This story is both a learning experience and a joy, as such I will try certain methods and techniques I'm not super used to, feedback on anything is welcomed. A lot of my willingness to try and be experimental comes from the excellent Beta Readers, of which I'm delighted to have a fantastic mix of Authors and Readers provide their feedback. Looking back only this far it's clear that without their help this story wouldn't be half what it is.
So I must thank the beta readers for this chapter, DarknessEnthroned, Arnie1701, x102Reddragon, Proctorb_32, Liberty1Prime and OfficeSloth.
Having said that, I must plug the discord server, all my Beta Readers are friends from the Harry/Fleur server. The server is honestly the best place for learning writing, and just for hanging out, which I have found to date. So here is an invite link, Discord .gg /Flowerpot (yes this works, the best part of being a level 3 server.)
Thanks for indulging me. Enjoy.
Chapter 3 - Enemies?
Harry lifted his head, meeting the large eyes of Professor Trelawney; she blinked as if awaiting a response. Harry pinched his leg, his thoughts wouldn't catch up and the sudden pain didn't shift his brain into action.
Professor Trelawney peered over the star chart he had been working on. Harry made use of the distraction to rub his eyes. Professor Trelawney gasped, Harry sat upright and watched as Trelawney studied the star chart. He shared a glance with Ron, who shrugged and rolled his eyes.
Her pursed lips were pale, one hand clutched at her shawl, and the other trembling hand reached for him. Chills raced down his spine.
Her voice trembled in practised concern, "My dear, Titan has vanished not to mention Venus and Jupiter have switched places… these are terrible omens."
Lavender and Parvati gasped, Ron glared at the girls then turned to give Harry the usual sympathetic look. She's foreseen my death more times than she's finished a bottle of sherry, Harry thought. Professor Trelawney's hand held the table as she rose, Harry wished she didn't look so fragile.
"You're dismissed, class." At once, the classroom burst into action. Harry tried to stand but was fixed in place by a taut smile from Professor Trelawney.
"Leave your star charts on the tables, I will gather them later." She had to yell to be heard over the class, and even then Harry wasn't sure anyone listened. "Mister Potter, please stay behind."
The heavily perfumed room filled him, the tickle of fresh air reminded him all over again just how dense the smell was. Ron hovered at the exit, his smile faltered though he only glanced down a few times, a testament to the renewed friendship between them. Eventually, Ron left.
Harry perched on the edge of his chair, the threadbare fabric had seen better days, it creaked with every little shift of his. Which, as he watched Professor Trelawney roam from table to table, meant the chair seemed to be on its last legs. He pulled out a gobstone and rolled it between his fingers, and he waited.
Professor Trelawney finished correcting the chairs and, at last, gathered a considerable pile of star charts. Her lips were curved into a small smile. Harry didn't trust it. She glided over and seated herself on a well-worn pinkish armchair, like everything else in the classroom it screamed of Professor Trelawney. The tattered chairs, dented tables, and the immaculate crystal balls; there was no doubt she loved her subject.
"I can see that the future weighs heavy on you, the shadow of death haunts your every step," she breathed.
If someone didn't decide to club me over the head with the 'future' every chance they had, Harry tried not to scoff.
"I have seen," she said, "the time for change is upon us, the future is not all we can delve and explore. There are truths in the past that can allow us to see beyond the mundane."
Harry nodded, if my past is any better than my future, I'm done for.
"I expect we shall venture into the realm of what has come and gone before the week is through." Her smile split her face, and warmth and honesty shone clearer than any crystal ball. Harry felt himself smiling back despite his reservations, she was trying, and so will I. "Run along now, I expect Professor McGonagall's already having kittens wondering where you are."
With his much-needed escape from the sweltering classroom, Harry turned and found Ron had waited for him. Without even knowing how long I would be, Ron really was making an effort, Harry decided. He clapped him on the back, a spring in his step.
Ron must have felt it too, as his grin looked earnest, "What did she want?" he asked.
"I think she was taking pity on me, she said we can start something new soon. If only she would quit predicting my death every lesson." Harry forced a laugh. However hollow the gesture he couldn't stop a small voice deep in his mind that echoed her proclamations of death.
"Where were you this morning?" Ron asked. His eyes fixed firmly to the floor ahead of them, though his cheeks were pink, "And last night, for that matter?"
Harry nearly missed his step, he hadn't thought for a second what to say to Ron about it. He had just hoped he wouldn't be missed, though apparently now they were friends that wasn't likely to happen. Not that he could blame Ron.
