Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.

Chapter Thirty-One | XXXXX

I'm in a desperate rush to get to my Potions class, when I hear this absolutely hideous noise. Quite honestly the most hideous noise I've ever heard in my entire life, and I had to listen to a dozen or so Death Eaters die screaming just a few months ago.

"Potter! You think you could muscle in on the Tournament, did you? Didn't have enough fame as it is?"

I groan loudly as I turn around, face to face with Draco Malfoy.

"Did you not see the magical vow I took Malfoy?" I ask begrudgingly, knowing better than to even respond.

He snorts loudly, crossing his emaciated arms across his chest and looking at me with no small amount of disdain, his two lackies flanking him. He pulls his hand up to his chest, pointedly flashing the familiar 'Potter Stinks' badge in my face.

I can't help but snort. It would be a bit more intimidating if I was fourteen, and if I hadn't ever dealt with literally anything more stressful than basic bullying in my entire life. But I'm not fourteen, and I've dueled Amelia Bones herself, amongst many others, so I'm not intimidated in the slightest.

"Magical vow? That was just you blinking the end of your wand, that wasn't a magical vow," he sneers, inclining his head to Crabbe and Goyle as he walks forward, wand in hand. "I think you need someone to put you in your place, halfblood."

I flick my wand out of its holster as soon as he says that, suddenly recalling this exact confrontation, and how it ended with Hermione's teeth practically sprouting out of her face, growing at an incredible rate. I seem to remember this class being paired with the Gryffindors and not the Ravenclaws though… huh, I guess small things change as well.

I find myself grimacing mentally as I remember how Severus laughed Draco's attack off, finding it hard to equate the Severus I know now to the bully I once knew him as.

I'm glad to see the man has made great strides in not being an absolute arse all the time.

"Well? What have you got to say Potter?"

I look up, having already forgotten that Malfoy was in front of me. "Nothing really," I intone, eyeing him casually, a relaxed air about me. "I didn't put my name in the goblet. I'll say it as many times as you want me to, but I do not have any interest in competing in the tournament. Cedric is the real Hogwarts champion," I add, turning to the crowd that's gathered around us. "If you want to support Hogwarts, rally behind him. He's much more deserving of the honor than I am." I stop, turning back to Draco. "I know a magical oath isn't infallible by any means, hell, if I obliviated myself it wouldn't be worth shit considering my wording. There's nothing I know that I can do or say to convince you that I didn't enter myself, so, really, I don't even know why I'm arguing with you over this."

Draco glances around, completely unsure of how to handle someone appealing to the mob rather than simply replying with their own vitriol. "Yeah? You can talk all you want Potter, but that doesn't change the fact that you're a filthy little upstart. If only your parents could see you now. They're probably glad that they're dead and don't have to put up with your pigheaded attention whoring."

I can feel a vein in my neck throbbing dangerously at his horrific statement, how he looks so proud to have brought up my long-dead parents. I grit my teeth, doing my best to ignore his awful diatribe. "Really clever Malfoy. Bring up the dead parents, like I've never heard that before." I laugh sardonically, Malfoy paling somewhat at my response. "What? Do you think I was going to fling spells at you? Grow the fuck up and start acting your age, you're a goddamn disappointment to everything that it means to be Slytherin."

Malfoy snarls wordlessly, waving his wand and suddenly shouting, "Everte statum!" the only sign of the weak banishing hex flying toward me an apparition of a shockwave in the air.

God, today is just like nostalgia alley. Didn't he use this against me when we dueled in second-year?

I throw up a shield, smirking at Malfoy's stunned look as the spell dissipates uselessly against it. "Go on, throw a couple more my way. Get it out of your system," I jibe, grinning.

He begins to attack me, a somewhat impressive onslaught of spells for a student of his age, different hexes and curses bursting vibrantly against my shield, specks of light spraying off of the ethereal barrier like sparks off a fire. I raise an eyebrow as the spells get progressively more and more dangerous, ones that could easily remove a limb or burn someone to the point that even Madam Pomfrey would be hard pressed to fix them up even with magic.

My grin splits even wider as Severus marches into the hall, bristling with fury.

"What is the meaning of this!?" he shouts, grabbing Draco by the scruff of the neck and yanking him off his feet, the miniature blond ponce squeaking in a pitch that even I would be hard-pressed to reach. "Fighting in the halls? With spells that you know could do incredible damage? What in Merlin's name are you thinking Draco?" Severus flicks his gaze towards me, quickly barking out, "Everybody into the classroom! I'll be with you in a moment!"

I nod, letting go of my shield and entering the room, taking my usual seat as I listen to the muted dulcet tones of Severus absolutely annihilating Malfoy just outside of the classroom. I can't really make out what he's saying, but I know from the tone that he's none too pleased.

Well, that certainly went better than last time.

Severus walks into the room with a very dressed down looking Draco in tow, sending one final heated glare Malfoy's way as he takes his seat and kicks off the class.

I get to work quickly, chopping and adding the necessary ingredients to the relatively simple girding potion. Unfortunately, about halfway through it Colin Creevey barges into the room.

"What is it now?" Severus barks, glaring balefully at the terrified Gryffindor.

"Er- uh… ah- I c- came to retrieve H- Helene Potter s- sir!" Colin squeaks, looking absolutely mortified as he stands in the midst of a class full of older students he doesn't know.

"For what, exactly?"

Colin lets muffled yelp, pulling on the neck of his shirt awkwardly as he glances at me, almost sweating buckets. "The, er- weighing of the ah- wands, Professor."

Severus turns towards me, nodding once. "Take your things and go, Potter. I expect you to write an in-depth essay on the brewing process of the girding potion since you're unable to complete it today."

I incline my head in reply, quickly packing up my things and vanishing my half-finished potion, pulling my bag over my shoulder as I follow Colin out of the classroom.

