CHAPTER 2

MADAME OLYMPE MAXIME FLITTED her half lidded tree bark colored eyes, an expression on her face that was utterly ruthless in its stoicism. The half-giantess sat draped behind her desk, her thick and long legs folded neatly to a side. It was circulated that the Madame preferred talking to students while she sat, for reasons quite obvious to her stature. Though, I wasn't so sure it made much of a difference. The Beauxbatons headmistress was enthralling, intimidating, and dominating in ways perhaps even magic couldn't point out. It was that way with some witches and wizards, some needed wands for power while others carried it in their blood.

And for some, that very blood was a burden.

Self consciously, I rubbed my elbow, fearing for perhaps another uncountable moment in my life that my face would reveal all that I never want to say. Realizing, I caught myself and straightened slightly. We had all been summoned to the headmistress' offices. The giant sky blue clock that hung on the wall clearly read 4pm. Not a minute had any of us been late, precisely how our headmistress preferred.

I stood next to Bridgette and Elias, and we were joined by all the other archers that had been summoned. Six in total, we all made the headmistress' office seem like a particularly giant space. If an entire batch of students could all fit in here, this place would still seem so huge.

With the office's elegantly plastered ceiling, draping with meticulously etched designs reminiscent of France's medieval sensibilities, a silver sparkling chandelier hanging taut, and a gentle blue wallpaper adorned with a pattern of repeating small navy wings that students have debated much on being of a bird's instead of a pegasus'.

Wings are wings, I had shrugged often when I would be counted in on the matter, what did it matter to whom they belonged?

"Huntlock games," Madame Maxime spoke, her voice domineering over all of us, though we had all been as silent as door mice. "Mes étudiants, I trust you all are familiar with them?"

She turned her eyes to inspect us all, her gaze a sharp arc, dwelling on each one of us for no longer than five precise seconds. Some Bridgette offered a small nod, as did Elias, as well as Gabriel Chevrolet. The latter's nod, holding much more confidence and significance than Elias' or Brigette's.

Madame Maxime observed Chevrolet, her eyes mildly impressed, but in that way which left students often reeling on the idea that her interest had not been entirely genuine. Gabriel caught the infamous look, and his brows furrowed slightly.

"Dominique?" The Madame spoke my name suddenly, a question filled with expectation that I wavered to think if I could match or not.

She turned from Chevrolet to look at me, the doubted mild interest in her eyes replaced by a stoic expression. A look of stoic contentment, as though now she will hear exactly what she wants to.

"It is an event held every four years by Ilvermorny, Madame," I started, hoping my best to please her with the little I knew of the games, and gosh, little it was.

"This will be their third Huntlock since they started. Ilvermorny strives to destroy the legacy of the huntings of the lock— which, in the American wizarding myths, was a single night every four years that wizards and witches could hunt the unwanted. The unwanted being natural inferiors and opponents that posed as dangers or inconveniences to the wizarding government of America."

"Hm, continuez toujours," The headmistress spoke, her voice deep and flowy as she rested back into her big arm chair, eyes pinned on me with an unreadable expression.

"Ilvermorny attempts to erase the night by hosting Huntlock games as tribute to those of the unfortunate beings of magic who had been eradicated by their ancestors due to the cruel practice. These games consist of wizarding schools contributing their best games and players, to battle it out for a single winner. The winning school team is then crowned and honored by one of the unwanted."

Madame Maxime's thick blood red lips lifted in a small smile. "Bien, mon cher."

"Though you must call them by their current preference, les dorés, Dominique, we wouldn't want them to take offense again after all these years, now would we?"

"Oui, Madame," I added, meeting her eyes and giving her a swift nod.

She turned to look at everyone at length once again. Minutes ticked by, perhaps, the clock on her office wall seemed to swirl around in spirals, as the numbers danced on the cream backdrop. The minute needle rolled into the shape of a rose before stretching out tantalizingly slow and pointing to show the 4:20pm.

"You have all—" The Madame's voice came again, much to my relief, as I quickly looked at her. The office seemed to suffocate in on itself when the headmistress was not speaking.

"Been selected to partake. I have, in a surprisingly brief discussion with Professor Fabien, personally decided to have you all represent Beauxbatons for Archery at the Huntlock games in Ilvermorny."

I swallowed a lump in my throat, a slight frustration overtaking me. Why had Professor Fabien, our archery instructor, forwarded my name without my consent? From the walk we had all made to the office, it seemed that it was only I who was less thrilled by the idea of traveling to America to participate in a series of games I didn't much care about.

For me, Archery had always been about release. It was not a competition. Pinning myself in playful games alongside Bridgette and often, Elias, was just a hobby. Representing my house in Beauxbatons yearly matches as the captain of the Ombrelune Archery team, was a mere preference. Something to keep me distracted. I had no wish to compete formally in the wizarding world, nor did I believe I had the time for it.

