The Impartial Judge
Sirius paced the study of Black Manor, ignoring the watchful gazes of the women present. He knew his new personal assistant sat in the corner, a quill and parchment at hand, ever ready.
“Sirius, dear, you’ll tread a hole in the rug.”
“Good, it’s an ugly old thing.” His mother’s tone was harsh, “What is it, Persian?”
Dorea, who had furnished the room when she was Lady of the Manor, glared at Walburga; Sirius growled, cutting off any retort.
He could see Rita’s head bobbing between the two older women as Alice sat at his desk, carefully watching her husband’s movements.
His pacing continued as he thought. He needed a way to garner the public’s support with whatever the tournament would bring.
He spun on his heel and came to a full stop, “Rita.”
The perky blonde snapped to attention, “Lord Black.”
“The Blacks are in need of your services, once again.”
She nodded in understanding, “I am listening."
He smirked; while she hadn’t agreed outright, he knew she couldn’t pass on the plan he had conjured, “I need you reporting on the upcoming tournament. Will this be a problem with your employer, or do I need to send Dorea to have a talk with him?”
She smiled sweetly at him, “Cuff has already given me free rein on tournament coverage, sir.”
Nodding, Sirius began to pace again, “Good. We have heard whisperings that the tournament will be used as a weapon against our family. As a family friend, we’re hoping you could help dampen the public outcry of what may happen.”
Dorea cleared her throat, “Are we also requesting any additional information? Perhaps she finds something she deems unprintable; should she relay this to us?”
Sirius waved a hand, “That’s a given. Anything additional she uncovers, we will pay handsomely for.”
Rita’s gold tooth gleamed in the firelight as her grin grew, “It would be my pleasure .”
Sirius smiled wolfishly as he turned to meet her grin; she was ensnared, “Now, I know reporters are not allowed on Hogwarts premises without prior authorization from staff, but you have a way around that, don’t you ?”
The blonde eyed him cautiously, her eyes flicking over to the corner of the room.
“Ignore him. My assistant has taken vows not to discuss Black matters with any others. You are a Black family friend and occasional employee; you fall under Black family matters.”
She nodded slowly, rolling her shoulders as she threw caution to the wind, and shrank into a tiny water beetle and then back.
He laughed, “Excellent.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned to gaze out the window, “Now, back in my school days, my friends and I developed a way to communicate with each other when we were wrongly assigned detentions.” He ignored the scoffs of his mothers, “Since that time, we have improved upon our designs.” He glanced over his shoulder, “Your glasses contain rhinestones, yes?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she eventually nodded and gently pulled the glasses off.
Sirius took the glasses and, a minute later, had one of the rhinestones replaced with a miniature mirror, “Tap your wand to this and either state or think ‘mirror, mirror on the wall show me Sirius Black.’ This will alert me that you are trying to reach me. I wear a receiving mirror on my wrist at all times.” He tapped what looked like a watch.
She eyed both her glasses and his watch shrewdly, “What if you are unable to respond?”
Sirius gestured around the room, “Every Black family member has a mirror on their person, as well as my assistant. If you can’t reach me, you can reach one of the others; just use their name instead of mine. To end the connection, you must state or think, ‘Rita, out.’ Your mirror is keyed to you and your name; even if I were to try and use it, I would have to use your phrase to end my call.”
Her lips quirked as she clawed at the rhinestone replacement, “These could come in very handy around the wizarding world.”
Sirius shrugged, “They could, but by being in the hands of my family, I know they aren’t being abused. I’d hate for something I created to be used against me.”
A quick nod told him she agreed with his reasoning.
“Now, down to business.” He sat on the edge of his desk, careful not to block Alice’s view, “We wish for someone to witness the pulling of the names.”
Her blood-red nails splayed out over the arm of the chair in excitement, “You think the cup will be tampered with?”
Alice cleared her throat, and all eyes fell on her, “We have a seer friend who is close to the family. She has been rather adamant that the tournament will be a burden on the family.”
