with language potion, yes? But enough of that. Tell Viktor more about underwater broom!"

Meanwhile, in the dignitaries' section, Percy Weasley feared that he was about to witness a declaration of war from one group or another. For his boss, Bartemius Crouch, was about to make some formal introductions.

"McAvity!" Crouch snapped. Beside him, Percy coughed rather forcefully. Crouch turned to glare at him before composing himself. "I mean ... Director McAvity. I have some introductions to make."

"Splendid," said the Dark Lord McAvity as he wiped his face with a napkin before standing to face the group with a genial expression. "I love meeting new people."

"Ladies and Gentlewizards," Crouch continued while ignoring the Muggleborn's remark. "I present to you Alexander McAvity, Australia's Director for Magical-Muggle Affairs and Junior Mugwump to the ICW. Director McAvity, allow me to introduce ... Grigor Dermitov, Minister of Magic for Bulgaria and Emissary from the Balkan Alliance."

Dermitov was a portly man with an extravagant moustache and somewhat old-fashioned and conservative robes. He nodded stiffly towards McAvity but said nothing, possibly because he spoke no English and didn't even know what was going on.

"Or perhaps he does," thought Percy, "and is just silently registering his disapproval of an influential Muggleborn since they don't have any where he comes from."

"Next," growled Crouch, "we have the Kumar Pasha, who is here on behalf of Wizarding Luxembourg."

The Pasha was a powerfully built man in his 50s with bushy eyebrows and a goatee that came down into a sharp point. He wore flowing colorful robes of the sort associated with the Magical Middle East and a large turban with an enormous ruby set into it.

"A pleasure to meet you both," McAvity said diplomatically, though neither man responded verbally. Percy recalled that, whatever the Bulgarian's feelings about Muggleborns, the Kumar Pasha's family had supported blood purism for generations, and the current Pasha's father had been accused of financially supporting Grindelwald, though nothing was ever proven.

Percy took a moment to compare McAvity's attire to the others. It was a mix of Muggle and Magical clothing, basically a crisp black suit with a bow tie ("A tuxedo?" Percy seemed to recall from his father's descriptions of Muggle-wear) underneath a black opera cloak. For the most part, the ensemble looked smart if untraditional in a Wizarding setting, save for the one splash of color: a green and yellow button on his jacket lapel that bore the letters "McA." As far as Percy could see, everyone in the Australian section wore matching buttons.

"Next," Crouch continued, "we have Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, who represents Wizarding Britain and, by extension, Wizarding Ireland. Madam Umbridge is standing in for Minister Fudge who could not be here this evening. She is accompanied by Senior Auror Pius Thicknesse."

Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Fudge "couldn't be here" because he refused to risk having his picture taken shaking hands with McAvity. On the bright side, Umbridge seemed to have blossomed as Fudge's public face in all the public events he didn't want to face himself. While she'd had a reputation for dowdiness, for tonight, she'd gotten her hair styled and her makeup professionally done, and she wore new evening robes in basic black but with a vibrant pink satin lining. Dolores Umbridge would probably never be described as beautiful, but the effect tonight was quite charming.

"Enchanté, Madam Umbridge," McAvity said gallantly as he took the witch's hand and kissed her knuckles. Dolores blushed until her cheeks were the same color as the lining of her robes. Thankfully, for once, she didn't titter. Beside her, Thicknesse scowled with obvious jealousy.

"And finally," Crouch said after steeling himself, "our host for this evening. Lucius Malfoy, Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy."

Malfoy stepped forward and bowed quite respectfully to McAvity.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lord Malfoy," the man said. "Can I assume you are the son of Abraxas Malfoy?"

"You are correct sir," said Malfoy languidly. "I am indeed the son and successor to Abraxas Malfoy, the wizard who worked so hard to impose the title of Dark Lord upon you when I was but a child and who ultimately saw you banished from these lands. I became Lord when he ... passed away in 1979."

