A/N: So, I decided to crunch out another chapter before I ultimately get to busy. I just received the first plans for my upcoming semester and it doesn't look pretty. I'm going to try to get out at least one more chapter by the end of January, but I can't make promises. I'm guessing I'll manage two in February if I manage my time right maybe more. In May I doubt I will have the head to write Fanfiction, same in April and possibly in March.

What I'm trying to say is that I don't plan to stop here, but as mentioned in the chapter before, shit is getting real in my life right now. I can trifle in some writing time here and there but the quality will suffer from it.

Something I want to point out publically, as there have been a few people pointing out the lack of heart or chemistry in the given couple: Both Harry and Fleur have seen each other back when they were still kids. The concept of love was, at least for Harry, at that point a complete myth. He had, of course, the Delacours as his replacement family, yet Grindelwald was his father figure, thus having a large influence on his development in every regard. Fleur grew up in a family that loved her very much, Harry didn't truly have that. While his parents were on the run from Voldemort they couldn't treat him like usual parents would treat their child, and while they tried their best it ultimately proved to be to little time to truly have an impact.

Harry and Fleur don't have Chemistry at this point, because there is no love between them outside of love you would maybe feel for a family member or a good friend. But that changed, as they lost connection, causing them to feel a great loss in terms of their social life. When they later reconnect, they do it as new people, grown by the different challenges they had to overcome during their time of growth.

To summarize, they can't feel like a proper pair of lovers until they love each other. Sounds logical right? Yeah! I love your enthusiasm.

Great, so that this is now out of the way, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter Six

Champions

"Now that our guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang all found a seating arrangement, -" Dumbledore called out, the chatter in the hall slowly dying down, "- I will continue with a few announcements before you are all able to enjoy dinner."

The students from all three school silently stared up at the teacher's table were, by now, a new person had taken a seat. An old wizard with dark hair and a long pale face, tall and thin with a thick yet well-groomed beard, he wore a long, dark-grey robe over a burgundy coloured three-piece suit which seemed to be of higher quality. His grey, near lifeless eyes, gently rested on the grand hall's entrance, while he gently rubbed his hand, which was covered by a black leather glove, over a former gash that seemingly had turned into a nasty scar which now decorated his face.

He gave off an intimidating aura, one that perfectly mirrored those of the people he arrived with. He had been the fourth, and last, of the four leading men of the Durmstrang school segment. To the Hogwarts students, he gave the entirely opposite image to the man who sat in the very same seat a year ago. "Some of you -" the headmaster continued "- will have noticed that, together with our friends from abroad, we have some more guests here, who will call this castle home until the end of the tournament." Only now, many students noticed that there where two more arrivals, which had been overshadowed by the school's entrances. "Some of you will recognize former Wimbourne Wasps as well as English national beater and now head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports Ludovic Bagman -" Dumbledore pointed to a man with blonde hair, baby blue eyes, rosy skin and a broken nose, who currently was wearing a bright yellow robe. At the mentioning of his name, he quickly stood up from his seat at the table and gave the assembled student body a big shit-eating grin and a wave before sitting down again, seemingly pleased with himself.

"- and of course former head of magical law enforcement and current head of the department of International Magical Cooperation, Bartemius Crouch -" the headmaster now pointed at the other end of the teacher's table, were a man with short grey hair had taken a seat. His seemingly unnaturally pin-point accurate appearance, going from his hair, which sported a neat parting, over his toothbrush sized moustache and perfectly arranged clothing, instantly gave him the appearance of an official of any sort.

He, as well, got up from his seat, yet in contrast to his seemingly joyful counterpart, he neither smiled nor waved, but simply nodded and sat down again. Never one the hint of emotion on his frozen, steel-like features.

"- and finally, our newest member of the Hogwarts staff, while only a temporary one: former head of the Bulgarian magical law enforcement as well as a veteran of the Grindelwald conflict, Miroslav Aaronovitch."

A few weeks ago.

Nurmengard castle, Austria.

Gellert Grindelwald was currently sitting in his study, a large map of Europe was resting on the large table he usually sat at, slightly covered by a few books here and there. Before him were standing two people, on one hand, his by now seventeen-year-old son and one of the strongest wizards he had the pleasure of seeing in action. On the other, an old double agent that, a few months before the end of the conflict had joined his ranks, as well as the ranks of the Bulgarian muggle and magical government. Miroslav Aaronovitch had been one of the most useful tools in his arsenal during that time, as he gave him an insight into both the muggle as well as the magical world from a less tainted perspective. Aaronovitch fed the cause with information from both sides, which was a great help in the war efforts on the eastern front, while remaining entirely unsuspected, due to the special nature of his position within said ministries.

