Beta: Cloudy

sURPRISE! It's Thursday somewhere.

Round One Start!

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Harry)

Harry stood next to Draco, listening to the thrum of the crowd. Everyone was excitedly chattering about as they waited for the champions to return. If Harry focused hard enough, he could pick out bits of the surrounding conversations. Even though Rosie had a definite lead, there were plenty of students betting on the other champions.

Draco nudged Harry. "You're spacing out."

"Eavesdropping," replied Harry. "For some reason people seem to think Rosie won't win."

"Blasphemy," said Draco with a charming smile.

Harry chuckled. "Right?"

The boys fell into a comfortable silence, Draco joining Harry in eavesdropping on the surrounding conversations. The pale boy must have heard something funny because he let out a snort, then leaned in to whisper what he heard in Harry's ear.

Harry covered his mouth to keep from laughing.

Some people thought they couldn't be heard in the crowd and so they said some rather embarrassing things.

But Draco and Harry heard, and the two boys shared quite a few laughs.

Neville pushed through the crowd to join them, a little out of breath.

"Hey guys," said Neville, his cheeks bright red.

"What's up?" asked Harry.

"Luna had a bit of a headache," Neville mumbled, shyly looking away. "I wanted to take her back, but Lisa beat me to it."

"Uh-huh," observed Draco, peering at the Longbottom heir. "And that makes you flushed?"

"She—she kissed me as thanks for worrying," Neville squeaked out.

"Congrats," said Harry. "Is it anything like the books?"

"Even better," Neville sighed dreamily.

Draco's face screwed up in disdain. "Ew. Don't get soppy this early on."

"I think I love her."

"You have not dated her nearly long enough to say that," said Draco, aghast. "Take it back."

Harry looked up at the night sky, his eyes narrowed. "How long are you supposed to date someone before you love them?"

Draco firmly said, "At least more than one date."

"W-We've been on more than one date," protested Neville.

Draco flatly stared at him. "Two?"

Neville pursed his lips. "... Yes."

"You can like her fine and dandy," said Draco flippantly, "but it's way too early to say you love her."

"H-How can you know that? Maybe I do. Maybe we're meant to be," said Neville stubbornly.

"Maybe you're just horny," snarked Draco, eliciting an embarrassed flush from Neville. "Harry, back me up on this."

"I've never been in love so I can't comment on the situation one way or the other," dismissed Harry. "I don't think I've even had a crush before."

"Really?" Draco was surprised. "No one's caught your interest?"

"Not yet," said Harry. "I mean I know who's pretty and I like talking to some people more than others, but I dunno about doing more than that."

"Who's pretty?" Draco inquired.

"You, Daphne—" Harry started to list off names, but Draco spluttered at being included at all.

"Me?"

Harry gave him a funny look. "Why do you sound so shocked by that?"

Draco shook his head, exasperated. "I know I'm attractive. More surprised by you openly admitting to it. You and your sister are impossible to embarrass."

"Yep."

Suddenly there was a blindingly sharp pain behind his scar. Harry cried out, clutching at it. It felt like someone was tearing his head open, the pain was so immense that he fell to his knees, the crowd deafening to a ringing sound as he squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn't know how long he was hurting, only that when he opened his eyes next, Draco and Neville were on either side of him.

Neville was rubbing his back, "You alright, Harry?"

"Headache?" asked Draco.

"My—" Harry was cut off from finishing as another round of searing pain burned through his head. He hissed in pain, closing his eyes again. His body trembled oddly. He didn't understand why he suddenly ached, nor what triggered such immense pain behind his scar.

A seize of anxiety forced him to re-open his eyes despite the throbbing needles digging into his scar. Draco and Hermione were now kneeling in front of him and Daphne was gently patting the back of his head.

"Tracey's getting a professor," gently said Daphne. "I know you want to be here when Rosie gets back, but it might be best if you go to the hospital wing."

"I—" Harry clenched his jaw as a surge of pain and panic shot through him. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. "S-Something's wrong."

