Chapter 11 – New Friends and Old Enemies

The Hogwarts Express. To generations of Hogwarts students, the big, red engine had symbolized new beginnings, adventure, and the return to the venerable and distinguished institution, one, which Jean-Sebastian Delacour had to admit, rivaled and surpassed even that of the beloved school of his youth.

There was also, he supposed, a sort of conceited arrogance about the old engine, especially in its location. Hidden away in one of the busiest stations in the country, the platform and the entire railway line up to the magical town in Scotland was almost a physical manifestation of the Wizarding world thumbing its nose at the Muggle world—in essence it was a sneering example of what wizards could do under the very noses of the Muggles, an example of what their magic could accomplish and how there was nothing the Muggles could do to stop them.

In an age where almost instantaneous travel could be initiated by those in the Wizarding world, the Express was a lasting image to the British magical public, not to mention a leftover anachronism to a world which had largely progressed passed the point of needing it. Beauxbatons, for example, had a large Floo reception area in its main hall where the students would arrive on the first day of classes, and subsequently return home on the days when school was let out. Of course, as it would be inadvisable at best to allow young school students access to an instantaneous method of travelling, the Floo connections were shut down for the bulk of the school year, and all travel through them was heavily supervised by the staff when they were open.

However, knowing as he did the importance of symbols in everyday life, Jean-Sebastian supposed that maintaining the Express was a worthwhile endeavor—not all traditions became defunct simply because a better way had been developed. And looking at the excitement on the faces of the assembled students told him that they at least did not consider the Express to be redundant.

Of course, the one part of the Express with which Jean-Sebastian was not enamored, was the fact that the students spent several hours travelling between London and Hogsmeade with very little supervision outside that of the student leaders themselves. And given what Harry had told him about some of the goings on during the journey—specifically those involving the confrontations with the Malfoy scion which appeared to happen every time they travelled to or from the school—Jean-Sebastian could not be entirely comfortable.

Still, the children are very capable and responsible, he mused to himself. The Malfoy boy may be a bit of a hothead, but Harry, especially with Fleur's backing, can certainly handle him. The way I understand it, he's been handling the boy for years.

The thought was comforting—Fleur, despite what the British wizards generally thought was her failure at the Triwizard, was a supremely capable and powerful witch. They would have each other—not to mention their friends—to provide support and protection. The power and capacity of a talented, determined and united group of friends could not be underestimated.

As they stepped through the barrier, the three teens made their way to the train and settled their belongings into a compartment before rejoining the three Delacours who were not leaving for Hogwarts—Gabrielle was still a little upset that she would not be accompanying her sister and her hero on their adventure—to say their final goodbyes.

"Neville! Luna!" Harry exclaimed as they stepped down from the train coach.

The two friends arrived and were greeted warmly by the party, though the greetings were a little understated; they had only parted two days earlier, after all.

Once the greetings had been completed, the two new arrivals boarded the train to leave their belongings in the compartment their three friends had already secured.

"Harry, where are the Weasleys?" Fleur suddenly asked, while peering around the platform.

Clearly amused, Hermione and Harry shared a glance. Then Harry looked at his watch—a clearly exaggerated gesture—before returning his gaze to Fleur and meeting her eyes with a look of mischief.

"They should be showing up about ten minutes from now."

Perplexed, Fleur glanced down at her own watch. "But the express will depart in ten minutes."

By now the two best friends were sniggering under their breaths, causing Fleur no small amount of exasperation, Jean-Sebastian noted.

"Fleur, the Weasleys are known for being a little tardy," said Harry between laughs.

"They'll come bustling in just before the train departs," added Hermione. "They do this every year—everyone who has ridden the train since Bill started school knows about them and looks forward to the show."

The three shared a laugh, after which Harry launched into the story of how they arrived at the last moment for his second year, and how he and Ron had found the portal closed to them. But as amusing as the story was, Jean-Sebastian found his mind wandering. As he had already told himself, they were extremely capable young people, but he could not help but worry, especially with Umbridge in residence at the venerable castle. He did not doubt that the woman would seize the first opportunity to spew her vitriol at his eldest daughter.

Jean-Sebastian scowled at the thought—he would have the woman's head if she behaved with anything other than the most professional conduct.

The group's discussions were interrupted by the train's whistle, signaling that the departure was five minutes away. Immediately hugs were exchanged, farewells spoken, and Jean-Sebastian took the opportunity for a last piece of instruction for the departing teens.

