CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

A CUTTING ROOM FLOOR, THAT was what it felt like I was trapped in. My hand still burned from the discomforting warmth that had ensued when I had taken hold of Flora Fischer's pudgy, clammy one. I needed the place the dwarf witch had in mind to translocate everyone and myself. As I had summoned the constellations inside me and they had doubled and replicated, my task proved frustratingly tedious for the witch's mind had not yet centered on a single place. Having to shoot a single constellation inside her consciousness to sift through her multiple choices as though I was deciding upon the gravity of a card during a gambling game was torturous and it took out a devastating chunk of my energy, leaving me strangely disoriented. A feeling reminiscent of dodging a butcher's knife and employing all your reflexes to a point where you couldn't move anymore.

Picking a place and translocating was a task that had to be done in mere minutes, and it was when the pressure had been lifted off by the end of it, was when I was fully able to take in the place I had translocated everyone to.

"Schalun Castle," The dwarf witch announced in the silence of our arrival, her head tilted upwards to examine the ruin that was the twelfth century castle.

The night sky was raging outside, and the castle—though a ruin—provided for a significant cover. The dark stoned structure had still strong sheltered ceilings, and a handful of walls yet standing that provided a sufficient shield from the mountainous landscape outside. Schalun—once home to a powerful wizard who had built it for himself and had resorted to a life of being king to muggles of Vaduz, Liechtenstein—was now an abandoned place, its presence concealed amongst the mountains and often being mistaken for the mountains themselves from what I had read of it in the Beauxbatons library once.

"It is 1 kilometer away from the town center of Vaduz," The dwarf witch articulated for the general audience that she had, before nearing me and lowering her voice to a whisper. "The acolytes are all in the town, my lady, I can gather them all up when you decide to visit."

I didn't answer, my eyes still inspecting the castle ruin. The stone was dense underneath my feet, and the ruin felt as though it still had years upon years of life and would be destroyed if someone truly tried for it to be so.

"Alright, what the fuck did you just do?" Gabriel Chevrolet's shout suddenly rattled my psyche, and I feared then if the ruin would collapse under the sound waves.

He turned his dark eyes on me, and it amused me to see the shock reverberating in them like a broken clock that kept chiming.

"You—you didn't use a wand," Yordanka Hristova broke in then, her voice stammering and eyes wide on me.

"What the hell, Dominique?" Gabriel approached me as Yordanka prefered to maintain her distance, "Depuis quand fais-tu ça?"

"I knew there was something fucking up with her," Hristova spoke before I could, muttering something in Bulgarian that I couldn't understand.

"I hope you are disguising the scent of it," Zubair Dimitrova's smooth observation came, a stark contrast to his classmate's shock, as he raised a brow at me. "Else you're just leaving a trail."

"I am disguising it, but I thank you for the reminder," I narrowed my eyes at the Durmstrang as he shrugged nonchalantly.

"She knows what she is doing, Zubair," Bridgette spoke up, a reprimand in her tone.

"And what exactly is that?" Gabriel spat, his tone acid as he glared at me.

Viktor Krum was immediately in front of me then, a shield for my form as he planted both his hands on Chevrolet's chest and roughly pushed him away. The latter stumbled on his feet and almost fell backwards had he let his limbs absorb the shock of his confusion.

"How about you try and maintain the distance?"

The Durmstrang's baritone was hard, and it reminded me of all the times he had directed it at me. I missed it, because at least then we had time together. At present it felt like all I ached was for some time with him, and aching was all that I was being resorted to.

"What the fuck is going on? Are all of you fucking in on it?" Gabriel's furious eyes danced back and forth between everyone present, only excluding Yordanka from his scrutiny, as he received blank looks in return.

"Zubair," Viktor seethed, his glare fixed on Chevrolet. "How about you give this шибаняк a brief lesson? Catch him up, will you?"

Zubair exhaled in annoyance, smirking slightly at the word as his friend had used, before shaking his head and approaching. "Sure, I guess I have time to spare."

"You can go too, Yordanka," Viktor set his eyes on her, unflinching, as her demeanor faltered and she swallowed before turning away reluctantly. Her eyes had held a certain sorrow before she had turned away—a certain vulnerability she had met Viktor's eyes with that I had never seen on her before.

My stomach constricted then, as something passed between the two of them that seemed out of place. Something had happened, and a sharp hurt escalated inside me from just being in the dark about it. Sometimes just knowing something happened without knowing exactly what, was enough to hurt me, and I hated it so much.

