CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

"DO YOU FEEL LIKE A YOUNG GODDESS?" His question occurred to me now, gently throbbing against my ears in his guttural voice as I looked at myself in the mirror.

Gellert Grindelwald, a man—a dark wizard, who had at several turns in his life claimed that he was mortal but undefeatable, had asked his great niece if she felt like a goddess when he himself had never claimed his form to be that of a God's. What did that mean, I couldn't properly decipher.

If I were to tell someone, would they believe me? The sick twisted care that my great uncle had had for me sounded like a reverie that would never find its feet on the ground-a reverie that would never materialize. But it had materialized, hadn't it? For me?

I glanced at Bridgette, her form enveloped in her brocade magenta gown, threaded through with delicate patterns of dying flowers, as she fretted about our dorm, trying to find one thing or the other for her auburn hair. The wide skirts of her dress knocked against side tables and toppled things over to the carpet soundlessly, and I didn't have the heart to tell her that she was making a mess for us to come back to.

I focused my attention on myself, taking my own form in again as I stood transfixed in front of the vanity mirror. The embellished emerald green gown I wore, stood out against my light toned skin, my collar bones on full display as the strapless dress molded into chiffon bell sleeves that fell inches off my shoulders and stopped at my wrists. The dress was a cacophony of delicate emerald jewels that resembled green glitter, covering the entirety of the bust and the rest of the gown, which hugged my curves and flowed into a gentle tamed circle from just below my knees.

It looked majestic, the dress made me feel majestic. And perhaps, like a young goddess too, but that wasn't what my great uncle had meant when he had asked me that question. He had hinted at my power—and I had been wearing half damp winter clothes then. I wondered if this was what Voldemort felt like, desperately wanting that one final thing to complete his own vision of himself. Like putting on a beautiful dress for a single night, adding that final touch to your hair, fixing the last piece in a thousand piece puzzle—mediocre things that soothed that sense of restlessness, erupting in a blissful satisfaction that wore off like cheap perfume quickly after. 

Shaking the thought from my head, I observed my exposed shoulders, eyes on the right one. The mark was hidden. I had hidden it under two spells—two different runes. I had asked Bridgette three different times if she could see it, and each time she had consoled me that it was as if there was nothing there. 

"What are you thinking?" Bridgette came floating back to my side, having acquired what she had been looking for—a silver encrusted hair pin that she was now attempting to fix into her done hair.

She had molded hers into the old muggle actress Rita Hayworth's waves, and her waist length hair appeared shorter because of it, but it looked polished—pretty. I looked at my own dark locks, done up high in a delicate do with softly curled pieces falling out to frame my face and the back of the do. I reached for the silver earrings I had picked out to go with my mermaid cut dress, they were sparkling pearl drops-shining even in this dim light we were getting ready in.

"Nothing, I'm just—" I started as I fixed the last earring in. "I'm just wondering about Hogwarts. C'est un endroit si différent, si loin."

It hadn't been a lie, I did wonder about Hogwarts since Agilbert Fontaine's office yesterday. Before yesterday, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was just a school in the UK for me. At Beauxbatons, life is so articulate, so immersing, you don't think much of other schools of magic-mainly because you have no reason to.

When our school's delegation left for the Triwizard tournament at Hogwarts, it came back sullen. The death of that Hogwarts student pressed tight in between everyone's lips, guarded against coming out. What would happen this time? Was Hogwarts only a throbbing center for misery? Or did the misery depend on those who stepped across the castle's threshold?

But then again, we were no longer a delegation. Agilbert Fontaine had picked amongst us, making an unorthodox delegation of his own. We would be crossing to the Scottish Highlands for Hogwarts to not participate in any tournaments, but rather to look for something Fontaine had no agility to search for himself.

"It might be a change," Bridgette shrugged listlessly. "But we settled in Ilvermorny just fine didn't we?"

"Oui," I glanced at her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "But this time we're on our own. No Madame Maxime, no professors Basil or Fabien."

