"I am hungry and cold," Fleur said. "Can we go inside somewhere, please?"

"Oh," Potter said, blinking. "Yeah, of course." He didn't look cold at all, despite the snow and the cold wind; he was wearing muggle jeans, a jumper with a large H on it that was just slightly too short at the sleeves and hem - like he'd grown recently - and one of the red and gold scarves that were popular at Hogwarts. She, meanwhile, was bundled up in about ten layers, and was still shivering. "Er... there's a pub just up here, called-"

"What is that Puddifoot's?" Fleur asked, pointing at a small but crowded looking shop. There were festive but rather tacky decorations hanging from the windows and awning, but more importantly, the windows were hazy with condensation, which meant it was surely warm inside.

"Oh- er- it's a teashop," he said, looking a little cagey and a little panicked. "But I really think the pub-"

"I would prefer a teashop to a pub," Fleur said honestly.

"It's a really nice pub," Potter tried, but she just smiled and marched - or perhaps waddled would be more accurate, given the number of layers she was wearing - over. Potter followed, obviously reluctant.

Inside was- well, it was something to behold. The air was thick with the warm smell of coffee and tea and pastries, and tinsel, holly, and glittering decorations - baubles and stars and little reindeer - hung from the rafters. Large wreaths shaped like hearts adorned the walls, and there was a cherub circling, tossing small handfuls of glitter shaped like snowflakes with one hand, and clutching a sprig of mistletoe in the other.

Potter stepped inside behind Fleur and sucked in a breath, doubtless taking it all in.

"You sure you wouldn't prefer the pub?" he asked, and something about his tone got her hackles up.

"Oui," she said, and nodded pointedly at the nearest empty table. Potter let out a gusty sigh, then stood there uselessly for a few moments until he realised what she was waiting for.

"Oh- right. Sorry." He pulled out a chair for her, then threw himself down in his own. Fleur shrugged off her cloak and one of her coats, and removed her hat, earmuffs, and gloves, then sat.

"This is a good place for a date, oui?" she said, eyeing several of the tables around them; their occupants were making the most of the occasionally-passing-by mistletoe.

"Sure," Potter said, sinking a little in his chair, and tugging at his scarf like he wanted to take it off. She knew he wouldn't dare, because she knew what it was hiding.

"Sit up," Fleur said quietly, leaning across the table so he'd be able to hear her. "You look like you are not having a good time. People will talk."

"Wouldn't want that," Potter muttered, rolling his eyes. He straightened, but he still wore a rather cagey expression and his shoulders were tense.

"Have you been here before?" she asked, trying to distract him.

"Once," he said stiffly, glowering at the cherub, which was sprinkling glitter over him like snow.

"Who with?"

"Cho," he replied.

"Diggory's-?"

"Yeah."

A stout woman bustled over, smiling at Fleur just widely enough that Fleur was sure she'd recognised her - she liked that, being recognised - and then turned to Potter. Him she definitely recognised, but she didn't look excited or awed, or anything remotely positive; she looked indignant.

"You've got nerve coming back here after the scene you caused last time," she said, and Potter cringed.

"Bad date?" Fleur asked curiously but felt a little guilty for forcing him to come back here if that was the case.

"Sorry," he said, ignoring Fleur. "We can go-" He sounded a bit hopeful. "-if you'd-"

"No," the woman said, and Potter was visibly disappointed. "Stay, but no more throwing my furniture around, and you'd best order food with your drinks, and you'd best actually pay this time!" She scowled at him. "A tip wouldn't go astray either."

"Sure," Potter muttered. She slapped a menu down in front of him, then turned and offered a menu to Fleur, all smiles again.

The woman waited until they'd ordered and then reclaimed the menus and strode off to greet another newly arrived couple.

"What happened last time?" Fleur pressed. She wasn't sure if she'd get further with a bit of teasing, sympathy, or genuine curiosity, and her expression probably ended up as a mix of all three instead.