"Mr. Potter," came Professor McGonagall's voice as she weaved through the crowd to reach him. "What's wrong?"

"Something's—something's not right—"

He was shaking harder, the tremors not letting up. He found it hard to close his hands into fists. He didn't understand what was causing the trembling, nor what kept his scar aching so terribly. It had bothered him throughout the year, but nothing on that level. The unsettled anxiety and panic that surged forth within him made his heart pound furiously.

Rosie?

He couldn't explain it. There was no coherent thought, but he knew deep in his heart that something was wrong with his twin.

Something terrible.

"Professor—Professor we have to get Rosie out of the maze—" said Harry, struggling to stand up, his legs shaking violently. Draco reached forward and offered his arm to Harry for support. Harry leaned heavily into the Slytherin boy. "She's in danger."

"I know the tournament tasks are dangerous, Mr. Potter, but—"

"No, you don't understand. Something is wrong. My—" he hesitated. "My scar is hurting, Professor."

Professor McGonagall was a stern-faced, strong woman. There were very few things that could make her hesitate, let alone force a startled reaction. But when Harry Potter told her that the scar he obtained from Lord Voldemort was hurting and he knew his sister was in danger...

She paled. "All right. We'll talk about this with Professor Dumbledore, come along Harry."

Harry moved to follow Professor, but as he took a step forward his world tilted sideways. It was only for a split second but in that one split second Harry felt pain beyond pain throughout his entire body. He fell forward in a hapless slump, and the agony rose to an orchestral climax centered solely on his scar.

His world went black.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Third POV)

Rosaline Lily Potter hung listlessly in the arms of the concrete angel, her deep blue eyes vacant as she stared ahead.

Lord Voldemort's lips curled back in a sneer. "Already broken?"

Her body trembled, an involuntary reaction from the repeated uses of Cruciatus done to her. Voldemort had tortured plenty to know what to expect. He was almost impressed she hadn't screamed during the process. There were a few like that. It was never out of some willpower or impressive determination, simply they couldn't breathe during the process because of how overwhelmed they became from the pain.

It would have been nice to hear her scream if she lasted longer, he thought.

Although that was perhaps for the best. Voldemort had not fully recovered, his own mind frayed at the edges, and his body ached. It was difficult for him to focus. Some thoughts connected, and others were lost. He knew, in abstract way, that there was something deeply wrong with him but he could no longer comprehend what it was, and he found that he did not care.

Voldemort's mind was heavily taxed and tired. He used to be able to cast the Cruciatus Curse silently, and on certain occasions without a wand. But he spent over a decade without a consistent body and it had worn him down. The rebirth process had not been kind either. He knew he was not in his prime anymore, and it would take some considerable effort to regain the strength he had before he went to the Potter's home.

He could not let his followers know that, which was why it was a good thing Rosaline broke when she did. Voldemort peered at the young witch.

Her youth would make a good ingredient, he thought. It had been a while since he performed a youth-transfer ritual. He could think of no better candidate than the arrogant tramp who vexed him.

When Rookwood returned from scouting the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort would have him assist in the ritual—

Suddenly, her left hand shot up and her wand flew off the ground into it. Within seconds the angel exploded out and the Death Eaters were pelted hard with chunks of concrete. It had happened so quickly that no one reacted.

Voldemort was more surprised that she was apparently a left-handed witch. Not many were.

Rosaline dropped to the ground, her legs trembling as she forced herself to stand.

To Voldemort's furor, she regarded him with disgust.

She. A red-headed harlot regarded the Voldemort with disgust?

Voldemort raised his left hand about to cast again, "Cru—"

But she was quicker and she flicked her wand up and a silent spell was cast. Gnarled roots shot up from the ground, grabbing at Voldemort's left wrist and harshly pulling him down. Again, surprise broke through his anger because that spell was something not taught within the past few decades. Certainly before Rosaline's time.

"Is Cruciatus all you know?" she asked, voice feathery and cold, like a brush made of snowflakes. "What terrible dueling manners."

Duel?

