Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.


Chapter 28. Declaration

The morning after the Feast of Welcome and the events of the night before, a profound uneasiness hung in the air as members of all three Banners filed into a Great Hall bereft of chairs or tables or food, with the Goblet of Fire itself missing, escorted by grim-eyed year-captains and their attendant squads kitted out in full combat gear. These worthies, many of which had been quite friendly the night before as they talked about the history of Durmstrang, and briefed their new comrades on how things were done at the castle, or showed people about the facilities of their respective Banner, were silent and humorless now as they carried out their duties, something that Fred Weasley found incredibly disconcerting.

'It's like they're not wizards at all, but Inferi, brought back to life for some dark and violent purpose…'

He could feel them looking at him – and those who had come with him from Hogwarts, their eyes sweeping the room for any sign of hostile intent as they took up positions about the perimeter of the room, with several moving to effectively seal the entrances and exits once everyone else had entered, something that particularly unnerved Fred, since he'd misplaced his wand that morning and so would be utterly defenseless if something were to happen.

…say, if every one of those Dark Wizards in training were to open fire on the crowd simultaneously, using horrendous curses to cut down those who had been foolish enough to trust in the veneer of civility they'd worn the night before.

'No.' As bad as the situation seemed in his imagination, surely even those of Durmstrang wouldn't dare provoke the ire of the International Confederation of Wizards by committing such an atrocity. 'But then, the ICW hasn't exactly ever been on our side, even while Dumbledore was Supreme Mugwump…'

It was well known that during the Wizarding War, when You-Know-Who had staged his decade-long insurrection and savaged the population of Magical Britain, the ICW had refused to offer any support, moral or military, claiming that their mandate as an entity precluded them from any interference in domestic incidents of civil unrest.

Not that Britain had asked for aid to begin with, as the Ministry would have considered that a mark of shame, since in their eyes, the nation whose Albus Dumbledore had vanquished Grindelwald when all others had failed, should be able to handle what amounted to a political dispute turned insurrection with ease. This had proved not to be the case, with the Ministry – and Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix – forced onto the defensive in over a decade of prolonged conflict – a decade during which the ICW said – and did – nothing.

To them, one government was much the same as another, after all, as long as the nation continued to hold to its treaty obligations and responsibilities under international law. Hence when the conflict came to an end, with British wizards quite naturally breaking out in celebration that Voldemort had finally been defeated, the ICW, instead of congratulating Britain for defeating the insurrection, condemned it for its "large-scale breaches of the International Statute of Secrecy," reminding the British Ministry of its obligations under Clause 73.

Echoing the popular sentiment at the time, Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold had refused to admit to any wrongdoing on the part of her country, asserting that the demands of the Statute – and international law in general – were secondary to Britain's "inalienable right to party."

Given that the Statute of Secrecy was one of the great international treaties that the Wizarding Community was more or less built upon, with even those which weren't signatories to it honoring its provisions to some degree, the fact that Britain – the nation whose representatives had been instrumental in formulating the Statute's provisions, and had been one of the first signatories to the Statute – had flat out refused to be bound by what was expected from the ICW's other member nations, had left relations somewhat frosty between them.

Things had only deteriorated after the death of Albus Dumbledore, a figure who had been respected through most of the world for his heroism in confronting Grindelwald in his capacity as a private citizen, after Hector Fawley, British Minister of Magic at the time, had refused to commit any forces to the conflict brewing on the Continent, as he'd seen Grindelwald as no threat to British interests, with Leonard Spencer-Moon, his more proactive successor, left in no position to militarily intervene, as Grindelwald's forces had grown beyond the capacity of any one nation to face.

(Spencer-Moon's election had come after the populace had seen how Fawley's failure to intervene – a decision that had been popular among the British population at the time – had resulted in both the destruction of the European markets they depended on both for direct trade and to serve as intermediaries with Eastern interests.)

Babajide Akingbade, Dumbledore's successor as Supreme Mugwump, had proven himself to be rather less tolerant of British demands and what he perceived as unwarranted European harassment of other magical nations in the two years he had been in office.