"I was playing gobstones." His stomach churned, and he turned to regard a painting though only to hide his burning face, "I asked Fleur Delacour to dance, and she turned me down."
Ron nodded, and he barked a harsh laugh. "I tried to kiss Katie, but she laughed and brushed me off."
Harry swallowed his immediate reply, Ron has earned that much from me.
"So that's it?" he asked. "You two just done? No more dates?"
Ron shook his head and the words were mumbled. "Not exactly, she wasn't upset, but she didn't want to kiss me. But what else could it mean?" Ron shrugged as if a heavy burden weighed on him.
If he had managed to enter the tournament, he'd have been eaten alive, Harry thought. Though as soon as it crossed his mind he wished it had never come to him. Ron deserved better.
Harry grinned at Ron, with a pat on the back, "You've got this, from what I saw she had a great night. You just need to let her take the big steps," he said. That certainly helped ease the guilt, errant thought or not.
The guilt was no great mystery, lying to Ron to save my own feelings, he had wallowed in self-pity all night. Ron didn't need to know that. He himself was more torn up over Fleur's refusal than the fact he had gotten entered into a tournament that would likely be the death of him.
Well, maybe not more, but close enough, he corrected.
"Can't blame you though Harry, Fleur Delacour… she's so beautiful, it's crazy."
Harry nodded his agreement, Ron laughed and they walked chuckling together. How does sharing our awful attempts at relationships make us feel closer? It was as if Ron's awful behaviour of late had been forgotten.
Just yesterday Ron wouldn't even look at me, he knew it wouldn't be easy to forgive Ron, but it was far better than the lonely alternative. He reached into the damaged bag that still held his gobstones, a gift from Hagrid that I need to replace, the thought alone jolted his insides. Hagrid had always been there for him, a poor recompense for his kindness.
When they reached the corner of the hall before McGonagall's classroom, a door burst open, and the sweeping pale blue robes of Beauxbatons students poured out. Harry pulled Ron aside, into a secret passageway behind a tapestry of some wenches boiling toads.
His back pressed flush against the wall, his breathing pounded against the tapestry, it threatened to give them away. Harry heard soft words spoken in a melodious language, he assumed French, and it sounded beautiful. Though it was nothing on how Fleur intoned her words when speaking to him, her voice slightly deep.
A sigh escaped him when the footsteps quietened around the corner, he exchanged a glance with Ron and pushed the tapestry aside. Ron hadn't made a sound or even pulled attention to what they had done, just gone with the flow. All things considered, I could have done worse than having Ron as a friend.
When they entered professor McGonagall's classroom, they were greeted by the harsh lines of a glare, certainly enough to have them scurry to their seats. After a deduction of an unreasonable amount of points, they took out their books and settled down, ready to learn despite the furious look in McGonagall's eyes.
After lunch, Harry walked out to the grounds with Hermione and Ron, down towards Hagrid's hut, for care of magical creatures. The rest of the class had yet to make their way towards Hagrid's hut, and Harry's steps hastened upon the realization. Blast-ended skrewts were ruining the class, Harry couldn't blame his peers for their lax respect of the starting time, but Hagrid was his oldest friend and he would stand by him. And Madam Pomfrey made excellent burn salves.
As they approached a few other students had trickled down the lawn towards them, though Harry was ahead of all but Ron and Hermione, he walked over to where Hagrid was wrestling a skrewt into a cage.
"Hey Hagrid, can I talk to you later? After class?" He kept his distance, knowing the erratic beasts could reach him if he weren't careful. Last I heard, they still refused to eat anything, how are they the size of pigs?
"Of course Harry, just let me deal… with this… little… beastie." Hagrid panted. The struggle was epic, the man was a small mountain, with arms as thick as barrels and the skrewt was putting up a decent showing. Which was an awful sign for how the class would fare if one got loose, Harry just thanked whoever was responsible that they didn't throw these in that arena instead of the dragon.
Hermione had been eager to get a word out of Harry all day, though only her furrowed brow showed she had noticed anything, not a terrible outcome all things considered, and yet; a small part of him did worry, silly as it was. She was brilliant, at pretty much anything she tried, but romance hadn't been one of those things… as far as he knew.