"So, uh… excited?" he asks nervously, an awkward grin plastered over his face.

I shrug nonchalantly. "Sort of? I really didn't want to be in this in the first place, but I'll do my damndest to win, yeah?"

Colin nods, unsure of what to do in my presence. Not that it's much of a presence considering I'm dressed in school robes right now, and not that incredibly daring little outfit that Severus had commissioned for me.

Now that would leave an impression.

We make it to the room that the weighing is being hosted in after climbing a few flights of stairs, Colin waving at me as he scampers off to go back to whatever class he was in before he got pulled away to come and fetch me.

I walk into the room, immediately making my way over to Fleur and smiling kindly at her. I nod at Cedric respectfully as I pass by him, Viktor making momentary eye contact with me, yet averting his gaze rather quickly, turning back to a quiet discussion with Karkaroff.

I do my best to avoid the excited gaze of Ludo Bagman, feeling myself wincing as he looks at me, a pit of anger and disgust simmering deep in my gut.

I shake my head, sidling up next to Fleur. "Ready to face the press?" I ask, gesturing with my head towards Rita Skeeter and her photographer, the two of them standing in the corner and fiddling with their things, Rita eyeing me with a predatory look on her face.

I hope the woman knows better than to mess with the daughter of her employer.

Fleur can't help but sneer, flicking her eyes over the pair with thinly veiled distaste. "Not quite. I've heard a bit about this woman, Rita Skeeter… I haven't been impressed by any it." She pauses, tapping her cheek thoughtfully. "Well, except for her biography on your Headmaster, that was quite well researched, even for a glorified smear piece."

"It really was," I reply, my own gaze passing over Dumbledore. "I can't believe he's still here and running the school after everything that's come out about him."

Fleur raises her nose haughtily, although there's a sense of playfulness to it. "Men in their ivory towers never know when to step down."

"That sounded almost philosophical," I smirk, Fleur returning the gesture.

"I am a learned woman, what can I say? I am quite impressive," she adds, putting her hands on her hips and raising her nose even higher. Suddenly, she leans in next to me, whispering in my ear. "Do you find me impressive, Mademoiselle Potter?"

I feel my breath hitch, and she snorts loudly, the joking and seductive hybrid of a persona crumbling as quickly as it was put up. "Merde, I can't believe I said that out loud!"

I blink from the sudden heat that I can feel rushing through me, doing my best to put on my own playful act. "I thought you were just being French- ow!" I gasp, rubbing my shoulder where Fleur has struck me.

She raises her eyebrows, smiling coyly at me as she looks at my shoulder. "Hmm? What were you saying, Mademoiselle Potter?"

I send a glare her way, kneading my shoulder one last time before I direct my attention to the now gathering Headmasters and Headmistress, Ollivander taking up the rear as Dumbledore claps his hands excitedly, announcing the beginning of the weighing of the wands.

"Hello! Thank you all for coming!" Dumbledore begins, smiling kindly as he passes his eyes over the small group, his gaze darkening momentarily as it coincides with mine. "We're all here this afternoon to take part in the traditional weighing of the wands, the ceremony that will be administered by Britain's own premier wandmaker, Garrick Ollivander." He pauses to wave in the elderly (and still quite creepy) man, who bows slightly and steps backwards.

"We have Rita Skeeter here today with the Daily Prophet," Dumbledore continues, inclining his head towards Rita, not even a flicker of hatred in his gesture towards the woman who so effectively cut his legs out from under him. "Now, I will hand things off to the esteemed Mister Ollivander. If you would, Garrick."

Ollivander thanks Dumbledore, stepping into the middle of the small circle and clearing his throat. "Hello, and thank you all for having me here. The weighing of the wands is a rather simple affair, but important in its tradition. I do hope all of you have been taking good care of your wands, as you will need them in tip-top shape for the upcoming tournament," he says amicably, his smiling eyes passing over me and the other champions. "Now, if I may begin with the lovely Miss Delacour?"

Fleur inclines her head respectfully, stepping forward to the wandmaker with her chin held high. She flips her wand over, handing it to Ollivander handle first. He smirks at the gesture, turning the wand over in his hands and staring at it with a critical eye, one used to discerning detail.

"Ahh… nine and a half inches… what looks to be Rosewood, yes? Yes, a lovely wand wood, unfortunately one that I don't get to use often enough. Inflexible, and containing… why dear me-"

"A hair from the head of a Veela," Fleur interrupts, a stern look on her face. "One from my grandmother."

"Yes, yes, I find Veela hair is too temperamental for my tastes, but to each their own…"

I can't help but glare at his statement and thinly veiled attempt to insult Fleur's ancestry, biting my lower lip as he waves the wand, a loose bouquet bursting from the tip of the wand, silently falling to the ground.

"It seems to be in perfect working order," Ollivander says, handing the wand back to Fleur with a blank look on his face.

Fucking geriatric creep.

"Mr. Diggory, if you could come over next?"

Cedric passes by Fleur, nodding respectfully at her as he walks over to Ollivander, who quickly removes the wand from the Hufflepuff's hands.

"Hmm, I believe this is one of mine, yes?" Ollivander effuses, his excitement causing me to clench my fists.

Fucking geriatric, bigoted creep.

"I remember this one like the day I made it… twelve and a quarter inches, ash, a nice bit of springiness to it," he murmurs, flexing the wand slightly between spindled fingertips. "This contains just one unicorn hair, an especially fine one if I would say so myself. You treat your wand regularly?"

Cedric smiles widely at Ollivander. "I polished it last night."

I snort loudly, Ollivander frowning at my little outburst as he continues with his biased theatrics. He jabs the wand forward, a series of smoke rings puffing absently out of the tip, lacing through one another on their journey to the other side of the room where they dissipate against the far wall.

"Excellent, excellent," he muses, passing the wand back to Cedric as he beckons for Krum to make his way over, once more repeating the routine.