"My Lord—"

"DO NOT INTERFERE!" raged Voldemort as he ripped his hand free.

"Why haven't you used any wandless spells?" she pressed, her tone glacier. "You're supposed to be an all-powerful Dark Lord, aren't you?"

"Be quiet you stupid little girl!"

She sneered at him. "How vacuous. A pillock on repeat, aren't you?"

Voldemort's face paled with rage and he spat out, "Avada Kedavra!"

She flicked her wand and the gnarled roots shot up and hit his hand to knock the spell up before he completed it.

"Nothing but a rabid dog to be put down, aren't you?"

Voldemort spat out the Killing Curse again.

She had flung another chunk of concrete between the two, and the spell's power was enough to shatter it but not carry forward. The Killing Curse could not be blocked by anything magical, but it would not pass through physical constructions. Otherwise, people would have simply shot it through the walls of houses. It was strong, but not that strong. It simply became the preferred Curse for Dark Wizards because most wizards and witches only knew how to cast shield spells instead of tactfully using the surrounding environment.

"Addicting, wasn't it?" she went on, dismissive of his mounting rage.

No. Dismissive was incorrect.

For every act of outburst the Dark Lord displayed, Rosaline's disgust and hatred grew. Her eyes, which had previously looked upon him with grief and disdain, had turned bitterly cold into revulsion. It went beyond words how much she found Voldemort repugnant.

She looked at him as if he were the single most repulsive, disgusting, creature beneath her boot.

Voldemort continued to throw Curse after Curse, yet she threw an equal amount back at him. There were times when he caught her by surprise, but she never gave him ground. No matter how much her body trembled, her mind was unnaturally sharp. Someone who had been tortured for so long and repeatedly by the Cruciatus should have been addled and slow, yet Rosaline was quick and clever.

It was as if she was a completely refreshed mind, not one who had undergone the care of Voldemort.

The Death Eaters fluttered about, holding their wands uneasily. Voldemort's pride was on the line, if he asked for their help it would mean he could not handle a teenage girl after torturing her for nearly an hour. He'd be pathetic.

She verbally assaulted him with great acrimony as she went on, "When did you lose it? Which ritual did it in for you? What was the last line that you crossed when you knew you shouldn't?"

"SHUT UP! YOU KNOW NOTHING YOU STUPID LITTLE—"

"Little girl again?" she shrieked in fury. "Is that all you can think of? Whore or little girl? What happened—"

She cut herself off, pale with rage as she trembled from the leftover remnants of the torture done to her.

"It doesn't matter," she said as she waved her wand and conjured and launched six glowing blades. Voldemort rapidly created a magical shield that the blades slammed against. She held up her mangled right hand as she coldly laughed. "None of it matters anymore. You've ruined it. You've RUINED it!"

The Triwizard Cup flew at her.

"You are a failure," she hissed as she picked up the Cup and disappeared.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Rosaline Potter slammed hard into the grass floor at the front of the maze. Her body quivered fiercely and she clutched at her wand in her left hand. There was some surprise, but then cheers broke out.

When she did not get up right away, the adults hurried over to her. Professor Dumbledore was the first to reach her, his brow furrowed as he noticed how much she shook.

That trembling is similar to... Professor Dumbledore did not want to finish that thought.

Professor Snape sucked in a sharp breath when he saw her because he immediately recognized that symptom. His reaction confirmed Professor Dumbledore's worst fear and the headmaster quickly helped Rosaline up into a sitting position. Her body convulsed, her limbs violently trembling. There was a hazy glint in her eyes as she mumbled something incoherent.

"Rosie," Professor Dumbledore gently pressed.

Her dark blue eyes flickered over to him. "Back. He's—back. Voldemort."

"What?" hissed out Fudge. "She's—she's addled! Injured! We—We should get her to the Hospital Wing."

"She will need medical attention," quietly agreed Snape as he used his wand to send out a diagnostic spell. "The Cruciatus Curse has been repeatedly used on her."

