CHATPER TWO: Everything Changes
Love.
The carriage rattled loudly down the road leading away from Chateau Clerbise, though its two occupants remained silent. Josephine sat with her head down, her hands in her lap. She occasionally moved to fiddle with a loose thread on her traveling cloak, but other than that she sat quite still, braced against the wall of the carriage.
Her brother Remy, on the other hand, was moving constantly, twitching as though possessed by a nervous energy. Josephine knew he was anxious to return to school for his seventh and final year. He was anxious to see again his friends and his fiancée. But he was most anxious for the start of the Triwizard Tournament. Beauxbatons was hosting this year, and it was all but guaranteed that Remy would be chosen as its champion. Josephine smiled at this thought. She was proud of her brother, and knew he would honor the school and the family.
But this was the only happiness that Josephine had been able to feel for quite some days. After her confrontation with her father over Pascal, she had been thrown into a fit of doubt and despair. She knew she loved Pascal, or at least thought she could, but the fact remained that she was a witch and he not a wizard. “One hundred years ago, fine. Twenty years ago, fine. Not today,” her father had said. Not today. The words repeated themselves over and over in her mind.
He was right, of course. The country was aflutter with rumors that the International Confederation of Wizards had almost concluded their negotiations and would be passing the statute any day. The International Statute of Wizard Secrecy. It would be the end of her relationship.
True, Pascal already knew that she was a witch, so staying with him would not be breaking any laws. And true, there were many witches and wizards throughout the world who were already married to Muggle men and women”certainly they would not be made to divorce.
But the passing of the statute signaled the changing times. The entire way that witches and wizards lived their lives would be put to the test, carefully examined, and indubitably altered. Her family’s estate, for instance, currently the centerpiece of the town of Bouc-Bel-Air, would likely have to be made Unplottable. Muggle servants would have to be dismissed, replaced by wizards and witches. No longer would Josephine be able to use her wand to repair a broken toy belonging to a neighbor’s child or to clean the hem of her dress while strolling the streets of the town. The family de Tuileries did not flaunt the fact that they were magical, of course, but neither had they done much to conceal it over the years. Now, they would have to.
She let out a small sigh and turned to rest her head on the glass window of the carriage, watching the countryside pass by. Remy, sitting across from his sister, turned his head toward her. “Sister,” he said, resting a comforting hand on her knee. “Do not trouble. You will surely forget about this matter as soon as we are back at l’Academie.”
“I do not want to forget, Remy,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “I want nothing to change.”
“Everything changes, sister,” he said. “Everything. You knew this was coming, you have seen the signs just as clearly as I have. They are rioting in the East, for Merlin’s sake. Just be thankful that there have not yet been any angry mobs come knocking at our door.”
“We could withstand the mobs,” she said quietly.
This made Remy scoff and draw his hand from her knee. “Don’t be such a fool, Josephine. Don’t be so naïve. They murder wizards. They would put you to death and kill Pascal right along with you.” His normally warm blue eyes had suddenly become cold and steely as he stared at her. She said nothing, for she knew he was right.
The carriage rumbled on, again in silence.
***
A few hours later they drew up to the front gates of Beauxbatons Academy. Despite her morose mood, Josephine could not help but feel a sense of warmth and pride well up inside her as she gathered the many folds of her skirts and stepped out of the carriage. The palace was truly breathtaking, and it never ceased to amaze her.
Though the building that housed the Academy had always been grand, it had undergone renovations no more than a century ago, and now was a shimmering monument to the Baroque movement that had swept France and the Continent in general. In fact, the Muggle King of France, Le Grand Monarque Louis XIV, had modeled his own Palace of Versailles after the Academy upon the recommendation of Monsieur Geoffroi Autruche, current Headmaster of the school.
