AN: I have been remiss in mentioning the people who are helping shape this bad boy. Ward and Red have been helping me with this, as pretentious as it is to say, new stylistic direction. They let me know when I'm veering off course of the character or slipping back into my old, distant narration style. So, much appreciated buds.
You most likely know what my ANs are by now, so I'll keep it short. The next chapter is available on the Pat reon, which, at time of writing this, is Chapter 3 of this story. You can find links to it and our discord in my profile.
I feel as though I should probably mention the haphne server here, considering the ship I'm setting sail upon. Go check it out, they're very friendly.
discord. gg / pKSdvJQvhU
Chapter 2: Harry
The Goblet of Fire sat on a marble plinth, the light from its flickering flames barely touching the walls. This was partially due to the crowd of students surrounding the artifact, and partially because the entry hall of Beauxbatons dwarfed Hogwarts' in both size and sheer opulence.
Fleur's complaints about Hogwarts' dull and drafty halls bubbled in Harry's memory, and he silently apologized to her for the rude things he thought all those years ago. She had a point.
But, with students lining the edge of the room and all but crowding the goblet, the splendor was hidden from view. Everyone — newcomers included — watched with round eyes as each potential champion dropped a folded piece of parchment into the flames.
Ron shifted from foot to foot next to Harry, his hand clenched tight around his own entry slip.
Harry eyed his friend, then, a skinny Beauxbatons student who stepped forward, dropping his name into the goblet. He doubted one of the champions was going to be one who weighed one hundred pounds soaking wet.
This time, anyway.
"Why are you nervous?" Harry asked, leaning close to Ron.
Their classmates around them might have been focused on the goblet, but there was no need to give the gossip mill any more fuel. Especially when it came to the three who stopped Voldemort.
"'M not worried about the goblet," Ron muttered. "Think I've got a good chance of getting picked."
"Then…"
"Hermione's right pissed off. Don't want her to break up with me just 'cause I wanted to be in some dumb tournament."
"I'd wondered why she wasn't here."
Ron shrugged, his fingers rolling up the parchment in his hand.
"That and she's talking to McGonagall about some tutoring thing she'd planned on doing this year. The tournament tossed a bludger into her plans, but she says she still wants to do it if she can."
Harry nodded. There had been a few more piles of books surrounding their friend in the first few weeks back to Hogwarts. He'd assumed she was just making up for lost time.
"Well if anybody could…"
"Mhm."
The silence they lapsed into seemed to push away the low hum of conversations around them, settling in like thick humidity. It made Harry squirm.
"Just get on with it," he said. "You know you'll get picked. Besides, you heard Maxime during the announcement. You can quit if you want to."
"And forfeit for Hogwarts?" Ron said over the top of an uneasy laugh. "Fat chance."
He stretched up onto his toes, putting him a full head and a half taller than most of the other people in the room, then dropped back down onto flat feet.
"Right. Let's do this. Hermione'll get over it. She's just overreacting anyway."
"Best keep that to yourself, or the tournament will be the safest place for you."
With a nod, Ron stepped out from the clump of Hogwarts students and tossed his parchment into the flames with a flick. What had been a smattering of applause for the others who put their names in was a wholehearted effort for Ron.
Harry joined in, clapping as hard and dramatically as he could, if only to make Ron roll his eyes and grin.
"Well," Ron said once the room's attention returned to the goblet, "that's that."
"You never know. I saw Ernie put his name in. Maybe he'll get it instead of you."
"McMillan?" Ron choked back a laugh and dropped his voice to a whisper. "If he gets picked over me I'm quitting school."
"I'm sure one of the requirements for being selected is maturity." Hermione's voice spun them around to see her elbowing her way through the tight throng of students.
"Reckon I'm a shoe-in then."
Hermione's lips drew into a line but she kept silent, instead threading her fingers into Ron's and sliding in between him and Harry.
"Still gonna be able to do the tutoring thing?" Ron asked as a Durmstrang girl with sleek black hair and furrowed brows tossed her parchment in.
Hermione nodded. "Madame Maxime is letting me use her floo to get to Professor Sinistra's office once a week."