"It's not important-"

"It is if all you're going to do is be miserable and think about your ex-girlfriend-"

"My- I don't think Cho was really- she wasn't my girlfriend." Potter looked awkward and flustered and very much fourteen. Fleur considered him for a moment, then decided to let him steer the conversation away from his last time in the teashop.

"No?" she asked.

"No," he said, with conviction that faded almost immediately. "I don't think so? We came here once, and hung out a bit at Hogwarts but not much, and then she stopped talking to me because I forgot Valentine's Day and beat her at Quidditch. I don't think that counts."

Fleur suspected Cho would have a different opinion, but she didn't actually care enough to discuss it with Potter in any more detail than they already had. It didn't matter anyway; Cho had managed to trade Potter for Diggory, and through a series of unlucky and unfortunate events, Fleur had wound up taking her place. She'd take Diggory in a heartbeat. She sighed.

The serving woman returned with their tea shortly after and Fleur and Potter sipped in silence - broken only by Potter's sighing every time the cherub came to sprinkle them with glitter and wave its sprig of mistletoe over their heads - until their food arrived.

Potter had ordered a large mince pie that had hearts and stars and snowflakes stamped into the crust, and Fleur had a croissant which was nowhere near as good as what Papa made, but that was passable for Scotland.

Neither of them had made any attempt to speak again by the time they finished eating. It wasn't uncommon for any male company Fleur had to be silent around her, but usually it was because they were too busy staring at her open-mouthed, not indifferent.

"So," she said, as she chased flakes of pastry around her empty plate with her fork, "what or where is this Burrow Auror Black mentioned?"

Potter looked up, seeming surprised but not displeased by the question.

"It's my friends' house," he said. "Ron and Ginny- the redheads who were in the second task with me-" Fleur nodded.

"And Fred and George," she said.

"Yeah, their place," Potter said. "Percy - he graduated last year - still lives there too, and so do Mr and Mrs Weasley, obviously, but Bill and Charlie - they're older - live in Egypt and Romania."

"Is it underground, this Burrow?"

"No," Potter said, looking strangely thoughtful. "It's about five storeys tall, actually. I don't know where the name came from."

"And you are visiting on Christmas? You are not spending it with your own family?"

"They are family," Potter said, with a fond smile. Fleur wasn't sure she'd ever actually seen him smile like that before; the few smiles she had seen had been tired, or grim, or fake, or some combination of those. This one was just… happy, like the one he was wearing in the photograph on Monsieur Lupin's desk. "But if you're talking about Pad- er- Sirius and Moon- Remus and Dora and Stella, they'll be there too. And Marlene. The Burrow's like- a bit of a second home, or third, maybe, if Hogwarts is second." He was silent for a moment, still smiling slightly, and then he looked at her. "How about you? You're staying at Hogwarts, obviously, but-"

"No," she said. "I have a portkey home that I will be using tonight."

"To see your family?" Potter asked.

"Yes." Fleur hesitated, and then added: "My parents and my sister. We will visit Christkindelsmärik-" Potter looked blank and Fleur sighed. "-the markets. And then we will have Le Reveillon - a feast - on Christmas eve with my grandfather, and my aunt and uncle and cousins." Christmas day, though, would be just her immediate family, and she was very much looking forward to time by the fire with Gabrielle and Maman and Papa and Papa's Vin Chaud - perhaps they would play cards, or chess, or perhaps they - she and Maman and Gabrielle - would play with the fire and create shapes to amuse Papa, or perhaps they would simply sit and talk and enjoy the time together before Fleur returned to Scotland on Boxing day morning.

"Sounds nice," Potter said.

"It will be," Fleur replied.

Potter paid and the pair of them headed back out into the snow, Fleur wrapping herself securely in her many layers and adding a warming charm for good measure.

"Cold?" Potter asked, looking vaguely amused. She gave him a cold look and narrowed her eyes.

"You know," she said, "a gentleman would offer me his cloak."

"I haven't got one," Potter said, which was true.

