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Chapter 6 – What You Meant to Me

Sitting still in her hospital bed, the first task washed through Fleur's mind again. She'd come out unscathed after managing to disorient her dragon enough that it lost its balance and toppled over. As it had tried to right itself, becoming tangled in the chains tethering it to the ground, she had managed to make a mad dash for the egg. Only getting the bottom of her skirt singed, she escaped only to be forced into the medical area by a severe woman in crisp robes.

A commotion erupted outside the tent. She realised who was facing their dragon next, heart speeding up. And which type of dragon it happened to be.

A round of gasps came, fading into silence. She fixed her gaze on the tent flap. It fluttered in the light breeze, and all she could make out were glimpses of red flame and a sleek black shape thrashing around. The soundtrack accompanying it caused her throat to close up. Her hands fiddled with the thin bedsheets, threatening to tear them. Dead silence only exacerbated her current emotional state. She strained her ears, hoping to hear something, anything.

Metal on metal created a harsh grinding noise. When a loud snap echoed around the arena, muffled shouts spiked her anxiety. I can't let this happen to him after what he did for me. He didn't even tell anyone. Her mind made up, she grabbed her wand and tore at the sheets.

Something rocketed into the tent, coming to an abrupt stop at the far wall. She blinked in disbelief.

Sat on the ground, with a burn marring his cheek, was Harry.

Fleur was in motion before anyone else, kneeling down next to him and tentatively raising a hand to the mix of blackened and scarlet flesh before pulling it back, not wanting to cause him pain.

Harry stared up at her. A hint of vulnerability flashed behind his eyes, gone just as quickly as it had come. Before she could be sucked in too deep to his gaze, his expression blanked, and he turned to the matron. He should never have been made to compete. Her fierce thoughts ran wild.

Madam Pomfrey snapped out of her shock, ushering him up and into the bed beside hers. He seemed to stifle a wince.

Looking back to her own bed, Fleur noticed that the sheets were charred where she'd been fidgeting with them. Swiftly tucking them back, she watched Harry be laid down on his side and put to sleep with a potion. Silence settled within the tent.

The two other champions looked at her curiously.


Consciousness returned to him slowly. Harry sat up, hand lightly touching the side of his face. His hand met warm, tender skin. The rustle of sheets alerted Madam Pomfrey, who swung out of her office. Oh. I'm in the hospital wing.

"Why am I here?" he blurted, unable to smother his curiosity. His question paused her wand movements.

"You were burnt by a dragon, Mr. Potter. I'm sure you remember."

Scratching his head, he pressed further. "Maybe, but surely not that much. Why did you have to move me here?" He didn't think it could be that bad.

She pinched her nose and sighed. "Burns from a dragon aren't always a simple fix. It was out of precaution to make sure your face would heal correctly."

"Does that mean I can go?"

Finishing her murmured spells, her eyes softened. She gestured to the side of his bed. "You're free to go. Your Firebolt and the clue were brought up with you – you're third in the tournament by the way. Take them and please do try to stay out of trouble."

Jumping up off the bed, he answered with a relieved "Yes, thank you."

Harry's thoughts ran rampant as he walked. He couldn't forget the incredibly tender expression Fleur had given him as she'd knelt down. It was like a mental photograph, framed and nailed to the front of his mind. He couldn't remember seeing such a look before, and just the thought of it threatened to bring on the first tears in years.

He was also grateful that she'd made it through seemingly unscathed.

Perhaps it ran deeper than he'd thought - both the source of his momentary remedy and the underlying wound. Luckily, Harry had been able to violently ram the emotions down. It wouldn't do to break at the last moment. He found himself doing the same now.

Entering through the portrait hole, his friends were nowhere to be seen. Friends? Former friends? Oh well, their choice then. He forcibly strengthened his resolve at the realisation he truly had no one at Hogwarts. Perhaps it was a bad idea to just have two friends. Then again, they were also his first two.

Just a mere few months ago, he'd been prepared to do anything for Ron and Hermione. Evidently, he didn't mean as much to them as he previously thought. Two friendships for third place in the Triwizard Tournament and a stay in the hospital wing. Spectacular. He almost found it amusing. A harsh realisation, but a necessary one. Harry grit his teeth at the grim thought. I will not crack now.

Deliberate steps towards the stairwell helped to disrupt the stillness of the deserted common room. Taking the steps two at a time, he dropped off his things, grabbed a Charms book, and retreated in the direction of his empty fourth-floor classroom. His wish to remain unseen was granted, as no one was entering or leaving the library as he passed it. I might just start using the cloak more.

The Yule Ball was announced in the first week of December. Not that it particularly mattered until Harry was tracked down by Professor McGonagall and informed he had to open the dance. Lovely.

The female population of Hogwarts seemed to have contracted an infectious case of the giggles in the castle's corridors, and he'd consequently chosen to make the most of his invisibility cloak.