The rest of the class eventually crowded as far from the skrewts as possible, Hagrid eventually pulled over another large cage with another monstrosity inside, the class went quiet as the two started to hiss and spout flames at each other. Almost like strange cats locked in a small room, except likely to burn Hagrid's house down if they weren't careful.
Everyone was watching them wearily and Hagrid caught onto it quickly enough, his huge arms spread out in a welcoming gesture. "Well class, today I thought we should sketch them, I'm pretty sure we have a male and female here, look for the subtle differences." He waved an arm as if to indicate clear and obvious differences.
Good choice Hagrid, a nice safe distance too, he thought. Hagrid handed out pencils and parchment, both looking tiny in his massive hands, when he reached Harry he crouched down to talk, but Harry waved him off. Hagrid was many things but subtle wasn't one of them, not even at eleven years old had he been fooled.
The skrewts seemed to realize they were being watched, the one further away from Harry was trying to spit fire at Ernie Macmillan, A good choice, he commended the skrewt, Ernie had the unfortunate habit of being a fucking arse. Still, the class proceeded without incident, which considering how things had been leading was a relief.
Harry lingered after class, after shooing Hermione away with Ron, who gave him a confused look. They had no class next, a rare free period, so he would have to explain something to them. Ron was earning his inevitable forgiveness in spades.
"You wanted to talk Harry?" Hagrid's gruff voice boomed. Harry rolled a gobstone around in his palm, unsure where he wanted to begin, Hagrid wasn't likely to judge him, but he would laugh if he found it funny. Delicacy was another trait Hagrid wasn't good with.
"Yeah," Harry mumbled, "what do you know about Veela?"
Hagrid cracked a smile that lit up his big beady black eyes. A warm rumbling chuckle rose in his chest, Harry wanted to hide his face as heat enveloped him. "Well I can't blame ya' Harry, Veela are special, powerful and majestic, but they aren't really creatures. No more than me or professor Lupin was, nope, just normal people with a little more magic in their blood."
Harry nodded, the thought had crossed his mind, though that wasn't his main concern. That had just been a thing worrying him, whether or not she was actually like a real bird, silly as it seemed, but the magical world was baffling beyond his belief.
"And what about their abilities? I heard Fleur say she tried to lull her dragon to sleep, Hermione reckoned it was with her Veela magic."
"Well I don't know, never been around enough of 'em to feel it, my blood is tough for anything to get around."
"What do you mean Hagrid? Your blood?"
"Blimey Harry, didn't I tell you, my old mum's a giant. Dad wasn't, so I'm only half, you see."
Harry nodded, it made sense, Hagrid was much larger than any human he had ever seen. Well except for Madam Maxime, who was nearly as tall and only a little less wide. So many things made sense to him now, why Fudge had so easily arrested him in second year, or why Hagrid had been expelled for something he clearly didn't do. It was the same as Lupin.
An uncomfortable connection, he noted.
"Sorry Hagrid, I never even thought about it like that."
"What? D'ya think I've just got big bones?" His booming laugh made Harry grin. It was hard to feel foolish with Hagrid, the man was too carefree for his own good. Sometimes the students' too.
"I didn't think anything of it."
"Course you didn't Harry, you're not like the rest of 'em." He mumbled. Hagrid beamed down at him, resting a boot against a nearby bucket. "Kind, pure, just like your mum."
Harry smiled back, his face warmer than comfortable, Hagrid always found a way to manoeuvre his emotions. But he wouldn't be distracted, he had to know and Hagrid knew more about this stuff than he let on. Or else he wouldn't be teaching.
"So how does it work? Their enchanting?"
"Not many know, it's a rare person who can study Veela, they like their secrets, don't like strangers all that much." Hagrid paused, fingering his wiry beard. "They sing and dance though, everyone knows that much, when they do they can enchant anyone, don't know if they need anything else."
Harry blinked. Had he insulted her? Oh, no wonder she had refused him and looked so unhappy. He had been so stupid, she must hate me for that, he realised.
"You alright?" Hagrid asked, crouching down to peer into his eyes.
Harry shook his head, "I asked her to dance, last night, Hagrid what can I do?"
"You're asking the wrong person there," he chuckled, "though, you can never go wrong with the truth." Harry nodded. His thoughts raced, grand apologies and sweeping gestures flashed in his mind. A way to right the wrong.
He tried to convince himself it was for Fleur, but deep down he knew it was his desire to have another chance. He thanked Hagrid for his help, a weight gone from him, one he hadn't even noticed until now. The walk back to the castle was refreshing, swift gusts flowed down from the surrounding misty mountains swept away the last of his misery.