"You have a scarf," she said, arching an eyebrow. As she'd hoped, Potter went a bright red - almost the same red as every second stripe on his scarf - and clutched it possessively. She laughed at him and he scowled, then looked at something over her shoulder. His scowl deepened.

"Harry!" Beside Fleur, Potter sighed and reached up to adjust his scarf. "Fleur!" The Skeeter woman lifted a mittened hand and waved, then muttered something to her camera man. It flashed and Fleur blinked.

"What are you doing here?" Fleur asked, frowning at the other witch as she approached.

"A little birdy told me you'd been spotted here," she said, baring white teeth in a smile. "I thought I'd come and have a chat-"

"Not really your usual style to verify rumours, is it?" Potter asked, eyebrows raised, and arms folded. He'd placed himself just in front of Fleur - whether it was on purpose or unconscious, and for show or genuine, she wasn't sure, but she let him.

Skeeter's eyes moved from Fleur to focus on Potter, nose scrunched but smile still plastered in place. She didn't say anything, but almost immediately her eyes widened behind her glasses and she lifted a hand to click her fingers, urgently. The camera flashed several times, and after a moment, Fleur realised what had Skeeter looking like Christmas was a few days early; Potter's scarf had loosened and was showing one of the marks she'd left on him in full, and half of the second one.

Though the damage was already done, Fleur reached out to tug the scarf back into place, face hot; she'd put them there to be seen, yes, but by Madame Maxime and some of the Beauxbatons students, not by the entire population of wizarding Britain. The camera flashed again.

"Young love!" Skeeter said. She'd produced a quill and notepad from somewhere and had an enormous smile on her face. "The Prophet's readers are going to adore this- and, if I can ask, how long has this been going on?!"

"That's not really any of your business," Potter said. His voice was stiff but his face was red and he'd taken over Fleur's efforts of fixing his scarf. Fleur shot him a look, not sure if that was a deliberate answer, or if he'd just said it because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Oh, but it is!" Skeeter said. "You're a public figure, and we've been watching you grow for years…You're a bit of a son to us all, so can't blame us for being invested!"

Potter opened his mouth and closed it again, a look on his face that was an odd mix between angry and sad.

"If he is a son to you then you have not treated him very well," Fleur said. She'd seen Skeeter's articles after Potter's name came out of the Goblet and while she hadn't actually cared if Potter was painted in a bad light, Skeeter hadn't been kind. Merlin only knew what she'd written in previous years.

"Speaking of," Skeeter said, apparently content to ignore that, "what does your godfather Sirius Black think about all of this? Does he approve? Or is he worried that you're dating an older witch?"

"Mostly he likes to tease me about it," Potter grumbled. Fleur, fairly sure that was no lie, did her best to smother a smile, but Potter glanced over at her, mouth twitching. Flash went the camera again, and Skeeter's urgent signalling.

"Have you met the family?" Skeeter asked Fleur.

"Oui," she said.

"And how did that go?"

"Well Remus and Dora knew her before I did, given he's her teacher," Potter said, raising his eyebrows at Skeeter, whose smile looked a bit strained, "so that was easy. Sirius was-"

"He was a little worried, I think," Fleur said. Potter shot her a look. "I think he thought that we had not thought this through. Harry and I- it was never going to be easy. But once he knew that we were serious, he was very supportive."

"Not easy seems like an understatement," Skeeter said. "What does it mean for the Tournament? You're opposing Champions, after all."

"It hasn't changed anything so far," Potter said, immediately scowling and defensive. Skeeter's face lit up. "And it's not going to change anything moving forward, either."

"I'm still going to beat him," Fleur couldn't help but add.

"You've got some points to make up, then," Skeeter said, and Fleur frowned. "You're not worried, Harry, that she might be using you, distracting you, in the hopes of furthering herself in the Tournament?"

Fleur could see it now, that that would be Skeeter's next angle, and didn't like it at all, the idea that she was the sort of person who'd exploit someone's feelings to win. A little bit of veela allure to dazzle someone or make them reluctant to attack her in the moment, certainly, and she'd happily take advantage of it if any of the male Champions hesitated to attack her because she was a witch, or pretty, but setting up a relationship to manipulate someone into caring about her so she could use them - essentially - as a foothold...