These ranged from more minor offenses such as Adrian Tutley's insistence that the Uagadou School of Magic be censured for its "recklessness" and "unprovoked acts of aggression" against the international community, in response to a student team staging a synchronized demonstration of Animagus transformations (and in the process, nearly causing a riot among older and more experienced practitioners such as Tutley), to the very egregious, such as Britain's demands for Bulgarian reparations in the wake of the 1994 Quidditch World Cup Massacre, with an additional demand that the Confederation convene an International Criminal Tribunal to prosecute the Bulgarian Minister (and the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team) for their role in planning, facilitating, and instigating the massacre – violating the sovereignty of Magical Britain through an act of aggression and attempting to commit wholesale genocide against the British people.

Granted, Supreme Mugwump Akingbade could understand how the British Ministry – and its populace – might be rather upset in the wake of such an incident, given that the tragedy they had suffered was the single greatest massacre in the history of the Wizarding World. However, as the head of the Confederation, it was his task to see that it was justice that was done, which meant that due process needed to be followed, with a full investigation into the events of that night.

As Akingbade has suspected it might, the ICW investigation's preliminary findings – which had been announced on Halloween – suggested that the Bulgarian government had played no role in the slaughter – and that it was likely that some third party was at work, given that some of the individuals who had been listed as attending the Cup had not done so – and in fact, had no memory of buying a ticket to begin with, had only worsened matters.

Instead of accepting the new evidence that Bulgaria might not be at fault, however, the British Representative, Albert Runcorn, had simply restated the Ministry's demands, adding that they were not subject to negotiation, and that Britain would not allow bureaucratic machinations to deny – or delay – the course of justice.

That if the ICW failed to uphold its responsibilities to its member nations, then Britain would act unilaterally, doing what was necessary to ensure that it would never again be victimized by minor powers who saw their refusal to teach the Dark Arts as a sign of weakness, rather than principle.

The Supreme Mugwump had warned Representative Runcorn that his demands had no place before the community of nations, and that if Britain insisted in continuing on his course of action, it would be branded as a rogue nation, with no place in the ICW, given its continued refusals to the process of law or its obligations under to the treaties it had helped draft – and had been the first to sign – in the first place.

"If that is what it comes to, then so be it," Albert Runcorn had declared, in response to the Supreme Mugwump – and to the gathered representatives of the wizarding nations of the world. "If the ICW – a confederation we willingly entered into hundreds of years ago – now refuses to honor its responsibilities and will instead stand in the way of justice, then Magical Britain has no choice but to leave it. How fitting, then, that this most sacred day of Halloween will serve to commemorate not only our freedom from the tyranny of fear – from the tyranny of Lord Voldemort – but from the bureaucracy of the International Confederation of Wizards. In ages distant, when you and yours have fallen, history will remember this as the day the British people took back their dignity, the day when we took back our freedom, the day we took back our rights and launched a bold new era of prosperity and justice for all!"

Runcorn's declaration had swept the nation by storm, with the Halloween edition of the Daily Prophet – the last thing most people at Hogwarts had read before coming to Durmstrang – covering nothing but this declaration and the implications of a British withdrawal from the International Confederation of Wizards, with Minister of Magic Lucius Malfoy, Ladon Greengrass, Head of the Department of War, and British Youth Representative Harry Potter coming out in support of the people of Britain and the cause of justice.

The notion that in leaving the tyranny of the ICW and taking matters into its own hands, Britain would regain the greatness it once possessed, had stirred the hearts of a frightened, unsettled people, who saw such daring and decisiveness on the part of their Minister as something to be admired. After all, what use did the British have for a Confederation which had never understood the unique needs and circumstances of the British people, and which had never appreciated the long years of service British wizards and witches had burdened themselves with over the centuries in spreading the knowledge of wandlore around the world, founding communities, and helping to bring peace to the Continent.

'And then we were forced to come here, to Durmstrang, where we are fettered by the tyranny of a school where all are made to learn the Dark Arts – which the ICW somehow finds perfectly acceptable,' Fred mused, glancing around uneasily, wishing he was still clad in the protective dragonhide robes that marked him as a Stone Cutter, not the crimson robes of the Banner of Wolves. 'Surrounded by Dark Wizards, forced to bow to their rules.'