"How'd you get roped into that, anyway?" Harry asked.
"I didn't get 'roped into it'," she said. "She just asked me if I'd help. Originally she'd asked Daphne, but I guess she couldn't do it."
"Greengrass?" Ron asked.
Hermione nodded. "She's better at it than I am, overall. I often get her help with some of the more complicated astrological movements and their effect on ritual magic. I struggle with temporal displacement."
"The…what?"
Hermione shook her head, sighing. "The stars are far away. Where they are right now isn't where we see them. You'd both know this if you hadn't dropped Astronomy to take Divination as a throwaway class."
Harry shrugged, turning his attention back to the goblet, and the massive form of Madame Maxime as she approached the stand. "My wand's good enough for me. Never had much interest in rituals. The patronus isn't half as complicated as all that stuff."
Before Hermione could retort, Madame Maxime held her hands up for quiet.
"If you are going to enter your name for consideration, do it now," she said, her deep, booming voice reverberating around the marble columns spread throughout the room.
Nobody else stepped forward.
"Very well then," she said, lifting the goblet and turning towards the hall that led deeper into the school. "If you'll follow me, we shall have dinner to properly welcome our guests, then select our champions."
At the mention of food, Harry's stomach rolled, reminding him that he skipped lunch aboard the ridiculous magic and mechanical phoenix that brought them to Beauxbatons. His excitement at riding in something clearly designed by Dumbledore faded the moment he felt the first drop of his stomach as the giant bird took off. His balance finally steadied after an hour or so of watching the goblet, but his gut took much longer to settle.
Rather than focusing on the upcoming meal, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, checking that all his notes were still inside.
As if Hermione hadn't helped drill the speech into his head.
When they passed underneath the ornate archway with the Beauxbatons crest carved into the keystone, another person fell into step alongside them. Harry turned, eyes going wide when he saw who it was.
"Gabby?"
The girl he'd last seen years before — sopping wet and dazed as she came out of the Black Lake — had grown to nearly his shoulder, her silvery-blond hair a mirror of her older sister's. Her face too had thinned from its childish roundness to more closely resemble that of Fleur's, though still far less sharply perfect.
She grinned as he took her in, then bounded forward to wrap her arms around his middle. Trying not to falter in his step, he squeezed her back with one arm, then disentangled himself.
"It's been a long time," he said once she pulled back.
"Three years," she said, her accent thick, but understandable. "It feels like it has been much longer."
"Not for me," Harry grumbled.
He could feel old when he was twenty. At least. Seventeen was a bit much.
All the same, it was tough not to feel at least a little ancient when he saw someone he'd known to be a child getting older. He racked his brain, trying to remember if Fleur had mentioned how old she was.
"You're…how old now?" he asked, giving up.
"Thirteen," she said proudly. "My birthday is a few weeks before yours."
After years of people both knowing and spouting Harry Potter facts at him every now and again, it had grown somewhat less off-putting. Not entirely though.
"Think you'll get to participate again this time?" he diverted as they turned a corner.
She made a point of shuddering and shook her head. "I hope not. Will you?"
"Absolutely not."
Before she could say anything more, the crowd led them through a doorway in the middle of the hall, and into a cozy dining hall that was still many times larger on the inside than it should have been.
Harry led his friends around the back of a growing mass of students that circled a raised platform in the middle where Madame Maxime stood with the goblet placed on yet another marble stand. Behind them, empty tables with matching wooden chairs waited in rows, calling to Harry's empty stomach.
"I will not take too much of your time, as I'm sure you're all quite hungry after your trips," Madame Maxime said. "This evening, please sit with your respective schools for the selection of the champions after the meal."
The circle of students flowed into lazy motion as they separated into almost color-coordinated schools. The Durmstrang students all wore some variation on their school's blood red colors, while the Beauxbatons did the same in their soft blues.
Hogwarts, on the other hand, came in whatever had been nearby and comfortable. Which probably explained Ron's choice of faded Gryffindor quidditch jersey.
Not that Harry's old jeans and long-sleeve shirt were much better.
He turned when Gabby scrunched up her face and looked up at him.