Josephine felt another pang in her chest as she thought of this fact. If the statute passed, that would be the end of the great collaborations between Muggles and wizards. No longer could she and her family dine at the King’s table. No longer would they retain their noble titles. Yes, the statute would have many repercussions…
She opened her parasol and clutched her small traveling bag as Remy instructed the footmen where to take their trunks. No doubt the house-elves were eagerly awaiting the arrival of their luggage. Remy offered his arm to Josephine, she accepted, and the two of them moved in tandem up the driveway, stopping to greet fellow students along the way.
There was always a sort of vibrant energy around the Academy when school resumed each year, but in Triwizard years, the energy intensified exponentially. It was only a matter of weeks now before the contingents from Hogwarts and Durmstrang would arrive, and despite the frequent hostilities between the three schools, they would certainly add some excitement to an otherwise routine year. Their arrival would mean stories from abroad, fresh faces, and”of course”balls. Beauxbatons was famous in both wizarding and Muggle societies for the multiple balls they hosted every year, but Triwizard years saw these balls become infinitely grander. Josephine almost had to stop to catch her breath out of excited anticipation.
They paused right before the main doors of the palace and Josephine smiled warmly at the girl to her right, turning to give her a kiss on both cheeks. It was Angeline Laplanche, one of Josephine’s oldest friends, and one of the few who knew about Pascal. “Comment ça va?” Josephine asked in greeting.
“Well, thank you,” Angeline responded, squeezing Josephine’s hand. “How are you?”
“I will be better after the negotiations are completed,” Josephine replied honestly. It was not a woman’s place to discuss politics outside of the home, but she could not resist. Angeline merely nodded and gave her another reassuring squeeze.
There was no time for further conversation, however, for at that moment the students heard a great rumbling. They smiled and exchanged looks of glee, for the rumbling could mean only one thing: the palace doors were opening.
Sure enough, the gilded gold doors were slowly pushed apart, no longer charged with the lamentable duty of concealing the glorious interiors of the Palace Beauxbatons.
Josephine felt her smile widen and she tightened her grip on Remy’s arm. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, her senses eager to welcome back the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of the palace. And indeed, as she crossed the threshold of the palace and beheld the Grand Foyer, all thoughts of Pascal were pushed completely”if only temporarily”from her mind.
***
Faith.
“I cannot tell you how disappointed I am that our tournament has to be hosted by Beauxbatons.”
William Warrington-Hughes heard this statement spoke, but it floated around the outer regions of his mind, not quite fully registering. He was too engrossed in his most recent letter from his father to pay much attention to anything else at the moment.
“I say, William, don’t you agree?”
The voice was louder this time, and William became vaguely aware that someone was talking to him. He looked up from his fourth perusal of the letter’s contents, and directly into the face of his friend George, who was busy readying his trunks for the journey to France.
“Oh, yes, George. Couldn’t agree more,” he said off-handedly, no clue as to what he was agreeing.
George seemed to accept the agreement as genuine, however, and thus continued on. “Their palace is just such a ghastly place. Entirely too done-up and ornate”have you seen it recently? It is truly an assault on the senses. I much prefer the understated, austere sincerity of Hogwarts.”
William allowed a nod and a non-committal grunt, and again focused himself completely on the particularly vexing letter in front of him.
“Come, William!” George said, snatching the letter from William’s hands and re-folding it. “You’ve hardly touched your trunk and we’re due to leave within the hour. Whatever your father has to say cannot be that important.”
William slowly felt the panic that had arisen as George grabbed the letter subside as the tall, dark-haired boy handed it back to him with a smile. William took it, perhaps a bit too forcefully, and placed it deep within the folds of his robe. He managed a feeble smile back as he looked around his room. George was right: his trunk was in no state to be loaded into the carriage that would transport them to Beauxbatons. With one flick of his wand, however, he saw robes and coats and stockings and schoolbooks all fly into the trunk and heard it close with a satisfying latch.
George smiled and clapped him on the back. “A nice bit of magic, my friend. Too bad you won’t be able to put your skills to good use when I am selected as Hogwarts Champion!” He winked and gave a jovial chuckle.
