It was freezing.
Fleur hadn't really expected it to be anything else, what with the traces of ice that still clung to the edge of the lake, but the blistering wind did nothing to temper her anxiety about plunging into what were sure to be sub-zero temperatures. But more than the wind, or the slight spray flicking onto the three assembled Champions, it was the icy feeling of dread hugging her insides that lent itself to the shivers wracking her body; Gabrielle was missing.
Fleur had hoped, perhaps naïvely, that Gabby would at least be willing to put aside her little mood in order to wish her good luck for the task ahead, but instead she had been forced to breakfast alone, with all the familiar and warm faces missing from the Great Hall. She hadn't been able to eat much even before one of her schoolmates informed her that they hadn't seen Gabby at all since the night before; Madame had summoned Gabrielle, and that was the last anyone had seen of her.
Harry still hadn't turned up for the task, so there was a chance that Gabrielle was with Hermione, still desperately trying to prepare for what lay ahead, but Cedric's nervous pacing and the look of fierce concentration on Viktor's face made that a slim possibility. The final nail, however, was Harry sprinting to the edge of the lake, out of breath, clutching his side, and completely, utterly, undeniably alone.
"Where have you been?" Snapped the red-headed replacement judge (Fleur hadn't managed to catch his name at the Ball, and while she typically wasn't one to generalise, she had a sneaking suspicion that with hair like that, he was probably a Weasley), "The task's about to begin!"
"Now, now, Percy!" Bagman exclaimed, relief painted across his face as he rushed towards Harry, "Let him catch his breath!"
The devastation, and panic, that this particular realisation caused must have been written plainly on her face, because Viktor reached across the space between them and pressed a gentle hand against the back of her arm. Fleur startled at the touch, heart pounding at the base of her throat. They're friends, almost, but with the Second Task just moments away, the show of comradery confused her.
Fleur tried to steady her breathing as she was led to her starting position between Cedric and Viktor. Shaking out her hands, Fleur readjusted her grip on her wand; she had a plan, not exactly foolproof, but a plan nonetheless. Everything was going to be fine.
"Well, all our champions are ready for the Second Task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One … two … three!" The shrill blast of the whistle echoed across the still lake, and without hesitation, Fleur threw herself into the water.
Suffice it to say, 'sub-zero temperatures' was a generous description of the lake's contents, the breath driven right out of Fleur's lungs as the water closed over her head. The murky water turned pitch black just metres from the surface, and even as Fleur cast her bubble-head charm, the visibility didn't improve by much. The silence was eerie, and Fleur couldn't tell if it was a by-product of the charm, but there was a density to it, a presence almost. Swallowing heavily, Fleur cast a silent lumos and began her descent.
She needed to find her sister.
Time passed strangely as Fleur navigated the depths of the lake; had she been swimming for a matter of minutes or was time running out as she moved further and further from her destination? It was like another world entirely, shadows looming ominously in the distance only to dissolve into jagged stone, tangled weeds, and water plants when she got closer. Yet the depths remained achingly empty, the enduring silence grating on Fleur's nerves as she pushed further into the centre of the lake.
As she swam, Fleur slowly became aware of a disquieting sensation. There was something, on the very edge of her awareness, a nameless thing that settled in the pit of her stomach. A bare whisper of anything; so faint, so continuous, it barely registered in her conscious mind, compacting the ball of dread that filled her chest. After what could have been twenty minutes, though she had no real means of knowing, Fleur found herself above a meadow of ghostly seagrass, the feeling of unease encroaching ever further.
It was a sound, Fleur noticed with some surprise, stopping dead in the water as the realisation hit her. A haunting melody, just on the very edge of her hearing, but no matter the direction she turned, it never got any clearer. If she could just find the source, she would find her sister. Resolved, Fleur kicked off once more, hoping desperately she was heading the right way.
After what felt like an eternity, the sound remaining on the very limits of her senses, Fleur was absolutely sure that she was now unequivocally lost. She kicked out in frustration at the gently moving grasses, treading water as she cast a Point Me spell. Orienteering had never been a particular skill of hers, and as her wand spun to show her north, it proved to be an exercise in futility as she was nowhere near the lakebed to determine if she had in fact overshot her target.
