Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowling's.

Yay, double figures!

And a second Fleur chapter, though some of you might be less enamoured of that.

So I accidentally cut a bit off when I originally copied this in, which is my bad. I've reposted with it reattached.

Chapter 10

Fleur's moment of triumph had come, just as she had known it would. The goblet, flaring into red flames, had chosen her, naming her Beauxbatons' champion and thus the best possible candidate for her school. She had risen, with everyone's eyes on her and for once she had truly, completely enjoyed the attention. They hadn't been staring at the Veela but at Triwizard champion Fleur Delacour.

As she strode proudly across the Great Hall to the antechamber every pair of eyes had been a witness to her victory over the rumours her former friends had spread, and every pair of eyes had been on her.

Nearly every pair, she corrected. One wizard had not looked up. One wizard had not noticed her. Again.

It had, of course, been the same young student who hadn't noticed her before. The messy-haired boy had not noticed her as Veela and now he had not noticed her as Beauxbatons' champion. His eyes had not even flicked up from the pages of his book.

Fleur had fumed in the antechamber, ignoring the curious, yet slightly hostile gaze of her competitor, Krum.

After a long minute, in which the Hogwarts champion had arrived, introduced himself and been ignored, she had decided that having his attention was not really that important. She hated not being noticed, it was unusual, discomforting and insulting, but it would not mean anything to her once he did notice. Once he did he'd just be like all the others. The boys and mean that stared at her because she was beautiful, and the girls out of jealousy or disbelief. Her conclusion was going to be the end of her interest in him. The last thought she would ever have on the boy.

Then he had joined them in the antechamber.

Fourth champion, she balked at the very idea. It was the Triwizard Tournament. Three schools. Three champions. It was an honour, the greatest recognition, to be chosen and this Harry Potter stood there and denied he wanted any part of it.

Fleur could not believe him. Nobody would not want to be part of this. It was dangerous, but that was just part of the appeal, another reason to accept the challenge and be remembered as one of their schools' greatest.

In her anger at his audacity and arrogance she had snapped at him and dismissed him as a boy without any chance of competing at their level. He'd barely noticed that either.

It was only after they filed out to leave him with his headmaster that she realised the boy's name must have somehow bypassed the age line. That was no mean feat.

An age line was not a complex ward, but it was a powerful one. A single, simple thing was required to bypass it, in this case, an age greater than seventeen. They were rarely used, as occasions in which they were necessary were rare, but of interest to the very few that, like her, had a knack for enchanting. None of her teachers had known any of its specifics and Fleur had had to go to the library to find anything. It's design was as simple as it was powerful.

Age lines could not be bypassed. Magic remembered how long it had been a part of a living thing and the ward need only touch it to verify its age. No potion or enchantment was capable of deceiving something so perfectly simple. Any attempt to use a spell rather than stepping across it still placed the caster's magic in contact with the ward. The only way past was to actually break the enchantment itself or to possess an artefact capable of completely hiding magic.

There few such artefacts and there was nobody alive capable of overpowering a ward created by Albus Dumbledore. In fact, even if by some miracle this boy had managed to, the power required would have been felt and seen all across the castle, and certainly by the caster of the enchantment.

It made the fact that his name came out quite a mystery, because not only could he not have not passed the age line, but the Goblet could not be lied to either. Any attempt to enter the name of another would fail.

All of this led Fleur towards a rather disturbing conclusion. Either the age line had been set to specifically allow Harry past, or his name had never been in the goblet to begin with, and Professor Dumbledore had merely pretended to pull it out.

Both theories placed the blame squarely at the foot of the Supreme Mugwump.

It was a chilling realisation, for nobody would ever question the word of Albus Dumbledore. He was the vanquisher of Grindelwald, the world's most powerful wizard and certainly one of the most knowledgeable. His opinions were treated as fact. If he had said, or even implied, that Harry had put his name in the goblet and been chosen, nobody would dream of questioning him, simply because he was Dumbledore.

It only underlined the fact that he was utterly beyond suspicion that Fleur herself thought her conclusion too fantastical to be possible simply because it was him, even when she knew of no other logical possibilities.

Of course, if it were true, then that meant Dumbledore wanted him in the tournament for some reason, and wanted him in addition to another, older representative.

An extra bite at the apple, perhaps.

It would certainly explain why he was so disappointed when the boy had declared himself an extra, one whose points would not be tallied for Hogwarts, but if the headmaster had really wanted another champion to increase his school's chances he would have surely chosen an older, more capable student.

That line of thought brought her back to the boy again.

What is so special about him?

