[X] Pansy (this sort of social butterfly stuff is her strong point, being a Slytherin), and [X] Rachelle - who is connected to the Touranment, but distanced enough to give us the "outsider's viewpoint" (and this sort of social stuff isn't her strong point, so you automatically have diametrically opposed viewpoints.Originally Posted by alfheimwanderer
. . . And I also vote [X] Back to Durmstrang
“Love will be cruel to who it entices — love will have its sacrifices.”
— Carmilla Theme
"Evil isn't the real threat to the world. Stupid is just as destructive as Evil, maybe more so, and it's a hell of a lot more common. What we really need is a crusade against Stupid. That might actually make a difference."
―Jim Butcher, Vignette
[X] Illuminati
Very well then. An [x] Illuminati interlude it will be. Though I suppose as a bonus I can throw in a bit of Fleur.
Writing in progress. Any questions so far?
Edit: I'm on my usual channel now on IRC. Its been a busy week, so apologies for the delay.
Last edited by alfheimwanderer; April 26th, 2017 at 10:32 PM.
Chapter 49. An Unblinking Eye
For all that she spent a great deal of time in the part of the United States that fell under the aegis of the Magical Congress of the United States of America and reported to its current head of state, Elesa Labelle, Potions Champion of Ilvermorny, was not, strictly speaking, a witch.
Nor, for that matter, was she a full-time student at the Wizarding School she had been chosen to represent, with much of her instruction taking place at an enchanted edifice in the Appalachian Mountains. The structure had originally been created to serve as MACUSA headquarters, but had been abandoned shortly thereafter due to the inconvenience posed by its distance from the cities where American wizards preferred to congregate.
Even if one could apparate, such a skill was of limited utility when individuals were scattered across a continent as large as North America, given that one could only apparate to places one had either visually seen or had physically been to beforehand – within a limited range, no less.
Not one to waste a perfectly serviceable installation, Illuminati magi had taken possession of the property sometime later, and had turned it into a training facility for their agents – one that still operated into the present day as the Graves Institute.
‘These days, of course, the Graves Institute is loosely affiliated with Ilvermorny, offering specialized training to a select group of graduates whose abilities and interests fall outside a standard wizarding curriculum.’
Training which included fieldcraft and combat applications of magic, yes, but also global politics, economics, social manipulation and firearms handling – all things that prospective field agents of the Illuminati might find useful.
Agents like Elesa Labelle, who sat at a desk in a small, but well-lit room in the edifice, going over a stack of reports.
‘Granted, I’m a few years younger than most at the Institute but…that’s because I’m not a witch. Or a magus, at that.’
Both magi and practitioners of witchcraft required years of training to be effective in using their gifts: the former to learn how to open their Circuits and cope with the pain of pulling magical energy through channels humans had never been meant to possess; the latter, to learn how to consciously tap into the magical energy flowing through them and use it for something more useful than passively augmenting their health.
The Imbued, however, did not, but then, they were something of a special case, as every one of them on record had been born as a human lacking any magical potential whatsoever – something the Illuminati knew for a fact, given that they tracked the births and death of every individual in North America with such potential using the pseudo-spiriton powered LAPLACE observation platform.
“What’s the current consensus by the thinktank? That people like me were empowered by the world to act as weapons in its defense?” Elesa asked, as her mentor and teacher, Rebekah Huygens – a young woman who, like her, was one of the most dangerous individuals in America – and an Illuminati operative – came through the door. “Something that bridges the gap between merely human intervention and an all-out response by Counter-Guardians?”
“There’s a reason people like you are often called Gaia’s Chosen,” Rebakah responded quietly. “The sample size is…fairly small, as you know—”
“That’s putting it lightly, isn’t it? What with three in the last century, including me? Then another two in the century before that?” Elesa interjected, shaking her head. “Fairly small doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“—but almost every Imbued we know of was empowered in response to a current or looming crisis.” The analyst and spirit pacification specialist smiled grimly. “Granted, we don’t have information on Imbued in other countries, but pattern seems consistent. Still, I suppose that leaves you wondering why you were Chosen, doesn’t it, given that the situation isn’t as grim as it seems during the time our Chairwoman was a mere field agent?”
“That it does,” Elesa responded, shaking her head.