Gabriel followed Zubair out of reluctance too, and the three of them waded away to a corner and Zubair's bronze facial features schooled themselves to a strict firmness as his lips parted to speak. The Durmstrang boy, it seemed to me, was always in his element when given a chance to impart some of his knowledge, though it was clear that Dimitrova had only limited yet rare topics at his disposal.

"It's good that I chose this place, my lady," Flora Fischer trudged to my side, her voice low and a prim calculative look plastered on her face. "It's a good distance away and the premises can help reduce frustration without much harm."

"Are you serious?" I snapped at her, the memory of the torturous task of sifting through the multiple places she had chosen, hitting me with full force. Collecting myself, I exhaled out my frustration. "Bitte den Mund halten, stay here but make yourself scarce until I need you."

"Are you alright?" Viktor, turned to me then as the dwarf witch scurried away obediently, concern embedded in his sculpted features.

Suddenly, I just wanted to keep staring at him, to take in the sandy color of his skin, his closely shaved head, his thick dark brows, the gentle beard tracing his chin. His anthracite orbs were mesmerizing in this dimly lit moonlight, and the mere feat of just looking at him made me want to sink to the ground and close my eyes.

"Baby, what is it?" He stepped close, taking hold of my bare arms with his thick warm hands.

I didn't say anything because I didn't have anything to say. Perhaps I did have a lot to say, but I didn't know where to start with everything that was swirling inside my head, and I decided not to force the thoughts into coherent words until they consented themselves to. Instead, I just leaned into Viktor's muscular form, my head resting on his shoulder as he snaked his arms around my back and pulled me close. He smelled like cedar, and the dampness of moss—he smelled like a resting storm.

"Why did you go without me?" His tone was soft but hard, as he dipped his own head into my neck, his breath hot as lips touched my skin. "I was so fucking worried. I told you I would help, I told you I would be by your side when you dueled Dumbledore. But you—you took your friend."

"I didn't know it would all happen tonight," I managed slowly, still pressing myself into his form. "Dumbledore was there with the death eaters. I needed Elias to only talk to one of them, to get some information. It all happened so fast, I couldn't think."

"I had Angus with me, he brought Elias," My eyes burned sharp then, at the mention of the Halmasti Jinn. "Dumbledore was set up and they were going to kill him. I had to act before them. But I didn't kill Dumbledore, I just left him there. Voldemort came before we could leave."

"What?" Viktor perked up, the muscles on his shoulder tensing. Elias had held back the information that we both had come face to face with the dark wizard from everyone else, and it was just as well that he had.

I lifted my head to look at him, my eyes taking in his shocked ones. "He knows that I'm the one he's looking for. He said I have much to learn. He somehow knows the extent of my own knowledge with heuristics."

The Durmstrang swallowed, eyes flashing with frantic explanations as he pushed back his own uncertainty. "No, he can't fucking know that. Nobody but you can."

Perhaps it was the evil wizard's ploy, perhaps it was how he got by—by pretending he knew the weaknesses of an opponent when he did not. Perhaps that was how evil wizards ought to get by.

"He tried to hurt Elias," I spoke, my hand raising as I lightly touched Viktor's cheekbone, tracing it with my fingers and grounding myself in the process, my eyes fixed on the texture of his skin. "Do you know how we managed to escape? Aurelius Dumbledore helped."

"What?" Viktor blinked, a flash of something dark reflecting in his eyes at the name.

"Oui," I articulated softly. "He was there with his uncle, corresponding with a death eater before I interrupted."

"How did he help?" Krum asked when I had stopped speaking, my exhaustion ebbing away at me.

"He attacked Voldemort—a mere distraction," I offered in response, my voice light. "I took the cover, held onto Elias and fled."

I let out a tired pathetic laugh. "I had The Elder Wand in my grasp, and I just fled. Can you believe that? I didn't even fight him, I was so scared for Elias."

"No, it's alright," Viktor held me a little tighter, his ebony orbs bearing into mine. "You would've been stupid to fight him then and there. You had dueled Dumbledore, you have that fucking wand. You can take Voldemort down with it, paired with your own magic, whenever you choose to and that fucker knows it."

The sharpness in my eyes pressed tighter and I gave in, a tear tumbling down my cheek as I looked at Viktor. "I left Angus there. I couldn't feel his presence so I couldn't bring him back. What if Voldemort found him?"

"Angus can keep himself safe," The Durmstrang dismissed my worry, a determination on his face. "Did you even take a moment to see him? He's fucking mighty. He is not like the Halmastis at Ilvermorny, he will not easily fall prey to Voldemort. He will turn up, you'll see."

Wiping the tear off my cheek, I pressed myself into Krum again, leaning my forehead on his shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell me about Cedric Diggory?" The words escaped my lips then and Krum tensed abruptly, but didn't pull away from me.