"Please," She scoffed. "Have you even seen Madame Maxime more than twice during the whole time that we've been here? And Professor Basil only came around during practice hours. So yes, we'll be just fine."

Supervision was not what I was worried about. I was just worried about the drive. Who was there to tell us to round up the two deathly hallows once we set foot in Hogwarts? Despite Agilbert Fontaine emphasizing upon the fact that Krum and I would be the ones answering to him, who's to say we even see Fontaine again? Would I return to Ilvermorny just to give a headmaster a report and two hallows when I knew Voldemort was rounding up, closer than he had been before? I didn't believe so.

If Voldemort attacked Hogwarts-if he attacked Dumbledore, all hell would break loose. His presence would then be known like wildfire. There would be no returning to Ilvermorny on a stupid errand.

"De toute façon," Bridgette gestured vaguely with her hand. "We have had enough discourse. Just enjoy this night alright? This marks the start of everything new."

"Dumbledore will help you with your mark and wand, we will locate the two hallows," She trudged on, dabbing a touch of rogue to her cheeks. "Voldemort will know he has resistance. All shall be well, you'll see."

I watched her, before turning my eyes to the stick of deep scarlet in my hand as I slowly turned the metal chrome part of it and watched it rise just enough before stopping. I leaned into the mirror slightly, bringing the stick of the wine color to my lips, applying it in a single swipe.

Bridgette Monet, perhaps like many others who believed in Voldemort's return, assumed that his attack-that they feared was coming—would be something transient, and far off. Like sitting at your porch in the midst of summer break on a perfectly casual Sunday, opening the lumière et journal, and watching the moving image of chaos with the headline pointing clearly to it being Voldemort's orchestration.

These wizards and witches assumed that it would be something that would not affect them directly. Something that would happen at a distance and eventually fade away at that very distance, not entering the circle of their personal lives.

But I knew when I had written that message in Grindelwald's blood in his cell, I knew then that I would be at the very center of it all. I knew then that I wouldn't be able to escape even if I tried to, because I had agreed to step up. I had made myself a piece on that board of chess, and now I was going to shift positions and play the round.

Suddenly, a flurry of knocks sounded at our dorm door, and Bridgette furrowed her brows, as we looked at each other.

"I'm sure we're supposed to be meeting downstairs," She spoke, "Zubair wouldn't—"

"It can't be Wood," I broke in, before she implied something.

Truth was, I didn't know why I was going with Oliver Wood at all. I didn't know why I had agreed at that moment too. I hadn't even seen him since I returned to Ilvermorny, and I didn't know where we stood. Could he have forgotten that he asked me? It irritated me that my mind was now occupying itself with such trivial things.

"I'll see," I muttered, making my way to the door and instinctively opening it.

The small corridor outside was empty, but I would've been a fool to give into the eyes alone. I sensed the presence, and then I heard the small voice peek out from the darkness of the corridor.

"It's Harry Potter. Can we talk, please?"

The British accent of his was sharp and recognizable from the last time we had conversed. I hadn't seen the boy since, and I wondered what he had been up to. If Dumbledore was still leaning onto the boy's visions, if he was still teaching him Occlumency as a pretense. I knew now that his visions were no falsehoods, I knew now, that he had been right about what he had claimed all along.

Aurelius Dumbledore had shown me a perspective from his own memories, and now Voldemort's pale monstrous face was a hideous anomaly in my mind.

"I'm sorry to intrude like this, but it's urgent. This is the only moment I'll get for a while," The boy spoke, his voice dropping to a whisper etched with anxiety.

"It's improper," Bridgette spoke up from behind me as she slowly approached. "Harry Potter you shouldn't be—"

I remembered what Viktor Krum had told the boy the last time he had approached us. "Say nothing, do nothing. If you see something in your head worth mentioning, you come to me."

But Harry Potter hadn't taken bait, he had come to me.

"Come in," I ushered, opening the door wide, stepping aside and hearing the shuffle of feet, except there were two pairs of feet I could hear.

