Disclaimer: I only own Bellariese Black, Amoret Black, Arcturus Black IV, Griselda Grimm and Amaranth Peverell. Everything else belongs to Joanne Rowling!

Names that are not in the books (or if they are they are not well known — first names only):

Patronilla: Pat-tro-nilla

Capella: kah-PELL-ah

Amalthea: aa-m-aa-l-th-EE-aa

Ophelia: owFIY-Liy-aa

Vega: VEY-Gaa

Polaris: Po-LA-ris

Belvina: Bell-Vin-ah

Bellariese: b-ELL-uh-RIY-Z

Amoret: am-or-ret

Arcturus: ark-TOOR-us

Terrin: TEHR-IHN

Amaranth: a-m-ar-anth

Chapter One

Three Blacks and a Peverell

3rd of December 1970

She was born in a cold room with green walls and a house that was laced with black magic. Her mother was a proud woman, who chose have her youngest child at home, in fear people would talk. Her father, a stern but loving man agreed, in order for those who thought ill of his family not to gain the satisfaction of seeing their child. She was never meant to be born, for both her parents were quite old and grumpy. The "Mistake" she was called in wider circles; the "Thing" that never should have been born to family.

Like many Pureblood women before her, Mrs Black had been blessed with little children and many miscarriages, and yet, as was handed her screaming child, all swaddled up in a thick green blanket, the witch of forty-five couldn't help smile. Mrs Black gently pressed a kiss to the child's head, rocking her babe back and forth as the Healer informed her that it was a girl. The baby's angry screams grew louder when the Naming Seer snatched her out of her mother's arms and placed her on a cold stone slab.

Mrs Black closed her eyes and tried to shut out her baby's cries as the Seer waved a burning smudge stick that filled the room with lavender and thyme. The Seer's other hand, which was decorated with symbols and strange patterns gently clasped the baby's head, and with a flicker of her eyelids, her eyes shut. The Naming Seer twitched her head, her black hair falling out of its loose bun as she muttered to herself. The Naming Seer—a woman by the name of Patronilla de Pavia—had portkey'ed all the way from Spain, and after almost eleven years of knowing the two Blacks had named each of their children. There was Sirius Orion, the eldest, and his younger brother, Regulus Arcturus.

She had chosen their names because, at the time, it seemed right—and from what she could tell, Patronilla had decided that one would be more adventurous, more rule-breaking, than the other. She hadn't told Mr and Mrs Black that particular detail but it made her smile when she discovered that Sirius was a rather "difficult" child, for it meant that her predictions were coming true.

Hungry, the infant tried to suck on the woman's fingers, searching for food. When the girl revived nothing but rough skin, and salty sweat, she roared again, her cheeks turning red as the sticky coating of black hair that sat on her head shot up, her magic crossing through her body. The Seer chuckled, gently tickling her tummy as she pushed past the child's mind and unlocked her future.

Suddenly the Seer was gasping and groaning, her head spinning as she tried to comprehend what she saw. Flashes too bright to comprehend flooded down her spine as something cold and deadly wormed its way into her throat. Noticing that the Seer was distressed, Mr Black approached Patronilla, asking if she was all the Seer ignored him, her dark eyes widening and closing with each image that was shoved before her.

The baby cried again, unsure of the pain that also ran through her head. Patronilla licked her lips. This child would have a dark future, one where dreadful things would happen to her and those she loved would die. Suddenly the future slowed, and Patronilla was shown a beautiful young woman, maybe fifteen or sixteen, her body smothered in dark robes. She danced in a boy's arms, his red hair long and loose.

Breathing heavily, Patronilla grinned as a name fluttered into her mind.

When she had first started working for the Blacks, she had asked for every name they had ever named their ancestors, for she knew, from being a Pureblood herself, that many liked to name their children after deceased relatives. Although technically, no Pureblood who chose to find out their child's future through a Naming Seer could ever choose their child's name, there was something greatly satisfying to know that the Blacks offspring would share a similar name to their ancestors before them.

Although Patronilla had in deed been given all the names in the Black family, there were a few she could never find, and after digging through thousands of documents and birth certificates, found out that if the Children of Black were ever disowned then their names would forevermore be never used for a child's name ever again.