"What about him? You know I did the Triwizard with him," Krum swallowed, anxiety etched in his tone. I lifted my head away from his shoulder to meet his eyes again.

"I also know that you were under the Imperius curse, performing the Cruciatus on that boy before Potter stopped you," My voice was soft as I tried to keep sympathy out of it. I knew Viktor wouldn't like the sympathy, he was not the kind of person to appreciate the concern of it.

He didn't say anything, his eyes just reflecting a blank yet deep emotion that I couldn't name. I understood then that people didn't acknowledge some things in their past because they believed that acknowledgement was keeping it alive somehow. Viktor Krum wanted the moment dead. As dead perhaps, as Cedric Diggory.

"Do you know who cursed you to do it?"

"A death eater named Barty Crouch Jr, from what I was told later," The Durmstrang's tone was hard and plain then, words laced with indifference.

I nodded in understanding, leaning in to place my lips on his cheekbone softly. "That is why I went after him first. I thought maybe I could take revenge, have him spill the dark wizard's things out such that Voldemort would kill the man himself for betrayal. But I didn't get a chance with Dumbledore there. I didn't get a chance at all."

"Fuck," Viktor exhaled, gripping my waist tighter, head bent into my neck as he planted a kiss on the nape of it. I could feel his lips parting against my skin to speak, but he hesitated and the words wouldn't come out. So he just let it be and kept dressing kisses onto my neck.

"Baby," He spoke after a while, "You need to rest. Change out of this costume before it forces me to not let you rest."

Despite myself, I exhaled a nervous laugh as a furious blush ran up my neck. I did in fact need to be out of the burlesque costume for my sanity. It was bizarre that I had dueled Albus Dumbledore in this. It was a highly inappropriate attire for a duel, I could only imagine what Madame Maxime might think if she found out. She would be amused in her strange way. I hated that Voldemort had seen me in it. He must think how easy I would be to defeat, he must think how all his fret was for nothing. I was not the powerful and wise in age wizard he had been expecting, I was just a girl in a revealing bejeweled costume, not truly aware of what I had, or was up against. He must think it was mere luck that I had defeated Dumbledore.

Good, I realized. Voldemort should keep thinking like that.

Someone cleared their throat promptly, catching both mine and Viktor's attention as I separated from him. Elias Dupont stood facing us, his arms folded across his chest as he raised his brows expectantly at me.

"I hate to interrupt this moment, but I would very much like to be changed to my default settings, Dominique, I fear my nose has caused much disruption. If we are to possibly face the end of the wizarding world as we know it, I prefer to at least look like myself."

I giggled then, before nodding once, and pinning a smile to my face. "Of course monsieur, if you would only follow me."

The boy, in a picture of propriety, pinned his hand at his back and bowed his head as a grin tugged at the edge of his lips. Then he spun on his feet and followed me as I approached the dwarf witch. Fischer had trudged closer to Harry Potter where the fourteen year old boy had perched himself on the castle ruin window, his back against the stone of the wall and thoughtful eyes fixed outside at the mountain scape. Potter hadn't noticed her creep close, and the dwarf hadn't announced her presence, content with scrutinizing the boy under her green stare.

"Fischer," I called, and the witch lost her balance suddenly, startled as she straightened to face me. "Stop spying on Harry."

Harry startled too, as he sat straighter, eyes jumping back and forth between me and the dwarf.

"I need you to go to town," I instructed the witch, the latter touching her hair consciously with a thick small hand in the embarrassment of being caught. "I need something to wear once I change out of this dress. Pick something casual out for Elias too." I gestured at Elias who raised a brow at the idea of a dwarf witch being assigned to shop for an attire for him.

The witch nodded, her eyes resting on my bare shoulder—the one which bore the mark. A certain indifference reflected in her eyes. It was obvious that she despised the fact that I practiced hiding it in the first place—despite how temporary.

"And food, get us a proper meal for eight," I finished, ignoring the look in her eyes.

"Harry," I looked at the boy, a blank thoughtful expression on his face as he met my eyes. "Do you need something?"

I didn't know what else to ask him. The boy was—he was very young. Had I ever really considered that before? Everything he had been through at his age, it was unnerving to think about. And I had forced him to make the decision to come with us and leave his friends and people he had undoubtedly known all his life behind. His school's headmaster had died, and I couldn't even begin to imagine all of everything the boy had felt towards the wizard. What do you even say to boys like that?

"No, thank you," Potter's voice was small, devoid of the confidence and weight it had embodied when his friends were nearby. He felt alone, and it was shocking how obvious that was.

