Hopeless:
A scream tore overhead. Harry jumped and then immediately dropped hastily to the ground as three brooms sped perilously close to the hairs at the top of his head. Bloody Irish…
"They sure know how to party."
Sirius was looking down at him with an obvious smirk.
"Reminds me of the Word Cup I went to in Prague with James and his parents. The things the Irish got up to in those waters…" His eyes were wide and wistful.
Harry brushed the dirt from the front of his jumper. "You could sound a little more disapproving, you know."
"You need to lighten up." Sirius clapped him on the shoulder and gestured his other arm at everything around them. "Just enjoy the cultural brilliance of the wider Wizarding World. It'll be good practice."
His godfather was still smirking; the smug look on his face had been there for days now. Harry knew something was up, Sirius had made that obvious enough, but getting the secret out of him was an entirely different matter.
"I'm plenty cultured," grumbled Harry, re-joining the crowds which filtered towards the colossal stadium rising in the distance.
A firework whizzed close by, before exploding into the dancing shape of a Leprechaun. Its green buckled shoes tap danced at the tips of the thousands of banners rippling in the sky. Around them, out of tune Quidditch chants echoed into the night.
And the Muggles don't suspect a thing…
Sirius jogged to catch up. "Right…" he drew out the word, "I forgot you did summer school in France. How very un-Marauder of you," he tutted and shook his finger disapprovingly. "That's something Moony would've thought was brilliant, before me and James set him right."
Harry shrugged. "It was alright, I had fun."
"Fun!?" Sirius looked almost horrified at the words that had spilled from Harry's mouth. "Haven't I taught you better? What could possibly be fun about spending weeks of your free time with uptight, stuffy French…"
Sirius stopped in his tracks. The expression on his face was what Harry might expect from someone who accidentally happened into the secret of the Philosopher's Stone.
He turned to Harry, who felt himself gulp.
"Wait a second— "
Sirius grabbed him by the arm, before he could manage to escape. They were stopped in the middle of a staircase on the way to their box paid for by the Ministry (they were still trying to pay Sirius back for their mistake).
"Wasn't there that girl you fancied?" Sirius asked, a keen look in his grey eyes.
Harry rolled his eyes, trying to play it off. "Doesn't every bloke have a girl they fancy?"
"No, no, no, no." Sirius shook his head, refusing to be led astray. "She was different. You had the James's about you."
"The what?"
"The James's," Sirius repeated as if it were a common thing. "You looked like your dad after he first met Lily."
Harry twisted his lips and looked down the stairs where a queue was building behind them.
"Sirius, we should move."
Sirius didn't budge. "What was her name…" He tapped thoughtfully at his chin. "Daphne? No, Katie! Or was it Susan…"
Harry looked to him flatly. "You know very well who those girls are."
"Les Mistrèsses de Harry Potter," he announced in a terrible accent, waggling his eyebrows. "How very French of you, Harry. A real Romeo."
"I don't think that's even a word," Harry pointed out glumly.
Sirius shrugged, not caring. "I'm not the expert here. You're the one with the French lover."
"Fleur isn't my lover!" Harry exclaimed, immediately realizing he'd fallen into Sirius' trap.
Behind them, people were now beginning to hurl curses their way for blocking their path.
"Sirius," Harry pleaded.
"Alright," his godfather relented, looking rather pleased with himself. "But you're going to tell me all about this Fleur later."
They reached their box, and Harry slumped into his seat, wishing desperately for the distraction of the match. Taking out the Omnioculars he'd purchased earlier in the day, he looked across the pitch and found the opposite.
The lustrous, silvery forms of women danced seductively in the sky as men crawled over one another in the stands trying to reach them. He recognized them as the same feathery women painted on the ceiling of Beauxbatons; the same women who reminded him so much of Fleur.
His heart leapt into his throat.
Get over it, Potter…
He shook his head, but he kept seeing a girl reading by a fountain.
Thankfully, before his mind could sift through more memories he purposefully left forgotten, Sirius bolted over and pointed to the sky.
"Look, Harry! It's Krum!"
You bastard.
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Friday 30th of October.
Sirius, you absolute bloody bastard.
He'd told him as much when calling him through the two-way mirror after Dumbledore announced the tournament at the Welcome Feast. After barking a laugh, Sirius had simply told him to try to 'enjoy' the rest of term.
Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean.
"I can't believe they'll be here so soon," Hermione said excitedly from somewhere over his shoulder. "Only a week away!"
Harry kept quiet, still thinking of the myriad of ways he'd curse Sirius for keeping this from him all summer. At this point he was sure he had enough to fill thirteen inches and get an Exceeds Expectations from Snape.
"That doesn't give 'em much time to choose their Champion," Ron pointed out.
"I imagine they've thought about it as much as we have," said Hermione, reading through the rest of the bulletin.
She was right, the school was crazy for the tournament. It had taken over Hogwarts in a fever. It was all anyone ever talked about: in class, at meals, in the dorms, even on the Quidditch pitch! Who was going to be Champion? Which candidates were entering? How were they supposed to be chosen? It was driving Harry mad.
"It's not like it even matters," said Harry, turning from the crowd gathering around the sign. "We're not the ones competing."
"But imagine if we were!" Ron's eyes were glazed in some far-off fantasy. "It's the opportunity of a lifetime!"
Harry nodded; that, at least, he could agree with.
Get your head out of the clouds, he told himself. It had become a sort of mantra for him at this point, repeating it every time he found himself veering from things that truly mattered. Things that were currently present in his life.
They'll be present soon enough…
He shook his head from those thoughts.
Since the start of term he'd tried to follow Sirius' advice, buckle down, and enjoy the year as best he could. To an extent, it worked; between Mad-Eye being the best Defence teacher they ever had, McGonagall and Flitwick giving him advanced lessons on the side, and Hagrid terrorizing Malfoy with having to raise blood suckling beasts called Skrewts, he hadn't even noticed the fabled stress of his OWL year. Sure, there were mountains of homework to be done, but when was there not?
Harry was quite content with how this term was going, and by the time classes ended on the 30th and the students were lined into neat rows outside, he was too busy laughing at the ridiculous rumours circulating over what the foreign students would be like to feel the nerves simmering in his stomach like a cauldron set to boil.
A massive ship then broke the surface of the Black Lake, capturing his attention. Students gasped and whispers quickly whipped around them; apparently Viktor Krum was here.
Ron was practically vibrating in place next to him, but before he could lean over and poke fun at his antics, his eyes froze at something coming into view above the Forbidden Forest.
A familiar carriage swooped through the sky and bounced to a stop at the center of the courtyard.
Harry could certainly feel the nerves now.
Get your head out of the clouds, he reminded himself.
He felt a pull on his robes. "What's wrong?" Hermione asked, watching him carefully.
He hadn't realized he'd been frowning.
"We can't get a view of Krum, that's what!" Ron cut in, between his fruitless efforts of trying to jump above the crowd. Fur covered coats and powder-blue shawls were all that could be seen between the sea of bodies. "Oi, Dennis! Get off your brother's shoulders!"
"We should—uh, probably get inside," said Harry.
It felt like a dark cloud covered him in its gloom. It trailed him on his way into the Great Hall, each step unearthing the foolish hopes he'd buried deep beneath the false cover of his studies.
Ron continued to chatter passionately about Viktor Krum, and not really listening, Harry piled his plate full of steaming steak and kidney pie. He ate in relative silence; the rest of the hall was doing more than enough talking for him.
With each forkful he successively forced into his mouth, he could feel Hermione's watchful gaze burn hotter into his side. However, just as he was about to snap at her to stop staring, someone interrupted.
