Note as of 09/01/'17: ...Yeah, I think this was a long time coming, but it's about time I declare this a dead fic.

Erm - I don't really know what to say, except that it feels like I've been beating a dead horse for ages. Some advice for y'all aspiring writers out there; don't rewrite a fic more than once. I tried, and, it's just - I don't even know what I want to do with this piece of shit anymore, and I don't ever feel like writing at all. It'd just be forced, and I don't think you're supposed to hate your hobbies, are you?

If any nutcase out there wants to adopt this, then feel free, and I'll see you on the other side, my friend; I hope your trip to hell was bearable.

(On one hand, I feel that I should tell y'all what should have happened in the next chapter, but... nah. Don't feel like it.)

Part 4: Bestiality

Episode IV

The Stadium of the World Cup was lit up by thousands upon thousands of lanterns, dancing entrancingly in the evening breeze as Hermione and Harry moved up the softly lit path, following behind Remus and Sirius as they argued quietly on exactly how capable Sirius was on packing food, something they'd been discussing since the latter's failure at doing so at the very beginning of the day. Harry tuned them out in favour of looking around, however, taking in the happy shouts, and laughter, and half-drunken singing that was taking place around them; the match had yet to begin, but it almost seemed like the excitement had already passed and everyone was riding out their happiness in an after-party of epic proportions.

For them, however, the day had, for the most part, gone by quite slowly; aside from the odd visitor here or there (Minister Fudge, for one, had greeted Harry with a friendly pat on the shoulder when they passed each other on the way back from gathering water for Arthur, who insisted doing everything the Muggle way, and Percy's flabbergasted look would go into the history books) and the occasional deep, poetic thought from Sirius ("How do Muggles Vanish their waste without magic, when they're out in the middle of nowhere?") it was really rather as unremarkable as any other, provided your average day was spent in complete chaos in a giant tent camp someplace you don't even know, and considering Sirius…

Hermione suddenly gave a shiver, breaking Harry out of his thoughts, and she grimaced, wrapping her arms around herself as she leaned into Harry. "How come you're not freezing out here, walking around in just a shirt?" Her tone was slightly accusatory, and Harry shrugged helplessly, pulling his girlfriend tighter against him.

"Well, if you want, we can switch, and you can be the one training at half past five in the morning every weekend." He reminded teasingly, and Hermione almost snorted at the thought. "Still, it's not that cold." His eyes shifted to a passing group of centaur-esque humans with a snake's bottom instead of feet, who were slithering around in little more than underwear, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Naga are cold-blooded, Harry." She reminded, and Harry shrugged, though they were both smiling when she looked up at him, before her eyes averted back to the ground. "Still, there's… something else. I don't know," She shrugged helplessly, "Maybe I'm just going crazy."

"…Yeah," Harry replied after a moment of thought, smiling mischievously. "I can see that. Hey – ow! Why so violent, woman?"

Hermione rolled her eyes fondly, wrapping her arms around Harry's to re-bury herself into his side. "What'd you expect, calling me a crazy witch?"

"Hey, hurry it up, would ya?" Sirius called from up ahead, and they turned to face him, blinking when he was suddenly way in front, ignoring the annoyed mutterings of the stragglers still left packing in the tents around them. "We'll be late if we're sticking with your pace!"

"Shut up, you bloody idiot!" Harry hollered back, and Hermione shot him a reprimanding glance, though it was a surprisingly soft one. "Just walk ahead, if you don't want to wait on us!"

Sirius sniffed. "Fine, maybe I will!" He retorted, turning back around and stomping after Remus, who was busy pretending he didn't know his crazy housemates even farther ahead.

"You know, I really shouldn't get surprised at his maturity anymore," Hermione mused, and Harry snorted.

"I don't think anyone's ever going to get used to Sirius," He commented. "Have I told you about my birthday yet?"

"Oh, no," Hermione smiled, "Only about some seven or eight times –"

"Why, hello, luv." A familiar voice suddenly piped up from behind them, and with a blink, they turned around, only to find Roxanne standing there, a giant, mischievous grin on her face. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Hermione rolled her eyes, breaking her hold on Harry to hug the younger girl. "Honestly, I told you we were coming here two weeks ago," She huffed, pulling back to Harry, and Roxanne's grin widened. "Did your memory really become that bad over the summer?"

"Nah, 'course not." Roxanne shrugged, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Heya, Harry."

"Hi." Harry returned lamely, glancing at Hermione. "I didn't realise you'd become friends."

"Yes, while we had our… spot of trouble, at the end of last year." Hermione shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable at the reminder. "I needed someone else to sit with, and Roxanne offered."