"Maybe I can join you another night?" she asked, frowning.
Harry glanced over at Ron and Hermione who shrugged their answer.
"I don't see why not."
Her mouth spread into a toothy grin and she waved as she left, hurrying over to a small gaggle of girls her own age.
"I see that hasn't gone away," Ron muttered.
Harry frowned at him as the crowd dispersed to find seats, their group gravitating towards the other Gryffindors who came.
Only Lavender had stayed behind, choosing to apprentice under Professor Trelawney rather than come watch the tournament.
"What hasn't gone away?" Harry asked, dropping down in a seat next to Neville.
"Her big fat crush on you," Ron answered, earning himself a pinch and a 'be nice' admonition from Hermione. "Fleur's family visited for Christmas the year she and Bill got together. You were pretty much all Gabby talked about the whole time."
Harry grimaced, earning his own look from Hermione.
"You both need to be nicer about it," she said. "Crush or not, she really looks up to you, Harry. If you're too dismissive, she'll be devastated."
"I know, I know," Harry said. "Once Bill and Fleur get on with their wedding, she'll basically be family. No sense in hurting someone I'll be seeing off and on for years."
No sooner had he finished speaking than, just like at Hogwarts, food sprang into existence on the tables. The many dishes were of a far less hearty fare, which, Harry supposed, made sense. Scotland in the Autumn was a bit more frigid than in the Pyrenees.
Heavy or not, the meal filled him just fine, sating the hunger he had been building since the morning. Without the irritable rumblings of his stomach for food, all that was left was the uncomfortable flap of butterflies in his stomach for what came next.
Frowning, he squashed the nerves as best he could. This was the one responsibility that needed doing. After that, he had his checklist.
A short checklist. He only had this one year, after all.
Madame Maxime clapped her large hands for attention once the food vanished.
"We are lucky enough to have our champions from the last Triwizard Tournament with us today," she began, addressing the room.
Sitting up straighter, Harry spotted a pair of silver-haired girls on the other side of the room. He scanned the clump of Durmstrang students to find Krum sitting next to the new Headmaster; a plump, mustached man.
"And we are unlucky," Madame Maxime continued, "that we do not have all of them. We cannot hold the tournament without acknowledging the loss of Cedric Diggory, one of the Hogwarts champions."
The room fell silent; a unified moment of quiet respect.
After everything that had happened since, that moment in the graveyard felt…hazy. Far away.
He remembered Cedric's friendly half-smile as he gave a hint for the second task more than anything.
When the moment passed, Madame Maxime raised her head and gestured to the ground next to her.
"I have asked our returning champions to each prepare a small speech for you." She nodded towards where Fleur sat with her sister. "Miss Delacour, since you were the champion for our wonderful school, would you please speak first?"
Fleur rose from her seat, waving at the polite applause that followed her up to the platform. Once in place, Madame Maxime placed one of her large hands on Fleur's shoulder, then stepped away and out to the edge of the room.
Fleur took a long breath, then smiled at the waiting students.
"I will be brief," she said, her voice loud enough to be heard clearly. "Three years ago, I finished last in the tournament. That filled me with shame for a long time."
She turned and raised her eyebrows at Harry, smiling slightly.
"Especially when I lost to a fourteen year old. But not long after that, I was told, quite harshly, that I needed to be much kinder to myself."
Her expression softened as she drew her hands together, spinning the ring on her finger as she talked.
"To those of you striving to become a champion, I give you this: This tournament is a measure of your skill and prowess as a witch or wizard, but not the only measure. You are multifaceted and not defined by a single idea or goal. You may win, yes. But of everybody in this room, there will be only one Triwizard Champion. Do not let yourself be so blinded by what could have been that you do not see the good right in front of you.
"Perhaps you compete, and lose. At least you participated and gave it your all. Perhaps you simply put your name in and weren't chosen. At least you put yourself out there to be tested."
She drew in a breath and let her hands drop to her sides.
"Give it your all," she said, "even if it means all your kindness."
With an incline of her head, she stepped down from the platform to much more active applause than before.