Growling in agitation as she swallowed down the fear threatening to overwhelm her, Fleur steeled her nerves and dove into the crushing silence of the seagrass. Her sister was counting on her, and she would not fail her.
Her resolve was short lived as a long-fingered hand wrapped around her ankle. Spinning in place, Fleur kicked out at her Grindylow captor, her foot connecting sharply with its horned skull. She smirked in grim satisfaction as it loosened its hold, slipping back into the cover of the seagrass. The smile slipped from her face as more of its fellows emerged from the shadows, fierce expressions on their demonic faces.
"Merde."
As if guided by a silent command, the swarm of Grindylows descended on her. Immediately, Fleur found both her legs trapped by the deceptive strength of their clawed fingers, pulling her further into the seagrass.
Snatching her wand hand free from the suckered tentacles winding their way over her shoulder, Fleur thrashed furiously against the Grindylows pulling her down, grabbing one of the beasts from her wrist with a firm hand around its throat, tossing it away from her as the others increased their efforts to drown her.
"Stupify!" Fleur shouted, directing her wand desperately at the writhing mass of bony limbs and tentacles gathered around her legs. The spell hit, a few of the water gremlins thrown clear, but her success was short lived, more emerging from the tangled reeds as they replaced their fallen brethren.
Desperately clawing at her own throat as a Grindylow wrapped around her from behind, Fleur shot a blind Reducto over her shoulder, the heat of the curse scorching the water near her cheek. She heard a distant rumble as the spell collided with the lakebed, the vibrations disturbing the water alongside her own frantic movements. Emboldened by the slackening grip on her body, Fleur repeated the incantation, stirring up the murky water even further as bits of the rock bed was blasted free, tangles of seagrass drifting past as their roots were loosened, adding to the chaos.
The crushing silence of the lake was broken, filled now with the gibbering of the Grindylows as they called to each other, interspersed by shrieks of pain as one of Fleur's spells connected, deafening among the press of bodies that surrounded her. Panic welled up at the unending waves of Grindylows that swarmed her, when disaster struck. A stray bit of debris collided with Fleur's hand, and she watched in horror as her wand slipped from her suddenly slackened grip into the clutches of one of her assailants.
Letting out a furious scream, Fleur snatched at the retreating Grindylow. It weaved among its fellows as it dodged her grasping hands, until with a frantic throw of her body, Fleur managed to catch it by a stray tentacle. She held tight even as blisters formed along her palm, the sting dulled by the fury flowing through her as she grappled with the slippery beast.
"Rends-le, petite bête!" Fleur snarled, ignoring the creature's screams as the tentacle in her grip was squeezed between the gaps of her fingers, the flesh warping under the pressure of her hold until she was sure that it would burst like a slug.
Their protracted round of tug-of-war ended as Fleur finally wrested her wand free, releasing the struggling creature once it was safely back in her hand. Even with the return of her wand, Fleur found herself at a loss at how to free herself, exhaustion weighing down her limbs as she continued to fight to pull herself out of the Grindylows' firm hold; none of her training with Madame Maxime had prepared her for such an eventuality, and the prospect of actually drowning, of failing to save her sister, was looking to be increasingly likely.
It was with no small amount of bitterness that Fleur conceded that her schoolmates had been right; she shouldn't have been selected as the Champion for their school.
Weak.
Useless.
The sting of tears only added to her burning humiliation, undeterred by the blackness creeping into her vision. Exhausted, weighed down by the Grindylows that continued to swarm her, Fleur sank further into the ghostly weeds, darkness closing over her head.
Je suis désolé, Gabrielle.
Fleur woke to a persistent pressure on her chest and a burning in her throat.
"—s'il vous plaît, ma chérie, réveillez-vous—"
"—est-ce qu'elle va bien?"
"Stand back, please, give her some space—"
The pressure on her chest increased, and Fleur rolled quickly to the side, heaving as the stench of lake water filled her mouth.
"That's it, dear. Let it all out."
Fleur coughed and sputtered where she lay on the pebbled beach of the lake, the gentle hands of her headmistress slowly raising her into a seated position as the school matron bustled about with towels, forcing her to drink one of those awful Pepper-Up Potions.
