The Weasley War



X. Cups



The Wizarding world still called it The Burrow, although it had been quite some time since it had been filled with a flurry of red-headed people who called it home. Now it was empty, not empty in the neglected way, but empty in an open way, ready in a moment’s notice to open its doors and warmth to the child or grandchild who would want to burrow there for a while away from ‘work’, ‘school’, ‘lovers’ or whatever name trouble chose to mask itself with.

It was a quiet place resounding with love and memories. Even the birds in the orchard could feel that. More so did the gnomes, who guarded the garden and the whole property fiercer than trolls would. They only quieted and went back to their subtle marauding ways when the old family or one of theirs was present. Like that great ginger cat. Oh, how they missed that one.

Regular as clockwork, the matriarch could be seen popping into the kitchen to whip up delectable things, or into the drawing room to flick her wand at the least dust that presumed to land on the shelves above the mantel. The shelves were priceless. Certainly, their old wood and gilt inlays were noteworthy, but the contents�”well, the matriarch was often misty-eyed just looking at them, as she was doing now.

On the wall, above everything, hung an enlarged old portrait. Three people�”a man, a woman, and between them, a girl of about nine, sat on a couch, and surrounding them at the back were six boys, differentiating from height, hair length, grin and freckles.

Below this nostalgic happy picture, on the top shelf, was a framed photograph only slightly smaller than the portrait, of a smiling man, thin and balding. The frame was gold-plated and solid black, matching the wood and gilding of the shelf. The man looked quite smug. The matriarch snorted at him even as she fondly blew him a kiss.

The reason for the smugness might well be the things peopling the shelves below the picture of the man.

Crammed there were more frames, pictures of children, from infants to teens, some of them with red hair, some with black, some with blonde, some with brown. All of them precious and loved, as attested to by the more sombrely placed family pictures below, seven frames in all.

The most impressive display was in the lowermost shelf. Three gleaming, silver cups stood there, each behind a picture. One was of a brown-haired girl, the other, of a black-haired, bespectacled boy, the last, of a red-haired, very freckly boy. All three of them preened and then stuck their tongues out at each other.

The matriarch was just about to pick these frames up when from the garden rose a chorus of high little squeals. If she wasn’t hearing things, she could have sworn those were the gnomes.

“Molly, isn’t the Burrow expecting company?” said the smiling, balding man from the frame. Molly jumped and gave a squeal herself. Running to the window, she clasped her hands to her heart at the happy sight that met her.

The garden was full of people, of children. The gnomes were running in every direction pursued by two orange blurs.

“Hello, Gram! Are we having a party or not?”

The girl who said this had wild brown hair mingling with red, because she had jumped onto a red-headed boy’s back and was now piggy-riding him to the front door.

The matriarch opened it and gathered the rush of children to her bosom. “Having you here is party enough, Weasleys.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Gram, but don’t be melodramatic. It’s catching.”

Molly grabbed the girl’s nose and tweaked it. “Don’t you just have your Aunt Ginny’s cheekiness, Juliet!”

“You’re the only one who can get away calling me that,” Juliet whispered, still atop the red-headed boy, who jiggled her as if she weighed a feather. The other kids had scattered all over the house and the garden.

“Juliet, get off of Tristan and give your grandmother a proper greeting.”

Tristan laughed and earned a thump for it as Juliet slid off his back. “Mum!”

“What?”

The toss of that formidable brown hair and the delicate authoritative snap in the voice seemed to intimidate Juliet Granger-Weasley as nothing else could. “Nothing,” she said cheerily (Mutters were never allowed). She exchanged a sheepish look with Tristan and hugged Molly. And then it was Tristan’s turn. Molly looked him up and down before pulling him close and tight.

“You don’t know how glad I am seeing you here every time, dear boy.”

“Oh, I have some inkling, Grandma.”

“I told you, it’s catching!”

“Juliet!”

Juliet cowered slightly. Tristan laughed. Juliet looked up to see S.J standing there, arms akimbo, in perfect enunciation and imitation of Hermione. Molly bit in her mirth. But she couldn’t hold it in. How could she, when her house was once again filled with all her children and their children? Her bliss threatened to knock her over. For Juliet’s pride’s sake, she turned away to settle her amusement in the kitchen, but not before seeing Juliet jumping Sirius James Potter.

With every step in the hall, she looked back at those three, now laughing at something or other. What a picture they made. Reminded anyone of Harry, Ron and Hermione all over again.

She bumped into a solid, lanky body. “Oh, Percy.” She hugged him. He hugged back, the same way he did all those years ago when he knew he was the favourite son. But that self-satisfaction had completely dimmed now, replaced with...nothing else but love and warmth.





IX. What Matters Most



The applause was deafening. It was a wonder not one of the centaurs charged out and screamed bloody murder at the noise. But of course they wouldn’t, as they were in on this whole scheme. Jules waved her blue hat at the blue expanse in the crowd. They stood up in a wave and cheered. She could even make out her baby sister’s little pink cap among them. She was sure her mother had placed a Silencing Charm on Sylvia’s swaddling.

Professor McGonagall was saying something, probably recounting the points standing, but Jules was chanting the spells she must summon to the front of her mind at a moment’s notice.

“What are you doing? You’re making my pants wriggle.”

Jules snapped her head around and glared at S.J. Tristan on her other side laughed. He, too, seemed to be holding on to his pants through his blood-red robes.

Jules softened at this, because he seldom so much as even smiled before. She turned back to the two identical doors facing her and smirked. “Well, wouldn’t that give me some head start, with you both tripping over your own trousers.”

“That’s mean and that’s cheating, Jules. Wait till I tell your mother.”

“That’s mean, Sirius James Potter. I was only jesting.”

S.J and Tristan laughed again.

“What seemed to have amused you?”

They quieted at once at McGonagall’s voice. The old lady was as crotchety as ever. But perhaps it was only because they had blasted apart one of the greenhouses, which turned out to be her private own. Jules’s eyes gleamed at the memory. Surprisingly, this brought a misty glow to the stern headmistress’s.

“You remind me so much of your mother, Miss Weasley. And you two,” She turned to S.J and Tristan. “You’ll probably tire of hearing this, but the three of you together reminds us all of another trio who walked these same grounds.”

“They’re in the stands, Madame.”

“Yes, yes, well�”” McGonagall blinked her sparkles away and Jules was relieved. She didn’t like it when people were emotional. “�”To business. When you hear the trumpet, proceed to the doors. As you touch the two knobs, symbols would appear on them that only you could see. You should enter the one bearing the sign of that which you chose in the chest. Every time you come to a door within the forest, you must enter that one door. Sooner or later, you will come upon Firenze the centaur, who, if you’re the first to reach him, will give you a prize in exchange for that thing you hold. Any questions?”

“Is�”is it�”possible for all three of us to�”to reach Firenze�”at the�”the same time?”

“I’d say, that is unlikely, Mr Weasley, but it is not impossible, no. How speedily you reach Firenze depends on your choices. Make the right ones.”

With that, she ushered them back to their places. The noise was a crescendo that reached ear-splitting volume as all three of them entered one of their twin doors. Jules had chosen the one that bore a crude lump on its knob. Sirius James squinted at the two knobs and entered the one whose symbol didn’t scintillate. After a dignified look at the knobs and a bow to the stands, Tristan turned the knob bearing what appeared to be clay.



***


Jules uttered a French oath and immediately winced and cowered as if her mother was in the room. But no, it wasn’t her mother with her, but a Cerberus, each of its three heads now snarling in her direction.

The room was small, an illusion in the middle of the woods. She could smell the trees and the sour and sweet scent of decomposing underbrush. Nevertheless, the Cerberus held her eyes, it was only a...a puppy. Hideous little puppy, eight feet tall. Jules raised her wand. If she hit it right in the middle of its chest, it would be easily Stunned. Well, what did she expect? It was only the first door, designed to excite and not to exterminate the living daylights out of a champion. Yet.

The spell was at the tip of her tongue when she remembered McGonagall’s words, her mother’s voice, and her father’s easy tone. “Make the right choices. Doing things the right way is the only way, and they’re not always the easy ways out, sweet pea.”

Jules bared her teeth at the Cerberus in a grin. “We’ll get you some lullaby, Fluffy Junior. Evocare Fisarmonica!”

An accordion fitted itself around her neck and between her arms. Jules put her fingers to work on the keys. Fluffy sat on his haunches mesmerised.



***



Tristan’s arms flailed wildly for several seconds until he regained his balance and held on for dear dignity to the doorknobs.

Not three inches past the threshold was a great expanse of...muck. The tips of his patent leather shoes were already coated and he shuddered at the thought of that thick mud clinging to his immaculate robes and scrubbed skin. How could his first door be this disgusting? And just what was waiting for him in the bog?

Keeping one hand clutching the handles behind him, he raised his wand, intending to dry the marsh. Would that be right? Or was he expected to wallow in it to the door at the other end? That would be some journey; the swamp must be hundreds of yards long. He looked around. No brooms. And the wards around the illusory room would prevent him from Summoning his own broom or even boots.

“Incendiere!”

A great tongue of heat erupted two feet from the tip of his wand. Tristan directed it to the mud. After ten seconds, the couple of yards nearest him hardened. He was just about to step on it when it suddenly darkened and returned to being wieldy, sticky and glutinous.

To add insult to the debacle, a house-elf appeared with a POP in front of him, splattering him from the waist down.

“Oh! Dobby is sorry, sir!” The elf Vanished the spots with a flick of his fingers. “Dobby is here to offer Sir the boat.”

“A boat? Indeed? Where is it? Let me see it.”

With another flick of his fingers, Dobby conjured it, a golden canoe.

Tristan stared at it. Then he laughed and shook his head. “But that’s ridiculous. I reckon I’ll just walk.”

Dobby nodded and turned around to disappear, but not before Tristan caught him beaming. That gave Tristan some confidence and comfort. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and stepped onto the marsh.

Three hideous, odious, nightmarish steps later, in which Tristan tried to ignore the sensations on his lower legs as if they were not attached to him, the bog disappeared, to be replaced by a field of heather.



***



One moment, he was opening the door, the next, he was falling onto a little lake. S.J only had time to gasp the Bubble-Head charm on himself before he fell in the water. It was good he did, because any chance of staying in the surface was dashed when the grindylows pounced on him from all directions.

He kept shattering their grips with sparks that spewed boiling jets of water to them from his wand, but there were just too many of them. One grabbed his glasses through the Bubble Charm and clawed the bridge of his nose in the process. Another latched onto his collar, as if intent to disrobe him. The freaks need to trim their talons, he thought wryly, as he felt a sting on his neck that meant the skin had opened and was being washed by grindylow-pissed lake-water.

The thought made his stomach curdle.

The little demons scattered howling at the red scorch marks that rose from their ugly green hands. S.J took the reprieve his magic had given him and paddled to the surface, firing spells randomly. One or two got away from the onslaught of his wand and always, another sting made its way to his brain. The little buggers would pay for that.

He had always beaten his cousins at swimming, but he made it to the surface none too soon. His ankle was clawed nearly skinless by a set of green sharp-taloned fingers. He wrenched his foot free with a curse and scrambled onto the...marble floor.

He was no longer in some little version of the lake, but in the Prefect’s Bath. The grindylows were in the half-filled, pool-sized tub, blissfully unaware of the dozens of hot water jets S.J could pivot and turn even hotter for their doom.

He moved to hobble to the taps and instead caught sight of the glistening red pool gathering around his foot. He raised his wand. Boiling hot water gushed off all the taps, sending a cloud of steam billowing into the room.

After three noisy seconds in which the grindylows splashed in agony, S.J blinked and lowered his wand, flushed not from the heat, but from shame. He pointed his wand at the pool and a mini-iceberg plopped onto the water, hissing.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have done that.”

The grindylows seemed to have understood him. One of them unconsciously bobbed an ugly head to the left in a slow jerk of relief as it climbed on the ice, and S.J was surprised to see the set of twin doors standing there. He was still in the forest after all. He would still be able to bathe in the Prefect’s without feeling queasy.

He bent at the waist to look at the knobs again. He chose the one inscribed with a clump of clay again.



***


“Come forward, please.”

Firenze was amused. The Potter boy was wet and bleeding around the foot, but aside from that and the mud caked onto the Weasley boy’s legs, and the accordion slung around the Weasley girl’s neck, they all looked like they had gone through just one door. Still perky and almost painfully on their toes as they pushed open and peered around the doors. Certainly, he had not been sitting here half an hour.

The three cousins looked askance at each other. No one ran. They all marched forward sedately. They stood side-by-side before him.

“Well�””

The three hands shot out like striking cobras.

“Now wait a moment�””

“You chose clay as well?”

“What’s so ugly about diamonds?”

Their kind frowned upon mirth, but Firenze couldn’t help it, he laughed as he had never laughed before.

The Weasley War



VIII. Fresh Start


“You just wait until I get my hands on his hair, that bloody centaur.”

Sirius threw himself down on the chair the moment they entered the room for one last round of practice. It was just after dinner, just after Holly had triple-checked that she was ready for the next day’s exams.

“For Merlin’s sake, S.J! I can’t believe you’re still harping on about that.”

“Well, seeing Firenze drove the memory to the front of my mind again! Hey. I think he’ll be in the Task.”

Holly nodded, distracted, but not very much. “What did I tell you? Whatever others say or think or do is part of their lives, not yours. What is yours is your own reaction. And that’s what could either make or break you. You can’t help how people�”creatures�”act, so get over it and concentrate on the next task instead. You have all the spells down pat, don’t�””

“I do, yes. Ever the rant of reason, aren’t you? You sound like my Aunt Hermione.”

How her expression morphed from ticked off to thrilled was almost comical. “Really? I adore her! I can’t wait to meet her tomorrow. Wouldn’t that be an affair! The whole Weasley family sitting down to dinner! You’re all here anyway!”

“Yes, well, don’t wet yourself, Holly�”ow!”

“You’re too old to make such crude jokes, and to me�”a girl�” of all people, you nutter!”

Laughing, S.J tugged forcefully on the fist she was about to hit him with again, sending her reeling in towards him, her glorious strawberry-blonde tresses gently smacking his face. “And you’re too pretty to tease me, a bloke�”of all people, you twit!”

She landed on his lap and scowled at him. S.J felt as if his guts were cheese melting in an oven.

“I wasn’t teasing you. I never tease anyone!”

“You were bruising me, yes.”

“I’d never bruise you, Sirius.”

“I love it when you call me that.”

“O-oh, r-really?” Merlin, the way she suddenly stopped trying to get off him and stuttered that was adorable. She was always so brisk and sure. And now... She smirked. Wow. She could smirk! This girl would really drive him mad. “That’s all?”

He smirked back, all Tasks, estranged cousins and bloody centaurs forgotten. “That’s all what?”

“Is that all...you love... a-about me?”

Merlin, that took some bottle to get out. If he hadn’t adored this girl before, what with all her no-nonsense mothering and steadfast friendship even while the rest of the school thought him dirt, he sure had another good reason now.

He blessed the emptiness and secrecy of the Room of Requirement and drew his arms around Holly’s waist. She stiffened only a moment, before relaxing and blushing so red S.J worried for a second she’d combust on his lap. But she didn’t. Though he might. Because she was kissing him back.

They pulled apart after the ten seconds of innocence and tenderness and giggled into each other’s eyes. “I love everything about you. In fact, I think I love you.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, well, I’m only sixteen, what do I know since you’re my first? And I couldn’t do ‘research’ about this any time soon either. I’m stuck with a hypothesis for the meanwhile.”

Holly gaped at him as he drawled out those sentences, but toward the end, she giggled. “Good answer.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled her close again to sink his nose on her neck and hair. She let him, though she thumped him again with an “I saw that!”

Sirius just grinned. Everything would be well.



***



The Great Hall had long emptied of its harried, exam-weighted breakfasters, and Tristan was beginning to think �” His father entered just then as if his boots were giving him trouble. He nearly tripped on Hagrid’s log of a cane, but saved himself just in time with a nice swerve and an apology to the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, an apology he addressed to his boots. Hagrid frowned at him kindly, and then caught Tristan’s eyes across the room and shrugged and beckoned him frantically over at the same time. Tristan was already half-jogging over.

“Father. You made it.”

Percy Ignatius Weasley looked up and smiled at his son. Tristan was heartened. They were still friends, the two of them. His entering the Tournament unblessed was not about to change that.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, which used to hold so much sway over me, as you well know.”

“Never mind, Father. And never mind your being tardy as well. They’re waiting for us in that chamber.”

