Hermione seemed to be watching me like a hawk at breakfast on Wednesday morning, and I did my best to keep my eyes cast downwards upon my meal. "You've barely said a word outside class for days," she said quietly. "What's bothering you?"

I shrugged, grimacing as my shoulder blades moved; it had been especially difficult to sleep, as I hadn't asked Professor Snape for a Wiggenweld Potion, not wanting to appear weak. "I've been wanting to hex Ron, but you want to do that daily, so perhaps nothing," I replied.

"Hex Ron?" Hermione hissed at me, shaking her head. "Why would you...?" She turned her dark eyes onto Ron, who, in return, appeared just a bit sheepish before turning back to his conversation with Dean and Seamus. "According to Harry, he spent Sunday evening vomiting, and Fred and George have appeared quite guilty..." She tossed her bushy brown hair, and I followed her gaze to the twins, who stared morosely at their own porridge breakfast. "If I find out he's been sampling their wares again, I'll write to Mrs. Weasley myself."

"Sampling their...?" I looked over at Hermione. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione sighed. "Fred and George fancy themselves as the next Zonko, and want desperately to follow in his footsteps and open a high-quality joke shop after they graduate," she told me. "I think that it's marvelous that they've got an idea career-wise, but hopefully it keeps them out of Azkaban long enough for them to make a profit..."

I cocked my head to one side. "So, they make their own joke products, then?"

"That's exactly what they are—a joke," Hermione informed me scathingly. "The twins run in head-first without doing the proper research beforehand. They get an idea and just make it as best they can—sloppily, mind you—and then force Ron to test it for them."

I blinked. "Seems as if Ron looks white as a sheet," I muttered.

"Better Ron than the poor first-years they were using it on at the start-of-term," Hermione said with a frown. "I had to go to Linderina to get her to tell them to stop, and that was only after I agreed to make her a revision schedule for her NEWTs."

I flashed Hermione a smile. "As if that was a trial for you," I said softly.

Hermione grimaced. "You're right, I enjoyed it," she allowed.

"So, what did the twins give Ron, then?" I asked.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "According to Harry, who heard it from Dean and Seamus, they were called Befogging Bonbons," she replied disparagingly. "Ron can never pass up food, and if it's pudding... Well, suffice it to say, I think he ate them rather quickly."

"Well, that makes sense, then," I said softly, nodding.

Hermione whipped around to face me at that. "How in Merlin's name could it make sense? Do you know something I don't, Cressida?"

I pursed my lips. "Let's just say that Ron found me while I was taking my walk on Sunday evening with Morgana," I said softly, dragging my fried eggs, potatoes, and what remained of my sausage links around my plate.

Hermione's gaze turned cold. "Oh, did he now?" she whispered.

"You just told me that he was under the influence of something, and he clearly had an allergic reaction to it afterwards," I said quickly. "Not to mention that Professor Snape found us before it could get too terrible, and took thirty points for his behavior—"

"His behavior?!" Hermione cried out, and I waved my hand, casting a Confusing Charm upon the entirety of the table, as well as a Silencing Bubble around the pair of us; thankfully, the three other house tables, plus the head table, hadn't heard her outburst. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about, Cressida?!"

I swallowed; I didn't want Ron to incur Hermione's wrath, but also knew entirely well that she could throw off anything I threw at her, including a Memory Charm. "Well, he got a bit physical with me..."

"A bit?" Hermione squawked, darting forward and pushing my hair back and away from my neck and regarding the skin there, to the bruises that traveled up my shoulder blades, not to mention one of my tattoos which was now barely hidden upon my collarbone. "What in...? I didn't know you had a tattoo!" she cried out, leaning closer.

I drew back; only Fleur knew about that, as I knew entirely well that our parents would flip. "I got it as a birthday present to myself," I said, flushing deeply. "Fleur and I went to our equivalent of Hogsmeade, Montagne Magique, and to their tattoo parlor there, Encre et Aiguille. She got a piercing, I got a tattoo... But that doesn't matter!"

Hermione was now sufficiently distracted. "Is that the only tattoo you've got?"

I gritted my teeth. "I thought you only wanted to talk about Ron."

Hermione waved that away. "We can discuss Ron's idiocy later," she responded. "What other tattoos have you got, then?"

I rolled my eyes; other than intelligent, Hermione certainly lived up to another Gryffindor trait—a stubborn nature. "I have black wings on my back, hidden with a Concealment Charm during school hours," I said softly. "I got it during the summer months, with Fleur, when we went to Place Cachée, like your Diagon Alley, and to the most famous French tattoo parlor— Histoires de Peau," I said quietly. "It took almost the entire summer for the outline and coloration... I'm proud of it, though," I said.

"But didn't it hurt?" Hermione pressed.

