three — seven of swords

upright: deception, trickery, tactics and strategy.

reversed: coming clean, rethinking approach, deception.

( alternatively: the art of quiet deception! )

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VERITY SAT ON her bed, the curtains drawn partway to offer some sense of privacy. She's staring down at a letter though she's long sense memorized the words of, a soft frown on her face. She'd received the letter over a month ago on the 22nd of September, the last full length letter her father had sent her. He had sent her a birthday gift, along with a card, but she knew the gift had been pre-packaged around the same time she'd received this letter.

In her father's line of work, it wasn't uncommon for him to seemingly vanish off the face of the Earth only to reappear a few weeks later, not a scratch on him and some form of victory in tow. However, he always kept in contact with Verity as much as he could without jeopardizing his work.

For him to go over a month without contacting her was cause for worry, though to be fair, Verity worried about practically everything. A trait, her father had told her, that she'd inherited from her mother. She didn't want to worry as much as she did, but it seemed no matter where she looked, all there was were a plethora of reasons to be worried.

She was worried about the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup that had been brushed under the rug at Hogwarts. She was worried about her father and his less than safe job. She was worried about her murderous aunt who'd gone dormant for so long (it seemed too good to be true). She was worried about the tournament; about entering it, about not entering it. She was worried about the workload her NEWT level classes had dumped on her and she was worried about staying on top of her Prefect duties.

In all honesty, the last thing she needed was another thing to stress her out. It's why she was currently in her room on a Saturday, staring down at a letter she'd read several times instead of joining Imogen in the weekly trips to Hogsmeade.

Today was the last day to enter the Triwizard Tournament, something that had been weighing heavily on Verity's mind.

Already, the school was buzzing with the names of students who'd entered. From Durmstrang; Viktor Krum, Niko, and the infamous Anastasia Romanova were the forerunners (though, it was no surprise that Viktor held the popular vote by far, it had still been a shock to most when a witch from the magical royal line of Russia had entered). From Beauxbaton; a stunning young woman named Fleur Delacour seemed to hold everyone captive, enough so that the other representatives from Beauxbaton faded into the background. From Hogwarts; to no one's surprise Cedric had entered along with Angelina Johnson, who was a seventh year Gryffindor, and surprisingly, Cassius Warrington, a fellow sixth year Slytherin.

Many more had entered besides those seven, but those seemed to be the seven everyone was talking about. Apparently, a few had even tried to get past the Age Line, including the Weasley twins who'd attempted it this morning and had been sent to the hospital wing to have long white beards removed by Madame Pomphrey.

And here's the thing, Verity knew she didn't have to enter the tournament because her housemates wanted her to, or because her friends thought she had a shot at winning. She wasn't one to be persuaded by her peers to do what she didn't want to do, but she did admit, the tournament called to her.

It was common knowledge who her father was. It was also common knowledge who her aunt was. However, it was not common knowledge as to who Verity Finch was. Instead, everyone seemed to construct an opinion of her based on the two prominent adult figures in her life, and there was a part of her that yearned to stop riding on the coattails of her father's legacy and to cast aside her aunt's wicked shadow.

But the youth cling stubbornly to their constructs of their peers and it would take a lot to get them to see her for who she is, not as they thought she was.

The tournament could provide that for her, it would certainly thrust her into a proverbial spotlight and burn away the illusions people had placed over her. That was temping; winning was tempting. And she could, if she wanted to. Call it arrogance, call it confidence, it didn't matter to her. Verity knew that when she set her mind to something, she could achieve it. This tournament wouldn't be any different.

But there was a larger part, the more sensible part of her, that knew the safety and protection that came with feeding into her peer's constructs of her. They didn't once think there may be something fundamentally different about Verity, that she knew when they were lying to her face, that she could see their magic blanketing them; a living, writhing mass that grew as their magical capacities deepened. She had gone so long using the rumors to ensure her ability wasn't discovered that forsaking her biggest deterrent made her hesitate.

Verity carefully folds the letter up and places it back into the envelope before getting off her bed, crouching down to rummage through her trunk. She unlocks the small container with her wand and slides the letter inside with the others, before locking it once more.

