Chapter Text
Thursday, November 24, 1994
Slytherin Girls Fourth Year Dorm—2
Eden kept her eyes closed and hoped against the far too real reality that she could just go back to sleep and hide in Tom’s warm—secure snug reliable safe—arms until the end of time.
It wasn’t fair.
Nothing about this was fair.
She was sure—would bet vast amounts of money—that had it been Leif—perfect, sniveling, little brat (oh how jealously clouded the mind)—whose name had been drawn, Old Dumbles wouldn’t have hesitated to break the very most basic laws of magic to get him out of the Tournament.
Leif wouldn’t have been put under the truth serum because he’s the bloody Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, and he could do absolutely nothing wrong because of it.
It honestly made her sick.
That wasn’t the first time that she had had those soul-crippling thoughts. Nor was it the first time that she allowed herself to be filled with indignant anger at the situation once it had settled in a couple days after her name had been drawn. In fact, it had come in quite handy while she was training, especially the last week leading up to the Task.
It was, however, the first time that she didn’t keep a tight grip on her anger, and allowed it to flow through her veins. Allowed the hatred of all those who were supposed to love—cherish treasure protect shield—her and care about her consume—burn eat destroy kill—her whole.
She opened her eyes and barely registered the faint green glow (that came from her eyes) that filled the enclosed space as she reined in her angry magic, but not her anger.
She slipped out of bed and moved to her tall—way too tall—wardrobe and pulled out a black Acromantula silk robe lined with soft emerald green lace before she made her way to the common room, unaware of the eyes that watched her.
Slytherin Common Room
She looked around the large room and took in the surroundings that had become home.
The large, floor to ceiling glass windows on the far wall between the two hallways that led off into the dormitories and showed the depths of the Black Lake—which was illuminated by spells placed by Salazar Slytherin himself.
The low ceilings—they were actually ten feet tall but compared to the rest of the castle, they were low—were draped with thin green and silver fabric woven with Magic that kept the large room from echoing too horribly.
The columns etched with Runes of multiple Magical origins, snakes, and home to many scars from violent duels over the centuries.
The warm, cloth covered settees, couches, and arm chairs dotted around the large room, and grouped together with end tables and coffee tables to make it feel not crowded, but also not bare.
The soft white fairy lights that lazily drifted around the room, and grouped around students when they were studying, reading, or playing games that required light.
There were bookshelves lining the right side—the ‘girls’ side—of the room, and all of the books had been donated by past students over the years and couldn’t be found in the main Library. It was a resource that had been quickly exhausted within the first four days of research due to Selwyn and the other seventh years doing their own research—using their contacts in the Ministry—and quickly realized the same thing that she and Tom had—sadly, most of the books were more than useless when it came to fighting magical creatures.
On the left side of the room was a large 35 foot long fireplace that crackled high, and warmed the entire dungeon living quarters—along with the fireplaces in the dorm rooms.
Doors were dotted on the remaining wall, and on either side of the massive fireplace—which she now stood in front of—that lead to private study rooms, and group study rooms. One of the doors also lead to Snakey-Snape’s office, and she stared at that door for a long moment before she turned her full—agitated furious hectic terrified—attention to the orange and yellow flames.
She briefly wondered what it would feel like to be burned alive.
When one of the doors that lead to the main room opened behind her, she did nothing more than tilt and turn her head slightly, as if she were a dog who was trying to hear better. When the door closed, and she heard multiple pairs of footsteps, she realized just which door had opened.
She reluctantly turned and came face to face with Snakey-Snape and all of the fourth year Slytherin’s—not just him and her roommates like she had assumed. How they got to his office without her knowing, she would never know.
“I feel like you have all conspired against me,” she said as a reluctant smile spread across her full lips. They all grinned and guiltlessly nodded—except for Snakey-Snape, his lips twitched (score!).
“We wanted to make sure everything was alright. That you are alright.”
