Hogwarts was always a rather hectic place to live, so that Harry thought the days leading up to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang's arrival were some of the maddest he'd ever spent there, was saying something:

Amongst the students, all anyone seemed able to talk or think about was the Tournament - who was going to enter it, how the Champions would be chosen, how dangerous the tasks would actually be, and who'd be judging it - and the number of accidents in lessons due to distraction or inattention increased rather dramatically; Harry overheard Katie Bell saying it took her four hours to get a simple Anti-Ache potion from Madam Pomfrey because the Hospital Wing was overflowing with students with accidental injuries, or with injuries from duelling in the corridors, or venturing out into the forest to practice for the Tournament.

Draco told them Snape had amended his lesson plans so every class had theory rather than brewing for the entire week leading up to it, after three melted cauldrons in three consecutive lessons. Padfoot had also scrapped his lesson plans, but it was to embrace the madness rather than curb it; he was holding casual duelling tournaments in his lessons, or taking students out onto the grounds to run obstacle courses. The latter, he confided to Harry, who'd stayed behind to help him wrestle a boggart back into its trunk, had been inspired by Moony, who'd done something similar with his third years when he'd taught at Hogwarts.

The teachers stalked the halls with a vengeance, enforcing the proper uniform, ensuring wandering pets were corralled back to their owners' dormitories, and coordinating a clean-up of the castle; suits of armour gleamed silver, faded banners were patched up or replaced, and portraits were scrubbed clean.

"Blimey," Ron said, as they watched Padfoot and Snape wrestle a swearing suit of armour into a broom cupboard under McGonagall's direction. "And I thought Mum was bad when we have visitors."

"This has nothing on Mum," Ginny said, slowing to join them, with Colin in tow. "Filch chased me up three floors yesterday because I tracked a bit of dirt in after visiting Hagrid." The suit flailed - arm nearly taking Padfoot's head off - and shouted curse words. A passing Prefect cast a Silencing Charm on the area around a group of wide-eyed first years, but Harry wasn't sure if that was because of the suit of armour, or because of Padfoot and Snape, who were swearing just as much - though quietly. "I think it's a bit of a shame, honestly. Hogwarts isn't Hogwarts without this sort of thing. It's part of its charm."

"I don't know about charm," Draco said, eyebrow raising as the suit of armour shouted something particularly vulgar that had Ron sniggering and Hermione and Colin looking rather shocked. "But it's certainly got character."

"Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are both extremely prestigious schools," Hermione said. "I can't really blame the teachers for wanting to make a good impression." Personally, Harry liked Hogwarts just the way it was; old, a bit droughty and dusty, quirky, and, most importantly, Karkaroff-less.

"I can," Ron said. "Karkaroff's going to be too busy being an evil git to care if there's a bit of dust on the windowsills, or that I wear my tie a bit loose." He grinned at Harry, who gave him a rueful grin back.

Fred and George, who were with Lee Jordan a bit further back, let out a cheer as Padfoot slammed the broom cupboard closed.

"While I usually try not to agree with the pair of you," McGonagall said, glancing at them, and then back to Padfoot and Snape, "I find myself sharing the sentiment this once, because we are alarmingly short on time." She made an ushering motion at the twins, who took the hint and made themselves scarce, likely in the direction of the grounds.

"If you'd asked us earlier, we wouldn't be," Padfoot said, pushing his hair back out of his face.

"If that suit of armour hadn't been enchanted with profanity, we wouldn't be either," McGonagall replied, and Padfoot grinned.

"Blame Remus and James."

Snape rolled his eyes, but it was almost good-humoured; whatever he and Draco had discussed the week before seemed to have patched up whatever misunderstanding had come between them, and put Snape in far better spirits than he had been all term, and… well, possibly ever.

McGonagall waved her wand; Padfoot's hair tidied itself up, the creases vanished from his robes, and his boots gleamed with polish.