"What?!" Fudge yelped while Madame Maxime let out a gasp. The other Hogwarts professors were nearing in, and upon hearing that Professor McGonagall and Sprouts let out gasps. The students in the stands had grown quiet, each whispering with one another as they pondered what had happened.

"Who did this to you, child?" Fudge demanded anxiously.

"Voldemort," came her cool response, her eyes flickering about each adult as if searching for something among them.

"That cannot be! That Curse—It's making her talk nonsense."

"The state of her mind can be discussed after we get her to Madam Pomfrey," snapped Professor Snape. "She needs to be treated right away."

Her cold gaze flickered about until she met the eyes of Mad-Eye Moody.

"Ah," she said. She lifted her head to whisper in Dumbledore's ear, "Use Legilimency on him."

Dumbledore did so.

Ah, thought Dumbledore as the pieces tragically fell into place.

Unfortunately for Rosie that was the end of her limit. Her body could not handle her staying awake any longer, and exhaustion forced her to close her eyes and faint.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Harry)

Harry Potter's eyes shot open as he abruptly sat up. His world was spinning from the blood rush, but nothing would stop him. He wildly looked around, his heart pounding as he quickly realized he was in the hospital wing.

And—

Rosie.

His sister laid on the bed next to his, her form flushed and trembling.

Harry's eyes burned. He got out of his bed, grabbing a chair and bringing it to sit next to Rosie. He reached forward, gently taking her hand.

She's shaking, he noticed. She didn't feel cold, but she trembled as if caught in a blizzard. There was a sheen of cold sweat over her. Harry looked around as Madam Pomfrey stepped out of her office.

She noticed Harry, her lips pursing into a thin line. "You should be in bed."

"I want to stay with my sister," he said, squeezing Rosie's bandaged hand.

"As long as you're resting," she said. "Quite the connection you two have, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were shaking when brought in?" Madam Pompfrey asked as she brought over a bin of cool water and a few clothes. She set them on the nightstand next to Rosie, opposite of Harry.

"Yes," answered Harry. "I dunno what caused it."

"There's a lot about twin magic we don't yet know. But sometimes," she said as she waved her wand to draw the curtains around the two of them, "magical twins can share powerful moments."

"Why's Rosie shaking?" he asked her, his mouth and throat dried. A part of him didn't want to know, didn't want to even ask, but he couldn't help it.

Madam Pomfrey dumped the cloths into the water basin—Harry noticed that it was off slightly in color, which told him it was not truly water but some kind of potion—and began to gently wipe the sweat off Rosie's skin.

She silently handed a wet cloth to Harry.

He accepted it. With great care he wiped his sister's arm, side, then stomach.

Madam Pompfrey did not answer his question for some time. They moved quietly, rubbing the potion over as much of Rosie as they could. Where the potion rested the trembling dulled. It did not stop completely, but it did not look like her muscles were spasming so painfully anymore.

Madam Pomfrey murmured, "The Cruciatus Curse."

Harry dropped his cloth, his mind blanking out.

He blinked, staring vapidly at her. "I'm—I'm sorry, what?"

He must have heard wrong. He must have. There was no way, no way, his sister was tortured.

No. No, no.

He heard wrong.

"I don't know what her mind will be like when she wakes up," continued Madam Pomfrey. "The damage done to her muscles is... extensive. It means she was cursed at least more than thrice. How many times I can't be sure, but... you should prepare yourself, Mr. Potter."

"Prepare myself?" There was a lump in Harry's throat, a subtle ringing in his ears as everything all too suddenly felt so very far away. "Prepare myself for what? She's—She's going to be fine."

But Madam Pomfrey was not one to pass out niceties or comfort so she said nothing in response. Harry clutched tightly at his sister's hand, shaking his head to fight back the itchy sensation behind his eyes.

Rosie was not the only one trembling.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Rosie)

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that everything ached. My body screamed in protest to each breath I took. Muscles I didn't even know I had were sore and throbbing. Thankfully, I didn't have too bad of a headache.

"Tom?"

"Good morning, Rosie."

"We safe?"