To be roused from slumber and ordered to assemble in the Great Hall effectively at wandpoint, alongside the students of Beauxbatons and some of the students of Durmstrang – save the year-captains and squads which wielded the wands, and the Commanders and their Lieutenants, who were rather conspicuously absent.

…along with about a fourth of the upper-year Hufflepuffs, the two young women who had led the Beauxbatons delegation, Harry, Daphne, and…Matou.

'…did something happen?' Fred wondered, his mind racing as he considered why all of these might not be present in the Hall. It would be one thing for the Commanders and Lieutenants of each Banner to be absent, along with the Potions Champions, as that might indicate some kind of official business, but for the Hufflepuffs to be missing as well… 'Was it Krum? Did he give in to his base impulses and attack some of us last night, only for Matou to stop him?'

His questions would soon be answered, as the massive doors to the Great Hall swung open, with Headmaster Igor Karkaroff stepping through them, holding the Goblet of Fire, the blue-white illumination of which made him look rather skeletal. He was flanked by two rather dangerous looking wizards dressed in robes of black and silver (members of the Norwegian Ministry's Disciplinary Commission), with Filius Flitwick and Madame Maxine trailing him as the procession made its way to a raised platform on the far end of the Hall.

"Last night, following the Feast of Welcome, an incident occurred within this very Hall, an incident born of hate and fear, an incident which nearly brought an end to this attempt to revive the Tri-Wizard Tournament before it had even properly begun!" the Headmaster stated, his dark eyes taking in the sight of the uneasy students assembled in the Hall, all of whom were looking at each other suspiciously, as if wondering who was responsible for it. "In an abuse of the hospitality and friendship we extended, last night, individuals from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were set upon after attempting to put their names into the Goblet of Fire, ambushed by students of Hogwarts!"

Karkaroff's words made Fred's blood run cold, as the suspicious stares of those of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang turned upon him, with the boy swallowing at the thought of how many of them there were, and how if they all attacked at once…no spell in the world would save him from their wrath.

"That is – two students were ambushed by a group of over thirty. Whatever their reasons may have been, the result is clear: a group of bloodthirsty cowards betrayed the ancient obligations and duties of hospitality, disgracing themselves, their school, and their nation in the process," Karkaroff continued, his words harsh and angry. His eyes roved over the crowd, finding the eyes of two red-haired boys he recognized as elites among the British youth. "Fortunately, they were foiled from achieving their aims, though they very nearly succeeded in claiming the lives of Viktor Krum, Lieutenant of the Banner of Wolves, and Fleur Delacour of the Banner of Ravens, a young woman, who as I understand it, was a person of some importance at Beauxbatons."

Fred froze as what had been merely suspicious stares vanished, only to be replaced with hard and hostile ones. If looks could kill, he thought, he would be dead quite a few times over, riddled with spells and curses in numbers beyond comprehension.

"As said, however, they were foiled in their aims, with those who survived the intervention currently in the custody of the Norwegian Disciplinary Commission," the Headmaster continued, his expression wintry. "Their investigation has revealed that these individuals were working on their own, and that their actions were not in any way sanctioned by Hogwarts. Or indeed, by the British Ministry, to whose custody we will be releasing our prisoners for trial."

The British Ministry had asserted its jurisdiction in this case when it learned of what had transpired, given that the accused were British citizens. Initially, the Ministry of Norway had denied the British request, pointing out that Norway had no obligation to surrender their prisoners – especially since, with Britain's declaration of independence from the ICW, it was questionable whether or not it could claim the benefits of the extradition treaties negotiated under the ICW's aegis.

Of course, Britain had then threatened to withdraw its students from the Tri-Wizard Tournament entirely, citing their unease with subjecting their students to the mercy of some other nation's justice system, and, wanting to avoid a massive loss of face, Norway had relented.

