Chapter V
There was nothing like the agony of a hangover. Harry felt like he was going to vomit at any moment. His head throbbed almost as badly as it did when Voldemort was angry and his throat was an arid desert, but the thought of drinking water made him even more nauseous.
Harry swore that he would never drink so much again in his life. If he felt this bad after a night of drinking he wondered what Fleur must be feeling like. She had more than matched him glass for glass and was practically half his size.
When Ron had left for class he had promised that he would tell the professors that Harry was feeling ill and couldn't get out of bed. Fortunately they didn't have Snape's class on Mondays. Harry didn't expect any sympathy for illness from that quarter.
The first few hours after he woke up he had just lain in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, wishing desperately that he was feeling better and that time would pass faster than the slow crawl it had become. The thought of drinking ever again made him want to heave. As the morning turned to afternoon he felt well enough to get a small drink of water from the bathroom sink and sit up in bed.
Since the rest of his roommates were at class Harry decided to take a closer look at the books that Dumbledore had given him. He was better able to think through the splitting headache and the nausea had subsided somewhat. Every few minutes Harry got up for another small drink of water, hoping that he wouldn't upset his stomach too much. He had to treat his body gingerly, as if the slightest misstep would end with him hurling whatever was left in his stomach into the toilet.
The books that Dumbledore had given him were each part of a series, handwritten, and they looked old enough that Harry worried they were going to fall apart in his hands. The pages were yellowing and the ink had faded somewhat. Trying to read made Harry's headache resurface with a vengeance.
They looked to be more notebooks than textbooks. The cramped handwriting filled page after page of lined paper, with the occasional diagram and illustration to illustrate a particularly complicated point. Harry wasn't feeling well enough to do more than skim the books but, from what he could understand, there was no single topic that the books focused on.
There were theoretical musings on spells that Harry had never heard of, instructions for tuning one's senses to be able to sense magic, spells for combat and defense, transfiguration theories that Harry couldn't even hope to understand, and, every now and then, a more personal musing about possible places to visit and spells to learn once the author graduated Hogwarts.
Despite the lack of identifying marks on the notebooks, Harry had a suspicion that he knew who the author was. The age of the notebooks, the complexity of the spells and thoughts within them; there was only one student that Harry could think of who was so advanced when he was at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore had given Harry his personal notebooks. It was, without a doubt, the most personal that Dumbledore had ever gotten with him. Harry had been given a glimpse into the inner mind of the greatest wizard of the century.
Granted, there weren't all that many personal musings in the notebooks. They were definitely more experimental notebooks than diaries. But it remained an enormous show of trust on Dumbledore's part.
It wouldn't be easy to parse through the notebooks. They were written for a wizard at a level far beyond his own, but he was confident that given enough time and effort he would be able to make use of them. Dumbledore certainly thought so, or he wouldn't have bothered giving them to him.
A sense of excitement filled Harry, distracting him from the symptoms of his hangover, making him want to start reading through the notebooks immediately. Each was about five hundred pages, which, combined with the complexity of the subject matter, made it a daunting prospect.
He tried to start reading, his excitement overcoming his caution, but he wasn't able to make it past the second page before the throbbing in his head made him admit defeat. The mind of Albus Dumbledore couldn't be cracked by a hungover teenager on a whim. It would take time, dedication, and research.
Rather than studying the books Harry contented himself with flipping through them, skimming for anything that caught his eye. Several passages, especially in the last notebook, demanded his attention. They were instructions for spells and, while Harry couldn't understand the instructions, he knew that he had seen the spells before.
Judging from the descriptions in the book, a number of the spells that Dumbledore had used against Voldemort in the Ministry atrium were written down in front of Harry. There was the animation charm that Dumbledore had used on the statues, the spell for mass water manipulation, and the fire whip that had particularly caught Harry's eye.
There were other spells as well, dozens of them, but Harry suspected that he would have to pick and choose from them. They were each at a level of complexity that would make learning the spells as difficult an endeavor as learning the Patronus Charm had been.
Harry could see his free time shrinking before his eyes. He sighed and reached for his wand to check the time. It had been Harry's hope that he would have recovered by the time the Dueling Club came around. He still had a few hours before he was supposed to meet Fleur to set up. He figured that he could get an early dinner to help recover his strength before he had to start teaching.
Looking through the books, interesting as they were, wasn't enough to entirely distract Harry from his thoughts about the previous night. He and Fleur had gotten along well. Very well. In fact, he didn't think he could remember ever enjoying time spent with others as much as he had with Fleur.
They could trade barbs and then switch with ease to discussing something of actual importance. They traded stories about growing up, about their time at school (sometimes Fleur even seemed to forget that Harry was still in school, which left him secretly pleased), and about what they had been studying recently.
Harry had promised Dumbledore that he wouldn't share the notebooks with anyone but he had no doubt that Fleur would be jealous. It was some of the most potent knowledge ever collected in one place, a superior version of Ron's potions book. The more time Harry spent with the notebooks the more he realized how serious Dumbledore had been when he said that the Death Eaters would kill to get their hands on it.
Still, even if Harry couldn't show Fleur the book or teach her the spells, he could still impress her with them. They could be his trump card when they practiced dueling with each other. No doubt she was still more skilled than him but if he could learn the spells Harry would have a way to level the playing field.
None of that was what Harry found himself unable to forget. They were only tangents, designed to distract him in the same way that the notebooks were.
Fleur undressing in front of him played in Harry's mind on repeat, the memory crystal clear. He doubted that he would ever forget it. It was filthy to think about a friend of his, who was engaged no less, in such a sexual way, but Harry couldn't help himself. The memory flashed in front of his eyes without his consent.