"There. Now, off with you," she said, waving Padfoot away in the direction of Harry and his friends; Snape, at the first sign of appearance-tidying charms, had beat a hasty retreat down the corridor. "Miss Vane!" McGonagall swept off in the other direction as Padfoot reached them.

"Ready?" he asked, looking decidedly less amused than he had moments before, and more grim. Harry nodded once, stiffly, and looks passed between his friends - Hermione worried, Ron resolute, Draco impassive but with his mouth in a thin line, Ginny flinty, and Colin-

"Yes," Colin said, patting the camera strap around his neck. "This is going to be great! Have you ever seen a Triwizard Tournament, Professor?"

"How old do you think I am, Colin?" Padfoot asked, part amused, part incredulous.

The seven of them joined the steady stream of students and teachers making their way down to the Hogwarts grounds.

McGonagall joined the Gryffindors not long after, ushering them into lines based on year. Padfoot stayed for as long as he could - which was until McGonagall told him he was getting in the way and sent him to stand with the other teachers, and with Bagman, Sprottle, and a handful of other members of the Ministry.

And then, they waited, looking out into the cool, quiet night. Hermione shivered beside Harry and pressed a little closer; her scent not cold, but anxious… haunted. At first, Harry thought she might be anxious because of Karkaroff, the way Harry was. When she started rubbing her wrists however, in the vague way of someone not completely conscious of what they're doing, Harry realised she was thinking back to the last time she'd been out on the grounds at night. Harry reached down to squeeze her hand, and she twitched.

"There," Draco said, out of nowhere, lifting his chin toward the sky. Something large was moving quickly toward the school.

"What is it?" Ron muttered, squinting up at it. "Hermione?" She just shook her head, the anxiety in her scent replaced by curiosity and a bit of excitement.

"Aha!" Dumbledore called out, several seconds later. "Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!" Something in Harry's chest eased - not Karkaroff then; Moony.

It took the rest of the school a few moments to spot what Draco and Dumbledore already had, but then a first year girl shrieked something about a dragon, and someone else cried out about a flying house, and then it didn't matter, because the object - which turned out to be an enormous, powder-blue carriage pulled by equally enormous horses - was hurtling out of the sky and down onto the grass, sending all of the first years and a good number of the second years leaping back out of the way. Romilda Vane wound up next to Harry - a rather impressive feat, since she'd had to get past the entire Gryffindor third year cohort to do so - catching his arm as she stumbled, only to have to release him to get out of the way of Neville, who'd leaped back in shock when the carriage landed noisily. Draco sniggered and Romilda shot him a dirty look before melting away.

Harry knew Madam Maxime was large because he'd seen her at Moony and Dora's wedding, but he'd forgotten just how large.

"Blimey," Seamus said. "Now that's a woman." Lavender elbowed him, or rather, attempted to; she was too busy staring to actually hit her target. Murmurs of surprise raced through the Hogwarts crowd, and Harry caught Hagrid's name a few times. He couldn't blame them, not when he himself had wondered whether they were married when he saw them sitting together at Moony and Dora's wedding. They were of a size, after all, though she stepped out of the carriage and made her way down a set of golden stairs with a grace Hagrid - much as Harry loved him - would never be able to manage.

She lifted a large hand and waved elegantly, the opals on her rings sparkling in the light from the castle, just as Dumbledore began to clap. She smiled first at Dumbledore, and then at Hagrid, and strode toward them, but Harry's attention was drawn back to the carriage and the familiar figure that had emerged at the top of the golden stairs.

Whispers of 'Professor Lupin!' raced through the older students, while the first, second, and third years all muttered confusedly to each other, or tried to get the attention of the older students to ask who he was.

"Welcome back, Moony!" came twin shouts from further back in the Gryffindor section, and Harry grinned at the warning glance McGonagall sent in Gryffindor's direction.

Moony led the Beauxbatons students - only a dozen or so of them, and all of them looking old enough to be sixth or seventh years - down the stairs to join Madame Maxime.