"Excuse me, are you wanting the bouillabaisse?"
"Here," said Harry, only half paying attention. He shoved the platter towards the edge of the table. He didn't particularly have the stomach for shellfish stew at the moment.
He went back to the numbing task of shoving food down his gullet.
"Uh—Harry?" said Hermione, looking at him uncertainly.
"What?"
There was a tap at his shoulder.
"Bonjour, 'Arry."
Harry turned and felt his breath catch.
Fleur smiled down at him, radiant as the summer sun. "Are you not surprised to see me?" she asked, her blue eyes twinkling with mirth.
Ron choked from somewhere next to him.
Surprised? No. I've been dreading this for months. He could only imagine the look on Sirius' face if he were here right now.
"I reckon it's only fair you got to come to Hogwarts in the end," he said, trying to ignore how funny his voice sounded all of a sudden. "How are you liking it so far?"
Fleur pressed her lips together, and he could tell she was holding back the urge to be blunt. "It is… different."
Eyes around the room were staring at them, but mostly Fleur.
Harry laughed. "So, did you actually want the bouillabaisse or was this just your excuse to get away from him." He nodded towards the wide-staring and panting face of Roger Davies a table away.
"Do you need me to protect you from him too?"
Fleur rolled her eyes playfully. "It is you who I will curse first if you dare."
A sharp elbow jabbed into his ribs.
"Ouch—er—yeah, these are my friends, Hermione and Ron," he introduced. Hermione waved, while Ron drooled.
"And this is, uh, Fleur Delacour." He rubbed at the back of his head. "We met a couple summers ago."
Before Fleur could open her mouth and say anymore, Dumbledore's voice projected over the hall. "To your seats, please. Everyone to their seats. The Triwizard Tournament is about to begin!"
Fleur gave an apologetic wave and hurried back to her friends at the Ravenclaw table.
The hall then went silent as Dumbledore began to introduce the schools, the judges, and the wonders and terrors they were about to behold. The Goblet of Fire was wheeled out, blue flames licking ominously above its brim, but Harry found he didn't care. He didn't care for the tournament, or any of this really.
Fleur was here, and she was all that mattered.
Get your head out of the… Bugger that!
Harry resolved he would stick his head wherever he damn pleased; and currently, he was flying so high the clouds were nothing but the shadows of his doubts way down on the earth below.
The roiling depths of the Black Lake matched the bleakness of his heart. A storm was rolling in; the dark, choppy waters swelling and breaking against the hull of Durmstrang's ship near the shore.
He'd already tried to call Sirius on the mirror, but he didn't answer, likely asleep. He wrote him a letter instead, trying to put into words what had happened tonight, hoping that Hedwig would reach him before the news broke elsewhere.
Tapping a flat stone, he transfigured it into a black, shaggy dog. He pet it, imagining it was him, needing someone on his side in all this.
Someone wants me dead…
The soft crunch of footsteps approached him from behind.
"Why did you come?" he asked, knowing without looking who it was.
Fleur stood next to the tree he was seated under. Her eyes were cool and indecipherable, nothing like they were when she'd sought him out only a night ago.
The wind carried an icy breeze that bit at the skin. He wasn't sure how late it was.
"Why did you enter?"
Harry shook his head. He untransfigured the dog, then picked up the rock and tossed it into the lake where it fell with a plop. "I think I answered that question enough times already inside."
A slight frown dug into her brow. "Oui, but we are no longer inside with Monsieur Crouch and Bagman and your professors."
"And?"
Fleur looked to him expectantly. "Now, it's just you and me."
Harry set his jaw. "You really think I entered on purpose, don't you?" He shifted his eyes to the sinister clouds corrupting the night sky.
"I thought you would be truthful with me…"
She sounded almost disappointed, and that was enough to turn him around.
"You want the truth? Fine. I'll spell it out real clear," he said in a clipped tone. "I did not put my name in the Goblet of Fire."
There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the sound of the water lapping beneath his feet.
"Then how did your name come out?" she asked.
"I don't know," said Harry, throwing up his hands. "For all I know, Dumbledore put me in."
"He would never," Fleur scoffed.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "I would never."
Fleur took a single step forward, enough for the pale streaks of a waning moon to cast her hair in a silver glow. She was looking at him in a way that twisted his insides in a knot.
"'Arry, I just wish to know why you lied to me. You told me you did not want to enter."
"I didn't lie to you." Harry grit his teeth. "I couldn't enter even if I wanted to—Dumbledore drew an age line! Do you think I could figure out how to get past that in under a day?"
Something flickered across her expression; a mere shadow that vanished in an instant.
"I thought you would have matured," she said, her words carrying a frost.
"Is that why you called me a 'little boy'," Harry laughed bitterly. "Been speaking to Anton lately, have you Fleur?"
She recoiled at that, and Harry felt a slight surge of satisfaction. Guilt as well.
Her comment in front of the other Champions had cut deeper than she could imagine. In the two years since they'd last seen one another she'd grown into a woman as beautiful as the ones painted on the Beauxbatons ceiling. He remembered how small he'd felt amongst the other students when first stepping off the carriage in the mountains, and standing in front of her now, that feeling of inadequacy returned.
Fleur sniffed haughtily. "I simply thought you had outgrown your childish need to impress everyone."
"That's what you think this is?" said Harry, not quite believing what he was hearing. "You think I'm trying to show off?"
"I've seen the way you frown at the boys who look at me," she said, pursing her lips.
"You think I'm jealous!?" Harry jumped to his feet, his irritation boiling over. "That I'd risk my life entering some stupid tournament where we're all likely to get killed just because a bunch of idiots like Roger Davies can't keep their jaws off the floor. For Merlin's sake Fleur—to say that I'm the one who hasn't matured."
She bristled at that. "Just because you find yourself unprepared for the tasks ahead, does not mean the rest of us are not."
Oh… So that's what this is about. His heart sank. He thought she knew him better than that.
Harry sighed. "I don't know what to tell you, Fleur… Someone must've put me in this."
A soft breath of disbelief escaped her throat, and she shook her head sadly. "Who did, 'Arry? Tell me."
"I dunno…" said Harry after a pause.
Her eyes held his for a long while before breaking away.
"I—I had very much been looking forward to coming here," she said in a whisper. "Now—well, I feel rather foolish. I didn't know what I expected, but… I had hoped you wouldn't be like all the rest."
She turned and walked back in the direction of the castle, leaving him alone in the darkness of the coming storm.
Harry woke from dreams of fire and destruction; his sheets were soaked through and his body slick with a cold sweat. He thought he smelt brimstone, and rolling to the floor in a panic, he realized with great relief it was nothing more than the exhausted flame of a candle next to his bed.
Get a grip, Potter. He stumbled into the shower and twisted the tap. Cold water slapped against his face; the dirt and grime and smoke from last night trickled down his skin, across the ceramic tile and down the drain below. They're hardly going to come hunt you in the boy's dormitory.
He picked up his bag and went down to the Great Hall for breakfast, ignoring the students who hollered his name and pointed to the POTTER STINKS badges pinned to the front of their robes. There seemed to be more of them every day. Half-way through his meal, he gave up, the waffles he was eating tasting like ash in his mouth.
Why do I even bother coming down here anymore? He pushed away his plate, and felt his gaze turn to the Ravenclaw table as it usually did.
He thought he saw Fleur's eyes dart away. Probably laughing at me and all my friends. No one was sitting within a dozen feet of him at the Gryffindor table, as if he were sick with a highly contagious bug.