"Yes. I got us back to Hogwarts."

"Anything I should know about before opening my eyes?"

"When I returned, I used Legilimency on the surrounding adults to ascertain the spy Voldemort bragged about. Mad-Eye turned out to be someone named Barty Crouch Jr. I figured you would tip Dumbledore off so that's what I did."

"Ah. Um. I don't—I'm not actually very good at Legilimency."

"Well. If anyone asks now, you are."

"Noted."

"Your body couldn't handle much else, we passed out after that."

"Okay... Thank you."

"You are welcome, Rosie."

I sensed a subtle discomfort in his magic. Worried, I asked, "You okay?"

Tom did not respond right away. I waited patiently, understanding he also went through a traumatic experience. "I should be asking you that."

"I'll be okay. I'm more worried about you right now."

He asked in a small voice, "How long have you known who I was?"

"A while."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I wanted to judge you for myself."

"And?"

"Tom, you're my best friend."

His magic was soft, chilly but no longer cold, as he carefully intermingled it with my own.

"Thank you."

"I'm here for you."

"I know."

"Whatever you need."

"I know. "

"I love you, Tom."

"Rosie..."

"I know, my dear. I know."

I opened my eyes.

The first thing I saw was the ceiling of the hospital wing. My fingers twitched. I noticed my right hand was heavily bandaged. A glance down and I found that Harry was at my side. He was clutching my right hand, bent over the bed and resting his head on my right thigh as he slept.

It took a surprising amount of effort to lift my left arm up to gently brush his bangs out of his eyes. Harry's eyes fluttered open. We stared at each other in silence for a second, then he sat up abruptly and said, "Rosie!"

"Hi," I croaked.

Harry's eyes watered. He rubbed at them with one hand, refusing to let go of my hand in his other. "Hey."

"You okay?"

"Why are you asking me that?" he laughed humorlessly. "Rosie, what happened?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but Madam Pomfrey pulled the curtains back from my bed and said, "That's enough, Mr. Potter. Save the questions for when Professor Dumbledore is here."

"Sorry," meekly said Harry.

Madam Pomfrey fussed about me. I had been a regular patient of hers since I first started my tennis tournament with the Whomping Willow back in my second year. She tutted at me, "Rosie, how are you feeling?"

"Pretty shitty," I admitted. Her eyes narrowed at my choice of language, but she didn't scold me.

"I imagine so," she said. She was about to ask another question, but the doors swung open and Professor Dumbledore swept in with other adults. Professor Snape was with him, as was Sirius, Madam Bones, and Minister of Magic Fudge.

"We should move her to—" Fudge cut himself off when he noticed that I was awake. "Miss Potter!"

"Quiet," Madam Pomfrey snapped at him. "Only family and Professor Dumbledore should be here."

Sirius took a seat opposite of Harry, carefully picking up my other hand and holding it. I noticed how warm his hand was, waves of comfort settling over me as he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "I'm here, princess."

"If she is able to give a statement, better sooner than later," Madam Bones calmly pointed out as she turned to me. "Miss Potter, are you able to answer some questions now?"

"Yes," I said, struggling to sit up. Harry was quick to grab some extra pillows to help support me. Oof. I feel like someone took a baseball bat to... every part of my body. Ugh, this sucks, I can't even stop shaking.

Madam Pomfrey tutted, her eyes narrowed. "Fine. I will go first." She turned to me, her expression softening. "I'm afraid I'm—I'm going to need to know how often you were Cursed before I brew some potions for you. Do you know, dearie?"

"Why do you need to know that?" worriedly asked Harry.

"There is a general treatment for Cruciatus, but the more accurate of an exposure time we have the better it can be treated to prevent long-term... debilitation," Madam Pomfrey kindly explained to Harry.

My eyes flickered over to Harry, then over to Sirius. Both of them only looked at me with warmth and concern. Swallowing roughly, I admitted, "Thirteen, never longer than ten seconds at time. He gave me breaks."