I swallowed a lump in my throat, turning to look at Flora Fischer. "Go, be back with everything as soon as possible. We'll keep an eye at the Malfoy boy while you're gone."

Draco Malfoy, still motionless on the ground of the castle ruin, had become Fischer's unspoken responsibility. I didn't want to saddle her with him of course, for I needed her wits at my bidding, but still, the sight of the platinum haired boy was enough to keep me decided. Nobody else seemed to bother with him too, eyes glancing over his muddied form lying on the ground as though he was part of the old castle ruin everyone had suddenly found themselves in.

"And get the latest newspaper too," Viktor Krum let out, eyes on the dwarf as the latter pursed her lips and held her indifference at bay at the order from someone other than who she was bound to follow.

The witch looked to me for confirmation and I nodded firmly.

"As you say, my lady." With that the dwarf witch took to her feet and trudged away, stepping steps and exiting the ruin. I saw her pull out her wand, and then she had vanished in a spark and a trice.

"So who is she anyway?" Elias Dupont inquired, keeping his tone light as he jammed his hands into his formal trouser pockets. He still looked like every bit a London society gentleman, and so absurdly out of place in this castle ruin.

"Flora Fischer is—," I broke off, my eyes breaking away from Elias to meet Viktor's briefly.

Elias had heard Albus Dumbledore call me by my name, and he was anything but stupid. I appreciated the lightness of his tone, the satisfying trust he had in me to allow me to reveal things on my own accord. Have any of the people in my life ever been like that? Bridgette wasn't, and neither was Krum. Harry Potter might be, perhaps, but his patience was tinged with fear and uncertainty, while Elias was unafraid.

"She's an acolyte," I managed the word, a determination falling over me.

"One of Grindelwald's acolytes?" Harry asked, curiosity in his small voice.

"Yes," I managed a small smile for him, a desperation inside me not wanting him to fear for anything at all. He was my responsibility now, I had made it be so by bringing him here.

"But Grindelwald's dead," The boy blinked, "You killed him."

"Yes," Viktor Krum added for me, understanding that this was part of the legacy that had been left behind for me, "But his acolytes aren't."

"And you have control over the acolytes because you're his great niece," Elias Dupont's voice was steady when he came to the conclusion, it were only his brown orbs that displayed his startle. "That is what Albus Dumbledore was talking about—Mon Dieu, Dominique, c'est monumental, et tellement fou en même temps. How long have you known?"

"All my life?" I spoke, the statement coming out as a question as Krum wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me to his side.

"That means—," Harry Potter perked up, the new information suddenly energizing him. "That means you have an army to fight for you. That means you can use the acolytes against Voldemort and his death eaters."

He met my eyes, his own sparkling with newfound hope. "This means we have numbers. There's power in numbers, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is," I offered, before gesturing for Elias to take a seat beside Harry so that I could work on his righting his features to the way they were before. I didn't want to talk of the acolytes at present, according to Fischer, there were twenty five of them. I needed to see them first, to even be a thousand percent sure of what extents they would go to under my orders.

Twenty five wasn't much at all, but I didn't want to acknowledge that in front of Harry Potter. It had been a while since any of the twenty five acolytes were trained. Voldemort's death eaters were undoubtedly under his charge constantly at present, there was no telling the efficiency he forced out from them each second. I would be a fool to place all my trust in the acolytes, and I couldn't let Harry Potter do the same thing too.

Elias Dupont quickly took the spot I had gestured at, eager to return to his default settings as he had referred to it.

I began my work, drawing a rune beside his face and as it pulsated I traced over his features lightly with my fingers and his skin rippled gently like the surface of a lake underneath my hovering fingers. Harry watched in concentration, his eyes fixed on the silver pulsating rune that wouldn't vanish until I had corrected all of Elias' features.

Footfalls were heard then as Brigitte Monet, Zubair Dimitrova, Yordanka Hristova and Gabriel Chevrolet came promenading close, eyes and attention caught by the shining rune in the darkness of the castle ruin.

"Woah," Viktor hummed at my side, entranced more by the rippling of Elias' skin and the gentle movement of his nasal bone. "Does it hurt?"

"Looks nauseating," Yordanka Hristova choked up the words, a disgusted look on her face.

"No," Elias let out, pursing his lips. "It doesn't hurt. I'm glad everyone's having a good time watching, though."

"This is gnarly," Gabriel Chevrolet added, before his eyes scrutinized the gleaming silver rune. "Can't believe you can do shit like this without a fucking wand, Dominique."

There was still anger in his tone, lined with a fresh etch of envy that I almost missed if I hadn't paid the attention. I didn't respond to it, keeping my focus fixed on Elias' face.