"Have a good time at school," he admonished. "And remember—if Umbridge should try anything at all, speak with your Headmaster. You can contact me for anything, and I will give you whatever help you require."

Fleur stepped over to hug him and say her farewells. Jean-Sebastian enveloped her in his arms, reflecting that this was the last time that she would be leaving for school—after this year, she would have graduated, and be ready to enter the larger adult world. A lump formed in his throat as he retreated to arm's length and gazed into the face of his beautiful daughter.

"I am very proud of you, Fleur," he said through slightly misty eyes.

"Thank you, Papa," was her response.

She paused for a moment before she spoke again. "I want you to know that I am very pleased with my situation, Papa. I was a little upset about the betrothal—since you never even saw fit to inform me of its existence! I was worried it would not work out. But I think it has all been for the best. I think I will be very happy with Harry."

Jean-Sebastian's smile was one of relief. He had wrestled with the decision for some time, not wishing to take his beloved daughter's chance at happiness away, before he had finally determined to enact the marriage contract. The fact that everything he had heard about Harry was positive had been a great relief, as he felt the young man would treat Fleur well. But that did not guarantee her happiness. That she was getting along with the young man so well was exactly what he wished to hear.

"I am glad to hear it," he finally answered. "I too think you will do well together. Just remember to confide in one another; look out for one another—it will draw you closer together, and make your transition even easier."

"We both will, Papa. Harry is very protective of his friends, and I know that he will be watching out for me as much as I will be for him."

Jean-Sebastian separated from his daughter, and once the general goodbyes had been said, the three teenagers boarded the train. Jean-Sebastian was amused as the prediction regarding the Weasleys proved true, as moments before the train began the long journey, the family scurried onto the platform and the four youngest instantly ran for the train. He shared an amused glance with Fleur through the window, as the train gave a lurch, and slowly began to move down the tracks.

"Is it just me, or has this year been the hardest to let go of her?" Apolline asked as they waved farewell to the children.

"It's her last year of school," was Jean-Sebastian's simple reply. "This time next year she will be looking for a job. She's all grown up."

"That makes me feel so old!"

Amused, Jean-Sebastian put his arm around his wife's shoulders. "My dear, you are still every bit as beautiful today as you were the day I first saw you. And we are not so very old yet, you know."

"We are not so very young, either," came the grumpy voice of his wife. "A daughter all grown." She looked down at her younger daughter, who was peering up at her parents with a quizzical expression on her face. "And this little one will be following in her sister's footsteps before long," she continued with a smile and a hug for Gabrielle."

"So she will," Jean-Sebastian agreed, as he steered his wife and daughter from the platform. "But not today."

"How long does it take to get to Hogsmeade, Harry?"

"About eight hours, give or take," was Harry's reply.

Harry regarded his new betrothed with a hint of a mile evident on his face. Fleur's demeanor reminded him of himself on his first journey to Hogwarts—excited and thrilled at the new experience, yet with a hint of trepidation at the unknown.

Of course Fleur had been to Hogwarts before—she had spent most of the previous year at the school, after all. However, this was different. It was the first time she had ridden the express for one thing. Perhaps it was more mundane than the method she had used the previous year—it was difficult to top a journey made in some fancy Cinderella carriage pulled by flying horses—but the journey via the express was a magical experience in its own right. Most importantly, however, she was returning to Hogwarts as a student, not a visitor, and that made all the difference for the young woman.

Harry was well aware of her insecurities—they had talked enough for him to understand them, regardless of the fact that she had never openly declared what was worrying her. But he knew that she fretted that her experience at Hogwarts would end up much the same way as it had at Beauxbatons: plenty of acquaintances, but no close friends. She feared that she would forever be set apart by her heritage.

She need not have worried, as Harry was certain nothing could be further from the truth. For starters, Harry would be by her side, and he knew that his friends would accept her for the simple fact that he did. That by itself should be recommendation enough for her to form friendships of her own. In addition, she had already made the acquaintance of several of her fellow students, and the Weasley twins were in her year as well, and should smooth her transition and help her gain acceptance of the others in their year.

The only concern was where she would end up sorted—thus far Professor Dumbledore had not made any mention of how or when she would be placed in a house. Even so Harry was certain she would end up with him in Gryffindor, though he knew she would do well in Ravenclaw, with her intelligence. Gryffindor, however, made the most sense, as there she would find greater acceptance than anywhere else.