She wasn't laughing, however, despite the fact her friends around her were. She looked nervous; not sick like him, but he could see the invisible weight of the fast approaching First Task pressing down on her spirit.
He was lucky, it was only because of Hagrid that he knew about the…
Before he knew what he was doing, Harry was on his feet, marching towards the Beauxbatons contingent at the Ravenclaw table.
"Eez zat…"
Heads abruptly turned, and eyes widened at his shock approach.
"Mon Dieu!"
Harry took Fleur by the arm, who was most surprised of all. "Excuse me," he said, tugging her to her feet. "But I need to borrow your Champion for a second."
He took her out the hall, down a series of twisting corridors and into an abandoned classroom on the first floor. The door snapped shut behind them.
"'Arry, what are you—"
"It's dragons," he said, noticing a slight furrow of her brow. "The first task is dragons."
The frown melted and her eyebrows slowly crept up. Her skin paled to snow.
"How do you—"
"Hagrid took me into the Forest last night. That's where they're being kept—they're bloody terrifying." He hadn't realized it, but he started pacing across the chipped and dusted floor. Just the echo of the Horntail's roar in his mind made him shudder. "Madame Maxime was there too. My guess is she'll tell you—but I had to be sure you knew."
Fleur looked to him strangely. "Why are you telling this, 'Arry?"
Harry stopped in his tracks. "Because I don't want you to get killed."
Her eyes froze to chips of ice and he realized he'd said the wrong thing.
"Thank you for your concern, 'Arry," she said with stiff formality. "But it is not necessary. I will be well prepared for the First Task."
"Oh, really, how are you going to beat it then?" he asked, unable to help himself.
Fleur scrunched her eyebrows in sudden thought. "I—well, I will…"
"You gonna try and outfly it?" Harry laughed, incredulous.
"I will not be telling the competition my plans," she huffed, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
There was a pause where neither of them seemed to breath.
"Right," said Harry, put out. "I'm the competition. I'm also just like all the rest, apparently. Because they have your best interests at heart, I'm sure," he muttered.
Fleur's expression softened. "'Arry…"
"No. No, it's fine, I did what I wanted to do. I need to go find Cedric and warn him next; Krum already knows." Harry shoved his hands deep in his pockets and shrugged. "Call me crazy, but I think we should all know what we're walking into."
He turned to leave but stopped at the sound of his name.
"'Arry," she called, looking at him curiously. "Why were you in the forest with Madame Maxime and Hagrid?"
"I think they were on a date," he said, chuckling at the memory of Hagrid's strange fuzzy suit. "I was hiding under my cloak the whole time."
He watched as the corner of Fleur's lip curled up, and felt his heart skip. Maybe he was just imagining it, but he thought he caught a glimpse of the bookish girl he knew before this dreaded tournament began.
'In life, Harry, we all run into disappointments. Some big, some trivial; and some so tough they kick you in the teeth, making you forget how to smile. But don't let that stop you. Focus on what matters in your heart, and if you persevere long enough, keep smiling, stay true to yourself, then eventually that disappointment will turn around, and you'll find it was all worth it in the end…'
Sirius' words of advice from the other night echoed in his mind as he walked the halls. He felt lighter than he had in days; the dragons no longer a menacing shadow over his shoulder, and the badges with their silly message brushed straight off his skin. And as he approached a group of scowling Hufflepuffs with Cedric at their center, he found he did so with a smile.
"Don't forget to apply the balm TWICE daily!"
Harry ducked out of the medical tent before Madam Pomfrey could reel him back in for another check-up. He waved away her worries; it wasn't even the fire that burned him but brushing against the piping scales of the dragon which burnt like a hot iron.
Besides, he couldn't even feel the pain over the rush of adrenaline still pumping furiously through his veins.
I'm in first place! Tied for first place, actually. He learned Krum had also scored forty points. Cedric was still in the medical tent being treated for some nasty looking burns, so he hadn't been able to ask him how it went, and Fleur…
Well, she was walking towards him now.
Harry set his golden egg down on the chair next to him and tried to look as casual as one could after facing a dragon.
She stopped in front of him, looking distinctly uncomfortable, her fingers playing nervously with the seam of her pale blue Champions cloak.
"You know the task is over, right?" Harry said lightly. "The worst's already behind us."
Fleur's lip twitched, but her eyebrows drew together into a determined frown. "I… I want to apologize."
Harry blinked, the words only just registering in his mind.
"What?"
Fleur folded her arms and dug her heel deeper into the dirt. "I want to apologize for the way I've acted," she repeated firmly.
"No, no, I get that." Harry ran a hand through his hair, feeling it stick up between his fingers. "It's just—wow."
It was her turn to say, "What?"
"Nothing," he said, closing his eyes. "I'm savouring the moment. Fleur Delacour apologizing to me. Usually, it's the other way around."
He could hear her take in a breath in affront. She slapped him lightly on the arm, and he hissed.
"Oh! 'Arry, I did not mean—"
"It's okay," he said, too busy grinning to care about the tenderness of his arm. "The dragon barely touched me."
Fleur took the seat next to him. "I was terrified," she said, resting her hand on his knee. "When I saw you on your broom, I worried it would knock you out of the air. I could hardly breathe."
Harry shrugged. "Well, I had a couple close calls—but who didn't in the end? We all need a little bit of luck sometimes."
There was a squeeze at his thigh.
"'Arry, I know you did not put your name in."
"What gave it away?" he couldn't keep the cold edge out of his voice. The last month hadn't exactly been fun for him.
"This tournament… c'est fou." She shook her head; loose strands of silver hair tumbled from the band she'd used to tie it back. "I knew from the beginning you were telling the truth, even if I pretended not to. I was mad, jealous that in the greatest accomplishment of my life I was shown up by you. It was easier to be angry than to admit it was not your fault."
"You're not the only one who felt that way," said Harry, thinking of Ron.
She nodded slowly. "I know, and I hated every second of pain that I caused you. It is not fair, it is not right." Fleur paused and looked Harry in the eye; the intensity of the stare thickening is throat. "But then you said something when warning me about the dragons that reminded me of a conversation we once had."
"I don't think you're helpless Fleur," he said, laughing at the look of surprise on her face. "I've known for a little while now what's been bothering you, sometimes you're just as easy to read as I am."
She laughed, and the sound was just as wonderful as he remembered it to be.
"You tamed a fully grown Welsh Green today, Fleur!" Harry exclaimed. "If I wanted to protect you—or Merlin forbid try and impress you—my first reaction wouldn't have been to enter a tournament that risked both my life and my magic. I have a habit of picking fights, but I've got more of a sense of self-preservation than that."
From the mouth of the Champions tent, Cedric and Viktor walked in, both bandaged, but Cedric certainly looked the worse off between the two. Behind them, came the bouncing figure of Bagman and the ever-morose Crouch.
"I know, 'Arry," said Fleur, a touch of pink running up her neck and into her cheeks, "I do not need to be reminded how foolish I was."
"Saving it for a rainy day couldn't hurt," said Harry cheekily.
She rolled her eyes but grew very serious all of a sudden. "I do wish to apologize for something else…"
Harry looked to her with interest.
"I should never have said you are like everyone else… You are anything but."
Before Harry could even think of how to respond to that, a blinding flash stole his vision, and he yelped.
"Did you get that?" a sickeningly familiar voice appeared from seemingly nowhere. Rita Skeeter in her acid green robes was staring hungrily down at Harry and Fleur. Her cameraman was poised and ready right behind her. "Yes, yes, that's just the shot. Two Champions, fresh from their dance with dragons, the scent of near-death still clinging to their cloaks, huddled together with the passion of life burning in their eyes. Our readers do love a forbidden romance."