"Whatever the outcome of their trial, they will be considered persona non grata among the nations of the Nordic Pact, and I am recommending their expulsion from Hogwarts," Karkaroff said grimly, shaking his head. "After all, they came to this place under false pretenses, betraying the purpose of friendship for which we have assembled, in their bid to kill off two innocents without cause or provocation." The wiry man scowled, his attention falling firmly on the students before him. "Perhaps they had their reasons for doing as they did. Perhaps, as I understand it, they were angry about what happened to their country – to their loved ones – to their families. Yet that is no excuse for their actions – for an act of base treachery and callous disregard of human life on par with that which marks the cruelest and most despicable wizards of our time."

What little sound there had been in the Hall faded away, with no one speaking, moving, or even breathing at the insinuation – no, the outright accusation – that those who had acted were no better than individuals like Grindelwald or Voldemort.

"In any case, let us simply consider it fortunate that these malcontents were stopped from achieving their aims," the Headmaster intoned after a few moments, shaking his head wearily. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the Goblet of Fire into the air. "But let us turn to other matters – such as the reason we have gathered in these frozen lands."

The wooden chalice seemed to glow brighter than ever before as he raised it high, with the blue-white brilliance of the flames dancing around and within it almost blinding.

"It is time…to choose the ones who shall represent us in the Tournament to come, who shall stand against trials and tribulations, and perhaps – perhaps! – prove themselves as one of the best wizards of this generation!"

So Karkaroff declared, and at his words, the flames inside the Goblet changed from azure blue to the crimson hue of blood, with sparks flying forth.

"The first Champion…" he spoke solemnly. "The one who shall represent the Durmstrang Institute in the Tournament, shall be…"

On cue, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttering forth from it and slowly falling through the air until he caught it in his free hand, as the whole room gasped.

"Viktor Krum," the Headmaster said quietly. "You are all aware of the reason he is not here with us at present, but I trust you will offer him your trust and support when he returns?"

It was perhaps phrased as a question, but it was anything but – especially when his eyes met those of a shocked and angry Hogwarts delegation. After all, the reason he away from Durmstrang to begin with, lying in a bed in the Lady Eir Medical Center in critical condition from the many, many Stunning Spells he had received to the chest, was because of the craven actions of some of their number.

He let the question hang for a moment, before the flames of the Goblet changed once more, with another tongue of fire shooting forth, bearing another name.

"The Champion who will represent the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic," Karkaoff began, pausing as he caught the slip of parchment at the air, only to sigh inwardly at the name he read. "...shall be Fleur Delacour," he read aloud. "Owing to the same turn of events that befell Lieutenant Krum, she cannot be with us at the moment, but I trust you all will offer her your congratulations when she returns?"

There was a positive undercurrent of affirmation from the students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, with a few Hogwarts students nodding, though the rest were curiously silent.

But there was no time to dwell on things, as the Goblet flared a final time, a last tongue of flame delivering a third slip of parchment before the chalice went dark. This one seemed particularly charred and blackened, and it took Karkaroff a long moment to decipher what was written on it, a moment in which every Hogwarts student felt their hearts beat faster.

"Weasley," Karkaroff intoned at last, with two pairs of eyes widening, and a third utterly impassive. Whispers broke out in the hall, as people wondered which one it was, with Fred hoping that it was him – that at last, he could reap the benefits of his training with Tomas and with the army, demonstrating to the world – and to himself – that he was not weak.

That he was strong – strong enough to protect what was left of his family. Strong enough not to simply be left behind by everyone else. But…

"George Weasley."

…it was not to be, as it was not he, but his twin who had been selected.

'Why?' Fred thought, his body numb with shock. 'Why him? Why not me?' His thoughts raced, with nothing at all seeming to make sense. 'I've always been the better duelist between us, even if he was better with stealth. It's always been true. And it should have stayed that way. This past summer, I dueled students from Mahoutokoro and received training from a Peverell, while he simply spent his time flirting with that Kohaku girl, talking and going to different stores. This summer, I was the one who obtained a familiar, while George didn't get anything. Since coming back, I've spent every free moment I had training with the army, and George…'

George hadn't, and yet his it was he whose uniform now shifted from emerald green with black accents to black with green accents, with the crest of Hogwarts emblazoned in silver against an emerald wand at his breast, marking him as a Champion.