Aside from Moony, they were all wearing a mismatched collection of scarves and shawls, and shivering; both the girls and boys' uniforms seemed to be made predominantly of grey-blue silk, and it was clear they weren't doing an awfully good job at keeping their wearers warm.

"Professor Dumbledore," Moony said, shaking Dumbledore's hand. He hugged Hagrid, and smiled and nodded familiarly at the other teachers, all except Padfoot. "You must be the new Defence Professor." Muffled laughter broke out here and there amongst the Hogwarts crowd.

"Auror Sirius Black," Padfoot said, moving forward to shake his hand.

"Monsieur Remus Lupin," Moony said, taking it, and inciting more laughter from the Hogwarts crowd, and confusion from the Beauxbatons lot. "Pleased to meet you."

"And you," Padfoot said, as if they were perfect strangers, and Dora and Stella wouldn't be waiting for Moony up in Padfoot's quarters after the feast. They stared at each other, then both snorted and hugged. Madam Maxime looked down at them, her expression fond in an exasperated sort of way, and Harry decided then and there that he liked her.

"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asked, her rich voice carrying far further than Moony and Padfoot's had.

"I'm expecting him at any moment," Dumbledore said, and Harry's stomach twisted oddly. "Would you like to wait here and greet him, or would you prefer to step inside and get warm?" Madame Maxime glanced at her shivering students and said something in a quieter voice to Moony in French. He responded in kind, then said something to the students, and moved toward the castle.

"I will stay," she said. "And Monsieur Barre and Mademoiselle Garcon-" Only two of the Beauxbatons students stayed behind - not looking overly pleased about it - while the others followed Moony. "-will stay with me, to 'elp tend ze 'orses."

"I'd be more than happy ter tend 'em, Olympe," Hagrid said, almost eagerly.

"Professor Hagrid is certainly capable," Dumbledore agreed. "And I daresay your helpers would prefer to get warm with their peers."

"Very well." Madame Maxime dismissed them with a wave of her hand and a few words in French, then smiled Hagrid, who beamed back at her.

A strange noise caught Harry's attention, then, a slurping, bubbling sort of sound, and he turned toward the lake, anxious again.

"Can you hear-" Ron asked a few seconds later, then caught himself, glanced at Harry and huffed a laugh. "'Course you can. You two?" Hermione and Draco both wore expressions that suggested they were listening, but not sure what for yet.

"It's the lake," Harry said, just as Lee Jordan let out a shout and the lake began to stir. Bubbles rose out of it, as if it had been brought to boil, and waves lapped at the pebbled shore before the lake's entire middle seemed to drop out, and a tall, thin pole covered in ropes began to rise. "A ship," Harry said.

Like the Beauxbatons carriage, the ship that emerged was large, but seemed eerie instead of grand… or perhaps that was just because Harry knew who was on board.

Anticipation rose in him, strong and… eager?

Yes, eager, so eager, and the night wasn't dark any longer, it was lit with warm orange flames, their reflections dancing on the polished wood of the floor, and on Nagini's smooth scales.

"They are arriving," Harry said, running his fingers over Nagini. Her tongue flicked out to taste the air. "The Tournament begins tonight."

"We will have him sssoon then, Massster?" Nagini said, butting her scaly head against Harry's chin, like a cat.

"Soon," Harry agreed. "Crouch will release one of the competitor's dragons during the first task, and we will snatch the boy from the crowd during the confusion. It will be over before anyone realises it."

"When isss thisss tasssk?"

"Late November," Harry replied, with satisfaction. "Less than a month away."

Nagini wrapped herself around his shoulders, giving him an excited sort of squeeze, and then she was under his arm too, almost as if she was holding him up, which was strange because he had his chair… only he could no longer feel his chair beneath him, and Nagini was gripping him harder, and hissing his name…

"Harry!"