I scoffed. "Of course it did. It's literally the artist taking a needle and digging it into your skin for permanency purposes. What do you think?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "All right, all right," she allowed. "So, the wings on your back, and the rune on your collarbone. Is that all you've got, then?"

"No, of course not," I said softly. "I have runes going up both my arms as well."

Hermione looked impressed with that. "Which runes?"

"On my left arm, I have the ones for safe travels, courage, protection, strength, luck, victory, and birth," I explained, running my fingers up the arm. "For my right arm, I have the ones for thorn, torch, gift, yew, oak, hope, and ancestry. I got them right before Fleur, Gabrielle, Madame Maxime, and the rest of us came here."

"But is that all?" Hermione asked, grinning.

"I managed to get two more before we left France," I said quietly, pointing to the bit of skin just below both my ears. "On the left, I have an iris," I explained, tapping at the skin, "and, on the right, I have a rose."

"Iris and yew for France, rose and oak for England," Hermione said quietly.

I nodded, smiling. "Exactly," I replied.

"Do you think you'll ever take the Concealment Charm off?" Hermione asked.

"Probably, if whichever Ministry of Magic I work for doesn't mind them," I told her. "I don't think there's anything controversial about them, unless, for some reason, they're against runes as a whole," I joked.

Hermione rolled her shoulders. "None of this excuses what Ron did to you," she said quietly. "I don't care if he ate too many of the twins' sweets. He overeats as it is..."

"Perhaps the twins need a proper wizarding cookbook for their pranks," I put in. "Then, if Ron is elected as their tester, no ill effects would be present."

"Unless they follow their recipes, and they're still disgusting," Hermione replied with a grin.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, until or unless they get that cookbook, I doubt that Ron will willingly try their sweets again," I said, looking over at him with narrowed eyes. "He may have learned his lesson in this, but the way he's been treating Harry is inexcusable. That's what our argument was about," I said, all in hushed tones, to Hermione.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course it was," she grumbled, and I cancelled the Silencing Bubble around us, knowing entirely well that she was calmer now. "I just can't understand his logic..."

"I can. He's jealous," I told Hermione, who whipped around to face me. "Clearly, he's jealous about Harry's perceived magical prowess at throwing off Headmaster Dumbledore's age line, and putting his name in, as well as getting accepted into the tournament in the first place. Not only that, but, as Harry's best friend, he automatically believes he not only should have been in on the plan, but that Harry would have taught him how to put his name in as well. It's an irrational thing, jealousy, especially when it's unfounded," I concluded, shaking my head. "If only Ron would come to his senses and stop being so stubborn."

"I adore Harry, and even I know he's not that brilliant when it comes to magic," she told me quietly, nodding towards Harry, who was sitting with Neville, who had come to the correct conclusion that Harry was telling the truth.

I waved over at Harry, who grinned and waved back, while Neville flushed and immediately looked away from us. "Neville's sweet," I told Hermione softly.

Hermione giggled. "Yes, and he seems to have taken a shine to you, Cressida."

I smiled back, shaking my head. "Oh, perhaps if I was fourteen, or he was seventeen, it would be a logical conclusion that the pair of us to get to know one another in that way," I replied, but shrugged my shoulders. "Perhaps, in another life, but not now..."

"Yes," Hermione mused, looking over at Ron, before lowering her eyes back to her breakfast and moving it around her plate, "perhaps, in another life..."

~⚜~

Two days later, I had just finished my classes for the day when a note arrived in the Arithmancy classroom, which Professor Vector caught effortlessly. She looked at it briefly before nodding to herself, and her eyes seemed to immediately catch mine. "Miss Lambert, a note from Madame Maxime for you."

I hitched my bag onto my shoulder and went towards her; no curtsying this time, as Hermione had informed me within the third day of my arrival that such things were considered too formal for Scotland. I reached out and took the note on offer, and promptly smiled at her. "Thank you, professor," I answered.

Professor Vector nodded, her dark eyes filled with kindness. "Go along, then. It's been a long day, and I'm sure you're anxious for dinner."

I nodded, keeping the note in my hand; Professor Vector didn't mean anything by it, as all my professors had been informed accordingly about my status as an Animagus and, therefore, I had to have a high-protein diet. "Yes, thank you, Professor Vector. I'll see you on Monday, then, and I hope you have a good weekend."

"Looking forward to your essay, Miss Lambert," she called after me, and I flashed her a smile as I left the classroom.