The adults in the room paled considerably. Fudge stumbled back, hitting a table. Sirius's expression darkened into a malicious rage, his hands shaking as he held my hand. Snape's face immediately closed off to that perfect poker face. Professor Dumbledore's expression was of sympathy, he winced upon the information. Madam Bones flushed, but held firm as she wrote down the information. Harry leaned forward, resting his forehead on my shoulder as he shakily sucked in air.

Madam Pomfrey closed her eyes, let out a small sigh, and nodded to herself. When she re-opened her eyes they were firm. "You all get ten minutes. She tells you to stop, you leave or I force you out. Professor Snape, I will be borrowing your spare cauldrons."

Professor Snape's voice was chillingly soft as he said, "I will send them up to you shortly."

"What happened to—to the man impersonating Moody?" I asked.

At that, all eyes turned to glare at Fudge, except Harry who probably didn't know much more than I did.

"Some wanker got him Kissed while waiting for aurors," sneered Sirius.

"By all accounts, he is no loss!" blustered Fudge. "It seems he has been responsible for several deaths!"

"But he cannot now give testimony, Cornelius," said Dumbledore. He was staring hard at Fudge, as though seeing him plainly as the stupid puppet for the first time. "He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people."

"Why he killed them? Well, that's no mystery, is it?" blustered Fudge. "He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who's instructions!"

"Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius," Dumbledore said. "Those people's deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body."

Fudge looked as though someone had just swung a heavy weight into his face. Dazed and blinking, he stared back at Dumbledore as if he couldn't quite believe what he had just heard. He began to sputter, still goggling at Dumbledore.

"You-Know-Who... returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore."

"As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you," said Dumbledore, "we heard Barty Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort—learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins—went to free him from his father and used him to capture Rosie. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort to return."

"See here, Dumbledore," said Fudge, and for some reason he started to smile, "you—you can't seriously believe that. You-Know-Who—back? Come now, come now... certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who's orders—but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore... "

"When Rosie touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, she was transported straight to Voldemort," said Dumbledore steadily. "She witnessed Lord Voldemort's return. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office."

Fudge's curious smile lingered. He glanced at me, then looked back at Dumbledore, and said, "You are—er—prepared to take a little witch's word on this, are you, Dumbledore?"

"That little witch has a name," growled Sirius.

Why are they arguing in front of me? Can't this wait? Or is the Power of Plot so damn determined for Harry to hear this conversation?

Either way, I was quite tired and wanted to shoo them out. Only Harry's firm grip and sharp interest in the conversation kept me quiet.

"Certainly, I believe Rosie," said Dumbledore. His eyes were blazing now. "I heard Crouch's confession, and I heard Rosie say Voldemort had returned, and it was Voldemort who hurt her. Crouch's story explains everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer."

"You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, and a girl who... well... "

Sirius did not like the way Fudge said that at all. Furious, he stood up, towering above the small, chubby man. "Rosie is not a liar. If she said he's returned, then he's returned."

"Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore repeated. "If you accept that fact straightaway, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors—"

"Preposterous!" shouted Fudge again. "Remove the dementors? I'd be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!"

"The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!" said Dumbledore. "They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!"

Fudge was opening and closing his mouth as though no words could express his outrage.

"The second step you must take—and at once," Dumbledore pressed on, "is to send envoys to the giants."

"Envoys to the giants?" Fudge shrieked, finding his tongue again. "What madness is this?"

"Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late," said Dumbledore, "or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!"

"You—you cannot be serious!" Fudge gasped, shaking his head and retreating further from Dumbledore. "If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants—people hate them, Dumbledore—end of my career—"

"You are blinded," said Dumbledore, his voice rising now, the aura of power around him palpable, his eyes blazing once more, "by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your dementor has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any—and see what that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now—take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act—and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!"

"Wow. Never thought I'd see a Dumbledore lecture."

"They're not that impressive."

"How many have you seen, Tom?"

"He was my Transfiguration Professor so... a lot."

"Not the kind of lecture I meant."

"I know."

"Boo."