Hagrid had by this time quietly left them, so Percy had no cause to cover his reluctance and shame. “Son, you go on. You know I can’t�””

“Yes, I know, Father. But I don’t see why. Not any longer.”

He exchanged another eloquent look with his father. He tried to convey with his eyes everything that had taken place since he had set foot at Hogwarts, the school that held so much of his family, his blood, and their heritage. A heritage of camaraderie, fun, and warmth. So much warmth that just thinking about going back to Germany made him shiver.

He thought he could see that same disinclination in his father’s eyes now. Tristan wanted to shake him. “Father, please�””

His father grasped his arms. “Trust me, son. When we enter there, my job is as good as lost. Our house will be on the market faster than I can say ‘Head Boy’, and where does that leave us?”

Tristan grinned. His father was also contemplating leaving Germany, ha! “To them. Nothing so scary about that, is there, Father?”

“Do we really have them, boy?”

“Well, you’ve been wasting too much time here instead of finding out.”

They both jumped to attention at that voice. Tristan had never been more bowled over at the sight a girl. Well, woman. This must be Gram, Grandma, Nana. And she looked like an embodiment of everything soothing in her auburn cashmere shawl and aquamarine robes. She gracefully waddled her delightfully plump form over to them and held out her arms, tears flowing down her red cheeks.

“Percy, stop being an idiot and come here now!”

His father ran.

And before he could process that absurdity in his brain as a hallucination, Tristan found himself imitating his father, until he was engulfed in those arms.

Bliss.

“Whatever were you thinking?” He heard his grandmother scolding his father, even as she stroked Tristan’s back tirelessly. “And you, dear boy! I’m afraid I might not let go.”

“But you would, Mum! Pass him here!”

Tristan barely had any time to look up to see S.J and Jules grinning at him before his sight was obscured by a large mass of brown, apple-scented hair. “Aunt Hermione.”

“Yes, yes, that I am, Tristan.” She laughed, squeezing him.

“I’m Aunt Ginny.” And next, he was inhaling red, citrus-scented hair. He began to feel an itch behind his eyelids. The itch relieved itself when his uncles clapped him on the back and, one by one, held him to their solid chests.

“Your father was a bit of an overgrown git for awhile. But he’s family. We loff him.”

“We loff you.”

He hugged his Uncles Fred and George for that, but oddly felt no inclination to laugh.

One moment, he and his father had only each other. The next, here they were, with a large, large family. His grandmother pulled him to her again so that he could subtly wipe his tears on her shawl.

His father was not faring as good. He was howling on the Gryffindor table, his head on his hands. Aunt Ginny and Aunt Hermione sat on either side of him, both with one of their arms draped on his shoulder.

His grandmother released him, patted his cheeks tenderly, and went to stand before her heretofore-alienated son. As if sensing her presence, his father looked up, calmed. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I just didn’t�”I just couldn’t bear it when Father�””

“Oh, Percy. Do you think we felt any different? We were all devastated as much as you were.”

“We could all have healed together. You shouldn’t have left,” Aunt Ginny said quietly.

That got his father going again, though not as wildly. He just blinked his streaming eyes and grabbed his sister. “Ginny.”

“Be careful, we have one last Potter in here, and we don’t want her squashed.”

“‘Last’ and ‘her’?” His Uncle Harry quipped. Harry Potter. Tristan blinked. His uncle. This great wizard was family. And he acted like any other uncle, who only choked into laughter, grabbing Tristan’s shoulder, when Fred and George had expressed their affection earlier.

“As well she should be, Harry! I won’t stand eight boys without a single teammate!”

His father let go of his aunt and joined in the laughter. He stared at that vision. His father laughing. Wonders never cease. And it was all owing to the Weasleys. And yes, he was one of them!

Shortly, his Aunt Hermione, ever the principal, herded them off to the chamber off the hall to their brunch.

His Uncle Bill waited only until all of them reached their places before he raised his goblet. “This is not necessarily in order of preference, alright? To S.J, Juli�”Jules and Tristan! To their Triwizard glory!”

The rest of the family echoed the toast, even the younger ones surprisingly prim and proper about it all.

“And this,” their grandmother stood. “This is to the fresh start for the Weasley family, Branch Percy. Here with us again and here to stay...” She didn’t end it in a definitive note, nor in question. Tristan looked at his father. Percy had risen to his feet as well. Tristan held his breath.

“Here to stay, Mother.”

His grandmother beamed. And then her face crumpled, she crumpled back down to her chair as well. She waved her hand when they all rose to their feet in concern. She wiped at her streaming eyes impatiently. “Silly me. I just�”I just wish�””

“Of course, Dad’s here with us, Mum,” Uncle Harry said quietly.

Grandma nodded almost frantically, still wiping her face. “All of them must be here with us now.”

Tristan suddenly didn’t know where to look. Was his mother there with them as well? He jumped when someone began to clap. It was Jules. And she was grinning at him, right along with everyone up and down the table, from the kids to the adults. S.J was whistling�”well, he tried to. Aunt Ginny elbowed him the moment he placed his fingers in his mouth, making him choke instead.

Tristan laughed. They joined him. Never before did he encounter such a feeling of rightness. The Tournament seemed a realm away. Everything would be fine now.



VII. Clay Over Diamond is not Always Clever



“Our champions’ mettle and courage in the face of the unknown has been tested. Now we shall measure their magical knowledge and logic. Many wizards and witches fall abysmally in this challenge. That of using their minds instead of their wands, and remembering the numerous many-faceted facts of our world.”

Professor McGonagall reversed the Sonorus spell and turned to the three of them standing before the door of the Shrieking Shack. The stands erected on the property’s grounds, filled with students and villagers alike, had gone dead quiet. “Now, kindly give Mr Ollivander your wands.”

With trepidation, all three cousins handed their only tools to the ancient wizard, who ostentatiously turned his back on them and the stands to do what he had to do. Madame Calasanz and Master Chekhov immediately congregated with him. Professor McGonagall sniffed disdainfully and used the Sonorus again. “Mr Ollivander will perform a spell on each of our champions’ wands, restricting their magic to five spells or charms. Therefore, they must exercise prudence in using magic while in the Task, or they might consequently have nothing to help or defend them when they need magic most, or when only magic can save them.

“The key each of them had retrieved from the First Task will open the chest they will seek in this Task. From the chest, they will pick another item without which they cannot proceed to the Third Task.”

As if the crowd sensed that the directions were completely laid out now, they broke their silence and gave way to excited applause and cheers. The old house seemed to quake at the noise. Only its backyard was free of the Quidditch stands-like seating for the spectators. On the ivy-checked walls, great swathes of white cloth were draped, no doubt to serve as projection screens to what would shortly happen to the champions when they entered within.

Professor McGonagall was now herding S.J, Jules and Tristan closer to the open, deceptively empty threshold. “When you reach the trunk, open it with your key, take what you wish to take, and then close it again. This will trigger the spell that would bring you back outside. Good luck.”

Mr Ollivander, muttering and glaring at Chekhov, hobbled nearer and returned their wands, which oddly felt heavier than normal.

“At the sound of the trumpet�””

The trumpet blared. S.J, Jules and Tristan exchanged smirks and entered abreast.

The door thundered shut behind them. Torches blazed to flame, but they cast only the dimmest, flickering light, doing little to lift the darkness.

And then they felt it, something cold and sinewy wrapped around their ankles.

“Argh! Devil’s �”Snare!” Jules jumped and fell on her backside. She was instantly dragged forward.

“Here!” Tristan slid a torch on the floor to her. It stopped only short of singeing her hair. She yelped and growled and grabbed the torch’s handle. The tentacle now wrapped around her waist recoiled away even before the flames touched it.

Jules looked up and saw S.J also wielding torches, two on each hand. Tristan held two, his other hand clutching his wand as he proceeded up the stairs.

“S.J, where do you go?”

“Uh, kitchen?” He let go of the two torches and drew his wand from his belt.

“Typique,” Jules muttered. She left the foyer and turned to what must be the drawing room. The door clapped shut behind her again. The answering draft was enough to snuff her enfeebled torch. When her pupils dilated to the darkness, she distinguished eight eyes peering at her and threads of saliva dripping from between pincers. Tout á fait magnifique! Ma chère mamma, where are you?

That voice incorporating both her mother and father spoke in her mind. Don’t move, Jules. Giant or not, it is still a spider, and spiders don’t see you unless you move. Now, if he gets the idea of wrapping you in a silky acromantula jumper...that’s another story. But he doesn’t know you’re there, remember? Just keep cool. Points be damned. You can’t just keep still if you face a Dementor here. Stop babbling inwardly either! They wouldn’t put Dementors here!

It seemed like an eternity before the acromantula turned away. Jules closed her eyes to relieve the sting. She hadn’t blinked or even moved her eyeballs. She squinted to where her hostess went.

Oh, she had eggs. Disgusting cocoon. Good distraction. Jules was just about to take a step to the open door on the right when she realised even a mother acromantula surely wouldn’t pass up a meal. Millimetre by millimetre, she moved her head to look down at her feet.

It was dark, but they shone, the silky threads making up an intricate web of trap in the room. One touch on one thread and she would be dinner. Right. Thank Morgana that the acromantula was greedy and was disdainful to trap anything smaller than a cat.

Jules blessed her tiny feet then. But then she cursed the eight eyes. Dementors returned to her mind. Oh, lovely.

Would it work without yelling the incantation?

Expecto patronum.

Her not-so-little mink burst from her wand and gambolled around the room, immediately driving the acromantula mad with greed for meat and paranoia for its eggs. Jules watched for only a second though, and did an imitation of leaping and skipping in the spaces between the webs until she was in the other room. This time, she was the one who slammed the door shut.



***



When he came to the first landing, entered the room immediately on his right and the door shut behind him, at first he thought the carpet had been hit with a badly executed Thickening Charm. But when the ‘carpet’ shifted and when tails rose out of it, curling and dancing proudly into the air, he realised what the carpet was. He was glad he hadn’t stepped on any of them yet.

So, kneazles. This must be something. Think, think. Inhale. Oh, Merlin. Exhale! Tristan pulled the collar of his robes over his neck and nose to get a bit of untainted air. When his brain recovered from the sting of such strong olfactory impulses, he re-emerged.

If these felines were placed here to attack, they should already have done so before now. But all they did was make him wobble where he stood with all their curling and circling and rubbing on his ankles. The constantly shifting colour of bright fur was beginning to make him dizzy, yet he wouldn’t be so stupid as to close his eyes. Hiding inside his robes earlier had only been necessary for survival from the reek of the room.

A thought hit him. He tried its validity by moving toward the door on the opposite end of the room. Aha! His Hamelin-like congregation hissed as one. He immediately froze and then moved again on all directions to throw them off his intent. This calmed them and soon went back to rubbing all over his legs. If he was allergic to dander, he’d be wheezing to death now.

How would he ever reach that door? Could he levitate them all or levitate himself? But these buggers could leap and pounce better than an above-average cat, have you gone bonkers, Tristan? He nearly jumped at his own thoughts when he heard that in S.J’s voice.

If he so much as pinched one of the kneazles the wrong way, the rest would be his enemies, and kneazles are very bad enemies.

On the other hand, they were very good friends.

“Evocare bacinellas del latte.”

Bowls of milk broke the knee-high carpet into patches. Tristan saw then that kneazles weren’t immune to this treat.



***



The kitchen was bare. It could have been a dungeon with its darkness and dankness, save for the telltale counters, pot racks heavy with draperies of cobwebs and the great fireplace at the end of the room, which could have roasted a whole cow.

S.J looked around warily, his grip on the torches and his wand almost painful. Far from giving him a false sense of security, the silence was only driving him to obsessive suspicion. He waited ten seconds before making the least turn on the spot where he crouched, ready to duck, ready to run, ready to fire a curse, in that order.

Only when his thigh muscles began to tingle did he straighten up, wincing. His cramp would just make him all the more vulnerable if something pounced on him. But no, the kitchen was empty...

That was when he noticed it. Or perhaps the thing was actually spelled to appear only when the occupant of the room was in pain, S.J snorted. A piece of parchment lay flat in the dust and dirt in the hearth floor.

Still guarded, S.J approached the fireplace slowly. As he neared, candles long and short, fat and thin, wax and tallow, black and white and mauve, appeared one by one around the edge of the parchment, explaining why it lay flat.

He lowered the torch to the parchment, but took care not to light any of the candles. Calligraphy crossed and struck across the paper.

“How many obstacles to the chest?
Nothing of which you could jest!
But can you get there by candlelight?
Yes, and this path is truest.
Yes, if your mind isn’t full of fluff
And your feet are nimble and light,
You can get there by candlelight!”

S.J gaped at the parchment and then at the candles. So one of these would take him straight to the chest? But which one and how?

The writing on the parchment began to fade, and S.J frantically scanned it one last time, still coming up with no clue about which candle to choose. He dropped himself on the gritty floor to relieve his thighs and peered at the candles.

One immediately stood out. Plum blue, thick as his arm and standing up to his knees, it had been the candle he almost lit with his torch when he read the note. But any fool would surely take that one, and he mustn’t be a fool with this riddle. ‘...mind isn’t full of fluff.’

He should have taken Jules here. Aunt Hermione would know about...wishing candles! Wasn’t that in her last book? Ha! Good thing that he hadn’t taken Jules here.

Of course, he’d want nothing else than find the chest, there were no obstacles to wish dead here!

Wishing candles were rare. With it, one could go anywhere ‘by candlelight’, but it was the candle wax that did the magic, wax from candles left on graves of magical children who died in infancy. The wishing candles were a source of consolation to the grieving parents...a gift from their departed baby...

He wondered vaguely whose baby he’d have to thank later. But the wishing candle here was probably confiscated from some smuggler now in Azkaban. So, which one is it?

All the tall candles seemed brand-new. Why would he foolhardily take one of the stubby ones? He studied them, and let out a crow. He picked up the smallest candle. It wasn’t black at all, but gray from all manner of wax colours melting together. It wasn’t smooth either, but felt like several lumps lumped together, with a charred wick sticking out of one side, making it resemble a much bruised crab apple. How could he have been so stupid!

He stood up, pocketing his wand. He took a deep breath and then touched the wick of the wishing candle to the torch. It lit with a yellow flame above and blue below. A gust of wind arrived in the dank, boarded-up room, but the flame didn’t flicker the slightest.

‘...feet nimble and light...’

S.J bolted. But in his first step, a very odd thing happened that he stopped as if he ran headlong into the Diagon Alley barrier.

He was no longer in the kitchen, but in another room, where he was watching a...Was that Jules’s minx Patronus? Playing around the room chased by an acromantula? The giant spider turned its eight eyes on him...

S.J ran for it. One step and the spider room turned into a chamber writhed by fog. Another step and he was upside down with the high cobwebby ceiling like a chasm below him. Another step and he was in a room filled with potion vials and hourglasses. Another step brought him between two walls of black and gray flame. Another step and he vaguely caught a flash of Tristan’s vivid head bent over something on a table, his legs drowned in fur, for he was surrounded by kneazles. Another step and he was in a room with a moth-feasted four-poster bed. Another step and �” the bedchamber remained.

At the foot of the bed stood an ornate trunk, its wood warped, but its silver baroque handles and marquetry still gleaming with centuries’ worth of grandeur.

S.J didn’t know how long he stared, but it took the wishing candle’s spent wax pooling and hissing snuffed in his palm to shake him out of his shock. He jumped and picked the hot wax off his hand with wand.

He took a deep breath and made his first three cautious steps toward the chest. When nothing slithered out from under the bed, jumped out of the wardrobe, or seeped out of the trunk, he ran to it, pulling his key from a deep inside pocket of his robes, especially stitched there by Holly. The key matched the old stale silver of the trunk. And it turned the lock easily.

S.J jumped back, his wand pointed at the trunk. He allowed thirty seconds to pass and still nothing banged the unlocked door ajar. S.J kicked it open himself. After another ten seconds of waiting, he peered in at the contents.

He was almost disappointed. Almost.



***



Tristan stared at the trunk, all this Task’s memories and bizarre images (of his kneazles jumping on that acromantula and helping him sniff out which was poison and which was water in the potion room) wiped from his brain.

There was almost no light in the room save for his faint torch’s, but that was enough to make the contents of the chest blinding.

It was filled to the brim with diamonds, a white scintillating bed to a...a lump of brown clay shaped like a jackrabbit.

A note was pinned on the inside of the trunk lid, which was propped up by the bed.

‘Diamonds or clay? What would you have on your journey to glory?’

Rabbits were luck. But more than that, clay symbolised warmth. And this reminded him of what he lacked. Rather, what he coveted his cousins of since meeting them. Family. Family was, in many respects, like clay. It was warm, it kept you grounded and it gave you all the luck you need in the guise of love and support.