Bridgette did not protest further as I shut the door behind them, turning to face the wide berth Bridgette had given the center of the room. I saw a glitch in the air, a transparency beginning to crease like a silk sheet. Then the sheet was turned over and two heads popped out from underneath, Harry Potter's familiar tuft of black hair, and a striking ginger colored head of hair I didn't recognize.

The sheet materialized in Harry Potter's hands, a deep purple color as he gathered it and slung it over an arm. The ginger boy at Harry Potter's side lifted his head slowly, his light eyes going from Bridgette to me in an awkward display of awe and a grin marring his face that seemed to reach up to his eyes.

Something flashed in the boy's eyes then, a mischievous wonder perhaps-or maybe it was boyish recognition.

"Harry Potter!" Bridgette hissed. "You did not say you have company with you. You can't just-"

"I'm sorry," The fourteen year old boy hastened, his circular eyeglasses reflecting the candles we had burning in the room. "This is Ron, he insisted."

"Hi," The ginger haired boy grinned, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"Do you have siblings?" I asked him, my mind holding onto that reflection of familiarity that I saw in the boy's face. His freckles, his stark hair.

"Uh, yeah," He murmured, grin vanishing. "The twins, Fred and George. You must've seen-"

"Seen?" I scoffed, "Your brothers cornered us, threatened us, and implied something extremely personal that I don't care to repeat."

"Blimey," The boy murmured under his breath, exchanging a disappointed glance with Harry as though he had assumed this would go a different way.

"Go on, Harry," I turned my attention to the boy on whom it was due at present. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Wait, just a second," Bridgette interrupted, and in that very second, she had her wand pointed towards Ron.

Before the boy could react, she had murmured a spell and the ginger haired boy recoiled slightly, before opening his mouth to speak. No words came out. The boy gestured wildly to his ears, panicked eyes on his friend.

Harry Potter looked mildly apologetic, but his look was directed at us for having brought his friend along.

"You share your business with your friends, that is alright, but you don't share ours—you don't share Dominique's."

Bridgette's tone was firm, and I found myself caring less for secrecy than her at that moment. It was strange—peculiar. I had spent so long hiding things and keeping secrets about myself that I now felt numb to exposure suddenly. Though I knew exposure could still cost me a great deal, it could cost me my life.

"Tell me, you haven't," Bridgette spoke again.

"No," The boy ushered, "Ron and Hermione aren't like that—they wouldn't—"

"Mon dieu," She let out in agitation, but before she could speak again, I interrupted.

"It's fine," I exchanged a glance with her. "As long as they keep their mouths shut."

"And they will, won't they?" My eyes narrowed on Harry Potter's friend, and the boy visibly swallowed, as though he had read my lips and understood the threat I had made, without needing to hear. 

Bridgette undid her spell with a sigh, and Harry Potter's friend coughed as he came back to his default settings.

"Yes, ma'am," He spoke the words, as though they were iron on his tongue.

Satisfied, I settled my eyes back on Harry Potter's face, a signal for him to begin with whatever he had to say.

"I saw a vision again," The boy started, his eyes slightly anxious and flitting under my strong gaze. "He entered Grindelwald's cell, in Nurmengard. I don't know how—how he found out that the captured wizard would know of The Elder Wand. But the cell—it was bloodied. The captured wizard was hung on the wall—dead. Somebody murdered him and there was this message on the wall that he read but I couldn't make out, but he did. His anger was palpable. Then I—he—picked up that cold scent. The scent of your magic—and I don't know how it got there but—"

I almost pitied the boy, for having the perspective that he was privy to. I couldn't imagine how that would feel, to be stuck behind a dark wizard's eyes, to be stuck in a dark wizard's head. How did you separate your own thoughts from theirs? How did you mold your guard into steel to keep it from coming crashing down?

"It got there because I was there," I articulated, my tone plain, simple, mechanical.

