"That's it," thought Harry from the bottom of the pile of people dumped by the portkey from Stoatshead Hill. "I hate portkey travel." The sensation of being dragged through a non-space that was constantly in flux, shifting with every tiny distortion, by what felt like a fish-hook threaded through the back of his navel was a disconcerting one, and he could see that Hermione had liked liked it exactly as much as he had. He could hardly avoid seeing her reactions as she'd landed squarely on top of him. The overwhelming sensory input of the trip had played havoc with their feline senses, including balance, and so when the portkey had released them, they were even worse off than the less sensitive members of their group. The only one to remain standing was Ginny, who smirked at them lying in a heap on the grass.
It was the work of a few moments to get everyone sorted out and straightened up, before clearing the arrival point before the next portkey triggered. They moved in a group towards the camp-sites where a somewhat confused old man took the money for their site and gave them directions. The Weasley tent was set up quickly and expertly by Fred and George, while the girls' tent took a little longer and Harry, Sirius and Remus tried to raise theirs. Either that or wage war upon it, onlookers found it difficult to say. By the time they'd finished, Neville, Susan and Daphne arrived. The tents were laid out in a sort of cul-de-sac, with the girls' tent in the middle at the end, the Weasley tent (where Arthur, Ron and the Twins would stay) on the right, and the Black tent (which was, surprisingly, grey) on the left. Ginny was sharing that tent with Daphne, Susan and Luna, while Hermione was bunking with Harry, Sirius, Remus and Neville as there were only four beds in each tent.
As they made their way to the Black Box, a reserved seating section next to the Ministry Box, Ron grabbed Omnioculars for everybody, paid for by a fraction of his share of the proceeds from the sale of 'Basilisk Bits', as they called it. As they mounted higher into the stands, with the kitty couple safely in their glamour-bearing collars, they encountered the odious presence of Lucius Malfoy. Behind him was his wife Narcissa, and a teenage boy that they had to look at twice before recognising Draco. As they scrutinised the Malfoy heir, they noted the differences. The old Draco had been soft, every inch a pampered princeling, spoiled and loud and obnoxious. This Draco was quieter, appraising everyone around him with a cool gaze, and his physique was anything but soft. Busy with their examination of Harry's old nemesis, they'd missed most of Lucius' argument with Arthur and Sirius, but when the blonde wizard moved his cane to catch at Sirius' arm as he began some barely veiled threat or another, Harry lashed out.
Due to the glamour surrounding him, no-one saw his claws as they swept across the Malfoy Head's cane, just below the ornamental grip, right where the arrogant wizard concealed his wand. There was a brief shower of sparks as the top of the cane tumbled across the floor planking, before disappearing over the edge, as smoke curled up from what was left. Now dumbstruck, Lucius drew himself up, growing red in the face. Before the angry wizard could unleash his rant however, an unexpected voice snorting in laughter before muffling it froze everyone.
"Oh, give it up, Father," said Draco, feigning a yawn as he offered his mother an arm. "You gloated and boasted, you chose to confront openly, you made threats and blustered." He turned to Narcissa as he escorted her towards the Ministry Box, speaking loud enough for there to be no doubt he meant them all to hear. "Mother, I really don't want to doubt you, but are you certain Father was in Slytherin? He seems to have acquired some dreadfully Gryffindor-esque qualities."
As everyone watched Lucius Malfoy somehow pass through most of the shades of red known to man, and few known only to snakes, Harry took the chance to glance at the note that Draco had somehow slipped him.
Potter,
Even though I am never likely to enjoy your company, and am even less inclined to be your friend, I find myself obliged to grant you my thanks and gratitude. Being at Durmstrang has opened my eyes in many ways, including that all my power and privilege rested solely in the hands of another. Yes, it was my father's hands, but that meant I had no personal measure. I was little more than a puppet and a set of eyes at Hogwarts. I owe you gratitude for the circumstances that brought me to a place where all that influence meant nothing, and I had to earn my own. While I doubt we shall ever be friends, I shall strive to ensure that neither shall we be enemies. I have heard of what happened to Nott.
Draco Abraxus Malfoy, of House Malfoy.
Harry stared in the direction in which the Malfoys had gone, and smiled. Maybe this would all work out in the end after all...
The Black Box stood in one of the six towers around the course, about 70 feet in the air. Gazing around at the other Boxes, he could identify the Ministry Box as the next one clockwise from them, with other important Houses having claim to the others. The noise was incredible as the crowd cheered for their respective favourites. Fred and George had been about to place bets with a fellow called Ludo Bagman, but Pakhet, in her role as Toggletrust, snarled at the gambler and sportsman, leading to them finding a goblin to take their highly improbable wager. They wouldn't get odds quite as good as Bagman was willing to offer, but they were at least guaranteed of delivery if they won.