Would S.J and Jules even realise that? Or had they picked a handful of these diamonds instead? Tristan had to admit he was tempted with the stones, too. Diamonds represented triumph and prestige, but then he remembered his father and what he had lost because he had gone in pursuit of prestige.

He stood up and pocketed the jackrabbit.



***



“Tristan, come on up to our Common Room and let’s play Exploding Snap, hey?”

Tristan nearly jumped on his way out of the Great Hall. It was little Eleanor Weasley, now pelting to him from her lunch at the Gryffindor Table. Maynard and Miguel Potter soon followed.

“Sorry, no, Eleanor. Perhaps next time.”

He tried hard not to grit his teeth as one by one, all the Weasleys within Hogwarts made its way toward them.

“Come on, then, outside for a snowball war. You can’t say no to that, Tristan!” S.J said.

“In fact, I can. No. See you around.”

And without waiting to see their reactions, he turned and marched off past the entrance hall and out into the frigid night. He clutched his red robes around his neck tighter.

“You have homework? Maybe we can help you. Everyone’s in the Gryffindor common room, go on and join us.”

“Or you can come practise with me and Holly. We’re using the Room of�””

“Why haven’t you extended that same invitation to me?”

“Because I’ll stand only one bossy female at a time, s’il vous plait.”

“I’m not enjoying this! I left you, need I be more blatant than that?” Tristan hissed.

S.J and Jules paused in their nicely warming up bickering and stared at him.

“What’s the matter? Why have you been avoiding us since the Task? I thought everything’s alright now.”

“You are being utterly optimistic and blind then, Fraulein Weasley.”

“You don’t talk to my cousin like that.”

“Lay off, S.J, he didn’t swear at me.”

“Oh. I forgot, sorry.”

In spite of himself, Tristan had to bite his cheek in to prevent himself from smiling. These people were just plain �” there was no other word for it �” charming. Wait, he was related to them.

“Look, all these...family things are just going too fast for me. I don’t think you should be this�”this warm to me all of a sudden�””

For once, Jules was speechless. S.J gaped at him. “Don’t you rather think we have some making-up-for-lost-time to do instead?”

Jules suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. Now Tristan joined S.J in gaping.

“You know how that sounded?” howled Jules.

Another second passed before it hit them. Tristan bit his cheek again. S.J’s mouth widened in a grin, which he quickly hid. “Right, c’est drôle, Froylan.”

Jules howled even more at this, doubling over and clutching her knees.

S.J rolled his eyes at her and turned back to him. “Look, I know what you mean. It’s like, you know, waking up and drinking your coffee, even though it’s bitter. You tell yourself that’s just how it should be, to wake you up for the day�””

“Que?”

“Just something Holly mused about one day, and it’s good, so let me finish, all right?” S.J snapped.

“And then when you finish the coffee, you see the undissolved sugar crystals at the bottom of the cup. What a waste, right? You could’ve had it sweet, but you were too lazy to stir the cup, or just too decided about what you should have even though it isn’t what you want...”

S.J scowled at Jules, but the girl just beamed wider and slung her arm around his shoulder. This seemed to aggravate him more, the fact that she�”a year younger�”could do that. He gave up struggling and just scowled. “That was nice, Sirius James Potter! Your shining moment! Must hunt up Holly and tell her!”

Before S.J could let out his outraged retort at that, Jules turned to Tristan. “So, bitter or sweet? Diamonds or clay? We’re rather like diamonds, aren’t we? Or would you be like Uncle Percy?”

Tristan reddened at that frankness. Thankfully, S.J broke free of Jules’s headlock just then, relieving him of Jules’s unwavering gaze and giving him time to breathe and think. “You conceit! Must write Aunt Hermione and tell her!”

“Grow up, Sirius James Potter.”

“You wanna skinny-dip in your lake?”

Ah, he was beginning to like making them gape at him like this.

“Are you mad? You’ll catch your deaths! It’s January! A fine thing it would be to mark on your gravestones, ‘Triwizard Champions, Done in by Their Own Stupidity and Ague’.”

“Oh, go chinwag with Holly and the rest of your bossy kind, Jules�”what, you wanna be disqualified, hexing a fellow champion?”



***



Jules stomped off to the carriage to fetch more scarves and sturdier gloves. The rest of her cousins were already at it in the snow, and they let fly at her when she passed�”

"Que vous a causé être celui fâché?"

Jules didn’t realise she’d been scowling. Well, never mind, she must be grinning too widely now.

“Salut, Leontes. Mes cousins.” She rolled her eyes.

“Je veux vous demander�””

She flew to his embrace and sank her face in his chest, inhaling his clean, masculine, delicious scent. “I think I know. And I think you know the answer.”

He kissed her hair �” oh my! �” and chuckled. “Bien, let us go then. I’ve always liked your cousins, and that’s a nice war they’re having there! I’ll go easy on you, though, I promise.”

Jules stared at him. Her face grew warm. He tried hard to keep his face straight and failed. And then she just joined him in his laughter. All would be well.



Author’s Note: The candlelight cantrip I adapted from Neil Gaiman’s Stardust~

My laptop where I do my compositions is under Shield Charm from the Internet, so I have no access to Latin, so I use Italian on my spells instead. ^_^ Oh, and the little French things at the end of this chapter are from the genius of Yahoo Babel Fish. I did my best to make sure I have the right translations, but if I’m still wrong, you know where the blame lies. On moi, oui.

Also, you might have figured by now as well that this story is told in unorthodox chronology. It’s tough, too! But I have my reasons. And they’re very worth it to me. Please tell me what you think. Thank you!

The Weasley War



VI. Families spring from dancing




Just when everything seemed rosy, another difficulty would rear itself up annoyingly.

One week until the Yule and still no one asked Jules to the ball. Well, there was Leontes, but he hadn’t ever directly asked her. And he intimidated the rest of the fifteen-and-up male population of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and Hogwarts, the bugger.

Tristan with his moroseness was out of the question. Cam had Lola. S.J would surely take Holly. Jules thought about asking Arthur to partner her, but she saw that he, too, had recently acquired a girlfriend, Brett. To her consternation, Janus and Mark had already asked girls out as well. This left her with Andrey and Gideon, who now always gave her sidelong glances as if tuning out who she’d pick between them. Every time she caught them at it, she had to dig her nails on her palms to keep from bursting into giggles. They were both stockier than lanky and barely reached her shoulder. Imagine her dancing with either of them.

The carriage was warm, its royal blue carpeting easily absorbing the heat from the fireplace and sconces. Jules sat on a bow seat, her slippered feet tucked under her, hugging her nightgown-clad knees. Mackerel lay curled beside her like a round furry orange pillow. Marcia and Xenita were already asleep. Jules felt restless tonight, and as she looked out at Hogwarts’ snowy grounds, she snorted at the thought that the Yule Ball was what brought her out of bed. What would her mother say to such a silly concern? That she should poison Leontes for being a slowpoke and be done with it?

“What’s so amusing out there?”

Jules nearly jumped. She turned her head and there he was, wrapped in a white fleece dressing gown and matching slippers...with bunny ears. She giggled.

“Oi, don’t make fun of my bunnies.”

“Goodness, Leontes! Stop it or I’ll wake the whole carriage!”

“Here, choke on this, so you’ll stop.” He offered her his steaming mug of cocoa. Jules took it hesitantly; he pushed it to her lips, placing his fingers over hers around the cup. It was all she could do not to let go as if burned. Instead, she focused on his offering. It was redolent of cinnamon and cloves. She inhaled deeply and drank.

“Merci, Leontes.” And because she couldn’t bear the tingles looking into his eyes gave her, she turned once more to the window, saw her brown moustache on the reflection, and promptly shook into another spasm of mirth, splattering Leontes’s immaculate robe with geysers of cocoa from the mug.

“Merlin! You’ll have to pay for this!”

“Scourgify! Sorry!”

Leontes only smirked and, to her astonishment, he wiped her lips with the hem of his robe. “As payment, you’ll have to go to the ball with me, mademoiselle. I don’t care if somebody asked you already; you’ll just have to dump him for me.”

He had turned away before she could get a breath in. When it dawned on her what he’d done, she pulled her own lambskin slipper and lobbed it on his retreating form. He ducked, looking back at her and grinning. His face was red. This rendered Jules speechless again. Leontes blushing? Nice.



***



The library sounded like a room full of mice. Like the fifty or so students congregated there that time, S.J also scratched away on his parchment with his own quill, but to his ears, something was drumming dug-dug, dug-dug, dug-dug, drowning out the mice and making him want to pull at his hair. But that would either give Holly a fright or make her hit him with a curse for startling her out of her homework, so he held the urge in and gritted his teeth.

“Holly.”

She looked up at him for a second and then hummed onto her parchment.

“Um, nothing.”

She scratched away. Dug-dug, dug-dug, dug-dug...

“Holly.”

“What?”

Now when she snapped that monosyllable, you had better have a good reply.

Dug-dug, dug-dug, dug-dug...

“Do�”do you want t-to�”go to�”the...Restricted Section and reachowtobindinveri?”

“What? You’re not making sense.”

“I�”I said �”” He felt deflated. He wanted to thump his chest to make sure it was still working. But where was the dug-dug, dug-dug, dug-dug... coming from? “This thing for Defense, about binding Inferi...”

Holly opened her mouth to answer, but before she could talk, Seamus Finnigan Jr. dropped onto the chair beside her.

“Er, Holly, do you�””

“She doesn’t.”

“Oh, hi, S.J. What?”

“She doesn’t want to go to the ball with you. No, well, ‘course she would, but she’s already taken.” S.J bared his teeth, smiling.

“I am?” Holly asked, her face camouflaging her hair.

“Yep. You’re going to the ball with me, aren’t you?”

Merlin’s round things, where did that come from? His survival instincts were sending signals that he duck under the table, but he just looked at Holly’s daggers head on.

Miraculously, the daggers disappeared. She smiled at Seamus. “Thank you, Seamus, but�””

“No, no, that’s fine, you and S.J. I’m off, then. See ye.”

The dug-dug, dug-dug, dug-dug... was painful now as he and Holly went back to being alone face to face on their alcove table. Her eyes were doing that sparkling trick again. He couldn’t look away, even when she kicked his shin under the table and tears clouded his vision.



***



No less than ten Weasleys were in that Tournament’s Yule Ball. The Weasley wives, his mother included, wanted to play with this fact to perfection by ‘designing’ their dress robes. So S.J had a modicum of trepidation as he opened the little valise containing his. He shook it out and held it to himself in front of the mirror. No insignia, no badges, no emblems, no seals.

There was just this simple, silky crimson and gold fourragére on the left shoulder of the black velvet.

“Dashing,” murmured Holly an hour later. S.J could have kissed his mother. But he wanted to kiss Holly more. She had on a sleek gold thing that sparkled all over with�”what was it�” sequins? However, the dazzle was downplayed elegantly by the flimsy red thing she wore over it, which was just as sleek, ending just below her knees, leaving the gold to shimmer from there to her ankles. Matching red and gold straps encased her feet.

“Is that lace?” he asked, in a voice unlike his own. Holly noticed; she smiled and shrugged nonchalantly, plucking at the red ‘lace’ as if she was only noticing it.

“It’s organza, S.J,” she said, scrunching her nose in a way that said she didn’t care much what the fabric was called either.

He nodded. She knew the Weasleys had strict orders to come down together, so she sat down on one of the couches and pulled him down beside her to wait for the rest of his cousins. Gideon, Maynard and Miguel came running down the staircase, tried to ‘examine’ S.J’s dress robes, but departed at a look from Holly.

Arthur and Olga came down in traditional Georgian costumes, his cravat and her contouche matching S.J’s fourragére. Cleo and Mark came one after the other, both in Ancient Egypt-inspired robes, both of them looking disgruntled even as the room went quiet at their entrance. Cleo had red satin pschent draped over her head, matching the red tassels over her white gown. Mark had a red scarab brooch on his, and faux rubies on his armbands.

“Hail, Your Majesties!” S.J bowed. This ‘rennervated’ the stupefied room. Even Cleo and Mark grinned.

“I’ll bet you anything Jan and Venus comes down in Roman attire,” S.J announced to the colourful common room at large.

“Our dads are clever that way,” Cleo called from the other side of the room where she sat with Charles Whitehorn.

Sure enough, Venus descended the staircase from the girl’s dormitories looking like a goddess, her red hair up in a knot, the colour perfectly matching the thin burgundy sash tied around her peacock blue gown’s waist. Her sandals were burgundy, too. There were cheers from the girls and sighs from the boys. S.J looked around the room and smirked. “Oy! Are you all her partner? Stop ogling my cousin!”

Jan ran down a moment later in what appeared to be ordinary black robes, but when he turned, the light glinted on garnet threads woven into the fabric, matching the subtle red ring of laurels fastened on his forehead under his black hair.

“Come on, then, let’s see what’s red with Jules, Cam and Jen, eh?” he said briskly, trying to hide the laurels with his fringe. When they all lined up to climb through the portrait hole, Jan muttered, “I could kill Mum, she charmed this thing so I can’t take it off, it jumped from the case the moment I opened it and clamped around my head!”

The Weasleys sniggered.



***



“But why do you not have a partner, boy?” Master Chekhov groaned, flicking at Tristan’s already impeccable slate dress robes. “You will open the ball, you will look ridiculous without a partner!”

“It’s alright, Master Chekhov, I’ll dance with him.”

Both of them jumped on the cleared path to the castle and looked around. The students from Beauxbatons had emerged from their carriage as well, and directly behind Tristan and his headmaster were Jules and five other people, two girls and three boys.

“I’m Xenita Weasley, Tristan, we’re cousins, and this is my brother, Cam. You know Jules, right? This is her date, Leontes Herrara. My boyfriend, Emmanuel Combé, and this is Cam’s ladylove, Lola Clemence. And yes, I’ll dance with you, if you will have me?”

They were all smiling at him, even Emmanuel; he would have been a fool to say ‘No’. Master Chekhov clapped him on the back, inclined his head to his cousins and their partners, and retreated to wait for and walk with Madame Calasanz. Tristan went on to the entrance hall, wondering how he felt at Xenita’s confident domineering. He couldn't believe he hadn't even an iota of annoyance over it at all.

Fortunately for his current musing, though they stayed by him, they didn’t force him to talk. They just smiled at him and looked at him whenever they spoke, making him feel like he was included in the chatter. This left him free to study them. He noticed the that Cam, Xenita and Jules seemed to have matching red accessories: Xenita had a red mantilla thrown back on her blond hair, Cam had this red sash across his chest like he was royalty, and Jules had plumes of faux phoenix feathers blossoming on her azure gown's left shoulder.

And then the rest of the Weasleys arrived, and he knew that this must have been an arrangement, they all had this defining crimson trimming, identifying each of them as a Weasley.

He looked down at himself, knowing he looked just exactly how he felt, gray all over. He almost jumped again for the second time that evening when he saw a red, red single-rounded geranium on his boutonnière, which he could have sworn wasn’t there when he first left his cabin.

Professor McGonagall descended upon them in red tartan. Tristan had to turn to the snow-covered, fairy-lit grounds for a moment to relieve his eyes of all the red in his vision. When he turned back, there was a house-elf beside the Hogwarts headmistress, a house-elf mounting a stool to reach a camera on a tripod.

“Your mother asked me to take this picture,” McGonagall was saying to Jules, who rolled her eyes. “Now then, gather together, all you Weasleys and your partners. No�”no, no one should block anyone, spread out side by side, we don’t want your dress robes not showing�””

Tristan had edged away, but one Weasley male in a cravat, tall as Cam, caught hold of his arm and dragged him over between Xenita and Jules.

The elf climbed down his stool and backed away, and did so at least half a dozen times before everyone was within the frame. The flash exploded. Tristan blinked. The afterimage stayed with him like a charm. A good charm that made his reservations disappear to nothing, making him smile at Xenita as she took his arm while the rest were herded by Professor McGonagall to the Great Hall.

“Oh no, what are you up to, Jen?” S.J asked.

“I will be dancing with our long-lost cousin, is all.”

“I think I’ll dance with him, too,” said the girl beside S.J. She was beautiful, and with a shade of hair that would have made the Weasleys proud.

“Me, too,” said Jules.

“Oho, mate, you’re in trouble,” S.J said.

Tristan surprised himself with his answer, but the pleased looks on their faces made up for it. “I could do with some Weasley trouble. I haven’t experienced it yet.”



***



The Great Hall was not as it was in the last Tournament’s Yule Ball pictures her mother had collected and archived. There had been frost then, and enchanted snow, to bring in the winter, but now, as they entered the great oak doors, the winter could have been forgotten.