It wasn't as if it was an unpleasant memory. Though Harry felt guilty, a part of him was thrilled about every detail; the lines of her body, the tilt of her lips, the curve of her breasts. It was enough to exacerbate his headache even more.
She hadn't seemed bothered by him watching her in the moment but she had been drunk. Perhaps she was feeling some of the same shame that he was, but worse, because while he hadn't looked away it had been her choice to undress in front of him.
Would getting ready for the Dueling Club together be awkward? A step back in their friendship? Nothing would be worth that, in Harry's mind. She may have been the most beautiful woman Harry had ever seen, with a perfect body and angelic face, but that didn't mean it was worth it. Definitely not.
After all, beauty was transitory, Harry told himself. He wasn't shallow like that. Not at all. Fleur was more than just a pretty face. Well, a very, very, pretty face, he amended.
There was nothing to be done but wait and see. Fleur was a confident woman. If she felt embarrassed there was a good chance that she wouldn't even show it.
Harry spent the next hour in bed, reading through a quidditch magazine he had borrowed from Ron, and eating some small meat pies that he nicked from Ron's stash. It wasn't productive but he started to feel better and the swelling that thoughts of Fleur had induced went down. The boneheaded commentary in quidditch magazines was always good for clearing his head.
Ron returned to the room a few minutes later, flopping down on his bed and letting loose a soft sigh. He turned his head toward Harry and his eyes widened comically.
"Are you eating the food my mum sent me?"
Through a mouthful of pie, Harry said, "No?"
"Unbelievable. You get pissed, come back late at night, wake everyone up with your banging about, skive off classes, and then, to top it off, you eat my food. Face it. You've become a delinquent, Harry." Ron shook his head sadly at his fallen friend.
"Don't tell Hermione. She'd kill me."
"No doubt about that. Feeling better?"
"Loads better. I need to help Fleur set up for the first Dueling Club meeting tonight. You and Hermione are coming right?"
"Wouldn't miss it. Word is that half the school is going to be there."
"Lovely," Harry said. He didn't have stage fright but standing in front of hundreds of his peers would be nerve wracking no matter the circumstances. Teaching them even more so. "I need to get something to eat."
"I thought you already had," Ron said, pointing to the crumbs of his meat pie all over Harry's bed.
"You want to come?" Harry asked, ignoring him.
"I guess I don't have a choice now that you've eaten everything I had."
"I just thought that my best friend wouldn't mind helping me out in my time of need."
"You're a mooch, Harry. I'll go grab Hermione."
Harry got out of bed, dressed only in a pair of boxers and an undershirt. He put on a more appropriate outfit and went down to the common room. Hermione and Ron were waiting for him by the fire.
"You look like death," Hermione said.
"Thanks, Hermione."
"Ron said you were bumbling about like a fool last night."
"Also true. Anything else you want to criticize me for?"
Hermione looked thoughtful, pausing, before she said, "Next time you're hungover don't expect us to cover for you. This was a onetime thing."
"Trust me, I don't ever want to get that drunk again either."
And then there was nothing between them anymore. Short of serious arguments, there was little that could split the three of them apart. They were too comfortable around each other, too aware of each other's moods, for small differences to have any real effect. Hermione got her lecture out, was satisfied, and then they could move on.
"Dinner?" Ron asked.
They were early enough to the Great Hall that most of the food wasn't out yet. There were a variety of sandwiches for students feeling peckish, some fruit and vegetables, and bread with butter, but the elaborate spread that Harry had come to expect from Hogwarts meals wasn't prepared.
Harry munched on whatever he thought would upset his stomach the least. Hermione ate little. Ron helped himself to some sandwiches, ignoring the fruit that Hermione piled on his plate.
"Is Fleur going to be able to teach?" Hermione asked. "Last I checked she was drinking as much as you were."
She actually had more to drink but Harry didn't correct Hermione. Instead, he said, "She'll be fine." He wasn't sure that he was telling the truth but he had to have faith that Fleur would be able to take care of herself. No doubt Dumbledore would be unimpressed if Fleur was too hungover to teach on her first day.
Harry ate as fast as he dared, wanting to get to the Dueling Club without further delay. He felt that he needed to make sure that things weren't going to be awkward between them. He was committed to acting as if nothing had happened. If Fleur did the same then they were golden.
"Time to go," Harry said, finishing the last bite of his sandwich. It stuck in his stomach like a lead ball along with Ron's meat pies.
A number of the students that Harry passed in the hall stopped him to talk about the Dueling Club, assuring him that they were going to come or wanting to know what was being planned.
Some seemed interested more in Fleur than in the club itself. Mainly the upperclassmen. Unwilling to give them any encouragement Harry just said that Fleur was an excellent teacher and they would be sure to learn a lot when they came. The idea of Fleur getting together with any of the students at Hogwarts was laughable. She was a grown woman with a fiancé. She wasn't going to be spending her time with children.
Contrary to what he had expected, Fleur was up and about when he came to the Dueling Club hall. She was moving about without any trouble, her face clear of any discomfort. The nausea and weakness that Harry was still feeling didn't seem to be afflicting her.
She had put a small stage against the back of the room and separated the room into three distinct sections. Each section had a pile of the instruction manual, a set of dummies, and a few dueling mats. On one table there was a steaming cauldron with two cups beside it, one half-filled with a strange and foul looking concoction.
"I had thought you would be half-dead right now," Harry said by way of a greeting.