"I see," said McAvity while giving Lucius an appraising look. "If I may be so bold, Lord Malfoy, how did your father pass away?"

There was a frisson of tension over the entire group at McAvity's bluntness in asking how his old enemy had died, but McAvity's attention was focused on Lucius. And he was surprised to see, not a reaction of anger, but rather a ghost of a smile that passed too quickly for anyone else to notice.

"Irony, Director McAvity," Lucius said without a hint of anger or disdain. "My father died of an acute case ... of irony."

"I cannot believe they're just ... insulting us like this!" Daphne Greengrass hissed angrily. Her dearest friend, Tracey Davis, turned to her but noticed that the Greengrass Heiress wasn't even looking back. Instead, she was glaring with absolute fury at the nearby Australian delegation. Tracey frowned.

"Honestly, Daph," said the longsuffering ward of House Greengrass. "What are the Australians doing now that's so offensive?"

Daphne scoffed. "Don't you see?" she snapped. "They're all wearing buttons that say McA. They're literally just flaunting their support for their Muggleborn Dark Lord."

Tracey rolled her eyes quietly. But the snort of contempt from behind them was quite audible. Both Slytherins turned at once to find Hermione Granger just a few feet behind them bearing a disdainful expression.

"... Granger," Daphne said with some surprise.

"Greengrass," Hermione responded coolly. Despite herself, Daphne grew angry at the look Hermione was giving her.

"You disagree? I'm not surprised. Look, I know you're a Muggleborn, Granger. But that's no reason to support a Dark Lord, let alone wear a button declaring one's allegiance to him. It's like some sort of Muggleborn Dark Mark."

Hermione chuckled. "Nonsense, of course."

"Well, if you're so clever, what other message are we supposed to take from McA buttons on all their robes if not support for McAvity?"

Hermione gave a condescending look. "Magical. Commonwealth. Of Australia. MCA has been the official abbreviation for their country for nearly as long as it's existed. I suppose they went with a lower-case C to wind up the British Purebloods—which is clearly working—but there's nothing new about the abbreviation."

She took a step forward. "And while we're correcting misunderstandings, I'm told you spent a lot of time in your Cultural Preservation Society meetings spreading tales that Alexander McAvity wanted to impose some sort of ridiculous marriage law. Also untrue."

"It most certainly is true!" Daphne hissed. "He wanted to force Purebloods to marry Muggleborns and even Muggles in order to destroy our way of life."

Hermione shook her head. "I looked it up after I heard that bit of nonsense. The only interest McAvity and his movement had in marriage was that they wanted to ban forced marriages and end the practice of wizarding families selling their children in marriage contracts before they're out of diapers. Marriages between two people who might have nothing in common by the time they come of age and who might well be so different that they would have to drink Amortentia at the wedding just to be willing to put up with one another."

Daphne's face flushed. "There is nothing wrong with Amortentia between two consenting spouses, Granger. My mother and father still take it every year to commemorate their anniversary." Then, her eyes flashed angrily. "And from the rumors I've been hearing, Granger, perhaps your parents' marriage would be in better shape if Amortentia was an option for them."

"Daphne!" Tracey exclaimed in shock. But Hermione did not rise to the provocation. If anything, she became colder.

"It's quite alright, Davis," she said. "Greengrass's comments about my mother and father don't bother me."

She took a step towards Daphne and fixed her with a steely gaze that almost made Daphne want to pull back.

"After all," Hermione continued. "It's not like I haven't heard worse."

And with that, she turned and strode away.

"Um, Daph? What the hell did you do to make Hermione Granger look at you like she wanted to carve your heart out with a butter knife?"

Daphne exhaled shakily as she watched Hermione's retreating back. "Honestly, Tracey? I have absolutely no idea."

By nine o'clock, the speeches were over and the desserts had been presented and consumed. At Lucius Malfoy's insistence, Molly rose to be recognized as the one who'd provided the well-received food, and she nearly cried at the applause she received from the crowd. Then, the tables and chairs in the center of the tent were vanished to make way for a dance floor while, nearby, enchanted musical instruments rose into the air to begin a Viennese waltz.