Harry groaned.
The library seemed to be the only safe refuge in the entire castle. Between the shadowed corners, the dust choked air, and Madam Pince stalking the shelves, only the bravest souls dared enter for matters unrelated to study.
Harry was hidden in his usual spot, a sheltered nook tucked away right next to the Restricted Section. A small table sat beneath an even smaller window, where warm pools of light filtered in during the day; and on afternoons such as this, beyond the luminous glass, snowflakes danced like crystals in a clear winter sky.
Sadly, Harry's attention wasn't focused on the winter landscape in front of him, but on a gleaming gold egg which had caused him nothing but frustration since plucking it from the nest of a dragon.
He let his head fall to the wood with a bonk.
A giggle could be heard from behind him.
"I do not think that is the way to open it, 'Arry."
He turned and raised an eyebrow. "And have you figured out a better way?"
"Non," she said simply, and plopped herself beside him. "But looking so sullen will certainly not help. I am in no rush to solve the egg."
Harry groaned. "You don't have a best friend named Hermione Granger, that's why."
"I do have a forceful Headmistresses," she countered matter-of-factly. "Madame Maxime has been giving me countless books on aquatic species of the British Isles."
"Have you read any?"
"I will at some point." Fleur threw back her sheet of silvery hair and breathed a wistful sigh. "But not right now, c'est presque Noël. It is the most wonderful time of the year."
Harry moaned and dropped his head again at the reminder. He loved Christmas just as much as the next person, but this year it was rather spoiled by a certain unwanted event Professor McGonagall had sprung on them last Transfiguration class.
"What is it now?" Fleur looked to him in amusement.
"I have a test in potions I forgot about," he said, wrapping his lie in a veil of truth.
"Were you not exempt from your OWL exams?" she asked.
"Yeah, but I think Snape is still figuring out a way to fail me. He doesn't need any more motivation than he's already got."
Fleur narrowed her eyes a touch. "This man hates you because…"
"My dad," said Harry with a trifling shrug. "Sirius too, I guess. Snape's been even more unbearable since I moved in with him."
"Ah." Fleur nodded as if that made all the sense in the world. "I never have asked, but how is life with him? You moved in shortly after leaving Beauxbatons, non?"
"It's brilliant!" Harry grinned. "Hectic at times, don't get me wrong, but better than I could've hoped. Sirius always wants to show me the fun in the world, says we both need it… and I don't think he's wrong."
"He sounds like a wise man," she said.
"Don't let him hear you say that, his ruddy head is big enough as it is," Harry chortled. "I was hoping to spend Christmas with him this year."
From the corner of his eye, he could see her head turn sharply. "You are not staying?" she questioned. "The Champions are meant to open the Yule Ball."
"I'm not really a conventional Champion," he said, gesturing vaguely around himself as he continued, "Fancy balls, dressing up… dancing… don't think it really suits me."
A small wrinkle formed along Fleur's brow. "I see," she said, as though digesting the word. "Well, I pity the girls who had pinned their hopes on a night with such a daring Champion."
Harry scoffed, then shifted his eyes towards the egg and away from Fleur.
Why do you keep pretending, Potter?
Professor McGonagall had already outright refused his request to leave the castle for the holidays. Fourth Champion or not, she'd cited his responsibility as a student of Hogwarts and Godric Gryffindor's great house as her reason. Beyond that, Sirius had also threatened to disown him if he chose to spend Christmas with him and not at a party with a pretty witch on his arm. It left him little choice: he knew he was going, he knew he was opening the ball with a dance, and he knew he had to find a partner…
He snuck a look at Fleur, who had pulled out her own book and was reading through it silently.
Just ask her…
He shook his head. He wanted to, but he couldn't. What if she said no? The idea made his insides curl up and shiver.
She tolerates you, he reminded himself. She'd said so much to him before. She was his friend.
But you're not like the rest of them. She's told you that as well…
Harry wanted to curse and hit his head against the desk again, but that would only bring forth more questions from Fleur. For a maddening second, he considered unscrewing the top of his egg and letting its hellish screech unleash his frustrations for him; but Madam Pince would hang him outside the Astronomy Tower if she didn't outright kill him first.
Just ask her, that stupid voice in his head repeated. It sounded far too much like Sirius for his own liking.
There was so much pressure on him, it felt like his skull would burst at any moment. Ever since Rita Skeeter intruded on their moment alone after the First Task, stories about Harry and Fleur's 'blooming affair' were put out nearly every other day in the Prophet. Star-crossed Champions who were forced to compete against one another. Somehow that dreadful woman had managed to document their every moment together, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out how.
Everyone expected him to take to her to the ball. He was the subject of so many jealous stares from potential suitors that he'd gone to the lengths of asking Mad-Eye how to check his drinks for poison.
"So, uh—anyone ask you yet?" he said, trying to fill the silence.
Fleur looked at him strangely. "Oui," she replied. It was a stupid question. Just look at her. "A few… but nothing quite appealing."
"Have you—er, considered anyone?" He could feel his face starting to burn.
"Non," said Fleur after a moment, looking him up and down. "I thought about maybe bringing Gabriel. She would be good fun, especially with the crush she has on Viktor. But I'm not sure if my parents would allow it."
Ask her.
Harry opened his mouth, the words agonizingly close to the end of his tongue, but then he closed it. He couldn't. What if he messed up? The prospect of getting what he'd always wanted and then losing it because he wasn't ready, was far worse than not getting it at all.
Fleur turned back to her book, and with the opportunity gone, Harry frowned at his egg, resolved in his mind to go to the ball, get it over with, and worry about the rest from there.
"Miss Delacour, are you trying to tell me you were unable to find a partner!?"
Professor McGonagall, dressed uncharacteristically in a velvet gown, with her hair semi-let down from its usual tight bun (which was scandalous in and of itself), was staring at the French Champion completely befuddled.
"Madame, that is not the case," said Fleur with a demure smile. "I simply chose to come alone."
"But—how—why?" the Deputy Headmistress uttered the question on everyone's lips.
A deliberate frown fell upon Fleur's pretty face. "Excuse me if I have misunderstood, Madame, but I did not realize a woman required a consort in order to enjoy a night on her own."
Harry started to cough, attempting vainly to cover his sudden burst of laughter. He'd never seen the stern figure of Professor McGonagall look so wrong-footed.
"Of course, not! I would never assume such a thing," she spluttered. "You are entitled to enjoy the night however you please Miss Delacour. I simply worry about the Champions opening dance."
Fleur's expression turned to one of innocence. "Well, Madame, if tradition dictates that all Champions must dance, then perhaps, if it's not too much of a bother, I can borrow one of my fellow Champions."
The twinkling blue of her eyes settled upon Harry, who felt his laughter die in his throat.
"Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall urged; her eyes seemed to hold the promise of severe punishment if he did not resolve the situation at once.
He gulped. "Er—yeah, sure. I can dance."
"I would hope so," he could hear Professor McGonagall mutter under her breath. The Transfiguration professor then readjusted the brim of her hat and faced the crowd assembled in the Entrance Hall. "Now—upon entering the Hall, you will proceed to the high table. Following dinner, the Champions and their partners will open the ball to a waltz. Miss Greengrass, I do apologize for this unexpected change, but I assure you there will be plenty of other dances to be had throughout the evening."
Daphne nodded mutely in response, too busy staring daggers into Fleur. Harry knew he would pay for that later.