He holds the noticeably larger wand in front of one eye, the other closed as he squints curiously at the creation in front of him. "Interesting… this is one of Gregorovitch's, I believe. Yes?" he asks, Krum nodding. "I do so admire his work, although he does tend to be a bit minimal…"

Passing his hands over the wand, he mutters quietly, shutting his eyes as he pushes his magic into the it. "Hornbeam? And what seems to be dragon heartstring, am I correct? Excellent! Quite thick, but very sturdy, ten and a quarter inches… just perfect for a strong wizard such as yourself."

Ollivander quietly says avis, the wand bucking as a flock of small chittering bluebirds appear out of the end, a deafening bang announcing the conjured animal's sudden introduction to reality. I shake my head as many of them flutter off and collide with the wall in the same way that the smoke rings did, yet instead of dissipating, they fall to the ground, unconscious.

"That was fucking hilarious," I whisper, just short of laughing openly at the display.

Ollivander glares at me once more, obviously having heard my comment. "Ah, yes. Miss Potter," he states through slightly gritted teeth. "If you could come over here please?"

I wipe the grin off my face, walking forward and offering him my primary wand, that of Blackthorn and Yew.

I haven't even bothered to use my old Holly and Phoenix Feather wand, what with the whole brother wand deal, along with it just not really feeling like a good match anymore. It's not that it's a bad match, but when it's compared to the one that I got from McCann or Death's wand, it just doesn't really match up.

Ollivander's eyebrows shoot into his hairline as he studies the wand, blinking rapidly as he takes in every little bit of it. "It seems that you've changed wands Miss Potter, what happened to your old one, if I may ask?"

I shrug plaintively. "I started to have some difficulties with it after second year. It still works, but it doesn't work as well as this one."

"A shame. I was quite proud of that one. Holly and Phoenix Feather correct?" he asks, and I nod in reply. "Quite a fantastic combination. A touch finnicky at times, but for the right witch or wizard it would stick with them through thick and thin." He pauses, once more spinning my wand in his hands. "But this… this is quite the work of art. A blend of two woods, something quite rare. I notice the Yew, but what is this darker wood? Blackthorn?"

"Yes, yes it is."

Ollivander squints at me out of the corner of his eye, a knowing look on his face. "A warrior's wand. Quite powerful." He closes his eyes once more, running his magic through the wand as he attempts to discern the materials inside. He gasps quietly, flicking his head back sharply. "Phoenix Feather once more, yet I notice two other cores within. Curious… very curious. One of the ingredients is like steel… a cold strength to it… horned serpent ivory?"

I sigh quietly, apparently being put on the spot by the vindictive wandmaker. "Yes, horned serpent ivory, along with the hair of a thestral."

Tutting quietly, Ollivander continues to look over the wand. "Roughly twelve and one-half inches, a bit of yield. Oh my! Is that a gemstone that I see? You're quite the interesting character Miss Potter. This is one of the most complicated wands I've ever laid eyes on. I pride myself on being in the know when it comes to my field, yet for the life of me I cannot discern who fashioned this."

"It was Tracey McCann of Sayre's Smithy," I concede, just wanting to get this done and over with. I can just feel everyone's gazes digging into the back of my head.

"In Knockturn? I've never kept up with her, but I do recall her having some fantastically interesting ideas on the craft. It seems that she's gone above and beyond, as this is quite the impressive creation." He mumbles to himself for a few seconds, pondering what spell to cast, before he lights up, holding the wand out steadily. "Demandus patronum."

A smoky black apparition erupts from my wand, a shimmering raven cawing silently as it flits around and perches upon Ollivanders shoulder, looking much more substantial than a regular patronus. In fact, it actually seems to be interacting with him, its claws contorting the fabric it grips, digging into his shoulder.

There's no sense of warmth or comfort emanating from the phantasm that one would normally expect to be associated with the patronus charm. In fact, I can't feel much of anything from it.

What an interesting spell.

"A lesser known variant on the standard patronus charm, one that can actually be felt and touched, although it's not at all effective when used against dementors and lethifolds," Ollivander explains at my questioning look, the other champions around me gazing at him curiously. "It was once used in battles many a century ago as a more difficult to combat alternative to transfiguration, although the user is limited by their patronus form." He chuckles quietly. "I don't imagine a stoat would do too much good in a battle."

I can't help but be impressed. That was an incredibly interesting piece of magic that he just used, not to mention the fact that he used my wand to cast it, one that's not at all attuned to him.

I still think he's a bigoted, creepy prick.

I take my wand back from him, returning to my spot next to Fleur, who looks at me with a hint of scrutiny. It's not the offensive type, more of an investigative look.

"Excellent, excellent!" Rita shouts excitedly, walking into the group and taking charge of the situation. "Could everyone please line up? I want to get some pictures done for the Prophet."

The rest of the champions and I cluster together, being forced through picture after picture after picture, the process so exhausting that I could probably drink a barrel full of pepper-up and still feel a bit drowsy afterwards.

Rita, obviously recognizing me, comes up to me after the photos. I look over her with a bit of disdain, but I do my best not to show it.

"Hello, hello dear. I was wanting to interview all of you lovely champions, and I thought it best to start with the youngest of them all," she hums, tapping her quick-quotes-quill against her chin as she leers at me. "So, tell me, how does it feel to be going up against witches and wizards much older and more experienced than you?"

I roll my eyes imperceptibly, huffing quietly. "I would prefer if you used a standard notation quill for this interview Miss Skeeter, we wouldn't want your payroll to be cut, would we?"

She pales considerably. "Yes, yes… you are Mister Greengrasses adoptive daughter, aren't you? Well, I'm sure there wouldn't be any harm to the story if I did use a quick-quotes-quill. Trust me, I'll go over it later do some editing."

