Chapter Two - Troisième

'Have you packed everything, Harry?'

Harry rolled his eyes at the question, for this must have been the seventh time he'd been asked it this morning alone. 'Yes, Papa,' he answered patiently, smiling because he knew that Papa was only asking so often because he cared. 'I double-checked everything this morning, and then had Dalia check too. It's all there'

Monsieur Savant nodded distractedly. 'All of your books for this year, yes?' Harry nodded. 'And your new cloak?' Again, Harry nodded. 'Oh, your broom! I forgot to take it out of the shed for you! Let me just -'

'Dalia got it out for me this morning,' Harry interrupted, before his Papa could run off to fetch the broom that was no longer outside. 'I have everything I need, and even more besides. And even if I don't, Papa, I'll be back on the weekend as always and can take anything else next week.'

'Of course you can,' Monsieur replied with a shake of his head. 'I'm sorry, you know how I get.'

Harry grinned. 'I do know, and I wouldn't have you any other way.'

Stepping forward, Monsieur took Harry's face in his hands and brushed the hair away from his eyes. 'Troisième already,' he whispered with a fond smile. 'It feels like I only sent you off for Sixième last week. You'll be getting your diploma before we know it.'

With a laugh, Harry ducked away from Monsieur's fussing. 'That's two years away, yet! I still have my brevet to worry about,' he reminded.

'Oh, the brevet is a piece of cake,' Monsieur said with the easy, dismissive nature of somebody that had never actually had to complete it. 'You'll breeze through it, and lycée too after that.'

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. 'If you say so,' he said, just as the grandfather clock on the other side of the foyer chimed two o'clock. Harry checked his watch before grabbing his trunk. 'Well I'd better be off. I don't want to miss my arrival time for the second year running,' he teased. Last year, Papa's fussing had gone on for so long that Harry's floo arrival time had come and gone before he had a chance to leave. Papa had had to apparate him to the school and make a profuse apology to Lydie, the witch in charge of arrivals.

'Yes, yes,' Monsieur agreed, heading over to the Floo to hold the powder bowl out for him. 'Be careful, be safe, and you'll write to me by tomorrow at the latest, yes?'

'Yes, Papa,' Harry responded dutifully as he moved to stand in the fireplace. 'I'll see you on Saturday.'

'I'll see you then. I love you, Harry.'

Harry took a handful of Floo powder and smiled at Monsieur. 'I love you too, Papa. See you soon.' Then, he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath in. 'Beauxbatons, Hall des arrivées,' he called out, as he threw the Floo powder to the floor and was swept away in a flash of powder blue flames.

The Floo trip to Beauxbatons from their house near Orléans took almost a minute, and always left Harry feeling utterly disoriented when he landed. After far too much spinning and zooming around in the Floo network, Harry soon slammed into the floor of one of the fireplaces in Beauxbatons' Arrival Hall, thankfully landing on his feet, and stumbled forward, his grip on his trunk the only thing stopping him from falling onto his face as he often did.

'You 'ave decided to arrive on time this year then, Monsieur Potter?' teased Lydie from behind her desk at the front of the room. He didn't even need to look up to know she wore a wide smirk on her face.

'Bonjour, Lydie,' he greeted, choosing to ignore her teasing as he straightened himself up and brushed the Floo powder from his travelling cloak.

'Tergeo.' The last of the Floo powder disappeared from his cloak, as well as from the ground around him as Lydie cast the cleaning charm at him. 'Bonjour 'arry. Did you 'ave a good summer?' she asked.

He smiled wryly as he wheeled his trunk over towards the luggage area for it to be taken up to his dormitory by the house elves. 'Oui, merci. It wasn't nearly long enough though, same as always. Et tu?'

Lydie crossed his name off in the arrivals book before looking up at him and rolling her eyes at the predictable response. 'Mon fiancée et moi spent a month on the coast of Ibérie. C'était charmant.'