It was dark again, and Harry was draped over Ron, only upright because Ron was holding him there. He started to speak - either to apologise or ask what had happened - but there was a hand clamped over his mouth. Hermione's hand. She was standing in front of him, pale and wide-eyed. Draco was nearby too, but with his back to them.

"He's coming back," Ron said, close to Harry's ear, but not, Harry didn't think to him. "Can you stand, mate?"

"Harry?" Hermione whispered, and when Harry looked at her, she slowly lowered her hand. "Sorry. You were…" She and Ron exchanged glances.

"I was what?" Harry disentangled himself from Ron with an apologetic grimace. Ron just patted him on the shoulder.

"Hissing," Draco said, turning back around.

"I was-" Harry rubbed his tingling scar, and straightened. "Padfoot. I need Padfoot."

"Yes, he's on his way," Draco said, and Harry saw that Padfoot was indeed coming toward them, parting students as surreptitiously as he could. It was not a difficult task; most people were watching the Durmstrang students cross the grass in the wake of a thin man with a goatee, or the ship, now moored at the edge of the lake. Some, though, were watching Harry, or Padfoot, or both. Whispers were racing around them - something about crumbs - which made no sense, so Harry forced himself to ignore them.

"Merlin," Padfoot said, when he reached them. His voice was low so it wouldn't carry, and his scent was a mixture of worry, fear, and unease. "What happened to you? Are you-"

"I'm fine. I saw- He said they're going to... to free a dragon-" The words tasted strange in Harry's mouth, wrong, somehow, even as he said them. "-during the first task, and try to… to grab me from the crowd in all the confusion."

"Dragon?" Ron asked, eyebrows shooting up.

"The Tournament's known for its use of dangerous creatures," Hermione said anxiously. "In 1792, they used a cockatrice, and it got free and injured three of the judges-"

"Really, Hermione?" Harry asked, smiling despite himself. Ron snorted fondly.

"First task… as in during the Tournament?" Padfoot asked, eyes fixed on the goateed man with Durmstrang.

"Late November," Harry said, nodding.

"Did they mention Karkaroff?" Draco's eyes were also on the goateed man- on Karkaroff, Harry realised.

"No," Harry said. "Or- not by name. I- he said 'we' though, so-"

"I'll talk to Dumbledore," Padfoot said. "At dinner- before dinner, if I can manage it." He grasped Harry's shoulder. "And Robards and Scrimgeour." He released Harry and made to move back to the teachers, but Harry caught his arm.

"Something's wrong," Harry said, meeting his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"I- I don't know," Harry said.

"Okay," Padfoot said, looking baffled. "Okay, well, when you work it out, let me know, all right? Mirror?"

"Ye-" Harry patted his pocket and paused. "No." He hadn't been carrying it with him as much, lately; with Padfoot at Hogwarts, it was just as quick to see him in person.

"Come and find me, then, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry said. Padfoot squeezed his arm and slipped away, just as Karkaroff called out to Dumbledore:

"Dumbledore!" His voice was oily and made Harry's skin crawl. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

He and Dumbledore shook hands - Karkaroff using both of his to enfold Dumbledore's - and then Karkaroff pressed a kiss to Madame Maxime's hand. Padfoot settled back into his place between Snape and McGonagall, and Harry saw them murmur to each other. Both Snape and McGonagall looked in his direction, and then away again.

Karkaroff bared yellow teeth as he smiled up at Hogwarts.

"Dear old Hogwarts," he said. "How good it is to be here, how good… Viktor, come along into the warmth, won't you?" He reached for the shoulder of a boy with a familiar surly face, and Ron squawked in surprise just as Harry finally made sense of all the whispers.

"Krum!" Ron said, shaking Harry's arm, as if to make sure he'd seen him. "Harry, look!"

"Who?" Harry asked, with a smirk. Ron grumbled and shoved him, mouth twitching.

"The Quidditch player?" Draco asked, looking curious.