Among the first on the floor were the "American" Archie Goodwin and a young Australian girl who'd accepted his invitation to dance.

"I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to speak with you yet," said Regulus to his cousin, "Delphini," as he surreptitiously put up a Muffliato Charm around them to obscure their conversation. "To be honest, we were surprised when you came back to Britain so soon."

The young woman (who was more accurately described as "a middle-aged woman who'd had some work done") shrugged.

"Buck was activated for McAvity's security detail, and he was uncomfortable leaving me unattended in his home back in Wagga Wagga. He was worried I might have some sort of relapse, though whether a physical one or a mental one, I've no idea."

Regulus frowned. "And how are you, Bellatrix? Really?"

The former Bellatrix Black Lestrange smiled wanly. "I honestly don't know, Regulus. Physically, I'm mostly recovered. The nature of my ... condition allowed me to bounce back from Dementor exposure more readily than Sirius. But still, every time I walk by a mirror, I can't help but gasp at my reflection. The magic used on this body makes it look like an 18-year-old girl, but I don't look at all like Bellatrix Black did at that age. I've black hair and, I suppose, a certain natural haughtiness. But that's it. And I still have trouble acting my apparent age. Back in Wagga Wagga, I've already had to fend off courting attempts from several boys who are physically the same age as young Delphini White but who really seem like callow immature youths to me. It's ... vexing. I'd actually wanted a body that would have put me in my late 20s or early 30s, but age-reducing magic is very difficult. And in my case, I had to be reset physically to a point before I read that damnable book and became Miss Demeanor."

Regulus sighed and chose to change the subject. "That still doesn't answer the question: why Delphini White?"

"Is there a problem with our little fiction that she's a cousin of the late Lazarus White? With luck, I may yet achieve my girlhood dream of becoming an Auror, albeit in Australia rather than Britain, and the White name might open some sympathetic doors."

"True, but ... we've been exploring ways to bring Regulus Black back to life. To do so, we'll have to work around the connections between Regulus Black and Lazarus White and Gilderoy Lockhart. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I suppose. I was really wondering more about Delphini."

"It's from the constellation Delphinus," the witch answered.

"Well, yes, I know that part. I'm a Black too, remember. But why a constellation named after a dolphin?"

She lifted her chin defiantly. "I like dolphins. When I was a little girl, I said that one day, I'd have a child and name it Delphinus if it was a boy and Delphini if it was a girl. After ... well, after everything that happened, I never had that opportunity to become a mother, and I doubt I ever will."

"Bella ..."

"Reg," she interrupted. "My appearance doesn't change the facts of my biology. This 18-year-old body hides a woman in her mid-40s. The likelihood of my ever being able to conceive a child is low and gets lower every day. So why shouldn't I claim that fanciful name from my childhood for myself instead? Claim it and use it for my second chance at a life."

Before Regulus could respond, the waltz ended and switched over to a pavane as the two cousins stepped apart. Then, there was a polite cough from nearby. It was a handsome young man with hair the color of sunset and a dragon tooth earring set in his ear.

"I hope I'm not intruding, but I wonder if I might have the honor of the next dance?"

"And you are?" the witch said, intrigued.

"William Weasley," he replied. "Though my friends call me Bill."

She glanced back to Regulus who simply shrugged. "Here's to second chances," he said.

Then, Bellatrix Black took Bill Weasley's hand. "Delphini White. A pleasure to meet you, Bill Weasley."

Regulus watched as the pair twirled away, only to be surprised when someone spoke behind him.

"Ah, young love. So much fun to watch and see where it all leads."

Reg turned to see an attractive woman in fashionable (if vividly colored) robes and platinum blonde hair. Her infamous bejeweled spectacles instantly identified her even to casual readers of the Daily Prophet.