I smile dangerously, Rita looking a bit perturbed. "Oh, no, I insist that you don't use that quill, otherwise you're going to be leaving here without an interview from me, and I imagine the rest of the other champions."

Fleur snorts quietly, stifling a laugh as she watches me dismantle Rita bit by bit, stopping her mud racking before it can even begin.

"Absolutely, if you insist," Rita acquiesces sadly, tucking her sickly green quill away and pulling out a standard notation quill, letting it hover above the page. "Now, would you be able to answer my earlier question?"

"Absolutely. I don't feel intimidated per se, but I imagine I'm going to be hard pressed to come up with the perfect spell for each unique situation I may come across in the tournament. Knowledge is everything when it comes to magic, and unfortunately my competitors have three years on me. I'm going to have to study quite a bit to keep up, but I'm confident that I'll make do."

Rita nods a few times, glancing up at me in the hopes that I'll continue with my line of thought, but she carries on when I refuse to. "I've heard rumours from your peers here at Hogwarts that you illegally entered yourself into the tournament, yet at the same time I've heard that you made a public magical oath that you did not. While magical oaths are a very dangerous form of magic, they're very dependant on their wording, as well as able to be faked by a sufficiently powerful witch or wizard. What would you have to say about that?"

I raise one eyebrow in challenge, recognizing Rita's attempts to goad something out of me.

Clever. Scummy, but clever.

"I understand that magical oaths are a touchy subject at best, what with what you said; there is a potential for it to be faked or worked around via clever wordplay, as well as the fact that memory charms would mix everything up. The magical oath I took is not a failsafe way to prove my innocence by any means, and no magical oath should be. While my peers may have a legitimate qualm with my being entered into the tournament, I would like to state once more that I did not enter the tournament by my own will." I stop to think, mulling over my thoughts before I continue, scratching the side of my head. "I would also like to say that I'm flattered that you believe me strong enough to fake a magical oath. That's quite kind of you, even if it was in a backhanded manner."

Rita can't help but smirk, obviously respecting me for my quick thinking and ability to skirt around her questions without come across as arrogant, a cheater, or both.

"Well, I can't just focus on you, so I'll be off to interview the other champions." She extends her hand, shaking mine daintily, and I have to do my best not to pull back immediately, her palm greasy with cheap lotion.

Ew.

"Enjoy the rest of your day Miss Skeeter, I hope your article does well," I reply as I go to leave the room, rubbing my hand on my leg with a grimance. I smile at Fleur as I head out, my silver haired friend returning the gesture as she prepares herself to deal with the wizarding worlds most reprehensible and tenacious 'journalist.'

Fleur suddenly intercepts me on my way out, leaning in close, her long hair tickling my cheek as she looms over me, and I realize how much taller than me she really is. "Would you be able to wait for me to finish this interview? I've been wanting to explore the local village, Hogsmeade is it? I was wondering if you would give me a tour."

I halt, my mind racing. Is she… is she asking me as a friend? God, get a hold of yourself Helene! Just because she wants to spend time with you, doesn't mean she's interested in you.

I try not to remember how low and sultry her voice was earlier.

No, this is just as friends. I'm quite sure.

"I can do that," I reply, remembering that I can chose not to attend classes if I don't want to due to the Tournament. I'm sure I'll enjoy that little privilege.

I look about for somewhere to sit down and wait, before I spot a few chairs tucked off to the side where the Heads were waiting during the weighing. "I'll just grab a seat, alright?"

Fleur nods her assent, confidently sauntering over the Rita Skeeter.

Her interview only takes about ten minutes or so, and I watch as she's interrogated. I can't help but admire the way she holds herself, head always held high, not giving any ground to the incredibly irritating woman in front of her, one who would happily drag her name through the mud for a moment of fame and fortune.

God she's amazing.

Fleur finishes things up, rubbing her hands together as she returns to me with a smile on her face. "Shall we go?"

I nod, taking off my robes as I stand up and tucking them into my bag.

"That's a lovely jumper you have," Fleur comments as we slowly make our way down the stairs and towards Hogsmeade, her following me along as I lead us through the winding halls of the school.

I look down at the little cable knit piece, gray with errant flecks of black popping up here and there in the threads. "Thanks, but it's not really anything special."

"Well, that's what makes it lovely. Simple things are often the nicest, and I quite like it."

"Well… thank you," I say awkwardly, not sure how to take a compliment on my choice of clothing. Honestly, I dress quite simply. The only interesting thing in my clothing repertoire is that outfit that Severus commissioned, and maybe that biker jacket I own. Otherwise… well, I just look like every other girl my age I assume, although I do look a smidge like a very young professor, what with all the collared shirts.

What can I say, I like collars. They feel very protective.

"So, we're not going to be able to get to Hogsmeade the usual way, so we're going to have to take a secret passage."

"A secret passage?" Fleur asks, a confused look on her face. "A genuine secret passage? You're not pulling my leg?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "No. Hogwarts is… well, if you can't tell by the moving staircases and poltergeist that reaps carnage in the halls, it's a bit of a unique school."

"That's… that's quite odd."

"You have no idea," I say as I direct her towards the One-Eyed Witch, whispering 'dissendium' and watching as the hump on the back of the statue opens. "After you," I exclaim, waving at the pitch-black tunnel.

Fleur eyes it warily, turning her gaze towards me. "You're serious, yes? This is actually a secret passage and not some sort of elaborate hoax?"

"No elaborate hoax here. If you'd like, I can go first."

"I'd prefer that."

With a shrug, I jump in, sliding down a short ramp and into the tunnel, lighting the end of my wand. A short screech announces Fleur's descent, and I turn to catch her before she falls over.

Unfortunately, she does fall over, tossing me to the ground as I'm used as a landing pad. I manage to not knock my head against the floor, but I do feel my tailbone taking the brunt of the fall, groaning quietly as I move to rub my probably bruised backside.