He had a new purpose, apologize to Fleur and sneak away to recreate his first-ever gobstone. Neither sounded delightful, but both were right, he had no doubts of that. He just had to survive a double potions lesson and a brutal lesson with Moody.
Snape had been in a foul mood, fouler than normal that was, Harry had assumed it was because he had misplaced the puss of niffler toenail or whatever it had been; it seemed instead that it had been the fact he was still breathing. Snape had breathed down his neck worse than the dragon had done the day before; whatever the teacher lacked in sheer fearsome gravity, Snape made up for it with persistence.
Harry had left the room with haste, it wasn't until the sight of the Great Hall was upon him that he slowed. Ron and Hermione panted behind him, clutching their book bags to their sides. Harry offered them an apology, "I need to see Moody, he wants to give me another lesson."
"Are you sure Harry? You look really tired," Hermione asked.
He just nodded, there was no chance he was throwing away private lessons with Moody, even if they were horrible. He had made Harry practice the levitating charm silently while throwing stinging hexes at him, not enough to hurt, but enough to teach him to move.
The defence against the dark arts classroom was silent, but for Harry's footsteps, he tried not to look around; despite the ever-present concern of a Moody ambush. He always threatened it, one of these visits he would act on it, surely. Professor Moody was supposed to be a paranoid wreck, the grizzled ex-Auror seemed to want to instil the same in him.
The classroom was unornamented as ever, only a sight he had come to like since the messes that were Lockhart and Quirrel, Moody like Lupin knew what he was teaching. The classes were so full of information that Harry often forgot to take notes, unlike these mentoring sessions. There was nothing to use as cover, or distraction, as he had learned in that first lesson.
"Potter, you're early," Moody growled, even behind a thick wooden door his voice carried a harsh tone. Harry sucked in a breath and stopped still. If Moody knew he was here then the lesson was in full effect. "I'll be out in a minute, take a seat."
Harry perched on the edge of a nearby desk, ready to move, it wouldn't be the first time Moody came out with spells flying. There was some grunting as Moody moved around his office, Harry knew that his wooden leg bothered him sometimes, it was a testament to how skilled he was that it never seemed to even the odds out in his career.
There was no pretence with this arrangement, Moody was helping The-Boy-Who-Lived survive the tournament, not like how Lockhart tried to cosy up with him. The honesty was refreshing.
The door swung open on silent hinges. Harry wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching, he slid off the edge of the table and pulled his wand out, but Moody never showed. Blood pounded in his ears as he strained for a glimpse of his teacher.
"Well done Potter, keep your eyes on your enemies," Moody growled, the voice came from behind Harry. He spun to find him but saw nothing. He hadn't even heard the clunking of Moody's wooden leg, invisible and silent, he realised. He darted back and bit off a few choice words.
Moody had been trying to get him to focus on difficult solutions using simple spells, he claimed strategy and smarts went a lot further than skill with a wand. Harry tried to focus, clear out those silly errant thoughts. All he had to do was force Moody to make a sound or better yet make anything make a sound.
"Ventus," he called, and a wind rose gently at first. Before long it was enough to blow his cloak around violently. And still no sight of Professor Moody, but Harry could hear his cloak rippling in the wind. He turned towards the sound and cast, "expelliarmus," the spell fell far short of where he expected a hit.
Moody countered it before it reached him.
A stinging hex erupted from nearby, catching Harry square in the chest. The hiss of pain echoed, but Harry whirled and cast, "ventus," once more. When he heard a ripple of a cloak, he jabbed his wand, and called out; "sonorus."
The ripples were louder, enough that it sounded like peeves was trying to carry off a first year in a sack.
"Good, Potter," Moody growled, within an instant he became visible. His wooden leg began to ring on the stone floor, his scars twisted in a frustrated grin. Harry didn't put his wand away.
Moody prowled closer, wand drawn. Harry took a step back, he hadn't meant to, but still, his leg moved.
"Clever move, exactly what we have been working on. Simple spells, smart plans." Moody grinned. "Constant vigilance."
Harry threw himself to the side, but Moody's spell still hit his arm. Pain shot through his arm, but he shook it off. Moody followed.