It was rather comical, Patronilla thought, for that was certainly not how her family did things, but still, she could understand why the Blacks' chose that rule.

They were a family swaddled in history, a family who at one point were royalty, but over time, as revolutions rose and witches and wizards grew tired of an oppressive family, the Blacks had abdicated and stepped down to Earls. Although this leap in status did infuriated the Blacks, they were still technically the "Kings" and "Queens" of the Wizarding World, as they ran almost all the major businesses and had their wands in the government. Purebloods, although few, were certainly still in control of the modern world.

She never understood the British Pureblood's importance for hating Muggleborns, and yet, as Patronilla skimmed through several named in her mind, she had a feeling that the child who lay before her was going to be, not only an incredibly powerful witch, but also one with kindness.

Should she name her Capella, after the brightest star in Auriga's constellation? No, that name was not right, for the child did not look anything like a she-goat, as her name implied, nor did she have a grumpy future. She was stubborn thought …

Amalthea perhaps? But the child wouldn't grow to be a soothing woman, she was fierce and strong like a blazing flame …

Bellatrix? Unfortunately, there was already a child with that name and it wouldn't bode well to be named after her …

Patronilla thought harder, grouping names together as she sieved through the mountain-load of names the Blacks had offer.

Maybe a new name—something different?

Patronilla bit her lip. No, this child needed to look up to someone, and what better than to find a dead relative with a smilier nature …

As the Naming Seer pondered, Mr Black gently touched her shoulder.

'Miss,' he said, voice full of worry. 'You ears are bleeding …'

But if the Seer heard him, she did not say and she did not flinch when Mr Black gently cleaned her ears.

Ophelia …

Vega …

Polaris …

Belvina …

Cassiopeia …

Names spun in her head, as the girl's future worked its way before her. The child had stopped screaming now, quietening to silent whimpers as her father overshadowed the Seer. Mrs Black lay on her back, passed out from exhaustion as the Healer gently cleaned her up, wiping away at the dried blood that lay streamed across her abdomen, and the newly row scar that gleamed in the candle light.

The door opened with a crack and Mr Black looked up to find his eldest son standing in the doorway. Like Mr Black and his father before him, Sirius had gained his father's stormy grey eyes, while his brother, a little boy of nine, had inherited his mother's cold blue ones. At age eleven, Sirius was the right age for Hogwarts, but because his birthday was in November, he would have to start the year after, in 1971. The child looked up at his father, and then to his newly born sister.

His eyes widened when they settled on his mother, and Mr Black quickly shielded his son from his wife. Sirius' eyes flitted back to his sister.

'What's her name?' he asked, curiosity lining his question. 'Are we going to have another Cassie or Cissa?'.

As Mr Black opened his mouth, Patronilla opened her eyes, her dark pupils misty and gone. The Naming Seer suddenly rose to her feet, holding the child close to her chest. Mr Black quickly shut the door on this eldest child, as the Seer kissed the baby's black hair. She blinked, and her eyes returned to normal.

'Before I name this child,' she said handing Mr Black his daughter, her words thick with a heavy Spanish accent, 'do you, Mr Black, except that this child is yours?'

'Yes,' Mr Black whispered. 'I do,'

The Seer smiled sweetly and turning back to the stone slab, extinguished the smoking stub. Carefully she crushed some of the ash into her hand and turned back to the baby. Patronilla placed the cool ash onto the child's head, smearing it into her skin, creating a Triskelion on her head.

The naming Seer then called out the child's name, explaining the girl's fate and purpose through the three names that she called out. Power and old magic glinted into the room, as the child's true name glinted thinly above her head. The Naming Seer suddenly reached into her bag and pulled out a large, leather bound book, and after flicking through several pages found a quill and a scribbled page with a small layout of the Black family tree. She silently wrote the child's name and after a moment's hesitation, smiled and closed the book.

'So mote be it,' she whispered, hand hovering over the girl's head.

Glancing up, the Naming Seer gently kissed Mr Black on the brow, before moving over the Mrs Black and kissing her head too. But as she moved away, Mrs Black's hand suddenly shot out and grabbed Patronilla's hand.

'Change it,' she begged, opening her eyes. 'Please …'

Patronilla shook her head, moving a strand of the woman's blonde hair from her forehead.