The conversation for the first part of the journey was pleasant and animated. Ron and Ginny had joined them in their compartment, along with Luna and Neville, and though it made for a slightly cramped compartment, the company was good, and none of the friends saw fit to complain. The Weasley twins had stopped in to say hello as the train left, but they immediately left to search for their partner in crime, Lee Jordan, no doubt discussing the mayhem they were likely to create in this their final year at the school. Harry did not doubt that whatever they had in mind, it would not be dull!

About a half hour into the journey, the party was interrupted by the train's loudspeaker.

"Your attention please: All prefects will now assemble in the prefects' car for the prefects' meeting."

As the only two prefects in the compartment, Harry and Hermione immediately grabbed their school robes.

"You know, I've always wondered how the loudspeaker works, when wizards don't know about Muggle electronics, much less have the ability or interest to make them," Harry said absently as he pulled his robes on over his head.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You'd know if you had taken Runes, Harry."

"It's all done with Runes?"

"It's like the lights and other devices you saw at my home, Harry," Fleur chimed in. "The microphone they are using has a modified Sonorus charm which instead of amplifying the sound, transmits it to a set of similar runes in each compartment. Those runes then amplify the sound."

"That's pretty ingenious," said Harry after a moment's thought.

Fleur smiled. "Thank you, Harry. The Muggles do have some marvelous things, but I dare say the magical world has its share of innovations."

"Sounds interesting." Harry then turned to Hermione who was busily tying her hair up in a French braid. "I never knew runes were so versatile. Do you feel like tutoring me this year?"

Startled, Hermione's hands stilled in the middle of her efforts and she peered at him with some disbelief. "You actually want to learn Runes?"

"Yeah mate," Ron chimed in. "Why would you want to torture yourself with more studying, Harry? We're already taking a couple of electives."

"Two electives we chose specifically because we thought they were easy," said Harry with a roll of his eyes.

"And what's wrong with that?" Ron demanded.

"Nothing at all, Ron, if that's what you want to do. For myself, I figure I've skived off a little too much—I've got an insane madman after me, and I doubt he'll want to play Quidditch to the death when we finally meet."

The comment prompted giggles from his companions, though Ron appeared to be alternating between amusement at the thought, and indignation at the way Harry spoke of his favorite sport.

"I think I need to be a little more studious and serious, Ron," said Harry, hoping to avoid offending Ron with his conciliatory words. "Otherwise, I'll never be ready to face him. I know he's coming after me. He won't stop until one of us is gone—of that I am certain."

"And you think Runes is going to help?"

Ron's voice held a certain amount of sarcasm, prompting Harry to consciously hold his temper in. This was Ron, after all, and though he was smart enough and was a good friend, studious he would never be. The important thing right now, was to make certain Ron did not say anything to upset Hermione like he was prone to at times like these—he was working up to a comment about how he preferred that his best friend not become like the resident bookworm, if Harry were to guess.

"Not Runes, specifically," Harry admitted. "But I think a little extra effort in general would be good, and like I said—it sounds interesting.

"Well, how about it?" he continued, turning to Hermione.

Though her expression was suspicious, Hermione appeared pleased at Harry's interest. "Sure Harry, if you'd like."

"I promise, Hermione."

Hermione responded to his grin in like manner before she became all business. "We better go, Harry."

Nodding, Harry followed her from the compartment.

The prefects' meeting was not exactly what Harry would call scintillating—but then again, he supposed it wasn't supposed to be. It was important, however, and Harry paid close attention to the instructions given by the head students—Roger Davies from Ravenclaw, who he remembered was Fleur's date from the Yule Ball, and Samantha Dewhurst, a pretty blond from Hufflepuff. The fact that Hermione was listening intently was not a surprise—Harry fully expected her to take her duties as seriously as she did anything else. Knowing she expected the same from him, and wanting to live up to his newfound maturity, Harry was determined to emulate her.

Unfortunately, he found upon entering the car that Malfoy had also been made a prefect. It was not exactly a surprise, though, considering just how much Snape favored the blond ponce. He said nothing throughout the whole of the meeting, yet his smirk at both Harry, and sometimes Hermione, seemed to suggest that he knew something which they did not. Harry ignored him—it was either that, or hex the Death Eater spawn to oblivion, and he did not think the head students would appreciate the disruption to their meeting, not to mention the mess to clean up after.