"I would never," she snapped. "I am perfectly capable of winning on my own without resorting to that!"

"I asked Harry, dear," Skeeter said.

"You want to talk about people that are trying to use me to further themselves, then you should be asking about Voldemort and his Death Eaters," Potter said. "Not about my friends and family."

"You're still standing by your story that you were entered in the Tournament against your will, by You-Know-Who, for some unknown, nefarious purpose?" Skeeter asked; she'd twitched at Voldemort's name, but she'd recovered well and now just looked incredulous and a bit exasperated.

"Yeah," Potter said. "And who knows - maybe this time you'll listen."

"What do you think?" Skeeter asked, looking at Fleur.

"I think we are done here," Fleur said, lifting her chin. Potter looked at her, visibly relieved. "Happy Christmas, Madame Skeeter." She swept her hair over her shoulder and spun. Potter didn't say anything to Skeeter, but he didn't immediately follow; she imagined he glared at her a bit more first.

Then, his trainers crunched in the snow as he jogged to catch up with her.

"Well," he said, glancing back over his shoulder. "That could have gone worse."


Harry's arrival at the Burrow the afternoon before Christmas had been far less eventful than he'd feared; Mr Weasley and Percy had been discussing people - Harry assumed they were Ministry workers - that Harry didn't know, and both offered him smiles but no teasing or interrogation as he headed for the stairs.

Fred and George - by some genuine Christmas miracle - were visiting Lee, and Mrs Weasley was outside in the garden - Harry spotted her through a window as he headed up to Ron's room.

But he never made it; all four of his friends were spread around in Bill and Charlie's room. Hermione was sitting in the doorway flicking through a large, leather-bound book, and Draco was propped against one of the legs of Charlie's bed examining his finger and complaining about garden gnomes. Ginny and Ron were sprawled on Bill and Charlie's beds, respectively.

"...could be worse," Ginny said, then looked up and spotted Harry. She grinned. "Yours is just a little bite… and just the one. Imagine how poor Harry feels." Harry adjusted his scarf with as much dignity as he could muster, but since Skeeter had included a photograph in that morning's article, there wasn't much point.

"Pretty pleased with himself, I'd imagine," Draco said, glancing at Harry. "I'm impressed, Potter. You got Skeeter to write a… well, a not terrible article."

"We got lucky," Harry said, as Hermione shuffled over to make room for him. "Lots of the things she quoted us on weren't things we said to her, they were things we said when we were walking back to the school, alone." How he and Fleur hadn't managed to say anything to give themselves away when it had just been the two of them, Harry had no idea; it probably helped that they'd been mostly silent, but even so... Hermione and Draco gave him sharp looks. Ginny and Ron both raised their eyebrows.

"Do you think Delacour went back, gave another interview?"

"No," Harry said, frowning; Fleur had been as frustrated and angry with Skeeter as he had been; he'd been able to smell it on her. "I thought- well, my first thought was she might be an animagus, honestly - you know, really good hearing. But I didn't see or hear or even smell her anywhere, so then I thought maybe we'd been bugged-"

"You think she's a bug animagus?" Ron asked.

"No, he means a muggle bug…" Hermione said. "Like a… a little electronic thing that records what you're saying. But it can't have been that." She turned to look at Harry. "Magic interferes with electricity-"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said. "But I thought... we weren't really anywhere magical, just walking on the road back to the school." He sighed. "Doesn't really matter, I s'pose."

"It means we'll need to be careful, though," Draco said. "If Skeeter's got a way of listening in on conversations, that's not good."

"No," Ron said, frowning at Draco, and then sighed. "We'll add that to the list too."

"Yay," Ginny said, without enthusiasm.

"So what else have you been up to, other than degnoming?" Harry asked.

"Degnoming was yesterday," Ron said, smirking. "Not that you'd know it with the way Malfoy's carrying on."