The adjustments took slightly longer than I had expected, and soon, much to Elias' relief, the onlookers got bored of their activity and sauntered off to seek and pursue other available ones at their disposal—which of course weren't many at all.

Flora Fischer returned after a while, carrying on her stout person practically nothing at all, as all that she was asked to make the trip to town to, was following right behind her, floating in the air left in her wake.

She led the clothes she had brought towards Elias and me, and the boy inspected the dwarf witch's pick with a raised brow, mildly impressed as he ran his slender fingers over the dark brown jeans, and the light white button down shirt.

"Cela ira, je suppose," The boy managed, discreetly pleased, glancing at the German witch who gave him a blank stare in return, her own eyes fixed on me.

I narrowed my eyes playfully at Elias, clutching my own newly store bought dress—it was a mint green linen dress, the shape of it reminiscent of a dirndl, with a heart neckline and a dark bust tied in front with the same mint green colored lace.

"S'il te plaît, you should not conspire to undermine Flora's choices," I shot an amused glance at the dwarf witch. "I'll have you know she happens to be a great host, and a connoisseur of the latest fashions."

The witch pursed her lips in hesitation, trying to muster a smile but falling pathetically short of it. She was conflicted, knowing that I never jested with her. Had I ever even smiled at her before? Ours had been interactions weighed down by threats and circumstances. I had despised her when I first stumbled upon her room and she had approached. I had despised having anything that belonged to Grindelwald, and now that I realize they were all gifts, gratitude ebbed away at me, breaking free only in moments that I could breathe freely.

The witch had already had the food she had brought display itself on an impromptu oak table that appeared at her wand's command, and Chevrolet and Yordanka Hristova were already helping themselves to everything present on it. The table was laced with a plate full of pretzels, a steaming German pot roast, beef rolls, two boxes of pepperoni pizza, three large bottles of a fruit drink and a pot of rabbit stew, alongside empty plates and spoons at the side.

"Wow," Zubair Dimitrova whistled low at the sight, distracted from the conversation—most likely about Quidditch or other wizarding sports—that he was engaged in with Krum. Approaching Bridgette's side—as the latter stood gaping at the food—he slipped a hand around her waist. "If this is the menu of an average Liechtenstein night, they're all wild out here."

"Are rabbit stews popular here?" Bridgette inquired, wiggling away from Zubair's hold and attempting to help herself to the food. She glanced at the dwarf witch with her question, the girl's expression a polite picture of curiosity.

Fischer turned her eyes to me blankly, still hesitant at speaking to anyone other than me, a certain superiority complex tainting the way the witch held herself. It was no surprise that she was not much pleased with the fact that she had been made to shop for everyone present. I rolled my eyes in slight frustration.

"How about we just load up on the grub and not ask questions, yeah?" Viktor Krum sauntered to the table, muscular arms flexing through his shirt as he reached for a dish. Much to my gratitude, Viktor then gestured towards Harry, making him leave the stop he had occupied for a while, and nudged him to eat as the boy reluctantly chose to try the pretzels first, his small hands shaking slightly as he reached for the plate.

Elias Dupont had already walked away to change, his steps light and slow as he tried to find a reliable spot behind a reliable dark wall for the sake of propriety and his own mental assurance—the boy was much too precise with everything.

"Elias," I let out, following him to the spot he had found and startling him to his dismay.

"What?" I giggled at his expression, holding the store bought dress close to me, the echoes of the conversation everybody else was engaged in over the table humming in our periphery from the distance. "Je ne fais rien. I'll wait here. You change and then I'll change."

He shot me a cautious look, making sure I wouldn't pick this time out of all times for an elaborate prank, considering the change of the mood I was in. It brought me back, his look. It brought me back to my nearly carefree years at Beauxbatons, me and Bridgette playing ridiculous pranks on Elias, Louis and Raphael. But they were all only in response to Raphael Blanchet's own unorthodox tricks, and Louis and Elias—the much too sophisticated boys—just happened to be near when Raphael got his due. My stomach constricted at the thought of Louis and Raphael. I didn't realize I had missed them, but I suppose it was the life I had had around them too. In the stark contrast of my present, that life felt more desirable.

Elias Dupont slipped behind a wall to change, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

─── ☾ ───

"AGILBERT FONTAINE, THE FAMED HEADMASTER OF ILVERMORNY HAS HALTED THE LEGENDARY HUNTLOCK TOURNAMENT," The scratchy announcement came from the radio station Elias Dupont tuned to, and startled looks passed between the those of us huddled around the small wireless box the German dwarf witch, Flora Fischer had bought from the store, instead of Viktor Krum's asked for newspaper.