Suppressing a laugh at the image, Harry returned Malfoy's smirk in an even more insolent manner, allowing it to become wider when the other boy's countenance darkened. He then decided he had had enough fun antagonizing the little git, and focused his attention back on the meeting.

As luck would have it, the Gryffindor prefects were assigned the first patrols from junior to senior, meaning that Harry and Hermione would have the first patrol. They left the compartment, ignoring Malfoy's glare, and made their way to the front of the train where they would start their patrol. It too was somewhat uneventful as, other than admonishing a couple of first years to stop horsing around, they could find nothing else wrong. The other students were either too well behaved, or too adept at hiding what they were doing to be caught.

They made their way back to their compartment after their patrol was complete, and the rest of the trip passed uneventfully until they were nearing their destination.

No trip on the Express could truly be complete, Harry reflected, without a visit from Malfoy and cronies. This year's version happened during the last ninety minutes of the journey, and as the Slytherins had been assigned the final patrol slots, Harry suspected that the blond git had timed his appearance during his own patrol rounds, so as not to be caught by any of the other prefects, not that any of the other Slytherins would do much more than cheer him on.

Harry had just begun a discussion with Ron about the upcoming Quidditch Cup, when the doors to the compartment snapped open, and Malfoy walked in, his face stretched in a most unpleasant grin. He was flanked, as always, by his faithful bodyguards. Out in the hallway, Pansy Parkinson looked on with a superior smirk on her face.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Potty and his merry band of misfits," said Malfoy with a sneer.

"Ah, now all is right with the world again," Harry returned. "It wouldn't truly seem right to go all the way to Hogsmeade without a visit from the Ferret and the Gorillas, with the Pug tagging along for good measure. What is this—has the zoo been allowed on the Express when I wasn't looking?"

Everyone in the compartment laughed, with the exception of the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle appeared confused, while Parkinson and Malfoy flushed in anger, though neither deigned to respond. He only stuck his nose higher in the air. "I certainly couldn't have missed the lot of you—the stench of lesser beings was evident from the moment we entered the car."

Letting out a longsuffering sigh, Harry affixed an unfriendly eye upon the Malfoy heir. "Ferret, did you know that 'Malfoy' in French means bad faith? Do you think that some event in your family's background caused you to be saddled with that unfortunate moniker? Although, I must admit—it does fit you rather well…"

His face almost purple with rage, Malfoy took what he probably thought was a menacing step forward. "You filthy Halfblood! How dare you insult a Pureblood of my standing and pedigree?"

"Ferret, your family was still herding sheep in France when my family had been established as a leading family in England centuries earlier. That's the reason why your criminal father doesn't have a Wizengamot seat—he's still considered an outsider by British Pureblood standards."

Harry smiled at Malfoy's rage, thanking Sirius for his brief lessons on the history of the leading English magical families. Malfoy may not know it, but the only reason his father had any influence at all was because of his money, and the fear his support for Voldemort engendered.

It was truly amusing to see the little git stew in his own juices, his mouth working ineffectually, but Harry was becoming rather tired of the confrontation and wanted to enjoy the rest of the trip in peace. "You know, Bad Faith," Harry continued conversationally after a few moments, "every year you strut in here like you own the place, leading these two brainless baboons around by the nose, and every year you end up fleeing the scene with your tail between your legs. Why don't you do us both a favor, save yourself whatever dignity you may have left, and leave now before you're humiliated yet again?"

The color of Malfoy's face reminded Harry of Uncle Vernon in full rage. He surprised Harry, however, by maintaining his temper and sneering once again.

"You know, Potty, I know you're nothing more than a Halfblood, but I didn't think even you could stoop this low. I mean, it's bad enough that you lower yourself to associating with Mudbloods," he gestured disdainfully at Hermione, "and squibs, but Delacour? That whore isn't even human!"

Incensed did not even begin to cover Harry's emotions. He sprang up from his seat and shot off two body binds in rapid succession, locking up Crabbe and Goyle. The bookends fell to the floor before they even knew what hit them. Another quick spell disarmed the Slytherin, while another slammed the door behind Malfoy closed, and all before Malfoy could even think to reach for his wand. Then Harry grabbed Malfoy by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the door, his forearm pressed against the boy's throat, a grim frown on his face.