Harry Potter's eyes widened slightly, as though I had confirmed what he had refused to believe.

"D-Did you—"

"Yes," I answered him. "I killed Gellert Grindelwald."

Audible gasps escaped the lips of the two boys and a sharp pain throbbed in my eyes just then. This had been the second time I had admitted this confession out loud. The first had been to Bridgette and Aurelius Dumbledore before we had left Nurmengard. I don't remember either of their expressions, because I was still so dazed—so disturbed, that nobody else's thoughts had mattered to me then.

But now, these fourteen year old boys looked at me as though I was something they had deduced that could only be faced with fear. They didn't know my great uncle had asked me, they didn't know I had given him his last request. 

"The message on that wall—" Harry Potter started hesitantly.

"Also my doing," I folded my arms across my chest.

For a moment suddenly, I felt the urge to tell him that I was closer to getting that wand, and that Voldemort would not get his hands on it, but then I remembered that I had obliviously started the ruse that the wand was already safe with Dumbledore when it was not. I couldn't argue the latter point without unearthing Grindelwald's words and everything that had exchanged between us in that cell, so I just hadn't. Even Bridgette did not know of that message I had left on the wall, and now I would have to leave its details out for her. Thankfully, Harry Potter's perspective had at least rendered him blind to the words I had written.

I wondered what the boy would think of me if he had seen it clearly. I wonder if he'd report me, do everything in his boyish spirit of good that Viktor Krum had often threatened me with. After all, how could a witch, who was after The Elder Wand herself now, be good?

"And the wand? Where is it?"

"It is safe," I broke in before Bridgette could tell them that their Hogwarts' headmaster had it in his possession. They would surely be relieved to hear that, wouldn't they?

"It is with the authorities," I continued. "Nobody needn't worry about it anymore."

In my mind I heard Agilbert Fontaine's voice, telling me and Krum that they only needed the two remaining hallows. As though the deathly hallows were his—theirs. 

Harry Potter looked relieved, and I wanted to scoff at how easy it was for my words to be believable.

"Tell me of Voldemort," I mused then, "Is he furious?"

The ginger haired boy winced when I spoke the wizard's name, or perhaps, his reaction had been incited by how careless I sounded.

"Very," Harry Potter swallowed. "The scent of your magic was sharp in there, he is going to have his death eaters work harder in finding you—he might even have all of them look for you now."

"Perhaps not all," I raised a brow, and the boy faltered a little.

Harry Potter was the chosen one, the one marked like me—except I had killed the wizard who had marked me, and Harry Potter's marker had just begun to loom large. He was the chosen one because he had dodged the killing curse in his crib, and they say he was prophesied to destroy Voldemort if the wizard ever came back.

So yes, Voldemort may consider his unknown heuristic opponent a threat, but his sights would always be fixed on Harry Potter as well. And that in itself was consolation to me. If I was in the wizard's place, I'd be desperate to get rid of anyone who was destined to kill me too.

"Tell me Harry," I started. "Is Dumbledore doing his best to protect you? Is that why he has taken his students out of the Huntlock?"

Harry Potter swallowed, exchanging a wary glance with his red haired friend.

"Dumbledore says it is dangerous for us to be anywhere except Hogwarts right now. He believes the student's disappearance at Ilvermorny happened because I was here—because Voldemort is attempting to make some sort of threat. I barely escaped the last time at the Triwizard with—"

"So Dumbledore fully believes in the cause now," I touched my hair, a taunt in my tone. "How cute. How long do you suppose it would take him to fully admit the fact in public, instead of making you seem like a lunatic?"

"Hey," Potter's friend blurted, offended, before his determination faltered under my gaze. "Dumbledore will, he's just.."

"I have no grievances with Albus Dumbledore," I spoke, a fact of which I wasn't so sure anymore. I plan to duel him and take his wand of course. "But if either of you, or this third friend you mentioned earlier, speak anything of me to him. I will be furious, and you do not want me as an enemy."