"They charge a lot for newspapers," The dwarf witch had pursed her lips in annoyance, answering to the Bulgarian Quidditch seeker after everyone had dined on the food she had brought. "Why pay so much for a few headlines when I could just get the wireless radio and be done with fetching papers for you like a newsboy."

"Fischer," I had let out, reprimand hot on my tongue at her tone. I wanted to lash out at her, force her to adopt tolerance if not amiability, with everyone present. But the idea of doing that had felt unnerving. One of Grindelwald's old acolytes, being lectured by his niece who was less than half her age. It was insulting to her.

"Make yourself scarce," I had seethed instead, and the dwarf witch had trudged off to the corner where the Malfoy boy lay motionless.

Elias turned up the volume slightly, balancing out the scratching of the radio channel.

"DUE TO REASONS UNKNOWN, THE HEADMASTER CANCELED THE FESTIVITIES OF THE TOURNAMENT, WITH A SOURCE CLAIMING THAT HE WORRIED NOT FOR THE DISMAY OF THE UNWANTED."

I cringed at the word. The unwanted. Clearly that was what Britain referred to les dorés as. They had stuck to having no respect for the creatures that didn't stalk their lands, leaving America to worry about the creatures on their own. I had heard Agilbert Fontaine address them as shadows many times, but he did it with conviction and the respect that was very obvious in his manner.

"FAMOUS WIZARDING WORLD SPORTS STARS HAD BACKED AWAY PRIOR TO THE HEADMASTER'S DECISION, WHICH LEADS US TO BELIEVE HE HAD NO WAY OF CONTINUING THE TOURNAMENT WITHOUT THEM. INTERNATIONAL SPORTS GEMS LIKE THE BULGARIAN NATIONAL TEAM'S QUIDDITCH SEEKER, VIKTOR KRUM—," Everybody glanced at Viktor Krum, as he sat by my side, his thick hand on my thigh and his stern eyes narrowed in the distance, focused on the gist of the news and unbothered by everyone's stare. Harry Potter gulped visibly, the boy's awareness heightening perhaps at the knowledge of the outside news.

"AND ONE OF THE TWO BEATERS, ZUBAIR DIMITROVA—," Attentions turned to Zubair next as the boy ran a hand through his hair nonchalantly, as though he was merely annoyed by the fact that we were all seated on the ground in an old castle ruin and the breeze passing seemed to be slowing down.

"WERE ALSO AMONG THE ONES WHO BACKED OUT OF THE TOURNAMENT BEFORE IT COMMENCED. ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, TAKING THE FAMED HARRY POTTER, ALSO ABANDONED THE TOURNAMENT."

Harry cringed at the mention of his headmaster, and I found myself placing my hand on top of his, to offer the mere semblance of comfort I could muster.

"IT IS NOT SHOCKING TO SAY THAT THE HUNTLOCK WAS BOUND TO FAIL WITH THE DESERTIONS, AND NOW IN THE WAKE OF THE RISING PROBLEMS IN THE WIZARDING WORLD—THE AZKABAN PRISON ALMOST EMPTY OF DEATH EATERS, FONTAINE BELIEVED IT PRUDENT TO SHUT DOWN THE EVENT ENTIRELY THIS YEAR. THE PARTICIPATING SCHOOLS LEFT AMERICA AND HAVE BEEN SENT BACK, AND JUST IN TIME TOO, FOR WIZARDING TRAINS ACROSS BRITAIN HAVE BEEN HALTED AS PART OF THE MINISTRY'S ATTEMPT TO CONTROL THE DEATH EATER SITUATION."

I wanted to scoff. What good would halting train travel do? These were powerful death eaters. But my thought was instantly answered.

"THE MINISTRY HAS ALSO STARTED MONITORING APPARATION AND DISAPPARATION OUT OF IMPORTANT PLACES, IN WAKE OF THE RECENT NEWS OF GELLERT GRINDELWLAD'S DEATH IN THE DARK WIZARD'S ISOLATED AND PROTECTED CELL IN NURMENGARD."

I let go of Harry's hand, turning my head toward Viktor and meeting his stern eyes. I leaned and rested my head on his shoulder.

"Switch the channel, will you?" Zubair Dimitrova cleared his throat, his eyes briefly meeting mine as he glanced at Elias, and the latter began fiddling with the dials with his slender fingers.

Zubair knew I had killed Grindelwald. Viktor considered his best friend's knowledge on heuristics as an asset, and he was determined to use it where I was concerned, and so he made sure he inquired Dimitrova and not missed a chance that could help. I had also at a point been forced to acknowledge that Zubair may have information, but I knew now that what he had in regards to heuristics was limited at best. Dimitrova was cautious around me, and never spoke to me much. And I didn't mind that at all, ours was a fleeting interaction, only held together by the presences of Viktor Krum and Bridgette Monet.