It was approximately a two hours until dinner, so I would have plenty of time to return my belongings to my dorm room, do some homework or studying, and even, perhaps, answer the note that had been bestowed upon me. I had already completed the essay to which Professor Vector was referring, which left a Charms assignment (five inches of parchment on the benefits of a Summoning Charm, which was a review in preparation for NEWTs), and finishing up my latest paper for Ancient Runes, which just needed to be copied on a clean sheet of paper without my constant notes in the margins. I leaned up against the corridor wall once I'd reached the end of the Serpentine Corridor, before breaking the blue seal with the intricate double-M upon it, as this was the color and monogram that Madame Maxime had chosen upon the occasion of her assuming the mantel of Headmistress of Beauxbatons.

My dear Cressida,

Do join me for a walk this evening in the Forbidden Forest after supper. It will be a chilly evening, or so I've been led to believe, but, given your fur coat, I don't believe you will need your winter cloak. We will be meeting Professor Hagrid there, and he is most anxious to see you in your form.

Warm regards,

Madame Maxime

"Cressida?"

I looked up, immediately pocketing my letter, just as Hermione came out of the Serpentine Corridor herself, which caused me pause. "What are you doing here?" I asked her. "Fourth-years have double potions at this time on Fridays."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Really, Cressida. Did you memorize my schedule?"

I scoffed. "I may have," I responded, really sounding like I was addressing Gabrielle, and shook my head. "Anyhow, what are you doing up here?"

"Professor Snape asked me to deliver a letter to Professor Moody," Hermione responded. "And how did your last class go, then?"

"I can imagine that Advanced Arithmancy would be terrible to an individual who despised mathematics as a whole," I said, giggling as Hermione and I took off down the corridor together, and watched as she kept her eyes open, darting about. "Is everything all right? Do you still want to study together in the common room?"

Hermione flushed to the roots of her hair. "Oh, of... Of course," she said, shaking her head as if to clear it as we meandered along.

"How was potions?" I asked instead.

"Professor Snape was muttering about missing ingredients from his potion stores," she admitted at last, and I raised my eyebrows. "I think he was going to ask Professor Moody's assistance in potentially tracking down the culprit or culprits."

I nodded. "Sound reasoning," I replied.

I barely managed to concentrate on studying with Hermione, or the notion that I had to eat as much protein as possible during dinner. However, I somehow managed to get myself to cooperate, and no one seemed to suspect a thing. Madame Maxime came to collect me once the feast was over, and no one seemed to bat an eye at the notion that my headmistress was taking me away somewhere. We left the Great Hall and stepped into the Entrance Hall, the massive front doors opening easily for the two of us, before we stepped out into the night.

"Lumos. 'Ow 'ave you been settling een, my dear?" Madame Maxime asked, the beam of light emitting from her wand lighting our way.

I drew my wand as well, once it was deemed appropriate. "Lumos. Fine thank you, directrice," I responded as we meandered along the dark grounds; there was a chill to the air, given that it was November now, and frost seemed to permeate the air.

"You 'ave been spending lots of time with 'Arry Potter," she mused, proceeding down the steep incline, the most direct way towards the Forbidden Forest. "Was 'e speaking the truth to Dumbly-dorr?" she asked.

I blinked, doing my best not to stumble in the semi-darkness. "The truth, directrice?" I asked, and peeked up at her, hoping I wouldn't trip.

"About the tournament," Madame Maxime replied patiently. "Did 'e enter?"

"No!" I replied immediately, shaking my head, and quickly turned my attention back towards the entrance of the Forbidden Forest. "Harry wouldn't do that, Madame Maxime. He is a good, honest wizard, especially for one so young."

Madame Maxime lowered her gaze onto me, and stared at me, her dark eyes wide. "You defend 'im so well, despite the notion that 'e will go up against your sister."

I swallowed, knowing entirely well that I had to answer her carefully. "My loyalty to my sister was never called into question, directrice," I responded levelly. "And you know as well as I do that Coopération Magique Internationale is always beneficial in times such as these. Your longstanding friendship with Headmaster Dumbledore, for example, is the epitome of good sportsmanship, despite the notion that he has not one but two students involved in the Triwizard Tournament," I said softly.

"I suppose you are correct, my dear," she replied, peering through the trees, the shining light of her wand guiding our way.

"Why are we here, Madame Maxime?" I whispered, stepping closer to her on the off-chance that we'd be caught. "You never mentioned in your letter why you were coming in here... It can't just be that Professor Hagrid wants to see me in my Animagus form, can it?"

Madame Maxime sighed. "The lovely 'Agrid informed me of a wonderful surprise awaiting us in the Forbidden Forest," she said quietly.

I found myself smiling up at her. "You really like Professor Hagrid, don't you?"

Madame Maxime smiled, her flush slightly visible due to the light from her wand. "'E 'as made me 'appier than I 'ave been in such a long time," she said softly, before obviously remembering where she was and looked down at me. "I only tell you this because I 'ave been friends with your mère et père for a great many years, Cressida..."