Fleur looked up from moving a dummy and said, "I haven't subjected myself to a hangover in years. Pour yourself a glass from the cauldron and drink it. It smells, and tastes, foul, but it'll make you feel better."
Harry did as she said, watching her all the while. She wasn't looking at him while she worked, seemingly content to let him handle himself while she finished setting up the room how she wanted it.
The potion tasted as disgusting as Harry had imagined, like someone had tried to add seasoning to boiled sewage. As soon as he downed the concoction the last vestiges of his hangover washed away, leaving him feeling refreshed and energetic. He hadn't realized how much he had still been feeling the symptoms until they were gone.
"Thanks. Not sure how much help I would've been like that."
"You shouldn't have to thank me. I'm the one who convinced you to drink with me in the first place. I should be apologizing to you," Fleur said. She stopped working on the room and came over to the table Harry was standing next to, leaning one hip casually against it.
Fleur was wearing a typical duelist's robe, though Harry thought that she wore it better than the average duelist. It didn't conceal as much as accentuate her form, contoured to every cut and dash of her body. Tailored, no doubt.
When Harry looked at her he almost didn't see her in her robe but how he had the night before, shorn of her dress, almost completely bare in her bedroom. It was all he could do to hold down a blush. Fleur didn't seem to realize what he was thinking. Looking at her, Harry wasn't even sure that she remembered what had happened the night before.
"The best apology would have been to let me know about this potion this morning."
"It's a rite of passage to be violently hungover your first time after drinking heavily. What kind of teacher would I be if I had given you this potion right away?" Fleur asked.
"A kind one."
She scoffed, as if the very idea was absurd. "I'm not going to coddle you, Harry. You don't need it and I don't want to waste my time. If you can't handle a little hangover then there's no way you'll be able to handle training with me."
"Are you…trying to intimidate me?" Harry asked, somewhat bemused.
"No. I'm just warning you that I'm going to show you the difference between a talented duelist and a little boy." She raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to disagree.
"Actions speak louder than words, Fleur. We'll see what you're made of," Harry said, his tone making it sound like he already knew what he would find and that he wasn't particularly impressed.
She wouldn't let that challenge go, Harry knew, but he wasn't going to let her verbally and physically abuse him. Even if there was little chance that he could beat her in a fair duel he wasn't going to sound like a frightened child going into it.
Fleur looked more pleased than offended by his response, her expression transitioning into something predatory, and Harry had to restrain the involuntary shiver that ran down his back. For a brief moment he regretted saying anything at all.
The look passed and Fleur ran through the expectations she had for the first meeting. They would get everyone to sign in for a rough headcount, explain the point of the club, break them into groups and try to begin teaching every group one spell. She would be in charge of the two older and more advanced groups and Harry would be helping the younger students.
Personally, Harry thought that Fleur was taking too much on herself trying to teach both older groups. There could be over a hundred people when they were combined. Nobody could adequately teach that many people. Dumbledore clearly hadn't expected how many students would be interested (or forced to go) when he had hired Fleur.
"How are we breaking them into groups?" Harry asked. It would be hard to get a feel for how talented each individual student was with so many planning on showing up.
"Third years and below will be in the first group, your group. The other two will be broken off into groups based on whether or not they can cast a stunner and shield themselves, the basics of any duelist."
"I doubt many students will be able to do both," Harry said.
"Then we'll have a small group," Fleur said, seeming unbothered by the prospect.
"We had a less than quality teacher last year so the sixth and seventh year students will be able to cast both but I doubt any of the others will," Harry explained. "They'll basically be grouped by age no matter what our requirements are."
Fleur tapped her finger on her chin speculatively. "Then perhaps we should just break them into three age groups then rather than base it on talent. I had no idea the Hogwarts curriculum was so far behind."
Harry ignored the slight against his school. "Age groups sound like a good idea."
"Then that's what we'll do," Fleur said. "You'll teach the children the Disarming Spell and I'll work with the other two groups on some more advanced work. Start with the dummies and then, if we have time, pair them off on the dueling mats."
Harry couldn't say that he was looking forward to working with his students all that much. He had been hoping for something like the DA, a group of students not segregated by age or talent. Trying to get through to a bunch of kids was a completely different task. He was about to be half-babysitter and half-teacher, Harry thought. Fleur had kept the more interesting job for herself.
The students started streaming in about thirty minutes before the first meeting was officially slated to start. They gathered in little cliques, talking to one another and occasionally glancing up at Harry and Fleur who were standing on the small stage, waiting to address the full assembly of students when it was time.
Most of the early arrivals were the younger students. They looked around with an air of incredulousness, as if the Dueling Club was some secret gathering that only older students should be able to attend. A couple of third year boys didn't seem able to take their eyes off of Fleur. She stared impassively into the crowd, her eyes not resting on anyone in particular.
The crowd reached its maximum size on the stroke of the hour. Harry glanced over at Fleur and she nodded.
Fleur strode out to the edge of the stage and said, "The art of dueling is both noble and ancient; it has roots stretching back as far as recorded history itself and has evolved into the varied and remarkable field that it is today. In ordinary times, dueling is a sport, existing for entertainment and excitement. These are not ordinary times. The Dark Lord has returned and the British Isles are once more plunged into a civil war that threatens to tear apart the very fabric of your society.
"Neutrality will not protect you. The only protection you have in today's world is yourself. And that's why you're here today. You're here because you realized the danger that stalks you, that waits in the dark, and you were proactive enough to decide to learn how to fight back against the monsters that would destroy you. Harry and I are here to show you how to fight and, more importantly, how to survive. If you let it, this war will take everything from you. Don't let it."