'I'm afraid, Mrs Black, that the naming is done, and there is nothing you can do to change it,' she said. 'The Old Gods have spoken to me, and her future does not bode well — this name, will give her strength.'

'No,' Mrs Black gasped. 'You don't understand—that name—it's cursed.'

Patronilla sighed, rising from the bed.

'I am sorry Mrs Black, but what is done is done.'

Mr Black didn't say anything, as the Seer past, ignoring her as she packed up her things. Patronilla left soon after that, a hefty sum of gold in her bag as well as her snuff stick, the book and her wand. Sighing the witch looked up at Twelve Grimmauld Place, for the last time.

'Good luck, child,' she whispered, tucking her robe tightly around her. 'You will need it.'

The Witch Disapparated away, shifting a small mountain of snow in her path. In the top most room, a small boy, with a thin face peered down on the street below. Sirius grinned, grateful that the Seer had gone. Quickly he grabbed his nightgown and pulled it on. After his father had shut the door in his face, he had retreated to the safety of his bedroom, determined to move only when the Seer had gone.

He snuck out of his bedroom, carefully creeping down the staircase as not to wake his brother. As he passed his mother's bedroom he heard his parent's loud argument. He paused curious as to what they were saying, but their voices were muffled, and Sirius couldn't hear anything. Moving on, the Heir of Black, made his way down to the first floor, stopping every so often to hear if Kreacher or his parents were about.

When it became apparent that nobody was coming, he slipped into the Drawing Room and came face to face with the tapestry. The Black family tree was ancient, stretching back further then Sirius could see until there was nothing but a few faded names and strange little golden lines. Quickly he ran his hand over where his name was and up to his parents were a golden thread connecting him to an 'Orion Alphard Black' and a 'Walburga Violetta Black.'

He went down again, and his finger ran along another golden thread. He passed 'Regulus Arcturus Black' before landing on a very long name. Although his sister had only three names, including her surname, it was rather complex. It took Sirius a while to figure out what it said, for the room was dark, but as the moon's cold glow shone on that tapestry, he saw it.

Her birth date—the third of December, 1970—shone under a small portrait of a red faced baby with grey eyes. A thin smile laced his lips as he touched his sister's name. It was interesting old and something he could definitely shorten:

Bellariese Walburga Black

31st of October 1994

'Amoret Black!'

Bellariese Walburga Black although noble in blood and name, considered herself to be an impulsive woman, someone who had slapped Death's pointed jaw one too many times and lived to tell the tale, but as her gaze settled on horrified face of the child who sat beside her, the witch's faith in perseverance and authority dwindled away, turning to mist in the cold autumn air. It had been almost thirteen years since the daughter of Earls had truly been afraid, and although the witch had lived those semi-peaceful years in silent harmony, Bellariese Black was a child of war and like the rest of her generation, she never forgot the monsters who plagued the night. But this was a different type of fear because for once, it wasn't about her.

Students turned to face them, mouths open, aghast as they watched the Black family. The other champions and their headmasters and mistress had moved on, leaving the students of Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons to realise the awful truth—that for the first time ever, there was a fourth champion. Truthfully, Bellariese would have felt sorry for Harry Potter, for his luck seemed to be worse than hers, but as Septima Vector turned to face the young Earl, a curl of yellow parchment in her delicate fingers, the witch reached for her niece's hand.

Amoret sat beside her in various states of shock, her eyes staring up at her with uncalculated fear. Bellariese ground her teeth. It was unfair! Amoret didn't even attend Hogwarts! But the die was cast, and as Amoret swallowed harshly, the Goblet of Fire flared again, turning the silent hall to a ghostly blue. Bellariese watched, in stunned silence as the Arithmancy Professor caught the floating parchment that was spat out of the goblet. For a brief second, the witch stared at the name, her jaw tightening as she turned back towards Bellariese.

'Arcturus Black IV,' the Arithmancy Professor whispered.

Bellariese's chair scraped loudly against the teacher's dais, as she rose to her feet. Professor Trelawney, her fellow Seer and one of the strangest Professor's Bellariese had the pleasure of being taught by, tried to grab her arm but she shook her off, anger finally crossing through her veins.

'No!' she cried, leaping over the teacher's table and storming over to the Professor. 'No! No!'