"You seem to be all alone on the dance floor, Mr. Archie Goodwin," said Rita Skeeter flirtatiously as she held out a hand. "Can I tempt you into a dance or two?"

For a brief second, Regulus wondered what the hell he was about to get into. Then, he decided.

"Temptation, Miss Skeeter, implies that the proper response would be to say no," the wizard said before taking the witch's hand.

At eleven o'clock, the party began to wind down, especially after the Irish, Bulgarian, and Australian teams all announced that they were heading back to their own sectors for "after-parties." Jim and Ron had never gotten near Viktor Krum, as Harry and Draco seemed to monopolize the Bulgarian Seeker the whole night long. Intellectually, Jim knew that the feelings of intense jealousy and annoyance he felt due to Harry unwittingly barring him from meeting one of his idols was due to the Imperius Curse.

Unfortunately, knowing the feelings were unnatural didn't stop Jim from having them.

Despite, he'd thoroughly enjoyed his time with Padma, though Ron seemed miffed that they'd spent most of the time with Luxembourgers. Jim attributed it to Ron's general disdain for the Luxembourg national team and his specific disdain for Sanjeev Kumar, the Pasha's son who barely managed to conceal blood purist tendencies. It didn't help that, for reasons unknown to both the Patil sisters, their father spent the better part of an hour pumping Ron for personal information: his likes and dislikes, how he was doing at Hogwarts, how his family's various business ventures were doing, what his career goals were, and (oddly) whether he was dating anyone.

On the bright side, Ron did get signatures from the whole Luxembourg team for his autograph book, and Sanjeev took pride in introducing the pair to various Quidditch luminaries associated with the Irish and Bulgarian teams (other than Krum), most of whom were cool but polite. Quidditch purists might not like the Kumar Dynasty—as the Pasha insisted on calling it—and its effect on European Quidditch, but they also couldn't help but respect its influence, at least enough to let it open a few doors here and there.

Somewhat amusingly, Ron also picked up an autograph from Oliver Wood, their erstwhile house-mate who was present as a guest of House Warrington. While the boys had learned that Oliver had been picked up as a reserve Keeper for the Montrose Magpies, they had not realized that the Magpies were owned by an aggressively Pureblooded family whose Lord had never taken the Dark Mark but whose affiliations had always been obvious. Nevertheless, Oliver seemed quite happy in his new role and would not hear a single word against the Warringtons. Young Cassius overheard the conversation and came by to clap Wood on the shoulder and praise his performance so far. He favored Jim with a smug, self-satisfied look the whole time.

As the party ended, Sanjeev announced that he and his fiancé Parvati would be posing for pictures with the Luxembourg team to appear in the Bigonville Boggart, Luxembourg's only wizarding newspaper (which the Kumars, naturally, owned). Unwilling to stay and sit on the sidelines for Merlin knew how long, Padma told her parents that she would make her way back to their tent alone. When they balked, Jim gallantly offered to escort her. Mr. Patil looked at him strangely ... and then looked at Ron even more strangely, before giving his assent.

Once outside the tent, Jim turned to Ron and Charlie.

"Look, guys. There's no reason for you to have to chaperone us. The Pasha's setup isn't far from here and it's a quick walk from there back to the Weasley tent. I'm perfectly capable of escorting Padma without needing any bodyguards."

Charlie noticed the pleading expression on Jim's face and immediately recognized that he wanted some time alone with the young girl.

"Weeelll," he said with a smile. "How about we compromise? I can see the Pasha's tent from here, and you're right. It's not far. So Ron and I will wait here for you to drop your friend off and then come back before we go to our tent together. Sound fair?"

"Uhh," Ron interrupted. "Jim, I really don't know if it's a good idea for you to be alone here. I mean, who knows who might be out there waiting to jump you!"

"Ron, I'll be fine! You know I can take care of myself!"