As I move to do that, I suddenly realize that Fleur is sitting on top of me.

The blood rushes to my face as I stammer uselessly, scrambling to get up. "Are you alright?" I blurt, pulling myself up to a sitting position, Fleur resting on my lap and looking a bit embarrassed. She shuffles a bit, not making my situation any easier as I feel her thighs slide over my waist, the feeling completely alien and absolutely overwhelming.

"Oui… I'm alright. Just a bit flustered," she says, awkwardly getting back to her feet and helping me up, an odd look on her face. "My apologies."

I swallow heavily, doing my best to put a nonchalant smile on my face. "It's alright. I should have warned you about the slide." I rub the back of my head, snorting quietly. "Let's get going, it's a bit of a walk into the village."

Fleur once more follows beside me, my wand lighting our long and claustrophobic path as we wander towards Hogsmeade. There's a palpable silence between us, probably mostly blamed upon me as I can barely string two thoughts together that don't involve the feeling of her body on mine.

Christ. This is going to be an odd outing.

After what seems like hours upon hours, but is probably much less, I crack.

"So… uh, what do you like about Britain so far?"

Fleur turns towards me, tilting her head slightly, a wry smirk on her face. "Well, you've been a great part of it."

I cough loudly, covering my mouth with one hand as I look at her, askance. She laughs, the sound so close that it feels almost intimate as it bounces off the enclosed space of the tunnel, seeping into me. "I'm sorry, I have a tendency to tease friends," she apologizes, smiling kindly at me. "I like to push buttons. It's a bad habit of mine. But, being more serious, I quite enjoy the people here." She pauses thoughtfully, scratching her nose, somehow making the standard gesture look regal and composed.

Maybe that's how the Queen scratches her nose.

"I thought I'd have problems what with the… backwardness of this country, but so far I haven't had any issues. But I assume people are still trying to figure out whether or not I'm a Veela."

"Well, I know some of the Ravenclaw boys are sure of it," I comment, mentally grimacing as I remember Terry Boot loudly proclaiming his love for Fleur in the middle of the common room.

Fleur pauses and looks at me curiously. "You have no issue with me being a Veela?"

"Why would I? You're just as much of a person as I am, and a family friend of mine is a werewolf. I just don't see the big deal about it."

She smiles brightly, a sight that would have caused my heart to flutter if it was still capable of beating. "You have no idea how much that means to me. So many of the students at Beauxbatons… they just don't understand. The girls assume I'm going to seduce their boyfriends away from them, and the boys look at me like a piece of meat."

I place my hand on her shoulder, ignoring how my stomach flips. "I won't judge you for something like that. It's your heritage, it's who you are. I say that it's something to be proud of."

"I agree." Fleur stops, looking ahead. "Is that a light? I think we're almost there."

I nod, bringing Death's cloak out of my pocket. "Get under here, we won't be spotted this way. The tunnel ends in the cellar of Honeydukes, a candy shop. I'd prefer if we didn't get arrested for trespassing."

I suddenly realize the danger of the situation as Fleur quietly agrees, snuggling up next to me under the cloak.

Deep breaths Helene. Deep breaths.

We both awkwardly sidle up the ladder, opening the trapdoor and peeking out, sighing in relief when we see that the owner isn't in the back room.

"Quickly," I mutter, climbing out ahead of Fleur and laying the Cloak over myself and the trapdoor so as to keep Fleur hidden as she comes up behind me.

She pops up quickly, once more stooping over as she stands next to me, her chin resting upon my shoulder and one arm wrapped around my waist.

Fuck.

We quickly sneak out of Honeydukes, ducking out into a nearby alley and removing the cloak, tucking it back into my pocket.

"Quel soulagement!" Fleur exclaims, an anxious smile on her face. "I feel like a spy!"

I chuckle, patting her on the back. "Secret Agents Potter and Delacour, at your service."

"Quiet you. Let me remind you that you have a village to show me," she says, chiding me playfully.

"Alright, alright, let's get going," I acquiesce, putting my hands up in surrender.

Fleur grins brightly as I take her throughout the village, visiting each and every store on the way. I take my time in Scrivenshaft's, stopping to really pay attention to the store that rests on my own land, having the benefit of not being crowded by students frantically shopping for refills on quills and ink.

I get dragged back into Honeyduke's at one point, Fleur excitedly picking out different sweets. I notice that she has a love for dark chocolate, as well as pastilles, tittering quietly as she fussed over the massive array of assorted candies and arduously picking through each and every one to tuck into her bag of spoils.

After an hour or so of venturing about, we decide to head into the Three Broomsticks to get a late lunch.

"The only thing I do not like about this place is the food," Fleur comments as we take our seats, Rosmerta having explained the house special of steak and stilton pie, as well as the option of a wizarding brand of stout to accompany it, the latter offer being directed only towards Fleur.

I guess the legal age is a bit younger in the wizarding world. I never really paid attention to that.

"It does tend to be a bit heavy," I say as I look over the menu, realizing that everything on the menu probably incorporates red meat, fish, or pastry in some way shape or form. "I think the lightest thing on here is the fish and chips."

"Well, I'll order that. It's a guilty pleasure of mine," she says as she sets her own menu down, Rosmerta quickly returning to take our orders.

"What can I get for ya' dears?" the buxom owner of the establishment asks, a notepad resting in her hand and a notation quill hovering just above it.

"I'll have the fish and chips please, and could I get a glass of ice water?" Fleur requests, turning to me as finish making my decision.

"I'll have the daily special and a butterbeer, thanks," I add as Rosmerta collects the menus, quickly walking off to relay the orders to the kitchen.

"So… tell me a bit about the famous Helene Potter," Fleur suddenly asks, pushing her cutlery off to the side and propping her elbows up on the table, her chin resting in her hands. "I want to know more about my new friend."