Anger was curling off her like water, and as she approached the goblet, a black hue of magic suddenly radiated off her skin. Student's backed away, sliding further along their benches, trying to get away from her as Bellariese snatched the two scraps of parchment from Professor Vector's hand.

'No,' she snapped again, eyes frantically trying to find a fault in the two names. 'No! No! No! I absolutely forbid it!'

Professor Vector's face softened as Bellariese turned back to face her niece and nephew. Arcturus, although turning fifteen in a few months, looked suddenly far younger than fourteen. His skin, which was normally pale but healthy, was a strange, sickly colour, and his electric blue eyes, eyes he had inherited from his mother, stared at Bellariese, begging her to something. His silvery blond hair fell gently around his shoulders, covering the delicate bone structure and the classic good looks of the Black Family, that unless someone peered under his curled hair, no one would have ever guessed that the teenager was the bastard son of Regulus Black.

Curled up in his arms, sobbing silently, Amoret pressed her head into her cousin's chest and unlike her cousin, Amoret was undoubtedly a Black. With her thick, unruly hair and her light skin, the daughter of Sirius Black, looked remarkably like a younger, carefree, feminine version of Bellariese's eldest brother. Her eyes, however, were her mother's and although Bellariese had never met the deranged cousin of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Amoret clearly had inherited her great-great grandmother's murky green eyes. Bellariese swallowed … Amoret was only thirteen.

Surprisingly, it was Rolanda Hooch, who finally took up the challenge of pulling Bellariese away. The Earl ignored her former Flying Instructor's words as she pulled her towards the high table, her warm hand wrapped securely around Bellariese's shaking arm. Shock had settled into Bellariese's bones, that as Madam Hooch dragged her towards the small door on the right-hand side of the high table, her lips curled in anger. Madam Hooch indicated for Amoret and Arcturus to follow, her long purple cloak swishing in the cold air.

Amoret was the first to reach their aunt, hugging her around the middle as Madam Hooch ordered the small family of three to wait, as she went to find Professor Dumbledore. Tears trickled down Arcturus handsome face, his blue eyes clouded with fear as he approached his aunt. Smiling numbly, Bellariese reached out a hand to him and before Amoret could protest, he had wrapped his long arms around his aunt's muscular, but lithe body and his cousins' shaking shoulders. The two teenagers sobbed silently into their aunt, tears soaking into her pressed black robes, that as Bellariese gently kissed Arcturus hair, and stroked Amoret's head, she began to shake. Why them? Why? It was unfair, unjust and not right! It wasn't proper, and completely strung a cord in every rule Bellariese had learnt about etiquette and family! It wasn't fair!

'Earl Black,' a voice whispered, and Bellariese looked up, to find her former Headmaster standing before her, hand outstretched for her to take. 'If you and Miss and Mr Black would come with me.'

It wasn't a question—it was a command. Bellariese stiffened and after a moment's hesitation wiped away the tears from her niece and nephew's faces, handed them the slips of parchment with their names engrained onto them, and took Albus Dumbledore's arm. His hold on her tightened as he led the small family by the crook of her arm, into a large room filled with grumpy looking portraits and strange nicknacks. The four champions and their Heads stood in front of a roaring fire, their backs turned to them as they as they stared at Harry Potter. The son of James and Lily Potter stood nervously by himself, the parchment with his name clutched tightly in his hand.

Teachers crowded around the students, reminding Bellariese of a framed picture, guarding a priceless painting. Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor and residence Transfiguration Professor, stood closest to Harry, lips pressed into a thin line. She fiddled with her wand, her greying hair limp and deflated, her dark emerald robes and large pointed hat creased and floppy as if the situation of Harry's predicament was far too deadly for her to comprehend.

Next to her, looking unitarily excited, stood Ludo Bagman. Bellariese's nose recoiled when she noticed he was wearing his grubby yellow and black Quidditch uniform, a flashy bee pressed onto the ancient material. Bellariese had never liked Ludo, even as a child, and although, at one point, her cousin Narcissa had the biggest crush on him, that childish fascination had thankfully disappeared the moment she set eyes on her husband-to-be.