'To each their own,' Harry replied, screwing up his nose. 'The sun and I have a difficult relationship.' They both chuckled for a moment, then Harry craned his neck over the desk to see the arrivals book. 'Have the Delacours arrived yet, or have I beaten them this year?'

Lydie shook her head. 'Fleur arrived an hour ago, but Gabrielle is running late. Apparently she 'as already lost 'er new formal cloak.'

'Of course she has,' Harry snorted. 'I'll go and get settled. She'll be another hour yet.'

'Et le reste,' Lydie quipped.

Harry hummed tiredly. 'I live in hope.' Lydie laughed, but the sound of one of the Floos firing up distracted them both. 'Well I'll leave you to it, Lydie. Bonne journée.'

Leaving the arrivals hall, Harry walked through a series of corridors, brightly lit by magical flames in jars which were hung from the ceiling every six feet. The slight purple tinge to the flames was a feature of the school that Harry had come to find quite comforting. At some point during the last three years, Beauxbatons had come to feel like something of a second home to him.

He passed by the dining hall and cut across the grand entrance, getting into one of the many elevators that lined the left wall. 'Troisième étage, dortoirs,' he called out. The collapsible iron gate closed of its own accord, and the lift shot off in the direction of his dormitory on the third floor. It had taken him all of his first year, and a good portion of his second too, before he got used to the rapid, jerky movements of magical lifts which went left, right, forward, and backwards, as well as the expected up and down. By now, he actually found the ride quite enjoyable.

A ding announced the elevator's arrival at its destination just before it shuddered to a stop. The iron gates opened to allow Harry to exit. He made his way down a handful more corridors, past a dozen or so dormitories before he reached his own. At the beginning of Sixième, all students of Beauxbatons were allocated a dormitory that they would share with five of their classmates for the six years of their mandatory schooling, right the way through collège and lycée.

Harry shared his dormitory with two boys and three girls who were all around his age and he'd grown to be quite good friends with them all, though none more so than Gabi. Gabrielle Delacour, or Gabi for short, was the youngest daughter of the very well-known Delacour family, though it was impossible to know by her nature. With people she didn't know, she was as awkward as anything, while with those she was close to, she was brash and sarcastic. She was really quite bright when she wanted to be, though she rarely ever did; no, usually she preferred to act completely average.

Entering their dormitory led into a modestly-sized lounge area, big enough to fit all six of its occupants plus a few visitors quite comfortably, with a handful of two-seater sofas laid out around two coffee tables. Beyond the lounge was a study area, consisting of two larger tables with benches either side, along with a bookshelf which was kept stocked with a few spare copies of each of their required textbooks for the year.

The walls of the dormitory were accented with the same baby blue as the Beauxbatons formal dress, and each side of the lounge area had three doors leading into a bedroom for each of them. The girls' rooms were on the left while the boys were on the right. Harry's was the first, closest to the door to the dormitory.

By the looks of it, Harry was the first of his dorm-mates to arrive, so he headed straight to his room. He walked in to find that the house elves had already brought his trunk up for him. The efficiency of the elves never failed to impress him, even after having spent the four years before coming to Beauxbatons with Dalia, and occasionally Tilly, in the house with him and Papa. He lugged his trunk off of the floor and onto its side on his bed, opening it to reveal everything he'd be needing for the school year, neatly and tightly packed to the brim.

All of his things fit inside the trunk by design. It was quite an old one that Papa had found in the attic in the summer before Sixième, and it had a rather clever expansion charm applied to the inside. He could put almost anything inside of it, even now when it was "full", and the trunk would make room for it. Harry could only imagine how much it had cost to buy.

He unpacked his luggage by hand - a routine that he'd completed for each of the four years he'd attended the school now. It gave him a chance to check one last time that he'd remembered to bring everything with him that he needed from home which, despite Papa's fussing, was never a guarantee. He called it being thorough; Gabi called it neurotic.