It was late when he dragged himself out of the classroom, his laboured breaths misted in front of him, the sun had set long ago and the lanterns on the wall burned bright. He was glad there were only three flights of stairs before the Gryffindor tower, or else he might just have found a nice broom cupboard. The Commonroom was a flood of noise, as was normal on evenings, but luckily Hermione and Ron had saved a small table in the corner furthest from the fire.
He darted upstairs to change and get his things, he found his schoolbooks in his trunk but decided to leave them. Instead, he pulled a heavy wooden box, the gobstone crafting box Hermione had found for him years ago. He was careful as he placed it on the bed, vials inside clattered even as he placed it down, gentle now. The crafting box was worn with use and age, but Harry handled it as though it were pristine and fragile.
He pulled out some fresh robes, throwing his used ones onto the floor without a care, Harry couldn't quite tear his eyes off the inviting warmth of his bed though. The sheets were likely warm and soft, but that broken gobstone demanded his attention.
At their table in the Commonroom Hermione and Ron sat, heads together in discussion, as he approached a few classmates congratulated him. He waved them off with a simple muttered "thank you." It still felt surreal to him, that he had performed well, excelled even. Dying had been his main concern.
Hermione was pouring over a long parchment, low threats muttered between the scratching of her quill, "You two need to write this essay up too, I won't help if you don't even try." Her threat, though common, was effective. Ron sat up straight, and Harry paused with the leather cords that kept the craft box shut.
He shrugged to Ron but Ron just shook his head, then he groaned and lifted his book up, Hermione shook her head and went back to her essay. Harry sighed, the lid of his crafting box was a tight fit but it opened with some small effort, Hermione always worried far too much over homework.
"What does Flitwick want us studying space expansion charms for, those are O.W.L spells, if not N.E.W.T's." Ron huffed, slamming his books down, a pair of vials rattled in the crafting box. Which earned him a pair of glares from Harry and Hermione.
"He is trying to have us prepared for our exams, and if we can learn to cast one it'll be worth a lot of bonus points." Hermione gushed. "And, they will help us develop some core skills with charm work needed for our O.W.L's. Honestly, Ron, do you even listen in class?"
Harry looked over his materials, this sand hadn't been used yet, will that make a difference?. The rest of his supplies had been wan for a while, I need to press Hermione on where she found this kit, she's been evasive over that nugget of truth for years now. Leading Harry to assume she had been browsing in stores she had ought not; if it could be believed of Hermione.
The things he had once mistaken for paint resisted moving, as though they were jelly, he had learned otherwise after poking at them, somehow the liquids just didn't want to leave the vials of their own accord. The orange was mostly full, having only used it for the one gobstone, he had never thought of using it again.
I wish I didn't need to.
Setting the orange aside he pulled out a few other colours to accent it, the effects each time were different. Much like a potion, he would mix a few things together to see what would make for the rolling flames he had seen inside of Cormac's prized gobstone. He had wanted that at one point, but not anymore, his own handmade ones were perfect.
"What page am I looking for? This copy doesn't have the index page anymore." Ron's voice broke in. Harry glanced over and saw his grimace directed at the tattered old charms book, he wished Mrs Weasley had allowed him to pay for his stay at the Burrow, or for the ticket to the Quidditch World Cup.
"Two hundred and eighteen." Hermione groaned, though her slight smile betrayed her. Harry sighed and leaned back, it had been too long since he had been relaxing with Ron and Hermione like this. When it was just Hermione there was a lot of studying, not so much talking or doing.
After he snatched his wand up, he aimed it and the sand flew into the recess, the exact size of half a regulation gobstone. An incendio later and the sand began to melt, forming a hollow shell for the insides to be poured in. Hermione had claimed, after his inquiries, that it was blood; though he wasn't sure how she could tell.
The thought of pouring blood into these gobstones was unpleasant, so it had to be paint, he told himself, not for the first time. He just needed to wait for the glass to harden, he had been on a school trip once, and seen glass being blown in a large oven. He was glad for magic, or else he might have never had the dexterity or patience to make his own.
The crafting box had some mechanism to cool the glass, making the ordeal take no more than minutes. The crafting box wasn't special, not really, the branding on it claimed it had been produced a few decades ago. He had gotten it for his birthday, from Hermione, and spent the remaining month of the summer holidays obsessing over it. And he had never found any sign of how the box truly worked, magic had seemed an uninspired answer then too.
Before long he lifted the vials, to mix the tiny amount of fluid into the gobstone, a little yellow and red to start, the colours never liked to mix. Never, but they would complement each other as they flowed or whatever they ended up doing. Shades to offset the main body, never had he considered this part special, it was mostly messing around, but Ron said it was like painting. Hermione chipped in with some comments about "Colour Theory" either way Harry added what he liked.