Standing in front Bagman, bowler hat in his hands, was the only other Pureblood member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. His unnaturally straight grey hair fell around his pale, skull-like face, and across his lip, looking like a grey caterpillar was a narrow moustache. Bartemius Crouch Sr. neither a man Bellariese admired, nor liked, and yet, due to an Unbreakable Vow nearly twenty-four years ago, the woman of twenty-three had been forced to marry his son. Now that Barty Crouch Jr. was dead, and his mother was long incarcerated in the ground, it was up to Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation to marry the young witch. Being betrothed to a man who was old enough to be her father unnerved the witch, and although her grandfather, Arcturus Black III had tried to stop the engagement, no one could ever break an Unbreakable Vow.

But it was the man in the corner, standing close to Igor Karkaroff, as if waiting for the Headmaster of Durmstrang to run, stood Bellariese's former Head of House. It wasn't a well-kept secret that Severus Snape loathed Bellariese's eldest brother, Sirius, for the Heir of Black, had often scrutinised and bullied him. However, few knew that he was the godfather of Regulus' child, let alone a dear friend to the dead man. Although Regulus was dead, the Potions Master had taken the youngest daughter of Orion Black under his wing, teaching her to be a master potioneer, as if Bellariese's brother would come back from the dead and scream at him if he did not. Their friendship was neither one created out of kindness nor because they liked each other, but rather, that Severus Snape owed a debt to Regulus Black, and protecting his sister and child was the only way to do it.

It was Igor Karkaroff who first noticed Bellariese and his face paled when he spotted her. The ex-Death Eater backed away, his robes catching alight as he stumbled into the fireplace. His student, a broad shouldered boy by the name of Viktor Krum, quickly extinguished the flame, but he could not stop the spell that exploded from his Headmaster's wand.

Before the spell could even hit her, however, Bellariese slashed her wand through the air, throwing up a protective shield around herself and her family. The other witches and wizards trueness to face Bellariese and her family, their mouths open in confusion and awe. Karkaroff was shaking, his wand pointed directly at Bellariese's chest as if he had seen a ghost.

'Igor Karkaroff,' Bellariese hissed lowering her arm as the blue shield faded. 'It has been a very long time since I have set eyes on you. How is Durmstrang treating you? Wonderful I hope. Still afraid Bellatrix Lestrange will come after you?'

Karkaroff licked his lips, fear clouding in his dark eyes.

'I should be flattered that you thought I was her, after all, she is my namesake,' the witch grinned. 'Well, partly at least.'

'Bellariese Black,' drawled Professor Snape, stepping forward to the former Head Girl. 'May I enquire why you're here?'

Out of the corner of her eye, Bellariese's eye, she noticed that Harry Potter was staring at her, confusion and awe drifting across his thin face. Bellariese smiled in his direction, raising her eyebrows at him.

'So you are the boy Sirius bought a Firebolt for,' she said, approaching the young boy, her long nails reaching out towards his face. 'That broom was rather expensive young man, not that it was a problem, but still, Sirius was always rather reckless with money.'

'I—I was never told that Sirius had a wife,' the Boy Who Lived stuttered.

A thin smile reached Bellariese's lips.

'I'm not his wife, Mr Potter, although I might be the only woman he truly loves.' Bellariese extended her hand. 'My name is Bellariese Black, I am Sirius' youngest and only sister. You, young man, look an awful lot like your father.'

'You knew my, Dad?' Potter whispered. 'How?'

'Well, considering that Remus Lupin, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew—' Bellariese winced at the name, and Potter frowned, '—were best friends with my eldest brother, I did see them quite often when my father picked Sirius and Regulus up from the train.'

Her smile transformed into a grin.

'My earliest memory of him, was when he plucked me out of my brother's arms, aged three and a half and called me a "little puppy". It was rather annoying considering that Sirius is the dog star and I'm one of the few members of my family who is not named after stars.'

'My love,' Crouch suddenly said and Bellariese blanched. 'If you will, could you please answer Professor Snape's question.'

Sighing deeply, Bellariese pressed her hand to her forehead, fixed her "mask" back onto her face and turned to face her niece and nephew.

'Arcturus. Amoret.' she replied stiffly. 'Please hand the slips of parchment to Professor Snape.'

Nodding, Amoret took her cousin's parchment and after glancing wearily at the Potion Master handed them to him. Severus Snape read the names on the parchment, black eyes reading them carefully. He looked up at Amoret after a moment's hesitation, lips curled.