Krum rose next after an elbow from the Headmaster jabbed him in the side and he took slow steps up to the platform, dark eyes fixed upon the goblet in the center.
Even from a distance, Harry could see that his already lanky form had grown even more so, his eyes peering out from somewhat sunken sockets.
His voice was strong, despite what Harry expected to hear from the soft-spoken man.
"Kindness is well and good," the man said, nodding acknowledgment to Fleur, "but my advice is simple. Be aware. Be focused. To the champions especially, keep your wits about you and be aware of your surroundings. Things have a way…"
He hesitated, chewing on his words for a moment before continuing.
"…life has a way of creeping into your blind spots. The less you are caught unawares, the better. I have no doubt that you will be caught, and if you want to succeed in either the tournament or life, you must learn how to acclimate and continue on. If you resist or falter, you will lose."
Krum lingered for a moment, then spun and walked back to his seat.
"Good luck," Hermione whispered, which Ron echoed.
Harry touched the notes in his pocket, but left them there and strode up to the platform.
"I also don't have too much to say," he said, making sure to project, as Hermione had drilled into his head while he practiced. "I can't advise you to skim through by sheer dumb luck like I did, but I can tell you to be present. As Viktor said, be aware, but be sure to enjoy yourself where you can. Just being a champion is an honor shared by very few people and it's worth enjoying."
He paused, running his notes through his mind.
"The tasks will be a challenge unlike many of you have ever faced before, but if you can focus on the experience while keeping an eye out for the danger, you'll be in great shape. So be kind, careful, and have fun."
He grinned at the thumbs up from Ron as he stepped down from the platform and returned to his seat.
Madame Maxime returned to the center of the room and waved a hand over the goblet, turning the flames a vivid blue.
"And now, I am sure you are all anxiously awaiting your new champions."
The room hushed as the fire flared and a piece of parchment flew up into the air. Madame Maxime held one of her hands out flat and waited for the slip to settle in her palm before opening it with a grace Harry wouldn't have expected from such large fingers.
"Your champion for Durmstrang is Elitsa Nenova!"
The girl with the furrowed brow rose to her feet, a grin on her face. She exited the room to deafening cheers from her fellow students, disappearing through adoor at the side at Madame Maxime's urging. Soon after, the room fell silent just in time for the next name to fly up into the air and into the waiting hand.
"Your champion for Hogwarts is Ronald Weasley!"
The unofficial Gryffindor table exploded with noise, everybody reaching an arm out to slap Ron on the back, shoulder, whatever they could reach.
Had it not been for the many years he had known Hermione, Harry might have missed the tightening at the corners of her eyes as she looked up at Ron. But as soon as it came, it vanished, and she rose to her feet to plant a kiss on his cheek to the increased cheers from the Hogwarts students.
Once Ron disappeared from view, attention returned to Madame Maxime and the goblet. Another charred piece of parchment rose into the air and settled in her hand.
"And finally, your champion for Beauxbatons will be, Matteo Walser!"
A giant of a student rose to his feet, about as opposite to the boy Harry saw as could be. He also received a quick peck on the cheek from a small girl that had to reach up onto her tiptoes even as he bent over for her.
Once he was gone, the fire flickered, then faded back to orange before going out altogether.
A muscle Harry didn't even know he possessed loosened in his chest, letting a silent breath escape.
However unlikely it was to happen again, it was nice to see the Triwizard Tournament have just three champions.
With the attention back on Madame Maxime, Harry leaned over to Hermione, who fixed him with an icy glare.
"You could have talked him out of it, you know."
He bit back the sarcastic retort his tongue formed before he could think on it and stopped to consider for a moment.
"You know he's more capable than any three people here," Harry said, lowering his voice so even their neighbors at the table couldn't hear them. "Why are you so dead-set against him participating?"
"Danger is still danger, no matter how capable somebody is," she snapped.
In one smooth motion, she turned, giving Harry the perfect view of the back of her head as she listened to Madame Maxime, who was detailing the upcoming tours of Beauxbatons. Apparently they were going to need groups.
When it was time to go, the hall filled with the scraping of seats against the stone floor. Harry rose and stepped next to Hermione, searching for a couple more for their group, since Ron was still off with the other champions.