"I, uh- huh…"

I trail off, wondering what to say. "No one has ever asked me that question before, sorry," I apologize, Fleur waving lackadaisically.

"Like I said earlier, I like to push buttons. I know that's a hard question to answer, but I like to watch people squirm," she cajoles, smirking playfully. "So? What's going on in that head of yours?"

I sit back, resting my arms on the rests of my chair. My thoughts are momentarily interrupted as Rosmerta sets our drinks down, and I quietly give her my thanks before returning to the task at hand.

"Well… I guess there's not much to say, to be quite honest. I spend most of my time studying." I almost chuckle, not explaining exactly what I'm studying, as Necromancy isn't exactly part of a standard lunch-time discussion. "Other than that… well, I enjoy flying, although I don't have the time to join up with the Quidditch team. I'm a heavy reader as well, mostly muggle fiction and the occasional mindless adventure novel. What about you?"

Fleur tilts her head quizzically, murmuring quietly to herself as she ponders what to say. "Well, you know that I'm quite close to my sister, but I absolutely adore music. I've played piano since I was young, as well as violin. In my free time, I like to read as well, primarily poetry. I'm quite partial to the American classics. Walt Whitman would have to be my favourite."

I can feel my eyebrows rise. "American poets? Not French?"

She chuckles quietly at my faux surprise. "Yes, American poets instead of French. I find a lot of French poetry to be too… verbose."

"'Scuse me dears, I've got your meals for you," Rosmerta interrupts, appearing out of nowhere and almost scaring the piss out of me as she sets our food down. The woman is quiet when she wants to be. I swear that she did that on purpose.

"Thank you," I manage to get out, my body tensed dangerously at the sudden fright.

Fleur looks relatively nonplussed as she accepts her meal, murmuring her thanks to Rosmerta as she begins to dig in, nodding in appreciation at the first bite.

"I will admit, I do not like your countries food… but this? This is a treat."

"Best fish and chips in the country," I agree, smiling at her muted excitement over the dish.

I happily dig into my own food, savouring every bite of the rich pie, the flaky crust holding its own against the onslaught of gravy and thick steak, the potatoes mixing marvellously into the incredible meal.

The place may look like any old pub, dingy four by four rafters, lanterns that haven't been dusted since it's opened, and chairs that look as if they'll crumble under a stiff wind, but the food is to die for.

Far too soon, I find myself full and my plate empty, any remnants of the meal having been scooped up onto my fork, the porcelain painstakingly cleaned of every single bit and piece of the delectable pie.

"That was… wow," I gasp, running my hands across my belly soothingly, feeling close to bloated, but far enough away that I'm not nauseous. That was a big meal.

"I have to agree. I never thought that simple fried fish and potatoes could taste so good," Fleur adds, looking slightly astonished at her own cleaned plate. "I assumed I was just going to nibble on it and maybe take it back to the carriage later."

"Whoever works in the kitchen here has a deft hand. I've cooked for most of my life, and I'd be hard pressed to make something taste that good, especially simple pub food."

"A hobby of yours?" Fleur asks.

I shake my head. "I uh… I didn't have the best of home lives." I purse my lips at her sudden sour mood, her happy expression crumbling into one of controlled anger. "It's public, since I ended up doing an interview with the Prophet a year back, but it's still something I don't really talk about often. One of the ways that my relatives abused me was by making me do all the household chores from a very young age, and I've been cooking since I was old enough to learn how the stove works."

Fleur gasps loudly, putting her hand over her mouth in horror. "They? What? Those bâtards! Fils de pute! Those evil, vile little pigs! How dare they!" she exclaims, putting her hand over her mouth once more as she realizes she's shouting, a few curious customers glancing curiously at her little tirade.

I put my own hand up, halting her righteous diatribe. "I know, trust me, I know." I pause, glancing around furtively before leaning in close. "Want to know what I did to get back at them?"

Fleur still looks pissed beyond belief, but she can't help but nod excitedly.

"Burnt their perfect little suburban home to a crisp, white picket fence and all," I whisper, Fleur slapping the table as she guffaws in amused horror.

"Really!? That's… well, I can't say I can judge you for that, considering I would have done much worse to child abusers," she admits, putting one hand up as if to say, 'what can you do?'

I blink, suddenly realizing that Fleur is the first person I've told about my impromptu entry into the world of pyromania, and she begins to laugh even harder. "Whoops," I mutter, finding myself unable to supress the snort that escapes me. "I can't believe I just told you that."

Fleur reaches across the table and squeezes my hand gently. "It is alright, mon amie. I just find the situation so ridiculous."

I shake my head, resting my cheek on my fist. "I find it odd how comfortable I am around you," I admit, turning serious for a moment, a familiar feeling welling up inside me. "I'm open with my family, yes, but with friends? I don't know."

"Sometimes we can't help it when we get close to someone, right? Sometimes you can just trust someone, and you don't know why."

I nod, suddenly being brought back to Hermione's little pep talk.

Would now be a good moment to see if Fleur is open to something more? God, I don't know.

What if I mess up our friendship? She's already becoming much closer to me than I thought possible, slowly sneaking her way into my life, and I don't know what to do about it.

"I guess that's true," I murmur, staring at the table.

"Is everything alright?" Fleur asks, interrupting my thoughts. "You look worried."

I open my mouth to speak, to instantly reply with my standard, 'yes, everything's alright,' but I pause. I flex my jaw, studying Fleur. The way her hair streams down to her shoulders, straight and perfect. How I adore her elegant demeanour, and how she can be so happy and playful when she feels comfortable. Hell, even the faults in her that I've seen are attractive. She's stubborn, terribly so, but she has the intelligence and cleverness to back it up. She's a self-admitted button-pusher, but she knows when to not take things too far, showing a strong and compassionate side.