I nodded, finding that I continued smiling. "I know," I assured her. It was then that there were hushed voices from a few feet away, and I tensed. "What do we do now?" I whispered.

"Transforme-toi, ma chère," Madame Maxime said quickly, and I pocketed my wand, eager to follow orders. "'Agrid?" she called out, stepping forward.

I felt the fur of my leopard grow upon every inch of my body, and my front paws caught my body weight; my senses grew exponentially, as my eyes gleamed through the darkness. I sniffed at the ground, recognizing the scent of the Care of Magical Creatures professor, and hurried after Madame Maxime through the darkness. I looked up, watching as the pair greeted one another with a sense of familiarity and intimacy...

"Bonsoir, Olympe," Hagrid greeted her, and, if snow leopards could raise their eyebrows, I certainly was doing so now.

"Oh, 'Agrid," Madame Maxime replied, her voice a gentle caress, "I thought per'aps you were not coming. I thought per'aps...you had forgotten me."

My ears twitched then, at the miniscule sound of gagging, and, turning, I could just make out the hazy outline of something stationed behind Hagrid.

"Couldn't forget you, Olympe," Hagrid was assuring Madame Maxime.

"What was it you wanted to show me?" Madame Maxime whispered. "When we spoke earlier, you sounded so...exhilarated," she breathed.

"You'll be glad ye came," Hagrid said, taking her by the hand. "Trust me." He then lead her through the trees, and an almighty roar pierced my ears.

"Oh, c'est magnifique!" Madame Maxime cried out, once they'd peered through the trees, along with myself and the haze bringing up the rear. "Can we get closer?"

I turned, feeling unsteady feet beside me, and, finally having enough, I darted forward through the darkness, finding the haze and making a grab for it with my teeth. I let out an almighty yowl when it was torn from me, and none other than Harry himself came popping out, leading me to believe he was in the possession of an invisibility cloak.

"What the bloody—?!" Harry nearly shouted.

"'Arry, quiet!" Hagrid said, hurrying forward, finally catching a glimpse of me. "Oh, isn't she beautiful?" he declared, walking towards me, hand outstretched.

I chuffed, which immediately let Hagrid know that I was non-threatening, and pushed my head into his hand without hesitation.

"Hagrid, what—?!" Harry sputtered.

"'Arry, 'tis a Muggle creature, after all," Hagrid informed him patiently. "That there is a snow leopard, and a rather close friend of yers."

Harry shook his head. "I think I'd remember if I was friends with a ruddy cat that size—!"

I let out a low growl towards Harry as a warning.

"'Arry," said Hagrid impatiently, "look in 'er eyes, would ya?"

Harry looked up at Hagrid like he'd gone mad, but, when the half-giant stared him down, he gave out a huff of impatience and came towards me, his wand already in his hand. "Lumos," he said, clearly not enjoying himself, and shined the light near my eyes. Harry shook his head, the connection obviously having been made, and gave me a small smile. "Cressida?"

I chuffed a second time, walking towards him and gently butting him with my head.

Harry gently tangled his hands into my fur, scratching my back lightly, which felt lovely. "But dragons?!" he quickly demanded of Hagrid. "That's the first task?! You're joking!"

"Come on, 'Arry," Hagrid said, looking longingly towards them; there were four of them, in cages, while several handlers ran about as they breathed fire, keeping them in control. "These are seriously misunderstood creatures," Hagrid continued, shaking his head, and we all drew back as one of the dragons let out an almighty fireball. "Oh, crikey!" he shouted, surprised. "Although, I have to admit, that Horntail is a right nasty piece of work. Poor Ron nearly fainted just seeing him, you know..."

My eyes went upwards at the sound of Ron's name, and I was unable to call by the mew of surprise I let out.

"Ron was here?" Harry asked.

"Oh, sure," Hagrid replied. "His brother Charlie helped to bring him over from Romania. Didn't Ron tell you that?"

"No, he didn't," Harry responded, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone, and dug his fingers into my fur again. "He didn't tell me a thing."

I indicated that I would walk Harry back to the castle, giving Hagrid and Madame Maxime ample opportunity to look at the dragons some more, as well as some alone time together. I transformed back into a human once we left the Forbidden Forest, and cast a Warming Charm to stave off the bitter November cold. "Sorry about scaring you," I said quietly to Harry. "Madame Maxime told me to come in my Animagus form."

"Do you have a name for her?" Harry asked. "Your snow leopard."

"Snežana," I said quietly. "It means snow woman in Slavic, Circassian, or Lithuanian. Snow leopards are found in colder areas of the world, so it seemed appropriate..."

"You didn't care me," Harry said softly.