Sirius grinned sharply, “And we Blacks are always paranoid.” He didn’t miss the small flick of Rita’s eyes toward his mother. Walburga preened at the gesture.
“So, on Halloween night, you wish for me to be in the castle?”
He nodded, “I will discuss it with Hadrian and Neville; you will hide yourself among their group at the table. If nothing happens, you will have firsthand news of the champions chosen. If what we assume happens, you get to witness the catastrophe in real-time.”
“Would you rather not be there?”
“My brothers will be there. The rest of us will be dining with Rosmerta and only a quick jaunt from the castle. If a Black is chosen, I want you to activate your mirror. In animagus form, you just need to touch your markings with your foot and think of the activation phrase.”
Rita grinned slowly, “This will be exciting.”
Sirius winced, “That’s one way of putting it.”
Ronald Weasley stood in the abandoned courtyard off the charms corridor, raking his hands through his hair.
He just didn’t understand the things running through his head. Yes, he had joked over the summer with Luna, playing at predicting various outcomes of meaningless things, like when it was to rain or whether the gnomes would be back tomorrow or in a week, but it was nothing compared to this.
After his father had claimed the Weasley Lordship, Ron had been granted access to the Weasley vault. The vault was full of family history, with hundreds of journals written by various ancestors over centuries. Each journal was a journey of unlocking and discovering the full potential of the Weasley family magic.
Over the few days he had access to the vault, Ron had devoured journal after journal. He was so invested in them that his father had bought him a new trunk with a warded compartment in which to keep the journals. Every evening, he sat within the confines of his four-poster bed, reading and learning.
What he learned was something that his little blonde neighbor had been hinting at for months. He was descended from seers, and his family’s particular gift was the gift of foresight. Whereas Luna’s gift seemed to cover a broad spectrum of capabilities, Ron’s family could see seconds, actions, moves, or alternates.
If he thought about it, it’s probably what made Charlie such a good seeker, always a move ahead of his opponents. Percy, being the second son, would be able to see two ahead and the twins, three and four. It still baffled him that Bill wasn’t a true Weasley. What his mother had done was a huge shock to the family.
That left Ron as the fifth son.
Weasleys were always known to have large families, each coupling often having three or more children; now Ron understood why. For every new child born to a Weasley, the family grew stronger, and so did the family magic. His inheritance of the gift was more than all of his brothers, and he was determined to learn every facet of it. If only he could figure out how to guide the gift into working when he wanted it to.
Currently, all he wished to know were the names of the champions for the upcoming tournament. But what he was seeing just wasn’t possible.
With Luna’s help, he had found a journal from a sixth-born son born in the 1600s who seemed to be the closest to his ability that he could find. Using the techniques described, Ron searched for answers on the tournament.
He focused on what he knew and searched for the points of time in which the outcomes could deviate. This was the only way to direct his gift into showing him something further down the road.
Using his gift to see seconds or moves into the future was second nature to him. He had always thought his chess skills were just because he understood the game's complexity; He never dreamt it was because the moves he played over and over in his head were the possible outcomes of his opponent. It had only taken him applying the same concept to everyday tasks, like potions, to realize he was a natural at it. His grades had never been better.
Back to the task at hand, he thought of the drawing of names. This would be the most significant deviation in the tournament. The various outcomes of the challenge obstacles would change depending on who was chosen.
He was able to see five outcomes. Five different groupings of champions for the Triwizard Tournament, only there were always four champions.
Diggory, Fleur, Krum, Hadrian | Fawley, Moodeau, Petrov, Neville | Angelina, Delisle, Kostov, Hermione | Davies, Legrand, Devin, Draco | McClaggen, Blanc, Dmitriev, Fabian
And then the tasks themselves? Fire. Water. Earth.
The first night back in the castle, he had witnessed a darkened forest clearing with four large cages. The vision shifted as he swiveled between the cages, the creatures within changing. Regardless of the species in the cages, he could feel the heat through the vision and hear the roars as the cages thrashed.