"As there are two of you from each house of Beauxbatons, you will be given attire to represent your house and your school both. Though, during Huntlock you will compete only for your school. In our absence— yes, I will be going with you. Classes and term here at Beauxbatons will still be ongoing, but rest assured, all your missed classes will be compensated by extra attention from your professors. We will be gone for only a month and a half, time that I believe you capable students can efficiently make up in due course."

"Est-ce que tout cela est compris?" Madame Maxime asked, brows raised in expectancy.

"Oui, Madame," I answered, a chorus of the same words following after me as everyone else spoke too.

"As for right now, you are all required to take extra time out to practice with Professor Fabien. We are set to depart in two days' time."

"Two days, Madame?" Bridgette asked before I could, though for different reasons entirely. "If we leave so soon, we must have enough time to practice. Do we have your permission to miss a few classes in order to prepare?"

The headmistress twisted her lips, the idea of a student blatantly asking for permission to miss classes was seemingly appalling to her, yet there was a certain defeat in her features, she knew she had no choice. For however domineering Madame Maxime was, if there was a single person in this giant office that was competitive in the true sense of the word, it was she.

"You have it," She offered simply, nose perked up as she tried not to dwell on what she had just consented to.

Suddenly, through an open window of her office, flew in a petit ciel owl with a roll of what looked to be the latest newspaper. With hints of silvery blue feathers underneath her cream ones, and sparkling glass eyes, this was Madame Maxime's owl. Petit ciel owls were popular with giants, and much indifferent to anyone else.

She swooped in, a scent of blueberries and.. custard? in her wake as she dropped the newspaper onto the Madame's table. There was something about the harsh drop that the headmistress instantly noticed, petit owls were gentle, and Madame's had always been especially so. Perking up, and seemingly forgetting to dismiss the six of us, she reached for the flashing newspaper and unrolled it, turning to the front page and furrowing her brows as she read, in an attempt to find something that was supposed to be concerning, according to her owl. The copy of the lumière un journal was buzzing with smaller black and white flashing images, as well as larger ones.

But, the news she was perhaps looking for was not visible to her. It was visible to us. The back of the newspaper displayed a moving picture of a young boy in glasses, with messy dark hair and an anguished face as he was being taken away from the flashing cameras and the crowd by an old man.

The headline read, in clear bold letters: HARRY POTTER CLAIMS HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED HAS RETURNED?

I gasped softly, and Bridgette clutched my hand, her eyes reading the paper from this distance in disbelief. Madame Maxine sensed a disturbance, and with one glance at us, flipped over the paper to see the news for herself.

Gabriel Chevrolet turned to whisper something to Jean Dubois, while Elias exchanged a wary glance with Maximillian Toussaint, before offering one to me.

He who must not be named, considered one of the greatest and the most brutal wizards to exist since Gellert Grindelwald, was long thought to be dead. His practices deemed unlawful, his cruelty to those beneath him immeasurable, his death— or disappearance, had been met with much relief in the wizarding world. When had wizards and witches exactly stopped thinking about him as part of their world? When exactly had the fear he left behind evaporated? And now this? After all these years? Hasn't the world seen enough cruel wizards only to resurrect one again?

Madame Maxime's brows continually furrowed, and it wasn't until she had read the entire news the passage had to offer on Harry Potter and his claim, that she relaxed her features and set the newspaper aside.

"Is it true then, Madame?" Gabriel Chevrolet asked, his voice lined with intrigue rather than with hesitance or even mild worry.

The headmistress of Beauxbatons looked at him. "Bien sûr c'est. The boy must have said it, why would the paper lie?"

"No," Gabriel added, "I meant the truth regarding his claim."

"Little boys say things all the time, mon étudiant," The headmistress replied, her voice calm and deep, as though she hadn't just read what all of us had.

"But he's Harry Potter," Maximillian Toussaint popped in, his tone urgent and disbelief at Madame Maxime's reaction evident on his pale face.

"He's a fourteen year old boy," Gabriel scoffed, shooting Toussaint a hard look.

"I hate to point it out to you, Gabriel," Elias spoke up, "Harry Potter is the fourteen old boy who survived a killing curse by the most powerful wizard the world has seen as of late."

"Which, can't be said the same for you," Maximillian prompted, "And you are what, eighteen?"

"And you aren't?" Gabriel snapped, then he looked at Elias in fury, "Huh, Dupont? are you not falling short at eighteen as well?"

"Enough," Madame Maxime's voice tore in through the bickering of the guys, silencing them as they all straightened and dipped their heads in submission.