She shook her head, looking up at him with a scowl.
"I'm too upset with you both. Leave me be until you can get whatever dumb, masculine ideas you have out of your head and you can understand why I don't want to see him in danger anymore."
Harry's mouth went dry as she stalked off towards a couple of Ravenclaw students who he barely recognized.
He spun when Neville's hand clapped down on his shoulder, a sympathetic grimace on his face.
"I don't mind if Ron is our champion. I'll group up with you."
Harry nodded.
Ron would be fine. Harry had all the confidence in the world for his friend, but he definitely owed Hermione an apology.
Later. When the chances of hexes were slim.
Dean and Seamus stood with Ernie and a few of his friends by the time Harry and Neville spun to search for a few more partners, and the Ravenclaws absorbed Hermione into their fold with ease. The Beauxbatons students stuck together in clumps of blue while Durmstang presented a united, foreboding front against any poor person who might try to join them.
Harry turned to shrug at Neville and found they had acquired a third when he wasn't looking.
She stood next to Neville, nothing but poise, smiles, and — if Harry was being completely honest with himself — legs.
"Daphne," his mouth said long before his thoughts caught up with the oddity. Hermione's unofficial rival had spent the last seven years saying next to nothing to him and his friends.
"Harry."
Sardonic or not, the relatively quiet part of his brain that was extra stupid for women wished, quite insistently, that he'd been hearing her voice for all that time.
That made him want to take that base instinct into a dark, secluded room and ask it where it got off piping up like that. Ginny had been plenty pretty. And with her height, she had legs for days, and plenty of smooth freckled skin.
He'd heard a lot from that not-so-quiet part of himself back then. But it had never been about her voice.
Daphne's smile lingered in absence of a reaction and she turned to Neville who was gaping.
Obviously too, poor guy.
"Am I too green to join this little club, or shall I come along?" She waved a hand off in a vague direction behind her. "Blaise ran off with some Beauxbatons tart and all the other Slytherins who came are just…"
The exaggerated shudder that rolled down her body threatened to drag his eyes down with it.
Sirens came inexplicably to mind.
"Yeah, we'll take you in," he said, returning her smile with one of his own.
One he'd been told on numerous occasions could make knees weak and hearts flutter. Well, Ginny had told him many times anyway. Hermione too, once. Under duress.
If Daphne's knees wobbled underneath the black skirt and tights she wore, he didn't notice.
She did, however, motion for them to follow her through the crowd and to the door, out into the hall, and to one of the many waiting guides.
The one she chose was a heavyset boy who reminded Harry uncomfortably of Dudley. At least until Not-Dudley noticed Daphne smiling at him.
"I'll be your guide," he announced, his clearly high voice tugged down an octave or two. It made for an odd pairing with his heavy Spanish accent.
Harry caught sight of Hermione off to his right as their group was led down one of the many corridors that filled the chateau and was rewarded with a scowl when she noticed.
Their guide, Jorge — as he'd introduced himself to mostly just Daphne —, turned them down the hall opposite Hermione's, apparently leading them to Flamel Fountain first.
Harry was turning over a quip about the philosopher's stone in his head when Daphne leaned in and made him fumble the thought.
"Fighting already?"
If her whispered words crawled across his skin in a way that left heat wherever they touched, he ignored them.
And the floral perfume. He ignored that too.
Had it really been so long since he'd been with Ginny? Other people getting into his personal space weren't the blood accelerant Daphne seemed to be.
"Wouldn't feel right if we weren't," he said, shrugging.
Her eyes — a startling shade of turquoise — searched his for the smallest moment before she leaned back and returned her attention to what Jorge was saying about the…corbels?
"It all makes Hogwarts seem a bit dull," Neville muttered from Harry's other side as they entered the courtyard that housed the fountain.
"Precious little you can do with stone brick after stone brick," Daphne answered before Harry could, then focused her attention fully on Jorge. "Did you know I very nearly went to Beauxbatons? I was hoping for it, actually, but my father chose Hogwarts instead."