I admire her quite a bit. That, and I sincerely doubt she's a homophobe. If anyone's going to understand that love is love, it's going to be a Veela, a being that's presumably more in tune with love than anything else on this planet.

"I'm not worried, per se. I'm just thinking about something."

Fleur leans forward, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

I smile at her silent demand, biting my lower lip. "Fleur… would you be interested in coming with me to Hogsmeade next week for a picnic?" I spill, both hesitant and rushing at the same time, the words strained and awkward, tumbling out of my mouth like they've fallen over in their race to greet her.

"I would love a picnic," she effuses, not really understanding what I've just asked her. "Would you say no to me bringing a bottle of wine? I brought a couple with me from home."

I sigh quietly. "I… Christ, I've never really done this before. I was wanting to take you on a date, Fleur."

She stops, blinking slowly, her mouth held open ever so slightly.

"Oh."

I nearly groan in frustration. "Sorry, I just wanted to ask, it's no problem if you don't want to."

"Merde, I'm so sorry Helene." Fleur, exhales slowly, a sad look on her face. "You're a wonderful girl, but… you're much too young for me. I'm sure you'll find someone closer to your age to take to Hogsmeade, yes? Whoever else catches your interest would be… what's the word? Daft, not to say yes." She licks her lips, eyes flitting around. "I… I'm so sorry. I just realized how much I've been flirting with you… I- merde, I've been so inconsiderate."

Sighing once more, I nod regrettably. If only she knew that I was actually older than her, but she's not someone I can just up and tell about all this. I trust Fleur, but I don't trust her.

"Sorry if I've made things awkward."

Fleur puts her hand up. "No, don't apologize. You have nothing to say sorry for. If you were a few years older things may be different. But… the difference in age between fourteen and seventeen? I'm sorry, but that's much too big for me."

I almost laugh at her paraphrasing of what I said to Hermione just six or so months ago. A touch ironic, I believe. "Thanks for being understanding. Now, I'm very full, and I've got some studying to do. Would you care to come back to the castle with me?"

Fleur nods her assent, standing up and following me back to Hogwarts, a slightly awkward tension between the two of us, but nothing that we both can't handle.

-::-

I fall back into a groove with Fleur and the rest of the girls, who get along swimmingly with her whenever she occasionally graces us with her presence. We've been a bit distant with each other lately, both of us knowing that things have changed. Our friendship isn't strained, necessarily, but we're not as comfortable around each other as we once were.

It kind of pisses me off.

God, if only she knew that I was older than her. Would she be interested then? Actually, why the hell am I so bothered by all this? Is it because I haven't really ever been rejected before? I remember Cho declining my invitation to the ball in my last life, and I was pretty disappointed over that, but I didn't feel this… I don't know what it is. I just know that I don't like it.

I knew I shouldn't have bothered.

I'm sitting down in the common room working on my homework, or at least trying to what with all these angsty hormonal thoughts, when Lisa interrupts me.

"Hey, Helene? Hagrid's been looking for you," she says, tapping me on the shoulder.

I look up, smiling at her and remembering why Hagrid would be coming to find me in the first place. I also realize that I haven't spoken to him at all since starting over again at Hogwarts. I think this would be a good chance for me to rekindle our friendship, even though he doesn't know that it's being rekindled.

"Yeah? Do you know where I can find him?"

She nods, pointing out the door. "He said to meet him at his hut at around eleven, didn't say why though."

I flick my wand, checking the time. Ten thirty. Lisa sure took her time telling me, I guess I should head down now, get there a bit early.

"Thanks for letting me know, I'll get going now." I incline my head appreciatively, jogging up to my dorm to grab a light jacket before heading back down and out onto the Hogwarts grounds.

After a bit of a hike, I find myself at Hagrid's hut, knocking loudly on the door.

"Gimme' a sec'! One second!" he shouts, the sound of wooden and stone dishes clattering to the floor leaking out through the door. I smile at Hagrid's unseen clumsiness, grinning even wider when he opens the door. "Helene!" he announces happily, waving me in. "So good to see ya'! Please, come in! Come in!"

He trundles back into the hut, quickly cleaning up his mess and settling into his incredibly large seat, the legs groaning loudly under his immense weight.

"So, I know yer' probably wondering why I've asked for yeh'," he beams, running his fingers through his scraggly beard. He leans forward, lifting his chin slightly and looking at me through one eye, brow raised to the sky. "Now, ya' can't be telling anyone I'm doing this, but I thought since yer' so young and all that I'd bring yeh' out to the forest and show yeh' the beasties they've brought over for the tourney."

"Thanks for the support Hagrid. Every bit of information helps, and you can make sure that my lips are sealed." I zip my lips for good measure, Hagrid's beard twitching as he grins.

"Good to 'ear," he bursts, clapping his mighty hands against the arms of his chair and shooting up, hurriedly leading me out the door. "Now, stay close, al'righ'? I don't wanna' be caught by none of the staff."

"I'll be quiet as a mouse," I say, pointedly silencing my shoes and disillusioning myself, Hagrid nodding approvingly. I've never been so thankful that his magical education is lacking, otherwise he'd have probably questioned me about somehow having mastered a difficult seventh year charm in my fourth.

We venture out into the forest, Hagrid happily mumbling about this and that creature that he ran into, and how incredibly beautiful each and every one of them is.

You've got to appreciate the mans enthusiasm, even with the childish naivety to it.

I notice a great burst of fire in the distance, recognizing it as dragon's flame, my stomach churning excitedly.

I know I'm going to try and slay the thing, but I wonder if I'll lose points for it? Knowing the judges, especially Dumbledore and Karkaroff, I'll probably get docked.

Fuck it, it's worth it.

I frown as we continue forward, an odd whispering flitting off my ears, sounding oddly like Magna's crazed ramblings when she was being controlled by the diary in my previous second year.