Before he knew what was happening, the doors to the Great Hall swung open and Cedric and Cho walked through to a flood of applause. Harry blinked, stunned by the sudden noise and bright lights shining in his face, and gripping the sleeve of his dress robes quite firmly, Daphne tugged him along after them.
The sight of an eager Percy Weasley motioning to the seat next to him at the high table shot Harry back to attention. Keeping his vision low, he steered Daphne to the opposite end of the table, pretending he hadn't noticed.
"What are we doing?" she whispered hastily.
"You'll thank me later," said Harry, breathing a sigh of relief at avoiding catastrophe, only to stumble into another one.
Fleur climbed the dais and took the seat next to him.
What is she playing at?
Daphne appeared to be thinking the same thing; the heat of her glare could kill a Yeti, but Fleur hardly seemed to notice as she gazed unfazed at the enchanted snowflakes which fell from the starry black ceiling.
"Harry," Daphne called his name in a way that was both sweet and sharp. "Do you want to change seats? It'll be easier for you to speak to Granger that way."
Harry wasn't entirely sure if it was a suggestion or an order.
He looked to the side to see Viktor scowling deep in concentration as Hermione attempted to teach him how to properly pronounce her name. The best he'd managed so far was 'Hermy-own' and 'Herm-own-ninny'. Never one to quit, Hermione continued to sound it out for him.
"I think I'll leave them to it," he said, ignoring the way Daphne's eyes glinted dangerously. Following Dumbledore's lead, he picked up his plate and said, 'Pork Chops!'. The food was a welcome distraction.
"You see… with the work I did on cauldron bottoms it was impossible for Mr. Crouch not to take me on… and with him not feeling well, and all the late nights we spent together on the tournament… well, I suppose he thought I was the best man for the job…"
At the far end of the table, Percy was in the midst of a braggadocious recount of his latest promotion; Cedric and Cho were too busy laughing quietly between themselves to care.
Trying his best to not make his amusement too obvious, Harry looked around the Hall. Hundreds of circular tables dotted the room while lanterns lit with crisp, blue flames and fairy lights—coming from very real fairies—floated overhead. Students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang mingled together by the dozen, forming a sea of glowing faces swept up in the wonder of it all.
That was until he saw Ron, who was not glowing, but the opposite. His best mate looked as though someone had put something foul in his goulash. A peeved looking Padma Patil sat next to him; not that Ron noticed, as he'd yet to tear his storming gaze from Hermione and Krum.
To Harry's misfortune, the only person who appeared to being enjoying themselves less than Ron, was Daphne.
"Fleur… is it?" Daphne's voice dripped with poison, pretending unbeknownst to Harry that she didn't know who Fleur was. "Why did you come alone?"
Fleur sent the girl a polite smile. "I simply did not find anyone suitable."
"You turned down Roger Davies and Cormac McLaggen on three separate occasions. Half the girls in the castle would bite your head off for a night with them," said Daphne, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "Your standards must be impossibly high."
Fleur shrugged. "My standards are my own. I do not see how they are anyone else's business."
"They are when you decide to rock up and try to steal my date," Daphne growled. Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable.
"Date?" Fleur turned her blue eyes to Harry, who wanted nothing more than the earth to open up and swallow him whole. She hummed. "Well, as I told your professor, it is only for one dance. The rest of the night is yours, if you so wish."
"I do wish," Daphne responded, straightening her shoulders in an effort to match Fleur's height.
As if on cue, the soft trickle of music slowly began to fill the Hall. The tables had been cleared along the edges of the room, and in the center of what was now a large dance floor, a bizarre group of wizards stood on a rising platform, instruments in hand.
"'Arry, if you will have me?"
He took the pale hand extended in front of him without thinking; the gentle sway of the melody making this moment all the more dream-like.
It was the first time he'd taken a proper look at Fleur all evening, not trusting himself to do so before. She was stunning, dazzling, breathtaking, beautiful, radiant, and a million other words which came rushing through his mind, none doing justice to the vision in his arms. The soft curls of her hair sparkled with silver frost and her eyes shimmered like stardust. In the warmth of the candlelight which now suffused the hall, she almost seemed to glow.
The other Champions were around them, twirling on the spot, but Harry had no idea they were there. In truth, he'd forgotten there was tournament at all, or a ball, or that there was someone else he was technically supposed to dance with. All he could think of was Fleur, and how stupid he'd been not to ask her.
"You are not half as clumsy as I thought you'd be," said Fleur, a teasing smirk playing on her lips.
Harry opened his mouth, suddenly remembering to breath. "Sirius told me I'd better learn," he said, letting Fleur lead with an effortless grace. "So I practiced quite a bit."
"With whom?" she asked, clearly interested.
Harry felt the urge to run his hand through his hair, but currently both of them were rather busy.
He muttered something inarticulately.
Fleur tilted her head. "Who?" she asked again, this time with an amused look.
Harry's face burned. "Professor McGonagall," he admitted, just clearly enough so she could hear but no one else.
Fleur tossed her head back, a bubble of laughter escaping her throat.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," grumbled Harry, unable to suppress the grin that split his face. "Someone had to teach me, and I was already meeting with her privately for Transfiguration lessons."
"I could have taught you, non?"
"And admit to you I couldn't dance?" Harry shook his head with a laugh. "Never. Besides, I wouldn't be able to do this, and surprise you with it."
Feeling particularly daring, Harry grasped Fleur's palm and lifted it over her head, allowing her to spin; the silver-grey satin of her robes gleamed as she twisted.
A splash of color painted her cheeks once facing him again. "Did you practice that on Professor McGonagall, as well?" she teased.
Harry groaned. "You're insufferable, you know that. Causing me this much trouble."
Fleur smiled and didn't say anything more; but a part of Harry thought she looked rather pleased.
The rest of the crowd soon joined the Champions, and the dance floor no longer had the room for Harry's twists and spins. One song melted into another, slow, then fast, then one that was both slow and fast, and before he knew it, he'd spent almost twenty minutes dancing.
An impatient tap came at his shoulder, breaking him apart from Fleur.
"I'd like my date back, please."
Daphne looked positively thunderous.
"What happened to just one dance?" she demanded from Harry, once they were alone.
Harry continued to follow Fleur with his eyes, until she disappeared beyond the bodies bobbing to The Weird Sisters' latest hit. Daphne cleared her throat.
"I—er—thought you'd come find me," he said lamely.
"I did," she replied tersely. "I've been trying to get your attention for the last ten minutes."
"Oh."
It felt as though he was trapped on the dance floor for an eternity after that. Every time he tried to slip away to get a drink or to rest his feet which were aching terribly, Daphne kept reeling him back in, grabbing and touching incessantly, and encouraging him to lift her and spin her despite there being only room to bounce up and down.
He realized very quickly he was no longer enjoying himself; not with bleeding blisters, not with Daphne trying so hard, not when she wasn't anywhere near elegant as Fleur.
Where is Fleur?
It was Viktor and Hermione who finally came to his rescue. Catching sight of him, they joined and danced together for a number of songs, both pink in the face and quite obviously having a good time, before excusing themselves to grab some drinks.
"I'll come too," said Harry, jumping at the opportunity.
"Oh—but—I love this song, Harry! Stay for this one."
Daphne's hand snatched out, but expecting it this time, Harry managed to dart out of its reach.
"I'll—er, come find you in a bit!" he called back, despite knowing he had no intention of doing so.
"I didn't know you liked to dance so much, Harry," Hermione said as she flopped into a nearby chair, still partly out of breath.