'Why…?'

"Come forward, Champion of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and congratulations on your achievement," Karkaroff intoned, and George did so, approaching the platform and ascending the steps, where the dignitaries met him with tentatively approving smiles. He shook their hands one by one, when turned to the students – his former peers – and bowed to them, deeply. "Do you have any words you would like to share with those watching?"

"Simply this: that is an honor and a privilege to be chosen as one of the three Champions of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and that I look forward to see where I stand in relation to my fellow Champions," George was saying, as he looked out upon those he had called countryman, friend or brother with a neutral expression. "Though hearing what happened, I have something else to say to those not chosen: you may not be Champions, but you represent your schools and nations nonetheless through every word and deed, much as I do. So, in the wake of last night's events, I too am angry. But I am angry at my countrymen – at the foolish ones who disgraced themselves through their actions, who were not worthy of even aspiring to the title of Champion. I am angry at those who allowed hate to cloud their eyes, who could not see the likely outcome of their deeds. I am angry at those who would have denied me the chance to test my capacity against two individuals who have been chosen as two of the most talented among you. I am angry, but not with my fellow Champions, my fellow comrades in the struggle come, with who my thoughts and sympathies rest: Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour."

The entire British delegation – and Fred most of all – looked on in shock at George's words, as he effectively had said he didn't care what happened to the people of Britain – that he was more angry that he was nearly denied his chance to face the other Champions than at the fact that some of his countrymen were dead.

'George,' Fred could only wonder, looking at his twin and seeing only an inhuman stranger who rejected him and his beliefs entirely. 'Why?'


When Fleur Delacour came to once more, she found herself lying in a bed in a sterile white room, wearing a hospital gown, looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling, much as when she had first awoken after the attack on her person. And as had been the case then, she wasn't alone.

This time though, those with her weren't officers from Norway's feared Disciplinary Commission, who had come to ask her questions about what had happened during the attack, or to probe her mind for answers, but someone else – someone who was known to her, in fact.

"'Allo, Fleur," the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons said quietly. As she had been when she arrived at Durmstrang, the silver-eyed girl was dressed in an elegant navy dress of satin chased with silver filigree, with her rapier at her hip, as she surveyed the room, taking in every detail of her surroundings – and her comrade's exhausted state. "Comment ça va?"

"Comme ci, comme ça," Fleur replied distantly, shaking her head. Not wanting to seem so helpless in the presence of the Etoile Noire, she tried to sit up, but ended up slumping back down with a grimace, as the sudden motion made her rather dizzy.

"Mm," Rachelle Lestrange murmured, waving her hand as the head of the bed itself slowly began to raise itself – and Fleur – to a sitting position. "Thinking about vat 'appened?"

"Oui," the Etoile of Beauxbatons confirmed with a frown, raising her wand hand and staring at her fingers, as if there was something on them. "I…I…"

"…you killed someone," Rachelle interjected, with Fleur glancing over at her, a query almost – almost – making it to her lips before she ruthlessly quashed it.

"More than one," Fleur whispered, the events of the night before coming to her mind all too easily after a day spent revisiting the scenario time and time again. "More than one…" She swallowed, trying to drive the images away, the screams of pain and agony, but they wouldn't leave. "I…"

"Were zey trying to kill you?" the Potions Champion asked, fingering the rapier at her hip. "Or just Viktor?"

"I…" Fleur began again, but shook her head, as the words wouldn't come in her exhaustion. "How is…?"

"Viktor is alive," Rachelle answered simply. "'e's not well, not after taking so many Stunning Spells, but…'e's alive. Zanks to you, Delacour."

Fleur felt her body sag as her countrywoman let her know this.