Silence greeted Fleur's words. Perhaps it was because she was an outsider, and had an outsider's perspective, but none in the crowd looked like they had ever considered it the way she had. Dumbledore had assured them that they were safe in Hogwarts. The ministry assured them that it was strong. The Daily Prophet ran patriotic stories that made Voldemort seem weak and scattered and the aurors out to be avenging angels; unstoppable and proud.
None seemed to have seriously thought that they were at risk. Society had coddled them and Fleur was trying to rip away the blinds placed before their eyes. Even the older students seemed shaken by her words. The prospect of death seemed to lurk over the crowd. Students looked around, a touch panicked, as if Death Eaters were waiting for them in the shadows.
Once she deemed that she had waited an appropriate amount of time for her message to sink in, Fleur continued. "In your classes you will be given the raw material to protect yourselves. Here we will shape that material into weapons. You will be broken into three groups. First through third years will study with Harry. The rest of you will be with me, split into two groups; fourth and fifth years in one, sixth and seventh in the other. Are there any questions?"
For a few seconds the crowd was silent and Harry didn't think there would be any. Then someone, a fifth year Ravenclaw that Harry didn't know personally, said, "Why are you in charge of the Dueling Club? You came in last in the Triwizard Tournament. Harry did better than you and he was only fourteen. Why isn't he in charge of teaching us?" There was a slight rumble of assent from the crowd. They looked to Harry as if he would suddenly pull out his wand, curse Fleur, and usurp control.
Fleur looked at a loss for how to respond. The student, wittingly or unwittingly, had touched on a sore subject. Harry saw that she didn't have a response ready so he stepped forward.
Making sure the crowd's eyes were focused on him, Harry said, "I've spent weeks with Fleur, preparing for this club. In that time, she's demonstrated that not only does she know more about transfiguration than I do, not only does she know more charms, not only does she know more theoretical magic, and not only can she trounce me in a duel, but she also has a natural talent for teaching, beyond even that of some of the teachers here at Hogwarts. I'm sure we all know who I'm talking about."
Harry let the laughter die out before he went on. "Fleur is in charge of this Dueling Club because she's one of the most knowledgeable and talented witches you'll ever have the good fortune to meet. We should all be grateful that she was willing to come to teach us how to protect ourselves."
Though overblown, Harry's rhetorical flourish had its intended effect. The student who had spoken seemed cowed and the crowd looked reassured. A few of the older students stared at Fleur in a more measuring way, as if assessing her with that new information in mind. The younger students looked even more awestruck than they had before. Harry didn't remember being that easily impressed but, then again, he had never been taught by a gorgeous, kickass, French woman.
At the back of the crowd Harry could see Ron and Hermione. Ron gave him a thumbs up and Hermione smiled supportively.
"If there aren't any more questions you will break up into three groups now," Fleur said, her voice frosty, like she was personally affronted at having her credentials questioned. It was more a means of taking back control of the crowd than any actual affront, Harry knew. If anything, Fleur would be upset with how easily she had let herself be shaken.
"First through third years with me," Harry shouted, pulling a sizable chunk from the crowd as he went over to the part of the room that Fleur had set aside for them. He estimated that there were over a hundred students in the hall. Less than Ron had been suggesting but still far more than he had been expecting.
The younger students were a minority. Despite being a group with three years in it, rather than two, there were only around thirty students who were third years or below. Most were Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, with a few Ravenclaws and even the occasional Slytherin dotting the crowd.
Harry passed around the signup sheet for the club along with the instruction manuals that Fleur had told him to pass out to all of the students.
"You're all at a disadvantage," Harry said, getting their attention. They seemed even more receptive to what he had to say than the DA members had been. Harry supposed that they hadn't had as much time as the older students had to get used to him. They only really knew him through the exaggerated stories as a heroic figure that swooped in at the last second to save the day. Hero-worship could be useful sometimes, he supposed.
"All of the older students have strategies and spells to draw on to defend themselves. You don't. You lack the training and the knowledge with which to defend yourselves. That's why we're going to start from the very beginning. I want you all to gather in groups in front of these dummies. We're going to learn the Disarming Spell today. It's versatile, potent, and easier to cast than plenty of other, less useful, spells. To be honest with you, it's probably my favorite spell."
One of the third years raised her hand. "I already know the Disarming Spell," she said.
"Then you can practice it and help others who don't know it. When you're out there, trying to protect yourself and your friends, you're only as strong as your weakest ally. A fight is not winner take all. Victory has its price, and the only way to knock that price down is to help your friends. Look around you. These are not people you're competing with. These are the people who will determine whether or not you survive if the Death Eaters attack. You need to trust them and want them to be the very best that they can be. That means helping them when you know more and accepting help when you know less."
It was the same ethos that the DA had been working with but stated out loud for them all to hear. Their childish faces tightened, like they were preparing themselves for battle, and Harry had to stifle a laugh. It was good that they understood the importance of the club and learning to protect themselves. Laughing at how ridiculous they looked would completely undermine them.
Still, they did look ridiculous.
The underclassmen broke into groups, mostly along house lines, and Harry paced in front of them, demonstrating the incantation and wand movement. He had them repeat the incantation along with him and make the movements with him. After correcting a few sloppy wand movements Harry stood to the side and let them start practicing on the dummies.
Most weren't successful but that wasn't at all surprising. Harry was pleased to see a few of the third years that had said they already knew the spell demonstrating how to cast it to those who were struggling. Harry stepped in when someone looked like they were close to getting it, or falling behind their peers, but most of time he tried to be a quiet presence among them, encouraging and approachable, willing to answer any questions they had.