Verity grabs a piece of parchment, carefully tearing off a piece, looking up as Imogen enters the room, a bag swinging from her wrist.

Her best friend's eyebrows flick up, "Did you finally decide?"

Verity tears off another piece and waves it at her, "Care to join?"

Imogen laughs, "No thank you. Why for Salazar's sake would I enter that tournament? Heaven knows I don't need the money. Besides, eternal glory? Not really my sort of thing. Plus, we both know I'm rubbish at riddles."

"To be young and filthy rich," Verity says dryly, "must be nice."

Imogen winks, "It is."

Verity carefully writes her name in looping cursive, striking a clean line through the t in her first name and dotting the i's with care. Then she folds the paper neatly in half, sticking it into her right pocket. She picks up the blank paper, "Last chance."

Imogen waves a hand, "I appreciate it, really. Just don't forget about dear old me when you're famous."

Verity laughs, turning so her back was to Imogen, folding the blank slip of paper and tucking it into her left pocket, "Like you'd ever let me forget you."

She grabs her wand and slides it into the opposite pocket, glancing into the mirror across the room one of their roommates had hung up. She tucks her hair behind her ears, running a critical eye over her appearance. She's in her school uniform despite it being the weekend since she has Prefect duties to attend to later and she straightens her crooked tie.

"Do you want me to join, or do you want to do it by yourself?"

Verity turns to look at Imogen, her friend having laid down on her bed on her stomach, her chin propped on the palm of her hand, a knowing look in her eyes. Verity, while considered approachable and somewhat nice by the other houses, had worked hard to gain the respect of her own housemates. A Prefect who couldn't garner the attention of their house was laughable, and Verity had never been one to let others walk over her even before she'd gotten the badge in the mail.

Even if she didn't feed into the stereotypical Slytherin student of being cold and cruel (which was absolute shit by the way, house stereotypes made her want to bash her head against the wall, after all she knew plenty of kind Slytherins and plenty of cruel students from other houses), she still had a reputation to uphold.

Imogen doesn't look surprised when Verity replies, "By myself."

"Have fun," her friend calls out after her as she leaves their room.

Verity walks through Hogwarts with a purpose in her step, a stark contrast to the slow and lazy pace most of her peers keep. She quells her nerves, place her hands in her pockets, fingers tracing the two separate pieces of paper in her pockets, a voice nagging at the back of her head.

Are you willing to risk everything on this tournament? Your secrets, your father's secrets, your own life?

Her father had taught her a great many things, from spells to reading people to mastering the art of quiet deception. She knew how to fade into the background, how to make others listen to her. She knew how to tell what people wanted and to act the part that they desired her to. But, the most important lesson he'd taught her was that no matter what she did, no matter how many lies she spun or unraveled, no matter how many fantasies she entertained or burned to an ash, she was to never lie to herself.

There's a multitude of students from all three schools in the room, majority lounging in groups on the benches. Most looked preoccupied with their friends rather than the goblet, likely because most contestants had already entered their names. She recognizes quite a few; vibrant Niko sitting next to the cold Anastasia (both of whom are in her and Cedric's group); the shock of red hair belonging to the twins (sans beards thanks to Pomphrey) accompanied by the booming laugh of their friend; the cool, appraising gaze of not only Cassius, but Adrian as well, the two Slytherins surrounded by familiar underclassmen (namely, Draco Malfoy and his group).

The talking dies out as Verity strides forward, her gaze focused on blue flame flickering above the goblet, a shimmering Age Line surrounding it drenched in Dumbledore's magic. She steps through the Age Line, the ancient magic laying over the goblet as beautiful as it was deadly, coaxing her forward.

Verity Finch was privy to quite a few secrets, but she knew her own best and kept them under lock and key—

She can feel the weight of the other student's gazes on her as she approaches the Goblet of Fire, slowly lifting her hand out of her pocket. She drops the slip of paper into the fire, watching as sparks fly up, clapping sounding out around her. She catches the gaze of Cassius as she turns to leave, her housemate wearing an expression equally satisfied and contemplative. 