I nodded. "Of course I didn't," I responded, looking over to give him a smile, but noticing that he still appeared morose. "Ron still isn't talking to you, then?"

Harry shook his head. "Neville and I went down to the lake after lunch. Ginny found us there and told me that Dean was told by Parvati that he heard from Seamus that Hagrid was looking for me. I tried to get her to give Ron back a message but she kind of screamed at me that she wasn't an owl and ran off."

I raised my eyebrows. "You do know she has a crush on you, don't you?"

Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah... Ever since I rescued her second-year from the Chamber of Secrets, it's been..."

I squeezed Harry's arm. "Hero complexes are hard to die off," I remarked as we began walking up the steep incline.

"You will tell Fleur, won't you?" Harry asked.

"Of course," I replied, knowing that it would be best coming from me, as her sister. "What about Viktor and Cedric?"

"I can tell them," Harry replied. "At least, unless Madame Maxime tells Karkaroff..."

"Well, you see them tomorrow, don't you?" I asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. More training."

"I'll tell Fleur tonight, let her sleep on it," I replied. "Maybe she'll have a better idea of how to handle everything."

Harry and I stepped into the Entrance Hall together, the double doors magically locking behind the pair of us as we went towards the staircases. However, Harry kept climbing towards the seventh floor while I ventured off the spiral staircase towards the fifth, making my way towards the door with the bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. Knowing entirely well that I wouldn't be admitted, I merely knocked and stood back.

"Ah, not a Ravenclaw student, but a seventh-year visiting from Beauxbatons," said the eagle in a polite tone of voice. "How can I help you, m'dear?"

"Please, if it isn't too much trouble, I need to speak to my sister, Fleur Delacour," I responded to the eagle carefully.

"Right-o, dearie, no trouble," the eagle said, and went silent, likely sending the message through to the common room.

I straightened up a moment later when the door opened, revealing Fleur standing on her own, and I immediately darted towards her, as she did, and we embraced. "Sorry, I know it's been too long and I'm... I'm so sorry..."

"Chut," Fleur responded gently, smoothing my hair. "Oh, you're a bit cold. Did you go for a run this evening, then?"

I pulled back, looking around, before I took her by the arm and pulled her into an alcove not far from the common room. Once I threw up a Silencing Bubble and Anti-Eavesdropping Charms, I whispered, "Madame Maxime wanted me to meet her in the Forbidden Forest."

Fleur gasped. "But... It's forbidden!"

"I know, but I'm of age, so I assume it was all right, besides, she was there," I said quickly. "She wanted to meet Professor Hagrid there..."

Fleur blinked. "She likes him," she remarked.

"No kidding," I said, rolling my eyes. "Anyhow, Hagrid wanted to show her these dragons that the dragon preserve in Romania brought."

Fleur's eyebrows shot up. "Dragons? Here?"

I nodded. "Yes. A Hungarian Horntail, a Chinese Fireball, a Swedish Short-Snout, and a Common Welsh Green," I said, my heart hammering in my chest.

Fleur swallowed audibly. "There are four dragons..."

I nodded again. "Yes."

"...and there are four champions..."

I nodded a third time. "Yes."

"...one for each of us."

I clasped at her hands. "Yes."

Fleur looked decidedly fearful. "Dear Peronne, what next?" she whispered.

~⚜~

The first task was to be held on the final Thursday of November, with classes cancelled that day for the entire student body, and the following day for the champions, so as they would have the weekend to recover. There was a great tent set up for the occasion, where all four champions, plus the headmasters and Madame Maxime, as well as family members were permitted before the task was due to take place. I myself was there, with Fleur, before Barty Crouch Sr. arrived with the news about the dragons and what they were expected to do with them.

"How are you feeling?" I whispered to Fleur as she smoothed her champions' uniform, all done up in pale blue, white, and gray.

"All right, I suppose," she responded, rolling her shoulders and reaching outwards, stroking Morgana, who was quietly curled around my neck. "What do you suppose Crouch will tell us we're to do with the dragons?"

"Bon sang si je sais," I muttered, flushing deeply as Madame Maxime came over to us, and promptly looked away.

"Thank Peronne no one other than Headmaster Dumbly-door speaks French," she reprimanded me gently, before turning to Fleur. "How are you feeling, mon cher?"

"Fine, thank you, Madame Maxime," Fleur said quickly and, once she wasn't looking, flashed me a smile of amusement.

I was permitted to stay in the champions' tent during the selection process, and smiled to myself when Fleur got the Common Welsh Green, but was filled with trepidation when Harry selected the Hungarian Horntail. Swallowing my nerves for the afternoon ahead, I followed Madame Maxime, Headmasters Karkaroff and Dumbledore, and Barty Crouch Jr. out of the tent, but I was not given a moments' peace. As we crossed the pathway to take our seats in the spectators' section, I was blocked by a bottle blonde with glasses, a dress, and quill to match, a cameraman just beside her.