"He's the one who broke his nose at the World Cup, isn't he…?" Hermione asked, seeming equally curious.

"Yes! He's only the best-" Ron began, but McGonagall was amongst them again, with instructions to head back inside for dinner:

"... in an orderly fashion, Mr McLaggen! Potter?" Harry glanced at her. "Are you well?"

"Fine," he said. "Ask Padfoot for details at dinner, if you want them."

"I don't want details," she said crisply, and Harry didn't think that was true, "I want to know if you need anything. Poppy-"

"I'm fine," Harry said, forcing a smile, and though she didn't seem to believe him, her attention was drawn away from him and he took the chance to slip into the crowd and rejoin his very slowly moving friends, eyes seeking the back of Karkaroff's head-

"Potter! Hey, Potter!" Hydrus pushed his way to Harry's side, Crabbe and Goyle in tow, expression gleeful. Ron stood immediately taller, Hermione folded her arms across her chest, and Draco moved to stand at Harry's shoulder. "Did you see Krum- wait, I know you did." He pressed a hand to his forehead and pretended to swoon, then pressed his hands to his chest and batted his eyelashes. Either the Hogwarts rumour mill had outdone itself with the speed at which it spread news, or Hydrus had happened to look over at Harry at the worst possible moment.

"Are you done?" Harry asked, trying to leave him behind in the crowd. "Because I'm not really in the mood." Voldemort's plan was a much more pressing concern, and Hydrus' attempts to pick a fight were almost laughably unimportant in comparison. Hydrus looked irritated.

"I don't think you're Krum's type," he said, "but it might be funny to watch you try… if you can get close enough." He pretended to swoon again, and Crabbe and Goyle both rumbled with laughter.

"Actually," Hermione said, in the tone she'd used shortly before punching Hydrus that time (and making Harry hope for a repeat), "it wasn't to do with Krum at all. He was remembering how stupid you looked pretending to be a ferret in Defence last week, and laughed so hard he nearly fell over." With that, Hermione wrapped a hand around Harry's arm and tugged him past a pink-faced Hydrus and into the Entrance Hall.


Hogwarts was cold, and old, and, while it wasn't ugly, exactly, it was certainly not as nice as Beauxbatons.

Fleur liked the enchanted ceiling, but the floating candles were messy, and the golden plates and matching goblets seemed over the top compared to the nice crystal ones at Beauxbatons.

With the way Monsieur Lupin had waxed rhapsodic about Hogwarts and its grounds every time she ever asked him what it was like, Fleur had been expecting… well, more.

But, a warming charm dealt with the worst of the cold, and looks were not everything - she knew that better than anyone - and so she would give the castle a chance before making up her mind about it. This was the place, after all, that had accepted Monsieur Lupin despite what he was, and that he looked back on fondly, so perhaps it would be a good place for her too.

"I imagine they'll want to encourage interaction between the schools," Monsieur Lupin said, looking around the empty hall, "so feel free to sit at any of the tables- except for that one." He gestured to the long table at the end of the hall. "That one's for staff."

Fleur eyed her table options and the long banners above them - the green snake, the yellow badger, the blue eagle, and the red lion. The blue and green seemed the nicest, and both the yellow and red were gaudy to Fleur, but she knew the red; she'd seen it in a photograph, on the robes of a much younger Monsieur Lupin.

She was the first to move away from the Beauxbatons group, heading for the red table. She took a seat about halfway between one end and the middle, where she would hopefully not be disturbing the table's usual occupants too much, but not at the very end, where she'd be alienating herself.

Renee, Elodie, and Adele came to join her, and Fleur was surprised but pleased; none of them had been close back at Beauxbatons - or even interacted much at all, honestly - but they had become tentative allies on the journey here, the ones that didn't quite fit with the rest of the group. The leftovers.

The rest of the Beauxbatons girls and all five boys settled themselves at the blue table.

"This could be a long year," Renee said, unwrapping her scarf.