Then, he was pulled away. He saw triumph, destruction, or sorrow. Each grouping of dragons reacted differently with each group of champions. This was where his gift was less helpful. The champions were the first diversion, the dragons the second. He wouldn’t be able to see the possibilities with the dragons until he knew which champions were chosen and which dragons were used. It was beyond frustrating.
The response from Charlie had been less than helpful: a dragon figurine and a tin of burn paste. Honestly, a straightforward letter was too much work for the eldest Weasley.
He really needed to revisit some of the other journals. Maybe there was a more recent ancestor he could get help from.
“Ron?”
He spun around to find Luna framed in the doorway to the castle, “Dinner’s about to begin. The nargles can wait.”
He nodded and followed her down the hall in silence.
Yes, the nargles could wait.
Hadrian slid into the open seat at the library table, “Ron’s on to something.”
His curly-haired cousin sighed deeply as she proofread her essay, “What, Hadrian, is Ron on to?”
He noted the annoyance in her tone and posture, “He has possible names of who will be picked. He told me after Potions today to stay away from the goblet.”
“Goblet?”
Hadrian nodded, even though she was still not looking, “The impartial judge that chooses the names.”
“Huh.” She bit the end of her quill, “Was that all he said?”
Hadrian glanced around, “No. You know he’s the fifth son, right?” Ignoring the rolling of her eyes, he continued, “Well, after telling me to avoid the goblet, he listed some names and then ran off.”
“What names?”
“Hadrian, Neville, Hermione, Draco, Fabian.”
Her eyes flicked up from her parchment, “Not Gideon?”
“No.”
“That’s a bit odd.”
He glared at her, “That’s what you choose to focus on? Not the fact that you’re lumped in there as well?”
“Well, if it’s someone going after Blacks, it would make the most sense to go after those that have been established in Britain longer. Fabian and Gideon only moved here last year, and Dudley isn’t even known as a Black.”
“Is he agonizing over our impending doom to you as well?”
Hadrian turned to glare at his brother and cousin, “Yes, Draco. Seeing as we’re all possible targets.”
The blonde smirked, “That is true, but you came first in his vision lineup, which means you have a higher chance of falling victim. I’m happy being the fourth option on this one.”
Neville bumped his shoulder against his, “Three days until the other schools arrive. Just relax your worried mind for three more days.”
Those three days were torture for Hadrian. His magic bristled around him, and his friends were wary of sitting too close to him at meal times.
When they were finally told to drop off their bags after class and congregate in the entry hall, he was buzzing with anticipation. He was among the first of their year in the hall, and only Daphne’s reassuring touch prevented him from pacing the room.
Albus Dumbledore glided down the stairs beside a grizzled old man with a peg leg and an eye patch. He had to stop at the base of the stairs for the man to catch up before he turned towards the students.
“In a few moments, we will be greeting our guests for the remainder of the year. Before we do that, I wish to introduce Mr. Alastair Moody. He will be staying here with us for the duration of the tournament as a reassurance to many of your parents.”
The students stared blankly at the pieced-together man before the headmaster strolled forward and pushed the doors wide open, “Let us welcome our guests, shall we?”
One by one, the groups were led out by their heads of house to stand on the front steps. He could hear McGonagall giving a pep talk to her lions while Severus only nodded in satisfaction at his snakes before turning toward the lawn.
“Ah,” the headmaster’s gentle voice broke the silence, “The delegation from Beauxbatons approaches.”
Hadrian careened his neck to try and make out the incoming school.
“ Up there! ”
His gaze turned skyward as he blocked out the murmurs from the other students.
There, among the clouds, was a rapidly growing speck. Within the ten seconds he had been staring at it, the blob began to take shape. He could make out winged horses pulling a large powder blue carriage.
“Should we use our translation charms?”
Hadrian turned sideways to watch Hermione standing on her tiptoes, trying to watch the students disembark the carriage, “You speak French; why do you need the charm?”
She scoffed, “I speak the tourist equivalent of French; I could never fully understand the different regional slang or expressions.”