"My mother came to Beauxbatons, so I did too," Jorge answered after she let her statement hang in the air.
She nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms.
"Your mother…" she said, frowning. "You wouldn't be Jorge Marino, would you? Second son of Lucia Marino; the head of Spanish Magical Exports?"
If pleasure at female attention could inflate a man, Jorge looked as if he could vanish into the sky.
"I am. Lucia and Andres Marino are my parents."
A luminous smile grew across Daphne's face that left even Harry's skin warmed by it out of sheer proximity.
"Yes, I thought so. I very nearly met them, you know. We just missed each other at the European Conference for Magi-Trade."
Jorge nodded, both the fountain and the pair of boys standing just feet away forgotten.
"I was there," he said. "Boring stuff. You didn't miss much."
"Even so, it's important we go. We're one of the premier exporters of hazardous reagents for our country, and you know how important it is to keep those business contacts alive. Wouldn't want anyone thinking we didn't care, after all."
Jorge tilted his head, his eyes unfocusing as he thought. "Reagents, reagents…" he muttered, then snapped. "You're Evelyn Knight? I thought you were out of school already. Two years ago?"
Harry's skin prickled with danger as the corners of Daphne's smile grew sharp.
"Daphne Greengrass," she said, her voice as smooth as if he simply asked her name.
To Jorge's credit, he turned a sickly shade of pink and ducked his head.
"Sorry," he said to Daphne's feet. "I've never been good with names, which drives my mother to insanity. But with my brother out…" he trailed off and she let out a sympathetic noise.
"It's not your fault he's off doing who-knows-what in every seedy casino in the world," she said. "Every family is bound to occasionally produce a black sheep."
Jorge nodded, then noticed that not only did the world beyond Daphne exist, but it contained two other people in it who were doing their best to admire the ornate fountain without looking like they were listening.
He cleared his throat and gestured to the fountain with a wave of his hand.
"The Flamel flamily…family. Nicholas and Perenelle. Donated this. As you probably know."
A little something inside Harry died in sympathy for the poor guy. Especially with Daphne's encouraging nod.
He circled the fountain, examining its multiple intricately sculpted tiers, while keeping an ear on Jorge as he described the philosopher's stone as if they had never heard of the thing.
Maybe he could mention he'd held it? He could try to save their guid from himself with a little controlled bragging.
When Jorge started rambling into the drawbacks of eternal life to Daphne — whose smile had gone from pleasant to stuck on with willpower tape —, Harry shared a glance with Neville and hurried to the rescue.
"I'll bet your family was pretty interested in the philosopher's stone," he said, drawing Jorge to a halt and Daphne's full sharp attention.
"Yes…" Jorge answered slowly, brow furrowing. "Whose wouldn't be?"
"True," Harry said with an easy laugh. "But I meant for business. I seem to remember the stone being rumored to be useful as an effective boosting agent for most medicines, both magical and muggle."
Jorge's confusion settled and his shoulders dropped from where they'd been lingering near his ears.
"I was pretty young when the stone was destroyed," their guide said, his eyes unfocused as he remembered. A small smile lifted his cheeks. "My brother was around back then. I remember him and Mother talking about it, but I didn't really understand a lot of it. They'd get really excited though, talking about how it could revolutionize medicine, like you said."
Daphne tore her gaze from Harry with visible effort. "My family talked of it in a similar way, though it would have been somewhat less…globally useful if applied to the reagent market. My mother and father were interested, but never pursued it too seriously."
Finally relaxed, Jorge's voice returned to its normal pitch as he spoke. "They'd sit up for hours working on ways to make the limited supply stretch. Theorizing on how they could distribute it equitably throughout Europe. The world too, if more could have been made."
Daphne's sigh was long, and Harry wasn't entirely sure it was all for show. "It's unfortunate the Flamels couldn't continue their work. It could have been the beginning of a golden-age of health for the world."
Jorge nodded somberly and Harry decided not to mention he'd had a critical hand in getting the thing destroyed.
A bell tolled in the distance, causing Jorge to let out what could only be a Spanish curse.