“Your magic was pretty violent when you woke up…”
Eden ignored Daphne’s tired comment, and spoke to the group. “I’ve already told you guys—especially you, Pans and Dray—to not worry about it. I’m as prepared as I can be with all things considering.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, that, had Eden been a lesser person, would have sent her running for the hills. “What does that mean?” she demanded in a deadly hiss as she crossed her arms over her chest and put her weight on one leg.
Eden’s heart thudded in her chest, and she felt like she would die with the sudden rush—fire heat flare light—of affection she felt for her sister in everything but blood.
She smiled softly at her before she spoke. “I have absolutely no clue what the challenge is going to be. All I was told was that it was going to ‘test my daring’. In my research—” Tom’s research “—I have come to the conclusion that it might have something to do with magical creatures, so, I’ve been studying and practicing spells that will work against most creatures.”
“Wait—so you have been practicing?” Draco demanded, his gray eyes alight with a crippling inferno.
“Of course I have,” she stated in a slightly shocked, and a more than slightly ‘duh’ tone. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“When do you practice?”
“All you do is school work and sleep!”
“I get up at five every morning, when do you think I do things for the Tournament?”
Understanding crossed their faces. So that was why she had suddenly started to go to sleep so early.
“Wait—” Vincent cut in, “—so you only practice in the mornings?”
“Pretty much. Despite being a Champion, I still want to do well in school. I may be dismissed from our final exams, but, I’m not in my final year. I need to stay caught up. That’s why I focus on school during the day and evenings, and the Tournament in the mornings.” And nights. Most definitely couldn’t forget the nights.
Merlin, Tom would kill her if she forgot about their nights. Days?
Time travel was confusing.
After she continued to explain that she practiced in the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor, she was able to finally convince them that she was fine, would remain to be fine, and that they could go back to sleep for a short while longer.
Room of Requirement
Once that monumental task was done—who knew Snakey-Snape could be so stubborn—she quickly left to go practice on her own. She knew that even though she had practiced with Tom, his Demonic Puppets, and his Obstacle Course from Hell a mere hour and a half prior, she was still extraordinarily panicked about the Task, despite what he had told her just before she woke up.
She knew herself. She knew that she would panic and as a result of that, forget.
She knew her chance of survival against whatever creature they deemed acceptable to go up against children wouldn’t be high due to that innate character flaw.
Slytherin Girls Fourth Year Dorm—2
She practiced hard until a half hour before lunch—she had permission to miss classes on the days of the Tasks—after which she went and got changed into the clothes that she would hopefully be wearing during the actual performing of the Task and covered them with a too long robe.
After that was done, she loitered around her room, wrote in her diary, and then made her way up to the great hall after she had removed all of her jewelry—most of which had some sort of protection aspect—and her pearl bag—how parting is such a sweet sorrow (or something like that)—which she tucked under the pillow after she carefully placed her jewelry in it.
Great Hall
Her legs gave out on her as she sat in the middle of the long table, across from Selwyn and the Queen whose name she still didn’t know.
Her friends—Pansy and Draco—immediately started to pile food high on her plate. All of it was high in nutrition and magical benefits, and most tasted absolutely bland. Her hands shook violently as Draco shoved food into her mouth—almost literally…he was nice about it…kind of—because she couldn’t hold anything long enough to be able to feed herself.
She missed the shared glance between godfather and godson.
Forbidden Forest
“I can’t do this,” she breathed as they trekked across the uneven terrain to get to the Task’s location. The reality of what she was about to do had suddenly kicked in, and to say she was panicked would be a vast understatement. “I’m going to die. I need to go back and write a will, I—” She turned around to head back to the castle as she continued to babble before her words and frantic motions were stopped suddenly when Draco slapped her hard across the face. She closed her stinging eyes and took a deep breath as a natural tear fell out of one. “Thank you,” she breathed, “I needed that.”
Her magic caressed her face, and she knew no bruise would show. The guilty expression left his face, and the Slytherin’s surrounding the two—even their close friends—relaxed and put away their wands.
It was no secret that she was abused—most Slytherin’s were, unfortunately (some physically, most mentally)—and for some reason, everyone, ever since her first year, had been insanely over protective—even more so since her name was drawn.
“You’re welcome. Now, you’re going to breathe,” He placed his hands on her shoulders, “and you are going to do your best, do you understand, Eden?”
She lifted her chin and sniffed. “I’m insulted that you think I wouldn’t do my best,” she huffed only semi-playfully. The effect, however, was ruined by the way her voice shook and her lips trembled. “My pride could never take it if I did that. I’d rather be Kissed by a Dementor than not give it my all in this endeavor.”
The large group of Slytherin’s—the entire House—continued on their way to the Arena in a tight knit group, talking quietly amongst themselves, none of them able to force a cheer that no one felt.
Once at the Arena, she made her way to the tent where she was handed a bundle of fabric by Snakey-Snape and shoved behind a thin curtain to change. She unfolded the fabric and nearly cried when she saw the small bottle of Calming Draught—just enough to get her to stop shaking uncontrollably (and probably then some—but not much more).
She quickly downed the potion and removed her outer robe before she turned her attention to the clothing that had been handed to her. She held up the stiff robes with steady hands and wrinkled her small nose at them.
These would not do, at all.
She stuck her head out of the curtain and spoke to the dour potions professor who stood outside of her little cubical like a knight in bat’s clothing. “Do I really have to wear these?”
He turned and looked down at her with a lifted brow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s like a baggy…muggle…tracksuit—is that the word? I don’t know. But, while I’m sure these will allow flexibility, I’m also pretty sure it’s not good for the spells that I plan on casting,” she explained as she fingered the small—but still far too large—metal fastenings and button holes.
“And what spells do you anticipate needing?” She looked around at the other Champions who all seemed to be lost in their own worlds of fear before she yanked him behind the curtain and quickly and silently lifted a multitude of privacy wards around them.
“In my studies,” she started hesitantly, knowing that what she was about to say could very well change the opinion the man in front of her held for her into something negative. “I realized that while magical creatures are typically impervious to magic…they aren’t necessarily immune to…the uh…the weather.” Her eyes trailed down from his all-seeing gaze and focused on the small black buttons at the neck of his robes.
Unlike normal buttons instead of four holes, they had seven, and they were sewn with a black thread that glowed with magic and—
Her gaze was drawn back up as he gasped in realization and she knew she didn’t have to explain further—but really those buttons were a piece of work; they must have multitudes of protection—
“You are aware of how dangerous those spells are, correct? Both politically and magically?”
He grabbed her face with both hands before she could move onto another object to hyper-focus on—he knew her too well. She nodded, grateful for the action of her confidante. “Yes. That’s why I’m wearing what I am. It won’t hinder me, kill me, or help me with any of the restrictions placed on the Champions.”
He looked at the tight yoga pants and equally tight open-back black halter tank top—Narcissa had introduced the brand to her when she started doing yoga with her a couple years ago, and Eden had decided to purchase a new pair for the Task.
Both articles of clothing were black and made of a soft, moisture absorbing—and evaporating—magical cotton, and the tank top showed her shoulders, but also covered the entirety of her chest until the hollow of her throat. She wore black socks made of the same cotton that the rest of her clothes were and were charmed to look like shoes—she most definitely did not want to risk losing House points on the day that might very well be her death day.
Snakey-Snape cast a spell at the clothes, and a light appeared on the tip of his wand, and nodded his head. With a few more flicks of his wand, the clothes had lightened to a dark green and had silver stripes on the sides while the charm on the socks had been dropped. They were now a gorgeous Slytherin green and had dark green and bright silver stripes that shimmered slightly at the toe and heel.
“Be wise, Eden. I know you. You have fifteen plans for one simple scenario. If you can’t cast it safely don’t risk casting it at all. Please.”
Eden smiled at him despite the unease—fear anxiety turmoil help—oozing in her stomach. Was the potion wearing off? It couldn’t be. “I promise, Snakey-Snape.”
He groaned and turned his eyes to the heavens—most likely muttering a prayer to the Olde gods. She was right when she assumed—a dangerous past-time—that the use of the name would prevent him from Sealing the promise. He opened the curtain with an agitated flick and the two stepped out and ignored the looks the other Champions sent their way when they saw her clothing.
“I curse the day you figured out that nickname.”
Sometime in 1941.
“What about the day I started calling you it to your face?”
Summer of 1993.
He gave her a dry look out the corner of his eyes as a smirk—barely there—pulled at his lips. “By that point it was far too late to have regrets.”
Eden laughed joyfully, even as her hands began to shake once more, and started to joke around with him—much to the other Champion’s shock (they were all sick to their stomachs with fright)—until Rita Skeeter and her photographer swept into the tent with an obnoxious flourish.
As much as she was grateful to the woman for calling Dumbles out on his poor actions on Halloween, she still disliked the reporter, and the feeling was more than mutual.
Snakey-Snape stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder as Rita poked and prodded the four Champions in their pre-Task group interview—something that had been joyfully approved by Dumbles last minute (something that made the ire within her burn just a little bit brighter).
He defended her whenever the blonde said something particularly scathing to her, and subtly insulted the two foreign Champions when they did the same—Cedric, she was confused (and pleased) to note did the same as the professor.
The potion’s Master stood behind her as the challenge was explained—which, admittedly, she should have paid just a titch more attention to—and he stood behind her as the anger at the indignity—injustice outrage irritation unfairness—of the situation grew to new heights at the probing of the horrid woman.
He stood behind her, ever supportive, as she finally let her Dark, angry—furious bitter resentful hateful—magic explode out from her in subtle waves.
“Alright, ladies first. You’ll reach in, grab one, and keep your hand closed until everyone has done so.”
The two girls looked at each other, and when Fleur gestured to her, she shook her head emphatically, widened her eyes, and made her cheeks go pink with a nifty little spell. “I could never be so disrespectful of someone of your status.”
She smirked inwardly at the look on the blondes face, and the congratulating squeeze on her shoulder, and the knowing look sent by a schoolmate as she removed the blushing spell. Eden watched as the blonde reached in and pulled out an unknown object.
The bag was held out to her, and she took a deep breath before she reached in. She grabbed one of the wriggling objects that would be her doom, and pulled it out with her hand clutched loosely around it. She yelped softly when she felt a shock run up her arms and fought to keep her hand closed around the wriggling creature without squishing it.
She was so busy trying to keep her hand closed and her yelps quiet, that it was only when Snakey-Snape nudged her and told her to open her hand that she realized everyone had their eyes fixed on her. A true blush coated her cheeks and she opened her hand. Gasps came from all around the small space as they stared at the miniature dragon in her hand.
Hey, Tom?
Yes, dear?
Don’t you think that because the First Task is going to be something with a magical creature…that we should maybe practice with the dragon?
They’re not so foolish as to pit a bunch of children up against a dragon.
Then…why did you make it?
To prove that I could do it.
Well…what about Abyss?
You honestly think they’ll put children up against a hellhound?
Right…so uh…dummies?
Dummies.
Her executioner was black with light blue squiggles all around it like a large, forked bolt of lightning with the wings a nearly translucent pale blue. It’s tail—holy Merlin—was twice as long as it’s already long body, and was tipped with two long, thin spikes at the end. Lightning danced between the spikes as the miniature roared and lightning shot out of its mouth. On its side was a charred number 4.
“The Lightning Wyvern.”
She was totally, utterly, without question, screwed.
“The number on the side of the dragon indicates who will be going first. You will be allowed to start at the sound of the canon when it is your turn.”
Eden numbly listened—does it count as listening if she can’t recall a single thing said?—to the rest of the man’s speech before he left and she moved to a different part of the tent and crouched down and wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her head on her knees. Snakey-Snape crouched down next to her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I’m going to die,” she whispered, her voice wet with unshed tears as she leaned into the familiar and comforting touch.
“No you’re not,” his voice cracked. “It is serendipitous that you have learned some of the only spells that work against the Wyvern.”
“But…it’s so sensitive to magic…and hates witches and wizards.” Tom had made her read up on all sorts of creatures, including dragons despite his insistence that they wouldn’t choose dragons. “It especially hates Dark type witches and wizards.”
“You’re over-reacting,” he admonished softly as he ran his hand along the seven long, Dutch braids her hair had been magicked into.
She looked at him with eyes that shined. “I’m really not.” A couple tears finally slipped out of her eyes as her voice cracked. “I scanned my Core about two weeks ago to practice some spells. It’s a Pure Dark Core.”
His brows furrowed before he waved his wand and got the same result that Tom had—only it seemed that the sphere was slightly larger in shape (it was probably just her imagination). Pure, unadulterated, rage filled his eyes as his magic snapped around the room for a brief moment. “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’.”
She was unaware of how long they sat like that, with their magic’s occasionally lashing out, and her anxiety occasionally breaking through the Calming Draught. But eventually, she was called, and she haltingly moved to the large wooden door to await for the canon that would seal her fate and death.
She gave Snakey-Snape a quick hug and bit her tongue to keep herself from launching herself at him as he was forced to walk away. A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and she flinched before she turned.
“Stay strong, lass,” Crazy Face encouraged before he too left.
She blinked multiple times as she turned back to the door, and she began to scan the grain of the door, and tried to find shapes in the wood. That one kind of looked like a bunny…oh look, a dragon—
The canon sounded, and the heavy doors creaked open, and she took a deep breath to clear her mind before she hesitantly stepped into her grave.
She stood just inside the doors and stared at the rocky terrain and had to fight the terror that ate at her and briefly thought about Tom and whatever he’d say to her whenever she was scared and in vast amounts of pain.
Just breathe, little one. Breathe, and soon it will all be fine once more. Breathe….
She followed his advice before she stepped fully into the Arena and quickly blocked out the wordless cheers that greeted her ears. She crept up to the rocks, and crouched behind it as she looked for the egg, and carefully made a plan that she knew wouldn’t last long, but it made her feel better to have something.
She moved carefully, quietly, and lithely—thank you for your sadism, Tom—along the mountainous terrain before she crouched behind a rock that stood directly in front of the beast.
The Lightning Wyvern is very sensitive to Magic, and thus is always aware of a witch or wizard when they are near. It is not quite known why, but due to their sensitivity, Magic users like witches or wizards, especially Dark and Pure types, cause the species great pain by being in the same vicinity.
She could assume by the sheer fact that the rock she hid behind hadn’t yet been destroyed, and that she was alive, that the dragon was overwhelmed with all of the people in attendance. She felt her eyes start to lift to the spectators, and pinched herself to prevent her from doing so.
She leaned against the rock for a moment longer, allowed herself to be overwhelmed for just a second. She took another deep breath and slowly released it.
She tightened her grip on her wand before she faced the rock and slowly lifted herself and stared at the large beast in front of her. She lifted a shaking hand—come on Calming Draught, please don’t fail now—and whispered a spell as she waved it in a complex motion and a Dark—was it illegal in this time? (she couldn’t remember)—cutting hex towards the equally overwhelmed beast curled around the eggs.
When a small line appeared in the thick, dark scales, she smiled and then jumped to the side with a shriek of terror as a blinding bolt of lightning forked towards her. Once she was out of range of the continuous bolt of white, she sent a few more of the cutting hexes mixed with the boomerang charm to distract it so she’d have enough time—hopefully (dear Mother Magic, let her have time)—to cast the only spell that had the potential to save her life.
She quickly fell into the proper position, and started the casting of the spell. As she chanted, she held her left hand next to her face, and with her right hand, she spun her holly wand in a gradually growing spiral, a ball of blue-white energy channeling in the center of the spiral. She pulled her arm back, stabbed it into the center of the ball, and her wand connected with the energy like it had so many times before.
She pulled her arm back once more, and touched the tip of her wand to the palm of her left hand, and snapped her arm out towards the dragon. White light shot out from seemingly every single pore as the energy ball pulled harshly on her Core and the troposphere before it exploded.
Thunder cracked in the Arena and she had to duck to hide her eyes as the screech of the dragon—which sounded like a metallic thunderbolt—told her that her aim had hit its mark. After the spell ran its course, she stood once more and sent five different—stronger (illegal? probably)—cutting hexes at its now exposed soft belly before she made her way to the golden egg.
The beast stomped slightly away from the nest, and she saw her chance, abandoned her plans, and dove out of hiding and ran for the now unguarded nest.
Screams of terror from the audience she had long since blocked, sounded behind her, and as she turned, she was greeted with the dragon’s sharp tail just as it impaled her stomach. She felt every inch of each spike as it cut through organs, skin, and shattered fragile bones. Blood sprayed against the stone in front and behind her and against her face, and she wanted to die.
She gagged, and as she dry heaved through the pain, quickly cast a nonverbal spell that Tom had taught—demanded insisted asserted forced—her when she demanded that he teach her the Lightning spell. The Immunity spell she cast was very illegal in both times, and she could only hope that the circumstances would allow her to go unpunished.
The spell draped over her, and almost immediately her mind and body went blissfully numb as the lines on the dragon’s body glowed and lightning filled her body and flowed through it as if it were her own blood. The Immunity spell immediately reacted, and as soon as the lightning reached her Core—just before it reached her heart—it was sent out of her body and into the sky. Clouds—huh, that was new—rapidly appeared around the bright bolt and—Merlin was it painful, she couldn’t think (please, Mother).
The world around her started to ring and blur, and she knew that the Immunity spell wouldn’t last much longer against a Lightning Wyvern, unlike it did with a 17 year old wizard.
She gagged again, and lifted her blood covered wand and cast another very illegal curse—she threw as much of her magic into it as she could and still be able to finish the challenge—and was able to sever the tail just enough that the lightning stopped seconds before the Immunity spell failed.
She took a deep, sobbing breath and stepped away from the spikes—white hot pain help—and made her way to the egg as fast as she could. She stumbled multiple times, and blood ran down her legs, onto her sock covered feet and bloody footprints were left behind her. She tripped over a small rock and fell to the ground just as the tail swung over her head, right where she had been. The dragon shot lightning into the air and stomped towards her.
She clawed her way up to her hands and knees, and then to her feet. The Arena was deathly silent—she suspected that her ears had been damaged at some point. Despite the fact that she couldn’t hear, she swore she could make out the quiet sounds of drops of liquid falling into a large pool of liquid and echoed as she reached the small—comparatively—pile of rocks that had the nest on top and began to climb.
Mind numb, ears dead, nerves frayed, she made it to the large nest and carefully rolled inside before she stood and quickly moved to the egg. Just as she picked it up—and felt Magic tighten in her Core, signaling she was done—something hard slammed into her back, and she was sent flying towards the barrier wall on the other side of the Arena.
She could do nothing as the egg slipped out of her hands along with her wand—no, come back—and she was left utterly defenseless with the dragon who hated those of her kind. She faintly registered glowing spells behind her as the wall approached.
The sharp impact against the smooth stone was dulled as her eyes closed and she appeared in Tom’s room. It was dark, and in her suddenly hazy mind, it registered as night.
How strange.
Wasn’t it just day?
Her legs lost all feeling and she fell to the ground with a heavy thud. “Eden? Circe, what happened to you?” he demanded as he ran forward and crouched next to her.
Apparently her hearing wasn’t damaged.
She looked up at her best friend and smiled softly as peace settled in her heart. “Tom…” she whispered hoarsely. The peace quickly made way for pain as she coughed, and when she opened her eyes, she saw faint specs of blood splattered against his face. Her eyes fluttered slightly and her heart slowed.
Oh.
She coughed again, and more blood splattered against his face and a pleasant numbness climbed up from her legs and to her mid back. “I think I’m dying, Tom.” Tears leaked out of her eyes as fear slowly evicted pain.
She didn’t want to die.
His look of pure horror was the last thing she saw before her eyes closed and everything faded away.