"I don't," said Harry, taking a long swig from the bottle Viktor handed him. Butterbeer had never tasted so good. "I think I've danced enough to hold me over to my wedding."
"Ve do lots of dancing in my country." Viktor gave a funny look over his shoulder at the still surging dance floor. "Not like dis, but it makes good exercise."
Harry picked up a napkin and wiped his brow. "Daphne put me through more just now than Ollie Wood did in four years of training."
Hermione snorted as she checked her hair in a compact mirror. Viktor frowned in confusion, until Harry explained that Oliver Wood had been his Quidditch captain. He then laughed, or at least Harry thought he did, as it was difficult to tell with the perpetual scowl on his face.
"Have either of you seen Fleur?" he suddenly asked.
The pair in front of him exchanged a look and then shook their heads.
"We can help you find her if you'd like?" Hermione offered.
"No, it's alright," said Harry quickly. "I'll just go see how Ron's doing. Have fun."
Going to see Ron was perhaps the wrong idea, as his friend's mood had only darkened. He sat at the table nearest the exit, sulking so low in his seat he was on the verge of slipping to the floor. Padma was nowhere to be found.
"Hi," said Harry, and Ron did not answer.
"Everything alright?" he tried again. This time Ron stirred.
"How is she?" he muttered.
It didn't take much for Harry to know who he was referring to.
"She's happy," said Harry, watching Ron sink even lower.
"Of course, they are," Ron said bitterly. "Her and Vicky having a ball—"
"Go dance with her."
Ron stopped and blinked. His mouth hung open as if Harry had told him to go snog Eloise Midgen and her face full of acne.
"Listen," Harry continued, "I've buggered up this evening too and didn't realize it until it was too late."
"What d'ya mean?" Ron's eyes widened incredulously as he pointed towards the dancefloor. "You're a Triwizard Champion! You came here with Greengrass—she's… she's…"
"Not who I wanted to take," finished Harry with a shake of the head.
Ron put his head down, staring glumly at the table. "I can't," he mumbled.
"You can," said Harry. "Walk up and ask her to dance, she'll say yes. She's your friend, Ron."
"Yeah… friend," Ron uttered the word like it was a curse.
Harry dipped his head with an intimate understanding. You don't need to tell me mate…
"It's worth a shot, better than sitting here moping all night," Harry said after a pause. He cuffed his friend over the shoulder. "And who knows, maybe you'll both have fun; Viktor won't be staying around at Hogwarts forever."
His words seemed to have the desired effect on Ron, who stood and straightened his somewhat antiquated dress robes, and puffed out his chest.
"Thanks, Harry," said Ron, cracking a grin. He moved towards the dance floor but froze after only a step. "Oh, before I forget, I saw Fleur head outside not too long ago… I uh, figured you'd want to know."
Harry watched as Ron confidently walked across the Hall to Hermione. They spoke, smiled, laughed, and then headed out for the next song, while Viktor stood by graciously. In the midst of the crowd, Daphne hopped to the loudly pumping music with an older boy from Durmstrang hanging off her arm, and any doubts which lingered at the back of Harry's mind vanished in a blink.
He left the Great Hall without a backwards look, and slowly, not truly knowing where he was going, wound his way through the halls. Harry watched as giggling couples darted into shadowed corners, while some of the younger students plodded back to their respective common rooms, exhausted. The din of the ball faded to a dull hum which carried through the walls, and the castle was filled with an almost bewitching silence.
Then he heard the sound of water splashing, and he smiled.
A courtyard opened in front of him, where high above, a crescent moon hung in an umbral sky. At its center stood a large fountain surrounded by rose bushes; the stonework glowed silver, as though it had been sculpted from ice.
"Do I need to yell at you to respect the art?"
Fleur peered up from where she read, resting along its edge. She was the picture of how he'd first found her.
"Désolé Monsieur Léon," she said, and Harry laughed.
"It feels like forever ago, doesn't it?" he said, approaching the fountain.
"Oui," she replied softly, and tapped the spot next to her, "but this year has felt like a lifetime in itself, so time is known to do funny things."
He sat next to her, feeling the warmth come off her skin.
"What happened to Daphne?" Fleur asked after a pause.
"Daphne doesn't matter," Harry dismissed, once again kicking himself for the way the night had gone.
Fleur raised a shapely eyebrow. "Your date does not matter?"
Harry couldn't suppress a bitter laugh. "Not when she forced you to take her, because she knew you hadn't asked anyone the day before the ball."
Fleur stared at him closely, the startling blue of her eyes forcing his gaze away. "You could have come alone, like me," she said.
"Why did you?" he asked, looking back to her.
Fleur chewed at her bottom lip, as if considering his question carefully. "No one presented themselves to be acceptable."
"They all couldn't have been that bad," said Harry, feeling an unexplained tightness in his chest.
A slight frown marked her brow. "There was one…" she revealed, her voice fading into the still air. Above them, fairies fluttered in the trees with their twinkling lights. "I thought perhaps he might ask, but he told me he would not be coming."
"Bit of a fool if you ask me." Harry struggled to conceal his jealousy.
"At times," she said, the softest curl coming to her lip. "In truth, I thought he did not ask because he resented me; that I had ruined my chance."
Harry's eyebrows knit together. "What did you do?"
"My pride had gotten the better of me," she admitted with a hollow laugh. "I accused him to be something he was not."
"To be what?"
Her gaze pierced right through him. "To be just like all the others… when I knew there was no one else like him."
Harry's insides twisted themselves into a knot. He felt as though he stood on the edge of a cliff, his emotions thrashing in a turbulent sea beneath him. You're a fool, Potter. A damned fool. He swallowed deeply, trying to unstick whatever it was that blocked his throat.
"I—Fleur… I only ever wanted to go with you." He saw no point in hiding anymore, he'd passed a point within himself that he could not return. Keeping silent, and gripping uncertainties as though they were truths, was no longer enough. He needed her to know. "I only said I didn't because… well—I thought—"
"You thought wrong," she said with a smile that kindled something deep inside of him.
"Will you go to the ball with me?" Harry asked abruptly.
"'Arry… it is already almost over."
"Will you go with me to every ball after this one, then?"
Fleur rolled her eyes, but her laughter echoed through the courtyard like bells. "I will," she said, her eyes sparkling.
"Brilliant," Harry grinned, and he saw her shiver.
He went to remove the outer coat from his dress robes, when Fleur set her book aside and raised her hand to stop him; her fingers lingered, brushing against his chest.
Fleur's lips parted. "That is not what I want…"
And before he could ask what it was she did want, their lips met and melted into one another with the sweetness of a dream he'd kept guarded in his heart since the first time they'd met by the bubbling waters of a fountain.
The sun was gracefully falling into a slow descent over the Black Lake, the storm of the day and its flurry of activity long having blown past. On a dock jutting sharply from the shore Harry found a rare moment of tranquility as he overlooked the murky waters which rippled like a sheet of blown glass.
Beside him, Sirius broke into a sudden bout of laughter.
"Oh, shut up will you," Harry complained.
Sirius held up his hands innocently. "I haven't said a word," he said, his lips twisting back a smirk.
"I know what you're thinking." Harry ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "Bloody moral fibre…"
That was enough to send his godfather into another fit, and Harry was sorely tempted to shove him into the lake.
"Listen," said Sirius, finally getting a hold over himself. "I'm not the one who took the instructions so literally."
"It's not like it was out of the realms of possibility," Harry defended. "We faced dragons in the first task, Sirius! Leaving people to rot at the bottom of a lake isn't too far off."