"Dieu merci," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She – like most on the Continent – knew full well that the Stunning Spell, although treated by novices as harmless, was no such thing, given that it functioned by using magic to disrupt one's nervous system. As such, too many striking at once, or simply within a short span of time, could very well be fatal. That was why she had acted as she did, attacking with the most powerful spell she knew, because the moment her ambushers had struck, she could see that they had intended to kill. "Dieu merci…" But she shook her head once more. "Mais…"

"Do not vaste your pity on ze others," the Etoile Noire declared, her expression grim and icy-cold, as she recalled something in her past. "Ze only one who should try to kill, are those who are prepared to be killed."

Fleur shivered, at the dangerous expression, knowing that Rachelle's capacity for violence and destruction was exactly why so many at Beauxbatons feared the beautiful waif-like Potions Champion, a capacity that had been rather brutally demonstrated in the incidents leading up to her selection.

"I'm…not like you, Rachelle," the part-Veela said slowly, her blue eyes full of pain as she looked away. "I vunder…I think…could I have done something else? Could I have not…taken their lives?" She shuddered, her eyes closing involuntarily at the thought. "It was…"

"…it was your first time taking a life," Rachelle summed up. "But it felt easy, didn't it?"

"…oui," Fleur admitted, her voice naught but a whisper. "C'est trop facile, Rachelle. Trop facile…"

"It always is in ze moment, Fleur," the Potions Champion told her, her silver eyes softening a bit as she walked over to her comrade. "After all, in ze moment, you didn't think about them, or if vat you vere doing vas right. You vanted to live."

Fleur was silent for a long moment – almost a minute, before she shook her head.

"Je veux revenir à Beauxbâtons…" the part-Veela murmured, her hands dropping to the bed, as she worked on balling up the sheets to distract herself. "I…staying here…I'm not you. If I stay, I might…I might…" She trailed off. "Je veux…"

"C'est impossible," Rachelle responded at once, cutting the other off before she could get started again. "Tu es la championne de L'Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons! By contract…"

"I have to compete…" Fleur concluded, glumly. Never in her life had Fleur Delacour believed that she wouldn't be happy to receive such a high honor, but now, in the wake of the attack… "Je ne peux pas revenir. Merde."

She looked down, the strength and vitality that normally made her seem so very beautiful to most at Beauxbatons all but vanished in her despair.

"Tu n'es pas seul, mon amie," the Potions Champion said to her, one of her delicate hands reaching out to lift the chin of the other girl, so that piercing blue eyes looked into startling silver, with the part Veela gasping at how sudden the contact was. "I vill be at Durmstrang too. And if someone vishes to hurt you, zey can try to go through me, si tu veux…"

Try – and die in the process – was the implication, given who Rachelle was. It was quite an offer, but…it was one that Fleur wasn't entirely comfortable with.

"I…I don't…" Fleur whispered, feeling a strange tingling from the way the petite Potions Champion was looking at her. "Merci, mais…I don't want any more people to die, Rachelle. Even if zey are my enemies. Even if zey want to hurt me."

The two looked at each other for a long moment, before the Etoile Noire stepped back, her fingers leaving Fleur's chin reluctantly.

"You and I are very different people, Fleur," the Potions Champion mused, bringing her hand back to Deuillegivre as what might have been an almost wistful expression crossed her lips. "But zat is why you are ze Etoile. You are…more merciful." Rachelle sighed. "Un moment, s'il vous plait."

With that, she turned away, ducking around the privacy curtain concealing the door to the room, leaving Fleur nonplussed as the door opened and closed, with Rachelle emerging from behind the curtain once more – until she saw the figure trailing the Beauxbatons Potions Champion – a young boy of Asiatic origin, clad in black robes, with a crest and cauldron indicating her was the Potions Champion of Hogwarts.

"Eh…? Vous êtes…?"

"I am Matou Shinji, Miss Delacour," the boy said with a charming smile, as he bowed deeply to her. "Potions Champion of Hogwarts." He straightened, his slate grey eyes meeting her blue. "And for the duration of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, I have volunteered to be your accompany you while I am at Durmstrang. I imagine that might give any would-be ambushers from Hogwarts pause, since they wouldn't want to strike me down in the process, ne?"

Fleur blinked.