Chairwoman Vântoase had been Imbued during the height of the Great Depression, and the exploits of the squad she’d commanded during the Second World War had been nothing short of legendary, with the woman having fought Templars, brought psychic, vampiric Soviet super-soldiers to heel, and of course, prevented the end of the world at the hands of Nazi magi toying with the Spear of Destiny – one of several anchors that fastened reality onto illusion.
Those of her associate, John Harper, were not as well-known among the rank and file, because his interventions were subtler, but they had been no less pivotal to determining the course of history. It was he who had convinced Henry Stinson to remove Kyoto from the list of cities to be burned by nuclear fire, posed as an Enforcer of the Association to persuade a reluctant Albus Dumbledore to face his old friend – thereby neatly putting an end to the Grindelwald issue – or worked behind the scenes to ease the repeal of Rappaport’s Law, setting the stage for the Illuminati to facilitate greater cooperation between the MACUSA, the US Government, and other magic using groups.
…all things considered, what her immediate predecessors had accomplished made for a rather difficult act to follow, especially as the world didn’t seem to be in crisis, with the Cold War having recently ended.
“There is the current unrest in Britain,” Rebakah Huygens pointed out. “Which may or may not boil over into the rest of Europe.”
“Perhaps, but our current intelligence indicates that the happenings in Britain are regional, at best,” Elesa noted, shaking her head. “Unless there’s something like a second Grindelwald incident, there’s nothing that would require the intervention of an Imbued.”
“…except if time travel comes into play,” her mentor mused aloud. “There was a time when that was a topic of intense research, among both the magical world and the mundane.”
“Yes, I recall the Soviet Union being particularly interested in that, as well as the US Government at one point,” the young operative murmured, her eyes narrowing as she recalled one example of particular note. “The Philadelphia Experiment was one such attempt which we had to…sabotage and cover up, yes?”
“Indeed. It does not do to be reckless with time, given the damage that a temporal paradox can cause in the present day.” Miss Huygens’ lips pressed together into a thin line as she shook her head. “We’ve seen it happen before, which is why the Labyrinth and certain of our key facilities are temporally shielded. Not that you require such.”
While the mysteries of how Imbued were selected and their ultimate source of power remained unsolved, the metaphysics of what happened to those who were Chosen had been well-documented, with their bodies and souls transformed through a union with an aspect of Gaia into implacable, nigh-immortal protectors of the balance, gifted with an intuitive understanding of how to shape the magical energy (the life-force of Gaia), the ability to travel freely through the Other Side of the World, and protection from any temporal interference.
“…I suppose not, though even with the price I paid to become what I am, temporal mechanics still gives me a headache,” the blonde groused, sighing in irritation as she looked at the collection of books around her and the notes on her desk.
Rebekah Huygens winced sympathetically.
Most members of the Illuminati, while aware of what Imbued were to some degree, had little idea of what the transformation process was like. Indeed, it was often – erroneously – assumed they just went to sleep one day, before waking up the next with a versatility envied by wizards and a potential that exceeded that of all but the greatest of magi, an assumption that the Board of Directors did not go out of their way to correct, as it minimized the likelihood of magical abuse of mundanes, even if it did mean that Miss Labelle were sometimes resented.
In truth, while the transformation did take place overnight, it took about a week for newly Imbued individuals to stabilize, and during that period, it was not uncommon for their powers to go out of control, leading to considerable property damage, at the least. In that sense, it was not unlike the accidental magic of wizards, only instead of the comparatively small pool of energy such individuals possessed, Imbued were directly connected to the lifeforce of the world, with the effects of their losses of control being resultantly…large and varied.
In that regard, Elesa Labelle was no exception.
A little over three years ago, she had been a girl on the cusp of her teenage years, who’d wanted nothing more than to be a musician. She’d grown up in Connecticut – in Greenwich, if one wanted to be specific – with a supportive, fairly wealthy family, and friends who were more interested in science than sorcery.
The only magic she’d known growing up – the only one she’d ever wanted to practice – had been that of music. To her, there’d been nothing in the world like a live performance, with the sound and energy of the performers mixing with the emotions of the audience to create something truly sublime. It was something that could make the most hardened veteran weep, bring joy to the faces and hearts of the suffering, transport someone to another place and time.