Harry closed his eyes and shuddered at the memory of a row of pale faces, eyes closed, mouths parted, as though caught in some perverted dream. Opening them again he turned to Sirius, whose hair was still damp and carried the uncanny resemblance to the shaggy mane of a wet dog.
"At least you know you'll be sorely missed," he said.
"I'm not the only thing you'll be sorely missing from the looks of things." Sirius sent him a cheeky wink.
Harry attempted a frown, but it was belied by the growing grin over his lips; the thought of Fleur did that to him.
"You like her, don't you?" Harry asked, ignoring the way his stomach squirmed.
"Like her?" Sirius looked at him as though he'd gone mad. "Harry, I've never been prouder of you! You sure know how to pick 'em."
Harry ducked his head, a touch embarrassed. "I just wish we had more time," he said quietly.
There was a pause where the wind blew in from over the mountains, rustling the banners and loose slats of the empty grandstand which towered overhead. They'd been packed to the brim with screaming students only a little while ago.
A reassuring hand touched down on his shoulder.
"You've got plenty of time," Sirius said softly. "Months. The third task isn't until June."
Harry stared into his own glum reflection off the water. "And what about after?"
"Are you really trying to tell me you'd let her go?" He could hear the disbelief in Sirius' voice.
Harry shook his head.
"Then what's holding you back?" Sirius pressed. "It can't be the stories in the press, because the gossip those rags put out didn't seem to stop her from snogging you in front of the entire school earlier."
Unconsciously Harry's hand reached up to touch his lips; Fleur's repayment for saving Gabrielle was better than any number of extra points in the tournament.
Harry swallowed thickly. "I—I suppose… I'm scared," he admitted. Of what exactly, he still wasn't sure.
Sirius laughed, and Harry narrowed his gaze, not finding the humour in the situation.
"Sorry," he said, staring off into the darkening sky; his grey eyes lost in far off memories. "You just sound so much like James. He was always worried about Lily."
"I just—" Harry threw up his hands, casting about for the right words which never seemed to come, "I'm drawn to her… I can't help it—and to actually have her now… it's a dream. But is this something that can even work? What if she just moves on…"
"It'll work if you want it to," said Sirius, catching his gaze and holding it firm. "She went to a ball on her own just to get your attention, Harry; that doesn't sound like someone who's suddenly going to lose interest. Besides, when was the last time she gave another bloke the time of day?"
"She hasn't," Harry muttered.
Sirius folded his arms over his chest, satisfied. "There you go."
"But—"
"Just enjoy yourself," Sirius interrupted, squeezing his shoulder from where his hand rested. "I told you the same at the beginning of the year. Don't think so much, don't worry, just smile and be happy for what you have while you can…"
Harry nodded and turned Sirius' words over in his mind. "You're pretty good at this, you know," he said, after a long pause.
"Moi." His godfather pointed to himself and barked a laugh. "I suppose spending years in Azkaban grants you some wisdom."
"It's not the only good advice you've given me this year," said Harry, seriously. "Your talk about facing disappointments really helped. I'm not sure what I would've done without it."
"Ah." Sirius smiled softly; something flickered in his eyes. "That wasn't me…"
Harry cocked his head to the side.
"That was James," Sirius filled in, much to his surprise. "It was something he came up with when he was struggling the most while chasing your mother."
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
Turning his gaze up, Harry watched as thick strokes of the deepest purple were brushed over the glowing canvas of the sky. It reminded him of a dying hearth, and in the back of his mind he was taken to a far-off memory, where rain dropped, fire crackled, and the comforting walls of a small house were filled with the warm echo of a story his father had once shared.
"He really loved her, didn't he?" said Harry, his voice floating over the ripples of the lake.
"More than anything in the world," said Sirius softly, drawing him into a close embrace. "And you are so much your father's son…"
Harry stared at the writhing green wall in front of him. It had been standing there for weeks, growing from tiny, pale sprouts to knee-long stalks, and now, swollen shadows stretched from the giant hedges and swallowed the ground at its feet.
Something groaned from inside, and Harry shuddered; he'd heard muffled cries and other terrible sounds as well.
It had become a sort of routine, walking down the sloping lawns to this spot just beyond the repurposed Quidditch pitch. He'd stand without true purpose, listen to what he could, and attempt to decipher the horrors which waited within.
You'll find out soon enough…
A hand slipped into his own, warm and snug like a home knit mitten.
"I thought I would catch you brooding here," a voice teased in his ear.
"I'm not brooding," said Harry, feeling his lips tug upwards.
"Really?" Fleur stepped around and looked at him skeptically. "Then you must be trying to scout ahead, which is very unsportsmanlike. I did not realize you wished to win so badly."
Harry laughed and nudged her lightly with his shoulder. "You know how I feel about winning."
"Willingly or not, 'Arry, you are in this tournament and deservedly in first place," Fleur said in a factual manner.
I flew my broom and ate some seaweed. It hardly felt like he'd done anything worthy of being in the position he was.
They walked some distance further along the edge of the maze, where a cluster of multicolored tents sprouted around a makeshift gallery. Harry watched as Professor Sprout tended to the hedges, while Professor Moody scowled at tournament organizers who buzzed around busily like a swarm of worker bees.
He let out a tired sigh. "I just want to get this over with, so we can move on with our lives."
"We?" Fleur questioned with great interest.
"I—er, well, it's a figure of speech…" he mumbled.
She mocked a pretty frown. "Oh, just a figure of a speech… that is a great shame."
"Stop it, will you," said Harry, laughing as he waved away her cheek. "You know just how badly I'm going to miss you."
Fleur shrugged and sent him a playful look over her shoulder, making her appear altogether irresistible.
"It will only be a few weeks, 'Arry. We will both survive," she said after a brief pause. "Before you know it, you will be in France enjoying the sunshine, the wine, and the pestering of Gabrielle."
"She can't be that bad," said Harry, turning from the site of the third task and down a winding, scenic path back towards the castle. "She hardly said a peep after I pulled her from the lake."
"Do not be fooled by her apparent shyness," Fleur warned. "From what I've gathered, she has developed quite the crush."
"Great," Harry chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "As if dealing with one of you wasn't difficult enough already."
Fleur let out a sharp gasp; her eyes widening and sparkling with amusement. "Well, if I am such a chore, then perhaps I will need to reconsider my offers…"
Harry stopped suddenly, feeling his heart skip a beat.
"Wait! You've heard back already!?"
Fleur's blue eyes danced with delight. "There are a few who reached out," she said coyly.
He gave her a flat look. "That's all you're telling me?"
"Be patient, 'Arry." She winked and leaned forward, catching his lips in a chaste kiss; a faint pink colored her cheeks when she pulled away. "I have not yet even told my parents."
"Are they coming in tomorrow?" he asked.
"Oui," she said, her expression brightening with excitement. "It will be wonderful to spend the day with them. Will Sirius be there? Papa was wanting to see if he'd like to stay with us as well over the holidays. There is a guest house he can use."
"He'd love to," said Harry, grinning. "I'm not sure he'd know what to do with himself without me at home all summer."
"Excellent," Fleur beamed.
They stood at the shore of the Black Lake, next to a moss-stained bench partially sunken into the overgrown tangles of grass. The breeze seemed to suddenly shift, rippling the lake, and bringing in a swirl of dark clouds that swallowed the blue of the summer sky.
"He's actually coming in tonight," Harry added, casting his eyes over to the horizon. A small frown dug into his brow. "Dumbledore wanted to meet with him."
From the corner of his vision, he could see Fleur narrow her eyes.
"What for?"