Fleur felt numb as the enormity of her failure washed over her.
It was over.
"Désolé, Madame," Fleur murmured, unresisting as she was quite literally pulled to her feet and hustled over towards the judges' table. Madame Maxime made no reply, just tightened her grip on her shoulder, keeping her upright.
The other judges talked quietly among themselves, the smug sneer on Karkaroff's face causing her stomach to roil dangerously once more, but Fleur found that she cared very little for their judgmental gaze.
Fleur stared blankly at the giant clock opposite the stands as Professor Dumbledore announced to the gathered spectators that she had been forced to quit the task owing to a Grindylow attack. Such a simple thing, really. A Grindylow attack. As if that could account for the crushing weight of what felt like hundreds of bodies pulling her down; the impenetrable darkness; the disorientation; the sheer chaos. Her limbs felt leaden, and Fleur fully believed that the only reason she was still upright was her headmistress's hand on her shoulder.
The clock struck one hour, and still none of the remaining Champions had returned. Fleur wondered what could have kept them; had they too been lost in the endless dark? Or had they run into an adversary more powerful than Grindylows? Even in the privacy of her mind, she sneered the word. Grindylow. A small, common, water being.
Had she really faced down a dragon to be beaten by a tiny, insignificant water imp?
The clock ticked on, and Fleur noted the increasing agitation of the rest of the panel; Karkaroff was pulling at his goatee, foot tapping impatiently; Bagman appeared to be fighting to keep a smile on his face, fingers tapping an absent rhythm on the table. The red-head who was almost certainly a Weasley was wringing his hands, horn-rimmed glasses stark against his pale face. Dumbledore alone looked unbothered, with his hands folded patiently in front of him.
The task dragged on, and still Professor Dumbledore appeared unbothered, even as the agitation of the other judges increased. The school matron bustled over to the headmaster, speaking in a furious whisper that Fleur didn't bother to pay any mind to.
"—really, blood everywhere; I must get her to the hospital wing—"
The water of the lake was deceptively still. Staring into the inky depths, Fleur wondered if she had been anywhere close to Gabrielle. Had she been minutes from her goal only to stop, overwhelmed with frustration and fear? Why? Why had she stopped? Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.
"Patience, Poppy, all will be well."
"Well? Well? Look at the state of the poor dear, practically catat—"
The surface tension of the lake was broken suddenly, shattering the stillness of the spectators as everyone craned forward, anxious to see who had returned from the watery depths first. Fleur's eyes shuttered as she recognised Cedric's waterlogged form, features distorted by the bubble-head charm that he had employed. Behind him, the equally waterlogged figure of his date to the Yule Ball broke through the surface, wading her way to the shoreline amidst the deafening cheers of the Hogwarts students.
"Congratulations to Mr. Diggory!" Bagman announced, voice amplified by a sonorous charm, bouncing around the judge's table as he went to greet Cedric and his hostage, Madam Pomfrey bustling in his wake, armed with blankets and more Pepper-Up Potions, "The first to return successfully, well done, well done indeed."
Fleur avoided Cedric's gaze as he and Cho were led over to where she was standing. She couldn't bear the thought of the pity that was likely gathered in his grey eyes.
She had failed. Gabby was gone.
"Alright, Fleur?"
His voice was soft as Madame Maxime finally returned to the judges table, but Fleur couldn't bring herself to look at him. To see how he had succeeded where she failed; how he had been enough.
"Oui."
The lie tasted as rank as the lake water she had thrown up earlier; clinging to the inside of her mouth, coating her tongue, an invisible film on her teeth. Cedric made no comment, didn't call her out on the lie, but Fleur felt weak standing there next to him; damp but unharmed, Cedric and Cho had both passed through the task by all appearances effortlessly.
Had it just been the lake that contributed to her disorientation? Because she had had a plan. She knew the depths and dimensions of the lake; had concluded the rough location of where that which had been taken from the Champions would be stored. Why had she hesitated over that kelp meadow? She knew that Grindylows preferred to live in their tangled depths. But no, she had allowed the dark, the silence, to overwhelm her and now Gabrielle was gone.