"This is crazy, la Bretagne va en enfer," Gabriel Chevrolet murmured, a frantic look in his eyes. He looked at me. "There's no Huntlock, and everyone's been sent back. They have stopped trains, and are monitoring apparation? This is fucking crazy."

The fact that the Huntlock was halted, was indeed startling. Agilbert Fontaine had been determined to replace us all and go on with the tournament. Elias Dupont had once mentioned with certainty in the Ilvermorny castle that the only way the Huntlock would be stopped would be if Voldemort himself asked for it to be so. I looked at the boy, and sure enough, he had a puzzled, shaken look marring his thoughtful face.

"What is fucking crazy is the fact that Gellert Grindelwald was killed in his highly protected cell in Nurmengard, didn't you hear that, Chevrolet?" Yordanka Hristova brought her knees to her chest. "Voldemort's gone fucking feral."

"That was me, actually," I found myself speaking, my voice unwavering at the admittance. Everyone present knew of the fact except Yordanka and Gabriel, and of course the motionless Draco Malfoy and the acolyte I had at my bidding—the latter was thankfully minding her own business at a considerably far distance.

Yordanka's dark eyes almost bulged out of her sockets as she gaped at me, Gabriel's own dark face frozen in shock.

"I wouldn't want you to give Voldemort more credit than he was due," I shrugged, exhaling a breath.

"An explanation for why I interrupted your advance towards Dominique at Hogwarts," Elias shot the Durmstrang witch a plain look. "My friend does indeed appear to mean the threats that she makes."

"This is fucking insane!" Gabriel shot up to his feet, gripping his head with both his hands. "Why the fuck are we hiding then, if you are so mighty powerful, Dominique?" His black orbs burned into mine. "Pourquoi te recroquevilles-tu quand tu peux te battre?"

"Why can't we just take the hallows to Fontaine? He was the one who started this shit by sending us to Hogwarts. Why can't we just give them all to him, and head back to Beauxbatons and wash our hands off this godforsaken madness?"

"I told you all," Gabriel turned his eyes to meet Elias', catching his breath as his features remained hard, "I told you all that Britain would go to hell first if Voldemort was to come back. The rest of us can hold our fucking own."

"So what?" Harry Potter shouted, fury twisting the boy's young features as he lifted himself to his feet and his eye glasses caught a shard of the raging moonlight outside. "You are going to tuck your tail between your legs and run back to France? How long before Voldemort sets his sights there? How long before death eaters start knocking on your doors?"

Gabriel paused at the boy's declaration, and for a second I thought he was chastened, but I knew Gabriel Chevrolet, and I was a fool to think he could ever be chastened.

"Don't you fucking raise your voice to me, boy," Chevrolet seethed, his voice dropping dangerously low as he bore his gaze down into Harry's. "I will gut you."

Viktor Krum stood up then, putting himself efficiently in between Gabriel and Harry.

"You will have to get past me first, then," Krum voiced, his baritone schooled and hard as Chevrolet's jaw tightened at the threat.

"You, Gabriel Chevrolet, are fucking stupid," Zubair Dimitrova exhaled then, his tone amused, much to everyone's surprise.

Chevrolet turned to face the Bulgarian Quidditch Beater, taken back by the remark made in that tone.

"If you were not, you would know that Agilbert Fontaine is just another Albus Dumbledore," Zubair pushed to his feet too, not wanting to have to look up to face someone like Gabriel. "Let me spell it out for you. If Voldemort finds out he has the hallows, he will head to America and Fontaine will be dead and gone. Then Voldemort not only has power in Britain, he has it in America as well. His control will spread like a disease. The Elder Wand's power comes with no limitations—and the wizard has all fucking hallows at this point. The boy is right, the dark wizard will not take long to set his sights on France too."

"So what I am trying to explain to you," Zubair stepped up close to Chevrolet, the boys only inches apart from each other as either refused to back away. "Is that if you want to scurry back to France—to Beauxbatons—and pretend this all isn't happening, I'm sure you can. For us though," The Durmstrang broke off to exchange a determined glance with Viktor, "Igor Karkaroff, being a former death eater himself, will have our hides if we scurry away from a fight and lose the hallows to Voldemort when we can help prevent it. I'm sure that is an unheard of consequence for you, the designated timely tea parties at Beauxbatons miss you, I suppose."

Gabriel Chevrolet's hands fisted tightly at his sides, his dark fists paling yellow with force as he glared at Zubair, the latter managing a nonchalant shrug and sauntering over to Bridgette's side and plopping down beside her shocked form.

