Capítulo 61: Dragons part 1
(This chapter is dedicated to those bold enough to follow the cheese in our society's new headquarters, here's the link, if you dare read ahead.)
- Previously:
Dragons.
Fire breathing, magic resisting, boulder crushing, honest to Smaug dragons.
He felt the urge to laugh out loud, it was no wonder he thought someone was spamming Fiendfyre; there were three beings of fire made flesh raging about.
He took off, eager to have some rest after a long, eventful night...only then he realized.
'Dragons.' His heart went cold. 'Fleur is going to face one of them.'
There was nothing quite like the risk of losing someone you care about to a giant magical lizard to make you sort out your feelings and do what you must.
That's the lesson Magnus learned that day, and he changed his path from the safety of the Ravenclaws tower to the carriage where his Fleur resided.
This, and that using Gilderoy Lockhart for target practice is extremely fun.
E+S
Magnus was a planner; he could sit down for minutes, hours or days on end plotting, scheming and making contingencies until he was certain that nothing short of death or taxes could mess with his business.
Call him paranoid, but it had its good points. How else would he achieve everything he set his eyes on with effortless ease if there wasn't a metric ton of grind behind it?
On the flip side of the coin, the one whose existence he'd deny unless it socked him in the face (Even then, he might blame the elves, the Top D is getting more and more traction these days.), it meant impulsive actions weren't his thing, at all.
Sadly, the idea of his Fleur facing one of the three death sentences causing global warming on a magical scale in the woods was the equivalent of a punch in the face, a strong one.
Almost a Mike Tyson kind of punch, lisp and all, though it might be Fleur who gets reincarnated.
So here he was, cursing his carelessness while he flew circles above the Beauxbatons's pumpkin shaped carriage. What was up with wizards and pumpkins?
His magical abilities were greatly restricted in this form, but a few minutes were enough to get a feel of the kind wards the French delegation used in their glorified camping trip.
'Dismantling it would take too much time, it would be best to just blitz through with row power...then again, it would alert their headmistress, not to mention the wards they've put inside the carriage.' He thought, nearly screeching in frustration.
That's why he hates improvisation, you never know what kind of bullshit you'll end up dealing with!
'Wait...a set of windows isn't fully closed.' He flew closer, unafraid of detection, his dark gray feathers were nearly undetectable in the night sky (And that's without the fading disillusionment charm.)
It wasn't exactly a set of windows, more like a small hole on the top of the carriage roughly the size of a big fish tank. Too high for a wizard to reach, too small for anyone else to pass through.
'An owl path.' He'd smile, but his beak was better suited to the tearing of flesh and bones, not human displays of happiness.
Most Wizarding homes had an owl path to receive messages, and the comfort loving Beauxbatons studentry was no exception. There weren't any animagus detection wards put in place either, so he could manage to slip inside in bird form.
At least, he would if he wasn't Magnus Black.
After all, he was a planner. Not some gold hearted, friendship powered brave hero in shining armor...the kind who dies when he is needed no more.
…
Fleur sat perfectly still, her face as nonchalant as ever while her fellow champions waited nervously for the Wand Weighing ceremony to start.
They had been urged into this old classroom redecorated for the occasion, with three banners representing the school's crests, standing before their respective armoiries (coats of arms) were the headmasters.
Diggory, or whatever his name was, was shifting in his seat. Trying and failing to look confident, the boy was well meaning and hard working enough according to his fellow students, but brave enough to be a champion? Time will tell.
He shot her a smile when he noticed her gaze, the kind that makes first years swoon. But Fleur did not care enough to entertain him, she was no little girl.
'Poor man, looks like has some hemorrhoids.' A teasing voice that sounded eerily like a certain Ravenclaw fourth year said in her mind.
She nearly snorted, that boy was utterly incorrigible.
The Veela held back a smile, lest the Hogwarts champion misunderstands her opinions, the last thing she needed was an infatuated competitor...she could already read the headlines: Veela Ensnare the Hogwarts Champion To Win.
She looked away from the wincing Englishman, to the grim looking Bulgarian seeker.
Krum was grim and dark and good at flying, which summarized his whole character pretty well in her opinion. Her mother had all but charged her with humiliating him, revenge for Bulgaria's choice of mascot certainly. Did he even know he was Durmstrang's champion?
'This one looks perpetually constipated,' This thought was very much her own, 'God, Magnus has corrupted me.'
This time, she couldn't hold back from smiling. Fortunately, Krum's three brain cells were strained between Bulgaria, Brooms and bushy hairs, he did not even notice her presence.
Soon, the pompous and strangely dressed men of the ministry arrived. All frilly purple robes and paperwork sundered minds; the worst sort, according to her dear father, and she was inclined to agree.
The lustful looks some of them shot her when they thought she wasn't looking did have something to do with it.
Fleur did not react, by now used to it. She braced herself, steeled her features and sat straight, shoulders back and chin high; she was their better, and she'll win this damned tournament.
The ministry officials whose name she cared not to remember did not come alone, they brought with them a strange old man, a fake looking woman that looked like a living reminder of the dangers of beauty potions and a middle aged man with a camera.
The press, not as bad as politicians, but quite close.
She recognised the eccentric old man as Garrick Ollivander, the best wandmaker in Britain, and perhaps the entire world (Though it might be British propaganda.) He was cordial enough, even if she disliked the glint in his eyes.
He brushed off her allure with ease, she noted.
"Ehem, if all the champions are ready we might start." He said looking at the vacant face of one Victor Krum, but had no answer, flustered he looked at Fleur with an unsure smile. "Ladies first, Miss Delacour."
She stood up, chin high and approached the rather unnerving wandmaker. It took a lot of effort for her to give up her wand, if only for a second.
"A unique wand to say the least, I haven't seen Veela hair used as a core in a very long time." He looked at it with a fervor that came close to obsession. "Rosewood, and very well kept, a good match indeed. One of Adrienne's?"
She nodded, more than a little put off by the wand lore enthusiast. Fleur took back her wand as soon as he offered, sliding it into her holster before taking a seat.
The Beauxbatons champion listened closely to her competitor's evaluation, unwilling to let any useful information elude her, she could see Madam Maxime and Karkaroff doing the same in the corner of her vision.
A very uncomfortable photoshoot later, her headmistress brought her back to the Carriage before that ghastly reporter could get her elongated nails on her.
The Hogwarts Champion didn't have the same luck, she heard him try and rid himself of the banshee to no avail while she dragged away from polite society.
That should have been it, it should've been the last eventful part of her day.
Of course she had to prepare for the ever approaching first task of the tournament, and keep up with her studies, and write a couple letters to her family, but all those things were calm and easy. Almost comforting.
Then why was there an owl waiting for her in the middle of the night? Any letter received after curfew would have been left by the door, did the wards malfunction?
Fleur picked up some owl treats from a drawer, but the messenger beast surprisingly refused it, giving her a small piece of paper before transforming into a wooden stick of all things.
'That was a very nice bit of transfiguration,' She thought, now having a rather good idea of the sender. Unfolding the paper and seeing the familiar handwriting only confirmed her suspicions.
Meet me outside, it's about the tournament.
- Magnus
She gets to see a friend AND prepare for the tournament, Fleur felt very spoiled at that moment. She slipped into some warmer clothing, cast a disillusionment charm just in case and left her room with a happy smile.
It wouldn't last.
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder