Chapter Text
“Don’t all of you see! I have a perfect idea for this! Their royal symbol is a three-headed dragon,” began Bagman in a booming voice. His eyes were bright with terrible, terrible ideas. “We could have each champion face off against three dragons to impress our otherworldly guests! And the whole crowd will love it too.”
“Have you lost your mind? One dragon is difficult enough as is,” snapped another member of the committee, a more sensible member who was resisting strangling Bagman clearly, but only just. “That is not a sound idea. That is an atrocity of an idea.”
“No, it isn’t! It’s perfect!” The man was more than likely imagining the roaring of the crowd and how much winnings he could collect from gambling on the outcome, enough to pay off all his debts. Bagman had no room in his mind for anything else.
“Ludo Bagman, you listen to me right now!” His fellow committee member shouted. “They. Will. Die. All of them! We won’t have a winner of this tournament because every champion will be dead! That is the exact opposite of what we are trying to accomplish. What part of not putting all of them in actual mortal danger are you failing to comprehend!?"
The most dangerous looking of all of the dragons seen so far planted herself right beside Maekar and could not be moved from him.
“Dyanna, I think a dragon just stole your husband!”
A short amount of time into this tournament, Alysanne was sitting before Daeron with a frustrated look on her face. “There’s a ball for yule, all of the champions are expected to attend, and I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “I keep receiving offers, but I don’t actually want to accompany anyone who has asked me so far…”
She probably wanted Diggory to ask her, and Daeron stomped down on every bit of jealousy that he felt at the thought of that older boy – who clearly should be asking her already as she wished so what was holding Diggory back. She should be attending this ball only with the person whom she wanted to.
Aerion, who was irritatingly eavesdropping on their conversation, smirked and walked over to them. His younger brother had a wicked look on his face. “If all these idiots are unacceptable, I could accompany you…”
Alysanne laughed immediately which caused Aerion to flush. But what did his brother expect? He was two-and-ten at the moment and had yet to have a growth spurt. Not that Aerion was willing to concede even in face of this truth and started arguing with her. In the middle of their back and forth, Alysanne maybe-possibly-sort-of suggested that Daeron should accompany her to this ball instead… And Daeron, terribly enchanted at the idea of doing exactly that, sort-of-maybe-possibly agreed while listening to them. Secretly, he could think of no other answer than yes.
Then once arguing with his brother was over and done, she turned to him and added breathlessly and with great enthusiasm, “And you could teach me the steps of your dances and I could teach you ours…? We could practice that right now!”
She jumped from her seat and grabbed his hands to pull him up with her before he had a chance to say anything. Not that Daeron would object, simply that she acted so dizzyingly fast. He stumbled onto his feet, too distracted as he was her wide grin and the beautiful delight on her face to bother with being coordinated.
As Alysanne pulled him unresistingly along, Daeron overheard Aerion mutter behind them, “And people think I don’t do anything for him. Hah!”
“You have to not touch or possibly drink from it,” said Daeron desperately. His face was strunched and he looked exhausted. His face was also flushed because he had been drinking again obviously. “Him or you. Neither. You can’t drink it or not… maybe that’s wrong… touch or reach for it… maybe? Maybe it’s just… I don’t know! It's just you can’t do any of that with that! It all goes badly if you…” He slumped over and Allie caught him.
And one of these young princes from the other world, from the other side of that strangely formed portal, was looking out to the center in a way that Albus Dumbledore had seen once before – the night he had heard that prophecy. The boy had the same look as his divination professor had then as he stared out at the empty spot where Allie Potter and Cedric Diggory had just been. His face was ashen.
The boy whispered in horror, “Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son. Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe. Your Dark Lord returns… He returns.”
Angry tears in her eyes, Allie marched up to Daeron. She glared up at him. Her hands were placed against his chest yet he didn’t push her off at all. He stood there looking down at her with terrible sadness and her anger just boiled worse.
She yelled, “You knew. Cedric is dead and you knew! The spare, you said – you were talking about him. You were talking this entire time about the graveyard. That’s what all your words have been about. When you tried to say not to touch the goblet, not for either of us to do what we did. You knew this entire time!”
“Yes,” he replied devastatingly. “I always dream true. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry!? Sorry!?” Her tears flowed freer then and he looked back at her worse. Guilt and self loathing. Her hands moved away from him only for an instant so she might now grip his clothes. “What am I to do with how sorry you are? You! What is Cedric to do with that? He’s dead!”
She pushed forward, pressing into him – but too much all at once. Not as either intended and too fast for either of them to change course, Daeron fell backwards and she fell with him. A jolt of surprise flashed across both of their faces. They landed on the couch behind him and there they were sprawled and tangled up together, him against the cushions and her on top of him. Even in the haze of her anger, she felt guilty for it.
“Are you alright,” she asked, her swelling emotions tinging her voice with frantic panic. The idea of harming him even slightly, even by accident, was intolerable.
“I’m fine,” he said from below her. “And you?”
She wanted to say yes but she was also still in sorrowful agony with the memory of Cedric’s death pounding in her thoughts, screaming at her the words – the spare. The shock of the fall had not dispelled that. She wept into his neck instead and then felt as his hands lifted up to wrap themselves around her.
Daeron was soon muttering soothing sounds into her hair and Allie, with all the temper draining out of her with every tear and his gentle hands, felt herself become boneless in his arms.
They stayed that way, just the two of them, for a long while.