"Oh, fuck me," I deny, horror coursing through me at the sight that greets me as we finally enter into the compound.

There's an easily recognizable dragon, the massive Hungarian Horntail looming over it's handlers, the men scrambling about as they attempt to subdue the creature with bursts of stunners. It roars in fury before it eventually succumbs to the constant barrage of spells, a dozen of them cast in quick succession knocking it out.

No, that's not what's got me nervous.

What has me nervous is the other creatures.

My eyes flick over the massive, magically reinforced cages. One of which is housing a manticore, a massive lion covered in thick, bristled fur, a few tufts standing out like angry fangs. It has a set of deep black horns that curl up and above its head like those of a ram, along with massive bats wings that lay furled over its side, one wicked curved claw pointing to the sky at the elbow joint each appendage.

Of course, I can't forget the fucking stinger, thick, barbed, and looking incredibly deadly. It's encased in an insect like exoskeleton, the deadly limb flicking about next to the creature like a cat's tail, glimmering in the moonlight as it dances to and fro.

Except this is a cat's tail that can turn your guts to sludge.

Off to the side, there's a quintaped, the oddest and most horrific looking amalgamation of body parts that I've ever laid eyes on. A gigantic head rests on five rippling, furred arms, ending in curled fists. The creature thrashes about angrily, protuberant eyes set wide and swivelling about like a chameleon as it takes in the humans surrounding it, throwing itself against the walls of its cage in an attempt to devour its handlers.

It roars loudly, its mouth opening sickeningly wide and revealing wickedly long, yellow and rotted fangs that taper off into a point. I can't help but gawk at the size of it, never realizing that quintapeds are about seven feet tall, and just as wide.

What horrifies me the most is the chimera.

Yes, an honest to god chimera.

One of the deadliest creatures in the wizarding world. Although it's in the same classification as a dragon and the other assorted creatures, it's on par with a nundu in terms of being an absolute powerhouse of a monster. If the classification didn't end at five X's, this one would have earned a sixth.

Yes, monster is the operative word here.

It looks as if a mad scientist has thrown bits and pieces of miscellaneous animals together to fashion the most hideous and, to be frank, utterly terrifying creature known to man.

Its body is that of a lion, if a lion had been forcibly given growth hormone in vitro, as well as every other day since. It's humongous, yet it somehow looks emaciated at the same time, skin clinging to its ribs. It looks like it's been affected by a particularly vicious case of mange, its fur interlaced with grayed bald spots, it's bare skin pocked and rotted. In the place of a tail, is instead a thin and dangerous looking snake, virulent purple scales errantly flicking about and glancing un-amusedly at the workers wandering about, who I can't help but notice are avoiding the cage like the plague. This is what I was hearing and what had me set on edge, parseltongue ramblings of tearing the workers to pieces, melting their insides with its venom.

I can't possibly imagine why they're avoiding it.

A goat's head sprouts out from the middle of the monster's spine, milky white eyes predatorily tracking every bit of movement nearby. It flops around like a drug addled maniac, head lolling as it hisses and cackles loudly whenever a handler makes eye contact with it, causing them to flinch away. Its teeth aren't those of a herbivore, terrible in their sharpness as the torchlight glances off of them.

The lion though… I know it's one individual creature with three heads, but… fuck.

It speaks. Speaks. Loudly proclaiming what it would do to any of the nearby handlers, mocking, harsh, inhuman shouts detailing the process in which it will keep them alive as they're disemboweled. How it will take its time savouring every errant bit and piece of their flesh as it picks them apart, baring its teeth in a feral grin at everyone that passes.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

Even Hagrid looks disgusted, staring at the chimera with the most conflicted expression I've ever seen on a person. It's as if he doesn't know whether to go up and hug it, or if he should wipe the abomination off the face of the earth with a gout of hellfire.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, putting my hand up, sheepishly setting it back down when I remember that I'm invisible. "I have to go, now. This is… damnit. I can't believe they brought a fucking chimera to this joke of a blood sport."

Hagrid nods drunkenly, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of so many incredibly dangerous beasts in one place as I begin my trek back to Hogwarts.

More like sprint, in this case, as I need to get back and start planning yesterday.

This ain't your daddies Tri-Wizard Tournament. Also, do you have any idea how hard it is to describe a wand without it sounding phallic? Jeez.

sandenzel: So… that's not really a worry of mine for this fic. I have a bit of politicking going on, but I know it's not my forte at all, so I won't be getting too much into it. It will be a bit of a source of drama and tension in the story, but nothing in depth.
In the case of continuing her line? Don't worry about it, things are well in hand, and even so, they're not a major part of the story at all.

Bearmauls: I know, I know. It kills me to use it, but it's the most effective way to get past a plot point that I don't feel like focusing on too much, that being the whole issue of Helene explaining her way out of being entered into the tournament.
I completely agree that it's overused, as well as much too powerful or too underpowered depending on the context that it's used in, so I tried to show some emphasis on it not being foolproof by any means. In my mind, irrefutable proof would be something along the lines of an unbreakable vow.

SophiaL19797: So, again, I understand that this is an incredibly touchy subject. I didn't use the rape as character development, and although that came of it, that wasn't the focus.
The Lockhart incident was meant to be a way to show how potentially horrific the wizarding world can be, what with the godlike powers that they use on a day to day basis with no regard for the mind-bending abilities they have at their beck and call.

I feel that no topic should be skirted around, and that includes things such as murder, abuse, mental illness, and sexual assault. These are real things that happen to people and it's disingenuous to act as if they don't happen. I feel that by not talking about it (in a responsible manner) is a method of ignoring the topic vicariously, and thus disrespecting the victims. I'm not laughing about it, I'm not acting as if it's something to be ignored, and I'm certainly not condoning it.

Apex113: Again, I know, it's so fucking cliché it's painful. Please forgive me, for I have sinned.