She did not say a word, nod, or even tilt her head questioningly. She simply blinked, somewhat confused by why this little boy – who couldn't be more than perhaps 14 – stood before her, proclaiming that he would essentially be her bodyguard.

…especially since he didn't look like he was affected by her aura, since his expression was determined, and not lost in lust or desire.

"After what happened," Rachelle explained, "ze Headmaster and Madame Maxine issued instructions that ze Tri-Wizard Champions needed extra provisions for sécurité. While at Durmstrang, and outside ze protection of a Banner's keep, Champions must be escorted by a member of that Banner at all times. Matou of Hogwarts volunteered to accompany you, if you did not vant me…"

"Rachelle…" Fleur whispered, taken aback as she looked over the boy the French Potions Champion had brought with her.

Hair so dark it was almost blue in the light. Determined grey eyes. A wiry frame. Features set in a mask of determination – and body language that seemed to radiate a sense of confidence and power.

Perhaps the 'leetle boy' wasn't quite as useless at she had thought, though it was possible it was youthful bravado. She had known a few youths at Beauxbatons who would say anything to get her affection or attention, after all, promising her the sun, the moon itself, the treasures of the world itself if she would simply smile for them.

"Why, Champion Matou?" she asked simply, concentrating on raising her allure to the highest level possible to get the truth from him, to make him react if desire was one of his motives. "Why do you wish to accompany me, when you have your own duties? When you don't know anything about me?"

The boy's body seemed to tense at her question, or perhaps at the effect of her aura, though curiously, he looked away from her, his gaze flickering over to Rachelle's slender form for a moment as he took a deep breath and visibly steadied himself, before looking back at her.

"Because it's the right thing to do," Matou Shinji declared simply and sincerely. "Because I have no desire to let my comrades embarrass themselves any further, and no desire to see an innocent person caught up in something not of their making."

Because it was the right thing to do.

Not because he was attracted to her, not because he was drawn in by her allure, not because he wanted a favor from her or her school.

He wanted to help her because it was the right thing to do?

Shocked, Fleur let her aura of allure recede to its normal levels, with the boy relaxing as she did so, a quizzical smile on his face.

"You didn't have to use your allure to get me to answer you know?" Shinji quipped, glancing once more at Rachelle, who didn't seem to notice. "I would have answered any question you had willingly enough."

"Oh? Any question?" Fleur questioned, a small smile coming to her lips as she thought of something she did want an answer to. "Zen tell me zis, Matou Shinji. How old are you and vich year are you in?"

"Fourteen, Miss Delacour," the boy from the East replied. "And at Hogwarts, I am counted as a Fourth Year."

"A Fourth year…" Fleur echoed, blinking in disbelief. A fourth year…who was a Potions Champion? But how…? "'Ow did you become Potions Champion then?"

"Uh-uh," Shinji answered, waggling a finger. "I already answered your first question, and gave you a second for free. The answer to this third one…" He smirked. "…is a secret."

Fleur groaned, less than entirely impressed by the boy's somewhat flippant answer to this last question, though she supposed she could understand a desire for secrecy – especially one of his competitors was in the room with them, and Rachelle herself was fairly secretive about the full extent of her abilities.

"I'm going to be honest with you," the boy added with a shrug. "I'll be spending a good deal of time back at Hogwarts preparing for the Potions Competition, so I probably won't be around to be your bodyguard you that much. Still, I thought I'd lend you what help I could, if you're fine with someone like me."

The half-Veela smiled weakly at the other Champion's words. She'd never met a boy who was genuinely interested in doing something for her without some ulterior motive at heart, whether driven by her allure, a desire to influence her, or otherwise, and it was curious that one so young could shrug off her aura so readily.

"Very vell, Mister Matou," the part-Veela answered softly, inclining her head. "I will accept your aid in the spirit in which it was offered. And in the time you are not present…"

"Arrangements can be made," Rachelle commented darkly as the petite blonde touched the rapier at her hip, with the young boy seeming oddly at ease with his fellow Champion's straightforward demeanor. "Between ze Potions Champions, and...other measures, you will be safe at Durmstrang, Fleur." At this, she smiled coldly. "Even if my reputation does not precede me."