I let Grindelwald's death hang in the air, hoping I didn't have to say more on it.

"Alright but Dumbledore would need to know about Grindelwald," Harry Potter swallowed anxiously. "They had a history, we found out about it in the library—well Hermione did."

"No," I let out, eyes sharpening on him. "I have heard of what they had, but Dumbledore will find out just like everyone else. In a fucking newspaper headline. Me comprenez-vous?"

The ginger haired boy shifted uncomfortably. "Um, sorry we don't understand Fren—"

"I asked if you understood me," I snapped, frustration rushing through me before I caught myself and exhaled slowly as they nodded.

"Harry," I turned my eyes onto him. "If you have anything more to tell me, you will come to me. I know what Krum told you, but this does not concern him. If Voldemort catches the scent of my magic again, you will come to me. You help me with this, alright? You are a big help to me this way."

The boy nodded again, anxiety in his manner replacing itself with eagerness. Perhaps he was consoled, for once, to have the knowledge that there was someone else, a student, beside him, that Voldemort was after too. The mere fact perhaps made him want to confide in me, though the knowledge did nothing much for me.

"We are heading to Hogwarts with your delegation tomorrow," Bridgette's voice came, as she exchanged a glance with me. "Agilbert Fontaine requires a task from us. But we will be close at hand for you to come to Dominique and keep her informed."

The boy blinked, as though the information had been new to him, and I realized that Fontaine was still lacking in making his orders known by everyone else. This was why the boy had crashed into our dorm. If he had known, he would've waited to give me this information at Hogwarts.

I turned to Bridgette then. "I need to talk to Harry, keep his friend here will you?"

She nodded in understanding. "Of course."

"Harry," I looked at the dark haired boy. "Join me on the balcony."

With that I arranged the skirts of my embellished dress slightly and headed over to the dark balcony. A cold wind seeped the atmosphere, and the darkness sported a sky full of stars like glitter. The moon was not in sight, having been enveloped by clouds—an expert vanishing act I couldn't trace.

Harry Potter's feet jogged up beside me, the boy keeping a dignified distance away, out of fear or hesitant respect—I couldn't tell.

"Do you remember what you told us the last time we talked?" I turned to look at him, keeping my voice low. "About where Voldemort was heading to? Where he was hiding?"

The boy seemed quiet for a moment, before he spoke. "Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes," I repeated the name inside. "When we get to Hogwarts, you will tell me where this Malfoy Manor is."

"But why?" He pressed, confusion on his face. "If Voldemort can sense your magic, if he's looking for you, why would you want to creep up to him?"

"And he was heading there then, I don't know if that's where he constantly is," Harry Potter added, touching the rim of his glasses briefly to adjust them.

"Then I'll confirm it."

"Why would you want to?"

"Harry," I sighed, willing my frustration away at his questions. "It is beneficial to have weaknesses on an enemy, no? And you get these weaknesses by first knowing where the enemy is hiding. I just need to make a consensus, I won't reveal myself."

"But your magic—it's scent—"

"I can hide it," I quipped. "The first time Voldemort sensed it at Gregorovitch's cottage was because I had forgotten to hide it. Krum was there—you know what happened. You know the chaos."

"Yes," The boy answered. "You took Gregorovitch's memories, protected the knowledge of The Elder Wand from You-Know-Who."

"Then at Grindelwald's cell," I continued, "I chose not to hide it. I chose to make Voldemort see that I had gotten there before him."

That latter wasn't entirely true, but it had still worked in my favor. Aurelius Dumbledore had advised me against using heuristics to translocate into the castle at first, because he thought that even hiding the scent of my magic wouldn't be enough in Nurmengard. Where the prisoners in the main tower were accustomed to all magic, dark and not, and would detect it either way. Grindelwald had the ability too. For hadn't he sensed my magic when I was but a toddler?

"So you see? I'm not entirely helpless," I gave him a playful look.

"But it's still dangerous," The boy blurted. "Malfoy Manor would be crawling with death eaters even if You-Know-Who is not there."