Fleur was drilling the fourth and fifth years on the Shield Charm and the oldest students on the Stunning Spell. A number of the former had the charm down and almost all of the oldest students had already learned the stunner. They weren't complaining at having to relearn or practice old spells, seemingly content to trust Fleur's judgement. Harry tried to catch Fleur's eye but she was so intent on helping a few of the students struggling with the Shield Charm that she didn't see him.
Neville looked to be particularly successful in helping a few of the other students learn the Stunning Spell. It was one of the first spells that the DA had practiced and Neville could do it in his sleep. He seemed calmer than usual, and more confident. The usual mocking amusement that other students looked at Neville with was gone from their eyes as he helped them learn the spell. At some point, when nobody had been paying attention, Neville had surpassed them. And they knew it.
Harry hadn't spent much time with Neville since the year had started but he was starting to regret that. It seemed like the boy had changed, and very much for the better. Harry had been busy but that was no excuse to ignore his friends, especially after what they had gone through together.
After a few cycles of students trying to cast the spell they were having some success. Whoops of delight were not uncommon as the first and second years cast the Disarming Spell for the first time. The arms of the dummy would get blasted back by the spell and then slowly, with a low grinding sound, return to place. Confidence was high in the group.
There were a few students who were still struggling but Harry was satisfied overall. He hadn't been expecting all of them to learn the spell in an hour. More had done it than he had anticipated. The third years who already knew the spell were being more helpful than he could have ever hoped.
"Do you know what we'll be doing next time?" asked one of the first years, a girl with an eye-catching gap between her front teeth which gave her voice a faint whistling quality. The others around her stopped to listen as well.
"My plan is for us to finish working on the Disarming Spell and then start the Unlocking Charm and the Summoning Charm. They don't really have dueling applications like the Disarming Spell but they're useful spells that have saved my skin more than once," Harry said.
"Like with the dragon," one of the third years said, his voice filled with a reverent awe.
"Like with the dragon," Harry confirmed.
The first and second years didn't understand what they were referring to, having not been at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry didn't feel inclined to enlighten them. They all seemed satisfied by what Harry was proposing regardless.
Looking at the clock, Harry saw that they had about fifteen minutes left. "Can I get two volunteers?" Harry asked.
Tentatively, two third year girls raised their hands. Both Gryffindors, Harry noted.
"What are your names?" Harry asked.
"Elizabeth."
"Ainsley."
Harry nodded. "The two of you will be our guinea pigs for today. We're going to move over to the dueling mats now and you two are going to duel for the class. At the end of the duel I'll tell you what you did well, what you need to work on, and make some suggestions about how to improve your form."
Ainsley looked determined, her hand tightening around her wand, but Elizabeth seemed skittish at the prospect of performing in front of her peers.
"There's nothing to worry about," Harry said, trying to encourage her. "This is just a demonstration."
She didn't look all that reassured but, despite that, the two took up opposite positions on the dueling mat. Harry showed them the proper dueling stance and instructed them to bow to each other. "First to lose their wand or leave the dueling mat loses," he said. Then he counted down.
When Harry and Fleur had dueled the air had burned with magic, seething and roiling in an almost vicious way. Elizabeth and Ainsley were about the opposite of that. They got a spell off, waited to see if it would hit, the other person dodged out of the way, and then whoever reacted first would send another spell. In a real duel they would have been taken down in seconds.
They didn't seem to realize how poorly they were doing. Both of them became more confident as the duel went on, treating it like a game, a smile appearing when they came particularly close to hitting the other person. It was the opposite of the attitude that Harry was trying to cultivate. He didn't want people to hate the Dueling Club but it wasn't a place to put forth anything less than one's best effort. Their duel was more a demonstration of their spell repertoire than an attempt to defeat each other. He shuddered to think of how poorly the younger students would have done.
Ainsley ended up winning the 'duel.' Elizabeth had reacted too slowly to a Disarming Spell and her wand flew into the crowd. A well-intentioned first year returned it to her. To her credit, Elizabeth was holding up well after losing in front of so many people. She returned to the crowd with her head held high. Ainsley looked delighted and turned to Harry, like she was waiting for approval. It reminded Harry of a younger Hermione and he smiled indulgently.
"That wasn't bad," Harry said, choosing his tone and words carefully, not wanting to discourage them. "I see a lot of potential. Next time, instead of learning new spells, I think we'll work on some dueling strategy. You've got to have the foundations down before you can apply them. Both of you cast well; your spellwork itself was flawless. It's the pace that we're going to have to work on. You can't give your opponent a chance to defend themselves. You have to be unrelenting."
Elizabeth took the praise and criticism well. Ainsley seemed disappointed at Harry's criticism but returned to her place with the other students.
Fleur's two groups were breaking up, having been dismissed by Fleur for the day. She was walking over to Harry's group and looked satisfied with herself. From what little Harry had seen of the older students they were picking up the spells easily enough and, more importantly, obeying Fleur. She couldn't teach if she didn't have respect.
A few of the more uncouth students had been staring at her but even that had been kept to a minimum. Respect and fear was the best cocktail to combat lust.
"You can let them go now," Fleur said, coming to stand next to Harry.
"Actually, I think it would be helpful if we demonstrated a real duel to them."
"You want to get tossed around in front of all your students?"
"Sounds like fun to me."
The students watched their back-and-forth like a tennis match they were terrified to miss; even blinking might cause them to lose sight of an essential rebuttal.