"You're Cressida Lambert!" the woman declared, the cameraman flashing a picture of me, while the woman's quill wrote furiously upon its pad of parchment.

I grimaced at her, momentarily blinded by the camera's flash, slightly annoyed that Madame Maxime went to the heads' box, and hadn't stopped this dragon of a woman from, quite literally, accosting me. "Yes, I am," I responded, and knew immediately that this had to be Rita Skeeter, the obnoxious reporter that was covering the tournament on behalf of The Daily Prophet; I also knew that, technically, Rita Skeeter didn't need permission from my headmistress to speak to me, as I was of age.

"Not nearly as lovely as her sister, and certainly not as photogenic," she stage-whispered to her cameraman, who nodded vigorously, before she turned back towards me, a plastic-looking smile plastered upon her face. "My sources tell me that you're also a good friend of Harry Potter's, the fourth champion," she said, her voice rapid-fire, making me uncomfortable. "Don't you believe that is a conflict of interest, given that your own sister is in the tournament?"

"No," I answered levelly, "given that the object of the tournament is not about the Triwizard Cup, but about International Magical Cooperation. The point of this, quite simply, Ms. Skeeter, is to make friends and potential connections. I see no issue with my friendship with Harry Potter, as he is a lovely young man, and that doesn't diminish the loyalty I naturally feel towards my sister. Furthermore, I rather think—"

"Ah, so what are your opinions on the matter of the young rebel in question?" Skeeter wanted to know, the camera going off again. "Do you believe he put his name in the Goblet of Fire, then, or tricked an older student to do it for him?"

"Of course not!" I cried out. "What a question? I'm sure he told you that he didn't do it, but you had to misrepresent him, didn't you? Sells more papers that way, doesn't it?" I demanded of her, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Is it true you're adopted, given that your surname is considerably different than that of pretty Fleur Delacour's?" she asked, and my jaw dropped at the question. "Is it also true that you were left in a snowstorm to perish, and it was only the good will of the Delacour's that prevented you from freezing to death?"

I swallowed, doing my very best to keep my temper with her. "My adopted mother and father are relations of my biological mother's," I informed her, more patiently than I initially felt. "My adopted mother is, in fact, the half-sister of my biological mother. While my being adopted by them certainly wasn't planned, my own mother's death was hardly planned either."

"And is it also true that you're seeking your biological father?" Rita asked, almost as if I hadn't replied to her previous questions.

I gritted my teeth. "It is," I said shortly.

"Must have attended Hogwarts during the time of James and Lily Potter, then," Rita stage-whispered, again, to her cameraman. She then began dictating exclusively to her quill, and ignoring me entirely. "If you attended Hogwarts in the years... Oh, pardon me, dear. When is your birthday?"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you actually want to know?" I muttered.

Rita tutted, but nevertheless returned to her pad of parchment. "Well, if you were at Hogwarts in the mid-1970s and were of child siring years, are British and a Pureblood, as well as a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and could potentially have a bastard child out there, please contact The Daily Prophet, so that we can cover the heartwarming reunion you will inevitably have with your daughter," she concluded, which I found to be altogether mawkish.

"Wow, you are completely unbelievable, you know that?!" I demanded suddenly, my temper having snapped, as I gazed across at her, my hair crackling with unspent magic, as I tried my best not to hex her right there.

Rita Skeeter faltered for a moment. "Well, um... Do you have a quote for us, then?"

I grinned maniacally at her. "More of a tip, in all honesty, Rita," I said, forgoing formalities as I stepped closer to her, and was gleeful when she appeared frightened. "Perhaps, in the future, you should attempt not to make the wixen you interview feel like slabs of meat. We're people, too, although you clearly missed the mark when it comes to everyday things such a politeness," I said, before I turned around, stomping away, smirking at the notion that she was spitting curses behind me. As I ventured towards my seat, I caught sight of Gabrielle, and sat down beside her, smoothing her hair, which had become windblown. "All right?" I asked.

Gabrielle's blonde brows knitted together. "Who was that lady, Cressida?"

"A reporter," I responded, waving it away.

Gabrielle turned, looking down at where Rita was, and we watched as she attempted to corner Amos Diggory for a comment. "You didn't like her," she observed.

"No, I didn't," I responded, "but that's all right. You're not obligated to like everyone in the world, douceur, what matters is how you treat them," I went on, my voice barely above a whisper, although I did feel a gaze upon me, and, turning, noticed that Professor Snape was staring at me, with an expression I couldn't quite pin down.