"Ireland to win, but Krum gets the snitch, eh?" Harry chuckled. "How much do you have on it?"
Forge and Gred muttered the total of their life savings, and Harry whistled low. With the odds the Goblins were offering, that particular circumstance would net them quite a large sum, around 400 Galleons, if the maths was right, and effectively hedged their bets with an either or trick. Turning to the goblin, Harry spoke quietly.
"Honoured goblin, my friends are not trying to hedge their bets, they are specifying exact conditions. If they will sign off on an agreement to not pursue restitution in case of a partial fulfilment of the conditions, might they receive odds that are a little better?"
A few minutes later saw the twins grinning at the wager receipts in their hands as they sat down. Harry had placed what he considered a moderate wager on the same outcome. After all, he had reasoned, the Weasley family lived, breathed, ate and slept Quidditch, or so it seemed, and the twins were very good judges of people and possibilities. His bet was quite a bit higher than the twins, and the same odds that would give the twins 600 Galleons would net him significantly more.
As the announcements were made, the Bulgarian mascots emerged onto the field. Although they looked like human girls, Harry's nose told him they were not. As they danced, something seemed to come over large numbers of male spectators, and there was an en masse surge towards the rails that, fortunately, were enchanted to prevent the crowd from hurling themselves onto the pitch. Interestingly, among those in the Black Box not affected were Remus and Sirius. The one due solely to his lycanthrope's senses, but no-one was sure why Sirius was able to shrug off the cascades of Allure from the direction of the pitch. Oddly perhaps, neither Ginny nor Luna could bring themselves to look at each other, or anyone else for that matter, directly, somewhat embarrassed by something.
Next came the Irish mascots, leprechauns that flung their fey gold about willy-nilly, although in a move that would have been out of character for him as little as a year ago, Ron scooped up a handful and hurled it back, yelling as he did. "OI! CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES, WE DON'T WANT SODDING GREAT PILES OF LEAVES AND TWIGS LYING AROUND THE BOX, YOU KNOW!" In a lower voice, as an aside to Lupin, he muttered "Thanks for that lesson in May, Professor, I'd have made a right prat of myself otherwise."
Hermione chose this moment to bring up a minor issue with her mate. Harry, what were you thinking when the Veela were dancing? she mewled. He had definitely reacted, but her nose told her lust had had nothing to do with it. She had also had a reaction, of sorts, although again, nothing like the embarrassment that Ginny and Luna had displayed.
Harry may not have been expecting the question, but he knew 'his' Hermione well enough to smell when she didn't tell the whole truth, and rather suspected she could do the same in regards to him. So he answered honestly. I felt hungry, Mai. Like there was a vast chicken dinner sitting just out of reach.
Me too, she replied with a low purr. There's something about them that smells a little like Skyfire, if you think about it.
Harry nodded. There were definite scents of feathers and fire in the Veela, although it wasn't quite the same as the young heliopath's scent. Ginny's scent was more of pure fire, like sunlight through clouds, while the Veela bore a scent more akin to burning driftwood, or possibly barbecue. Then the match began, and they were all absorbed in the action.
Harry had to admit, that Viktor Krum could fly. He'd managed to catch the snitch a bare few seconds too late, as Ireland's chasers managed to score that one last goal too many, allowing them the win, even though the Bulgarian seeker finished the game. Through the Omnioculars, he could see the distaste for the match's outcome on Krum's face. He was holding in anger, Harry was certain. As he put the enchanted lenses away, he noted an extremely pale Ludo Bagman in the Ministry Box, and chuckled. Shark steak for all of us tonight! He yowled over the crowd's noise, triggering a moment of silence, which was extended by his mate's reply.
Thanking Pakhet for something? The kneazle had really grown over the past year, and her favourite food was the meat of the most dangerous fish on Earth. Harry's mewled reply explained why the kneazle was being rewarded. From the looks of Bagman's face, he'd made the wrong bet, and wouldn't have been able to pay the twins what they'd bet, let alone what they'd won.
The entire group had made their way down to the tents, and were about to turn in for the night, when it began. Screams and panic were spreading throughout the camp as a number of people in long black cloaks and robes, their faces concealed behind silver skull-masks. They marched through the darkness, hurling spells at a whim, and the frightened wizards and witches fled. Perhaps worst of all was the muggle family they had lifted into the air, juggling them from one levitation spell to the next.
The entire Chaos' eyes went flat and hard. Even as Arthur, Fred and George began to direct them, they were already moving, and a chorus of Chaotic names summoned their own outfits.
Emerald was in the lead, with Amber on his right and Grizzlegrim on his left, with Rumblerend on his other side. Firefetch took a central position, trying to pick out targets and tactics, while Midnight and Spiral held a rearguard action with Moony and Padfoot on their flanks. But it was Skyfire who took the first action that drew the Death Eaters' attention to the Chaos of the Tigers.