Later in the conflict, once it became more and more clear that Grindelwald was loosing, Aaronovitch didn't jump ship, but rather remained loyal through the dark lord's fall. It was only on explicit orders, given to him weeks before the end of the conflict, that he turned his wand against his former allies in Grindelwald and his ranks to uphold the farce. He had brought in dozens of Grindelwald's followers in Bulgaria, earning him the rank of head of magical law enforcement as well as the title of veteran and for some even war hero. An ironic turn of events for a, as Grindelwald had used to call him, master spy.

In the mid-1950s, Aaronovitch married a veela and left the ministry for good, causing a collapse of the internal power structure of the Bulgarian DMLE. Even now, nearly thirty years after the fact, the ministry hadn't fully recovered, which had eased the path for Grindelwald greatly, allowing him to basically waltz in and undermine the minister completely. It had taken time, two years to be precise, but it had been worth it. Every action taken against Grindelwald and his men was almost certainly doomed to fail, do to the German knowing exactly what they had planed the second the order was given. He had informants everywhere.

The reason for Aaronovitch's appearance before him though had only partly to do with his past serving him. Gellert knew that for his son's upcoming task, he would need cover from one, who he himself could trust enough but also was experienced in the art of trickery.

"Miroslav my old friend." Gellert spoke, his age by now having manifested itself in his voice, "It is good to see you again."

The German slowly got up and rounded the table to look the man up and down. He was a tall man, his posture, even after taking his advanced age into account, still stood firm. "I need you for a task, Miroslav, an important task. One that may or may not cause our plans to manifest and allow us to, peacefully, 'conquer' the British ministry of magic."

Aaronovitch only nodded slightly, waiting on a more detailed description of his upcoming task. He slightly adjusted the leather glove that was sitting on where his right hand used to be. He lost it in a rather uncomfortable scrap with one of his master's former closer followers who were firm in their believes that he had betrayed the dark lord and wanted to avenge his fallen master by killing the traitor. It ended with him losing his hand, forcing him to animate a glove to replicate the usage that his hand used to provide him, yet his endeavours left him with little success.

"Hadrian!" Grindelwald said loudly, addressing his son who had been standing beside the Bulgarian silently for the past few minutes, not moving a single muscle. "I take it you know of the contents of your next year? I heard Karkaroff explain it to you already. You will remain hereafter, we will discuss a new entry in that book of yours I gifted you years ago."

The boy only nodded gently, his eyes never leaving the table before him. "Good, you will need a new name for the next year, your family name will not do while you are on British territory." again, Hadrian only nodded, he already knew all this. It wasn't a genius needed to see that someone with the surname Grindelwald would attract unwanted attention within a castle that was run by the know vanquisher of said dark lord. Dumbledore would have him watched anyways, his pure magic being enough to attract attention from a blind man, or muggle in that case.

"Aaronovitch, you will pose as the boy's father for the entirety of my sons stays in Britain. You will assist him to the best of your ability, any order from him is to be taken as an order from me." Grindelwald had turned back to the Bulgarian, now standing only inches away from him, "If you manage this, you will have your spot in our reformed world waiting for you." the old man spoke now a little more gentle.

"And should this not be enough for you -" Grindelwald spoke, his wand suddenly in hand grabbing the Bulgarians right arm and vanishing the gauntlet before drawing a line from the stump up with the tip of the wand.

A tingling sensation spread over the arm, causing the man to wish to itch the spot where his hand used to be. Then, in a split second, an immense shook wave of pain rushed through his body, radiating from the stump. Miroslav closed his eyes, not completely managing to hide the scream of pain rushing through his clenched teeth.

The afterglow of the pain lasted another minute, Grindelwald's hand having never let go of his arm, sternly forcing it to remain where he held it. Aaronovitch tried to keep his body in check, not wanting to accidentally touch or even hit the old German, knowing that this would very well be the last thing he would do. He had seen his son fight, knowing fully well that he would have killed him within the splinter of a second, should he truly, accidental or not, hit his father.

Only after the old man had let go of his arm, he dared to slowly open his eyes, the pain having slowly subsided. He couldn't believe his own senses, the part of his arm where he had been used to see nothing more than the remains of his once intact limb, had fully regrown, allowing him to use and feel once again as if the interaction with the wizard had never happened.

"H-Ho-How?" he simply managed to stutter, looking up at the older man, only now having realized he had scrunched over from the pain.
"Magic."

Present.

The great hall, Hogwarts.

Draco Malfoy was extremely interested in the arrival of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. While it may have put a bumper on his hope of being rid of the old headmaster, the teacher seemed interesting.

"- as well as a veteran of the Grindelwald conflict, Miroslav Aaronovitch." Dumbledore announced, pointing at the tall dark-haired man sitting at the table. Hearing that name, Draco's attention instantly snapped to Adrian sitting on the exact opposite side of the table, who currently was using a knife as a mirror to remove a piece of food that had stuck between two of his teeth.