~⚜~

Two days later was a Hogsmeade weekend, and Harry, sufficiently recovered from his battle with his dragon for its golden egg, agreed to show me around. He and Ron had made up in the aftermath of the first task, and Hermione and I had systematically spent all of Friday chewing him out for his treatment of Harry. However, Ron was truly humbled, and, once Hermione asked him if he had anything else to say, he almost immediately apologized to me as well.

It was a cold, late-November day as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I ventured down from Hogwarts and towards the all-wizarding village, and I believed it was quite quaint. We popped into Honeydukes, as I'd promised to bring back some treats for Gabrielle, and I eagerly followed Hermione into Tomes and Scrolls while Harry and Ron ventured into Spintwitches Sporting Needs to check out their Quidditch merchandise. I pulled my emerald green autumn cloak more tightly around me, relieved that Morgana had been content to remain in my bed in my dorm room on this cold, cold day.

"Thank Merlin you came with us," Hermione said as we stepped into the bookshop, and tossing a grin over her shoulder. "I have to fight Harry and Ron tooth and nail to even consider coming in here. Thankfully, there's you, and you love books."

I playfully rolled my eyes. "Of course I love books, Hermione," I replied, looking about at the selections on offer. It quite reminded me of a high-end, countryside manor's library, with dark wood bookshelves along each wall, tasteful furniture dotting the floor, and fashionable-looking rugs placed just so beneath the furniture. "What were you thinking of getting?"

"Oh, I never have a plan, unless a new book is mentioned in the Ancient Runes Periodical or Arithmancy Armory," she mused, shrugging her shoulders. "I so look forward to the occasion when I can take the advanced courses. You don't know how lucky you are, Cressida."

"Oh, I don't know about that," I replied with a shrug. "I suppose I'd rather known my biological parents than take advanced courses."

Hermione stopped her perusal of the section dedicated to Magical Theory and immediately turned to face me, her brown eyes wide. "Oh, there I go again, not even thinking before opening my mouth," she said softly, smacking her forehead. "I'm so sorry, Cressida. You're right, of course, and I really should learn to think before I speak..."

"Hey, you're not as bad as Ron is," I joked, squeezing her shoulder, and directly causing her to laugh aloud. "And besides, not every fifteen-year-old knows when or if they shouldn't say something to someone."

Hermione blinked, still not completely sure. "But... Aren't you angry with me?"

I smirked. "You had nothing to do with my mother's death, or with my father being MIA for the entirety of my life, save for my conception," I replied.

Hermione dragged her shoe on the ground. "I had a Time-Turner..."

"Yes, last year, before we'd even met," I told her, and we laughed together. "Come on. I know you wouldn't do something like that, especially not to me, even before we'd met."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I suppose you're right," she replied.

We remained at the bookshop for a good half an hour, until Harry and Ron began wandering outside the establishment, prompting the pair of us to pay for our purchases and hurry outside into the cold air.

"Blimey, 'Mione, you'll never guess who we ran into!" Ron crowed.

Hermione blinked. "No, Ron, I won't. Unless it was Fred and George..."

"It wasn't," Harry confirmed, flushed with excitement.

I turned then as the bell jingle from the nearby sports shop, and I raised my eyebrows at the handsome young man who stepped outside, and came towards us.

"Hello, Hermione," he said, his voice an attractive Scottish accent.

"Oliver!" Hermione cried, rushing towards him, embracing him quickly, causing Oliver to laugh aloud and hug her back. "What are you doing here?"

"In town for the weekend, visiting my da and me mam, and I'm getting a new broom delivered to their house," Oliver said, letting go of Hermione once she'd done so as well, and he turned to me, eyes widening a bit. "Hello," he greeted, stepping closer and offering me his hand, "Oliver Wood, pleased to meet you."

I swallowed, trying and failing not to blush. "Cressida Lambert," I responded, taking the hand on offer and smiling at him. "Pleasure to meet you, Oliver."

"Och, ye must be visiting from Beauxbatons," he said, nodding with approval. "Any relation to Fleur Delacour?"

"Cressida is Fleur's sister!" Ron said a bit too loudly. "She's adopted," he added, once Oliver looked a bit confused, likely at Fleur's and my difference in coloring.

"Always did prefer darker hair meself," he said, chuckling lightly as he let my hand go. "Harry, Ron, and I were just talking about going to The Three Broomsticks..."

"Well, that sounds lovely," Hermione declared, looping her arm with mine. "We'd be happy to accompany you, wouldn't we?"

I nodded. "Yes, that would be very nice," I said softly.

Hermione led the charge, keeping Harry and Ron involved in conversation so that Oliver and I would get the opportunity to speak. Upon arrival at the pub, its proprietress, Madam Rosmerta, managed to find us a booth big enough for us all, and Hermione squished herself in with Harry and Ron, who looked a bit disappointed that Oliver wouldn't be sitting with them. To his credit, Oliver didn't seem to notice, and permitted me to sit down after him, so that I could get up whenever I wished.