"Didier said this isn't even the worst it gets." Elodie rubbed her fingers together, then blew on them. "I wish Hogwarts and Durmstrang would hurry up so we can have dinner." Adele - also blowing on her hands - nodded her agreement.

A tall, goateed man led what was unmistakably the Durmstrang contingent into the hall - there were almost twice as many of them as there were Beauxbatons students - and behind them came a steady trickle of chattering Hogwarts students.

The whole of Durmstrang seated themselves at the green table at their headmaster's direction, peeling off their heavy furs as they did so. The Hogwarts students sat under whichever banner matched the badge on their robes.

"Bonjour," a grinning red-headed boy said, in such terribly accented French that Renee and Adele giggled. He seemed to have eyes only for Fleur, and she looked down, imagining herself pulling any influence her veela side might be causing back under her skin, then imagining her skin thickening to trap it there.

"For Merlin's sake, Fred." A tall girl with dark skin and braided hair appeared at his shoulder. "Sorry about him. Do you mind if we sit?"

The other three exchanged looks, then shook their heads. The girl with braids smiled and lowered herself onto the bench beside Fleur. The boy - Fred - sat next to her, and several others slid into place on the opposite side; a boy who was identical to Fred down to the mischievous grin, a boy with dreadlocks, and two other girls - one dark haired and younger than the rest of them, and the other about the same age as the girl with braids.

"I'm Angelina," the girl with braids said, offering her hand to Fleur and then the other three in turn. Her grip was firm, and Fleur eyed her, wondering if she was planning to enter the Tournament. "Fred - in case you missed that before - George, Katie, Lee, and Alicia."

"Fleur Delacour," Fleur said, and to her relief, the three boys only nodded, then turned expectantly to the others.

"Renee Colbert."

"Adele Thibault."

"Elodie Garcon."

Another, red haired boy - taller than the twins, and yet clearly a younger brother - grabbed Fred's shoulders from behind, not sparing the rest of them more than a cursory look.

"Did you see him?!" he asked.

"See who, Ronnikins?" George asked.

"Krum!" the boy - Ronnikins - said eagerly.

"Who?" Fred and George said, in perfect unison, eyes twinkling. Ronnikins rolled his eyes.

"Harry already made that joke-"

"Wait- Krum?!" Adele said, leaning forward. "Bulgaria's Krum?!"

"He's with Durmstrang," Ronnikins said, apparently pleased someone was as interested as he was.

"You're a Quidditch fan?" Angelina asked, giving Adele an approving look.

"Fan and Keeper," Adele said proudly.

"Chaser," Angelina replied, and the two grinned at each other. "Katie and Alicia too."

"Beaters," Fred and George said together.

"Commentator," Lee said.

"Spectator," Fred said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Ronnikins, who scowled and left. George watched him go, then turned to Fred, whose head snapped up to meet the look. George tilted his head and Fred glanced down toward the very end of the table, where Ronnikins had sat with children his own age; there was a girl with disastrously bushy hair, a boy who was pale and blond enough to be mistaken for a distant, fully human relative of Fleur's, another red head - this one a girl - and, lastly, a boy with untidy black hair, and glasses.

Fleur startled, because she knew him, had seen his smiling face more times than she could count in the photograph on Monsieur Lupin's desk. In it, he was standing beside the handsome older man Fleur had seen at Beauxbatons once, briefly, and who Monsieur Lupin had hugged when they arrived - Auror Black, he'd introduced himself as.

The boy wasn't smiling now, though. None of them were, and they were all bent forward over the table, having - by all appearances - a very serious conversation. Perhaps Viktor Krum was a bigger deal than Fleur had realised.