"If my finger falls off, I'm blaming you," Draco said, scowling.

"Luna thinks gnome saliva's lucky," Ginny said. "She thinks it can give you special powers-"

"Of course she does," Hermione sighed.

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"Unless it's breathing underwater," Draco said, "then it's not going to be of any use."

"Oh!" Hermione said. "My trip to the library, Harry. It was to read about-" She glanced over her shoulder, smiled slightly, and then shuffled further into the room, pulling Harry with her. She nudged the door shut before she said, "-muggle scuba gear." Suddenly the shut door made sense; Mr Weasley would have been upstairs in seconds if he'd heard, and while Harry doubted Hermione would have any issues explaining it to him, they'd have probably been there the rest of the afternoon.

"Scuba?" Draco and Ginny asked in unison.

"Self contained underwater breathing apparatus," Hermione recited. Everyone but Harry looked blank and she sighed. "They put air in a tank and take it with them underwater, to breathe from."

"A tank?" Draco asked.

"Yes, it's metal to withstand the pressure, and-"

"Metal tanks?" Draco repeated. Harry thought they might end up there all afternoon anyway. "Don't they sink?"

"No, actually, that's what the weights are for-"

"Muggles weigh themselves down to go swimming?" Ron asked, then shook his head. "That's mad!"

"And this is why I waited for Harry to get here before I mentioned it," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not even sure it's an option," she said, speaking only to him now, while the others baffled at muggles' idea of recreation. "I think you need to be trained to use it properly-"

"I'll say," Draco muttered, and Hermione gave him a withering look.

"-and I think the lake's probably too deep to do it safely."

"Can you imagine the look on everyone's faces if I showed up to the third task in muggle diving kit?" Harry asked.

"It'd almost be worth it just for that," Hermione said, giggling, then looked thoughtful. "Although a wetsuit and mask might not be a terrible idea. And fins could be really useful." She had a point there. He nodded.

"We wrote to Bill," Ron said, gesturing between him and Ginny.

"He sees all sorts of nasty traps in the tombs he works in…" Ginny said. "He recommended the bubblehead charm - good for water, and good for contaminated air, too. There's a chapter about it in that book there." She nodded at the large tome beside Hermione.

"Padfoot mentioned the same spell," Harry said.

"I've written to Severus," Draco said, "asking for a book on harvesting deep water plants for potions ingredients. If they can get down there to harvest them, then surely we can get you breathing underwater for an hour."

Harry became aware of footsteps on the landing moments before there was a single, sharp knock on the door.

"What?" Ron called.

The door opened and - unexpectedly - Luna peered in.

"Hello," she said. "Is Ginny- oh!"

"Hi, Luna," Harry said.

"Does what mean I can come in?" Ron just stared at her.

"Of course it does," Ginny said, waving her inside. "Don't mind Ron."

"I won't interrupt for long," Luna said, moving slowly into the room. "Daddy and I are leaving on an expedition to find a Yule Cat. I just wanted to drop off your present, Ginny. Happy Christmas."

"Thanks, Luna," Ginny said, accepting a small, garishly wrapped present and hopping to her feet. "I've got yours downstairs - I was going to send it with Errol, but since you're here I might as well just give it to you."

"It's not clothes, is it?" Luna asked warily.

"Erm, no," Ginny said. 'Why-"

"Because Yule Cats don't try to eat people who've received new clothes before Christmas Eve," Luna said seriously. "So receiving clothes would very much ruin our plans to try to lure one out."

Ron looked vaguely alarmed, but Ginny only smiled.

"Good thing it's not clothes, then," she said.

"Yes," Luna said. "Happy Christmas, everyone."

"Happy Christmas, Luna," Hermione said, finally recovering.

"Yeah," Ron said, and Draco gave a small wave.

"Wait, Luna," Harry said. "Gnome spit doesn't let you breathe underwater, does it?" Luna laughed.