"Yeah, well, with Harry gone…" Roxanne's grin turned lecherous, and she licked her lips as her eyes started wandering downwards, before she promptly lost herself in giggles at the disturbed look on both Harry and Hermione's face. "S-sorry, I – I couldn't help myself." She gasped, stifling the remainder of her giggles behind her hand. "You're – you're both too easy to tease, you know that?"

"Insolent pervert." Harry grumbled good-naturedly, before glancing around with a slight smile. "Where's your mother? Shouldn't she be here with you?"

"She's in our tent, over there," Roxanne shrugged, motioning off to the side in between a pair of tents where Harry couldn't see. "I, er – well, I wanted to catch up a little, since we haven't really talked at all since Christmas, but I heard you need to go, don't you? Where are your seats, anyway? Maybe we can meet up later!"

"…I'm afraid that's going to be difficult." Harry hedged, and Roxanne shot him a curious look. "We're in the Top Box, and our tent's rather far away, so I doubt your mother'll let you come over later, too –"

"Oh, no, it'll be fine." She smiled eagerly, bouncing on the tips of her toes. "Really, what's the worst that could happen?"

Oo0oO

"Took you long enough." Sirius huffed when they finally entered the Top Box, nearly half an hour after they'd been left behind by the immature Animagus. "The game's about to start, y'know."

"Harry!" Minister Fudge, apparently having decided to completely ignore the fact that Harry was about to retort to someone else, strode over with a merry grin on his face. "It's been a while – I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to speak with you today, when we passed. You're, ah – doing alright, I suppose, with your godfather?"

"Certainly, Mini– Cornelius," Harry nodded, glancing at Sirius, who was watching the proceedings with a frown, out of the corner of his eye. "He's been treating me marvellously."

("LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME –!" The man famed nationwide as Ludo Bagman yelled through his Sonorous from up front, and Harry tried his best to ignore the ringing in his ears and continue his conversation –)

"Great," Cornelius beamed, "magnificent, yes! Headmaster Dumbledore had his reservations, you know – didn't really know about leaving your Aunt and Uncle behind – but I'm glad that it's all worked out for you. Glad, yes…" He trailed off, glancing around the room, before motioning over to the row of seats facing the stadium. "Regardless, take your places, please! I believe there's still a spot left in front of the Malfoys, right over there –"

"Thanks, Minister." Harry nodded, leading Hermione to their seats, conveniently placed right next to people he really didn't want to see. "Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy." He nodded politely in greeting, though it wasn't more than a bob of the head, at most – which, directed at a Lord and Lady, basically meant that you wanted them to burn in the fiery pits of hell, but you couldn't actually condemn them to such a fate, 'cause, you know, politics.

Lucius' eyes narrowed, though he did nod back ever so slightly; Narcissa simply smiled at him, though it was rather sharp around the edges, and Draco, who'd been completely ignored, just sniffed haughtily, happily pretending as if he were important. The House Elf at the end of the front row was looking around shiftily, probably waiting for her master, and Harry sank down into his seat next to her with a silent nod of acknowledgement.

Suddenly, Harry's mind flashed back to Dobby, the overeager House Elf from his second year. He hadn't even thought about him since then – though in all fairness, with the crap with Sirius from last year, it really wasn't that much of a surprise – and absently, he wondered what the little creature was doing, now. Had he found another job as servant?

("…TO INTRODUCE: THE BULGARIAN NATIONAL TEAM MASCOTS!" Ludo yelled, and the stadium exploded into noise –)

"I don't think I'll ever get used to Pureblood Harry," Hermione muttered from where she'd been observing the stadium near the edge of the box, sweeping her skirt underneath her legs to sit decently. "Honestly, I'd prefer to just have Muggleborn Harry around."

Harry snorted, reaching inside the expanded inner pocket of his jacket to grab their Omnioculars, "You and me both." He admitted, none too quietly and well aware of the steadily souring looks behind him. "Aunt Walburga kept trying to convince me, but as long as she's telling me to murder you and your parents, I don't think I'll follow."

Hermione smiled. "I didn't expect anything else," She said, and reached over to give her boyfriend a small peck. Instantly, Malfoy coughed audibly from behind them, and Harry almost turned to shoot him an annoyed look; but Hermione simply smirked, reaching forwards again to deepen their earlier peck into something that left the stuck-up gits fuming –

"Oi, lovebirds, you're missing the show!" Sirius interrupted gleefully from a front row seat on the other side of the room, but he wasn't looking at them when Harry turned to shoot him a miffed look; instead, his eyes – and everyone else's – were aimed at the field below, where a bunch of cheerleaders were waving around fancy, fluorescent tufts of fabric.

"…I don't get it." Harry muttered to Hermione, who looked incredibly annoyed all of a sudden. "What's so special about this?"

"You're not affected?" Hermione turned to blink at him in astonishment, and he blinked back.

"Affected? By what?"