Harry shrugged. "Sirius seems to think that Dumbledore might know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire."
She squeezed his hand, gently tracing her thumb in soothing patterns over his skin. "That is a good thing, non?"
Harry did not respond at first, still staring out at the vague shapes above him. He then turned to Fleur and her lustrous silver hair and striking blue eyes and tried to smile but found it did not reach the rest of his face.
"I don't know…" he said quietly, feeling as though the gloom of the storming clouds touched upon his soul. "I really don't know…"
White walls surrounded him, the sterile tile reflecting an even whiter light harshly into his eyes. A funny taste lingered at the back of his throat and his head ached, pounding to a steady, ceaseless rhythm.
Madam Pomfrey had come by not long ago with a silver tray laden with potions, and since then he hadn't been able to fall back asleep. In truth, he didn't particularly want to sleep, not when it carried him back to the graveyard, back to the roiling black cauldron, back to Sirius…
He flinched violently and shook his head as though trying to beat away the thoughts creeping into his mind. His thoughts were all he'd been left with since being taken to the Hospital Wing, and like a storming sea, they never seemed to quieten.
How could they, when your entire world was flipped on its head? Everything he had hoped, dreamed, imagined, crumbled to ash.
It felt as though his body was no longer his own. He floated elsewhere, watching the world around him mutely, almost a stranger to himself. It was only through this lens, he found, that he could confront the cold, cruel realization of what he faced and what he needed to do next.
The doors to the Hospital Wing suddenly opened and flicking his gaze to the sole figure who walked in, Harry twisted his lips at the odd twinge in his chest.
"How are you feeling?" Fleur asked softly, as she sat next to his bed and took his hand.
Harry shook his head. "I don't really feel anything," he said.
He was numb. Was there anything a person was meant to feel when the Dark Lord who'd murdered your Mum was now coming after you? Fear, perhaps?
He turned to Fleur and the deep, beautiful pools that were her blue eyes.
Oh… there's plenty of fear.
She squeezed his hand and he looked away, trying to ignore the comfort it brought him. "'Arry, it is perfectly fine to grieve this way."
"I'm fine, Fleur," he said, knowing he sounded anything but. "I've lost people before. I'll learn to get over this too."
Fleur watched him for a moment. "You look as if you've hardly slept," she said.
Harry let out a hollow laugh. "My dreams aren't exactly pleasant."
She narrowed her eyes as though his expression were a book for her to study. "You are not at fault for this, 'Arry," she eventually said. "Sirius would never want you to think that."
Harry closed his eyes. Sirius wouldn't want me to do a lot of the things I'm about to do…
"He died trying to save me," he said, feeling his throat tighten painfully. "Only because I was stupid enough to grab the cup."
A hand gently brushed along the side of his face, and he looked up to Fleur's striking eyes, swimming with affection. He felt another twist of his heart.
"We were all fooled," Fleur gently said. "If you are stupid, then so am I, so are your professors, and so is Monsieur Dumbledore."
Harry did not respond, and a heavy silence quickly fell over them.
Outside, the day opened to a beautiful morning, and warm, bright streaks of the sun pooled over his powder white sheets. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see the silver of Fleur's hair shining brilliantly. He couldn't help but look over at her time and time again, indulging in the feeling she left him with, not yet having the conviction to act on the thoughts slowly circling in his head.
It was Fleur who broke the quiet, turning to him and asking, "Has anyone else come to see you?"
Harry nodded slowly. "Hermione and Ron came by yesterday… so did a few of my Quidditch mates," he said, remembering how they'd all come piling in, crowded around his bed, and looked down at him with pitying expressions. "I know it sounds awful, but I rather they hadn't come. I asked Madam Pomfrey to turn everyone else away after that."
"They care about you, 'Arry," she said, her eyes holding something he couldn't quite place.
"I know," said Harry very quietly. "Just… I need more time."
That last part, he quickly realized, was directed at himself; a final, desperate plea to halt what he knew needed to be done.
"Dumbledore came to see me last night as well," Harry added after a pause. His heart pumped furiously in his chest, as though at war with itself. "I… I learned some things…"
A strange expression worked its way over Fleur's face. "Like what?" she probed.
Harry sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. Was this the time? He swallowed thickly, unsure. She deserved to know this at least.
"There's a prophecy that was made some time ago," he started, still not quite believing it himself. Magic and its higher mysteries weren't new to him, but this… this was something different entirely. "I'm not sure who made it, but it's between me and Voldemort and how he might be defeated…"
He stopped and looked to Fleur, who stared at him, not moving, not speaking. Weathering the rush of emotions which threatened to drown him, he watched her carefully as he continued.
"He came for me the night my Mum died, and something happened to Voldemort when she sacrificed herself," he said, feeling a hot pressure build behind his eyes. "Dad hardly ever spoke about that night—" he paused and shrugged "—I s'pose this is why."
"You cannot believe this prophecy is real?" Fleur said in disbelief.
"I don't," said Harry sadly, "but Voldemort does, and that's all that matters."
In that moment, as he caught Fleur's gaze and the blazing look she sent him, he knew she recognized what was coming next.
"Listen, Fleur…" he said, his voice nothing more than a whisper, as it was all he could manage. "I have to move in with my Aunt and Uncle over the summer… it's for my protection…"
"Is there nowhere else in the world that is safe?" said Fleur with an obvious skepticism.
"I—I don't know—" Harry dropped his hands to his bed and fisted his covers in frustrations. Even now, he couldn't find the courage to say what he needed to. He screwed up his face. "I… I can't come to France this summer," he forced out.
"Nonsense," said Fleur, shaking her head in denial. "Our house is well enough protected, there is no reason for you not to come. You will be miserable on your own."
Harry bit down on his lip painfully; it throbbed at the same pace as his head. "I can't—I have to stay where Voldemort can't reach me."
Fleur lifted her nose in the air defiantly. "You cannot allow your life to be dictated by a prophecy," she refuted.
"I have no choice!" he snapped back. Why was this so bloody difficult?
"You do—you always have a choice," Fleur said fiercely. She folded her arms stubbornly across her chest. "As do I."
The image of dull grey eyes, once vibrant and so full of laughter, filled his vision, and in a haunting flash, the color shifted to a striking blue.
"I won't let you…" said Harry firmly. "I won't let you put yourself in danger. I won't let him use you."
"That is not for you to decide," Fleur argued, her voice shaking.
"I know," Harry replied with a solemn nod. He steeled himself, swallowing back every bit of his own self-loathing and buried it deep enough where he wouldn't lose his nerve. "But there are others way to protect you…"
It looked as though Fleur had been struck. She stood and blinked, a look dawning on her face that made him wish he could take back everything he had said.
But he couldn't.
"Do you think that the threat of Voldemort is enough to scare me away?" she demanded, the edge of her lip quivering. "That he is enough to stop me loving you?"
This time it was Harry's turn to balk. They were the sweetest words he could have ever hoped to hear, but now, they were a torture. He couldn't hold back any longer, otherwise his resolve would wither to nothing.
"I can't be with you anymore, Fleur… I have to be alone."
Fleur simply looked at him, the morning light reflecting off the sheen of her eyes so he could see his own broken expression staring back at him.
Are you really trying to tell me you'd let her go? Sirius' voice floated to him from the night they'd spent along the docks.
The question burned in his mind as it had all night, and as Fleur turned from his bedside without another word, and the door to the Hospital Wing closed, echoing in his ears, he found his answer.
I am.
He would do anything so that Fleur was safe, even tear out the last thing that mattered in his heart, because he loved her too, hopelessly… and now she was gone.