"Insane," whispered Fudge, still backing away. "Mad... "

"If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius," said Dumbledore, "we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I—I shall act as I see fit."

Dumbledore's voice carried no hint of a threat; it sounded like a mere statement, but Fudge bristled as though Dumbledore were advancing upon him with a wand.

"Now, see here, Dumbledore," he said, waving a threatening finger. "I've given you free rein, always. I've had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I've kept quiet. There aren't many who'd let you decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me—"

"The only one against whom I intend to work," said Dumbledore, "is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side."

It seemed Fudge could think of no answer to this. He rocked backward and forward on his small feet for a moment and spun his bowler hat in his hands. Finally, he said, with a hint of a plea in his voice, "He can't be back, Dumbledore, he just can't be... "

Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled.

"There," said Snape harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled last night? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

"What a spectacle."

"In front of a distressed damsel no less."

"I know right? Not the place fellas... I wish I could cry on demand I bet that'd make them super uncomfortable."

"You don't know how to cry on demand?"

"Do you?"

"I don't cry."

"Then why are you surprised I can't?"

"You're a master thief and have regularly manipulated your peers and family members for years. Pardon me for being surprised you couldn't replicate something as basic as crying."

"So sassy."

"Mm-hmm."

Fudge stepped back from Snape too. He was shaking his head. He did not seem to have taken in a word Snape had said. He stared, apparently repelled by the mark on Snape's arm, then looked up at Dumbledore and whispered, "I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry."

He had almost reached the door when he paused. He turned around, strode back down the dormitory, and stopped at my bed.

"Your winnings," he said shortly, taking a large bag of gold out of his pocket and dropping it onto my bedside table. "One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances... "

He crammed his bowler hat onto his head and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The moment he had disappeared, Dumbledore turned to look at the group around my bed.

I whistled. "Wow. What a drama queen."

Harry let out an undignified snort.

"So... I'm getting kinda tired... I'd like to recount what happened then go back to sleep, if that's okay?"

The adults exchanged glances. Professor Dumbledore kindly said, "Whenever you are ready, Rosie, we will listen."

I took a deep breath. "After I touched the Cup... "

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

As it would turn out, my recovery from Voldemort's kind and tender care would take more than a couple of months to recover from. The pain was managed by a daily potion I had to take. The tremors... not as easily handled.

The shaking was worse in my hands than anywhere else. Madam Pomfrey had no explanation, as the Curse affected everyone differently in terms of recovery. I was curious to see what my brain looked like under CT, MRI, PET, and SPECT scans. Maybe if I found someone I hated enough to use the Curse I'd test it out. Now that I had a taste of it, I found it difficult to want to use it myself.

Well, except maybe on Voldemort. Taste of his own medicine and whatnot.

There was a tension in the Slytherin House now that Voldemort had returned. It was subtle, unspoken, but palpable. The children of Death Eater's started to sit across from me, instead of next to me. Draco and Theodore had an especially difficult time meeting my gaze, guilt and shame flickering over their faces when they saw my hands shake when holding a quill.

They were kind boys, now forced into an unkind situation.

I was going to have my work cut out next year.

Daphne and Tracey were extra attentive, hovering around me. They insisted on carrying my bags and helping brush my hair in the morning. I was given permission to use a writing quill on assignments that would translate what was spoken into text. I was also supplied with some enchanted utensils that would feed me at meals.

I was never, ever alone anymore. Harry was especially clingy, doing his best to escort me everywhere. If he could not, one of my babeh snakes or Hermione, and Neville made damn sure they could. In the extremely rare event no one else could, George and Fred would.

As from canon, I did invest in their jokeshop with the winnings from the Tournament. I made them promise they had to hire someone of my choice after they graduated Hogwarts, and they agreed and gleefully took all the money.

Near the end of the year, I had had just about enough dealing with the trembles. I complained as such to Tom in the evening while cuddling with Iris and that little Hungarian Horntail. Iris apparently taught it how to do a backflip which was super duper cute.

"I can't believe you were able to move at all after those Crucios."