For whatever reason, Harry had been asked by a few already. Why he should reward them for his involuntary ostracism was beyond him. They probably just want to go with me because of the fame - whole load of good that's done me so far.

The kitchens had consequently become another recent favourite place of Harry's.

Torn between acquiescing to McGonagall's instructions and writing the Ball off entirely, he'd just thrown himself back into his study. The damned egg had nearly deafened him the first time he'd opened it and could have given away his fourth-floor sanctuary had anyone been nearby. Leaving it for the time being, Harry had instead thrown himself back into studying his subjects in solitude.

He was not satisfied with his performance in the first task. Sure, he'd survived it, but third out of four contestants? Not being present when the scores were given, he hadn't wanted to go ask someone for the exact standings, but even he knew he'd have to do better. No one's parents would be proud of second-to-last. Squashing down the shame, Harry readied his wand again at a blank wall now decorated by hundreds of deep gouges and scorch marks. On the bright side, if Filch saw what he was doing he could probably forget about the tournament entirely.


Frustration mounted in Fleur, who stared through her window across the dark Hogwarts grounds. The number of mindless idiots who had waddled up to her, begging to accompany her to the Ball, was less than she had expected. Regardless, those that did thoroughly annoyed her. She'd desperately wanted to speak to Harry again but hadn't seen him since he was put to sleep after the first task just under three weeks ago. The expression he'd given Fleur as she knelt next to him had hovered in her mind's eye ever since, and she'd struggled to decipher it.

His selflessness had greatly endeared him to her. He was also one of few that she thought she may enjoy the Ball with. Few others had the willpower to ignore her allure as he did. Granted, it wasn't such an issue, but the tell-tale glaze simply served to irritate her whenever she saw it.

Harry's prolonged absence from the corridors of the castle seemed to have gone largely unnoticed, and it only sought to annoy her further. What reason did he have to be hiding away? She'd asked a few of his classmates, just to hear that they hadn't seen him since the first task. A younger red-haired girl had just gone bright red and fled.

She felt she had to see him again soon. It was like a magnetic pull.

The student population seemed indifferent to his non-attendance at mealtimes, with few realising they hadn't seen him in a while. Fleur surely thought a Champion, and one who had some level of fame before the tournament would have been far more noticeable. Puzzled, she penned a second letter.


Harry stumbled down the steps at the front of the castle, trying to not slip on the slick stone or trip over the hem of his invisibility cloak. He didn't want to get caught out after curfew. Fortunately, the heavy rain seemed to bounce right off the cloak instead of soaking through. The metallic egg tucked underneath his arm made him shiver as it shifted.

He'd come straight from the fourth-floor classroom again, where the egg had threatened to give his spot away upon opening it again.

Upon nearing the Forbidden Forest, he whipped the cloak off. The rain torrented down harder than he'd expected. He was unable to avoid a mossy patch of ground in his haste to get underneath the canopy. The egg slipped from his grip. Landing hard on his back, he covered his ears in preparation for that dreadful screeching sound.

When nothing came but the muted pattering of the rain around him, Harry tentatively uncovered them. A fragmented, melodic song seemed to come from within the egg, but he couldn't make out the words. Understanding dawned on him.

Covering himself with the cloak again, he retrieved the egg and headed straight for the Black Lake. There was no point stripping, he was already soaked through. He left his wand, cloak and glasses on the bank, then waded in with the egg.

It slipped from his hands into the murky water. Fumbling around, he found it and he twisted the top off. Taking a breath, he submerged his head.

The melodic tune looped a few times. Harry made sure to memorise it wholly. They'll take something, and I'll only have an hour to get it back. The singing must be in Mermish. He didn't know of any other creature that could speak underwater like that and was aware of the Merpeople living at the bottom of the lake. Hagrid had brought it up a few times in Care of Magical Creatures.

Harry resurfaced and waded back up the bank, shivering from the ice-cold egg against his chest and blustering wind. The rain had lightened to a drizzle. Managing to partially dry himself, he retreated beneath the cover of his invisibility cloak.

He shed his cloak for the moment and managed to clean the bottom of his boots on the first try before re-entering the castle. Few students would be wandering the halls this late, and no professors or prefects would be in the entrance hall. A familiar barn owl swooped in behind him, releasing a letter from its claws mid-dive. Harry only just caught it. The damp parchment creased beneath his grip, loopy writing adorning its front.

Shrugging the cloak back on, he knew who it was as soon as he saw the handwriting.

Harry,

How are you? I haven't been able to find you since the first task. Karkaroff gave you a three, by the way, which is why you didn't score as high as everyone thought you might.

The Ball is close, and I thought I'd ask if you could accompany me. It's ok if you already have a date, but please let me know.

- Fleur.

Reading it for the third time, it finally clicked in Harry's mind. Fleur was asking to go with him. It was an exhilarating feeling.