She knew who he was. Fleur had known the moment she heard his name in the antechamber and glimpsed his scar peeking from under his wild fringe. She had been quite taken aback by how different he was from the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived. Being Harry Potter was not reason enough, however. As a baby he had survived the killing curse, it was widely known, but at no moment since then had he done anything of note that she had heard of. Even if he was a prodigy it would take incredible skill and no little luck for him to match wizards or witches several years his senior. The gap from fourteen to seventeen stretched longer than three years. It was a period of intense change. They were mature, virtually adults; he was a child still. The only thing separating him from any other boy his age was an odd scar and his infuriating ability not to notice her.

Three times she had been beneath his attention: at the welcoming lunch, after curfew in the Great Hall and when her name had been called. Either he was just incredibly dense and slightly resistant to her allure, or there was something quite different about him. Her need to know, which was more pressing than ever, had now bypassed simple curiosity and was rapidly approaching obsession. She simply did not understand why he did not stare like everyone else.

Fleur had taken to following him when she could, often under the disillusionment charm, but it was not an easy task. Harry Potter was rarely seen around the castle and when she did run into him, he would swiftly vanish only moments later. That left her invisible, in the middle of foreign students, and quite often lost.

It was how she hoped she would not end up this time.

For once the fourth year had not simply walked into a classroom, or around a corner into a corridor only to inexplicably disappear from view. He had walked confidently, albeit with an air of illicit activity, along the first floor corridor.

Fleur, who had been following him since catching a glimpse of his untidy hair and glasses on her way back from owling a letter to Gabrielle, had seized her chance.

It was not between classes, so there were few students in the corridors and she had not rouble following him all the way along the perfectly straight corridor. He paused to take one furtive look back down where he had come and, seeing nothing, then slipped through the door at its end.

When she grew close enough to see where he had snuck off to she almost spluttered with rage and shock.

A girl's bathroom, she seethed. What kind of fourteen year old is he?

As she approached the door, now rather more hesitantly than before, she heard voices, a girl's and Harry's. Their words didn't carry, but their tone did. Whomever Harry Potter was speaking into in the first floor girl's bathroom was rather taken with him.

Fleur checked her charm and slowly crept closer. The door was ajar, so she carefully squeezed through, anticipating catching the boy in the midst of whatever he was always disappearing to do. Fleur was half-afraid she would regret it and never manage to rid herself of the memory of what she might see.

The bathroom was empty. There was no girl. There was no Harry Potter. There was nobody but her, a row of empty cubicles, a large central sink and a sizeable puddle on the floor. Somehow he had given her the slip and vanished, just as he had every other time before. She had a careful look around, but it wasn't a large bathroom and she was quite clearly alone.

Fleur swore under her breath.

She would not waste another moment trying to follow this boy. This was clearly a mystery she would have to solve from afar. It might be easier to just watch him in the tasks. If there was anything to be seen about his character that was different it would become obvious then.

Fortunately for her the first floor was not so far from where she had originally been that she could not easily make her way back, providing the very unhelpful staircases allowed her.

She was only halfway down the corridor when she overheard the boy's name.

'Honestly, Ron,' the bushy-haired girl she had seen nearby Harry Potter on occasion cried with some exasperation. 'This spat with Harry is getting well out of hand.'

'I'm not the one who lied to his friends, Hermione,' the red-head, Ron, retorted angrily.

'We both know Harry's promise isn't what this is about. He's either telling the truth, or he lied to spare your feelings, neither of which you can really blame him for.' The expression Ron was wearing did suggest otherwise.

Fleur edged a little closer. She was not normally one for gossip, having spent the majority of her life not the receiving end of it, but curiosity, the word obsession might have been more apt, but she was damned if she would ever use it, got the better of her.

'Then what's it about?' Ron demanded.

'It's about you, and half of Gryffindor House by the appearance of it, taking out your dissatisfaction at being in Harry's shadow out on Harry. He can't control his fame, Ron. You know that.'

The girl, Hermione, paused, checked through the door of a nearby class, and then dragged the boy in by the arm. Fleur followed quietly, interested in what she might learn.

'Harry isn't taking this well,' Hermione warned. 'He's been different since the World Cup. You've seen how distant he's become. You and Angelina are driving him further and further away. I know you're angry now, but you'll regret losing your friend.'

'I won't lose him,' Ron grunted. 'This sort of thing happens between us sometimes. He'll apologise for lying, I'll apologise for overreacting, the air will clear and things will go back to the way they were. It's how we work.'

'That's how you and the old Harry worked,' the girl snapped. 'The new Harry is as good as me at half the subjects I take, successfully practicing sixth year spells and seriously considering ending his friendships with all of you for good.'

'You aren't serious,' Ron had gone purple. A mix of shock, fury and mortification mottled his face. 'He'd never say that. We argue, yeah, and this time has been bad, but he would never walk away from us, he can't. He's Harry and even if I can't stand him at the moment, we're still friends.'