Harry selected the fish and chips, Ron ordered a large serving of the shepherd's pie, Hermione opted for the chicken salad sandwich, Oliver picked the roast beef meal, and I picked the herb roasted chicken. While we waited for our meals, I was encouraged to try Butterbeer, as it was not a thing in France, and found that I liked it. I also knew that it was mildly alcoholic, so I merely sipped it sparingly, not wishing to make a fool out of myself in front of Oliver.

"What year are you at Beauxbatons?" Oliver wanted to know.

"I'm a seventh-year," I told him with a small smile. "I turn eighteen next march. Our headmistress has stipulated that we may take NEWTs instead of NYMPHs, which is our version of NEWTs in France," I explained.

"What does NYMPHs stand for?" Oliver asked, clearly curious.

"Notorious Yearling Magical Preliminary Habits," I said with a giggle. "We typically prepare for them the summer after our THESTRALs, your OWLs."

Oliver grinned. "And THESTRALs are?"

"Timely Hectic Essential Strategic Tests for Radical Academic Learning," I informed him in a patient manner. "And what is it that you do, Oliver?"

"I'm a Reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United," Oliver said, clearly proud. "Hopefully, they'll let me be a proper player within a year or two. Thankfully, I'm permitted to play during practice sessions in case the real Keeper gets injured or has an emergency. It's been great fun, and I've learned a great deal from it."

I nodded. "I'm sure you have," I told him.

"Cressida doesn't like Quidditch," Ron reported from the opposite end of the table.

Hermione promptly elbowed him in the ribs. "Ronald!" she hissed.

Ron shrugged. "Well, she doesn't..."

I swallowed, hoping beyond hope that Ron didn't just ruin my chances with Oliver. "I don't dislike Quidditch," I informed Oliver, who, surprisingly, didn't appear to be too terribly disappointed. "Perhaps I haven't seen the right team, or the right players, yet."

Oliver grinned at my answer. "Aye, perhaps ye haven't," he replied.

Once we'd eaten our meals, Hermione shooed the boys out before they could beg for pudding, and they paid for their portion of the bill by the door. Oliver and I remained behind, splitting a caramel pot de crème, which was an altogether lovely way to round-out the meal. Oliver insisted on paying, despite me offering to pay my half of the meal, and told me that it was more than all right with him.

"May I walk you back to the castle?" he asked, once we'd left the pub.

I blinked, surprised he wanted to keep spending time with me. "You don't need to rush home to your parents?" I wanted to know.

Oliver shook his head. "No, not yet. Not until supper."

I smiled back at him. "All right, then. Yes, that'd be lovely," I said, and permitted him to take me by the hand as we walked back.

"So ye have two sisters, I'm an only child," Oliver said, mentioning facts about the pair of us as we ventured back towards Hogwarts. "Ye're French, I'm Scottish, I've got an owl called Hermóðr, ye've got an ermine named Morgana..."

"We're both Purebloods," I joked.

Oliver looked slightly surprised by my declaration. "Ye kno' tha', despite not knowing who yer da is?" he asked.

I nodded. "She left a letter; my mother," I explained. "All we know for sure is that he's a Pureblood wizard, from Britain, who attended Hogwarts in the 1970s. Also, he is apparently a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," I reported, and shrugged my shoulders. "Not much to go on, I know..."

Oliver squeezed my hand. "My teammates were talking about what that Skeeter woman wrote about ye before I came home last night," he admitted, and I flushed. "No, ye had it right. She's a galla who desperately needs to be put in her place."

I smirked. "A galla?" I asked.

"Aye... Oh," Oliver said, flushing slightly this time around. "She's a bitch."

I attempted, and failed miserably, to smother my laughter as we reached the castle gates. I stopped walking as Oliver did, knowing that he would have to report to Headmaster Dumbledore if he wanted to come inside and, as he only had limited time with his mother and father, I didn't want him to have to do that. "I had a lovely day," I said quietly.

"So did I," Oliver responded, and hesitated for a moment. "Might I write to ye?"

I blinked, surprised. "Yes, I would really enjoy that," I assured him.

Oliver smiled, but then he turned serious, before he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, just shy of my lips. "I'll write to ye then, Cressida Lambert," he declared, before squeezing my hands one last time, and letting me go.

I watched as he walked down the frost-bitten lane, back to the village, presumably to Apparate to his childhood home. I smiled to myself, waiting until he turned around the bend, before I placed my hand upon the gates of the castle. They opened effortlessly, allowing me inside, while, I, too ventured into the place I was calling home, albeit temporarily, for the time being.