Ron bit down on the obvious response. He'd spent three years observing all the times Jim could not take care of himself, but that wasn't something he felt like pointing out right now. So instead, he glanced at his wristwatch.

"Also, can I remind you it's 11:15? And that you have to be back in our tent by midnight or, well, you know what'll happen?"

Jim scoffed. "Ron, don't worry. Five minutes there and back. And then ten minutes to get to our tent. That's 11:35 at the latest. Plenty of time."

And without another word, Jim took Padma by the arm and led her off towards the nearby Luxembourg sector.

Charlie sighed loudly with a grin on his face. "Ah! Young love in bloom!"

Ron said nothing and was not smiling.

Nearby, several others observed both the conversation and Jim Potter's departure before stepping away to send a quick message through a magic mirror.

The five-minute walk to the Pasha's tent was uneventful, and Jim enjoyed his conversation with the young Ravenclaw. They talked about Wu Xi Do, about Remus Lupin (Jim was reticent about the Animagery book he'd received from Lupin; Padma had heard nothing at all and was disappointed by his absence from Shamballa), about what their respective summers were like, and about what they were hoping for in the coming school year.

Finally, they reached their destination. Jim hesitated as, for some reason, he wasn't sure precisely how to say goodbye. "Well, see ya later!" seemed wholly inadequate for the occasion. Also, he was suddenly terrified that his voice would crack again. Padma smiled at his obvious discomfort.

"I should tell you upfront, Jim Potter, that my mother made me promise never to kiss a boy on the first date."

Jim blushed but then smiled. "So ... after our second date?"

"Ah-ah-ah," she answered while wagging her finger no. "Technically, this wasn't even our first date. This was me inviting you and Ron to sit with us at a party. You would have to ask me out one-on-one for it to count as a date, Jim."

He nodded slowly. "Well, in that case, I know it's probably a bit early, but ... Padma Patil, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to Hogsmeade for the first Hogsmeade Weekend? On our first date?"

Padma grinned. "It would be an honor, Potter. Until next time." Then, she waved her fingers at him before entering the tent, still smiling.

Now alone, Jim suddenly realized that he was grinning like a loon, and he turned and headed back to meet Ron and Charlie.

But halfway there, he paused suddenly, for up ahead, he noticed two suspicious figures dressed in dark robes at the edge of an alleyway between two tents. They did not seem to notice him at first, and out of instinct, he took cover behind some boxes. Then, one turned to look in his direction. Jim gasped. The figure was wearing a bone-white mask of the kind he'd seen in so many photographs from the last war.

It was the mask of a Death Eater.

Swiftly, Jim ducked back down. The two Death Eaters hesitated for a second and then took off down the alleyway. Jim was torn. He knew it was reckless to follow alone, but at the same time, he thought he might get close enough to hear them talking or learn where they were going. Even if he only saw which tent they entered, he could send word to James, who would know what to do.

Jim pulled his wand out and crept down the alleyway that marked the boundary between the Luxembourger section and the Australian section. He could still see the two further down walking swiftly away as if on a mission. Neither seemed to notice him following. They turned left at an intersection. Jim pursued. Once at the intersection himself, he saw one of the two take another left, the other presumably further ahead. The Boy-Who-Lived increased his pace while trying to remain stealthy. But just before he reached the next intersection, he heard a low voice snarl from behind him.

"STUPEFY."

Caught by surprise, he turned and tried to dodge but it was too late. The Stunner slammed into him, and the Boy-Who-Lived slumped to the ground. From behind him, the other figure in Death Eater robes shimmered into view, still breathing heavily. He glanced down admiringly at the ring on his finger, the one he'd been given by his father that conferred invisibility for as long as the wearer could hold his breath. Thankfully, Jim Potter had been so eager in his foolish pursuit that he had darted right past without any idea that an invisible enemy was lying in wait. As he advanced towards Jim, his partner in crime returned, and as one, they pulled back their hoods and removed their masks, so they could better see their captured quarry.