"That's your father?" Draco asked, slightly surprised. Letting the accolades go through his head once again, it surely made sense that the son of the former head of the DMLE in Bulgaria and of a war veteran was respected among his peers in school. "Yes." was the only answer he received, Adrian not even looking up from the knife, seemingly much more interested in the piece of food stuck between his teeth than in conversation with Malfoy. "You two don't really look alike though." Draco pointed out, not picking up the hint, continuing in trying to establish a conversation between the two. Only now, it was, that Draco realized that he should try to get on Adrian's good side, as it potentially could come with helpful perks later on.

"If you say so." Aaronovitch answered, still not interested in the conversation the boy was offering.

.oOo.

The applause died down and the teacher took his seat again, allowing the headmaster to continue his speech. "Now, I know many of you will have tried to find out about what this Triwizard tournament will be like." Dumbledore explained loudly to the entire hall, "But this year, after it had been reworked entirely by the governments of magical Europe, in order to assure a higher sense of security into the tournament, after fatal incidents leading to it being last held in the late 18th century, the rules have changed."

Dumbledore looked down the tables of students. He could already foresee the chaos that was about to unfold once he would give the limitations. He knew many would want to break the age limitations, to get their shot at 'eternal glory'.

"From this year onwards, no student under the age of seventeen will be able to enter his or her name into the goblet to enter the tournament."

'Three… Two… One…'
A loud uproar could be heard, the outcry of voices probably echoing far enough to still be audible in Hogsmeade, students yelled in outrage, some even straight up claiming they would still enter. The Wesley twins were probably the loudest of the bunch of Hogwarts pupil. Both the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students remained silent, as all of them were in their seventh year of education, yet seemed slightly surprised at the annunciation.

"BUT-" Dumbledore cut in, trying to calm the hall down with little effect. It took the elder Aaronovitch to calm down the hall, as he pulled out his wand and conjured a cannon-like sound, which ricochets from the halls creating a deafening sound.

Turning to said teacher, after the echo of both students and the deafening blast, Dumbledore gave him a slight nod in thanks before turning back to the students.

"As I was about to say -" he cleared his throat, speaking up loudly again "In order to allow a more level playing field, we will also pull THREE students from each school to take part in a selection of less unpredictable tasks. Theses three students will pose as captains for their selective teams: The duelling team, the Quidditch team and lastly the wizarding chess team. For these competitions, we have a limit of sixth year, fifth year and first year in the corresponding order, with exceptions for the duelling team, if a witch or wizard possesses enough skill to compete at sixth-year level."

This led to more mixed results, in terms of reception. The students who could enter their favoured competition seemed happy by the turn of events, especially the Quidditch team members seemed delighted by the news to compete against, among others, Victor Krum, who most people believed would join the Durmstrang Quidditch team, if not captain it himself.

"Of course, for the three selected individual school champions, you will be able to also compete in the other competitions." Dumbledore added. "Around Christmas time this year, Hogwarts will host the Yule ball. Your parents are already notified and were informed to send you dress robes for said occasion." "The remaining competitions, meaning both individual and team competitions, will be held over the course of the year. You will, from now on, have twenty-four hours to enter your name in either, or both, the goblet of fire, which will be protected by an age line causing it to reject any witch or wizard who doesn't meet the requirements, and the lists hanging in your common rooms." Dumbledore finished his speech and, with the clap of his hands, the food appeared in front of them on the table as usual.

The nature that surrounded the castle in the Scottish highlands was a truly marvellous thing to witness. Lush grass, wet meadows, crystal clear water and an always present mountain breeze. Rustling wind in the branches of the trees, as well as bird songs together with the silent waves gently washing over the gravel beach, created a soothing atmosphere for anyhow took the time and relaxed for a while.

The large tree by the lake was a rather popular spot for some to do their class works and assigned essays, so long the wind wasn't blowing with an unreasonable strength. But it wasn't classwork or an essay that had brought the young French witch to the popular spot.

Fleur had needed a place to think, to breath, and the confined space of the Beauxbatons carriage didn't offer said breathing room. It hadn't taken a long while for her to find that spot. It possessed an almost unnatural pull for the young veela.

With little regard for her rather expensive uniform, her beautifully made hair or the type of shoes she was wearing, she had set out for this spot. A couple of minutes ago the young woman had thrown her name into the goblet, hesitantly so, yet determined to prove herself as more than just a pretty face.

Yes, her parents loved her. Yes, they would give a lot for her. But it wasn't that what she feared, but rather the intentions of the people surrounding them. She feared what could become of her if she didn't bow to Grindelwald and she feared what would happen if she did. Her father had always told her that they would support her choices in life, yet she didn't think she had much of a choice in this regard. Not because she feared them going back on their words, but rather what would happen to them if they went through with their promise. Harry's father would not tolerate betrayal any more or less then any other fanatic man or woman would.