And then one day, all that had gone up in flames.
Her childhood home had spontaneously caught fire in wee hours of the morning what investigators later concluded was a gas explosion, with everyone and everything within being consumed in the intense conflagration. Everyone but her, and that was only because she had been pulled out of reality into the Other Side of the World shortly after the fire began.
Shortly after she’d inadvertently started the fire due to her unstable soul being unable to handle being connected to the magical energy of the planet.
…when she reappeared in the middle of the night two weeks later, after stumbling through the dreamscapes of her peers and gaining some semblance of control over her abilities, only ruins remained.
There was nothing left.
Her home was gone. Her family was gone. She was presumed to have died in the fire. Her very innocence and joy had been burned away.
She’d wondered then if she’d gone mad, if the stress of lessons and finals together had led to a psychotic break, and if none of this was real.
Because if none of it was real, then maybe everyone was still alive.
Maybe she hadn’t…maybe…
In the present, Elesa Labelle shook her head, a bitter smile flitting across her lips as she remembered the woman who had saved her from herself.
Anastasia Vântoase, or Ana, as the elder Imbued had insisted Elesa call her, had found her that day, a huddled ball of grief collapsed amongst the dust and ashes of her childhood. The older woman had sat next to her as if it was perfectly natural for her to do so, waiting silently until she was ready to speak.
“Who are you?” Elesa had asked eventually, since the statuesque redhead her imagination had conjured up didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
“Ana,” the woman had replied. “And you?”
“…I don’t know,” Elesa had admitted, still staring at the charred remains of what used to be her house. “I don’t…”
“This was your house, child?”
The question had been a gentle one, but it had set her to weeping all over again, with the woman comforting her for a time.
“Right about now, you’re thinking you’ve gone mad,” Ana had commented, with Elesa looking up sharply. “Because if you were mad, then none of this would be real. None of this would be your fault.”
“…what?”
“It’s not, you know. And you’re not.”
“…not…?”
“It’s not uncommon for people like us to lose control when we are made what we are,” Ana had reflected, conjuring up a small vortex of green light in one of her hands, before extinguishing it. “Our flesh and spirit reshaped to serve some higher purpose.” The redhead had chuckled, a low and bitter sound that had no mirth in it whatsoever. “It is a curse, you know, but also a gift.”
“A…gift?”
“Every curse is a gift from someone’s point of view, if not entirely wanted. Just as every gift can be a curse.” Ana had chuckled once more and sighed. “People like us, we’re doubly cursed. Cursed with power, yet cursed with free will.”
“Cursed?”
“You will see the end of days,” the woman had intoned, as if reciting something from memory, speaking the words that echoed in Elesa’s mind after days in the dreaming. “You will see the dawning of a new age.”
The words had come easily to the tip of her tongue.
“To bring it about, or to preserve the world you know. To save, or to destroy. All this is within your power,” Elesa had whispered.
“You are of the Chosen, and so must choose,” Ana had supplied. “For you are cursed with free will…”
“Make the right choices…” Elesa had concluded, frowning as she looked – really looked at the woman sitting beside her, at the immaculate white business suit the elder woman wore, the knives of eldritch green spinning around her hands, at the sense of quiet confidence radiating from her, as if she was perfectly at home here – and anywhere. “How did you…?”
“We’re not so different, you and I,” ‘Ana’ had said, the knives shifting into a serpent of flames that Elesa had flinched back from before fading away to nothingness. “Though I suppose more formal introductions are in order. My name is Anastasia Vântoase, Chairwoman of the Illuminati, and like you, a Chosen of Gaia.”
That was the day she had taken up the name Elesa Labelle, as her old one was no longer…any good to anyone, really. The day she had been recruited into the Illuminati, the day when she had gained a new home, a new purpose, a new family – if a somewhat dysfunctional one.
She’d learned much in the years since.
That despite all the information and influence the Illuminati had, no one had been able to predict who might be Imbued.
That while the Chosen of Gaia were gifted with a brand of immortality by resurrection, that did not mean that each death was not…unpleasant, as she’d discovered after an incident involving cultists in the frozen north trying to summon Ithaqua.
That she was an instrument the world had empowered to serve the Greater Good, and that the actions of her predecessors had left her with very large shoes to fill.