"Did he indulge in the tea parties though?" Dimitrova's tone was that of amusement as he glanced at Bridgette, before looking at me as well for an answer to his obviously rhetorical and sarcastic question. "Or are the spa parties at Beauxbatons more his forte?"

"Alright," Elias Dupont felt it prudent to interfere, as he tapped the now silent wireless with a finality. "I'm sure you mean it as a jest, and at Gabriel's expense, I assure you I'm amused. I would hate it though, if you supposed that those two things are all what the male students at Beauxbatons have to engage in."

"Oh, no," Zubair threw a shoulder back casually. "I'm sure that is not the case."

Elias swallowed, not entirely convinced, as he turned his attention back to the wireless, fiddling with the dials again as he tried to catch onto a channel reception amidst the mountainous spot of the castle ruin.

"Everybody just relax, alright?" Bridgette sighed, raising her hands and glancing at Gabriel pointedly. "Just take a deep breath."

Viktor approached my side again and plopped down beside me, as I wrapped my arms around his muscular one and rested my head on his shoulder again. I was grateful to him, for standing up and taking charge in little moments like these when I knew they would drain my energy if I was to try instead.

"Dominique," Bridgette looked at me. "We can send Gabriel to Beauxbatons, can't we? If apparation is being monitored, you can send him back. He wants to go, and he can—maybe—contact us? Tell us how everyone is, everything that is happening."

"No," I spoke, my voice small. "No contact, it will expose our location—the hallows' location."

She blinked in disappointment. "He can still go."

I met her eyes in affirmation, as we both looked at Gabriel. The boy was tense, his jaw tight as veins bulged underneath the dark skin on his neck. He was clearly in a dilemma, torn between returning and staying in a way that confused me. Why was there an option to stay in his head at all? Was he not desperate to go?

"Fuck it," He spat then, seating himself, his features still hard. "I'd rather not have to explain whatever the fuck you're all doing, back home." 

Back home. My mind hummed the words. I was suddenly grateful for his decision. Gabriel had been no help to me ever since we had left Beauxbatons, yet he made up the people around me now, and that alone was help in a strange comforting way. I couldn't be sure why he had chosen to stay. Perhaps it was out of spite, or he just wanted to best Zubair and Viktor. Or maybe he was looking to make up for the trophy of the Huntlock that he never got. Either way, he was staying, and that was that.

Suddenly then, the wireless started sputtering static as Elias managed to connect to another radio channel. Soon words on stream became audible, the reporter a feisty lady with a lilting Scottish accent that commanded the attention of all us efficiently.

"THIS JUST IN, ALBUS DUMBLEDORE'S LIFELESS BODY WAS FOUND IN LONDON IN A MUGGLE OWNED GENTLEMEN'S CLUB. BESIDE THE WIZARD WAS THE BODY OF A DEATH EATER, BY NAME BARTY CROUCH JUNIOR, SON OF MR BARTEMIUS CROUCH SENIOR, A VERY NOTED EMPLOYEE OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC. IT IS SPECULATED THAT BOTH WERE IN MIDST OF A DUEL THAT NEITHER SEEMED TO HAVE WON."

Harry Potter found my hand and gripped it tightly, his own clammy, making me fight to revere my discomfort as I focused on offering support.

"THE FAMOUS ALBUS DUMBLEDORE'S DEATH AT THE HANDS OF A DEATH EATER HAS SPARKED MUCH CHAOS IN THE MINISTRY AND IN THE WIZARDING POPULATION OF BRITAIN, WITH MANY LEFT BAFFLED AND CONFUSED. THE DEATH EATER'S BODY SPORTED THE CLEAR DARK MARK, AND IF YOU, LISTENER, WERE IN ANY DOUBT NOW IN RELATION TO THE RUMOR IF HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED HAS RETURNED, THEN YOU CAN BE SURE OF IT NOW."

Harry let go of my hand then. He jumped to his feet and without a glance at me or anyone else, he strolled away to be on his own. I turned back to look at the wireless. Elias was focused entirely on it, and the lady broadcasting wasn't done yet.

"THE SENIOR MR CROUCH HAS PUBLICLY REFUSED TO HOLD A FAMILY BURIAL FOR HIS SON AND REPORTEDLY ASSAULTED AN INQUISITIVE JOURNALIST WHO APPEARED TO PESTER HIM ON THE MATTER IN THE CURRENTLY ONGOING PRESS MEETING—" 

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A/N: 
Not much happened in this chapter, but oof are the tensions high or what? anyway, i love this chapter. it's one my favs for idk what reason exactly lmao <3