When the water surface was disturbed for a second time, Fleur took three careful steps towards the edge of the lake where she dropped to her knees gracelessly as her stomach revolted once more. Somehow, she thought through shuddering breaths as she heaved bile into the gently lapping water, she had failed to register the full implication of Harry arriving alone. What would she have done if she had succeeded in locating the hostages only to find Hermione and her sister side by side? Though her stomach was truly empty by this point, her nose burning from the sting of acid on her tongue, the nausea roiling inside her kept her rooted to the shoreline.
"Fleur?"
Eyes shuttering closed, Fleur leaned into the warmth of the hand that pressed between her shoulders. She didn't startle as a larger hand, though no less warm, wrapped around her and pulled her effortlessly to her feet. Viktor's dark eyes were unbearably kind, Cedric lingering just behind him, brow furrowed in concern, and though Fleur could see familiar bushy hair at the corner of her vision, she couldn't bring herself to look at her.
What sort of person would consider condemning their nine-year-old sister to a watery grave to save someone they might—? Head aching, the thought slipped away as fast as it had arrived. Selfish, so unbearably selfish. Unresisting, Fleur allowed Viktor to lead her back towards the judges table.
Even wracked by a combination of nausea and grief, Fleur couldn't fail to notice the mounting tension among the judges. The slight tremor of Hermione's hand in hers was distracting, too; she couldn't remember taking it. She squeezed, once. It wasn't a reassuring gesture, numb as she was, but Hermione shuffled closer, sliding their fingers together tightly in response.
The clock ticked on; nearly ten minutes had passed since the task was supposed to end. They were still waiting on Harry to return.
Fleur felt Hermione tense as she noticed movement from the direction of the stands. Her world had narrowed to the unchanging surface of the lake and the weight of Hermione's hand, but there was a nagging sensation at the back of her mind. Something Hermione had said. The skittering sound of stones rubbing against each other heralded the person's approach, and Fleur frowned as Hermione seemed to shrink behind her, pulling their conjoined hands with her. Blinking sluggishly, Fleur turned towards the noise, frown deepening as she saw Professor Moody limping towards the judges.
She had always found the man discomforting, and not just because of his war-ravaged features. There was something, off, about him. And watching Hermione sink into herself in his presence was alarming to say the least. No one else seemed to have paid the Professor's appearance any mind, but the way Hermione tried to deliberately avoid looking at the man, at being clearly visible, bookended as she was by herself and Viktor, Cedric and Cho just behind them.
Fleur felt as if she had been plunged back into the lake. Hermione's warning… she couldn't mean… could she? She tightened her hold on Hermione's hand. Whatever the threat he represented, if he was the threat to Harry that Hermione suspected him to be, then maybe Harry's delay in returning from the lake was more sinister than she thought.
The moment shattered along with the surface of the lake, Hermione sagging in relief, pressing into her side as she let out a choked laugh, but Fleur was no longer paying her any attention. Behind the twin heads of red and black, platinum blonde caught the meagre sunlight. Holding back a sob she took one halting step towards the lake, then another, and another, until she was sure that it was Gabrielle being dragged through the freezing water.
"Gabrielle," she breathed. Gabrielle, Gabrielle, Gabrielle! Fleur was crying in earnest as she ran towards her sister, "Gabrielle! Gabrie—!"
Choking on her sister's name, Fleur struggled against the hands suddenly restraining her, her robes pulled tight against her throat, "Non! Lâche-moi!"
Clawing blindly at the hands on her shoulders, that tugged insistently at her waist, Fleur continued to call for her sister, "Gabrielle! Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she 'urt?"
Suddenly, she remembered her wand. Aiming over her shoulder, Fleur let out a shriek of fury as her wrist was forcibly turned away. Thrashing against the additional restraints, Fleur let out a frustrated sob, until finally, finally, Gabrielle, blinking against the pale sunlight, shivering, and stumbling in her wet clothes, reached the shore. The hands holding her back suddenly released her, and Fleur swept her sister into her arms.