'I'm not even sure I want them back, those were his exact words on you and everyone else he feels has turned their back on him. For pity's sake, Ron, swallow your pride, drag Seamus, Dean and anyone you can with you, apologise, and hope the old Harry resurfaces to forgive you, because I am afraid that he might not.' The bushy-haired girl seemed very insistent he be forgiven before it was too late.

Part of Fleur rather hoped that Harry did not accept their apologies. The apparent actions of his Gryffindor friends, despite their possible repentance, came a little too close to how her former friends had been to her for her to sympathise.

'Maybe I will,' the red-head's voice was a little shaky. 'I didn't realise he'd taken it so badly. Do you think something happened to him, over the summer, or at the World Cup?'

'I don't know,' she confessed helplessly. 'He says he wants to improve himself, to get stronger, and I only know what Harry told us about the World Cup. He was knocked unconscious and got carried out of the camp by one of the Bulgarian Veela.'

That piqued Fleur's interest. This was not the first time Harry had come across those with abilities like her, maybe her answer to his indifference lay there.

'You think he got cursed while he was out of it?'

'He was very vague about his story, Ron, and he's been secretive since then. Maybe he wasn't unconscious at all?' The bushy-haired girl had adopted a distant-eyed expression of contemplation.

'He was pretty out of it in the hospital wing, Hermione,' the boy declared skeptically. 'You can't exactly fake magical exhaustion and a coma.'

'He said he doesn't remember casting any spells, so how had he drained his magical core?' Hermione shook her head. 'Some things don't really add up about that.' The red-head seemed unconvinced and gave her sort of half-pitying, half-amused stare.

'They don't,' she insisted and stamped her foot rather childishly.

'I'll try and persuade everyone to apologise, but I can't make any promises for the others,' he said finally. 'Angelina Johnson is still on the warpath and that looks unlikely to end anytime soon. I heard Katie Bell pleading with her to change her mind about kicking Harry from playing seeker next year.'

'Did she?'

'No,' Ron shook his head. 'Angelina said he deserved it and that you can't have someone you don't trust as part of a team. Her and Katie are really close still, but as soon as Harry comes up everything gets all awkward and tense around them. Fred and George are sort of avoiding the entire subject as well what with their relationships with Angelina and Alicia.'

'It's ridiculous,' Hermione exclaimed. 'He doesn't seem to want to take part. The old Harry would've liked nothing better but to avoid it all entirely.'

'And the new one?'

'I'm not sure,' Hermione admitted. 'Sometimes I get the feeling that the new Harry wouldn't stop at much in his desire to improve himself and winning the tournament would certainly prove he had done that.'

'He can't've changed that much,' Ron dismissed. 'First sign of something dangerous and he'll be dragged in immediately. Someone always has it in for him.'

'You don't think that might have something to with him being chosen as champion. The Triwizard Tournament definitely falls under into the dangerous category.'

'I considered it,' Ron confessed, 'but it's different to the other times. He was sort of linked to those; there's nothing to connect the tournament to him, no You-Know-Who, no Padfoot and no dirty great serpent.'

Fleur was rapidly losing touch with the conversation. There was a lot of context missing.

'I guess, she sighed. 'The headmaster seemed to think he had entered; he looked very disappointed in Harry.'

'You think he actually might have secretly entered himself using his cloak as well?' Ron asked.

Fleur repressed the urge to snort. Whatever this cloak was it would not be able to fool an age line. A trip to their library should quickly show them that.

'I don't know. I don't know Harry as well anymore. Whatever's changed him is concerning and I don't think it's just me. Dumbledore looks troubled too. Every time he sees Harry he gets this worried, haunted look.'

'I'll apologise,' Ron agreed. 'I'll encourage Ginny to speak to him again, she won't hex me if I offer to cover for her with Angelina, and I'll try to convince Seamus, Dean and the others to back off a bit if I can. I'm still angry with him, but if it's this or his friendship, then I'll do it.'

'Thanks, Ron,' Hermione sighed. 'He flipped out on me and left Charms when I implied it was partially his fault for his fame eclipsing everyone. Since then he's vanished everyday except for mealtimes and the nights.'

So I'm not the only one he's evading, Fleur realised.

That was interesting too. It reminded her of how she acted at Beauxbatons, remaining in her room, or staying with Gabby, and only appearing to attend classes, or eat.

'We'll have to find him to apologise,' Hermione voiced.

'He comes back to the dormitory quite late every day,' Ron told her, 'I'll gather everyone in the common room and we can catch him then.'

'That's a good plan,' Hermione admitted with some surprise. The red-head looked a little affronted.

'Chess player,' he reminded her. 'Not to mention that if you haven't figured out where he's going in over a month we aren't going to in the next couple of days.'

Fleur scowled. He was right about that. Harry Potter's list of talents seemed to include the ability to vanish at will among a short tally that could mostly be summarised as things that infuriated her.