As she walks out of the room, the slip of paper with her name on it in her right pocket, she felt a strange sense of relief. And as she finds a hidden alcove to send the paper up in flames, she knew she'd made the right choice. In one move she'd satisfied her housemates expectations of her, a harmless red herring that no one would ever know about. Was it selfish of her? Perhaps. But if Verity wasn't one hundred percent certain about competing in the tournament, there was no point in her attempting to convince herself she was, just as there was no reason to loose face when there was such a simple solution to solve the problem.

After all, she would enter for herself, or for no one at all. 

—what was one more?

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September 20th, 1994

Dearest L'venok,

First things first, don't mind Alastor. He's always been strange, even before the aftermath of the war caused him to become more paranoid (yes, he was paranoid before, however it only seems to be getting worse with age). Shocker, I know. He's a good man and however odd his teaching methods may be, he is one of the best. His bark is equal to his bite, but I have no doubt you can handle him. Still, I have always told you to trust your gut and if you feel like there is truly something off, don't hesitate to write and let me know, I trust your judgement.

Onto the next thing I want to address, the Triwizard Tournament. I'm aware that by the time they'll be accepting participants, you'll be of age and can enter. Regarding your question as to my thoughts on the tournament, I will tell you this: the tournament is not for the faint of heart, there is a reason it was revoked for nearly three hundred years and also a reason for the age limit. The different trials are meant to test every aspect of the contestants, both physically and mentally.

I will not tell you to enter the tournament, nor will I tell you to not enter. That is up to you to decide, and you alone. Do not let anyone else sway your decision, for you know yourself best. That is my advice to you.

One thing I do know, is that no matter your decision, I will support you and I'm proud of what you've accomplished so far, and what you will accomplish this year.

Good luck with your studies. I will be away on a job for a while so I'm unsure of when I will be able to write next, try not to worry too much. Be on the lookout for a package, it should arrive either before or on your birthday. Kick some ass, make some friends from the other schools, and if you cause any trouble, just don't get caught.

Love you kiddo,

Dad

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The excitement was palpable Sunday night, a tangible thing that lived and breathed alongside the students. George could feel it humming along his skin, and despite him and Fred's failure at entering their names in the goblet, he was still looking forward to seeing who the Champions were.

"I've got 3 Galleons on Krum, Delacour, and Diggory." Lee hisses to them as they find a good seat, "Windsor bet on Krum, Delacour, and Finch, while Evans bet on Romanova, Delacour, and Diggory. Care to join the pool?"

Fred and George exchanged a look, having already discussed this the other day.

"We'll bet on Krum—" Fred starts.

"—Delacour, and..." George continues.

"Finch." They say together.

Lee snickers, "Of course you two would pick Finch."

"Better her than Diggory," Fred retorts.

"You'd really rather have a Slytherin champion, then get over your petty rivalry with Cedric?" Ron questions, sliding in behind them.

The twins look at each other before looking up at their younger brother, "Yes."

"Besides Ronald, didn't mum ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover?" Fred says sweetly.

"Oh right I forget, you wouldn't dare crack open a book, much less even look at its cover." George chimes in, "You're allergic to reading, aren't you?"

Ron's ears redden but before he can retort everyone falls silently, causing the brothers to turn their attention to Dumbledore. The Headmaster has entered the room, making his way towards the goblet, the blue flame flickering every so often.

"The moment you've all been waiting for," Dumbledore says, "the Champion selection!"

It feels as though everyone is holding their breath, watching with rapt attention as the old wizard circles the goblet, the flame flickering, flickering, flickering—

It gutters out for a single second before reappearing, the icy blue replaced by a glistening red, a single piece of paper appearing and floating down, sparks following in its wake. Dumbledore snatches the paper out of the air, everyone waiting with bated breath as he reads it. He turns his attention to the waiting students.

"The Durmstrang Champion is... Viktor Krum!"

The Durmstrang students explode into applause and cheers, though George notes one girl's lips curling down into a frown, not even bothering to hide her contempt at Dumbledore's statement.

That must be the Romanova witch, George thinks, the one who Evans bet on.

Viktor Krum gets up, a black-haired boy slapping him enthusiastically on the back, his wolfish grin still holding as he turns to Anastasia, whispering something to her. The girl's frown deepens but she claps twice before letting her hands drop back into her lap. The other schools give Viktor polite applause as he makes his way up to Dumbledore, the teenager shaking his hand before being directed away.