"Let's show them then," Fleur said.
They took up the standard positions on the dueling mat. Harry could see Ron and Hermione lurking near the doorway, watching them with great interest. Some of the older students were clearing out but even more were watching Harry and Fleur. A circle, made up of curious students, formed around the dueling mat.
"Good luck," Fleur said, bowing to him.
Harry made the first move, aiming his wand with the utmost efficiency of motion. "Confringo."
A speedy explosive bolt lashed out at Fleur but she deflected it toward the ceiling where it imploded with a room shaking fury.
In response Fleur sent a flurry of minor jinxes and hexes at Harry. He recognized the Jelly-Legs Curse, the Disarming Spell, the Dancing Feet Spell, and the Knee-Reversal Hex, along with a few more obscure ones. They were simple enough that she didn't need to bother with incantations or wand movements, hoping to overwhelm Harry through volume alone.
"Protego," Harry said, using the Shield Charm with an ease born of endless practice. The shield flickered a dull blue with every impact. It was a simple solution for a simple problem. Even some of the third years could have dealt with what Fleur was throwing at him.
Fleur quickly ended the barrage, realizing that it was having no effect whatsoever. Harry dropped the shield and moved into the wand movements for his next spell, wordlessly sending a surging, rotating ball that blurred along the edges, like it was distorting the space around it, toward Fleur.
With one eyebrow raised Fleur conjured a boxy shield around herself, protecting her from all angles. The ball careened into the shield and, for a moment, nothing happened. Then there was a flash of light, a sudden rush of displaced air, and a sound like frantic thunder.
The ball exploded next to Fleur, nearly obliterating her shield. It was one of the most powerful spells that Harry had learned and it wasn't even enough to get through Fleur's defenses.
Harry was impressed that Fleur was standing strong. If that didn't bring her down he wasn't sure that he could. Her spellwork was too efficient to poke a hole through and as soon as she built up any momentum she would be unbeatable.
He had the feeling that she had been going easy on him, staying on the defensive, so as not to damage his reputation in front of all the students watching. It was simultaneously insulting and thoughtful.
In an effort to keep Fleur on the defensive he chained a long string of spells together, mixing the strong in with the weak. Stunners flew alongside Tickling Charms, Stinging Hexes alongside Disarming Spells. There were so many moving together that they almost had the appearance of a flying rainbow.
Harry hoped that she would be unwilling to gamble and would treat each spell as equally dangerous.
She didn't. With unerring precision Fleur batted away the minor jinxes, shielded against the curses, and dodged the more obscure spells that Harry sent her way.
Most opponents Harry faced had go-to spells and strategies; once you figured that out you could beat them by predicting their next move. Fleur didn't have one go-to spell or strategy. She had dozens.
Her ability to improvise was far beyond anyone Harry had ever dueled before. Every strategy she used was powerful and flexible, leading right into her next one. It was like she choreographed her duels and her opponent couldn't help but follow along, like a puppet on strings.
The only way to beat Fleur was through overwhelming skill or power and Harry was sure he didn't yet have enough of either to beat her.
A slight opening gave Fleur all the time she needed to flash her wand outward, a movement so quick and subtle that Harry almost missed it, sending a nearly invisible concussive force straight at Harry.
It was brute force incarnate and it trucked into Harry mercilessly.
The Shield Charm that Harry threw up was nothing in the face of the spell. It took the initial brunt of the force away but what remained was more than enough to rip him off his feet and send him tumbling to the edge of the mat, feeling like he had just had the stuffing beat out of him by an overgrown Crabbe and Goyle.
Fleur was sauntering toward him, having apparently decided that she had let things go on for the sake of his reputation for long enough. Harry stayed down for the moment, letting her think he was beaten, while his thoughts turned over in a mad rush to find a solution, a path to victory.
One last spell came to mind. One he had read in Dumbledore's notebooks but not yet even attempted.
Pushing himself to his feet, Harry pointed his wand and said, "Praefortis."
He concentrated on recalling all of the times in his life when he had been victorious, come out on top of his opponents, survived when he had been left for dead.
Every memory built in his head, gathering strength, and then they were released in one hellish bar of condensed magic veering straight at Fleur, colored a triumphant red.
It was a spell of victory, more powerful than any Harry had cast before.
To her credit, Fleur didn't panic. She faced the oncoming spell with a look of determination. A small but thick shield of organically pulsing magic formed at the end of her wand, crackling in the face of the oncoming spell. The two met, straining for dominance, a bright light flashing in and out of focus where they touched.
The flashes of light grew brighter and brighter as the shield and the spell struggled for dominance. Sweat appeared on Fleur's brow and rolled down freely. The heat that the two spells were generating was so intense that Harry could feel it a dozen yards away. There were cries of surprise and fear from the crowd.
Then, with a heavy cry, Fleur aimed her wand toward the sky, sending Harry's spell flying into the rafters where it imploded in a flash of heat and noise. A rain of hot red sparks fell to the ground, garnering shrieks from the crowd as students hurriedly brushed sparks off of their robes.
Harry let himself be disarmed, feeling drained from the exertion of casting such a powerful spell. The exhaustion wasn't dissimilar to what he had felt in casting the Patronus Charm the first few times.
As for the spell itself, it had far surpassed his expectations, pushing Fleur to her limits in an attempt to defeat it. Not for the first time Harry silently thanked Dumbledore for trusting him with his notebooks.
Despite Harry's best efforts, Fleur had won. While it was disappointing the result wasn't in any way surprising to Harry.