"By that." She motioned behind Harry, and he turned to look again; a vaguely disturbed-looking Remus was holding back a hooting and hollering Sirius from jumping straight out of the Box, and Arthur was trying to keep the twins from doing the same; Bill, meanwhile, had Charlie and Percy stuck in a headlock and was sharing a confused glance with Ginny, who was similarly kept busy by Ron – or rather, the drooling, brainless zombie he'd become.

"…What the hell is going on here?" Harry asked, left completely baffled, and it was Narcissa of all people who answered, though it seemed to be more of a general note than a specific answer to his question.

"Veela." She sniffed, casting an annoyed glance at her son, who appeared to have been glued to his chair. "Foul creatures. Relying on… carnal pleasures of the flesh to get through their day – it's despicable."

"They have an aura that leaves men brainless and thinking of nothing else but, ah – getting in their pants, if you will." Minister Fudge, seated a little to the left of the Malfoys, continued, a frown audible in his voice. "I myself am fortunate enough to own a ring enchanted to resist all manner of persuasion magic, a standard part of a Minister's ensemble, though as you can see, most of the Box isn't quite as fortunate."

"What were the organisers thinking, authorising something like this?" Hermione hissed, glaring down at the pitch, where dozens upon dozens of Wizards and the rare Witch were storming the pitch, quickly overwhelming the security forces stationed there to prevent exactly such a thing with sheer numbers. The Veela cheerleaders, meanwhile, had dropped their act and were running around like headless chickens, trying and failing to get away from the massive horde of supporters that was closing in on all sides; loud shrieks were penetrating the thick, testosterone-charged air as hundreds upon hundreds of men tried to convince the Veela that they were the manliest in a series of who-can-yell-the-loudest that left Harry's ears ringing, and a tiny part of his brain was wondering why, then, he wasn't affected in the least, until the part that was complaining about the noise simply squashed the useless little bug.

"National Teams are allowed to bring whichever Magical Creatures they desire, as long as it wouldn't risk the lives of the watching people." Cornelius explained with a sigh. "Hungary brought a pair of tamed Hungarian Horntails, just a short few weeks ago, in the semi-finals; the security measures for that were dreadful, let me tell you… One of our very own Aurors gave an arm and a leg, trying to keep them under control…"

("Calm down everyone!" Bagman tried to settle things down, but even he had been mesmerised by the dancing women, and didn't seem to notice that his Sonorus had quit. "Calm down – Bulgaria, why aren't you recalling your mascots –")

But, of course, just when they didn't think it could get any worse than it already was, it did. The Veela, abandoned by the security forces and about to disappear underfoot, decided to show their other, less-pleasant side, and broke under the pressure, shifting into some strange, fucked-up avian form that left Harry wondering who, exactly, had been performing immoral experiments on good-looking women. Then, it was as if a switch had been flipped, and the struggling men and women slowly stopped calling out for dominance and instead started yelling angrily about just how stupid Bulgaria had to have been to bring so many Veela to the finals even as they tried to defend themselves from the onslaught of fireballs, because apparently, dove-humans chucked fireballs these days.

"Why on earth would they choose to bring so many Veela?" Arthur asked, finally able to let go of his sons, and behind them, Cornelius flinched. "An entire colony – I'd say that would be enough to drive all of Central London insane, let alone a single stadium."

"I, er – well, I might have told them to put on a special show, since we have so many celebrities here today." The Minister muttered guiltily, and when the entire box turned to shoot him an annoyed look, Harry found himself able to do nothing but bury his face in his palms, because of course Sirius had something to do with it, indirectly or not.

("NOW," Bagman, who'd apparently discovered his missing spell, quickly continued as the Stadium slowly started settling back down, "AFTER EVERYONE HAS RETURNED TO THEIR SEATS – RAISE YOUR WANDS FOR THE IRISH NATIONAL TEAM MASCOTS!")

"Watch it be a giant tank of Morgen." Harry muttered, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Try not to jinx us, would you?" She asked rhetorically. "Plus, they're Welsh, and I highly doubt the Irish are going to bring Welsh national animals, even if they've spread all over the isles."

"Well, Hungarian Horntails originate from Mongolia," Charlie piped up helpfully, having regained his dignity a few seats away, "It's just that so many were imported to the rest of the world through Hungary that Hungary began to call them Hungarian Horntails. But like Minister Fudge said, Hungary still brought them to the semi-finals."

Hermione moved forwards to look at him and glowered. "Honestly, Charlie, if you jinx us right now –"

"Oh, why, would you look at that, they've brought leprechauns!" Cornelius sounded inordinately pleased, and everyone let out a breath of relief when it turned out that the Irish hadn't, in fact, brought a giant tank of Welsh mermen that liked to drown humans.

"And hey, there's Morgen too!" Sirius exclaimed happily, and Harry contemplated committing suicide.