"I'll keep safe," I pressed, frowning at his concern. He didn't even know me, what cause had he to be concerned?

"There's a student," Harry began, "He's in our delegation too. Draco Malfoy, a slytherin. He lives in the Malfoy Manor. It's his family home."

I blinked, not recalling ever hearing the name or seeing a face associated.

"He hangs around with Blaise Zabini, and he has gotten very much to himself lately," The boy continued. "We suspect he's going to become a death eater too. There going to be some sort of initiation and he—"

"Is he a fourth year too?" I asked, and upon getting a nod, I wondered what use Voldemort had with death eaters so young.

Grindelwald's acolytes were never below the age of eighteen. Perhaps it was Voldemort's way of gathering the chaos, perhaps he had realized that organized power was no match without being molded with reckless power.

"If you want to get insight on Malfoy Manor, or anything about Voldemort you could extract—Draco could be one of the ways, and you wouldn't have to go to the Manor. Ron, Hermione and I have tried to get close to him using the polyjuice potion—to find something out but it has not been so fruitful. But it could work if you do it, Malfoy would be eager to oblige. You wouldn't need the potion of course."

"No," I narrowed my eyes on him. "I will be paying a secret visit to that Manor, Harry Potter, and you will be telling me where it is. And as for this Draco Malfoy, I will try him too, if I have to."

The boy nodded.

"Introduce the boy to me when you can."

To that, Harry brought a hand to scratch his elbow. "Um, I would, but we aren't exactly chums."

Of course, I thought to myself in annoyance, he had spoken of using the polyjuice potion, Dominique, why would he even need it to extract information if they were friends?

"Alright, then just point him out to me and I'll do it myself when it is feasible," I sighed.

He nodded again, relieved.

"You can go now," I managed, "But listen, Harry, no one is to know about this conversation. I don't want anyone to know of my interest in Voldemort's whereabouts, not my friends, and certainly not yours."

"Yes," The boy uttered, before nodding slowly, pivoting and leaving.

I heard them both leave and Bridgette shut the door behind them as they did. Then I heard her footsteps and the soft rustle of her dress as she stepped beside me, my eyes fixed on the dark mountains on the night horizon, my hands on the balustrade.

"What did you write on that wall?" Bridgette asked softly.

"A threat," I answered simply. "I wanted him to know that he would never get The Elder Wand. It's about time someone told him what he needed to hear."

"Mon dieu," Bridgette exhaled, "It's scary thinking that you roused him like that."

I shrugged. "Somebody needed to."

"And why didn't you tell Harry Potter that Dumbledore has The Elder Wand?" She started.

"The hallows need to remain a secret, Bridgette," I glanced at her. "We are going to tell no one the real reason we are going to Hogwarts. If Fontaine tells our superiors, then those are the only who will know. If word spreads, we will have ears we do not want chasing the hallows right next to us. And I'm not looking for this assignment to become more than the chore I already feel it becoming."

She nodded in understanding.

Behind us, our dorm room clock chimed 7:00pm, and we both turned to acknowledge it as the soft bong sounded. Bridgette met my eyes.

"Come, it is time for the ball." She started making her way inside, and I sighed, letting go of the balustrade.

I raised my eyes to the sky, dipping my head back, willing the tension that I felt rusted in the crevices of my body, away. I touched my right shoulder where the mark was hidden. I could still feel it if I pressed down on the skin, a faint ache that still hadn't gone after Grindelwald had abused it that night in the forest before the Alps. 

"Dom," Bridgette called from the door. "Come, we'll be late."

"Coming," I spoke softly, before turning and making my way inside and towards our door. 

***

A/N:
The ball chapter is next, and then we're off to Hogwarts. I can't wait to change the backdrop of the story. I could shape Ilvermorny up, but with Hogwarts I'll try to remain as authentic as I can. There will be cameos from soo many more hp characters now! I can't wait to bring them into the story and have them interact with my ocs.