The students, however, looked on in a stunned silence. They had gone from crowding the circle to standing a respectable distance away, fearful of getting to close to Harry or Fleur and the devastating spells they had been casting. Fleur held Harry's wand grimly in one hand. Her hair was a mess, her robes singed and in disarray.
"That's what a real duel is like," Fleur said. "It's a fight for survival. You win or you die." She looked out at the students, turning her head so that she could stare them down in turn. "You're dismissed."
Nobody reacted at first. It was like they had been paralyzed by the duel. Then, after a few moments, Fleur's words seemed to sink in and a few students drifted off, speaking to one another only in hushed tones. The crowd left in clumps, expressions ranging from shock to awe to fear.
Hermione and Ron stayed behind and came up to Harry.
"That was brilliant, mate," Ron said, giving Harry a slap on the back.
"I didn't even recognize some of those spells," Hermione said. She squinted at Harry, her expression suggesting that she would be reading his mind if she could. No doubt she would be even more excited at the prospect of Dumbledore's notebooks than Harry had been but there was no way he could show her. A promise to Dumbledore was a promise he would keep.
Fleur walked over to them, handed Harry his wand back, and said, "If it's all the same I'd like to talk to Harry. Alone."
"Yeah, sure. We'll see you back at the tower, Harry," Ron said. Hermione just continued staring at Harry. He knew he would be in for an interrogation later. One didn't just dangle interesting new spells in front of Hermione and expect that she would drop the issue.
Maybe he could have her help him with a few of the spells? He didn't necessarily have to show her the notebooks. He could just paraphrase a page or two into his own writing and show it to her, not mentioning anything about the notebooks. It merited further consideration.
Fleur waited for the last few students to drift off before she said anything. When they realized that Fleur wanted to talk to Harry and wasn't going to take any questions the last loitering students finally left.
"I've never even seen a spell that powerful before," Fleur said.
"Dumbledore showed it to me," Harry said. It was even true in a way.
"You told me he wasn't teaching you," Fleur accused.
"He isn't. That's the first time I've tried to cast it."
"Ignoring the fact that you used an untested spell on me, that was impressive. I think we gave them all something to think about."
"Think that they're going to come back next time?" Harry asked, unable to hold back a smile.
"I think that we'll be lucky if we don't end up with a fan club."
Harry sat down on the mat. He still felt drained from the casting of the spell. The memories that had fuelled it were still there, undamaged by the spell, but they had lost some of their sheen, as if all of the intensity that had gone into the spell had been stolen from them. It was almost like they were someone else's memories. Harry resolved to do more research before casting a spell like that again. Merely skimming Dumbledore's notebook would be beyond foolish.
Fleur sat down next to him, close enough that Harry could smell her, feel her hip against his, and said, "That was a good first meeting, all things considered."
She smelled like sweat and something else, lighter and fruity, that Harry couldn't quite make out. "It was," he agreed.
"I was watching you, you know," Fleur said. "You're an excellent teacher. Not overbearing, but not distant. You help them learn and set an example but you don't coddle them and destroy their independence. Now I see why the former members of the DA are so devoted to you."
"Devoted to me?" Harry asked. Fleur turned her blue eyes toward him, searching his face for something.
"I've talked to a few people about what you did last year. I wanted to hear about it from others. They told me what you risked, what you sacrificed, to help them. It was…inspiring, in a way. Only a great teacher can arouse so much admiration in their students."
"You're not exactly a slouch yourself. I saw you helping the fourth and fifth years with the Shield Charm. A bunch of them would have been helpless if you hadn't been holding their hand," Harry said, trying to deflect some of her praise.
"We'll be great teachers together then," Fleur said.
"Have you given any thought to how long you want to do this? I'm sure, with your qualifications and ability, Dumbledore would be glad to keep you on."
"I hadn't thought about it. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious," Harry said lightly. "I don't know much about what you and Bill have planned or how long this war is going to last. I just figured that the longer the school has you here helping out the better a shot all of these kids have."
"You were asking for entirely altruistic reasons then?" Fleur asked, teasing disbelief clear in her voice.
"The Dueling Club is good for my resume. The longer you're around the longer I have a job."
"Ah, yes. Your dastardly real reason for wanting me around comes to light at last."
"Is it so hard for you to believe that I'm a bad guy?" Harry asked.
"Have you ever done anything even mildly offensive in your entire life?"
"I stole Ron's pies this morning."
"Pure evil."
"They were homemade!"
"You're a menace to society. If you're not careful they'll lock you away in Azkaban."
"I'd just be relying on you to break me out then," Harry said.
"You think I'd waste my time on breaking you out of jail?" Fleur asked.
"Haven't you figured it out yet? It's us against the world," Harry said, slinging an arm over Fleur's shoulders companionably. He couldn't deny a slight trill of pleasure that went through him at the contact.
Fleur laughed, the first he had drawn from her since the night before. Her hand stopped running through her hair and instead looped through Harry's arm. She leaned against his shoulder. Her hair fell like a curtain around her and she had to brush it out of her face. She was warm against him, pleasantly soft, a comforting presence.
Her closeness was an expression of trust, he knew. Despite the relative shortness of their friendship Harry felt that it ran deeper than any other that he had, rivaling even Ron and Hermione. A connection existed between him and Fleur, an understanding, which he hadn't had with even Ron and Hermione so quickly.
Harry's friendship with Ron and Hermione was a function of time and shared experience. With Fleur it was something more intuitive, a meeting of like minds, where the only obstacle to their closeness was their natural reserve. Harry thought that Fleur felt something similar. It was the only way of explaining her level of comfort with him. She treated him almost like they were family, not even seeming to consider how she might be making him feel when she got so close, the effect that her body might have on his own.