'We need to do it soon,' the girl fretted, somehow simultaneously bossy and nervous.

'Tonight or tomorrow,' Ron agreed. 'I'll talk to the others in class.'

The two of them swept out of the empty class, narrowly avoiding Fleur who had not had the foresight to stand further from the door, leaving her to inspect the rather odd assortment of muggle items that were mounted on the walls.

By the time she had returned to the carriage most of the other Beauxbatons students were outside. It was the first day that had begun without clouds and though some few now littered the sky it did not yet threaten rain. Fleur imagined this was the closest Hogwarts ever got to summer.

The largest group, which included her two least favourite people, Caroline and Emilie, were busy ogling the Durmstrang boys who were relaxing on the deck of their ship. Their school was in Scandinavia, Sweden, she was reliably informed, and very far north even then. This must have seemed quite a pleasant day in comparison to what they were used to. Scotland didn't lose all its light for several months in winter, after all.

It was not pleasant enough for Fleur to endure the other girls, so she headed back towards her own room where she could let her guard down.

'Madame Maxime?' She caught her headmistress midway down the carriage corridor.

'Yes, Fleur,' she responded kindly.

'Do you know anything about age lines?' Her headmistress was the only person she could ask here that might know more than what Beauxbatons' library did, though she doubted she would. The library at the chateau was quite extensive.

'Why do you ask? It cannot possibly be for the tournament.'

Fleur suspected that her headmistress might have a slightly better idea of why she was asking than she let on, but played innocent.

'I was curious. The Hogwarts headmaster used one. I have not seen such a thing before.'

'They're interesting, but quite useless, I don't doubt I am the only one of your teachers who knows more than the name of the enchantment,' Madam Maxime informed her. 'They are a ward designed to allow passage to magical beings provided the age of the beings magic meets the requirement and so simple that they can be neither bypassed nor adapted to any other purpose. It is not a ward you will ever really need to use, I don't think.'

'Thank you, madame,' Fleur replied, disappointed but not surprised. Her headmistress had not known anything she did not which left her only with the rather unbelievable theory that Albus Dumbledore had wanted to place Harry Potter in the tournament.

He must have found a way, she decided. Perhaps someone with the same first and surname who was willing to add their name and then let him pretend it was his.

The idea had some merit, as at no point would either the goblet be lied to or the age line violated. Unfortunately it wasn't a theory Fleur could easily disprove or validate.

How frustrating.

Fleur shouldn't even be thinking about Harry Potter, why he was competing or anything other than the fact that the first task of the Triwizard tournament was less than a week away. From what she had seen the first round normally involved some sort of magical creature: a cockatrice, a manticore and even a sphinx had made appearances in this round. Fleur rather hoped that a sphinx would not be the chosen animal this time. Most magical creatures could be charmed into sleep using a spell of her own derivation and adaption. It made the most of her heritage and abilities, but sphinxes were notoriously tricky and immune to such things. You either answered the riddle they gave you, ran, or got eviscerated.

The latter was obviously the least preferable option of Fleur's list of outcomes, but whatever creature it did turn out to be she should have a slight advantage over the other champions, especially the boy. He was probably going to be the tournament's next casualty, different or not.

The Boy-Who-Lived-Until-The-Triwizard-Tournament-Started.

It was a bit of a mouthful, but Fleur rather liked the new title she had bestowed upon him, even if she did not really want him dead.

Of course, there was the wand-weighing ceremony to consider before the first task and as the last point at which a champion could be rejected and exchanged it was the real beginning of the tournament, so technically he wouldn't die as soon as it started. If he was really lucky he might even escape with just an injury or two like their magical creature professor back at Beauxbatons.

Fleur wasn't particularly fond of the man. He often eyed her with the same professional curiosity he extended to things like griffins, or dragons. Consequently she had not paid a great deal of attention to his classes and didn't know what magical creatures were native to Scotland.

She doubted anything that liked the warm or dry would be here, or that the organisers would have included an untameable creature. Her enchantment would be useless against most of those.

Whatever the creature she was, Fleur was confident that the first task could end in her favour and, as was more than likely in her opinion, with only three champions, as the Triwizard Tournament was supposed to have.

Satisfied that things were looking like they would be going her way Fleur rummaged around in her drawers for wand polish. She had to bend her arm in awkwardly to get her hand right to the back where it had been pushed by her gradually increasing collection of articles about the tournament.

Settling onto the end of her bed she started to carefully apply the substance, hoping to make a favourable impression. Fleur never neglected her wand, but rarely took the time to lavish it with care as she was doing now. Rosewood and Veela hair made temperamental wands. Both materials either bonded strongly with their owner, or never did. Her's was as strong as any she'd ever seen. Her wand had been a reassurance to her back when her friends had begun to leave her behind. Rosewood was, after all, a symbol of inner beauty.

AN: Read and please review.