Harry was also a point she had to consider. It had been years since they had last spoken, years since they had last seen each other. They had once been so close, yet the time had forced them apart, and it was his reaction she feared most. This man had given him everything, altered plans and build alliances with his son's interest in mind, he would remain loyal to his father until his dying breath, it was, after all, all his family left.

Now, this put her into a position of great uncertainty, as she by no means what so ever knew if Harry reciprocated the fondness she felt for him. He had been a good friend many many years ago, but friends grew apart.

She had spent many sleepless nights remembering the time they spent together, their last farewell, the beautiful melody and his kind words. Even then, at the tender age of eleven, he had been more ruthless than many ever could dream of being, besting his father, one of the greatest wizards to ever live, in single one on one combat.

The thought of betraying him wouldn't even cross her mind, not that she would be likely to survive such an action, a nasty thought. Maybe a few days ago, when she hadn't seen him for over half a decade, but now she felt weak again. A simple look into his eyes had been enough for her to remember everything she had ever said to him, everything he had ever said to her.

Having seen him in Hogwarts' great hall had made her realize many things. First of all, the fact she was in his simple presence had made her hyper-aware, before even realizing he had been present, her neck hair had risen the second she felt his eyes on him. He had recognized her, she knew it, she could sense it in the way he had been looking at her.

She remembered the stark contrast between him and the others in the hall, most of whom had looked at her like a piece of meat, lust-filled and dreamy-eyed. He, on the other hand, had looked at her in a gentle, nearly protective manner, familiarity had shone through his bright, multicoloured eyes. It provided her with a strange feeling, an almost natural sensation, yet she hadn't been able to place a word on it.

It was the veela part of her that made her interaction, or non-interaction for that matter, with him even more memorable.
As usual for any girl her age, and especially for veela, she had her needs. Carnal desires that called out to her every time she interacted with attractive men, and sometimes women.

What for most would be nothing more than a gentle whisper of lust calling out from their core, was to her a succubus, a little demoness, hell, sometimes even a raging storm, spinning around her head, nearly yelling at her to act on her more basic desires. And while many may have succumbed to their lust, she had never gone further than simple self-exploration.

Of course she had found herself intrigued by one or the other boy at her school, yet she never truly desired them. The lust in her was constantly boiling, yet she found that none of the men she saw every day truly excited her.

Others may have still gone through with it, slept with multiple guys simply to satisfy their needs, as they would do the same. But not her, she was a Delacour. The stubbornness of the Delacour women being a broadly known trait in their family.

But as she had laid her eyes on Harry in the grand hall, she had felt something tug within her. She didn't even know why.

It wasn't like she had a reason to be attracted to him, she barely, if at all, knew his older self. It had been some time around her first year that her parents had forbidden her to visit, or even interact, with Harry again. She had hated them for it.
Only later on she had learned that it had been Grindelwald who had ordered the Delacour heiress to take a step back out of his life.

Of course, that hadn't stopped her from writing letters to him, only that she had never received answers. Even simple birthday cards didn't find a way from either one of them to the other. Only once, on her thirteenth birthday, she had received a present from Harry. It had been a small necklace which, once opened, summoned a small violin which played a familiar tune. While the violin would be playing the necklace would emit a gentle, comforting warmth, which, when in contact with her skin, quickly spread. Within the necklace also was a picture of them, possibly taken from memory, of the two of them sitting under the tree near Delacour manor, many many years ago.

On that picture, she had looked so relaxed, at peace even, as did he. A gentle smile tugging on his features while she rested her head, framed by soft blond hair, on his shoulder. The picture had even been enchanted, so once the music had finished, the litter her would raise her hand and excitedly clap, while the little Harry would simply start to laugh, no sinister or dark laugh, but a warm, healthy and even contagious laugh.

It had been at her bedside at the end of her thirteenth birthday, no note or anything had been attached to it. This had been their only interaction since her first day at Beauxbatons, but it hardly counted as one. No words had been exchanged, they hadn't even seen eye to eye until the day before now in the great hall.
So it was, with great pessimism, that Fleur Delacour realized she was in a pat situation. She couldn't win without losing a great deal. Should she chose her conscience over her heart, there was a very good chance she would lose her life. Choosing said conscience over her heart would result in her not only betraying her parents but also her long-time friend, who she had no idea how he thought about her. Maybe Grindelwald had told the boy that she wanted to stop seeing him, maybe Harry had been the one that told his father of his disinterest in continuing a friendship with her. Yet the necklace which currently rested below her school uniform on her chest told her that at least the second one seemed less likely. This brought her to her other choice, heart over conscience.