Oo0oO

While the celebrations leading up to it… left quite a bit to be desired, the game itself was breath-taking, and even Ludo Bagman was constantly struggling to keep up (or, as the ex-beater described rather terribly when there was a short break, while the judges argued if a play of Volkov's was a foul or not; "THIS GAME IS GOING TO BE DESPISED BY XENOPHOBES ALL OVER THE TABLOIDS, BECAUSE IT IS OUT OF. THIS. WORLD!" Many groans had ensued, though Bagman seemed to have been under the impression that his joke had been a good one).

"Wait, how do you return the speed to normal?" Ginny, sitting on the other side of Hermione, whispered urgently, gesturing with her omnioculars, and Harry glanced over –

"TROY – MULLET – TROY – INTERCEPTION – IVANOVA – DIMITROV – A SHOT, REBUKED BY CONNOLLY – LEVSKI, A SECOND SHOT – INTERCEPTION – MORAN, ONE-TWO WITH MULLET – TROY FROM THE BACK, A KICK – SCORE!"

Ludo Bagman's commentary reminded Harry more of an auctioneer than Lee Jordan, and within the span of ten seconds, the Quaffle had made it halfway across the field, back, and all the way to the other side and into the goal. It was ludicrous.

And there he'd been, thinking the mock-games with the Montrose Magpies U-18 were fast-paced. This – this was on a whole nother level, and saying that Harry suddenly felt outclassed would be the understatement of the century; 'cause heck, if things went the way they were expected to go, he'd have to be playing on this level in less than four years.

"Don't worry, Harry," Hermione, done fiddling with Ginny's omnioculars, called over the noise of the crowd, seemingly sensing what Harry was thinking, "You haven't seen yourself play – in that match against Hufflepuff, Angelina, Alicia, Katie and you were going nearly as fast!"

Somehow, Harry doubted that, but he didn't get to voice the thought, because –

"DIMITRI – LEVSKI – DIMITRI – IVANOVA – KRUM'S DIVING, LYNCH IN PURSUIT – TROY INTERCEPTS LEVSKI– THEY'RE GOING DOWN, I THINK THEY'RE GOING TO CRASH –"

And indeed, Krum had entered a steep, steep dive and was shooting headfirst for the ground; his face, magnified almost beyond recognition by the omnioculars, was screwed up in tight focus as he zoomed downwards, and Harry could just make out the few pimples covering his forehead, and the birthmark on the left side of his chin as he made to crash straight into the ground –

Hermione was suddenly screaming shrilly into Harry's ear, and he found it hard to fault her – "They're going to crash, they're going to crash, Harry!" – and as one, the stadium fell silent for just a split-second as over a hundred thousand people held their breaths, watching, and waiting for the inevitable bloody splatter on the ground – Harry closed his eyes, because he couldn't watch this happen, someone was going to slam into the ground at a hundred and forty miles an hour and it wasn't going to be pretty –

The stadium gasped, and Harry cracked an eye open; there, in a giant mound of upturned dirt and grass, laid Aiden Lynch, face bloody and broken and uniform barely hanging together, and Harry found it a miracle that the Seeker wasn't dead yet, because the last time he'd crashed on a broom was with Oliver at about sixty miles an hour, and he'd had to stay in the hospital wing for over a week; the fact that Lynch somehow still managed to stand up and wave off the medics with a clearly snapped wrist and an arm that had been bent in five different directions made Harry suddenly admire the man a rather lot more.

"OH DEAR, LYNCH CRASHED, THAT'S A TIME-OUT WHILE THE MEDICS TAKE CARE OF HIM –" Bagman's thundering, magnified voice sounded sympathetic as the man brushed himself off and the medical team, clearly against his wishes, started laying in on him with a seemingly endless roll of bandages. "UNFORTUNATE FOR IRELAND – TROY WAS ABOUT TO TAKE A SOLO SHOT –"

But the match, of course, did not stop there. It became faster, and more brutal, and as time went by, even the omnioculars started having trouble keeping track of what was going on, making the players a blur at even the slowest speeds as the magic tried to keep up with everything that was going on, and failed epically.

"This is insane!" Harry yelled at Hermione over the noise, and she grinned up at him.

"I love it!" She yelled back, sparing a brief second to give him a short, fleeting kiss (perhaps more accurately described as a brush of the lips) before diving back into her omnioculars, because even a split-second like that was enough to make you miss out on what was going on.

And as Vulchanov, who'd been hit in the face by Quigley's Beater Bat, was sent back up into the air by the medics and took the chance to hit right back and give a penalty to Ireland, Harry had to wonder if some of those Bulgarian players were just plain stupid, because they were already losing, and their idiocy wasn't helping matters any.