At that moment he added a little bit too much of the deep red. So deeply red it almost seemed to have black running through it, he needn't think too much on that. He frowned over what was in the gobstone, two thirds were full of the red, with small veins of yellow, if he filled the rest with the blacks he had, it might resemble the dragon's eyes.
The thought alone gave him a shiver, his side twinged in remembrance of the pain. That had a certain quality to it, one he had never considered, the dragon had been a pillar of strength and beauty, in its own way. He wasn't above showing some respect to the beast, and what better way than to create something with his own hands, well more like magic, to hold onto that memory.
Thick black something drizzled out on top of the red.
In the slot beside that one, he placed more sand, and repeated most of his last steps, however this time he added mostly orange and black. He tapped his wand on a small support bar, metal and taut, it snapped the halves of gobstone firmly together, creating a small crunching sound. Harry cast another incendio to bind the seams together, somehow it spread evenly at this point making sure the gobstone was entirely enclosed.
However the foul liquid was sprayed out he wasn't sure, each one came out perfect and unblemished. Yet functioned as well as any store-bought stone.
He hadn't bought a single gobstone since he had gotten this gift, he had won plenty from competitors, but any new ones he had were made by hand. And he rarely used the ones won from others, they never gave him the same feel.
After precisely a minute the box returned to normal, the wooden blocks holding the gobstone falling down slowly, to rest where they normally did. Resting in the small recess was a sphere that burned a deep red, almost black. There was an unmistakable heat resting within, one Harry had grown accustomed to.
The near-black bead rolled in his palm, yet unable to be controlled with whatever wandless magic Harry seemed capable of, still this way was plenty relaxing. He wriggled his fingers pushing the gobstone between his fingers and knuckles, the pitch inferno inside spun and flowed with the movements of the gobstone.
"That was quick, I'm glad that gift is still finding some use," Hermione said. "I was worried it wouldn't be useful after very long, not with how determined you were to make as many as possible."
"What can I say? It was a brilliant gift, need to make sure I give it the respect it deserved." Harry glanced back down, the gobstone was a stunning mix of harsh dark black and red, with veins of vibrant yellow and orange. He smiled, wishing he had someone to play with.
He would have little time for playing, Hermione and Moody had emphasized just how dangerous this tournament would be, the dragon had only reinforced that idea. Harry would have to work hard to survive this damn tournament, no matter what his first interest was not dying.
"What about my gift?" Ron asked.
Harry met Hermione's eyes, and they both burst out laughing. Ron spluttered and crossed his arms over his chest.
"It wasn't that bad."
"Oh Ron, it really, really, was."
Fleur ground her teeth, it wasn't supposed to be this difficult, And yet, why am I hesitating?
Clarissa sat lounging against the side of the carriage, her auburn hair danced in the breeze and she laughed at something Robin had said. Fleur still hadn't been noticed, she could slink away, hide her shame.
Her step brought her closer, out into the overcast day, towards her first bully. Away from my shame.
Clarissa smiled and gave a tiny wave. Fleur forced her face to emulate it, her stomach churned at the affront. Not a glimmer of guilt flashed across Clarissa's face, Fleur watched for it every time, she had to force the next step.
With a wave, Clarissa sent Robin away, his petulant pout looked pitiful. It was as good as Clarissa deserved. Fleur knew better than to make trouble, after all, she had something to ask Clarrisa.
"What do you want, Fleur?" her tone was harsh, as usual. Her usually unoffensive face shifted to a sneer with ease, mainly from practice.
"I wanted to ask you for help, I need to practice my wand work. Will you help me?" Fleur asked.
"Why me?"
"You are the best—" Fleur had to stop, to keep from raising her voice. "Better than myself, at duelling," there, it was said and I can't take it back.
Clarissa's lips curved.
Fleur wanted her words back, or at least pound the memory of them from the redhead's head. Clarissa acted like she was thinking it over, she preened and checked her nails. Fleur waited patiently, this was far more important than her pride, she hoped so at least.
"So—"
"I'll do it, but on one condition."
Fleur swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, she had wanted; needed, that agreement, but she didn't like it. Clarissa had spread rumours like wildfire any time someone she was interested in looked at Fleur, she had launched a pig carcass at her just last year. She had done everything in her power to break Fleur and failed each time.