…and that in a lot of ways, the magical side of the world wasn’t really that different from the mundane, as both were filled with people.
She’d spent her first year after recruitment at the Labyrinth, being trained in the basic skills that all Illuminati were expected to know and doing research into the moonlit world so that she would better understand it.
Her next two years had been spent at Ilvermorny and other places administered by the MACUSA, where she’d lived among witches and wizards, learned their habits and foibles, become accepted as one of them – even becoming their Potions Champion, and a popular model among people her age.
This year, she’d been embedded at the Graves Institute, working at the intersection of the Muggle and Magical worlds, while simultaneously preparing for her mission to investigate the Isle of Thule – and of course, to deliver certain documents to the representatives of the Egyptian Center for Alchemical Studies she had been informed would be present.
In the present, Rebekah Huygens, the specialist who had been assigned to train and mentor her, sighed and shook her head.
“You’re frustrated, aren’t you?”
“I am, but then I’m a teenager – I’m allowed to be frustrated, especially when it seems like I’m not making any progress,” Elesa pointed out peevishly. “Aren’t I?”
“I suppose, though you know better than to mention that to anyone else,” Rebekah chided, her words reproachful. “While your relative youth is one of the things that sets you apart, it isn’t always in a good way. Among us, you are known to be one of the Imbued, and so have been given a measure of respect, but you know as well as I do that until you accomplish something of great worth yourself, you will also be the target of resentment. After all, Imbued are chosen to serve in a time of crisis, and there isn’t one that most of us can see. Not yet.”
“And no one wants to hear that dark days are coming?” Elesa commented wryly.
“Not if we can’t see what might cause them, no,” the older woman commented. “Speaking of which, do you have anything to report since the last time we talked?”
“Well, there is the fact that Matou Shinji, the British Potions Champion, was reported to have died several months ago, given news reports from his hometown,” the blonde stated with a frown. “Yet he is clearly alive and well.”
“Anything else?”
“The Russians are probably up to something. They always are,” Elesa noted diffidently. “I think the cold and alcohol probably addles their brains.”
“Possible. Or it could be lingering Templar influence,” Rebekah replied. “Russia has always been one of their favorite staging areas, after all.”
“…you would know.”
“…yes. Yes I would,” the brunette answered quietly. There was a moment of silence, in which Elesa knew better than to speak, but that moment passed. “Go on, Miss Labelle.”
“The Japanese Champion is likely to be dangerous on the field, given that her well of power seems as limitless as my own, but she seems the dutiful sort,” the young Chosen noted. “I think if anything, I might end up working with her eventually.”
“That’s not out of the realm of possibility. I imagine Director Harper would be glad to see such a collaboration, especially if she is as powerful as you and President Quahog seem to believe. If it comes to a confrontation, don’t hold back too much, but try not to kill her either. Not everyone has your ability to cheat death.”
“…that I am very much aware of,” Elesa noted pointedly. It was Rebekah’s turn to be silent, knowing that this was something of a sensitive area for her mentee. “Was there anything else you wanted to share?”
“Several small things. First, I’m still concerned about the possibility of temporal manipulation,” the brunette voiced, crossing her arms. “Especially considering the age at which you were Chosen, given half a decade in advance of an incident is the earliest we have seen someone become Imbued. Coupled with the apparent lack of any major crises these last four years.”
“You’re suggesting that I was Chosen so early because my age will be a factor in getting me in position to intervene in whatever is coming?”
“Yes. Otherwise, it should not have been necessary for a new Imbued to be Chosen, given that we have two currently active,” Rebekah commented dryly. “As much as it is nice to have the extra firepower, I think Chairwoman Vântoase or Director Harper would have been able to manage. No, if you were Chosen, there is a reason for it, even if we don’t know what it might be.”
“I appreciate the faith, Rebekah. Sometimes…”
“Sometimes it is difficult, especially at your age.”
“Anything else?” Elesa inquired, not dignifying the comment about her youth with a response.
“Well, our contact in the Order of Assassins left us a report a couple days ago,” the spirit pacification specialist noted. “Apparently, Grindelwald alive. With Voldemort possessing him as a wraith.”
“…I’m getting the feeling Britain might end up being the cause of the coming trouble after all.”
“I couldn’t imagine why.”