"Disappointingly easy," said Albert Yaxley. "His brother put up a far better challenge."

Giles Yaxley snorted. "By put up a far better challenge, you mean he beat your arse, right, little brother?"

Albert sneered angrily. "He'll get his as well, Giles. Just you wait."

Then, the Durmstrang Fifth Year glared down at the boy unconscious at their feet. "So, it seems we have the Boy-Who-Lived at our mercy. Any chance we're allowed to have a little fun with him?"

"Absolutely not," Giles said firmly. "Father was explicit. Jim Potter is not to be harmed in any way."

Then, he reached down to pick up Jim's wand from where it had fallen.

"We have all we need right here," Giles said with a cruel smile.

Norvegicus

Target 2 has been acquired. Awaiting instructions on how to deliver it.

Misericorde

Sometime later, Jim woke up with a pounding headache. He was alone and still lying prone on the ground where he'd been knocked unconscious. After shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, he realized that he was unharmed, a fact which actually surprised him in light of how his encounters with Death Eaters usually went. Then, he stiffened in sudden worry. His wand was not in his hand nor in his holster nor anywhere on the ground around him. After several minutes of anxious searching, he was forced to assume the worst: that his attackers, who were likely Death Eaters, had stolen his wand.

Jim rubbed his hands across his face as he wondered how his life could get any worse. His mental query was answered by a strange tingling sensation that briefly covered his entire body followed by a sudden chill. Jim looked down and saw that he was now naked save for a pair of plaid Muggle boxer shorts and a t-shirt that identified him as "The Supreme Git of the Universe," a sentiment that had never felt more accurate.

"Okay, what to do, what to do?" he thought. Every option seemed destined to lead to public humiliation. He could run back to Padma's tent in his underwear so that his (maybe future) girlfriend could see him in this state. Or he could streak his way back to where Ron and Charlie were hopefully still waiting for him, which meant even more people seeing him like this (including Harry and probably the Malfoys!).

"Oh yeah, and with my luck, Viktor Krum and Rita Skeeter!" he said aloud. Despite himself, he reached up and wiped the beginnings of a tear from his eye with his thumb. He was so tired of feeling like a screw up. Of always making dumb mistakes and then paying for them with one humiliation after another.

"No more," he muttered. Then, he paused at what he'd just said and closed his eyes in determination. "No more. No more." Finally, he found what he'd been looking for: the tiny hidden switch deep within his own psyche.

"Nevermore," he said before taking wing up into the night sky.

It was less than two minutes to the Weasley tent as the crow (or rather, the raven) flies, and the black corvid darted in through the tent flap, past the common area, and into the room Jim shared with Ron. It perched itself on the headboard of Jim's bed and cawed twice. Then, the raven tensed and took wing again. It only flew a few feet before its entire form grew and morphed into the shape of a young man.

Jim looked around wildly as if to make sure all his body parts were present and appropriately human. They were. And perhaps more importantly, both his t-shirt and boxers were still in place as well. He had done it. He had chosen to change into a raven. He had retained his human intelligence throughout his raven-flight. He had chosen to turn back into a boy. And he had even retained the clothes he'd worn before he started.

For a moment, all concerns about the attack and the theft of his wand were gone.

"YES!" Jim bellowed while thrusting his arms up into the air. "I DID IT! I'M AN ANIMAGUS! AND I'M NOT NAKED!"

"Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that last bit," said Ginny Weasley as she pulled aside the tent flap. "I'm sure I'd have gotten the vapors if you were screaming and naked. And me without a camera!"

In response to Ginny's appearance, a suddenly embarrassed Jim snatched the blanket off Ron's bed and wrapped it around himself.

"G-g-ginny!? What are you doing here?!"

"Oh, you know. Being just a little girl, Mum sent me home from the party early and then left me here alone in a tent with nothing to do so she could prepare the food stall for tomorrow."

The Slytherin Weasley folded her arms and smirked at the blushing boy.