The floor was covered in soft, glittering moss. Ferns scintillating with dew fanned in every direction. Vines formed intricate twists and knots to form the chairs, while the many tables looked like huge flattened tree trunks. The ceiling showed moonlight and starglow, giving the hall a dreamy silvery gleam. Braziers burning with perfumed flames hung from willows, whence colourful fairies flitted in and out. It was like entering a very sacred, very romantic woodland.

“C’est ravissante, eh?” Leontes whispered to her ear. Jules felt a thrill pass through her, and she just smiled at him and breathed the pleasant air deeply.

To her astonishment, the Champions were not led to a principal table to dine with their school heads. Instead, when she recovered from Leontes’s charms, she noticed that they were seated with...the rest of her cousins, all eleven of them plus their partners. She didn’t dare look around in fear of finding their table the largest in the hall.

“Isn’t this something? Gran would give anything to see this,” Jules said, looking around at them all.

S.J grinned. “Of course, she’d see it! Any second now, that elf with the camera would reappear�” ”

CRACK. “Excuse me, sirs and misses, Dimply has to take your photograph.”

All of them burst into laughter. All of them except Tristan. Nevertheless, he also smiled. Jules caught his eye. She scrunched her nose at him, the same way he did to her younger siblings when she was feeling particularly fond of them.

Tristan scrunched his nose back at her. The whole table saw this.

“Tristan, I’m Arthur. This is my girlfriend, Brett Ashton and my sister, Olga�”Who’s that bloke with you?”

Olga scowled at Arthur. “This is Charles Whitehorn, Tristan. Art and I have three more siblings, Andrey, a second year, Eleanor�”she just started this year, and Almira, who’s four.”

“Beef stroganoff!” said S.J. The food appeared on his plate. Sensing their looks on him, he raised his eyebrows at them. “What?” Holly elbowed him. “Oh, right, sorry, carry on with the introductions, but fill your plates while we’re at it, why don’t you? This pushy girl beside me is Holly Jasmine Diana Lynton, Tristan�” ow!”

The rest of the table placed their orders. “You choose for me, please,” Jules said to Leontes, and then turned to her cousin. “I have five more siblings, but for awhile, the whole family feared I’d be an only child. And then Fabiana, Robin, Rona and Josh came one after the other in quick succession. They’re five, four, three and two. And I also had a new sister this Halloween. You know, the one I induced my Mum into delivering early. Sylvia Candace.”

“Have you seen her yet?” asked Tristan.

“Oh, no, and Mum wouldn’t send me a picture either, she says it serves me right, I should have behaved and then I would have been there for the birth this Christmas hols.” She rolled her eyes. But she found it necessary to take a gulp of water at the affection to her mother that surged through her just then, and at the hand that tenderly squeezed hers under the table.

“Erm, do you mind, could you tell me who your fathers are?”

“And do you know who they could be?” asked Xenita. Jules winced, but Tristan withstood Jen’s straightforwardness.

“Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Ron. And there’s Aunt Ginny.”

Xenita smiled. Jules thought all of them smiled. “I and Cam are Bill’s. We have one elder sister, Abby, she’s twenty-one, the eldest of all of us. We also have twins, Joanna and Jonathan, they’re in Beauxbatons, second year.”

“Of course, I’m Aunt Ginny’s,” piped S.J. “With five brothers and another sibling on the way. Their Majesties, Cleopatra and Mark Antony, are Uncle Fred’s. They have other twin siblings, Queen Elizabeth and William Conqueror. Janus and Venus aren’t twins, their names just sound like they are. They’re Uncle George’s. Art and Olga are Uncle Charlie’s. And that other bossy girl there with the feathers, is Uncle Ron’s and Aunt Hermione’s, make no mistake.”

“Hermione Granger?”

Jules was not alone in staring at Tristan then. “Do you�” ”

“Yes. My father buys her books right on release days. And we always get WWW Whizbangs every New Year.”

“Well, I never!” Venus sighed, drinking her butterbeer. “Why did you never�” ”

“Don’t go there, Vi,” Jules mouthed. Venus caught her meaning and nodded, allowing Jen to ask, “I’ve wondered, why is your name Tristan? Do you know it means �””

“Sorrow? Yes. I think it’s apt, too.” Tristan forked salad into his mouth and chewed. “My mother died when I was born, you see.”

They went silent. All the tinkle of silverware and chatter from the other tables engulfed them. Leontes squeezed Jules’s hand again.

Tristan looked around at them all, fidgeting. “Hey, it was a long time ago, I don’t even know her, so there’s no call for this...awkwardness.”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Cam slowly, enunciating every syllable, looking at Tristan, smiling but the look on his eyes somber. Tristan flushed.

“Cam,” Jules said reproachfully.

“What?” Cam said nonchalantly. Turning once more to Tristan, he asked, “When is your birthday then?”

“May eighteenth.”

The whole table paused. Jules couldn’t help giggling. Cam scowled at her.

“What, really? We were born on the same day, the same year? I’m turning eighteen; are you?”

“I am.”

Cam shook his head in awe, grinning widely now. “Fancy that.”

Jen tutted and then got up. “I’ll deal with you later, Emman. Right now, I think we should dance this estrangement away, Tristan. What do you say?”



***



The commissioned musicians, The Potterites, were dressed in fairy garb, handkerchief- hemmed asymmetrical skirts complete with iridescent wings. They struck up a lively waltz for the Champions.

If there was something Leontes couldn’t do, dancing wasn’t one of them. He completely led her, whirling her, turning her and even dipping her and not a second did he look away from her eyes. If they didn’t switch partners, she would have melted like jelly right there on the dance floor.

But then he kissed her lightly before handing her off to Tristan, and it was lucky her cousin was quick to catch her. Holly stared at Leontes's fierce blush and then winked to Jules. Tristan quirked a brow at her.

"By the looks of things, I'm the only one now without a girlfriend among us cousins now."

"Oh, we'll find you one."

Tristan looked startled at her comeback, but then he shook his head in wonder. Jules thought he must still be getting used to this Weasley ribbing and banter. But he was nicely adapting to it, the way he commented about Leontes. She flushed-- she could still feel his lips on her the corner of her lips...

Tristan saw her, but just shrugged.

“Jen told me you’re about to turn fifteen at the stroke of midnight. Happy birthday, Juliet Natalie Clarisse.”

Jules half-smile, half-grimaced. “Thanks, Tristan. But I’ll let you in on a secret: No one calls me Juliet.”

“Oh, okay. No one calls me Abelard either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like its meaning.”

With that, Tristan gracefully handed her to S.J. “What does Abelard mean?”

“What does ‘you galumphing git’ mean?”

She thumped him. “Haven’t you been nice to Holly?”

“She hasn’t been nice to me! I’m not a galumphing git!”

“Ow! That was my foot! Yes, you are, you idiot.”



***



“I think your cousin Tristan is a nice bloke, you just have to get him out of his shell.”

“Holly, aren’t you getting chilled?”

“No. Come on, how often do you see a meteor shower in winter? Patience, Sirius.”

“I am patient. Just cold.”

Holly sniffed and shot him with a Heating charm. Sirius shuddered so fiercely at the sudden warmth that he toppled off the log they were perched on, and as the balance upset, Holly toppled right along with him, on top of him.

It seemed the earth stopped moving as they stared into each other’s eyes. And if the earth stopped moving, that meteor shower wouldn’t show at all...

Underbrush crackled from what seemed a long way off, and then a voice spoke, thunderously near.

“How dare you make the forest your trysting place! And you’re still green foals!”

S.J cricked his neck as he turned to the intruder. It was a dark centaur.

Holly scrambled off him, and even in the dimness of the forest canopy (which was the reason why they chose that spot, so that they wouldn’t be dazzled from the meteor shower by the castle’s light), he saw her face glowing crimson. “W-we weren’t trysting, sir. We were waiting for the meteor shower.”

“Ah, well. Good of you to have interest in the heavens. Still, see to it that you don’t get carried away by your wildfire emotions. You young humans are prone to that.”





Author’s Doodle: A fourragére is that braided, decorative military cord worn on the shoulder. Holly’s attire was inspired by one of Emma Watson’s in Tatler. A pschent is what they call the royalty’s headdress in Ancient Egypt. A contouche is that peignoir-like gown women wore during the 17th Century (I also used it in What is One Picture Worth?). The Yule Ball is held on Christmas, right? And Jules was born on the eve of Boxing Day. Natalie means ‘Christmas child’ while Abelard means ‘renowned’ or ‘great’. It is Tristan’s first name. Percy was unconscious of the meaning, he only named his son after Peter Abelard, a great philosopher who was also torn from his wife, but Tristan researched it.

Oh, Yahoo Babel Fish was in an annoying mood today so I gave up on it. ^_^ Just imagine Leontes and Jules speaking in French.

The Weasley War



V. & IV. Change of Spleen, Change of Heart



‘Wildfire emotions’, where had he gotten those words? Well, certainly not from a book of his Aunt Hermione’s. But they kept coming back to him as he tossed and turned on his four-poster, unable to sleep, feeling like something was consuming him from inside. From the window, he could see the glow the Flame Monument cast. It always gave him a sense of calm before, but now it seemed to reflect his wildly churning guts and erratic heartbeat.

He threw off his blankets and left the dorm. If there weren’t enough bad blood already between him and his cousins he would have gone straight through the portrait hole as well. But as it was, he didn’t think losing points from wandering around the corridors after hours would help, so he stayed in the common room and plopped down on the couch nearest the fire, the same one they usually ignited with Exploding Snap or befouled with gobstones.

Someone squeaked beside him. He turned his head sharply and saw Holly peering at him from the afghan she was clutching to her face. S.J groaned inwardly. Holly, his ever-tough Holly, was crying and that was the last he wanted to handle right now, when he had an unknown First Task in two days’ time.

“Hey, don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

She only squeaked again in response. This was so entirely unlike her. All his worry and nerves left him for a moment. He turned his whole body toward her, leaning back on the couch’s armrest. In turn, she sank back on her corner and buried her face deeper in the afghan. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“I’m so sorry, S.J.” It came out muffled, but understandable enough.

“What? What are you talking about?” He tugged on the afghan and didn’t let go until he had pulled it off her grip entirely. Holly’s face was red and swollen; her eyes and nose streamed. She replaced the afghan with her hands and her robe’s collar.

“S.J, I�”I entered you into the Tournament, it was me who entered you into the Tournament�”it was me, I did it�”I don’t know what came over me�”I entered you into the Tournament�”I just�””

If he didn’t grab her then, she would have stuttered on into the night. “Holly, what?”

She shook her head into her hands. “I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t stand and let you not enter your name in at least. What if you deserved Championship more than your cousins and the rest of us? It wasn’t fair blocking you, just because your father’s already done it, was it? But it hit me what I’ve done, what if your cousins hate you forever? I can’t take it…and the whole school, too, how could they act like this, what can they do if you just have it in you to be Champion? I don’t get them, load of jealous berks…”

By the time Holly reached the end of her confession and rant S.J had gotten over his shock and laughed. Holly looked up from crushing her nose in her robe and stared at him.

“I’m sorry!” And then she saw that his laugh was not spiteful or sarcastic. “You’re not angry?”

He shook his head and lay down on the couch, his head on Holly’s lap, so that her swollen face was upside down in his vision. “No, how could I be? I just discovered that the Goblet hasn’t got it in for Potters. Maynard and Miguel will be safe enough next Tournament.”

Holly gaped at him, taking her afghan back to wipe again. S.J laughed. “Do you even realise what exactly you’re using as tissue?”

Just as he expected, Holly yelped and groaned at seeing her precious pashmina afghan and robe wet with her tears and nasal discharge. S.J laughed again. He couldn’t believe how light-hearted he was suddenly. He waved his wand and cleaned Holly up. She found her own wand and conjured a box of tissue.

“I’m really sorry, okay? Did you really understand what I said? You’re acting odd.”

“I’m just happy I can now tell them they should slaughter you instead.”

She thumped him on the forehead but grinned at last. “They wouldn’t dare…I hope.”

She looked so contrite and anxious S.J raised an arm to squeeze her shoulder. She leaned onto his hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know what’s gotten into me, doing that and taking this long to tell you. I was scared you’d�”” she swallowed, “hate me.”

“I don’t think I ever could, you horrible hag.”

She thumped him again and wiped her nose, it was still running, he noticed now.

“Do you know what the First Task is yet? It’s in two days.” And she shuddered at the thought.

“McGonagall spoke to me about it this morning.”

“What did she say?” Holly sniffed.

“She said Calasanz and Chekhov have found out about the Task and more than likely told their Champions about it.” Holly gasped in outrage. “I don’t know how, I didn’t ask. McGonagall wanted to tell me as well.”

Holly stopped mid-wipe. “Wanted to,” she echoed into her nth wad of tissue.

“Yep.”

“Because you didn’t accept it.”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

It was S.J’s turn to stare. This wasn’t the reaction he expected.

“What? I entered you into this Tournament. I would flay you alive if you cheat.” She grinned and then sneezed, unintentionally showering S.J.

“Sorry!” she cringed, crushing her nose again. S.J wiped his face on her robe. “What�”” sneeze, “are you planning�”” sneeze, “to do?”

“Do you have a cold? You stopped crying ages ago but your eyes and nose are still running like mad.”

“My allergy. I’m itching all over as well.” She gritted her teeth and rubbed her arms. “But I don’t know why it came now; the Squid must be way deep in the lake.” Holly was strangely allergic to all kinds of aquatic animals; she couldn’t eat, smell or even be in close proximity with them. And during the summer when the giant squid would come up in the lake, even though Holly steered clear of the lake at a mile radius, she still had reactions, which she curbed with anti-histamine potions. But now, she was unprepared. She didn’t take her potions until March.

S.J forgot the First Task again, and he was rather glad of that. He touched Holly’s forehead to make sure she wasn’t in a fever. She wasn’t. “Maybe you accidentally ate a kipper or some tuna hidden in a pie?”

She shrugged and smiled, yanking yet another wad of tissue from the box. “Maybe.”

By next morning, S.J couldn’t believe how nonchalant they had been that night.

Violent shaking was what roused him from his pleasant sleep. When he blinked his eyes open, he realised he wasn’t in his dorm, but still in the common room, the fire now nothing but embers, and dawn silvering the windows. And it was Arthur shaking him awake. Arthur and his best mate Seamus Finnegan Jr.

“What, watsamatter?” he said, groggy. He got up and blinked a moment at Arthur’s non-glacial gaze.

“S.J, look, what happened to Holly?”

S.J looked. He froze and uttered something for which Holly, his Gran and his Aunt Hermione would have cut his tongue out.

He and Holly had apparently fallen asleep in the same position they were in last night, except that Holly had leaned back on the wing of the armrest. Therefore, the vicious, thick welts stretched across her face and neck were all the more visible.

“Holly! Holly!” S.J called softly, gently shaking her. She didn’t stir. Her breathing looked laboured. Seamus clenched his jaw and then moved his hand toward Holly’s. S.J beat him to it and pushed back her robe’s sleeve. The welts were there on her arms, too, and they knew without having to check that her legs must be covered as well.

S.J swore again. He scooped Holly up into his arms and went for the portrait hole. They were halfway there when Holly moaned, bent over, and threw up all over the floor. Then she slumped back in S.J’s arms. Arthur Vanished the puddle and splatter and rushed ahead to open the portrait for them.

“Thanks, Art.”

“No problem. Go on and take her to Madam Pomfrey. I have free period until lunch; I’ll go around and tell the professors if you both miss class.”

S.J could only blink in surprise. He murmured thanks again and jogged away. Holly was surprisingly light.

And Madam Pomfrey also added to his surprise by being right there on the swinging doorway to the hospital wing. The ancient nurse looked for all the world as though she was expecting them. She swept the doors open and led him to the prepared bed. Holly’s lavender potions were even lined up on the side table.

The moment he deposited Holly on the bed, she pushed him away, changed Holly’s robes by magic and waved her wand over Holly in sharp angles and didn’t stop until a translucent purple dome enclosed his friend from head to toe like some weird dish cover.

“There. My word, Mr Potter, if you haven’t brought her in another fifteen minutes, I’d have fetched her myself from Gryffindor Tower.”

“What? You knew she’s ill?”

“Of course I knew! I don’t forget a single student here, you know! And Miss Lynton’s allergy had always been unique to her and then they bring that�””

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth much like Jules did when she had let out something improper. “Oh, sorry, I almost forgot myself. Run along now, Mr Potter, Miss Lynton should be well in three days�””

“Three days? Why that long? What’s wrong with her?” S.J felt winded. Holly wouldn’t be there for the First Task.