Should she choose this, both her families, as well as her own life, was saved. She would allow her parents a great deal of relief and her the opportunity to make the most of her life, should Grindelwald and Harry succeed. But this also meant that the world would greatly change into something she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to be apart of. Grindelwald's success was ultimately coinciding with the abolishment of the statue of secrecy imposed by both the British as well as any other wizarding government all across the world. This could lead to three possible outcomes. Two of which meant war.

But supporting Grindelwald also had another perk, one that she found herself more and more pulled by. She may not like the old man, as he was a rather manipulative old bastard, yet he was still better than the man most only called 'He-who-must-not-be-named'. Grindelwald respected the Delacours for their politics and their magic. He saw in them useful allies that would once be needed, surely be a detrimental factor to his success on the continent. There were many cruel things he had done for the greater good, but one thing she couldn't place as a burden on him. She couldn't say he hadn't been fair to those who, if one were to believe 'He-who-must-not-be-named', were lesser people. Veela were half-bloods at best, which of course stood against the pureblood cause of 'He-who-should-not-be-named'. Grindelwald, on the other hand, saw both Muggles as well as Veela as the hope for wizarding kind. Muggles were a tool to him, while Veela had magic flowing through them. Both counteracted the inbreeding that traditionalists and purebloods preferred.

Muggles had no magic, so they had no use to him. He, similarly to his counterpart in Britain, saw them as lower-class citizens. People who should bow to those greater than them by their magic. Veela, on the other hand, were magical beings and in that earning at least some respect by the maniac.

Grindelwald stood strongly against the pureblood traditionalists that ruled over Great Britain. This meant supporting Grindelwald ultimately also meant fighting against a man who would, should he win the upcoming conflict, look down on her as if she was a lower class citizen. Something her pride didn't, and wouldn't, allow.

Of course, she wasn't forced to make her choice just yet. But it wouldn't be long when she would either have to choose the moral high ground and possibly endanger both her life and that of her family or choosing the lesser of two evils by aligning herself with Grindelwald against 'He-who-should-not-be-named', fully knowing that, should he win, she could be forced into a war against muggles. And if she wasn't completely mistaken, this would be a war that the wizarding community of Europe wouldn't survive.

To put her situation in simpler terms, once the time had come, Fleur would have to choose between Hell with or without Harry. But she didn't know how much that little detail would influence her choice yet.

The goblet lit up with bright blue flames, confirming Hadrian's entry into the Triwizard tournament. A group of Durmstrang students, which had been lingering around the cup to look at the people who entered their name into the cup, started clapping and hollering loudly, some even falling into a Bulgarian chant.

Even a few of the Hogwarts students had politely clapped as he had thrown in his name, yet most of them seemed rather reserved.

All three competing schools had a few students present in the hall during day time, incessantly waiting for one of their own to enter their name into the cup. The elder Aaronovitch even had remained in the shadows of the hall, watching over the students, mostly to make sure that none of the Hogwarts or Beauxbatons students tried to gain a one-up by magically influencing it. Of course, it was rather paranoid to believe a mere teenager would be able to enter their name into the cup, while not being allowed in by the age line. Only a few, one of them posing as his son at this very moment, were even able to cast a strong enough confounds to potentially influence it. But those who could, wouldn't need to, as they would be eligible to enter anyways. No sixth year or below would be able to perform such a spell.

A group of nearby Hogwarts students had watched the mysterious Durmstrang students throw his name into the cup. At their very centre, one could spot three young Gryffindor fourth-year boys sitting and discussing their potential opposition in the individual task, as well as who would represent their school.

"A snake, are you serious? No way the goblet would choose a slimy Slytherin over a Gryffindor!" a loud-mouthed redhead, the tallest of the bunch, seemingly not having noticed that his voice carried nearly through the entire hall. Either that or he simply didn't care enough to lower the volume of his yelling to more acceptable levels. "Surely the cup will choose Johnson! She's probably better with her wand then Warrington is with either of his!" a boy with a rather noticeable Irish accent yelled out loudly, causing the surrounding Hogwarts students, of which none were Slytherins, to laugh.

A taller, dark-skinned Gryffindor boy, who had been sitting next to the two other boys, suddenly tugged the redhead on his school robes. Pointing at the hall entrance, one could see a large group of Hogwarts students enter, all pushing a tall, thin Hufflepuff before them, who was clutching a piece of paper. "Ced! Ced! Ced! Ced!..." the group chanted, continuously pushing the boy towards the goblet. Putting the name into said blue burning goblet, he earned himself, similarly to the blond Durmstrang student, thunderous applause by the surrounding Hogwarts students.

The boy, who had made the redhead aware of the entering group, turned back to the other two. "Shouldn't have spoken so soon Ron, my money is on Diggory." he laughed, looking back at the group which was now clearing out of the hall again, still chanting 'Ced!' over and over again.