"Je suis désole, je suis tellement désolé," Fleur whispered into her hair as she pressed her lips to her crown. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, a litany of apologies, explanations for her failure, tumbled off her tongue, so blinded by the relief and desolation that warred within her that she didn't notice Gabrielle struggling to pull away.
"Fleur," Gabrielle whined, wriggling in Fleur's hold, "Aïe! Tu es me fait mal!"
Flinching back, Fleur searched frantically for any sign of injury. It wasn't until Gabrielle winced that Fleur realised that she was still holding her wand and had been inadvertently jabbing her sister with it.
Fleur blinked down at her hand. There was a sharp intake of breath above her, and Fleur couldn't fault them for their reaction. What little she could see of her palm was covered in violent red welts, and she let out a hiss of pain as she tried to unclench her fist; her wand had been burned into her hand, tearing the skin off as she attempted to straighten her fingers. Blood welled from the open wounds, pustules bursting as she flexed her fingers, gagging a little at the pieces of flesh that remained stuck to her wand. Had her wrestling match with the Grindylow really caused so much damage?
A familiar tut sounded from behind her, and Fleur caught sight of Gabrielle's nauseated expression before Madam Pomfrey bustled into view, pulling at her arm, twisting and turning her hand as she surveyed the damage.
"Really, Miss Delacour," the Matron said brusquely as she pulled a bottle of Dittany from the front of her robes, "if you could find it within yourself to refrain from any future activities that will land you in need of medical attention, that would be much appreciated," Fleur winced as the pale liquid was poured over her hand. "Between you and Mr Potter," she continued furiously as a white bandage shot from the tip of her wand and began binding Fleur's hand tightly, "well, you might as well reserve a bed for the rest of the year!"
Fleur allowed the Matron to fuss and poke at her for a few moments more, but when the woman began to tug at the neck of her robes, exposing where a Grindylow had attempted to strangle her, she pulled away, "Non, you 'ave other patients who need you."
Stepping closer to Gabrielle, she pressed another kiss to the crown of her head, wrapping another towel around her thin shoulders. Madam Pomfrey tutted angrily, but began moving among the other Champions and their hostages, distributing more Pepper-Up Potions and blankets as she did so. Fleur ran a hand in soothing patterns across Gabrielle's back, still shaken by how close she had come to losing her.
But she hadn't. Harry had saved her.
"'arry," Fleur said, drawing the boy's attention from his friends. She swallowed, struggling to find the words to express the magnitude of what he had done for her. He waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts, "Thank you."
It wasn't enough, those two words could not encompass the grief that her failure had brought her, the giddiness of relief that she had felt as Gabrielle was returned to her unharmed. The debt she owed him. Harry seemed to understand though, nodding shyly. His cheeks burned against her lips, and she fought down a smile at his obvious embarrassment, turning to the boy had been his hostage.
"Thank you," she repeated. He blustered a bit, turning red at her attention, and under other circumstances she would have laughed, a little cruelly perhaps, at his hopeful expression, but the relief of having her sister back was enough to soften her against his puppy-like affection. She pressed a kiss to both his cheeks, before sweeping a protesting Gabrielle back into her arms.
Gabrielle insisted that she was much too big to be carried, but wrapped her arms around Fleur tightly anyway. Fleur swallowed a wince as her robes rubbed uncomfortably against her wounds but didn't relinquish her hold even as the judges finally stopped conferring, Bagman's magically amplified voice cutting through the noise of the crowd easily.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision…"
Fleur tuned him out, focusing instead on the weight of her sister, safe once more, pressing soft kisses against her slowly drying hair. She stank of the grimy lake water, but Fleur only tightened her hold as more and more of Gabrielle's weight settled against her. While Gabrielle had been under a magical sleep for the duration of her role in the task, she had obviously been exhausted by the ordeal. Fleur smiled as Gabrielle's breathing slowed, the arms wrapped around her neck loosening as her body slackened in sleep.
The crowd cheered in fits and starts, and Fleur startled slightly when she saw that Hermione was watching her rather than the judges, even as she clapped enthusiastically at the results. Hermione didn't look away until Madam Pomfrey began to herd them back towards the castle. Fleur continued to watch her even as the other students began to vacate the stands, shielding her from view.