“It’s her allergy, Mr Potter�””

“But it never took this long before, and there’re her anti-histamines, what’s�””

“I shielded her from the allergens, that’s all I can do for now, they’re too strong for even our anti-histamines. See how her breathing’s better? The shield is also sedating her, lowering her body’s reactions. She won’t be sneezing and wheezing or vomiting at least. But the welts will stay like that so long as the allergens are in high concentration over the castle.”

“The allergens are in high concentration over the castle?” he repeated, stunned.

“Yes, very high.”

“But she’s allergic to aquatic animals, how�”” It wasn’t making sense. Had the giant squid somehow mated and bred and the little ones were overfilling the grounds? He walked to the window and looked out at the lake.

He blinked. The lake was covered in a dome, not unlike the one over Holly, but this one immense and glowing silver.

Madam Pomfrey had followed him to the window. “That large, it would require at least two hundred witches and wizards to make it allergen-containing. So I just waited for you to bring Miss Lynton over so I could shield her instead. I only found out last night myself. They should’ve warned me. If they had, I wouldn’t have waited until Miss Lynton’s allergy had already been triggered. Poor lass.”

S.J was dumbstruck. With a last look at the sedated Holly and a nod to the matron, he left the infirmary.

The whole school was stirring now and getting up to breakfast, but the footfalls and chatter, both distant and near, were lost to him. His mind was whirling over what he was about to face in the lake, an aquatic animal big, strong, hideous and odious enough to render Holly unconscious until the day he could get rid of it, the day of the First Task.



***



After the Fat Lady opened for him, there was silence. At first, he didn’t notice this, but then he tripped after climbing through the portrait hole. Several hands helped him back upright.

“How’s Holly?” asked Arthur.

“What happened?” asked Cleo and Mark.

“You didn’t jinx her, did you, Jan?”

“Are you mad, Vi?”

“Are you alright, S.J?” asked Olga.

“Go on to breakfast, you lot, we’ll tell you about S.J later,” said Gideon, herding Andrey, Maynard, Miguel, Lizzie, Billy and Ellie to the portrait hole.

Many hands patted his back as the queue to the portrait hole moved again. His housemates were nodding and waving at him. And his cousins�”they were surrounding him, as they always did.

They led him away from the crowded portrait hole to the same couch he and Holly had spent the night in. They looked around awkwardly, waiting until they were alone in the common room.

“I heard you last night, see.”

S.J stared at Arthur. Art looked sheepish; Olga indignant. “I’ll tell Mum and Gran about this, Art. That was too much.”

Mark and Jan sniggered.

“What are you talking about?” S.J asked finally.

“Art has placed Undetectable Imperturbable Indestructible Extendable Ears on all the chairs here, to make sure he protects Olenka’s virtue,” Vi delivered deadpan.

“Yours and Cleo’s, too,” Art grunted, flushing.

All three girls glared at him.

“You heard me and Holly here last night.”

They all assumed penitent faces.

“Sorry, S.J. Don’t know why we didn’t believe you when you said you didn’t enter.”

“Don’t know why you should tell us that, see.”

“But now we know. Sorry for not believing you.”

“And sorry for hexing you. You should hex me back, Holly’s not here�””

“That’s alright, Jan, my bits survived.”

And just like that, the tension was banished from them. The Weasleys sniggered.



***



Jules met them at the doors to the Great Hall. That Leontes bloke was beside her as usual. “Gideon said Holly’s ill? What happened?”

“Her allergy.” Sirius answered, leading all of them to the Gryffindor table. As he sat down, he caught Tristan eyeing them, but this lasted only for a second. Tristan turned his glare to his porridge.

“You mean the�””

“I don’t know about it, Jules, though you might.”

S.J had said that without any malice at all, but Jules shouted, “How dare you!” And she stormed off to join her schoolmates in the Ravenclaw table.

“She’s in a mood.” Leontes nodded at them and followed Jules.

“Who wouldn’t be in a snit, right?” Venus said, ladling porridge to their plates. “I can’t imagine how I even thought I wanted to be in the Tournament. The�””

Jan, Cleo and Art all shot her a look. Vi sat down without further comment. None of them could bear to mention the First Task. But they all gave S.J eloquent nods, which he barely saw, because he could still feel this light feeling in his chest. How could he be giddy? With Holly ill and the Task now only a day away?

All throughout the day, he fought the urge to whoop or laugh or jig. It was insane and scary. His brothers and cousins all trooped with him to visit Holly after dinner. Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes at all fourteen of them but just bid them be quiet and let them all in.

“Oh, Mr Potter, take this, she shouldn’t be wearing this while under the shield. Jewellery can’t be purified enough unless melted again. Here.” She handed Holly’s grandmother’s ruby necklace to S.J, the long golden chain pooling into his palm, the simple round stone scintillating in the dim candlelight.

“It’s beautiful. Elf-wrought, not goblin-made. I’m willing to bet it has muted magic on its own. Has she never told you about it?”

“No. She just said it belonged to her maternal grandma.”

Madam Pomfrey smiled and shooed them off. “Well, maybe you should wear it, Mr Potter, so that you’ll feel Miss Lynton is with you on the First Task.”

“She thinks you’re a couple,” Maynard sniggered once they were once more out in the corridor.

“Who doesn’t?” Gideon quipped.

“They’re not?” Ellie asked, so astounded that the older cousins all laughed.

“We’re not,” S.J said, pulling the necklace over his head and tucking it inside his robes. It felt both warm and cool on his chest. He continued to peer at it inside his shirt even as they walked, so that when Art, Olga, Cleo, Mark, Vi and Jan all chorused, “Yet,” he tripped again and this time succeeded on making an intimate acquaintance with the floor.



***



On the day of the Task, Professor McGonagall made him lose his meagre breakfast by sending him a note by owl on the Gryffindor table, asking him whether he was still adamant not to be told what he was about to face that day after lunch.

She saw him throwing up, so she swooped down on him and carted him off to the hospital wing.

“Mr Potter, I’m sure your father has told you that he, too, has received help when he competed in the Tournament. This is why I’m offering you advice.”

“Th-thank you, Professor�””

“Very well, the�””

“�”I’ll face this differently from how my father did. I think he’d be proud of me when I tell him I didn’t cheat.”

“Cheating is part of this Tournament, Potter,” McGonagall gritted out, pausing several paces away from the hospital wing’s doorway and flushing crimson. “Albus acknowledged that himself, and I am too old to be too rigid myself, not when the rival schools aren’t being fair either! We are given special privilege to preview what’s in the First Task, but none of the three of us are supposed to take it, but they did! And without telling me! It was lucky Hagrid knew, or else we’d both be going to this Task blind.”

“Professor, thank you, really, but I’ve gotten this far without knowing, what’s several hours more?”

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath and grimaced. “Just don’t die, alright? Miss Lynton and your mother will murder me, and in turn I’ll murder your father, for raising you to be so noble and upright.”

S.J laughed. His headmistress’s lips quirked in a half-smile, and then she gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and departed.

S.J was at a loss for a moment where to go. His stomach was queasy, but he doubted he’d be allowed a Calming Draught; he wasn’t raving...yet. He entered the infirmary anyway, and almost jumped when he saw Holly awake, blinking up at the ceiling and then beaming at the sight of him.

“Are you alright? Since when were you awake? I thought you’re sedated.”

She pointed to herself and gave him a thumb up. Then she pointed to her ear, pointed to him and shook her head. She couldn’t hear him. He nodded, sitting down by her bed, careful not to touch the shield.

She pointed to her head, maimed fainting, and he understood that she was still sleepy. She pointed to him, mouthed ‘first task’, and blinked her eyes wide.

She had woken up because it was the day of his first task. He nodded again.

She smiled fondly at him, her eyes doing that sparkling trick again, and whether it was because of worry or her potions or her allergy, he couldn’t tell. He smiled back, pulled her necklace from his shirt’s collar and raised his eyebrows at her. She nodded so enthusiastically she grabbed her head in pain. He started but she giggled and lay back down.

“I love you, S.J. Good luck,” she mouthed, her eyes falling close.

He held up a hand frantically so that she’d stay with him, and he mouthed, “Love you, too. I’ll fight for you.” He even made heart gestures and pointed at her.

She scrunched her face up in mock disgust, giggled, and closed her eyes.



***



He was inside a tent, and the commentary was muted. Consequently, S.J had no idea what Jules and Tristan got up to. Neither of them returned. Jules had gone first, and then Tristan. The crowd was noisy, but their shrieks and cheers were only squeaks and hums to S.J’s ears.

Their wands had been Weighed shortly before the Task begun.

To ensure your wands are not tampered with, Mr Ollivander will join us before each Task.

Ollivander was positively immortal, S.J thought. He knew the old wizard was also the one who supplied his father and his grandfather and his great grandfather their wands. But Ollivander was sharp and quick as ever.

Redwood and unicorn hair, twelve and a half inches, the last of its kind from wandwood I gathered from my travels. You take good care of it, Mr Potter. Oh yes, I also Weighed your father’s wand before... Orishio! (Gold sparks erupted from the wand tip)

Ah, Miss Weasley, I was ever so pleased you still came to me for your wand all the way from France. Yes, maidenhair, rather unusual wood in these parts, also gathered from my travels, phoenix feather core, ten and a quarter inches, light and supple. Jessemin! (A shower of white, fragrant flowers fell on Jules)

Mr Weasley, nice to see you again. Yes, you also came to me for your wand. Well, loyalties die hard, I know. Eucalyptus, one of the famed Healing trees in the world, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches, solid but pliable... Solaria!

It was for that charm that the interior of the tent glowed as though bathed in sunlight. It was warm as well. Stifling, because of S.J’s nerves. Now that he was through reliving the Weighing of the Wands in his head, he was once more stiff, waiting for the trumpet...

“And now, Hogwarts’ own. Mr Potter! He, too, will have to retrieve a key.”

He could suddenly hear everything. The crowd was deafening. There was the trumpet blast. And there were loud splashes of water, as if something much, much bigger than the giant squid was having a tantrum on the lake.

Stands completely surrounded the banks, but as soon as he exited the tent he was blind to them, deaf to their cheers and applause, insensible to the cold lake seeping into his trousers. All his senses were riveted on the terrific sight before him.

Nine long, gleaming, scaled, green and purple necks led to nine dragonish heads at least twenty feet into the air. S.J didn’t know how long he stared. Now he understood why McGonagall was positively begging to tell him about this.

For a moment, there was nothing in his brain but a loud, insistent urge to run. But he couldn’t move. Even his heart seemed petrified. About five of the heads were bleeding; the beast was roaring and thumping its tail in the water.

A hydra. That sea serpent of Herculean legend. How had they done this? How could they do this to them?

Well, his father has faced a dragon, hadn’t he? This should be nine notches on top of that one, counting the heads S.J had to face now.

All nine heads were swooping down on him.

S.J was already running and diving into the lake.

The lake water tasted bitter in his mouth as he ingested some. He spat and continued swimming. There were plenty enough cover in the lake weeds, but there were plenty of heads looking for him as well. Curiously though, something in him seemed to repel them because whenever a head found him and approached, it would pull back with a screech.

Was it tempting him instead? He had already seen that each head had a key in a chain around its neck. How would he get one if none of the heads would go near him?

He swam for the surface, needing air. He blinked at the autumn afternoon’s weak sunlight. The hydra was still underwater, enabling him to look around as he panted. To his right, there was another tent erected, this one open, and Jules and Tristan and the judges sat on it. Jules was white, Tristan was red, but neither of them seemed to be injured. Both of them were wrapped in thick blankets though, so S.J couldn’t be sure. He was about to dive back down in the lake when he saw it. He paused and stared.

Both Jules and Tristan wore rubies around their necks.

At that moment, three heads emerged from the water. S.J dived back down, his thoughts spinning, his free hand going to his neck. Holly’s necklace was still on him. Why were Jules and Tristan wearing same stones?

Four heads simultaneously zoomed toward him like sinister, fan-eared alligators. In his surprise, S.J pulled the pendant all the way out of his shirt. The result was immediate. The hydra heads were not yet within twelve feet of him and they retreated.

Rubies must be talismans against hydras, S.J thought. He swam around. Every time a head was in sight, it recoiled when he got near it, evading him and his spells. Now just how would he get his key when the hydras were always driven off his wand’s range? And as if he could Stun a head anyway, could he? This was a dragon times nine.

Why do they run away from rubies? It was their weakness? And why was his feeling of giddiness back? He kicked for the surface again and swallowed oxygen.

He thought of Holly, and how she could never have watched anyway even if she wasn’t sedated by her allergen shield... Something clicked in his mind.

He stopped moving, preserving his breath, lurking in the lake grass. There were no grindylows to worry him; they had probably fled from the lake for the time being. And then he saw it, one head was swooping in his direction.

S.J stared at it, his hand covering the ruby to allow the head to go nearer. Its slit-pupiled, green eyes stared back at him, its webbed ears slightly twitching, fanning the water, or perhaps sensing him, its mouth was wide in a furious grin, its brows were knitted together in concentration, or perhaps, fury.

Even before he’d done it, he knew he was wrong, this hydra head no longer had a key, but it was too late, he’d thrown the ruby necklace at the hydra; it screeched and recoiled, only to attack as the ruby sank deeper into the lake. Panicking, S.J shouted ‘Protego’, swallowing lake water and choking. The Shield Charm worked, but the force of the hydra’s sharp teeth still reached his body, bruising and cutting him.

The pain shocked him back to his senses. He Summoned the necklace non-verbally. It shot into his hand just in time, and the hydra head, which had backed off to gather momentum to strike him again like a snake, retreated and vanished. S.J swam to the surface again to get air. He was bleeding into his shirt. The crowd saw this, but before the judges could say or do anything, he dived back down.

Twice more, a head had approached him, and S.J had lurked, his hand fisted in the ruby, studying the hydra heads that approached him before opening his hand at the last second. By then he knew he was right, each head was different, one particular head was meant for him, and it will be the one he would conquer with his ruby.

The head he’d been waiting for came, it zigzagged on its merry way to him like an eel, and there was a distinct difference in its face. It didn’t look sinister at all, but almost friendly, if you could gloss over what it was. And as testimony to its jovial disposition, it had company.

S.J waited until they were a mere three feet away and then shot ‘Reducto’ to the other hydra head. It worked; the water erupted into bubbles as it screeched, some of its magic-imbued scales cracking. S.J didn’t waste time, he threw the ruby on his cheery hydra head.

This time, he threw with spot-on aim. The chain draped around the hydra’s stubby golden horns. It froze and seemed to smile at S.J, who smiled back and grabbed at the key dangling under the monster’s spiked chin.

And then he was kicking and clawing the water with all the strength and air left in him. His head broke the surface. He held up his key and wizards were immediately upon him, including his Uncle Charlie. His uncle hugged him and brought him to the open tent. Before Madam Pomfrey could strangle him in a blanket, however, he splashed back to the water and shouted, “Accio Holly’s necklace!”

The ruby plopped free of the lake and flew into his hand.

“All three schools in a tie!” said the disembodied, commentating heard all over the school, mere minutes later. “The Champions all finished a minute within the hour allotted for the First Task. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, all standing at a hundred and fifty points at the First Task. Their Champions have shown courage and aptitude in facing the unknown, victorious over the Scamander Clone of the Sea Serpent of Cromer.”



***



“Please meet with me in the greenhouse opposite your lake.

A.T.W”

“You received the same note?” Jules asked S.J as they joined each other at the entrance hall.

S.J nodded. “This is Tristan, right? What’s the ‘A’ for? And how are you?”

Jules had, like S.J, been nearly cut in half by one of the hydra heads. She shrugged and patted a fist to her tummy to show she was perfectly fine. “Holly better now?”

“Yes, all her welts are gone, but Madam Pomfrey will keep her at the infirmary and under the shield until a good wind blows away all allergen from the hydra in the air.”

“Well, she should be out tomorrow, the wind’s right nasty already.” Jules pulled her scarf higher and tighter.

It was dusk, dinner was about to be served, and they were having quite a party in Gryffindor Tower when the terse note arrived. S.J was curious. This was the first ever letter any of them had received from their estranged cousin.

The greenhouse directly opposite the lake was locked. It was hardly ever open, as it belonged to Professor McGonagall. But they saw Tristan sitting inside. S.J exchanged a look with Jules and pushed open the door. There were black wrought-iron chairs around a black grille table. Tristan got to his feet as they entered, and then nodded his head in invitation toward them to join him at the garden set.