William returned the laugh, but said nothing in response. Normally, he would have shot a barb right back at George”that was the nature of their friendship. But today, he could not bring himself to do it. Not after the letter.
***
William took his seat next to George in the plush carriage parked on the Hogwarts lawn near the lake. He looked around and surveyed the other students that would be making the journey to Beauxbatons for the tournament: it was a larger than usual group. This year’s tournament seemed already to be marked by increased competition, and William had no doubt that victory would only be claimed after some hard-fought battles.
The schools put no age restrictions on the competitors, but the Goblet of Fire had never selected a champion younger than fifth-year level, and even that was a rare occurrence. Thus, William found himself surrounded mainly by students in his year”seventh”and the year below. Hogwarts’ finest. He felt a bit queasy at the thought of disappointing his father by not being selected Hogwarts Champion, but he forced himself to have faith and steel his courage”something he was supposed to be possessed of in abundance as a member of Gryffindor House.
To say that he had been shocked when the Sorting Hat placed him in Gryffindor six years prior was an understatement. To say that his father had been appalled and disgusted was not. The entire Warrington line”save for an errant Ravenclaw here and there”had been in Slytherin for as long as anyone could remember. The Hughes, too, practically bled Green and Silver. Thus, William Warrington-Hughes had been certain he would be residing in the dungeon under the lake. Being assigned to the Scarlet and Gold had caused not only murmurs of some sort of defect but also the return of many previously purchased gifts.
In time, the rest of the family grew to bear it tolerably well. His mother’s family especially, since there had been more than a few Gryffindors in their lineage. Even his paternal grandparents eventually warmed up to the idea of a Lion in their midst once William proved that his Quidditch talents would be celebrated no matter what banner he flew under.
His father, however, was always the sticking point.
To William’s right, George was entertaining the carriage with his story of a youthful visit to France and subsequent accidental consumption of frog legs”much to the general delight of the carriage’s passengers. William”who had heard the story many times before”had opened up his father’s letter and was reading it for the final time:
William: A short missive before your journey to France.
You know how much this tournament means to your family, and to me especially. Henry Somerset has assured me that this year’s field will be second to none, so you must ready yourself and do whatever it takes to ensure you are selected as Hogwarts Champion.
Your mother and I have faith in you, but you must understand that there may be few others who do. The odds-makers in London are making a great fuss about Mr. Potter, but I know you will be able to overcome allegiances to do whatever it takes to ensure your victory.
I cannot stress this enough, my son. That Potter boy is currently an obstacle, and I trust you will do everything in your power to make him an obstacle no more.
Should you require help, I can send a list of names of associates located in and around the region of Marseille.
Yours &c.
William silently contemplated the magnitude of what his father said. Whatever it takes. He certainly could not have made himself clearer on that issue. The question was, could William indeed do whatever it took? Did the tournament and, more importantly, pleasing his father, mean so much to him that he could commit acts of sabotage?
He was jilted from his thoughts by the loud voice to his right. “And so I said to him, I said, ‘My good sir, would you please be so kind as to remove this amphibian from my plate?’”
The carriage erupted into raucous laughter upon the completion of the tale regaled to them by none other than William’s closest friend and most trusted ally: George Potter.
***
Hope.
“What is the news this morning, father?” Aleksandr sat down at the old, wooden breakfast table. It was already October, but there was no need to be at Durmstrang. Due to the ongoing violence and the dearth of eligible and willing students and teachers, the Lower School had been closed indefinitely, and students in fifth through eighth years”the Upper School”would only need to report to Durmstrang if they planned to travel to Beauxbatons for the Triwizard Tournament. The ship would not leave for another week.
Aleksandr peered intently at his father, who was reading Moscow’s Wizarding Paper, the Stars and Herald. “It seems the statute will pass before the year is out,” said the elder Gregorovitch, no discernable emotion apparent in his voice.