Ginny had felt useless in the Battle of Hogsmeade, where most of the Chaos had had some role to play. All she'd done was hold and comfort Luna... a quick shake of her head brought her back to the Present even as she summoned her basilisk-hide gear. She'd made a suggestion that the others had accepted with alacrity: the addition of a scarf in the House-colours of each Chaotic, meaning crimson and gold for most of them, although Luna wore sapphire and bronze, Susan had black and yellow, and Daphne wore emerald and silver. Even as the scarf appeared, she shifted.
It was but a few seconds before Skyfire the phoenix flared onto the scene with a strident war-song ringing from her throat, and the Death Eaters flinched, pained from the purity of the notes, missing the 'catch' of their levitation charms with the muggle family. Ginny managed to catch both children at the top of their arc, just as their momentum failed, and flared them back to Luna and Daphne, even as Remus and Sirius caught the two adults with their own levitation charms and the Death eaters struggled to their feet once more. But Harry and the others had not been idle, lashing out with stunning jinxes to drop the nearest dark wizards. One of them had flinched in what could have been recognition, and Harry could have sworn he saw the tell-tale blonde locks as the man collapsed from Hermione's spell. As two of those remaining standing dove for cover, the third crouched and turned to revive the downed Death Eaters, and took a stunner from Neville that had him down.
There was shouting, screams, and spellfire, with the teenagers and their adult friends very grateful for their armour, but the tight-knit group that was the Chaos had a plan. At Ron's direction, they left the stunned Death Eaters lying there as they all took cover in the nearby woods. But they weren't cowering in terror as the dark wizards wanted, oh no. They were lying in wait. By the time the aurors had everything under control, the Chaos had brought the pile of stunned Death Eaters up to an even dozen, by the simple expedient of ambush. The ones lying on the ground were a form of bait, and whenever another Death Eater began to revive them, they were brought down by concentrated spellfire from the woods. Even as the magical law enforcers approached, they heard a hissed voice from deeper in the woods calling out "Morsmordre!", and Harry and Ron sprayed stunning jinxes liberally into the area. There was a cry and a thud, as of a small body falling onto soft earth and leaves, and then silence.
Madam Bones had quickly taken charge of the scene, despite the interference that came in the persons of Minister Fudge and the grouchy Barty Crouch. The latter, explained Mr Weasley, was in charge of the Department of International Co-operation. It was Luna who brought up the question the entire Chaos was asking in their heads.
"If he's always this grouchy, do we ever get any co-operation?" Her innocent voice, coupled with what would become a highly accurate reporter's instincts, brought both politicians to a stuttering halt. As the prisoners were unmasked one by one and taken away for questioning, Fudge kept up a quiet grumble. Crouch was glaring daggers at Sirius, who grinned back somewhat cheekily, obviously holding back from thumbing his nose at the bureaucrat.
The prisoner Harry was sure was blond turned out to be none other than Lucius Malfoy himself, and fudge was loud and vocal in the man's defence. "Obviously this is a mistake, or a set-up. Lucius must have been coerced into this, I'm sure, the man's no more a Death eater than I am..."
Lord Black made an appearance then, springing out from the depths of the easy-going trickster that was Sirius Black, as he tore the left sleeve from Malfoy's robe, revealing the Dark Mark for all to see. "Then I guess that raises some long overdue questions regarding your left arm, doesn't it, Minister?" he sneered, as skilled at it as the man before him. It just wasn't the default setting of his face. "Perhaps, if you have such faith in the man, you will both subject yourselves to Veritaserum? From what I recall in my own time as an auror, Mr Malfoy will be getting such questioning anyway, won't he?"
The last question had been directed to the Head of the DMLE, and she nodded. "After the debacle in your own trial, we must ascertain precisely who is innocent and who is not," Amelia said. "If the man has nothing to hide, he has nothing to fear." The Minister was a few shades paler, and hastily remembered pressing affairs somewhere else... anywhere else.
Perhaps the worst part of the aftermath was the discovery of the House-elf Winky with a wand in her hand. It was just wrong that Barty Crouch had dismissed the poor thing with clothes, and without listening to the protestation of innocence and following instructions, Hermione thought, and she stepped forward to comfort the poor creature as best she could, and in the following quarter-hour learned more about the enslavement of House-elves than was enough to make her nauseous. The original elves had been haughty, proud and arrogant, considering themselves above all other creatures, sort of like a more magical version of Malfoy, until a powerful wizard by the name of Gwydion ap Hywell had laid a devastating geas upon them all, placing them in servitude on pain of their magic and life. If an elf had no master, using their magic would quickly erode their life-force until they went mad or died... or both. Stronger elves could hold out as much as seven years, but that was it. To herself, the young feline witch made a promise to break this geas if she could, and to at least better the lot of the House-elves in any case. She needed to talk to Harry...