"I will not have my students pick at each other on the eve of the Huntlock games. Your fire? Save it for the games," The headmistress' voice boomed loudly, and I knew it could be heard all the way down the castle.

"As for comparing yourself to a fourteen year old British boy, je ne peux pas vous croire tous! It is absolutely unacceptable! The boy may have survived, but the wizarding world is nothing if not surprises at unexpecting turns. It does not revolve around Harry Potter. It revolves around you and what you make of it. Here at Beauxbatons, you are taught each day to live and make the world as you want it, as you desire it. You ask of it, and it delivers."

She paused, calming herself as she leaned back in her chair.

"You are all, my glory, my achievements, and what I want to make of this world. At the Huntlock games, you will show exactly that."

We nodded in turns, none of us daring to speak after the headmistress' loss of temper. Provoke it once, and you dread it twice.

"As for Harry Potter, he will say and do as he likes. And if any of you, are so anxious to meet him, you can bask in his form at the games. Dumbledore will most likely bring the boy along to ensure his protection. Upon meeting him, you will find that he is just another ordinary boy with his past held over him like a halo. We make our halos with our futures, and that boy is not one of us."

For good measure, she observed us all at length again, her large walnut eyes settling on each of us for no longer than ten seconds.

"You don't achieve greatness by an encounter with a great but evil wizard." At that, I looked up to find her eyes on me, calculating, observing.

She knew. If there was one who had always known that one thing about me, it had always been her. Mother liked to speculate that it was what drew her to me in the first place, when she had approached my twelve year old self, inviting me to my first year at Beauxbatons on a scholarship for the entirety of the eight years when my mother certainly could not afford it. What had been her intention? Had Olympe Maxime of Beauxbatons assumed that someone of Gellert Grindelwald's lineage was too important to look over? Or had she assumed she could stop me from becoming something she assumed I was destined to be, with that blood in my veins?

Gellert Grindelwald was—or rather—is my great uncle. The brother of my grandfather— my father's father. If anything, I had my grandfather's blood in me, but then again, hadn't he been the same? Hadn't he turned to follow his brother on his path of cruelty and viciousness? Hadn't he been the same?

My grandfather went on a run when Grindelwald was captured, and I've never seen him since. It is likely that he died, and if that was it, I never really found it in me to care. His death was just as unconfirmed as Grindelwald's. But at least, my great uncle's whereabouts were known, in a dark cell in Nurmengard, powerless and weak. A cell that will never see the light of day. And my father? He had loyalties of his own, and his family never fit the bill.

"You don't speak about your great uncle ever again. Comprenez vous, mon chéri?" Madame Maxime had spoken to a twelve year old me, her tone as daunting and domineering as it ever had been since.

"Oui, Madame," I had responded.

And I had kept that oath. Nobody except her and my mother knew my family connection. Not my closest friends, the birds in the sky, or the pesky portraits that adorned every inch of the Beauxbatons corridor walls.

Now, Madame Maxine turned her eyes away from me and observed all of us at length, her large walnut eyes dwelling on each of us for no more than ten seconds each.

"You are all dismissed."

We bustled out of her office doors, and the wave of anxiety that seemed to hang over me dissipated like mist. I knew it would return, but for the time being, my shoulders felt slightly light. At least, I was out of her scrutiny. I wonder what she thought of me in times like these. When a connection came out, it made her think of me. Did she pity me, or was it something else entirely?

"Can you believe it? Two days and we will be in America," Bridgette's voice brought me out of my thoughts. Excitement laced her tone.

"Seriously? That is all you got from that session?" Elias spoke, puzzled at her lack of concern.

"You what, actually that is all I got," She stuck her tongue out at him, rolling her eyes, "I am not into fourteen year old British boys as you seem to be, Elias."

"Hello," Maximillian Toussaint saw his invitation to join, as he jogged up next to us, "Terre à vous les gars. That boy survived a killing curse. That's a freaking big deal."

"Yeah," Elias nodded, "When was the last time someone else did?"

I bit my lip. I recalled a moment where it was possible Grindelwald had. No one was really sure what had happened, but my grandfather was intent on the fact that his brother had survived the curse from a ministry official in America. He had been with him at the time, and his voice held such conviction that we chose to believe it. Even me, with my five year old self, was washed into believing it. Maybe that is why I didn't realize until late that Grindelwald was no hero for doing so.

And this Harry Potter? Who was this boy? Was he like me, burdened with his past with no way to be rid of it? Or was he one of those wizards who grew up to be equally what Grindelwald and He who must not be named were?

"Grindelwald did," Gabriel Chevrolet offered, throwing a shoulder back, "I bet his was cause for awe, not this boy's."