'You are Black's child, are you not?'

'Yes, sir,' Amoret whispered, staring at his shoes. 'Only child of Sirius Black,'

Severus Snape's eyes narrowed again and before anyone could stop him, he had snatched the teenage girl's chin and forced him to look up into his eyes. No one moved and Bellariese watched with faint amusement as her old Head of House's eyes widened. He looked at Bellariese, mouth open slightly, before turning back to Amoret. He looked at her again, staring into her green eyes. Recognition flashed in his eyes when he realised who her mother was. He dropped her chin.

'You are a Peverell, are you not?'

Amoret shifted.

'On my mother's side,' she replied. 'My grandparents were Terrin and Amoret Peverell.'

Snape handed her the parchment.

'Go back to your aunt,' he said.

Amoret nodded and quickly approached Bellariese, tucking her head into her robes. Arcturus fiddled with his robes, watching his godfather with curious eyes. It had been a while since the two had seen each other.

'What the devil is going on, Albus?' Professor McGonagall asked, lips tight.

Professor Dumbledore sighed heavily.

'It would seem,' he said. 'That the Tournament has gained two extra participants. May I present the two final members of the Triwizard Tournament, Amoret Black and Arcturus Black VI.'

An explosion of anger suddenly erupted from the other Heads, and Amoret quickly covered her ears as Arcturus approached, shaking.

'I do not want to compete,' he whispered to Bellariese, as the cries of anger grew. 'I never wanted this.'

'I know,' Bellariese whispered, pulling him close. 'None of us did. And yet, I fear you two will have no choice.'

A ragged gasp lip Amoret's lips.

'No …' she whispered. 'No …'

Bellariese kissed her niece's forehead as someone pressed a hand on her shoulder. Bellariese winced when she realised it was Crouch.

'You should be grateful,' he hissed in her ear and Bellariese bit her tongue as his nails suddenly bit into her shoulder. 'They will compete in the Tournament—that is an honour.'

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck and Bellariese's anger rose. Quickly she detached herself from her niece and nephew and spun to face Bartemius Crouch. She growled at him, as her anger rose, spitting a mouthful of spittle in his direction.

Amoret screamed, silencing the arguing witches and wizards as Crouch struck her aunt, his jewelled rings catching her delicate face. Blood smeared across her face, and her black hair had unseen from the bun it had been hastily shoved into. Now, with her hair loose, those how remembered Bellatrix Lestrange could understand why Karkaroff had thought Bellariese to be her. Black hair fell down her back thick, shining strands, the ends curling as they reached her fingertips. Her eyes were hidden behind heavily lidded eyes and her high cheekbones and long none were enough to entice any man, married or otherwise to reach for her aristocratic face. The only difference between the two was that Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black, was never as tall as Bellariese, nor were her eyes grey. A tattoo did curve down her left forearm arm, but instead of a Dark Mark, there lay a small snake, it's pointed teeth bared and hungry.

Arcturus lunged toward the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, anger burning in his gut. But before he could press a hand Bartemius Crouch, Bellariese had grabbed his waist, scooping both arms around his middle and pulling him away. Amoret unsheathed her wand, a long dark thing, and pointed at Crouch. Mr Crouch snarled, staring down at the two wards who guarded their aunt, his lips curling.

'I do not know why you stay with them,' he hissed. 'They are nothing by your brother's mistakes—bastards the both of them! Not even worthy to carry the Black.'

'My father and grandfather thought otherwise,' Bellariese muttered, lowering Amoret's wand with her hand. 'And Amoret and Arcturus were entrusted into my care when they died.'

Crouch leant close, grabbing Bellariese roughly by her chin.

'From what I can remember your mother hated them. It has almost been nine years since Walburga died, are you really going to shame her memory by keeping a Parseltongue and a Squib?'

Several people gasped when Crouch pointed first to Amoret and then to Arcturus. Bellariese ripped her chin out of Crouch's grip and lifted her head, staring into his eyes.

'If I can remember correctly, Mr Crouch, a person who speaks Parseltongue is a Parselmouth, and since when has it become shameful to have a Squib in the family. If I remember correctly, my cousin Marius is a Squib.'

'He was cast out when he was fifteen,' Crouch said, staring at Arcturus with angry eyes. 'He's far too old to stay.'