Oo0oO

"That was amazing!" Ron swooned a short hour later, beaming from ear to ear. "They didn't win, but Krum still got the Snitch in the end – forget all about Lynch, Krum's so awesome –"

"I'd say that about ninety percent of the women here today agree with you, mate." Harry sniggered, but despite his words, he found himself agreeing completely with his best friend; this match had been the best thing he'd ever witnessed, and he'd happily lay down his entire trust vault to go to another like it, and the Wronski Feint-that-wasn't-a-feint at the end was just the cherry on top that made the entire evening that much better.

"Well, I'd certainly say that this was a successful evening." Remus put in mildly, smiling softly in a manner that somehow reminded Harry of Colin Creevey's giant, happy, beaming grin, and Percy sniffed.

"Yes, if you ignore the Veela, and Lynch's injuries, and the Morgen, and how everyone made a fool of themselves in front of the Minister for Magic." Percy, the only one out of them that had looked sour the entire evening, muttered from the back of their group, just barely in Harry's earshot, and Harry exchanged a mutually annoyed glance with Ron.

"You think it's over already?" Sirius asked incredulously, and scoffed when Remus turned to look alongside everyone else. "Have you completely forgotten our time at Hogwarts? The parties didn't stop there until Minnie came to shut them down."

"Minnie?" Hermione whispered in bemusement, glancing at Ron and especially Harry, who both shrugged helplessly.

"She's more than likely at Hogwarts right now, Sirius," Remus said dryly. "I doubt she's going to apparate over just to stop a party."

"So?" Sirius grinned. "That just means that there isn't going to be an end!"

"About that," Harry spoke up quickly, "it'll be fine if one of our friends comes over later, right? I don't know how much food you stocked, but –"

"That's fine, Harry." Sirius blinked, but nodded alongside Remus' statement. "For that matter," The werewolf continued, looking at Arthur, "if you want to come over later…"

"Oh, no, wouldn't want to impose with seven children." Arthur demurred, smiling slightly. "Thank you, but no."

"Are you sure?" Sirius asked, glancing over the assorted children, of whom Ron especially looked eager to go. "Our tent's certainly big enough – it's meant for a few dozen, you know –"

"Well…" Arthur hesitated, glancing over his children. "Who wants to go, then?"

"I do!" Ron said immediately, sticking his hand up into the air as far as it could go, and Fred and George, undoubtedly smelling the scent of an ex-prisoner yet to be pranked, quickly followed. The rest didn't really seem to care either way, including, Harry was somewhat surprised to note, Ginny – though it was probably a good thing that she'd gotten over him during the summer months.

"Alright," Arthur relented, nodding, and smiling back at Ron's beaming grin. "If it's alright with Remus, you can go. Just as long as you promise to come back before midnight?"

"Sure!"

Oo0oO

"Hermione?"

Hermione blinked, brushing aside a strand of brown hair as she looked up at him from where she was lying, buried into his side on one of the numerous couches in their tent. "Harry? What – is there something wrong?"

"I don't know." He confessed, bowing his head. His hair, Hermione noticed, was turning a mix of deep orange and green, something she'd come to recognise as doubt. "I – have I been neglecting you?"

His girlfriend frowned. "…What makes you say that?"

"After the end of last term – you told me we were okay again, that it was alright that I'd been a prick about Quidditch." Harry said, not able to muster the courage to face Hermione fully and instead taking the time to look at Remus and Ron, currently locked in an intense game of chess on the other side of the tent. "But – I don't know, I just – we haven't really spoken much at all since then, with the vacation and all, and – I guess I just don't really feel that our relationship has the depth it used to, you know, before."

It was silent for a little while, and Harry had just begun to start fearing that he'd hit the nail right on the head when Hermione spoke up again. "I don't know, I guess it has, a little bit," She said, biting her lip as she looked up at him. "But – isn't that normal, with vacations? We spent nearly two months apart," She reminded him, "And that'll put distance between every relationship. Plus, it wasn't like we didn't share letters."

"Yeah, but since we got back together, we've hardly had any time together." Harry argued, not feeling the least bit appeased. "It would've been easy enough for me to arrange for another date or something at the end of last year, but –"

"Oh honestly, Harry, is that what this is about?" Hermione asked, suddenly giggling. "You just want to snog some more, don't you?"

Harry flushed. "That's not – it's –" Harry frowned, having trouble trying to express his thoughts, "you really don't feel like our relationship has become hollow, or something?"

Hermione blinked at him. "Do you?"

…Damn, she had him there. "No, I suppose I don't." Harry said slowly, searching her gaze for any doubt of her own, but of course, he found none. He should've known. With a sigh, he relaxed back into the pillows of the couch, grinning down at Hermione when she relaxed into his side with a smile of her own. "Thanks, Hermione. I don't know why I doubted."

"Because you care." Hermione replied, smile growing as she put her hand on his chest. "And that alone lets me know that our relationship's as full as it has ever been."