“Mum has talked about talking with ‘Minerva’ in this place,” Jules said companionably, smiling at Tristan and raising her eyebrows at S.J, prompting him to say something friendly as well.

“Still, it’s better in the common room. Would you like to join us there?”

Tristan looked taken aback. “I�” No, thank you. Er, I only wrote you because�”did you notice we were all wearing rubies this afternoon?”

Jules fidgeted. “Madam Calasanz made me wear it. I didn’t ask her to, but she actually told me the First Task is a hydra.”

“What’s the connection?”

Tristan looked at S.J. “Your Headmistress didn’t explain it to you when she gave you the ruby?”

“She didn’t give me this!” S.J pulled the necklace to show them. “This is Holly’s. My best friend. Madam Pomfrey gave it to me because Holly can’t wear it under the shield. Her allergy to aquatic animals had been triggered by the hydra, see, and she’s been in an anti-allergen shield since two nights ago. I must say�”” he nudged Jules fondly and in sympathy with his elbow, “Professor McGonagall did want to warn me too about the hydra, but unlike Madam Calasanz, she gave me a chance to say no, and I said no.”

Tristan began to speak very fast. “Master Chekhov wants me to win this Tournament, and though he can be very strict, it doesn’t seem to apply to following the rules of this Tournament. He gave me the ruby and asked me what I’ve been feeling within the last twenty-four hours. Not knowing what he was about, I told him I was rather in a doleful mood, which was nothing unusual anyway. That was when he told me I should trap the hydra head which seems to reflect my emotion. The ruby, representing fire and rock, which we know were both used by Herakles and Iolaus to defeat it, would protect me from the other heads, but it can paralyze the hydra head whose disposition I had mimicked.”

“Uh, well, thanks for telling us, Tristan.” S.J said, bewildered. Jules looked not any wiser either.

Tristan took a deep breath and stood up to leave. S.J and Jules exchanged another look and followed him out of the greenhouse. As they paused there outside the glass walls, Tristan took another deep breath. He also flushed a deep crimson. “We’re family. I came to promise you that I won’t cheat from here on. We should fight this contest fairly.”

“Agreed, cousin!” Jules said instantly, smiling.

“Yeah, me, too. No cheating at all.”

That was all they said. They did nothing at all. Tristan only nodded. S.J only grinned. Jules hid her wide smile with her scarf. So they had no idea at all why the glass walls behind them suddenly crashed and shattered.



***



“...All three of them wore rubies, and although Mr Potter was heard Summoning his as ‘Holly’s necklace’, there is no doubt he has been advised how effective rubies are against Hydras (There are no hydras in existence, except for the bespelled and bodged Scamander clone of the famed one-headed Sea Serpent of Cromer, destroyed by Glanmore Peakes three centuries ago). Yours truly wonders what Mr Potter will say this time; will he deny that his Headmistress has helped him as he denied that he has entered the Tournament like his father before him? But before we can even seek him for an interview, news zinged around Hogwarts that the three Champions had somehow made Greenhouse 12 implode.

“A number of Weasleys confirmed that Mr Weasley of Durmstrang had sent a note to Mr Potter to come to the aforementioned greenhouse. A similar note was apparently sent to Miss Weasley, for the two cousins are reported to have gone together from Hogwarts’ entrance hall.

“Greenhouse 12 is exclusive to the Hogwarts Headmistress, so as to what occurred there, making the glass shatter into smithereens, has no witnesses. What we do know, however, is that Durmstrang is positively livid at not having the lead in the Tournament with their Champion the only one who emerged unscathed from the First Task. That Mr Weasley wanted to settle the account by good old-fashioned duelling seems plausible; however much the times has changed, Durmstrang Institute has always been known to be lenient of, and even upholding, the more ignoble aspects of wizardry. Stay tuned, dear readers, for more of the Weasley War.”

“Rubies are effective against Hydras? I didn’t know that,” said Holly from behind the screen around her bed in the hospital wing. She was dressing for breakfast, Madam Pomfrey had deemed the castle’s air freshened and cleansed of the allergens enough that morning.

“And how could she imply that you were duelling? Not to mention that thing she said about Durmstrang. That’s positively slander!”

“Don’t worry about it, Aunt Hermione will get her for this if Durmstrang doesn’t. The stories Dad tells us about her and Skeeter�”” He broke of because as if on cue, an owl hooted its way to his lap from the open window. Holly emerged from the screen, startled. She stared at the letter. S.J opened it. He laughed. “It’s from Aunt Hermione.”

Juliet, S.J, Tristan,

How are you? Congratulations on getting past the Hydra. We’ve been so worried, but that’s all past now. We’re very proud of you. Be sure to write us all about it.

If you see any beetles too close to you than is usual of those bugs, catch them, place them in an Unbreakable jar, and owl it to me immediately. Also, it would do good to spread the word to your cousins and to the entire school that you have your eye out for bugs. I’ll explain when we see each other again. But I assure you that after you follow my instructions, these nasty pieces in the paper about our family will vanish from publication. I’ll be doing something about it as well.

Juliet, Sylvia looks just like you. Your dad and sisters and brother send their love. To you, too, S.J and Tristan.

Love, Mum/Aunt Hermione

He and Holly grinned at each other. “Where were we?” S.J asked as he put his arm around her shoulders and steered her out the doorway. She kissed him on the cheek. S.J grinned wider. It felt good to have her back and being able to touch her again as well!

“Rita Skeeter implying that you were duelling.”

“McGonagall thinks as much. Why else was her greenhouse blown up, see? Lucky that Jules and Tristan and me were so apparently not even the least bit mad with each other when they questioned us. Our wands acquitted us, too. We’re all flummoxed as to what happened.”

“I’ll talk to the judges about my Nana’s necklace then. Can I have it back? I miss it�”thank you.” S.J transferred it to her neck himself.

“What has your Nana’s necklace got to do with it?” They resumed walking, S.J frowning at Holly in bewilderment.

“This stone is no ordinary ruby, but a Heart Stone. Gran said it can shake the earth when a heart nearby leaps from one emotion to another.”

“That happens all the time with me, Holly! And the earth never shook once. Not even a glass broke, eh? And we’ve been together since we’ve been in nappies.”

“Well, I was given this stone because I calm it. No one else can wear it except perhaps my daughter if she inherits the trait in my blood.”

“Wha�””

“Either you�””

“Not me!”

“�”or Jules or Tristan had a rather big change of heart last night. You know, not like from happy to sad or vice versa, that’s trivial, but...convictions, that sort of thing.”

The Weasley War



III. The Choice Three



“Mr Weasley?”

Tristan jumped in the Slytherin bench at the formal yet small voice. The whole table had also stilled. The little girl who had approached him seemed intimidated by the sudden hush, but deliberately squared her little shoulders (to Tristan’s amusement), and held out a tiny scroll.

“I’m Eleanor Anya Weasley, but you can call me Ellie, we’re cousins,” she lilted, her chin bobbing with every carefully enunciated syllable, her blonde ringlets bouncing on her head. She gulped and pushed the scroll to his hand until he took it. “Our other cousin Sirius James Potter asked me to give you this for welcome. It’s from all of us.”

She made a funny little half-curtsy and then skipped back to the Gryffindor table. Tristan looked there through his slight fringe, but no one was looking back at him, not even Sirius James, who must be the one now whispering with Ellie, who was now pouting, snatching another scroll and stomping to the Ravenclaw table, to one of the girls in powder blue seated there…

He blinked at that, and then it was too late, he had already unrolled the parchment in his hands. He barely had time to scan what was written on it, ‘Too many Weasleys, let’s make some diff’rencies!’ before neon blue smoke exploded in his face.

It didn’t even make him cough; in a blink, it was all gone. But then a similar explosion occurred in the Ravenclaw table, this one in glaring orange. And then several similar loud BOOF!’s occurred in quick succession in the Gryffindor table�”olive green, sea-green, grass green, purple, lilac, mauve, hot pink, baby pink, carnation pink, it was like looking at a combusting spectrum...

“SIRIUS JAMES POTTER!”

The whole Great Hall swivelled to stare from the Gryffindor to the Ravenclaw table. The girl to whom Ellie had given the scroll was standing now, her long, thick hair a lurid orange; it looked like something sheared from a feline. The girl looked murderous. She pulled out her wand but was rendered sputtering as she saw the many-coloured heads in the Gryffindor table, shades of green, violet and pink.

As one, they all turned to Tristan next.

He grabbed a spoon and raised it to his forehead.

“Well, it matches your eyes,” said Master Chekhov dryly from the Head Table. He turned to Professor McGonagall, who was on her feet, glaring.

“Potter, what have you done to your cousins?”

“Juliet, please lower your wand, cherie,” said Madam Calasanz.

“Detention, Potter.”

“Juliet, ma chere, lower your wand.”

“Tonight, my office.”

“M’selle Weasley! Votre baton!”

“Sit down, Hogwarts Weasleys!”

“M’selle Weasley! Votre baton! Cette moment!”

Tristan watched in fascination as the white beam flew from Juliet’s wand tip straight to Sirius. For a moment, nothing happened, the whole Hall seemed to hold its collective breath. And then shiny whiskers sprouted under Sirius’s nose, three on each side sticking out in a straight line to his ears.

Madam Calasanz sank down on her seat, whether in dismay at her pupil or relief at the triumph, no one would know for sure. But even Professor McGonagall’s lips twitched. The students were all roaring with laughter. Sirius was unsuccessfully attempting to lose his whiskers (first, tugging on them, yelping, and then pointing his wand at them, but lowering it at someone’s holler of “Go on and risk Vanishing your nose or lips!”). Ellie was on the floor in spasms. Tristan gave his attention back to his mashed potatoes again, saw his blue hair reflected on his golden plate and failed to repress a snort of mirth.



***



“I have it timed, all right? Your crowning glories will return to normal right on the hour of the Choosing. That’s about fifty-three minutes away. Where’s your sportsmanship? I accepted not putting my name in; accept having your hair done in! Besides, it’s Halloween. Good look, eh?”

His cousins just scowled at him, Vi, Cleo and Olga positively wishing him death with the way they were glaring at him. All three of them had green locks in varying shades. The pinks and purples S.J had reserved for the boys. Art looked happy in his mauve.

“Can you do this shade, Ted?” he asked another seventh year beside him.

Ted Lupin scrunched his eyes and nose. A second later, his hair, which resembled Tristan’s only a second before, turned pale purple.

“Aww, mate!” Art said, looking pained. He threw a couch pillow at S.J, who ducked. It hit Holly instead. S.J cowered.

But uncharacteristically for her, Holly only blinked into the fire, took the pillow in her arms, and laid her head on it.

“You’ve been awfully, blessedly quiet all day. You having your time of the month or something?” S.J muttered, bumping her knee with his. She just squirmed away from him and transferred to an armchair, curling on it tightly like a cat, like Mackerel when nobody paid him attention or when he had tired of all the attention.

It must be her time of the month, all right, he thought, fingering his whiskers.



***



“Isn’t it time yet?”

“You have a watch, Jules, and they’ll ring a bell besides,” Marcia answered patiently for the nth time. “Your hair’s back to normal, by the way.”

Macky yowled just then, startling the two friends. Jules had squeezed his neck. “Sorry! Sorry, punkin!” Mackerel jumped off her lap in indignation and loped back inside the carriage.

“Let’s go inside, too, we still have forty-six minutes,” Marcia said, checking her watch. “And I don’t think Professor Hagrid would appreciate us sitting on his pumpkins.”

“Appreciate us what?”

Jules jumped up. Sure enough, the sturdy chair beneath her was not a chair at all, but a giant half-green, half-orange pumpkin. Marcia got to her feet shaking her head.

“You’re really scaring me. Should I ask for a Calming Draught for you? Or�””

“I’ve gone mad, Marcia!” Jules moaned, clutching her friend’s arms. “I shouldn’t have put my name in! My mother would murder me! I disobeyed her and Dad! And what if I had to compete with one of my cousins? The family might be torn apart. What was I thinking? They were right; none of us should have entered. What if I’m the only one who entered and I’m chosen? What would Gram say? What would all of them say? They won’t be glad even if I win; they’ll think I cheated on them somehow, not following our orders�””

“You must be talking about some stiff pureblood family other than the Weasleys.”

Jules stopped her sputtering and whirled around, pulling Marcia along with her, so that if it weren’t for the newcomer’s quick reflexes, the two girls would have intimately known the pumpkin patch. He steadied them both with a hand on each of their backs.

“Oh, Leontes,” Jules murmured, turning warm in the face. Marcia was smirking in her peripheral vision. Jules felt like flinging her best friend to the carriage.

“Salute, Herrara, where have you been off to?” Marcia asked, raising a brow at Jules.

“Exploring this Forest�””

“You shouldn’t! The acromantulas are still there, it’s not safe�””

“I took care, Jules. You would, too, wouldn’t you, when you become our Champion?”

“What? I�”No. You heard me just now�” I�””

“Something as trivial as this wouldn’t shake up a family such as yours and their love for you. Don’t worry about that.”

“I agree with him, J.N.C,” Marcia quipped, still with that maddeningly suggestively raised brow. What’s gotten into her?

Jules looked back at Leontes and realised it just then: she was clutching his arms. She let go as if burned and stepped away. He smiled and stepped nearer in turn. Before she knew what was happening, he had tweaked her nose. And before she could growl or swat at him, he bent and kissed her on the forehead. “Bonne chance, bien aimé.”

“I need that Calming Draught now,” whined Jules to Marcia afterward, plopping back boneless onto the pumpkin.



***



“Abelard, I don’t know how late this letter will be, I had half a mind to try and Floo the ship, but that is bordering on indignity on your part and mine. I am sorry for leaving you so abruptly last time. I was stunned, that’s all. But I couldn’t, wouldn’t, have stopped you. Now I have this to say, son, the thing I should have said then. Please do not be tempted by the Tournament. I don’t say this out of vanity or arrogant presumption, but I have to admit you seem to be the best in your school. I’m very proud of you, but we have more to lose than to gain if you end up Champion along with a cousin of yours...”

Tristan lost hold of his father’s letter in his mind just then. Percy was right. It was too late, too late.

The lights dimmed, the whispers hushed to silence, the flames of the Goblet of Fire fanned and danced high, blue-white, bright, like lightning. All of them in the Great Hall were squinting. And then the flames turned crimson and a tongue of flame shot out, bearing a piece of parchment...

“For Durmstrang, Tristan Weasley.”

Professor McGonagall’s staid announcement was immediately drowned by cheers. Master Chekhov swelled and nodded in satisfaction. Tristan got to his feet, smiling a little at his school’s support, and walked to the chamber off the Hall. The door closed, muting the noise so quickly and suddenly, as if he’d been plunged underwater. It didn’t help his nerves. He’d gone and done it. He could only hope now.

His hope was shattered when Juliet Weasley entered. She looked ready to faint.

And faint she did when not long afterward, a pale (and still whiskered) Sirius James Potter joined them.

The things the Heads and the other two objective judges told them next were all a blur in Tristan’s mind; even the next few days were a jumble of snapshots, only some of them not out of focus.

One of them was the incident on the next day’s lunch. A dreaded crimson envelope descended on the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor table each. The owls were in a hurry to depart, just dropping the letters on the table and flying off. Predictably, the letters zoomed the rest of the way to hover before Juliet and Sirius, both of whom haven’t been to breakfast earlier that morning.

The whole Hall braced itself.

“YOUR HEADMISTRESS HAD JUST INFORMED US�””

“YOU HAVE BEEN MADE SCHOOL CHAMPION�””

“YOU MIGHT THINK IT MADE US PROUD, JULIET�””

“NO, IM ABSOLUTELY LIVID�””

“HOW DARE YOU DEFY YOUR MOTHER�””

“WE TOLD YOU NOT TO ENTER!”

“YOU INDUCED HER TO EARLY LABOUR�””

“YOU NEARLY INDUCED ME TO EARLY LABOUR�””

“YOU HAVE A NEW SISTER NOW, SHE’S BEAUTIFUL, SYLVIA. YOU’RE LUCKY SHE’S HEALTHY. YOU’RE NOT SEEING HER�””

“�”BECAUSE OF YOUR STUBBORNESS�””

“I DIDN’T WANT TO SEND YOU THIS HOWLER, BUT I’M DISAPPOINTED IN YOU, OPENLY DISOBEYING YOUR MOTHER�” SHE MIGHT EVEN LET RITA SKEETER HAVE A FIELD DAY WITH YOU�””

“AND HOW DO YOU THINK SHE’LL MAKE OUR FAMILY LOOK, SIRIUS JAMES POTTER?”