It took the about an hour and a half for Harry to completely unpack, but finally all of his clothes were in the wooden wardrobe in the corner, all of his books on the bookshelf beside it, his stationery in the drawers of his desk, and his Nimbus 2000 hung up on its mount on the wall. There was something about unpacking and setting everything up how he liked it extremely cathartic, even though he knew that this was the last time his room would look like this for the rest of the year.

His stomach rumbled suddenly, bringing him out of his musings. Checking his watch, he found that the time was only about four o'clock, and dinner wouldn't be served for another two hours yet. Thankfully, he'd come prepared for this too. From the drawer of his bedside table, he pulled out a bar of chocolate to tide him over until the evening meal. Then, he picked up the book he was currently reading and settled down on his bed as he waited for the others to arrive.

It took the best part of another hour before the unmistakable sound of something banging against the wooden coffee table in the shared lounge area outside of his dorm interrupted Harry from the book he was reading and alerted him to somebody's arrival in the dorm, closely followed by the exclamation of 'Putain de merde!'

'Coucou Gabi,' Harry called out with a laugh. He placed a bookmark on his page and put the book down on the bed before heading into the lounge. There, he found Gabi sitting on one of the sofas, rubbing her shin with her face screwed up in pain. Her satchel lay discarded on the floor near the coffee table that she had evidently walked into.

She huffed and looked up at him. 'Every year, that table is moved slightly to a different place,' she moaned.

'Or,' he countered with a smirk, 'you just never look where you're going. Now, if you're not too injured, I'd welcome a hug.'

She glared at him for a moment, then relented and got to her feet, embracing him.

'How are you, maladroite?' Harry murmured into her hair.

'I was better before the coffee table got in my way.'

Harry chuckled lowly as he released her, holding her by the shoulders to get a good look at her. 'Well try not to hold a grudge against it for too long. Have you grown over the summer?'

Gabi looked down at herself, then shrugged. 'I don't know. I was starting to wonder if you'd shrunk, actually. It does happen to older men, you know?'

Harry pushed her away and pouted. 'Oh, dégage. I don't know why I'm even friends with you.'

With a smirk, she flipped her hair at him, then turned to go and pick her stachel up from where she'd dropped it. 'Well let's see: I'm funny... pretty... generally good company...'

'Don't forget modest,' he muttered under his breath, but clearly not quietly enough as she turned and beamed at him.

'Oui, thank you! I'm extremely modest, and... I let you copy my transfiguration assignments!'

Harry's eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he crossed his arms indignantly. 'I've never once copied your work! I wouldn't want to lower myself to your level.'

'Oh, miaou,' Gabi retorted with a sarcastic pout. 'There was no need for that.'

'Yes, there was,' came a voice from the entrance of the dormitory. They both turned to find Gabi's older sister Fleur standing in the doorway with a smirk on her face. 'You were being a casse-couille.'

It was Gabi's turn to cross her arms now, the pout on her face becoming less sarcastic and more genuine. Harry, on the other hand, laughed unapologetically. 'Salut Fleur, ça va?'

'Assez bien,' she replied with a shrug. 'I'd rather be at home. Although, you should both come down for dinner soon.' She looked over her shoulder into the corridor outside before shutting the door and walking towards them conspiratorially. 'J'ai entendu une rumeur. Apparently, there's going to be an announcement about a European tournament...' she paused for a moment and looked pointedly at Harry, '...hosted by Hogwarts.'

Harry's attention was piqued immediately. 'Hogwarts? Really?'

'Apparently.'

He and Gabi sat down on the sofa beside them, and Fleur set herself down opposite. It was no secret to either of the Delacour sisters that he wanted to at least visit the school where his parents had attended - where he might have attended if his life had turned out differently. Make no mistake, he'd come to love Beauxbatons, and he thought himself extremely fortunate to have been brought to, and subsequently brought up by Papa, but he occasionally found himself wondering about a life unlived. He brushed a hand through his hair and leaned forward towards Fleur. 'Have you heard anything else?' he asked after a moment.

She shook her head. 'Non. But I should think we'll find out more when Madame Maxime makes her announcement.'