Feel free to comment on the chapter or ask questions about the worldbuilding.
Choice 169: I can either do two more interludes or one and Matou and Co returning to Durmstrang. Pick what you'd like to see. (choose two)
[ ] The adventures of Fleur and Viktor (Second Task)
[ ] How the Fujou Family is doing
[ ] Harry Potter and the Perils of Paperwork
[ ] Severus Snape and the Resurrection Stone
[ ] Matou and Co returning to Durmstrang
Last edited by alfheimwanderer; May 2nd, 2017 at 10:17 AM.
Hmmm, magical agents with guns trained in the Appalachians...could they be more 'Merican that that?
Its nice to see next years plot line starting to really come into the light.
Choice 169: [X] How the Fujou Family is doing
[X] Harry Potter and the Perils of Paperwork
No reason for this other than to see what Shinji's two sorta best friends are up to. I have to say that Harry Potter and the Perils of Paperwork sounds like a horrible HP fanfiction where an adult Harry is working in a office cubical. But really we should use the title Perils of Paperwork as a chapter title for the next time we have Ofuda-users battle against each other as there paperwork flies at each other.
Last edited by Skull Leader; May 1st, 2017 at 04:05 PM.
[x] Harry Potter and the Perils of Paperwork
[x] Severus Snape and the Resurrection Stone
[x] Harry Potter and the Perils of Paperwork
[x] Severus Snape and the Resurrection Stone
We really need to catch up with Harry. Plus, Snape/Stone that lets him see a certain dead person should be fun.
Cold and alcohol... That hurts, Elesa. 1994 was pretty warm.
Guess i'll second Skull Leader's choice - we had enough of Snape already, and will see Matou's return anyway, just a bit later.
Choice 169:
[x] How the Fujou Family is doing
[x] Harry Potter and the Perils of Paperwork
Adventures of Fleur and Viktor and Fujou Family
Very well. [x] Fujou Family and [x] Harry Potter and the Perils of Paperwork it is
Expect a chapter by week's end.
Keywords: Fuyuki. Living grudges. Ethics in Journalism.
Last edited by alfheimwanderer; May 9th, 2017 at 12:40 PM.
Chapter 50. In Good Conscience
As he stood alone in his dress robes, his features thrown into sharp relief by the spotlight shining down on him, Harry Potter sighed inwardly. While the British Youth Representative was happy to serve the nation that had become his home, he found himself irritated that the Wizengamot had summoned him yet again to give a statement on the current antics of his friend, Matou Shinji, especially as it called him away from far more important work.
He had been working with Albert Runcorn, head of the Office of Information, a newly established division of the Department of War, on how to ensure that no sensitive information was being leaked from the Ministry (or other secure sites such as Hogwarts) to foreign agents – and how to neutralize any that were discovered discretely.
The fact that the Headmaster of Karkaroff had possessed a physical copy of the Daily Prophet suggested that the Ministry’s ban on communications outside the country was being flouted somehow, and even if the information in the Prophet could be slanted at times, that didn’t mean that it couldn’t be useful to a hostile government.
After all, the lies one chose to tell were often just as revealing as the bits of truth.
In response to this, the Department of War had done two things: 1) Establish a central clearing house for the Owl Post, through which all mail in Magical Britain would pass; and 2) Take direct control of the Daily Prophet.
The first was necessary so the contents could be properly screened for information that could be dangerous in the wrong hands, or, of course, activity that was otherwise…irregular, and really wasn’t that big a step up from screening all mail to and from Hogwarts, which they were already doing.
The second had been done so they could alter the printing presses to include a unique number and magical signature on each copy of the Prophet, as well as making them impossible to copy without specialized equipment. That way, they could not only find out what people were doing with the newspapers they received, but also track down the spy, if he were to act once more.
Beyond that, the Office of Information had begun several other key initiatives to make Britain safe again.
One of the most significant was tracking down anyone who had bought a Vanishing Cabinet in the last few years, given that these items presented a major security risk to Britain, as they could be used to smuggle contraband, correspondence, or even people from one location to another without passing through the OoI’s sphere of influence. While the Ministry had been content to allow them to be bought and sold during peacetime, now that Britain’s very existence was at stake, it was unwilling to risk these artifacts being in the hands of civilians.