“BUT NEVER MIND THAT, HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT HOW HARD AND...AWKWARD THIS WILL BE FOR YOU AND YOUR COUSINS?”

The Hall had gone so quiet even the Howlers hissing to ashes were heard. Juliet had burst into tears at her father’s indictment. Sirius moodily mutilated his chops.

The Evening Prophet stood out in Tristan’s haze as well; he was just stunned at how the Skeeter reporter could make such pieces when she had not so much as appeared anywhere he could glare her to her grave.

“The Choice Three have been picked by the Goblet of Fire, and if any Seers out there are marvelling at my prophetic words, here’s a wink to you, lovies.

“Durmstrang Institute has Tristan Weasley, Beauxbatons Academy’s belle is none other than Juliet Weasley, and Hogwarts is repeating itself with another Potter as Champion, Sirius James, eldest son of Harry and the erstwhile Weasley princess, Ginevra.

“Another set of Howlers have arrived today, confirming Mrs Hermione Weasley’s early childbirth as well as bringing Miss Weasley to hysterics.

“None arrived for Mr Tristan Weasley...”

Yes, that was something. Something to add to his list of things he was jealous of regarding his cousins.

... but Mr Potter’s reaction to his is rebellious at best.

“Your correspondent’s predictions do not end with the Champion selection.

“Shortly after the Howlers, Mr Potter is later seen escorted by his long-time girlfriend, Holly Lynton, to the hospital wing, injured from a hex by one of his cousins, a hex malevolent, malicious and unique to a son of the famed proprietors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes...”

Tristan looked up from reading the paper and checked the Gryffindor table. Sirius was not there. But he was fine, Tristan knew, though even he had been shaken when he had seen the jinx. It had been right after lunch; Sirius was still sulking, not talking or looking at anyone as he slouched out the Hall with that red-haired girl, when one black-haired boy who looked mutinous approached them.

“You told us you won’t enter.”

“I didn’t. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“How many times do you have to lie?”

“How dare you call me a liar! But is it daring at all? Probably just your usual slowness, dimwit.”

“Sirius!” yelled the red-haired girl beside him, disgusted. “Janus, put your�””

But it was too late; Janus had already fired the non-verbal curse. It hit Sirius in his middle and he immediately crumpled and clutched at his nether region. He brandished his own wand, but the girl wrenched it away from his grasp and pulled him away.

Tristan shook his head at the memory and resumed reading, but only because the paper blocked his view of the dismal Gryffindor table.

“...Mr Potter is healed and fine, although not the same can be said of his erring cousin, who we can be sure will receive his own Howler tomorrow at the latest.

“Stay tuned, dear readers. The Weasley War has begun.”



II. The Weasley War



“YOU ARE NOT TO ENTER, UNDERSTAND?”

“WE HAD TO KNOW ABOUT IT FROM RITA SKEETER FIRST, HADN’T WE?”

“HOW DARE YOU TRY TO HIDE IT FROM US! NOT A SINGLE ONE OF YOU MENTIONED IT IN YOUR LETTERS!”

“OR PERHAPS THAT IS BECAUSE YOU KNEW�””

“�”WE ABSOLUTELY FORBID YOU ENTERING!”

“IF PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL INFORMED US, WE WOULD HAVE KEPT YOU HOME THIS YEAR�””

“SEE IF WE DON’T DRAG YOU HOME ANYWAY IF YOU DON’T WATCH YOURSELVES.”

“I can’t believe them,” Vi muttered, her face as red as the ketchup she was unknowingly smothering her sunny side-up eggs with. The Howlers smouldered to ashes with innate hot tempers (no pun intended) and the cousins in the Gryffindor table exchanged mortified and disgruntled looks, all of them except S.J.

“Yeah, leave it to our mothers to rant like one person even in separate Howlers,” he chuckled. “Or maybe they all did it together. Don’t mind the Howlers, Ellie and Lizzie, they weren’t directed to you babies; here, have more sausages.”

“How couldn’t they have guessed it after seeing the dress robes in our school lists? I’m glad I didn’t voice my suspicion of the Tournament being held again,” Cleo said absently, taking a spoonful of ketchup from Vi’s plate. Venus yelped, pushed aside her ketchup-drowned eggs, took another plate and squished the quivering yolks with her fork, eliciting twin retches from Maynard and Miguel, who sat on either side of her. S.J thumped the table in mock sternness.

“Boys! You make me ashamed of you!”

Holly thumped him upside the head. S.J quieted meekly without a retort. Maynard and Miguel smirked. “You make us ashamed of you,” they chorused. Holly raised a brow at them. “Not really,” they amended.

“It starts tonight. You think Cam, Jen and Jules will come? I hate to think of Aunt Hermione’s reaction if Jules is also forbidden to enter but Jules enters anyway. Doesn’t everyone who comes enter? And you think it’s true, that Uncle Percy’s son is in Durmstrang?” Art said, grabbing Andrey and pushing him back to his breakfast when he tried to run off with a classmate who held what suspiciously looked like a Whizbang Mini.

“I hope he is, then we can meet him and maybe even bring him back to the family, Nana would love that,” said Olga.

“What will you cousins do?” Holly asked.

The Weasleys sniggered. The ‘babies’ stilled to listen.

“Well, the mums have declared war by sending those Howlers,” Jan said slowly, grinning when his cousins all nodded. “So we’ll fire right back?”

“We’ll join. But Olga�””

“Oh, tush, Art, don’t even finish, you can’t stop me entering.”

“We’ll join, too!” Billy piped up.

“Eh? You still have to learn Wingardium Leviosa, and they’re real good, you don’t want to die yet, Billy-willie.”

S.J earned a scowl for his remark. Holly threw Billy a piece of nougat. “There’s no Age Line this time, so of course you can enter your names if you like. That will be exciting!” she said, smiling from Billy to Lizzie to the Potter twins and Ellie. She shrugged and raised her eyebrows at the older cousins.

“Oh, yeah,” Art said, getting her meaning. The Goblet surely wouldn’t pick green first years.

“And what about you?” Holly turned to S.J as the first years left for Transfiguration.

“What about me?”

“Are you going to enter?”

“Oh, come on, you shan’t, S.J, how will it look?” said Jan.

“How will it look?” Holly repeated. “It’s none of my business, I know, but in my opinion, you and your families have let yourselves be influenced by the malice of Skeeter’s writing.”

Jan looked around again at the others. “No, it’s not that... But... Well... Uncle Harry’s already gone and won the last one, S.J will look like he...he, erm, wants to keep the glory to the Potters or something,” he said very quickly.

S.J gaped at his cousin. Holly did the same. Gideon went red. But curiously, they were the only ones flabbergasted and bewildered with this reasoning. The others were straight-faced, not agreeing, but not disagreeing either. Holly frowned meaningfully at S.J.

“I’m not entering. Driving myself half-mad to impress a crowd of spectators doesn’t appeal to me. If it doesn’t appeal to me, it couldn’t bring me glory. Dad’s told me as much. You know, the War wasn’t that appealing, was it?” He grinned at them; Holly was the only one who was looking him straight in the eye.

“Anyway, you lot rest assured I won’t be hording the glory to the Potters,” S.J found it so ridiculous as he said that he found it easy to laugh. “Gideon, are you?”

“Hording the glory to the Potters, you mean? Unfortunately, I still have to wait another year before you leave as Seeker, and then yes, it’s my turn.”

S.J had to grin at his brother’s cheek. Their cousins laughed as well, albeit a little awkwardly. They gathered their things for class and left, leaving S.J and Holly at the table.

“That was... tense,” Holly said, plucking her necklace’s chain with one hand and squeezing his arm with the other.



***



“Verkleinern!”

His trunk shrunk to the size of a shoebox on the floor. Tristan repeated the incantation and the shoebox became a matchbox. Satisfied, Tristan tucked this into his pocket and gave his prefectorial dorm a last once-over, not checking whether he forgot something, but because it would be a long time before he saw it again. He was leaving the Balkans. More than that, he was going to England. He wondered how his father would react. Percy must be right now occupied with his Ministry bookkeeping job in Germany, unaware that his son was about to return to their homeland.

It was amazing that Tristan, who had never been there, felt an affinity with England that he lacked with Germany. Perhaps it was simply in his blood. And he knew his father shared the feeling, Percy was just good at hiding it.

As if he had conjured him with his thoughts, there was a faint whoosh in the grate, and Tristan turned to see his father’s head in the dancing green flames.

“Father.” Tristan laughed ruefully, hiding his surprise and trepidation. Was Percy about to stop him? “What is it, sir?”

“Don’t ‘sir’ me, Abe,” Percy said, half-stern, half fondly.

“And don’t ‘Abe’ me, Father.”

“Your room looks tidier than usual. In fact, unless the Floo is doing things to my vision, I’d say your room looks barer than usual.”

Tristan was used to these tests to his integrity. He never failed, and he was not about to do otherwise now either. He patted his robe pocket. “My things are in here, Father. We’re leaving.”

Percy nodded.

“For the Triwizard Tournament.”

Percy nodded again, though this time a little uncertainly.

“At Hogwarts.”

Percy gave a very faint movement of his head here, perhaps a restrained jerk, but Tristan remained silent now. It was his father’s turn to speak. Percy’s eyes seemed to glisten, but then one could never tell with the Floo. Anyone could look teary-eyed with all the soot�”

“Good luck, son.”

Tristan blinked, and with that, his father was gone.

That was all? He left his perch in his bed and went to the door, his shrug for his father’s abrupt and inadequate words lost as he shrugged on his heavier fur coat. He gave his mother’s picture on the mantel one last look and left.

Abelard Tristan Weasley had lost his fair smiling mother when he was still wailing for being thrust into the world, so he had learned from early on to cope with, and even understand, his father’s occasional peculiarities and gravity.

They were fast friends, father and son, and Tristan knew a lot of his father’s past.

It was nothing compared to going there though.

Perhaps that was why his father had suddenly retreated like a turtle curling back to its shell.

“Ah, Tristan!”

It was his headmaster, Master Pietro Chekhov, limping down the staircase from the third floor. Tristan’s private dorm was niched at the end of the second. “Dear boy, I had to go back to my office because there had been a glitch sending off the owls to your parents. But it is fixed now, and I see no reason as to delay, what parent would protest their child’s being short-listed to the Tournament, eh?”

Tristan smiled politely.

“Yes, it’s not as if there’s any danger, our world’s stable now. The Tasks would be straightforward, lethality tempered down with precautions... I just wish I’d beaten the British into thinking to hold the Tournament again, hmpf.

“And now I hear they had a leak, the secret is no longer a secret... Hmpf, of course they were literally itching to shout that they’re hosting the Tournament again! Next time, it will be here!” Master Chekhov coughed at his overemphatic speech. “Excuse me, dear boy, oh here we are, get on, get on�”Bursches!” he shouted to several boys who were climbing the rigging.

Tristan stepped onto the moving gangplank, thinking about his father’s terse ‘good luck’. He was so deep in thought he never really paid attention or notice to the ship’s lavish interior. He just sat in his cabin and didn’t stir until he heard certain telltale noises outside.

He was a loner, but he had his schoolmates’ respect. He was immediately given room to the porthole outside in the hall.

The ship lurched just then, breaking the surface of Hogwarts lake. And then they were sailing to the bank, and there it was, the Flame Monument, burning high and bright in the middle of the grounds, an eternal, ardent tribute to those who had given their lives to the War, and to their convictions, of fairness, peace and unity.

Tristan knew his grandfather’s name is carved among others’ in the white marble beneath the Gubraithian fire. He would see it at last.

As he followed his headmaster up the sloping lawn to the doors of his father’s old school, it hit him: He had come here not for the Tournament at all. But would he get what he heretofore unconsciously came for? Or would he be wise to steel himself against disappointment instead?

He had several bouts of goose flesh.

The first was when he saw the Flame Monument. The next came as he stepped through the great oak doors of Hogwarts. And then he entered the Great Hall, saw the house banners, the house tables, the school crest�”he almost gasped.

He shuddered again when he heard his name thundered in the Hall.

“JULIET NATALIE CLARISSE WEASLEY! I COULD NOT HAVE BELIEVED IT OF YOU! HIDING THAT PART OF YOUR SCHOOL LETTER WHERE THEY HAVE PUT INFORMATION ABOUT THE TOURNAMENT! AND USING A PATHETIC DISILLUSIONMENT CHARM OUT OF SCHOOL! AND LEAVING THE LETTER ON YOUR ARMOIRE! HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING? BUT THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT! YOUR AUNTS WROTE ME THIS MORNING. HENCE, MY DISCOVERY. WHY THE CONCEALMENT FROM YOUR PARENTS? YOU KNEW, DIDN’T YOU? WELL, I’LL CONFIRM IT NOW. YOU MAY BE SITTING AT HOGWARTS BY NOW, BUT YOU WILL NOT ENTER THE TOURNAMENT! NONE OF YOU COUSINS SHOULD!”

The disembodied female voice quieted as abruptly as his father did earlier. The silence was loud before it was broken by a cheery voice from the...Gryffindor table.

“We received much the same Howlers this morning, Jules! So don’t feel so pitiable.”

Laughter greeted this message, laughter that was followed with chatter, chatter that didn’t cease until the Headmistress’s formidable glare was sensed. Still, Tristan had already seen them, his fellow Weasleys. One in the Ravenclaw table, wearing the powder blue of Beauxbatons, and...he wasn’t sure how many there were at the Gryffindor table.



***



“...schemed this year’s Tournament reinstatement to be a private and quiet event between the participating schools, to emphasize that it is more about amity than a competition for glory, but unfortunately, it was not to be, as you well know. We apologize to our guests, and as compensation, our Ministry are as of this moment already dispensing publicity to France and the rest of Europe as well...”

Sirius tuned out some of Professor McGonagall’s words, scanning the Slytherin table furtively.

“...Madam Angelina Jordan, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and Mr Jonas Bruce, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation...”

He kicked Holly under the table.

“Yes, I know he looks like a hairless bulldog, as you’ve said a million times already, for Merlin’s sake, S.J�””

“No, it’s not Bruce, look at the Slytherin table.”

Holly pretended to take a sip from her goblet and looked. “Oh. Yes, I think I see a Weasley. He has blue eyes, like Jules.”

“He looks like our grandpa.”

“...no Age Line this time, which means...”

The tumult was immediate.

“SILENCE! OI!” Hagrid bellowed.

“Thank you, Professor Hagrid. As I was saying, while our guests have brought only a select number of contenders, you Hogwarts students, if you choose to do so, will be fortunate to know the thrill of submitting your name to the Goblet of Fire, which has always been a dependable judge in picking Triwizard Champions. It has also been re-embellished and fortified with new spells to ensure against tampering.

“It is believed�”” And here S.J was distracted from staring at his cousin in the Slytherin table because of the sudden frostiness in his headmistress’s gracious tone. He looked up to see her inclining her head stiffly to Madam Calasanz and Professor Trelawney. “It is believed that our ‘mistrust’ to and ‘meddling’ with the Goblet has been a jinx during the last Tournament. So we will not be drawing an Age Line this time, to ensure good fortune, not only to our Champions, but to the Tournament and our schools.

“And now, I present to you the Goblet of Fire.”

S.J completely forgot his other cousin as Professor McGonagall opened the jewel-encrusted casket before her with three taps from her wand. Blue-white flames erupted from the depths of the casket, and then Professor McGonagall lifted the thing in which the fire burned, a wooden cup, roughly hewn, completely unremarkable, yet�”

“The Arbiter, the Binder, the Commencer of the Triwizard Tournament.”



***



“So you were forbidden to enter as well?” Jules asked, stroking Marcia’s black, black hair.

They were under a beech tree by the lake, enjoying the crisp autumn, in Weasley jumpers, wrapped in scarves and cloaks. Marcia’s head was in Jules’s lap, her cousins and Holly were around them, the ‘babies’ throwing stones in the lake.

“Yeah, but�””

“The usual Weasley defiance motto: Yeah but,” Leontes said, appearing out of a clump of bushes.

“What were you doing there? And what do you know about Weasley defiance?” Jules scowled, annoyed at how the git had turned from her best friend to her...what? What did you call a person who made your sweat glands, cardiac muscle and stomach organs dysfunctional?

“I know a lot about Weasley defiance, pardon the bragging tone, Weasleys. I’m Leontes Herrara�””

“Jules’s childhood s�”” Holly began, grinning.

“�”don’t swear around the babies, Holly,” Jules cut in. Holly laughed. Marcia yelped and awoke to glare at Jules. “Don’t ever clutch at my hair like that again!”

“Pardon,” Jules mumbled. Her cousins plus Holly were sniggering.