"When I was younger I was even more arrogant than I am now," Fleur began, the same tone she always used when she was about to say something personal. "I was sure that the world was mine. After all, what did I lack? Spells came easily to me. I could charm even the most obstinate person. Difficult theoretical problems were nothing to me. As ashamed as it makes me to admit it now, I didn't used to think perfection was so far from my grasp. I was able to hide my pride and my arrogance from the world for a while and everyone thought that I was so modest. First in my class in every subject, I seemed destined for a bright future in the ministry, or finance, or academia; nothing was beyond my reach. Then I was selected for the Triwizard Tournament and everything that I ever thought about myself, every arrogant claim or prideful thought, was, at least to my mind, confirmed."
She paused, and then continued. "Then the world began to shrink before my eyes. I failed in task after task of the tournament. I failed my school and my country. Nobody said it, of course, but I could see that I was sullied in their eyes. I graduated from Beauxbatons first in my class but felt that I had to leave France; at least until the shame I felt was forgotten. I came to England, took a mediocre job with Gringotts, and settled into a routine of tedium and mediocrity.
"And then I met Bill. In a way, he saved me from that self-loathing. I'm not as arrogant, or prideful, as I used to be, but I'm not so self-effacing either. It was like he reminded me of what I could be and put me back together, piece by piece. I don't think it was intentional but he did it. To be honest with you Harry, I'm not sure what I would've ended up doing if he hadn't come along. I was just so ashamed of myself. I couldn't even stand to be around my family."
Her voice became emotional, like she was relieving the story as she told it to Harry. He wondered why she was telling him, what had reminded her of that, but he said nothing, trying to be a comforting presence and not intrude on her story.
"When Bill left for his work in Egypt I wondered how I would react. How much of my… recovery, was me and how much was Bill? Now I know. It was me. Bill was just the catalyst, the reminder of what I could be. I'm glad. I was worried how much I owed him and relied on him.
"This job at Hogwarts is the best thing to happen to me in years. It's made me feel like I did when I was younger, like there's possibility in my life again. Dueling you just now was the most alive I've felt since the tournament. When your last spell hit…the feeling was indescribable. Like a thousand of the greatest moments of life merged together."
Her voice was breathy, exhilarated, her mouth just inches away from his ear. Harry shifted uncomfortably, trying not to let Fleur see what just her words were doing to him.
"It sounds like things are getting better then," Harry said, somewhat awkwardly.
Fleur lifted her head off of Harry's shoulder and locked eyes with him, a smoldering fire burning there. "Much better. But now that I remember what that feels like, that aliveness, we're going to have to duel again, and again, and again, so that I never forget what that feels like again."
Harry shuddered. She sounded almost sensual about dueling and Harry was not at all averse to the idea of having a rematch.
"As many times as you want," he told her.
"I thought that might be your answer," Fleur said, a satisfied smile on her face. She ran a casual hand through Harry's hair, her fingers almost, but not quite, stroking his scalp. She lifted them away after a few seconds, just lingering long enough for the contact to feel a bit more than friendly. Harry supposed that she was just teasing him again. Sometimes she used words and sometimes she got more inventive.
It was strange to Harry how easily Fleur talked about the most intimate parts of herself. He wasn't accustomed to speaking without any emotional filter. Most interactions were circumscribed in a narrow emotional range; each side showed the proper response to happiness or sadness or anger but there was only so much revealed by either person, they both kept secrets and thoughts to themselves.
Talking to Fleur was like being at a confessional. It involved showing the best and the worst of herself and he had to do the same. Harry doubted that most relationships ever got to that point. With Fleur, Harry had opened up after only a few weeks of knowing her, and she had done the same for him. If there were hurdles that friendships had to deal with then Harry and Fleur had skipped on past them, ignoring everything but their interest in each other.
Truth, undiluted by any other consideration, was an intoxicating drug. Every conversation with Fleur ended with him wanting more. They were cathartic. Factor in the banter that he and Fleur could get going without any difficulty and their mutual interest in magic itself, the wonder of it all, and Harry enjoyed spending time with Fleur more than anyone else. He wasn't just posturing when he told her that he would do whatever she needed to help her. Her happiness was important to him; almost surprisingly so.
"I should probably get back and do my homework," Harry said, reluctant to relinquish the warmth by his side.
"Conveniently leaving me to clean up by myself," Fleur noted, more amused than upset.
"I can be your shrink or your assistant; you have to pick one."
She made a face at him, then stood up and helped pull Harry to his feet. Her hands were warm and soft; the kind of hands that hadn't known a day's labor in their life and were all the better for it.
"To think that the scrawny little boy in the Triwizard Tournament would grow up into a half-way decent wizard," Fleur said, her face still alight with the delight from their duel.
After pausing and looking at him for a second, Fleur pulled Harry into a hug, his body tight against hers, her arms locked behind his head. He could feel her chest pressing against his, her legs leaning against his, her head back on his shoulder.
Again, Harry became very aware of his friend's beauty; her startling, otherworldly, willowy, beauty. He could imagine her against him without the cumbersome dueling robes on, dressed like she had been the night before.
Harry broke the hug before his body reacted in a way that Fleur wouldn't be able to ignore. There was a somewhat knowing smile on her face as he pulled away from her.
"All grown up now," Fleur said, in a sing-song voice.
"You're a terrible person," Harry said, turning to leave the room.
She called after him right before he was out the door. "I'm not the one with a dirty mind, Harry!"