"Fleur!" Renee hissed, and Fleur got hastily to her feet as Madame Maxime entered the hall alongside a severe looking witch in emerald robes. Headmaster Dumbledore followed a few steps behind with Auror Black, their heads bent close together. Madame Maxime took her seat - and so did Fleur and the other Beauxbatons students - between Headmaster Dumbledore and Monsieur Lupin. Auror Black sat beside him, and a distinctly less handsome but equally dark haired man sat on his other side. Headmaster Karkaroff was on Headmaster Dumbledore's other side, and an older woman with short, salt and pepper hair, and horn-rimmed glasses sat beside him. On her other side was a young, thin, bespectacled man, and on his other side was a blond, round-faced man with a crooked nose.

"Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, ghosts, and - most particularly - guests." Headmaster Dumbledore beamed around the hall. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust your stay with us will be both comfortable, and enjoyable."

"We'll see," Elodie muttered in French. Renee covered her mouth to hide a laugh, and the Hogwarts students nearest to them looked on curiously.

"The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. In the meantime, I invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home." He sat, still beaming, and was immediately dragged into a conversation with Headmaster Karkaroff.

Fleur and the other girls startled as the plates in front of them suddenly filled with food, but Angelina, Fred, George, and their friends just let out happy exclamations and dived forward.

At Beauxbatons, they picked off a menu at mealtimes. Here, it was clearly a free-for-all sort of arrangement, and - as Fleur watched Fred and George tug at a casserole dish from opposite directions - a messy one at that. Adele and Elodie took it in stride, the former even throwing a good natured elbow in Alicia's direction to get better access to a large bowl of soupe a l'oignon. Fleur waited until everyone had calmed down to put a few things on her plate, and was rather disappointed by the lack of seafood in their immediate vicinity.

"So Adele's a Quidditch player," Katie said, "what about the rest of you?"

"No Quidditch, but I'm on the equestrian team," Elodie said.

"So horses… like those massive ones that pulled the carriage?" Lee asked, with his mouth half-full.

"Yes, and smaller ones too," Elodie said.

"Wicked," Lee said, swallowing, and turning to Fleur and Renee. "You two?"

"I'm not good at anything involving brooms or horses," Renee said.

"She's a genius, though," Elodie said. "Top in everything."

"Oh, an academic," Lee said teasingly.

"Sounds like someone we know," Fred said, his eyes on the boy in Monsieur Lupin's photograph, Ronnikins, and their other friends. They all still looked far too serious, the boy rubbing his forehead and only picking at his dinner, the red haired girl frowning, and Ronnikins and the other two looking equal parts confused and worried. Such strange children. And, stranger still, there was a two seat gap between them and the next cluster of students, despite how crowded the table was; either they were extremely disliked and no one wanted to be near them, or the other students were giving them space… Perhaps… perhaps Monsieur Lupin's boy was like her - certainly not a veela - but but maybe not entirely human either… Perhaps Monsieur Lupin watched out for him the way he did Fleur.

"Bouillabaisse!" Adele said suddenly, pointing. Fleur moved her eyes from the group of children and onto the bowl in front of them, and wanted.

"Pardon?" Alicia said, blinking.

"Are we allowed to take food from other places?" Elodie asked Alicia, also pointing.

"Sure," George said. "You might have to fight Ron for it, though."

"That won't be necessary," Fleur said, eyeing Ronnikins as she stood. She wanted a taste of home on her first night in this foreign place, and she was also curious. She strode with purpose toward the little group, releasing her tight hold on her veela side, letting it slip out and settle on her skin. She didn't feel any different, but she saw the heads start to turn, and knew it was having an effect. Not much - she didn't want to humiliate Ronnikins as she had Levesque - but enough that Ronnikins would happily pass the bouillabaisse over when she asked for it.

She saw his face change and his eyes glaze over a bit as she approached. The blond boy turned to look up at her, expression polite but guarded, and certainly not affected - she decided she liked him - and the black-haired boy - Monsieur Lupin's boy - looked up, blinking like an owl. The girls glanced at the boys, then at Fleur, then at each other, apparently exasperated. Fleur knew the look well, but there was no anger in it; likely, they didn't yet realise she'd not only caused the reaction, but forced it.