'Arcturus isn't fifteen until November,' Bellariese hissed. 'So he is not disowned just yet.'

Bellariese suddenly turned to Dumbledore.

'What is your decision, Headmaster? Are my wards to enter this Tournament? Would you really make a thirteen-year-old girl and a Squib fight?'

Dumbledore suddenly approached the two teenagers, looking down his nose, with mild concern. Bellariese rolled his eyes. Like he actually cared.

'Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?' he asked, looking at Amoret.

The teenager shook her head, tears trickling down her face. Dumbledore turned to Arcturus.

'Did you, Mr Black?'

'No,' Arcturus said, straightening his robes. 'As Mr Crouch and my aunt said. I am a Squib and my sister is barely a teenager. No, we would not enter the Tournament.'

Dumbledore nodded, turning away from the two. Karkaroff nervously looked at Crouch, lips quivering.

'Mr Crouch, Mr Bagman, Earl Black,' said Karkaroff, voice deep and gruff, 'you are our—er—objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?'

Bagman wiped his round face with a spotted handkerchief and looked at Crouch who had moved to the fireplace and was staring into the gloom, all trace of the angry man gone from his grasp. Bellariese frowned. It was almost like he was another person.

'We must follow the rules,' he said curtly, 'and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.'

Bellariese's jaw tightened. Amoret let loose a small scream.

'Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front,' said Bagman, beaming at Karkaroff and Madame Maxime.

'I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students,' said Karkaroff, sharply, and ugly look crossing his face. 'You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has four champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore.'

'But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that,' Bagman said, all trace of happiness leaving his voice. 'The Goblet of Fire's just gone out—it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament—'

'—in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!' exploded Karkaroff. 'After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!'

'Empty threat, Karkaroff,' growled a voice from near the door, and Bellariese turned to find Alastor Moody clunking into the room. 'You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore, said. Convenient, eh?'

Moody limped toward the fireplace, his eye whizzing around at everyone as his human, darker one stared at Karkaroff.

'Convenient?' Karkaroff asked, wetting his lips. 'I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody.'

Bellariese noticed that the Headmaster of Durmstrang's hands were curled into fists.

'Don't you?' asked Moody quietly. 'It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter's and the Black's names in that goblet knowing they'd have to compete if it came out.'

'Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts four bites at ze apple!' said Madame Maxime.

'My wards do not even study at Hogwarts,' Bellariese hissed. 'They are taught by my Uncle Ignatius!'

'Ignatius Prewett,' Moody hissed. 'Bloody bastard—he'd got half of the Ministry in his pocket!'

Bellariese growled.

'I quite agree, Madame Maxime,' said Karkaroff, bowing to her, ignoring Bellariese and Moody. 'I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards—'

'If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Potter and the Blacks,' growled Moody, 'but … funny thing… other than Miss Black's snivelling … I don't hear the three saying a word …'

'Why should 'ey complain?' Fleur Delacour suddenly cried, stamping her foot. 'Ey 'as ze chance to compete, 'asn't 'ey? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honour for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money—zis is a chance many would die for!'

'Oh please be quiet,' Bellariese hissed. 'Of course, they do not want to complete! They are children for Merlin's sake!'

'Maybe someone's hoping Potter or the Blacks' are going to die for it,' growled Moody.

Bellariese wrapped her arms tighter around her niece and nephew as a fence silence drifted into the room. Bagman, bounded up and down on his feet, his smiling face gone and replaced with an anxious smile.

'Moody, old man …' he said, 'what a thing to say!'

'We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,' said Karkaroff loudly. 'Apparently, he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons.'

'Imagining things, am I?' growled Moody. 'Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boys' and girl's name in that goblet …'

'Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?' asked Madame Maxime, throwing her hands into the air.

'Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!' Moody cried. 'It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament … I'm guessing they submitted Potter's and the Blacks' names under a fourth school, to make sure they were the only one in their category …'

'You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody,' Karkaroff said coldly, 'and a very ingenious theory it is—though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realising it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously …'

Bellariese sighed deeply. This was not going to end well.

'There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,' Moody retorted in a menacing voice. 'It's my job to think the way Dark Wizards do, Karkaroff — as you ought to remember …'

'Alastor!' Dumbledore said warningly and Moody fell silent.