“I’m ready to submit my name to the Goblet, will you come with me?” Leontes asked nonchalantly, done with shaking hands all around and looking at them all, making it a blanket statement.

Jules herself had a little piece of parchment in her pocket, burning a hole there for two reasons: to get rid of it with a good Incineration Charm or to drop it in a blue-white fire. She couldn’t decide which to give in to.

“None of them had entered their names in either, so don’t look so conflicted.”

Jules looked at Holly. The girl was smiling, and if S.J was not blind to that and the way those hazel eyes gleamed and glinted, Jules was certain Holly would be family.

“Funny how you sound like S.J sometimes.”

“Do I?” Holly laughed, twining her arm through Jules’s. “Even with Leontes’s eloquent observation of ‘the Weasley defiance’, you’re all still hesitant, I know. Billy wanted to put his name in this morning with the rest of his classmates, but he backed away at the last moment.”

“Ah, so that’s why he’s broody today.” As Jules said that, they saw Billy kick S.J in the shin.

Jules froze. They had entered the entrance hall, and there was the Goblet of Fire, beckoning silently.

Holly and Marcia both squeezed her arms in comfort.

After Leontes put his name in and made Ellie, Lizzie and Vi squeal at the red sparks that flew, they all proceeded to the Great Hall and sat down. As it was Saturday, there were still people breakfasting, among them the Durmstrang students, in the Slytherin table.

“Lucky you don’t sit your O.W.L’s until sixth year,” said Jan. Olga winced and nodded fervently.

Before Jules could reply, the people in red robes all rose from the far table. Holly was now whispering something to S.J, who stared at the Durmstrang students with unusual interest. Jules followed his eyes and saw someone there who looked familiar, though she hadn’t seen him before.

“Sacré-dieu, is that�””

“Our cousin, yeah. His name’s Tristan. His headmaster’s quite fond of him,” said Art, already standing up.

They all followed him.

Tristan was the first in line to drop his name in the Goblet, so he was done by the time they all filed into the entrance hall.

Jules saw he had blue eyes like hers. He looked like their Granddad Weasley.

Only after the rest of his classmates had put their names in did he look at them looking at him. He flushed and acknowledged them with a nod.





***



I. Clay Cup



Molly didn’t like the nods S.J and Jan were exchanging. But she let it pass as she hugged Hermione by the hearth.

“Mum, just Floo us if they get too unruly, hmm?” her daughter-in-law said, hugging as tightly as she could with her five-month old belly. Molly nodded, rolling her eyes at Juliet, who grinned at her behind her mother’s back.

“You’d think this is the first time we’re doing this, dear! We’ll be fine!”

Hermione gave a look full of meaning to her eldest daughter and went away in her special maternity Portkey. Ron gave a cheery wave, hugged his mother and spun away on the Floo, followed by the rest of Molly’s children and their wives. Ginny and Harry left last, because their five-year-old Gabby couldn’t go to sleep without a certain Mum-and-Dad song and story routine.

And then, at last, at last, Molly was alone in the Burrow with her grandchildren. She beamed at them as they began opening packs of marshmallows to roast in the fire. But it suddenly burst into green flames and Ron’s head popped in the Floo.

“The guilty Weasley or Potter who did this, reverse it NOW!”

“What happened?”

The kids giggled louder. Molly herself bit her cheeks. It was obvious. Ron had gone bald. There was a whoosh and then another bald head joined Ron, Harry. And then there was Charlie. Bill, too.

Molly cast a Silencing charm in the room before the laughing racket woke the babies already asleep upstairs. When they calmed a bit, she lifted the spell. She had to make an effort not to look too much at the grate, though, where her sons looked like eggs roasting.

She cleared her throat and tried to sound stern. “This isn’t funny; reverse this now, whoever did it.”

“Nana, whoever did it has to do the de-gnoming all next summer, eh?”

“That’s not fair! The gnomes guard the place when Gram’s not here.”

“Settle down, Olenka and S.J�”I did see you and Jan exchanging dubious nods a while ago. Go on and give your fathers back their hair.”

That did it; Arthur began howling from the mantel. Molly took one look at her husband and fell back on her chair, laughing.



***



Afterwards, Molly kissed Arthur good night and crept upstairs.

It was midnight, and the frogs and crickets were making a nice cacophony. Underneath the hum of the night, Molly could still distinguish the sound she had always lived with, and had sorely missed when her children started at Hogwarts: the sound of breathing.

There had been losses in the war, and she still shed tears sometimes, but her grandchildren gave her joy and made her forget. Shortly after her eldest grandchild, Abby, turned eleven, she began this tradition of having her grandchildren sleep over at the Burrow two nights just before they went off to Hogwarts again.

The house seemed to relish it as well. It was the one time that it was full, noisy and lively as before. The rest of the year, Molly hopped from home to home, none of her children allowing her to live alone at the Burrow or spend all her time at Ginny and Harry’s either.

But August thirtieth and thirty-first were Burrow-days.

Molly now opened her bedroom. The babies slept with her, and there they were. Harry and Ginny’s eight-year-old Stef and his brother, Gabby, were ensconced in the magically-deepened and widened window seat. All of the Potter children had black hair, although all of them had Ginny’s brown eyes as well. They were all hoping that the new baby coming in January would finally inherit Harry’s green eyes.

On the large crib-like bed beside Molly’s were five little ones, four girls and one boy, all of them with flaming red hair. Four of them were Ron and Hermione’s. Ten years’ worth of anxious wait after Juliet’s birth resulted in five-year-old Fabiana, four-year-old Robin, three-year-old Rona and two-year-old Josh, Ron’s only son so far.

It was a running joke in the family and Ginny and Hermione laughed every time Ron whined to Harry about wanting more sons and Harry whined about wanting a daughter.

On Josh’s right, with a hand on his tiny waist, was Charlie and Annika’s four-year-old Aimee, Molly’s sweetest granddaughter. Perhaps it had something to do with Annika, a Russian girl Charlie met after the War. Annika was shy and quiet, but always gentle and amiable, always the one who mediated between furious parents and the rowdy kids.

In the next room, the incoming first year ‘babies’ that year had asked her to Vanish the bed and had made a tent from an old Gryffindor banner. For the first time, Molly had five to send off this year.

Harry and Ginny’s twins who had their eleventh birthday that day, Maynard and Miguel; Fred and Verity’s younger set of twins, Lizzie and Billy and Charlie and Annika’s Ellie. There were still sleepy mumbles coming from the tent. Molly didn’t stop them; after all, it was their night, and they had plenty of time to catch up on sleep tomorrow.

One landing above, Molly stopped, remembering whose room this originally was. She shook her head, opened the door and recoiled at the sound of snoring. The room had been magically expanded, and here Arthur Ivan and Camilo Arthur, both seventeen, Charlie’s and Bill’s respectively, held court. All the boys except Sirius and Jan were here, snoring away on the bunk beds: Harry and Ginny’s Gideon, Molly’s only grandchild born in the year 2006; twelve-year-olds Andrey, Jonathan and Mark�”Andrey the only one not a twin. Jon and Mark were Bill’s and Fred’s. Their female halves were one floor above them.

The girls’ boudoir had also been enlarged, giving room for their fancy lace-canopied beds and individual vanities. Each Weasley girl comes to the boudoir at age thirteen. So far, there were six in residence, because although Joanna still had another year to go, she was doted on by her sisters Abby and Jen, and cousin Jules.

Abby, with hair a perfect fusion of red and gold, was now twenty-one, but she still kept the tradition and always asked for leave at the Gringotts branch in France where she had already joined her father, to be with her grandmother for the Burrow-days.

Jen was Bill and Fleur’s third child at sixteen. She alone inherited her mother’s overconfident and rather haughty nature. Molly fondly admitted it fit her though, because Jen was growing up to be a stunning beauty, with hair like corn silk and large thrush’s egg blue eyes, that it was good she was intimidating, or boys wouldn’t leave her in peace.

Olga, fifteen, was her mother’s twin, blonde hair and brown eyes. She was fondly called Olenka, a Russian pet name that still puzzled the young ones. Aunt Annika called them all manner of ‘odd’ names.

Juliet was also her mother’s twin, though she had inherited her father’s lankiness. She had filled out in all the right places though, so she was not skinny but rather willowy like her Aunt Fleur. Molly tucked the kicked blankets around this volatile granddaughter of hers. Sometimes, Juliet still asked her father to go back to England, but Ron seemed to enjoy not having to be constantly in his brothers’ (particularly Fred and George’s) not-always-good graces. And after destroying Horcruxes, being Head of Gringotts Curse-Breaking held a charm. On the other hand, Hermione, to better look after her babies, worked by correspondence with the Ministry’s law departments.

Venus, fourteen, was George’s only daughter. Very aptly named, with dark auburn hair and her mother’s dark-lashed ice-grey eyes. Fred and George had agreed to have only two children each so that no child would suffer insufficient parental attention, what with their demanding business. George and his Muggle wife, Athena, who owned several strip malls, had Janus, and then Vi. Fred had two sets of twins. Cleo was one of Fred’s. Cleopatra. Black-haired and with beautiful, shining black eyes. Mark Antony’s twin.

With a wry smile, Molly finished checking the girls and withdrew to the attic. Here, Janus and S.J schemed and planned and unknowingly imitated Fred and George in general. These two, both with black hair and brown eyes, were also born within seven days of each other, which perhaps accounted for their similar naughty temperaments.

The ghoul groaned in the ceiling. Molly winced as if S.J and Jan were infants. “Silencio!”



***



“Surprise!”

“My word,” was all Molly managed, at the sight of a veritable feast laid for breakfast, and her grandchildren all seated at the table in their Weasley jumpers.

“Sit down, ma chere grand-mére, see if we’ve captured the taste your pancake,” Abby said, pulling Molly to the head of the table. Through the hall to the living room, she could see Arthur beaming.

“I made the kippers!”

“After the first and second batches burned.”

S.J threw a crumpet at Juliet.

“S.J! The kippers are perfect, dear. And your fruit cocktail looks wonderful as ever, Juliet.”

Molly squeezed Abby’s hand. “You can be a mother soon, darling. However did you manage your cousins?”

Abby flushed. “Oh, er, some handy soporific charms, Gran.”

The table roared with laughter. The youngsters on high chairs yawned.

Molly let that pass. She knew how rowdy the brood could be. They ate. Molly beamed her praise at the cooking, although her pots and pans were all so accustomed to yielding to her will after so many years that she thought perhaps S.J had tried to do something wicked to the kippers, hence, their burning for the first two batches.

As always, she let them talk. Gone were the days when she guarded as much as listened. Her grandchildren knew they could talk in front of her. Molly had raised her own children well enough; her grandchildren were being brought up as nicely.

“Will they call me Queen Elizabeth when they Sort me?”

“No, they only use first names along with your surname.”

“How’s Holly?”

“How’s Leontes?”

“Jules, Macky’s chewing on my socks again!”

“Well, your socks were in my bed again!”

“You have to eat fruits, Josh, or you won’t be able to play Quidditch.”

“I can’t believe the Harpies admitted him! They’re supposed to be all-female!”

“He is almost all-female.”

“Eleanor Anya Weasley, if you wear my bra again�””

“Don’t squish, don’t squish�”Ugh!”

“What do I have to do to cure you two of your egg yolk-phobia?”

“Where did you get that?”

“At the getting place.”

“Why is it hairy?”

“Coz it ain’t hairless.”

“What’s that, Stef?”

“AAARGH!”

“AAARGH!”

“AAARGH!”

“Look what you done! He doesn’t like oatmeal! Spiders don’t like oatmeal.”

“That’s right; they’re partial to bran cereal.”

“Stef! Throw that hideous thing away! Calm down, you three!”



***



“Nana, waz zat?”

They all looked at Josh, who was pointing a stubby index finger at the mantel.

“I thought you were asleep, honey,” Molly smiled, giving her grandson a melted marshmallow. For once, Hermione was not around to oversee her children’s and nieces’ and nephews’ teeth’s safeguard, another attraction of Burrow-days.

It was just about half an hour after dinner, and they were all squashed into the living room, the older ones jostling for position in front of the fireplace, the babies nodding off in the sofas. The day had passed in a whirlwind: for the kids and boys, playing Quidditch and swimming in the pond; for the boudoir residents, painting each other’s toenails and baking with Gran.

Their trunks were all packed and ready even before the start of the Burrow-days, so they only need wake up early tomorrow morning for the big family breakfast, together with their parents, under the erected purple and gold marquee in the garden.

“Nana! Whaz zat?” Josh asked again, bringing Molly back from her musings.

“Sorry, sweetie. This is the Cup of Victory, given to your dad, mum and Uncle Harry.”

Almost all the other children knew about the cup, all of them had once asked about it. And when they did, Molly always answered in that same cryptic sentence, wanting her grandchild to ask away the rest of the story.

Josh yawned. “Waz vic-toh-ry?”

“Victory means ‘winning’, Josh-bosh,” S.J answered, popping another marshmallow in the boy’s mouth. Josh spat it back out onto S.J’s hand.

“That will teach you to feed my brother when he’s curious about something,” Jules said, laughing.

“But he didn’t do that with Gran!”

“Well, it’s Gran!”

“Wadid we win?”

“A war, punkin. You know, like Quidditch, but very bad. Nasty. Not a friendly game at all.”

There was silence except for the tree frogs, crickets, and Olga’s marshmallow now sizzling on the fender.

S.J threw Josh’s rejected marshmallow onto the fire. “I’ve wondered, you know, Gran, why this Cup’s made of clay. Shouldn’t it have been something impressive? Like platinum or silver at least?”

“You know that this Cup is the one where they ignited the Flame Monument, S.J. Isn’t that impressive enough?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Everyone was now looking up at the cup again.

It was rather crude, just a wide bowl and a wide base with a stumpy stem between. But it was carved with runes, the same charms and spells whispered and chanted when the Gubraithian fire had been conjured as a tribute to the War.

On its right stood framed photographs of Ron and Hermione. On its left were a photograph of Harry and the bronze plaque bearing the dedication of the Cup to the trio.

“This Cup of Victory,
molded and baked by magick in Merlin’s Kiln,
the Igniter of the Flame Monument,
is entrusted to Mr Harry Potter,
Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger,
and their heirs.”

“Harry, Ron and Hermione told me it belongs here in the Burrow, to all of you children. Perhaps, S.J, you can bring us something of silver or platinum yourself.”

Molly looked stricken as she said it, but it was too late. All her grandchildren blinked as though absorbing her statement. She exchanged a look with Arthur. They were both thinking of another child, who had been perhaps too obsessed with bringing home something impressive. Molly hastily turned back to her children.

“But there’s no need, S.J. I like the clay, dears.” She didn’t continue until all of them had looked at her. “Listen to me. It has its own magic. And I’m not talking about the runes. It may not sparkle or glint, but it’s warm. And it’s always there. Not something you will have to climb mountains or dive underwater for. Clay is, erm, earth, right?” Molly took a deep breath. Abby jumped to her side, sat on the arm of her chair and put an arm around her shoulder. Molly didn’t realise it, but her eyes were glistening. And it was this that had her grandchildren clinging to her every word.

“And unless you’re proud and blind to your ambitions, you wouldn’t dismiss it. Just like family, eh?”

They all nodded sombrely.

Just as Molly was beginning to regret being emotional and preachy, ruining their supposedly fun night, Josh jerked awake again and mumbled, “Waza... Howler?”



The Beginning



Author’s Note: There you have it, lovies. From I to X!

You can read it this way if you wish, from I to X, but I underwent pains just to keep the chapters connected and flowing even with the unorthodox (I love this word!) sequence. ^_^
I know this mustn’t have been as exciting as the rest of the entries into the Challenge, but I decided to concentrate on the Tournament being an instrument of “amity rather than a competition for glory”, you see. Also, the War being finished is such a good change, so I revelled in it, not opting to add another darkness either. Come to think of it, I never write dark, high-conflict things, hehe. I couldn’t do it with grace! Bear with me, merci!

All the Weasley children have lovely names. If you wish to see those that I have not mentioned yet, please go to my bio. It didn’t feel right to insert them all here. I tried. They crowded out and crippled narration. I already went overboard just enumerating them all!

‘Verkleinern’ is the German counterpart of ‘reducio’. I don’t have a German HP book; I only translated ‘reduce’ in Encarta. *wink*

Oh, and yes, S.J, Jules and Tristan all win the Tournament. That’s why there were three silver cups in the end in Molly’s mantel. Firenze was the one supposed to give the Triwizard Cup. And he will only give it to you if you give him clay. He laughed because he was amused that all three cousins won and had made similar choices. ^_^