"Grindelwald couldn't have," Elias pointed out, annoyed with the observations of everyone around him. "His era was that of discretion. You could make shit up and have your followers spread it just for the sake of inciting fear in the wizarding world. Fear leads to submission."

"Yeah, and you think Harry Potter spread that about himself? His was witnessed, seen by people outside. He carries a mark, pour l'amour de Dieu!" Maximillian cried, shaking his head.

"Oh yeah, why don't you two get his name inked on your ass then?" Gabriel raised a brow before laughing at his own jest. "You could get him to kiss it at the Huntlock games when you see the kid."

"Yeah," Jean Dubois laughed at his best friend's declaration, "What he said."

"Très mature, Gabriel," I spoke, narrowing my eyes at him as he smirked at me.

"What? You didn't like the joke? I'll change it if you want, Lavigne," He mused, inching closer to me with his light eyes glinting against the canvas of his dark skin. "I'll make it whatever you want."

"Start by making it silent, Chevrolet," I hissed at him, and Jean Dubois broke into a spurt of laughter at his friend's expense. Gabriel glared at him, before smirking back at me, as though he didn't mind what I had said at all.

I huffed, turning my eyes away and picking up my pace as Elias and Bridgette followed along.

"Always the running, Lavigne," Chevrolet called after me, as he dawdled behind, Dubois laughing along with him in the corridor.

It was supper time, and we made our way to the Beau Hall. The set of six large silver diamond chandeliers hung over in thin air in neat rows, gently swaying as a gust of wind hit. The Hall's roof was magicked to have it mirror the sky outside, and in this particular case, a serene sunset was almost on the brink. The sky's image on the ceiling was streaked with violets, oranges and soft blues. And against that backdrop, the diamond chandeliers swaying above looked ethereal.

I spotted Raphael and Louis seated on their usual spots at the middle of the second long table in the Hall, and we made our way over to them. Louis, being from house Bellefeuille, and a prefect, had adorned his house prefect sash against the sky blue uniform. He hated that thing for some inexplicable reason.

"You dug it out again?" Elias joked as we all sat down.

"Yeah, Professor Dorian is at my back again," Louis sighed, running a hand through his platinum messy hair. "But forget that, I am guessing you read the news?"

He raised a brow and I turned to look at the other students in the Beau Hall, almost all of them hunched over a copy of the latest lumière un journal spread on the table in front of each group. Hushed whispers and declarations tainted the air, and almost nobody touched the food that had appeared on the tables in all its glory.

"If by read, you mean if we saw it," Bridgette shrugged, "Madame Maxime was the one who read it."

"Yeah, and she says it's bullshit," Elias nodded, sighing.

"I'm not surprised," Raphael leaned back nonchalantly, before reaching for a jug and pouring himself a buttered drink. "She despises that British school and that Dumbledore."

"What, when did you come up with that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Oh allez, isn't it obvious?" He replied, taking a big chug out of his glass, "She hates that Hogwarts seems to get all the attention. Didn't He who must not be named, go to that freaking school? Wasn't Dumbledore the guy who practically birthed that monster? And now Harry Potter?"

I pursed my lips but didn't say anything. It made sense, and Madame Maxime was nothing if not competitive.

"But still, I think hate is a strong word, Raphael," I offered, folding my arms across my chest. "She wants the same level of attention for herself and her school perhaps, but she doesn't blame Dumbledore for what happened. You can see it in the way she mentions him, as though he's just a colleague who has been through a rough patch."

"Yeah, a rough pumpkin patch," Raphael scoffed. "You'll see the man at the Huntlock games, make your opinion then. I think that looney's orchestrated everything that's happened."

"C'est ridicule," I turned my eyes to look at Louis, and the latter shrugged, not having a different opinion.

"I agree," Elias joined in, tapping the table surface with his hand, "That you, Raphael, are utterly ridiculous and have no idea whatsoever of what you speak. We'll bring you back authentic news from Huntlock just to prove my point."

Raphael rolled his eyes, continuing to help himself to supper.

"You're not eating, Dominique?" Bridgette spoke up, nudging my elbow.

"Non, I'm not hungry," I shrugged.

"Good, come with me to the dorm, I have some stuff to do," She beamed and we both made to get up.

"Enjoy your meal boys, we'll see you soon," Bridgette winked at the guys and Elias and Raphael rolled their eyes at her. Louis raised a brow and offered a small wave, before returning to figure out what he was going to have from the meal options on the table.

Then, exiting the Beau Hall, we made our way towards the Ombrelune Tower located in the east wing near the library.

***

A/N:

Hi, I hope you guys are liking the story so far! I'm so excited for this plot. Also, let me know your thoughts. Anyways, which Beauxbatons house are you in? <3