“That is good news, is it not?” Aleksandr was in favor of the statute. Anything that put distance between wizards and Muggles was, in his mind, a good idea, especially since it was his firm belief that the “Muggle problem” was the main impetus for so many of his friends to turn to the Dark Arts.
“Da, I suppose it is,” said his father, his words coated in his thick accent.
“But you are not excited?” Aleksandr queried.
“Nyet,” came his only response.
“Why not? Father, this will make wizards accountable for the damages they inflict upon Muggles. It will punish them!”
“Perhaps, my son, but will it punish the Muggles for attacking us?”
Aleksandr was silent for a moment. “No, I suppose it will not.”
Gregorovitch continued: “And do you truly believe that a piece of parchment will stop your Durmstrang colleagues from continuing to torture Muggles? Lord knows there will be little to no enforcement of the Statute, at least not in Moscow.”
Aleksandr knew his father was right. Much as it grieved him to admit it, he knew that many of his former friends would stop at nothing to exact their revenge upon countless numbers of anti-wizard Muggles. Still, the statute was a good gesture. He spoke this opinion to his father.
“Ha!” Gregorovitch spat out a derisive laugh. “Our people do not need good gestures, my son, they need action.”
“They can change, father. I know it. I know they are not evil in their hearts and minds,” Aleksandr spoke softly, his head bent down toward the table. He and his father disagreed on this point, and had spent many fruitless hours arguing it. Gregorovitch opened his mouth to respond, but Aleksandr was not through. Tentatively, he raised his head little more than an inch. “This is why I must enter the tournament.”
Gregorovitch abandoned his previous thought and instead slammed his fist hard upon the table, but his son did not flinch. “Aleksandr, we have discussed this enough, have we not? You cannot enter the Triwizard Tournament.”
“Why not, father?” he queried darkly, his cold eyes suddenly blazing with intensity. He fully lifted his head to stare at his father. “Why not? I am more talented than any other student in the Upper School. I could win, I know it. I could restore Durmstrang!”
His father was enraged, and drew himself up to his full, considerable height. “Do you think that is not what your brother said five years ago? Those exact words, my son. And look what happened to him! Look what happened to us because of him! You will not enter the tournament. Doing so will only bring more dishonor to this house, and I will not stand for it.”
Aleksandr mimicked his father’s action and they stood eye to eye across the table. “You say the people need action, father, and here it is. I would win in an honorable way. I would not stoop to cheat, as I know so many of my colleagues would. I would set us back on the right path!”
His father sighed and drew one gnarled hand across his furrowed brow. “Alexei,” he said wearily, “it is my belief that were you to enter and be selected, your students would not support you, and indeed may seek to sabotage you. Tournament rules state that if a champion is injured or killed and thus can no longer compete, a new school champion will be selected in his place.” Gregorovitch’s face was grim, his eyes pools of frustration and despair. “They will kill you, my son. Do you not doubt it?”
Aleksandr shook his head. He certainly would not put it past some among his numbers to be capable of such treachery. But he could not let history continue to unfold itself thusly. He could not”he would not”stand to see his father and the entire Gregorovitch name reduced to further shame and sorrow. He had to change his father’s mind, had to convince him. Aleksandr knew at that very moment that he had to enter the tournament, and he had to win.
“I do not doubt it, father,” he said calmly, balling his hands into fists and resting them on the table. His eyes were once again steely and cold, though his glare had not lost its intensity. “So I suppose the only course of action is to not give them that chance.”
The matter was decided.
These Three Remain by LuthAn
Chapter Notes: Hello again, dear readers. I've been re-reading "Pride and Prejudice" for the umpteenth time, so I think I've got a little better hold on the language (though that story takes place more than a hundred years after mine...) Regardless, this story is becoming an absolute joy to write, and is taking more twists and turns than I originally planned. I certainly hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it! Questions and/or comments are always more than welcome. Enjoy!