"…Still wouldn't mind that snog, though." Harry prompted, grinning mischievously, and Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling fondly as she reached up to meet his lips with hers –

BANG!

Harry flinched and Hermione shrieked, jumping backwards out of the chair as a blizzard of confetti suddenly erupted around their couch, and glitter thundered around them, sending their clothes and hair flapping to and fro in the strong winds. Ron and Remus, still fully absorbed in their game, barely even seemed to have noticed.

"Oops." Sirius' unrepentant voice came from above them, and Harry looked up, sighing painfully when the Twins and Roxanne were standing next to him on the second floor, laughing at his disco-coloured face. "Sorry 'bout that. It was meant to be a bomb, not a thunderstorm."

Somehow, that didn't really temper Harry's feelings of intense, burning hatred for the man who had, in essence, cockblocked him. He voiced this thought, and Sirius shrugged at him, flicking his wand around the room to clean up the mess.

"That's one way to look at it, I suppose." He said, leaning languidly on the railing of his balcony. "On the other hand, I've saved everyone here a most unpleasant sight of a horny Potter – and I knew James for a long time, so believe me when I tell you that that never ends up well."

Hermione looked outraged at what he was insinuating, but Harry snorted. "Like you're one to talk."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sirius said a little bit too innocently, and behind him, Fred and George burst out into laughter, having already been around when Harry informed Ron of this. Roxanne urgently mimed for them to be silent.

"Really?" Harry challenged, raising an eyebrow up at his godfather. "Does Amanda ring a bell?" Sirius tried none too successfully to hold back a flinch. "How about Imani? Lucia? Gerárd?"

"How was I to know that Adam's apples didn't appear in women?!" Sirius despaired, shooting a betrayed look down at Harry as Hermione and Roxanne both gaped at him and the twins just about fell down laughing. "Sh-he was really convincing!"

"Y-you – you slept with a man?" Hermione almost sounded homophobic, if it weren't for the fact that the entire western hemisphere knew Sirius to be... profound and rather shameless in his perusal of members of the opposite sex.

"Merlin, no, I didn't sleep with him!" Sirius looked disgusted and repulsed at the notion, and the twins roared with laughter. "We just – you know… kissed, and stuff."

"'And stuff?'" Roxanne challenged, wagging her eyebrows suggestively, and Sirius dry-heaved at the thought.

"I had to walk in on them making out in order to set things straight." Harry explained, and Hermione rolled her eyes at his terrible pun. "Admittedly, he was a pretty decent transvestite, but the lack of, you know, twin 'personalities' really should've tipped you off."

"Yeah, yeah, have fun at my expense." Sirius grumbled, strolling down the stairs to where Hermione had sat down next to Harry again. "I'll be the one laughing when Hermione turns out to be a man instead."

The entire room paused to process that profoundly illogical statement, and Sirius grinned at them all, mistakenly perceiving the lack of retorts for an awed, stunned silence at his ingenuity.

Oo0oO

"Right," Roxanne began a few hours later, after Sirius' ego had been stomped back into the ground, Remus' giant cake disappeared in the span of a few minutes into the giant, gaping black holes they called their stomachs, and the chess match – which ended up taking little over four bloody hours – ended, for the first time since Harry had known him, in a loss for Ron. "Mum said I had to be back around nine, and since it's half past ten, I'd say she's been annoyed enough." She grinned cheekily, shrugging on her coat, previously lying forgotten on the back of a chair.

"I'll go with you." Remus smiled, standing up to stretch his cramped legs. "I'm sure your mother wouldn't want you walking around this late by yourself."

"Naw, ya don't have to worry about little old me." Roxanne shook her head, beaming out from under her crimson beanie at the Werewolf. "I'll be fine, I've been out on my own before."

Pretty much the entire room frowned at her, and she rolled her eyes. "Seriously, people, you need to stop worrying so much. What, will I step out of the door and find an axe-murderer chopping my head off?"

"Yes, but you're twelve." Hermione protested, and Roxanne shot them a dry look.

"You were sucking each others' faces off when you were thirteen." She snorted. "Hell, your boyfriend slew a basilisk when he was my age. Your point?"

Hermione, bless her, still looked like she wanted to object, but Sirius stepped in with a grin. "Come, come, children, let's not fight over who was not allowed to do the most things they still did when they were young, because I'd most certainly blow you all out of the water."

Remus blinked thoughtfully, before nodding. "He's not lying, you know."

"Personally, I don't really see the problem." Sirius shrugged. "I mean, what'll be weirder; your daughter coming home, or your daughter coming home accompanied by a ragged and harried-looking old man who looks suspiciously like a flasher–"

"Yes, I think we get your point, Sirius." Remus interrupted quickly, looking vaguely ill. "If you're sure, then it's probably alright for you to go alone, Roxanne."