"Breathe underwater?" she asked. Her voice was polite, but it was clear she thought the question was ludicrous. "No, Gernumblie saliva's mostly associated with linguistic or vocal talents, not respiratory ones."

"Ah," Harry said, while Ron laughed at him and Draco kept a very, very straight face.

"If you want to breathe underwater, you'd be much better off using Gillyweed," Luna said. Hermione sighed. "But, I have a question for you, Harry, about the properties of veela saliva, and whether you've noticed anything since your exposure to it-"

Ron fell off the bed laughing and Hermione smacked half-heartedly at his foot but was too busy trying to stifle her own giggles.

"N-no," Harry sputtered, face flaming. He had the strangest feeling that Luna was teasing him, in her own unique way, but couldn't be sure. He cleared his throat. "Can't say I have, Luna."

"Hmm," she said, with a tiny, amused smile that had Harry giving her a disbelieving look. Then she frowned more seriously. "All jokes aside, Dad's long speculated it might be good for your skin, and stimulate hair growth, but I suppose that might not-"

"Luna," Ginny said, "what's gillyweed?"

"It's a Mediterranian water plant that gives you gills," Luna said, and Ron straightened, catching Harry's eye. "Not very imaginatively named, I'm afraid, but very effective. Daddy was using some when he discovered dabberblimps."

"Dabberblimps?" Hermione repeated.

"Yes." Luna didn't elaborate, just drifted toward Ginny and the door. "Happy Christmas," she said, and then the two of them were gone.

"Good luck with the Yule Cats," Harry called after her. "Anyone heard of gillyweed?"

"No," Hermione said. "And I haven't heard of dabberblimps either… Honestly, I suspect Mr Lovegood might have eaten a strange plant and been hallucinating."

"Yeah," Ron said. "Not to what Hermione said- yeah to having heard of it… somewhere…" He stood and left the room, headed up to his own. Harry exchanged a glance with the other two, then got up to follow him.

"I've seen it," Draco said slowly, as they walked, "on Severus' potions shelves. I don't know if it does what Lovegood says, but there is such a thing as gillyweed. It might even be what goes in Gillywater, which was one of Mother's mothers' favourite drinks."

Upstairs, Ron pulled a large box off his bookshelf, then set it on the desk and went rifling through it.

"Hmm," Hermione said.

"Aha!" Ron said, and a chocolate frog card came whizzing toward them. Harry snatched it out of the air, glanced at the round-faced, bespectacled herbologist on the front of it and then flipped it over.

"Beaumont Marjoribanks… pioneer of herbology… raised lots of rare and magical flowers including underwater varieties… discovered gillyweed."

Hermione reached out, skeptical, and Harry passed her the card.

"And," Ron said, pulling out another card with a flourish, "Elladora Ketteridge. Discovered the magical properties of gillyweed by accident. Nearly suffocated after eating it, but then she stuck her head in a bucket of water and was all right." Draco snorted. "Told you I'd heard of it."

"I just think it's amazing you can remember something written on the back of a chocolate frog card, but you can't remember when your homework's due, or where you left your favourite quill," Hermione said, eyebrows raised.

"These have been deeply ingrained from childhood," Ron said. "Knowing what they are is just part of who I am. And I don't have a favourite quill."

"And your homework?"

"Why waste memory space on that when I've got you to remind me?" he said, and grinned. Hermione rolled her eyes, mouth twitching.

"So gillyweed's an option," Harry said. "It seems like it does what Luna says, which is brilliant, and we know there's some in Snape's stores."

"We'll need to work out how long its effects last," Hermione said. "Maybe even do a test run with it in the Room, in case it differs from person to person."

"You could carry some," Draco said to Ron. "That way, you know you'll be able to breathe down there while you're waiting for Potter."

"But we don't know when he'll be taken," Hermione said. "What if he-" She turned to Ron. "-you don't have it with you when the time comes?"

"We know the task's going to be on the twenty-fourth of February," Ron said. "I can't imagine they'll come for me more than a day or two before. But maybe I should just start carrying it with me all the time. Make sure I'm never without it."