"Controlling one's body afterwards is merely the effect of a strong willpower and... experience."

Alarm flared through me at Tom's soft confession. Instantly, I thought of a young Tom going through a similar experience. My throat dried up, a lump preventing a single sound from escaping.

Tom did not say anything for another minute, his magic as cold as the day I met him. "My first year at Hogwarts. The Slytherin Prefects wanted to give the first years a taste of what it meant to disobey. There was... a Muggle-born in my year-group. He was the first to admit he was Muggle-born and they..."

Tom did not finish.

He did not need to continue. The way his magic sharply recoiled away from mine, an unintentional form of rejection—similar to how someone might cross their arms or hold themselves when discussing something unpleasant—spoke volumes.

It must have been traumatizing for the orphan boy to witness. He would have been ten. Ten years old, bright-eyed, and hopeful of escaping a life of hell at that orphanage. Only to be greeted with...

Oh, that poor child.

On my bed, I closed my eyes as I forced my way into my mind.

It was still in shambles, looking more like a fractured world than the carefully put together palace I had constructed. The bare bones were there, but there were slashes in the perceived reality. The tears revealed the nebula I had created, the stars sparkling prettily despite the chaotic state.

Tom was perched on a terribly large tree, its branches wide enough for him to sprawl out. It was tall enough to overlook the forest and reveal the lovely black sea. I couldn't blame him for picking that spot, it had a terribly nice view and the occasional wind the blew by was pleasant.

Tom did not react to my presence right away. I sat beside him and asked, "May I hug you?"

"Why?"

"I want to hold you," I admitted. "I don't know if you'd find any comfort in it, but I want—I want to try."

Tom glanced over at me, his expression revealing nothing. After another moment of silence he sighed. "Do what you want."

I reached across and pulled him into my embrace. I kissed the top of his head and held him as I said, "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine."

"Are they already dead or can I kill them?"

"They're already dead," he chuckled without humor. "It's fine, Rosie."

I squeezed him. "It's—it's not. What a horrible thing to do to a child."

"Yes," he repeated hollowly. "Only a monster would do such a thing."

The sharp plunge of disdain in his magic caught me off guard. He had warmed up considerably since the first day I met him. His magic was a pristine winter night, something beautiful to witness but dangerous to linger in. After spending the summer learning more about him, his magic had moved from a winter night to a snowy morning. Then the Yule Ball happened and I noticed how warmer he had become. Wintery, still, but it no longer felt so dangerous to be admired.

I had genuinely hoped that it meant that Tom was sincerely thinking of me as a friend and would maybe open up to me.

But at that moment it had drastically reverted. He was cold to the touch, and his magic was prickly like thorns of ice. I could catch the echoes of disgust, regret, and fear. The most predominant emotion I caught between those echoes was rage: cold, powerful, and dark.

In the past I had been overwhelmed from his fury, his magic had lashed out and caused a sickening sensation.

Here, it did not. Rather, his magic curled further into my own; a parched ivy consuming water after a terrible drought.

Like a hurt boy reaching out to a friend in need of comforting.

As I continued to hold him, his magic squeezed. It was hard to say if I was soothing him, or making things worse. All I knew was that he wasn't shooing me away, and his magic unconsciously grasped at my own.

I couldn't bring myself to turn away or reject him.

Gently, I kissed his forehead. "I'm here for you, Tom."

"Promise?" he asked me, his eyes drifting shut.

"I promise."

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Bucket List Completed:

52. Kick butt in the Triwizard tournament

53. Win the Triwizard tournament

ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

Burn baby burn.

Year 4 d o n e. Ready for year five?

I would normally do double updates for year ends but year 5 has some chunky chapters and is the longest year since shit hits the fan soooo see y'all maybe Sunday if not next Thursday!

Answer: Tom's era if I could successfully steer him down a non-genocidal route. If not, then Sirius/Lily/James/Severus generation I think. I feel like I'd be able to help out the most there.

Question: If you won the Triwizard Tournament, what would you use your winnings for?

Reviews are love!