"Good!" Roxanne said, beaming about the room. "Glad we got that settled. Goodbye, people – I'll see you at Hogwarts!" And with that, she slipped out of the tent, away into the dead of night.

"…Are you sure she'll be fine?" Remus asked Sirius quietly, and the dogfather shot him a strange look. "I mean, we've been at World Cups in the past, with James. It got pretty wild sometimes, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember all right." Sirius sniggered, probably reminiscing about one of his past girlfriends, and Remus sighed, shaking his head.

"Never mind. I don't know why I even bothered asking."

On the other side of the room, Hermione huffed as she sat back down next to Harry. "Honestly, it's dangerous out at night when there's so many drunks walking around."

"There are?" Harry blinked, glancing at the front door curiously. "I hadn't even noticed."

"Honestly, slurred speech? Dragging feet? Blurry expressions? Any of those ring a bell?"

"…Well, now that you mention it, I guess, yeah." Harry blinked again, shrugging. "Does it really matter, though? She's smart, I'm sure she'll be able to find her way back home without problems."

Hermione heaved a sigh. "I guess."

"Plus, if you want to know who really doesn't care, look at Ron." Harry felt the corners of his mouth pulling up into a grin as he gazed at his friend, who was lying face-down on the chess board in a small puddle of his own drool, and Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling a little as she turned back to face Harry –

"There's a riot!" Someone outside yelled suddenly, and everyone blinked. "A riot, on the next campsite over! They're lighting tents on fire!" Harry's eyes widened, and beside him, Hermione gasped. "Torturing people!"

"That's where the Weasleys are!" Hermione yelped, shooting upright. "And Roxanne, too! We've got to do something!"

"No, we don't." Sirius interrupted before she could go on, drawing affronted looks from the children, though Remus was nodding along. "The Aurors will handle things. There's more than a few of them, scattered around in their own tents, and they're not incompetent. Plus, how do we know he's speaking the truth? For all we know, this could just be a prank –"

There was a sudden, loud, soul-chilling scream, and Harry instantly froze, his heart constricting painfully as he recognised the owner of the voice without problems.

Roxanne.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, having recognised the voice much the same, sounding panicked and worried as he jumped up and started running for the door. "Harry – what are you doing?! The Aurors – they'll get her –"

Mouth set in a grim line, Harry threw open the door and ran, ignoring his girlfriend's calls completely, because this was a friend, a young girl, and she was getting hurt – tortured – for no reason at all, and if he left her now for no other reason than staying safe (and since when had he ever done anything as ridiculous as that?); he honestly didn't know if he could life with himself after something like that.

Sorry, Hermione.

"Harry – Jesus Christ –!" Hermione yelled, standing up to go running after her boyfriend – "What the fuck are you doing –?!"

But suddenly Remus was there, grasping her arms with strength she'd honestly forgotten he was supposed to have as Werewolf. "No, you're not leaving, as well." He was frowning deeply, showing no signs of stress as Hermione fought to escape from his grip. "It's… bad that he's out there – and that's putting it lightly, if the riot is as big as I suspect it is – but it'll only be worse if we have to run after two people instead."

Hermione wasn't ready to give up just yet, though, and tugged heavily on her arms, to no avail – "Let go – Harry – he's out there – the Aurors won't come in time –!"

"I know my godson didn't pick an airhead for a girlfriend, so stop pretending to be one." Sirius called over from where he was hurriedly stomping down the stairs, clasping something that looked like an elaborate brace around his arm. "I, being a full-grown adult rather than a teenager, will go after him, and you'll stay right here where you can't get lost and, you know, die or something." He grinned at her furious and stupefied face, giving a friendly wave as he slipped out of the door. "Be right back."

It slid shut with an audible click.

Remus let Hermione go without another word, casting a heavy glance at the origin of the sound – of Roxanne's scream – and for a moment, she simply stood in the room, suddenly unsure of what to do.

"…I think you're seeing it wrong, Hermione." Ron offered, apparently having woken up from his nap during the tumult, and Hermione clenched her hands as she moved over to the fridge. "Imagine we're all a part of Harry's Treacle Tart." Both Remus and Hermione paused at the unexpected topic, but Ron didn't pay attention to it – or rather, it might be more appropriate to say that he didn't notice it.

"You're a large piece, Hermione." He continued. "'Bout a quarter of the whole tart. Sirius is a little smaller than that, and me and Remus hover around a sixth. Then, everyone else he's grown close to – the girl, Roxanne, right? And some of the Professors, probably, and maybe even Ginny, and mum and dad and the Quidditch team – makes up the rest of the tart, each with their own little pieces. And when someone – Malfoy, probably – comes up and threatens to take one of those pieces away from him, he'll go to the ends of the earth to keep them from actually taking it."