"So, Jim, tell me more about this whole Animagus business."

A hotel suite in West London
1:00 a.m.

The three wizards and one witch had resided in the suite for just shy of a month, and by now, they were at once bored, frustrated, and deep in the grip of cabin fever. Even worse, they were French wizards (and one witch) hiding in Muggle Britain, which meant, among other things, that finding a decent cup of coffee was impossible.

But worse still, after all these weeks, the entire purpose of their mission ("Opération: Serpentard") had been a waste of time. In just shy of four weeks, the Listening Charm that had been so painstakingly hidden within the official badge of DMLE Director (and suspected Death Eater) Corban Yaxley had yielded almost no useful intel. Oh, the man was quite corrupt. That much was clear from the number of times he'd quietly interfered in DMLE investigations into fellow "Mangemorts," as well as other criminals who'd paid the right bribes. But the agents had yet to hear any conversations that conclusively referred to actual Death Eater activities, let alone conversations that gave any insight on the current status of "Tu-Sais-Qui," the Dark Lord himself.

And worst of all, the night before, the damned Listening Charm had stopped working altogether right as Yaxley entered some secret meeting at the behest of Cassilda Selwyn, another Person of Interest. Thus far, the agents had been unable to determine whether the Charm had been blocked by some kind of security ward, whether the badge to which it had been attached had been damaged or lost, or whether the spell simply failed due to a mistake by the caster.

"You know my views," said Gaultier, the youngest member of the group. "I think the spell just failed. It was foolish to entrust its implementation to a child." He snorted contemptuously. "Let alone a half-Veela child!"

"Gaultier!" snapped Giraud, the only female in the group. "I've told you not to use that word!"

Gaultier snorted. "You've no cause to be offended, Jeanne. Half-Veela is hardly a slur when it is literally ..."

"Enough! Both of you!" snarled Besson. "And I remind you, Gaultier, that L'Inconnu have ears everywhere. Even if the girl is half-Veela, she is their half-Veela. Mock her at your peril."

Gaultier made a face, but before he could respond, Mézières spoke up. The fourth member of the team was presently manning the enchanted phonograph, which would magically inscribe any conversations overheard by the Listening Charm onto a wax cylinder. Which, in fact, just started up again for the first time in over a day.

"Besson! The badge! It's started recording again!"

Besson moved closer to the recording station. "What is he saying?"

Mézières shrugged. "Nothing so far. But we're getting a clear signal. It ... it sounds like ... music?"

"On speaker," Besson ordered. The other agent flipped a switch, and instantly, sound emerged from the large Victrola speaker attached to the wax cylinder. Suddenly, they could all clearly hear a familiar tune played on what sounded like a glockenspiel. After a second, Besson recognized it.

"Brahms' Lullaby?" he exclaimed in surprise.

Gaultier yawned. "Sounds appropriate. We've been up all day and—yawn—half the night. I could do ... with ... a ..."

And with that, Gaultier simply dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, while nearby, Giraud stumbled and leaned against the wall to support herself.

"The music!" Besson cried out. "It's a curse! Quickly! Cut the feed!

But it was too late. Mézières was already slumped in his chair and snoring loudly, while behind him, Besson heard as Giraud also collapsed to the floor. Then, there was a crash as the door to the hotel room burst open. Without hesitation, Besson let fly with his most powerful Stunner. The intruder in the doorway batted it aside without effort.

"IMPERIO HORRIBILIS!" said Augustus Rookwood. Besson struggled against the wave of crushing psychic force for nearly six full seconds. Then, his whole body went slack and his wand dropped to the floor.

"Master," he said simply.

Behind Besson, Brahms' Lullaby continued to play over the speaker until Rookwood reached into his pocket to produce Corban Yaxley's DMLE badge. He tapped it twice, and the gentle melody ceased.

"Music hath charms," the Death Eater said with a smirk before focusing his attention on Besson.

"Now, mon frère, let us get better acquainted."