"I completely ruined the tour," he said, eyes wide as he looked between Harry and Daphne, then to Neville as he stepped around the fountain. "Come find me if you need help getting anywhere. I'm helping our Potions teacher in the mornings. You can find me in her office on the second floor, east wing."
Harry watched Daphne's eyes widen slightly then morph with another picturesque smile.
"I may very well take you up on that," she said. "Besides, I'd really been looking forward to seeing the fountain anyway. Everything else was secondary."
Pleasure and relief flooded Jorge's face and he left with a couple of quick goodbyes, his step light and quick.
Harry watched him go, then turned to Daphne to find her staring at him.
"What?" he asked reflexively, the joke he'd been about to make fading from his tongue.
"That was…" she said, her lips pressing together as she thought.
He didn't try to stare, but they were full and glossy. Up close he could see that she wore only the barest hint of makeup; a small bit of color on her eyelids and the dark lines of eyeliner.
Not at all like Hermione, who wore none, or Romilda, who wore Hermione's share on top of her own.
"…quite adept," she finished and he hoped she didn't notice the way he had to snap his eyes up to hers.
Based on the slow smile that crept across those very lips, he was wildly unsuccessful. The others she presented while Jorge talked had been bright and shiny; full of warmth and openness. And, Harry now saw, entirely false.
Her real smile, at least this one, warmed his skin like he'd stepped into a roiling, beautiful fire made of heat and excitement and danger.
Her gaze wandered down his body the same as he'd done to her when she first approached.
Somewhere in his periphery, he saw Neville wandering out of the courtyard.
"The guy was nervous," he made himself say, grinning when he saw her eyes snap to his, the turquoise ringing her pupil little more than a sliver. "He just needed something he was comfortable talking about."
"I know how to talk to people, thank you."
"To young men who find you wildly attractive and intimidating?"
The laugh that escaped her was more breath than vocal. "Especially to them."
Harry tore his gaze, kicking and screaming, from hers, looking at the spot Jorge had vacated in an effort to regain his wits.
"Judging by the way you needed help recovering, I'm not so sure."
At that, she drew herself up, bringing her eye level to just above his. Even if she was attempting to look down her nose at him, that muscle in his chest tightened, pulling lower to settle in his gut.
With her shoulders back and the almost regal way with which she regarded him, he doubted she was having the effect she wanted.
Intimidating to most.
But standing tall like that — legs hidden behind tights, shirt tucked in against her stomach and pulled tight against her chest, the smooth skin of her neck visible from the tilt of her head, and the challenge in her eyes — intimidated wasn't the word he'd choose.
"What are you doing during the tournament?" he asked. The falter in her eyes at his sudden question made him grin.
"The…whole year?" she asked, relaxing her posture. "I'm doing schoolwork, same as everybody else."
"We both know that besides NEWTs we've got next to nothing to do this year."
She chewed her lip in thought, and whether it was an obvious draw or an unconscious tic, it set his imagination alight.
"I need to use this opportunity to connect with people I might otherwise not get the chance to."
"Like the head of Spanish Magical Export's son?"
"To start," she said, stepping closer. "You surprise me. I wouldn't have thought you'd be the social type. Same friends for seven years, rarely reaching outside your own house. I expected you to be the straightforward, no-nonsense sort."
"I am the straightforward, no-nonsense sort," he said, holding his ground as she neared just enough to not be touching; a step shy of nose-to-nose. Close enough to need to ignore her perfume and the things it did to his mind.
"Yet you converse with skill and motive. You listen; pay attention."
"I didn't realize I gave off the impression I didn't know how to have a conversation."
Her lips twitched and she looked down for a moment before returning her gaze to his.
"You'd be surprised how many never reach beyond the basic niceties."
He didn't answer, opting instead to wait.
The flare of interest that lit her eyes filled him to the brim with satisfaction.
She reached out with one hand and tweaked his shirt straighter with one tug on his sleeve. The touch of her fingers was delicate, even more so through the thick fabric of his autumn clothing. Regardless, his muscles stiffened to keep from reacting to the contact.
"I will be seeing more of you," she said, finally stepping back and releasing him from his desire to reciprocate her touch. "That's what I will be doing this year."