Hermione was stunned into silence for a few seconds, and a small part of her mind was wondering since when Ron's mind was capable of conjuring up more than half-assed homework and theories on what was for dinner that evening.

"I'd say that just about covers it." Remus nodded, sitting down next to the redhead with pumpkin juice in his hand and a serene smile on his face. "Very well said, Ron. And as I already said, Sirius is a more than capable wizard, even after spending over a decade in Azkaban. He won't let Harry get injured."

Blowing out a sharp breath, Hermione grabbed her own glass of pumpkin juice and let herself fall restlessly into the chair next to Remus. "He'd better not." She muttered.

Oo0oO

The clearing the Wizards were standing in was a complete mess. Destroyed tents laid scattered around them, the small bits and pieces that hadn't already been annihilated still burning violently. The tents that were still upright were aflame, as well; a few that had been enchanted with indestructibility were almost like giant pillars of light, bathing the entire area in near-unbearable heat.

Roxanne herself laid in the middle, her small frame writhing in what must have been insufferable pain, while those men – no, not men; they were monsters, nothing less – stood and laughed at her suffering. A few had sheathed their wands and were making obscene gestures with their hips, sharing a snigger when the second-year let out a particularly loud scream.

Harry saw red.

His wand whipped through the air as he stood from where he'd been crouching – "STUPEFY!" – and one particularly vigilant Wizard managed to whip up a large shield within moments; only one of the men, caught just outside the wide protection, fell over, his wand scattering to land near the edge of the clearing.

Barely a second later, a clear dozen bright green spells were flying through the air towards his position, some a rather lot more accurate than others, and Harry flung himself behind one of the tents, cursing himself for standing around like an idiot, watching the results of his spell instead of casting another.

Suddenly, his cover was aflame, and as the flames threatened to lick at his clothes Harry cursed, and – "Depulso!" – the deadly game of cat-and-mouse began.

The Gryffindor boy's dorm had often romanticised the art of battle; even Harry himself had been guilty of this, imagining grand sieges of castles with Ron, and Seamus, and even pacifist Dean and unnaturally shy Neville. They would have hundreds of Wizards on their side as they charged, filling the sky with hellfire and brimstone as thunderstorms bore down on their opponents and a particularly inspiring track by the Weird Sisters thundered in their eardrums.

But this – no, this was something else.

It was almost completely silent. Spells went searing past as close as half a foot away without a sound, and only the panicking, thudding beat of Harry's own heart was to be heard as a giant rock was sent flying to his position, and he dove out of the way of certain death. Oh, he could occasionally get a spell in edgewise, too; and whenever there was a chance to glimpse the Wizards' encampment, his eyes would automatically search for Roxanne, whose tiny, writhing frame still laid in between, having fallen completely silent only a little while after the battle had begun.

But only two of over a dozen spells had even connected, and each of the Wizards effected by said Stupefies had merely been resurrected again by their allies. And perhaps, if he knew some, he could have used more heavy-duty spells, such as fifth-year Bombarda; but the only combat oriented-spells he'd learned were from when he still figured Sirius to be a mass-murdering traitor, and those were the ones geared towards single combat, such as Stupefy and Expelliarmus, where they couldn't simply be covered by their allies in order to wake up again or simply pick up their wand from where they'd dropped it.

Suddenly, a spell came from Harry's left, and he cursed, throwing himself aside and inadvertently into the path of a different spell in order to evade; the spell clipped his shoulder, and he grit his teeth in pain as blood started flowing instantly, bathing his robes in scarlet.

"Oh? Did we managsh to – hic! – get li'l Potter?" The voice sounded slurred, and more drunk than Harry had ever heard anyone; and he shot the Wizard a nasty glare, fighting through the pain to raise his wand again –

A grey beard – bright purple robes, fluttering furiously – a wand, a differentwandnotmywand – explosions, death, blood everywhere – a high, manic cackle – "AVADA KEDAVRA!" – death, gore, fear grief painsufferingdarkness–

And in the midst of flinging a spell at the monster in front of him, Harry blacked out.

…Well, that turned around real quick, dinnit?

Erm – I don't really know what to say, here. Originally, I put Roxanne in to serve some other purpose, but she's kind-of become redundant, and I didn't wanna just retcon her like she was some random bit of Warhammer fluff, so I had to think of some way to, you know, get rid of her without making it seem stupid.

But this wasn't all that bad of a purpose, I don't think. The character development should fit nicely into the Triwiz Tournament, and the tragedy we all know will happen at the end, and it allows for the story to progress into the grey, not-too-happy-but-not-dark-either place where it belongs.

I dunno. Lemme know what you guys think.

Oh, and FIY, no, Hermione doesn't have precognitive powers. It was more of an I-can-feel-it-in-my-bones type of thing, ya feel?

Review replies are listed at the bottom of the giant A/N filling up the next 'chapter'.

-The Baron