Karkaroff's face was a bright red, anger coursing through him.

'How this situation arose, we do not know,' Dumbledore said. 'It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Cedric, Harry, Amoret and Arcturus have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do …'

Bellariese's eyes widened.

'Sir,' she muttered, but her voice fell, shock running through her.

'Ah, but Dumbly-dorr—' Madam Maxime put it.

'My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it. And Earl Black, you know the consequences of creating a magical contract—do you not?'

Bellariese closed her eyes, as her hand trailed to her right wrist, to where a silver bracelet lay.

Madame Maxime glared at Dumbledore, but she wasn't the only one who was angry at the Hogwarts Headmaster. Snape was furious; Karkaroff looked livid; Bellariese ground her teeth; Bagman, however, looked rather excited. Bellariese frowned. Of course, he would, he thought everything was a game.

'Well, shall we crack on, then?' Bagman said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. 'Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honours?'

Crouch looked up startled.

'Yes,' he said, startled, 'instructions. Yes … the first task …'

He moved forward into the firelight and Bellariese realised he looked ill. She hadn't seen it before because her anger was blinding everything she saw, but up close, she saw the black bags that lined his eyes and suddenly realised how thin and waxy his skin looked. He didn't look healthy.

'The first task is designed to test your daring,' he told Harry, Cedric, Fleur, Viktor, Amoret and Arcturus, 'so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard … very important. The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.'

Bellariese closed her eyes. The rules were stuck and she couldn't help her wards. Amoret hugged her tighter as Crouch turned to Dumbledore.

'I think that's all, is it, Albus?'

'I think so,' said Dumbledore, who was looking at Crouch with mild concern. 'Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?'

'No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,' said Crouch, sounding flustered. 'It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment … I've left young Weatherby in charge … Very enthusiastic … a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told …'

'You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?' said Dumbledore.

'Come on, Barry, I'm staying!' said Bagman brightly. 'It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!/

'I think not, Ludo,' said Crouch, gruffly.

'Professor Karkaroff—Madame Maxime—Earl Black—a nightcap?' said Dumbledore.

But Madame Maxime had strung her arm around Fleur's shoulders and was leading her away. As they past Belfries she noticed that they were talking in French. She only caught a few whips of their conversation, before Karkaroff and Krum hurried out of the room. Bellariese, her wards, Harry and Cedric Diggory were the only ones who stayed.

'Harry, I suggest you go up to bed,' Dumbledore said, smiling. 'I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.'

Harry glanced at Cedric, who nodded, and they left together. But as they approached the exit, Madam Hooch suddenly ran into the room, waving another piece of parchment above her head.

'Professor!' she cried, zooming around Harry and Cedric like an out of control broom. 'Albus!'

'What is it Rolanda?' Dumbledore asked as the Hufflepuff and the Gryffindor left, the remaining teachers following in pursuit.

Madam Hooch slowed to a stop.

'It just came alive again!' she cried flustered, handing him the parchment. 'As we were packing it up—it just—the Goblet—'

But Dumbledore ignored her as his eyes settled on the parchment before him. Something dimmed in his eyes, and his gaze hardened as he looked up at Bellariese. Quickly, the witch sent her wards away, informing them that she would find them later. As Arcturus and Amoret left, curiosity lining their eyes, Dumbledore indicated for Bellariese to approach him. The witch quickly obliged. She stared at Dumbledore curious as to why he was so frightened and after a moment's hesitation, he handed her the parchment. Part of Bellariese breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered it was not her name on the parchment, while the other half of her began to shake in her boots.

Professor Dumbledore said nothing as he pressed his hand to Bellariese's shoulder as heart-wrenching gasps escaped her lips and the mask that she had worn nearly all her life slipped off. Written in a clean, neat handwriting sat a name she hoped she would never see or hear again, and yet, Bellariese knew she had seen it before.

'It's starting,' she whispered to Dumbledore who stared at her. 'My visions—they're beginning to come true ... again.'

'What do you mean?' Dumbledore asked, frowning.

Bellariese licked her lips.

'I mean sir, that the final battle has just begun,'

Bellariese closed the parchment, her body shaking—it seemed that Amoret would finally meet her mother after all, for the name written on the parchment was the woman's true name, the name that people did not know:

Amaranth Peverell