Neville chuckled, “If you must, Father provided us with a translation ring and pin.”
Hermione slowly turned toward Neville, “A what now?”
Hadrian smirked at his brother; he just had to rub it in Hermione’s face that Sirius was good at finding shortcuts. His father had crafted the translator ring in his auror days when he tried to pick up ‘foreign birds’ after work. Of course, he lacked a way for the ‘birds’ to understand him, and his butchered attempt at their languages left them rather annoyed with him.
Thus, both Hadrian and Neville wore a ring and a pin on their body; the ring allowed them to understand the foreign language, and the pin worn on their tie knots altered their output to equal what the listener wished to hear. Sirius had said he had been inspired by a muggle radio show and something called a Babelfish. The original concept held an earring instead of a ring, but Walburga forbade the design and requested Goblin help to fix the issue.
“Oh, look! There’s Fleur!”
Hermione’s ire was forgotten as she waved to the blonde witch, who was ushered quickly into the castle by her headmistress.
Draco sniggered, “I can’t believe Dudley wore those robes for three years .”
Hadrian chuckled as his attention was stolen by the bubbling surface of the Black Lake. Durmstrang had arrived.
“It's Krum! ”
Hadrian was relatively sure that had been Ron’s voice that had called out above the crowd. But sure enough, Viktor Krum was walking with a sour-faced man with a black goatee.
As the Hogwarts students returned to the great hall, the visiting schools debated on finding seats among the tables. While most Beauxbatons sat at the Ravenclaw table, Fleur and a brunette boy in pale blue robes sat with Dudley at the Hufflepuff table. The Durmstrang students all squeezed onto the benches at the Slytherin table.
Krum himself sat next to Draco and across from Hermione. Krum seemed somewhat surprised that all he got was a ‘Hello’ from the two.
When all of the students were seated, Albus stood from his throne. He pulled a wooden goblet from a case before him and held it up for the room to see.
That innocent-looking goblet would decide Hadrian’s fate. He watched as Brian activated the cup, and blue flames sprung forth from its mouth. He rather wished the flames would eat the wooden cup whole.
Hadrian observed the Durmstrang headmaster and Beauxbaton headmistress, who sat on either side of Dumbledore. Throughout Dumbledore’s speech, he listened to their surface thoughts, trying to see if either was the threat he needed to watch for.
The giant French headmistress had nothing sinister thrown out, only disdain for the ‘ filthy castle ’ and the ‘ horrible weather .’
The Durmstrang head had far more interesting thoughts. For starters, the man was trying to get a read on his uncle Severus. A rather stupid thing to do as he was haphazardly throwing his thoughts out for any budding legilimens to snatch up. Hadrian was sure his uncle already had the man well and truly mapped out. But the other glaringly obvious thought line was the headmaster's utter disdain for children. How he became the head of a school was beyond Hadrian’s comprehension. The man only seemed interested in the power the position held.
The thought reminded Hadrian of another headmaster who had too much power.
Hadrian was jostled from his pondering as the students around him began to make their plates. Apparently, he had missed the arrival of the food.
“You didn’t hear a word of that, did you?”
He turned to stare at his cousin next to him. She stared at him with an exasperated look. He slowly grinned, knowing it would irritate her, “That’s what I have you for, right?”
Her eyes narrowed, and he felt the stinging hex hit his knee.
He chuckled as she quickly turned away.
A gentle squeeze on his wrist grabbed his attention, and he turned, Daphne’s ice-blue eyes boring into his, “You are going to upset her.”
Smiling, he winked at her, “She’s stuck with me.”
As he turned away from the chuckling witch, he caught the curious gaze of one Viktor Krum. The older boy maintained eye contact briefly before furrowing his brow and flicking his gaze from Hermione to Daphne and back.
That interested Hadrian, but he had already returned the dampening ring to his finger. Ignoring his curious nature, Hadrian tucked into his meal.
Tomorrow, he would know what fate awaited the Black family.