Thanks to these items being registered by the Ministry, it had proven simple enough to find the original purchasers of these items, though from there things often became more troublesome. Sometimes, a cabinet – or an entire pair, had been gifted to another – or others, with the original buyer knowing nothing of where they had gone. Sometimes, the items had been resold by someone who didn’t know their value. And sometimes, they were simply “lost.”
Knowing that a heavy-handed approach (e.g. sending in Aurors to confiscate them from their buyers) could be perceived quite negatively, the Office of Information had taken a softer touch, announcing that possessing of such items was now illegal, and offering an amnesty – and a generous bounty of cold, hard coin for either cabinets themselves or information that led to the retrieval of one.
As it happened, a good number of wizards were willing to inform on their fellow citizens for the right incentive – and so, many who tried to hide such cabinets had been discovered, and their lands and assets confiscated for their disloyalty to the Ministry.
The Office of Information had also been in talks with the Committee on Experimental Charms about deploying a new spell they had recently devised, one which could give the Ministry the location of any wizard or witch who used certain key words. So far, the only word they had agreed on was Portus, as all had agreed that only a subversive or an enemy of the state would be interested in making unsanctioned Portkeys, but the Boy-Who-Lived felt that didn’t go far enough.
Indeed, where the Head of the Office of Information simply wanted to use it to track those who might be disaffected or disloyal, Harry thought it would be a much wiser idea to simply use a set of words that would allow them to track everyone.
‘After all, if they’re not doing anything wrong, they have nothing to be afraid of, right? This would be for their own protection.’
So he had been in the process of arguing to Albert Runcorn when the summons from the Wizengamot had come, by way of enchanted paper airplane, with the older man shaking his head as he read the contents of the missive.
“If you ask me, your friend is stirring up more trouble than he’s worth, Potter,” Runcorn had said gruffly, shaking his head. “Maybe he helped you once, but here and now? He’s dangerous. To himself, and to you.”
“Even so, sir, he’s my friend,” Harry had replied. “And whatever else he is, I know he’s a good person. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything he’s done.”
“I’m sure he thinks so,” Runcorn had grunted. “We are all heroes in our own stories, after all. Well, except those of us who are supporting characters.”
Harry had managed a chuckle.
“I’ll try not to take too long.”
“See that you don’t. This whole thing should have been handled by Magical Games and Sports, not the full Wizengamot, but…”
“…that was disbanded, yes. Since I can’t do anything about that, I just have to live with it.”
Still, now that he was standing once again before the Wizengamot, dealing with the fallout of his friend’s actions once again, the Boy-Who-Lived found himself more than little tired of this nonsense. He’d gone through this whole rigmarole more times than he’d cared to count, given all the oddities associated with his oldest friend.
When it had come to the attention of the Ministry that Shinji had bought quite a few Vanishing Cabinets, for instance, some had wanted to raid his manor, stating that it was the perfect opportunity to do so while the Potions Champion was stuck at Hogwarts and Durmstrang. Harry had successfully convinced them otherwise, given that whatever they thought of him, Shinji was Potions Champion, representing Britain on the world stage, and given his travel restrictions, it wasn’t as if he could be acting as the agent of some foreign power. Besides, in the event that they wanted to recruit him after the Tournament, it would not look good if they had raided his house.
It would be one thing if they’d had evidence that Shinji had done something wrong, but with none, and not even knowing if the Cabinets were even there?
That was just foolishness.
“Representative Potter,” the Chief Warlock pro-tem (not Minister Malfoy, as the man had better things to do, but one of the others. Rhodes, he thought the dark-skinned man’s name was, though he wasn’t certain). “We thank you for coming before us so quickly.”
“It was no trouble,” Harry answered, looking at the man, and at the sea of purple-robed figures seated behind him. “It is my pleasure to be of service.” He inclined his head slightly, with the man returning his nod.
“Then let us begin,” Rhodes spoke simply. “For the record, we have gathered here today to discuss the recent actions of the British Potions Champion, with particular regards to whether he is tarnishing the honor of our nation and needs to be replaced.”
As a Champion, after all, Matou Shinji was something of a celebrity, and his choices and deeds reflected positively – or negatively – on the people who he had been chosen to represent.