From behind the three Gryffindors, a pair of twins emerged from the group with large grins plastered over their faces. "You want to bet on that Thomas?" the first said "Because we can offer you some good rates if you enter early enough." the second one continued.

"Go on Dean, back your man up!" one of the students shouted from the back of the group. But it wasn't Dean Thomas who decided to take the twins up on their bet, but rather the Irish boy from before, who quickly pulled out three sickles from his pocket and threw them over to the twins. "Alright Fred, Gorge. I'm putting down three sickles on Johnson."

Fred, or was it Gorge, caught the money while the other was taken notes in a small book he was holding. "Three silvers on Angelina by Finnegan." the one with the book said.

Quickly more and more Hogwarts students looked through their pockets offering a Sickle here a Galleon there for those they believed would be drawn by the cup. It was that, which sparked another discussion on who would represent the other schools that got the Hogwarts students going.

"Of course it will be bloody Victor Krum for Durmstrang!" the redhead, which Dean Thomas had before identified as Ron, loudly called out, earning himself a round of agreeing nods.

"That shows just how little you know about our competitors, Weasley!" a cold, yet remarkably familiar voice, called out to the noisy redhead. "It will obviously not be him who will be picked!"

"You sound so sure of that Malfoy." Fred answered for his brother, slightly interested in what the Slytherin had to say, "Maybe you should try and bet on the one you think will be drawn." George insinuated, gesturing to the book in his brother's hands.

"Hmpf, as if I would give any money to you lousy blood traitors." Draco snarled, though quickly being interrupted by the twins again, "Unless of course, you can't afford it -" "- or all just all talk and no meaning like usual."

Draco, who had been about to leave, came to a stop, turning back to the twins before sneering at them and pulling out twenty galleons. "Here, put them down on Adrian Aaronovitch." putting them onto the book before turning around and leaving the hall again, slightly chuckling to himself.
"Aaronovitch, as in the professor?" Dean asked the students, of which none could answer his question. "Ah, screw it! I'll throw in a Galleon my self, put it on Aaronovitch as well." Dean said, shrugging before looking through his robe pockets before producing said golden coin.

That seemingly had done it again, causing Ron to be thrown into another rant. "What you're trusting that slimy snake over -"

It was late afternoon, most had cleared the hall already to get themselves freshened up for dinner, as the Triwizard champions would be announced that evening. It was that, that no one saw a seventh year Ravenclaw girl skip down the stairs and enter the great hall, clutching a piece of paper in her hand. She wore her long blond hair in a plait down her back and no pair of shoes.

Luna 'Loony' Lovegood, who had turned seventeen during the spring that year, entered the age line drawn around the ancient cup before taking the piece of paper that she had carried with her, which contained her own name, into the fire. The goblet lit up blue, as it had done before with the others, signalling the girls' acceptance into the tournament's qualification.

She turned around the same dreamy smile on her face as before, skipping out of the great hall up to the Ravenclaw tower.

"- Now that we have all eaten our delicious dinner, we come to the part of the day, that left most of you probably in a fever of excitement." Dumbledore loudly announced. The food had already vanished and the students from all three schools patiently sat at their respective house table, or alternatively at any free spot they had found.

"Now without further ado -" the old wizard spoke, a wave of his hand and the open fires which had burned in the fireplaces and floating candles spread over the great hall all dimming down or simply dying out. "- let us see who will represent their school." slowly walking towards the large goblet at the centre of the room, which still was gently burning with a blue flame.

The headmaster gently touched the magical object, causing the flames to lurch out and change their colour from their former blue to an angry crimson red. It took a little while before the goblet spat out its first paper.

A tip of parchment, covered with a fine blue ink writing out the name "Fleur Delacour", Dumbledore loudly announced. The French part veela didn't quite manage to hide the smile that started to grow on her face, her schoolmates loudly applauding her as she stood up and walked up to the headmaster, who pointed her towards the small door at the head of the hall, which lead to the staff room.

In all the hassle, the applause and shouts of encouragement by her schoolmates, Fleur didn't notice the rather worried glance that Harry shot her. His one green eye changing its colour slightly, hinting strongly towards a more bluish tone.

After the French witch had left the room, the attention turned back to the headmaster, who already had pressed his hand against the goblet again.
Only shortly after a large crimson flame spat out a new parchment, red ink inscribed the name of "Hadrian Aaronovitch".

The Durmstrang students started, similarly to when he had put in his name that very afternoon, chanting and hollering. Everyone stood behind him, as he had expected, yet those who didn't know who he truly was, namely the Hogwarts students and a good few of the Beauxbatons once, seemed to be taken aback by the unity that the students displayed.

He gently rose, fixing his robe and combing through his blonde hair with his hand, before slowly walking towards the old wizard, every step seemed calm, calculated and purposeful. It reminded of his entrance into the great hall a few days back.