"Can I have the bouillabaisse?" she asked. Ronnikins just stared at her. The bushy haired girl pursed her lips.

"All yours," the blond boy said, in accented but passable French, and pushed it toward her. She smiled at him, switching her focus from Ronnikins to him, testing, but he didn't seem to notice. The black haired boy stiffened, looking between Ronnikins and the blond, then at Fleur, like he knew, somehow, that she'd done it deliberately. The look in his eyes was considerably less dazed now, and far more wary. Guiltily, Fleur tucked her veela side away again, and his expression relaxed a little.

"I have seen your picture," she told him, as a sort of truce. He blinked like she'd surprised him, then sighed.

"Great," he said, without enthusiasm. The others exchanged looks. She'd done something wrong, she realised, but didn't know what.

"In Monsieur Lupin's office," she added, and he blinked again, then smiled. Fleur relaxed. "He is my favourite teacher." The smile grew. "What is your name?"

"Harry," he said.

"Harry," she repeated. "I am Fleur." She offered him her hand and he took it. She looked expectantly around at the others.

"Draco Malfoy." A French name, but an unhappy translation. He smiled slightly when her eyebrows lifted.

"Hermione," the bushy haired girl said, seemingly having warmed to Fleur when Harry did.

"Ginny." The other girl held out a small, freckled hand. Ronnikins did not introduce himself, or offer his hand; he was still staring at her.

"And Ronnikins?" Fleur asked tentatively, holding out her hand to him. Harry and Ginny burst out laughing, Draco smirked, and Hermione made a cross noise and turned to scowl at Fred and George.

"Sure," Ronnikins said, reaching out to take her hand.

"His name is Ron," Hermione said irritably, twisting a little in her seat. Ron's face twitched with pain and he suddenly sat straighter. He looked up at Fleur, then quickly away, his expression a strange mix of awe, embarrassment, and irritation; usually, she only saw one at a time, and very rarely did she see the last on boys.

She felt guilty again - she'd made him feel that way - and could all too easily imagine the disappointed look Monsieur Lupin would give her if he knew.

"Sorry," she said, surprising herself, then scooped up the bouillabaisse. "Thank you for this." And then she retreated back to her part of the table.

Once she'd served herself, she glanced up and was torn between being surprised, relieved, and offended that none of the children were watching her or even occasionally glancing in her direction - not even Harry or Ron; if their serious faces were anything to go by, they'd gone back to whatever conversation they'd been having before she interrupted them.

Offence won out; she'd gone out of her way - despite the fact that they were children - to introduce herself and meet them - especially Harry - and they'd quite clearly forgotten all about her already. Fleur was one to make lasting impressions - sometimes positive, sometimes negative, but always lasting - even if she didn't always mean to. That she hadn't was a new experience for her, and she found she didn't like it.

She'd wanted to make a good impression so she might be able to go back and talk to them another time, and understand what made Harry so special to Monsieur Lupin that he would keep a photograph of him on his desk.

Except, Harry was clearly not special; she had offered him her name and her company - however briefly - and he had not realised what a rarity that was, what a privilege it was. She glanced down at them again - none of them noticed - and scowled, returning to her dinner, because she oughtn't care what children thought of her.

Later, when Headmaster Dumbledore introduced Monsieur Bagman, and Madame Sprottle and her assistant Monsieur Pemberley, and explained the Goblet of Fire and the Age Line that would go around it, Fleur wanted again; she'd wanted to enter since the Tournament was first announced, wanted strongly enough that she had left her home and her family to come to this cold, old, ugly castle. She wanted the chance to show off what she could do, to represent her school and Madame Maxime and Monsieur Lupin, wanted to show everyone that she was more than just a pretty face, that she was formidable and capable, and - she couldn't help but glance at Harry and his friends - not someone that was ever forgotten or ignored, because she'd be a Champion.

She'd be the Champion.