Which meant that the fact that he was known to be an inveterate womanizer – or at least painted as one by the Prophet – and a cause of scandal and outrage, was very trying to the Wizengamot, who wished that the boy would at least be discreet about his affairs.
The story of Matou Shinji, like that of his fellow Stone Cutters, was fairly well known in one version or another, with almost all variants mentioning that since the death of Sialim Sokaris, the boy named Matou Shinji had been a bit…different than most of his peers, darker, more driven, dangerous, becoming skilled in the combat arts and seeking comfort in the arms of lonely young girls who he charmed with sweet words and forbidden knowledge, until they were his completely.
Hermione Granger had been the first and most obvious example, of his targets, having become so attached to him that when he finally moved on to another, the shock of it had driven her from Hogwarts completely.
Then there was Luna Lovegood, the boy’s current lover – at least officially, who he had left Granger for, and with whom he had gone on a quest to obtain a quite unusual familiar. She, too, was a Stone Cutter, and was…more than a little unusual.
There was Pansy Parkinson, who some had suspected might be his next potential conquest, though until now, he’d done nothing to confirm it.
….and then there was whatever was happening in Durmstrang.
By now, most had heard how Matou Shinji had volunteered to become the bodyguard of the French Veela, though opinions were split as to whether she had subverted him with her wiles, or whether he had freely chosen to follow her because he wanted to get into her knickers. Harry, of course, had told those who would listen that it was neither, that Shinji meant well, and was only trying to limit the damage to Britain’s reputation, but…
…he hadn’t been entirely believed.
What was less defensible was how the Potions Champion spent an inordinate amount of time around Durmstrang with Rachelle Lestrange, the Beauxbatons Potions Champion, who just so happened to look like a more mature Luna Lovegood (and shared a last name with Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Witch who had tortured two Aurors to insanity, and hadn’t that fact been played up in the papers?). Sparring and working on potions, Harry could understand, since it made sense to learn from one’s competitors, but…spending every free moment he could with her? Sitting with her at meals? Bathing with her in the hot springs of Durmstrang?
That alone would have brought Wizengamot pause, though the brazenness of his most recent act eclipsed that entirely.
“Representative Potter, are you aware of Champion Matou’s…Arctic expedition, shortly after the announcement of the Second Task?” Rhodes probed.
“I am,” Harry replied, with but a moment’s hesitation. “What of it?”
“Do you have any…special information on why he, Lestrange, and Parkinson decided to disappear into the wilds?” the man inquired. “Or do you agree that they simply wanted privacy for some debauched, hormonally-driven…affair?”
Harry’s pause was somewhat longer this time.
“Sir, with all due respect, I’m sure the Champion has a perfectly reasonable explanation for this that we’re simply not aware of,” the Boy-Who-Lived spoke carefully. “We should at least give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“We have done so on multiple occasions, Representative Potter, and on your word alone,” Rhodes stated blandly. “And on each occasion, he has gone on to do worse. There are limits on what sort of behavior this august body will tolerate from a Champion of Britain. And if he indeed has some reason for his choice of companions on this ill-advised expedition besides his…youthful desires, surely Miss Parkinson would have advised us of this?”
That was the other complication here, given that Pansy Parkinson’s freedom of movement between Hogwarts and Durmstrang stemmed entirely from her being assigned to report on the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament by the Daily Prophet.
Heading off on an excursion with the Potions Champion and one of his French paramours was not covered under her remit, and frankly, since the Prophet had come under the control of the Ministry, was liable to lead to her assignment being canceled altogether, with someone more reliable and less swayed by hormones, like Rita Skeeter, taking her place.
After all, there were rules and boundaries that a journalist was not supposed to break, that in their eyes, Miss Parkinson had already broken. The fact that she – a journalist – was sleeping with the Potions Champion, called every one of her reports into question.
Even if she hadn’t done anything wrong, the appearance of misconduct mattered.
…and because of it, they almost certainly were going to deny her the privilege of representing Britain’s news media at the Potions Championship, due to her ethics violation. Even sending a conspiracy theorist like Xenophilius Lovegood would cause less scandal than…a reporter who was engaged in a relationship with the person she was supposed to report on.
“Perhaps she did not report it because she did not think she would be believed,” the Boy-Who-Lived said softly, holding up a hand as Rhodes stiffened. “I don’t offer this as an excuse for her actions, just as a possible explanation.”