'You should talk to Monsieur, Harry,' Gabi interjected. 'I know you want to see Hogwarts, I would too, but you know that he'll have something to say about this.'

Harry hummed in agreement and leaned back in his seat. 'I'll wait for the announcement and then write him a letter after dinner. It might be that only certain people or year groups are allowed to go anyway.'

Fleur shrugged. 'There's only one way to know for sure.'

-oOo-

'If I could 'ave your attention please,' came the call from the front of the dining hall.

The last murmurs of quiet conversation between friends catching up dwindled to silence as the Beauxbatons Headmistress, Madame Maxime, rose to her feet at the front of the room. She struck an imposing figure up there, standing at almost 10 feet tall. It certainly wasn't easy to miss her.

'Welcome back, everybody, to a new school year at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Before our dinner is served, I 'ave just a few announcements to make.'

It was at times like these - the welcome and the farewell speech, in particular - that Harry found himself most thankful for the incredible charmwork in place in the dining hall. While a certain level of fluency in French was required to even attend the school, Harry reckoned that at least half of the students didn't speak it as their first language, himself included. He was definitely fluent enough and, after the years he'd spent surrounded by the language, rarely found himself struggling to understand, but the long speeches in the echoing hall quickly became quite difficult to follow along with.

For this reason, the dining hall was enchanted so that everybody within would hear the Headmistress's speeches in their native language. This was strange in its own way - the translation still came through with the speaker's accent, and some words didn't get translated at all. Also, sometimes people would react to a part of the speech at different times, due to the way that different languages were spoken. Still, it was by far and away better than trying to decipher a reverberating voice speaking in a second, or even third, language.

'First, as always, I would like to remind you that the sixièmes will be arriving at six o'clock tomorrow evening. You will all be expected to be present for the welcoming ceremony. Also, due to their arrival, dinner will be delayed until 'alf past six.' Madame Maxime waited patiently while the groans of students who were already growing impatient for tomorrow's dinner subsided. 'Secondly,' she continued, and the voices died down again, 'following Monsieur Boutilier's retirement at the end of last year, I would like to welcome Madame le Professeur Garnier as our new Professeur d'Arithmancie.'

The new Professor stood to receive a polite applause. She was quite a young-looking witch, no older than her mid-thirties at most, with a round face framed by long brown hair. She smiled warmly at the gathered students and gave a brief wave before retaking her seat.

'And finally, it brings me great joy to announce that the ICW has decided to bring back the Triwizard Tournament in Europe for the first time in almost one 'undred years.' Hushed conversation spread like wildfire throughout the hall. Those who knew what the tournament was whispered excitedly between one another, while those unfamiliar with the event exchanged puzzled questions. Harry turned around to see Gabi behind him, looking at him excitedly. She raised her eyebrows at him, as if to say 'Here's your chance,' and he bit his bottom lip thoughtfully.

Maxime cleared her throat deliberately and continued her announcement in a slightly louder voice so as to be heard over the mutterings. 'For those of you who aren't aware, the Triwizard Tournament is a competition between the three largest European schools: Beauxbatons, of course; the Durmstrang Institute; and 'ogwarts School, who will be 'osting the tournament this year. One student from each school will be chosen to represent their academy as a Champion.'

The Headmistress settled a heavy stare over the assembled student body. 'The tournament can be very dangerous and champions 'ave, in the past, been injured and even killed. Due to the dangers, the ICW has seen it fit to impose an age restriction on the tournament. That means that no student under the age of seventeen may put themselves forward for consideration.'

The undertone of excited muttering quickly turned into a cacophony of disappointed students exclaiming the injustice of not being allowed to put themselves in danger. Harry visibly deflated and turned back to Gabi again, but she just raised her eyebrows and nodded towards Maxime. He turned back to see the Headmistress holding up a hand, signalling for quiet.