Under the cover of the cloak, he began the journey back to the tower. Upon arrival, he'd pulled the hangings on his bed shut before removing the cloak. The other Gryffindor fourth-year boys were already asleep. Not that he much wanted to see them – Harry had done his best to avoid them.

He quietly pulled a piece of parchment from his trunk and wrote a quick reply. He'd slip it to her at breakfast instead of owling it. Then he'd have to start teaching himself how to dance – there wasn't exactly anyone Harry could turn to for that and asking Fleur would sort of defeat the purpose of the Ball. He wasn't sure he could keep his wits about him for that long either. Perhaps the library had some illustrated books.

There was no way he'd let himself disappoint her.

The lonely feeling that had begun to plague him more regularly resurfaced as he briefly thought of Hermione and her book obsession. Ironic. Harry shifted his thoughts instead to what he might need to rescue from the Black Lake if he'd read the clue correctly. There was nothing he'd hate to lose more than his photo album or cloak. I'll hide them on the day of the task, just in case. Everything else besides his wand, he couldn't really care less for.

Remembering how Fleur had shown him the dragons of the first task, he made sure to let her know to listen to the egg underwater. If she didn't already know, that is.

Spying her the next morning at breakfast, Harry moved under his cloak towards Fleur, letter in hand. Noiselessly, he slid it half-underneath her plate as she reached for some toast. The last thing he wanted was to startle her and make her embarrass herself. He knew there would be all sorts of gossip if he was seen giving her a letter or if she got one from Hedwig. Someone would find out it had come from him – the owl was quite distinguishable.

Looking back from the doors, he saw Fleur start as she noticed the letter next to her plate. She seemed to be in quite a hurry to shove it into her robes and out of sight. Even though he knew it was likely the sensible thing to do, his chest tightened. How's she going to manage the ball then? Does she even really want to go with me? What if she changes her mind?

Realising he didn't really have much of a say in any of those outcomes, a cool acceptance slowly settled over him. There was no guarantee she wouldn't eventually toss him aside as his friends had. His cynical thoughts wrenched his gaze over to the Gryffindor table, where two familiar heads of hair sat together. He couldn't really tell if they were talking or arguing but it looked like business as usual. Some family they are. Harry silently scoffed, remembering McGonagall's speech before the sorting in his first year.

It probably wasn't incredibly healthy to turn to inner monologue in place of dialogue, but what other options did he really have? He'd written Sirius off a while ago. Not that he was his kid or anything, so there would be no reason for one of the last links to his parents to be in more danger. Danger always found him regardless - his current circumstances were a perfect example.


Harry met her in the entrance hall. Part of him was surprised she'd shown, the other dreading what was to come. Then again, it didn't really matter if he embarrassed himself, he couldn't fall much further. Even through his negative musings, the sight of her momentarily stalled his thoughts.

A sleek, silver dress hugged her torso and flared out at the waist. It was simple but incredibly effective. He suddenly felt underdressed in his bottle-green robes, but hope welled up as he saw her take him in. Fleur's eyes lingered on his shoulders, before tracing their way up to meet his.

"Hello."

She seemed to jump as she snapped out of whatever thoughts lay behind those bright blue eyes. Giving him a slight smile that almost appeared a touch shy, she replied.

"Good evening. Shall we?"

Harry nodded and offered her his arm, imitating the other Champions across the room. McGonagall strode out of the Great Hall and beckoned them forth. To his surprise, Hermione was accompanying Krum. Her eyebrows raised at seeing him with Fleur and she swiftly averted her gaze, nervously tugging Krum forward. If anything, he looked quite amused.

Not dwelling on it, Harry proceeded forward with Fleur. They took up their positions to open the dance, one of her warm hands threading into his, the other coming to a rest on his shoulder. Looking up at her, he now really hoped he didn't mess this up.

Hesitantly resting his hand on her waist, the music started, and he began to trace out the steps he'd learnt in private. Amazed at himself for not messing the dance up yet, he was able to drag his focus away from his feet and back to Fleur.

She gazed back at him intently as they moved. He could almost swear that her palm was warming against his, but he found himself unable to look away from her face. It could've been seconds or hours that went by and Harry wouldn't have known any better. Her intoxicating, rosy scent filled his senses.

Her hand twisted its way out of his. He momentarily found himself disappointed at the loss, but the feeling was quickly replaced by a new one as she tenderly cupped his cheek. Her thumb trailed across it, blue eyes never leaving his. She leaned in slowly, music fading away. Harry found he had no choice but to reciprocate.

Delicate lips slowly touched themselves to his own. Leaning slightly into the warmth, where her palm still rested, he felt a similar warmth bubble up within him. The sensation was foreign, but he was tempted to sink into it forever.

Harry pulled back slowly and gazed up into her eyes once more. They had crinkled into the picture of pure, unrestrained happiness, her lips stretched into a wide smile. A light blush on her cheeks only added to her beauty.

Wresting his eyes from hers, he looked around the Great Hall. Only now did he realise that the music had ended, and they stood in the middle of the dance floor.