“You are willing to vouch for her, then?”
Harry nodded.
“And the Potions Champion?”
“Yes.”
The man named Rhodes sighed and shook his head.
“If I may ask, Mister Potter, why?”
“Because no matter what he’s said to have done, I know that he’s not that kind of person,” the Boy-Who-Lived stated with sincerity. “The person you paint him as would not have stood by me during my first year at Hogwarts, would not have fought beside me against the Acromantulae at Hogwarts, would not have stood vigil by Miss Lovegood’s bedside after she fell into a coma last year. As strange as he may act, as…ill-advised his words may seem, there is a reasonable explanation for what he is doing. There always is.”
‘Even if he doesn’t always tell me what that explanation is, and keeps his share of secrets. That just how Shinji is, really.’
“And if we asked you to take on the mantle of Champion, with all the rights and privileges thereof, given how Matou Shinji’s actions reflect on Britain’s honor?”
The question hung in the air, and just as with every other time it had been asked, Harry Potter was sorely tempted.
“…respectfully, I cannot,” he finally answered, after what must have been half a minute. At least.
“Representative, we realize you have refused in the past, but please, consider the circumstances,” Rhodes pressed, his eyes hard. “We have given the current Champion many chances. Each and every time, he has brought shame and scandal to our shores. Whether he means well or not is quite immaterial. He was warned, yet he persists.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I am not refusing because I’m being stubborn.”
“Then what, praytell, is the reason?”
“There are three, actually,” Harry noted, ticking them off on his fingers. “First, unlike our current Champion, I have not been focusing on preparing for the Championship, but on other matters in Britain. If I were to take his place, I would be nowhere near ready by the time it was time to compete. Matou Shinji was – and is – our best hope of victory.”
“Second?”
“Second, the Championship is a deadly business, from what I have read. More dangerous than the Tri-Wizard Tournament, certainly. While I am not afraid of dying, I would rather die serving my country doing something meaningful, not seeking personal glory.”
“…and third?”
“Third, our country is at war, and I can do much more for our nation as the Youth Representative and the Boy-Who-Lived, than I ever could as a Champion. In the end, the Potions Championship is only a demonstration of skill, with little at stake. The conflict in which we are engaged has our very survival at stake.”
“…very well, Representative, you have made your point. Seeing as we lack another candidate for the post, he will retain his slot for now. We would ask that you speak to the Champion and warn him that this manner of behavior is not acceptable, however, no matter his intentions. We do not wish to withdraw from the Potions Championship, given it will soon be upon us, but if it comes to it, far better the embarrassment of not participating than sponsoring a foreigner whose lechery brings shame to us all.”
Harry met the man’s eyes and nodded, once.
“Very well. In that case, I believe this hearing is adjourned.”
The Fujou Chapter is coming soon!
Last edited by alfheimwanderer; May 9th, 2017 at 11:40 PM.
Harry sure has it hard.
Isn't it touching how much trust and faith he places in his oldest friend?
Wow, Shinji is really not doing himself favours to his reputation. Like, all those choices we made to increase bonding and stop a winter spirit ends up looking really bad for us without context, added by our existing reputation caused by our earlier mistakes (rip Hermione), who knew?
Well, the alternative was an epic Frozen Pride achievment. While we could get quite an ending, with fair maidens shedding their pristine tears, i still prefer to read three more books...
Alternatively, he could have left Maeve to her own devices, and focused on potions.
I wonder what will happen if Ministry try to raid Shinji's manor and find Rin and/or Mashu there?
I imagine that would depend if they tripped the more lethal defenses that Touko set up. There would undoubtedly be some questions either way, and a few alarms going off when the Ministry as a whole learned of Shinji's unregistered houseguests.
EDIT: On IRC, if anyone wants to chat.
The next choice, which is coming up with the Fujou stuff, will involve Rin and the new Mystic Code that Professor Lev is helping her craft, because he finds her habit of destroying gems wasteful. Specifically, should it be geared for offense, defense, or utility?
Last edited by alfheimwanderer; May 10th, 2017 at 09:19 PM.
I guess than Touko would apreciatte than Rin focus more in her defensive abilities than her offensives.
The Sarcasm is palpable.
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