'That said,' she continued, 'Monsieur le Professeur Dumbledore has agreed to allow a small number of students to join the 'opeful champions for the whole of their time at 'ogwarts. Any student wishing to join this contingent should speak first to their parent or guardian, and then to their head of year. We will only be choosing a small number of students from each year, so be aware that just because you express an interest, does not guarantee that you will be joining us.

'More details about the tournament will be made available to you soon. Anyway, I 'ave spoken for far too long, so let's all enjoy dinner now, shall we?'

-oOo-

'What do you think this means?' Harry asked frantically, barging into Gabi's room unannounced and thrusting what was presumably a letter out in front of her face.

Gabi blinked repeatedly as she looked up at him. 'We usually start with "Salut" in France,' she pointed out as she came to terms with the sudden interruption to her reading.

Harry frowned, not in the mood for her sarcasm. 'Yeah, salut, whatever,' he replied waspishly, then waved the letter in front of her. 'What is this supposed to mean?'

She took the proffered letter with a roll of her eyes and opened it. It was a reply from Monsieur Savant to the letter he'd sent off last night after the Triwizard Tournament. As she read, Harry dropped himself down on the end of her bed and tapped his foot on the floor restlessly.

After what seemed like an inordinate amount of time to finish the short missive, Gabi folded it up and handed it back to him. 'I don't understand what you're confused about,' she admitted with a shake of her head, and Harry looked at her as though she had sprouted a second head.

'That last line!' he exclaimed, then recited the line in question. '"We'll discuss the matter when you return home on Saturday."'

'Sounds like he wants to discuss it with you in person,' she said, still not really following what had gotten him so riled up.

Harry huffed and ran his hand through his hair to try and alleviate some of his frustration. It never really worked, but it had become something of a habit. 'I don't see what needs to be discussed,' he explained. 'Most of Europe has been following the news coming out of Britain and it's nowhere near as dangerous as it was even three years ago! Last year the ICW changed their status from 'Fairly Concerning' to 'Relatively Managed', and that's saying a lot because they've reportedly been putting that off for a while. I don't see why he can't just give a simple answer for once,' he moaned, then dropped back so he was lying sideways across the foot of her bed.

Gabi sat up and scooched forward so she could sit cross-legged beside him, giving her a good view down at his miserable face. 'And I don't see why you're surprised. I told you yesterday that Monsieur would have something to say about this. That man has been doing little else but make sure you're safe and happy for seven years, and I reckon he probably has a better idea of the situation in Britain than whatever reporter you've been reading in the EWT.'

'It's not just the EWT that's reporting—' he started, but Gabi slapped him lightly on the arm and interrupted.

'And that's just not the point. The point is that you have a guardian who's looking out for you and your safety, and you're in here moaning that he cares,' she bit back, driving her point home by poking him in his chest.

Harry's face dropped as the truth of her words sunk in. If nothing else, he could always rely on Gabi to call him out for being an arsehole.

Seeing his reaction, Gabi softened her expression and spoke a little softer. 'I know how much you want this, Harry. Merde, I'd love for us both to go and explore it together, mais c'est grossier for you to repay Monsieur for his care by complaining about it.'

Her words had made him feel wretched, if he was honest, but he knew she understood his side too. Sometimes this was exactly what he needed: someone to tell him the other side of a story when he was too wound up to think logically about it himself. He closed his eyes and swung his arm up to cover his face. 'I know,' he replied, and even he could hear the guilt in his voice. 'I just hate waiting.'

He felt Gabi shift back away from him so she could lean up against the headboard of her bed. 'Tant pis pour toi, you'll just have to. It's only two days, anyway. Now, I'm going to get back to my reading so either shush or leave.'

A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter of In Plain Sight!

I'm still trying to find the balance with dotting French words and phrases into the dialogue while also trying to make sure everything is pretty understandable if you don't speak the language, so do feel free to leave feedback on that, as well as if any of the French is bad or even complete nonsense.

Also, sometimes little spelling and grammar errors sometimes sneak their way in no matter how hard I try, so let me know if you spot any.

Other than that, thank you for reading and I hope you're enjoying the story!

Take care, amidland.