The goblet turns red again, spitting out another piece of paper.

"The Champion from the Beauxbatons Academy is... Fleur Delacour!"

The applause from the academy is much more elegant and refined than from Durmstrang, but it held the same amount of pride as the stunning witch stood up. She shakes Dumledore's hand as well before vanishing.

Even though it's likely the goblet took the same amount of time to release another paper as it did for the other school, the seconds seem to stretch on, George shaking his left leg up and down anxiously. He knew he was a rather impatient person, but Merlin's beard the goblet seemed to be taking its time selecting another Champion. Finally, finally, the fire turns red.

"And the Hogwarts Champion..."

For Godrick's sake, George groans in his mind as Dumbledore gives a dramatic pause, just read the damn name! 

"Cedric Diggory!"

The Hufflepuff table explodes with happiness, the other houses showing varying amounts of support as well. George huffs and leans back, clapping a bit sullenly. He didn't really have anything against Cedric Diggory except... that he did. It was a petty reason, both he and Fred knew that, but they both adored Qudditch and were still annoyed at the turnout of their match against Hufflepuff last year. Plus, to add insult to injury, Cedric had tried to get them a rematch. Which yeah, that was nice, but it didn't work which somehow made the whole situation worse. Perhaps if they had gotten a rematch the twins would feel differently, but they hadn't so here they were; petty grudges and all.

And if there was one thing the twins knew how to do well, was to hold a petty grudge.

Plus, they'd just lost 3 Galleons. Not Cedric's fault in the slightest, but that didn't matter to them.

At the thought of the bet, his eyes flicker over to where the Slytherin's were sitting. Most were clapping politely, though Cassius Warrington (he'd entered his name if George remembered correctly) looked as if he'd just bit into a lemon. Near the end of the table, he found the girl he was looking for, wondering if she was just as bitter as her housemate was.

George blinks, confused.

Verity is clapping, not politely, but happily, a small yet knowing smile on her face as Cedric passes her; Cedric who, and George cannot stress this enough, looks relieved at Verity's open support and beams at her.

Wait... what?

"They're friends, you know," Lee comments nonchalantly, "Diggory and Finch. Like, actual friends, not just polite acquaintances. Which means if you two are going to get anywhere near her, you're gonna have to drop that one-sided feud you have going on."

George looks at Fred, Fred looks at George.

Could they? Yes. Would they?

"Nah." They chorus together.

Lee shrugs, "Alright, I'm just trying to help."

A thought crosses George's mind, "Say, how do you know about their friendship? I thought you didn't know her."

Lee gives him a blank look, "Just because I'm not all buddy-buddy with her, doesn't mean I don't know a few things about her. Hello, it's me you're talking to. Who don't I know in this school?"

Lee's not wrong; he likely knew every single student that attended Hogwarts, along with one to five rumors/secrets/facts about them, because that's who Lee was. He attracted information without much effort, because while Lee definitely had a troublemaker streak in him (George and Fred wouldn't be as good of friends as they were with him if he didn't), he also had the type of personality that others felt safe confiding in.

A shit decision, really, but then again, people's naiveness meant George had a steady stream of stories and rumors to keep him entertained, so he was he to complain.

Fred hits him on the arm and George scowls at him, only to realize the cause of his brother's violent reaction. In fact, the majority of the room had fallen into a stunned silence as the goblet flickered red once more. The silence pressed against him as Dumbledore slowly reached up to grab the lone paper, and somehow George should've guessed what happened next, because it was Hogwarts, and was it really Hogwarts without at least one hiccup involving the one and only—

"Harry Potter." Dumbledore says calmly, eyes searching the crowd of students. When Harry doesn't get up, the headmaster repeats more firmly, "Harry Potter."

George knows he shouldn't, but he can't help it.

He laughs.

Another year, another HADSLNB*.

*Harry Attracts Dangerous Situations Like Nobody's Business

(George was good at quite a few things— such as causing general mayhem, solving puzzles, fitting an entire bag of licorice wands into his mouth, and being devilishly handsome —but creating acronyms was not one of them.)

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