The headmaster joyfully offered him his hand to shake, which he, reluctantly so, shook while putting on his best fake smile. He had a strong dislike for the man, given to him by his father. Yet this dislike, maybe even disgust, reflected itself within his eyes, causing them to light up in emerald green. A rather unique colour, people always had told him. And it was truly was, as it was unique enough to spark a hint of recognition to build itself on the old headmasters face.

Realizing his mistake, Hadrian quickly strode towards the staff room to join Fleur in waiting for the last champion. He mentally slapped himself for his stupidity. He had learned to hide his emotions from any who looked him in the eyes perfectly well, but when it truly had mattered, he failed.

Back in the great hall, the students had again refocused on the headmaster, who currently was slightly off-put by the sense of familiarity those eyes had provided him with.

Snapping back to the matter at hand, he quickly cleared his head not letting memories put him of curse now, the headmaster turned back around and placed his hand on the goblet one last time, before it spat out the last name, the name of the last Champion, the Hogwarts champion.

Reading the name of the student, he held in for a second, as he hadn't expected that particular student to be selected for the spot. "The Hogwarts champion is… Miss Luna Lovegood".

A deafening silence fell over the hall. It took seconds before they all had realized what had just been said.
Strangely enough, the Hufflepuffs where the first to start clapping, as said Luna Lovegood rose from her spot at the very end of the Hall. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors started as she had already made half of the journey towards the headmaster and the Slytherins had remained silent even after she had left the hall to join the other champions in the staffroom.

The few that actually knew Luna Lovegood, would never have expected her to be chosen for the position as school champion. Those that didn't know her, had seen a rather strange girl walk down between the tables towards her headmaster to receive a warm handshake from a slightly perplexed Dumbledore, who to be fair wasn't really showing it as much as others would.

Dumbledore himself, of course, knew the Lovegood family, finding himself enjoying reading their unique newspaper more often than not in recent days. Luna, for one, had average grades. Her defence lacked a bit, yet her knowledge of magical creatures was nearly unmatched by any of the students in Hogwarts. She also possessed a rather grand set of OWL's. Charms and Transfiguration being definitely among her stronger subjects judging by her exams in her fifth year.

As the door slammed shut behind the Ravenclaw girl, he walked back to the front of the Hall, wishing the remaining Students a good night, before sending them back to their respective dorms. While the students were leaving, he and the other headmasters, as well as a few of the teachers, made their way into the staff room, where the Champions would be waiting. Ludo Bagman, out of all of them, seemed the most excited about the selection of Champions, rushing towards the staff door before the headmaster had even finished his speech.

Fleur heard the footsteps of the next champion walking down the stairwell into the room she currently sat in. She had made herself comfortable, sitting down on the large armchair which had been conveniently placed near the fireplace. She had closed her eyes and let her thoughts run wild for a moment.

She was Beauxbatons Triwizard Champion. SHE!

It was a remarkable feeling, at least it had been until she heard the steps of the second champion walking down the stairs. She had been so focused on becoming the Beauxbatons champion, so focused on her private dilemmas and problems, that she hadn't done one thing. She hadn't paid mind to who would potentially put their name into the goblet and more importantly who would be selected.

This was the first time she truly had thought about it. While maybe not having a clue who would become Hogwarts champion, realization dawned upon her of whom she would have to face in terms of the Durmstrang Champion.

Fleur slowly rose from her seat, turning towards the entrance, where she met the eyes of none other than Harry Potter, also known as Hadrian Grindelwald, who froze the second his eyes met hers.

He made slow and steady steps down the stairwell, his thoughts dwelling on his brief interaction with Dumbledore more than on what would be awaiting him at the bottom of these stairs.

The sight that presented itself made him freeze.

Fleur Delacour stood at the centre of the room, an unreadable expression plastered onto her face, dark blue eyes directly meeting his.

As if seeing her for the first time, her beauty stood clear out to him more than ever before. Her fair skin contrasted by the dark blue eyes, silvery-blonde hair, falling down her back ending just above her waist, framing her graceful features. Her light blue uniform pressing tightly against her body, making her womanly curves more apparent. She wore no make-up or something silly like that, not needing it anyway as her natural beauty drew in any who looked at her. She was carrying herself in an elegant manner, befitting of her fathers standing in wizarding France, her stance showed more than just refinement and finesse, it showed security and even the slightest hint of determination.

Her simple presence lightened up the room as if she was emitting a faint, gentle, silvery glow. Suddenly the thoughts of Dumbledore and his little charade was gone into the back of his head, lost in a daze. It wasn't the allure that drew him to her so much, it was what he associated with her that made him lose all sense of etiquette or social norm. A faint melody, played by a violin spread through his mind.