"You have to win this tournament."
"Wha— That is obviously my goal."
"How could we know that, after your pathetic showing in the first task? Losing to a child? You dragged the name of Beauxbatons through the mud, and for what? You to try and pretend you're as good as a human? You're not, you're a Veela, and even if everyone else forgets it, I don't."
Fleur tasted blood. Her tongue hurt, but she didn't erupt at this horse-faced bitch, she would act the perfect lady. Her fist trembled around her wand, just in case.
"Good, you can be civil… fine, meet me here at eight," Clarissa said. And with that, she flounced off, towards the castle.
Fleur breathed, she looked out to the water. The gentle ripples of the water belied the dangers below, dangers that were imminent to her. Fleur watched the waves flow for a good hour, and yet, she still had barely contained her fury. It was a good thing she had been practised in keeping her cool, or else she might have transformed, not that she would have done anything; but Clarissa only needed a slip to have her life views reinforced.
"Fleur?"
She would be better though, if she slipped once her world could collapse around her, Clarissa was nothing in the grand scheme of things. She would tolerate her thorns, just as long as she needed to, it was a small price to pay.
Or else all her plans would be for nought, life was already threatening to leave her behind, stuck with her overbearing mother. And Grandmother. I need this win, the earnings and respect, otherwise, she might be stuck having to work in some sleazy bar or used as an attraction for guests.
"Fleur!"
She turned, and regarded Evélia, the tall dark-skinned girl had a cautious smile on her face. Fleur gave her a warm smile, not willing to show her hurt.
"Clarissa said you were out here, and she wasn't bruised, I was worried."
"She was on her best behaviour, though I considered a few swings." Fleur chuckled as she pulled Evélia into a one-armed hug.
"Good thing I found you, Madame Maxime wants a word with you, up in the school, with their deputy headmistress." Evélia grimaced, having spent a short class with the Transfiguration mistress was enough to cement her as an instructor not to mess with. Beauxbatons own Madame Cote could learn a thing from McGonagall.
Fleur couldn't have picked a worse time to have something sprung upon her, though, she had little choice in the matter. As usual, she would have to go with the flow to bend the river to her whims.
"I will see you at dinner?" she asked.
"Of course, or else Eefje will eat all your salmon, and then I'll have to hear you bitch all night."
"How is it my fault they cook two fillets per table, I am a growing young woman," Fleur grinned.
"Go go, I don't need to hear you complain that I made you late."
Fleur did just that, her long strides ate the ground up fairly easily, despite her reluctance to learn what this meeting was about, she pushed on. Madame Maxime had been less than pleased with Fleur's performance, but her faith and respect for her overshadowed that.
Obviously, she had been disappointed too, her showing was poor. Everyone had seen it. She had panicked once the dragon had started to lash out, she had forgotten herself.
And somehow Harry Potter had faced his dragon as if it was nothing, and everyone had seen it, right after watching her own shambolic performance. People would remember that, regardless if it was an accurate depiction of their individual skills, they would remember. And talk.
She glanced around as she walked, the paintings while not as masterful as Beauxbatons' pieces, were charming enough. Each one showed a story that said something about the school, Fleur was willing to admit to herself at least that Hogwarts was full of character.
The Transfiguration classroom loomed at the end of a long hallway. Her steps rang on the stone, echoing off the vaulted ceiling, it the distance she could see the two sternest women she had met, outside of her family of course.
They watched her as she walked through the classroom, their eyes cautious, almost sad.
Madame Maxime approached her, with an uncertain smile on her broad face. "Fleur, thank you for coming so soon."
"Of course, Headmistress," she replied. With a bob of her knees, she curtsied, not deeply but enough to show respect, and turned to regard Madame McGonagall. "How can I help?"
She only spoke after exchanging a heavy look with Madame Maxime, her delicate accent sounded oddly comforting when spoken so quietly. "I must apologize for this ahead of time… I have a small understanding of how this might affect you."
Fleur stood frozen, her mind darting from one extreme to the next. Her voice came out a squeak, "What is it, Professor?" The elderly woman seemed almost as nervous as Fleur, though she couldn't understand why.
"The Yule Ball, you're expected to dance, dear."
Fuck.
AN: Hope you enjoyed it, as mentioned in the preamble, any feedback is more than welcomed. This story has been a delight to write so far, the editing... not so much, but I feel like I'm learning plenty as I go.