Simply through the direct association with music and the young veela before him, his gaze was caught by something resting on her chest. A familiar medallion connected to a necklace which hung around her neck. Noticing his gaze shifting, she gently raised, absent-mindedly or not, her hand and engulfed the medallion with it.

A sudden warmth spread over his magical core, a gentle tug, a stream that started flowing away from him to her. A silent clicking noise could be heard, as Fleur opened the Medallion which she had pressed against her chest.

A song began emitting from her chest, a familiar melody played by a familiar instrument. A familiar memory from a familiar place. He could feel the room slowly but surely growing colder and darker with every second that the medallion was opened. The only light, her silver glow, the sickening cold, she radiated of warmth. The strong feeling of familiarity that resonated with her grew to him, making him completely numb to his surroundings.

Absent-mindedly, he made a gentle step forward, yet it had been enough to pull them both out of their daze. A silent click and the medallion snapped shut again.

The warmth slowly flowing back into the world, yet it still felt colder than before, the light came back, yet she still shone that bit brighter.

"I -" he wanted to say something, yet she beat him to the punch, simply whispering "thank you." It had taken some time for him to realize what she meant, why she thanked him.

Summer of 1990.

Harry had woken up with a simple goal in mind. He had worked for days, even weeks, on end, crafted careful, yet simple enchantments, engraved runes and made calculations. It had taken him a whole month of work, a simple, yet a quite magical necklace and a beautiful at that but for the occasion far too trivial medallion. It had taken some time to make the necklace do what he wanted and without being able to ask his father, who would anyway demand he would do it himself, it had to remain a secret. The fact that his father couldn't know about his little pet project made it much more difficult to realize. Alone the obtaining of said necklace, an entirely trivial muggle item, had been a pain in the arse. Finding time between his studies of enchanting and ancient runes and the actual course work his father had laid out for him, making it difficult to progress at a more reasonable speed.

But the enhancement of the floating violin, playing his piece of music had been one of the few easy parts. The moving picture, on the other hand, had been a true theft of his time. Half of his available time, he had spent in his pensive finding the perfect memory of the two of them. A magical picture was difficult to create without actual material so he had to hoodwink his pensive.

Without getting lost in details, it had taken quite a toll on his patience, yet in the end, he had managed it, on the very same day he should have delivered his present.

It had already grown dark outside as he had woken up, he had needed the rest, having left him as a dead man walking. He quickly dressed and prepared himself for an unpleasant trip with the Floo Network.

Yet he would take on anything if it allowed him to bring the one girl joy who knew him for him, not for Hadrian or Grindelwald, but for himself. She was the only person still alive who was allowed to use his birth name. Maybe his father, yet he flat out refused to do so. He didn't mind, it was just one more thing that made Fleur Delacour to so much more important to him.

Present.

"Thank you for not forgetting." Fleur gently whispered again, a small tear rolling down her cheek. Before he could answer her, tell her that 'I never would', that she was too important to forget, a creaking of wood and the loud metal hinge signalled the last champion entering the ring. Gentle footsteps echoed down the spiral stairwell, gaining now also the attention of the French woman, who had wiped away the tear using her wrist.

Hadrian carefully turned around, eager to get a good look at the last champion, who would be representing Hogwarts in the upcoming tournament. A girl wearing the silver and blue robes of Ravenclaw house appeared from the stair top, most notable her choice of footwear, or lack thereof in this case.

She had waist-length, straggly, dirty blonde hair, protuberant silvery eyes, which seemed to be dreamily distracted, and faint eyebrows. Around her neck, only partly hidden by her school robes, she wore a strange necklace made from Butterbeer corks, her ears were embellished with unique looking earrings made from some for of plum or radish. It was almost as if this girl had strange written all over her, together with an aura of dottiness that emitted from her very being, only being supported by the fact that Hadrian spotted her wand being stuck behind one of her radish earring wearing ears.

She walked with a liberating spring in her walk. While he was not sure if it was due to her nature of being a strange person, by what he had managed to gather of her personality so far simply be looking at her choice of appearance, or if it had been the fact that she had been chosen as Hogwarts champion that elated her so much.

The strange girl came to a stop right before Hadrian, looking up at him, before extending one arm for him to take while introducing herself as Luna Lovegood. Carefully accepting the girl's introduction, she walked passed him, familiarizing herself with the French witch before sitting down in the very same seat that had been used by Fleur just minutes ago.

Deciding that, if they had to wait on the headmaster and the others, he would rather sit than standing there, he sat down onto the sofa, blankly staring at the fire, not noticing the veela taking a seat right next to him.

Fleur desperately wanted to continue their 'talk' from before, finally wanting to catch up with her old friend. Yet it seemed as though Harry didn't feel like starting a conversation, at least not if other people were around.

Noting this as something to keep in mind, she would find him at some point. Private enough to spark an open chat with the boy that once had meant so much to her, even if she had to corner him.