"You don't seem to understand me, Bad Faith," Harry ground out, "so I suppose I'll have to be explicit. I'm not interested in your bigoted beliefs, or your whiny inferiority complex, nor am I interested in continually being baited by you. I'm not going to put up with your garbage this year, Ferret—if you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from me and all my friends."

Malfoy's eyes blazed and he struggled against Harry's grip, but Harry had all the leverage and would not give him any room to move.

"When my father hears—" he rasped, until Harry cut him off.

"And that is why I have no respect for you, Ferret. The first sign of trouble and you go running for Daddy. Perhaps some time you should learn to fight your own battles. Or perhaps this is something they teach in Death Eater School? Do all of daddy's cronies go running to Voldemort when the going gets rough?"

Calling on all his disdain and disgust for the inbred twit, Harry pulled out his best impression of the elder Malfoy's cultured voice. "How dare you defy me? When the Dork Lord hears of this…"

Ignoring the laughter from the rest of the group, Harry focused his attention on Malfoy, noting the almost purple hue of his face, though whether that was due to anger or the pressure on his throat, Harry could not be certain. "Just remember, Bad Faith, you've never managed to beat me and you never will. You're welcome to try, though, any time you like."

A quick swish of his wand, and the door sprang open, spilling the Malfoy heir into the hallway where he collided with Parkinson, who had been banging on the door, demanding alternately that Harry release Draco, and that he open the door. The almost comic look of disbelief on her face when she went down with Malfoy sprawled on top of her was priceless. A couple of levitation charms later, and all four Slytherins had been dumped in the hallway in a tangle of limbs. Harry then shut the door, locking it behind him, while he pulled the shade to give them some privacy.

Predictably, it was Ron who spoke first. "Mate, that was bloody brilliant!"

Chuckling, Harry acknowledged his friend with a grin, before turning to the rest of them, with a more serious demeanor. "I meant what I said—that little prick better stay away from us this year. If he tries anything, hex first and ask questions later."

"But Harry, you could get into trouble for that," Hermione responded. "It's not that he doesn't deserve it, but do you really want to run the risk of getting detention or worse?"

"This coming from the girl who bloodied his nose in third year?" asked Harry rhetorically. Hermione blushed at the reference, though he thought he detected a small smirk as well.

Surprisingly it was Neville who answered for the entire group. "Hermione, the reason Malfoy gets away with as much as he does is because there are no consequences for his behavior. Snape ignores his actions, and Malfoy is clever enough that he hides them when any of the other teachers are around. If he starts feeling the consequences of his actions from those he is trying to bully, then maybe he'll think twice before doing it again."

"Exactly, Neville," Harry said, saluting the other boy. "Though I doubt Malfoy is smart enough to understand enough to leave us alone, I say we practice Moody's mantra—constant vigilance. But we also need to remember not to allow the enemy to get the upper hand. Don't start anything, but if he does start something, make certain you finish it."

A general agreement met his declaration, though Hermione's was perhaps a little subdued. Seeing this, Harry sat down next to her.

"I don't intend to start a fight with him, Hermione," he said softly. "But I will not allow him to continue to insult my friends or my betrothed."

He glanced up at Fleur and smiled at her, which she returned. "For my part, Harry, I agree. He'll just get worse the older he gets if you don't teach him that he can't get away with it."

"All right, Harry," Hermione finally agreed. "But don't go looking for trouble."

Harry allowed an injured frown to come over his face. "I? Go looking for trouble? Hermione, you wound me."

The general laughter in the car once again dispelled the serious mood, and the friends returned to their light-hearted banter, until the announcement of their arrival.

Fleur had initially pushed back when her friends suggested she would be as wide-eyed as a first year upon going to Hogwarts this year, making it plain to all her friends that it was not as though she had never before been to Hogwarts.

What she had not counted on, however, was the fact that the famed old castle was well able to surprise and awe virtually anyone, especially one who was entering it for the first time as an actual member of its student population. From the station, and the long train ride, to the carriages which they boarded to journey to the castle, everything felt far more magical to Fleur than she felt it should have, being, as she was, as seventh year student on the cusp of adulthood.

But there was nothing to be done—she found herself impressed all over at the grandeur of it all, and excited for the coming year, much to the amusement of her companions.

Exiting the station, the group of friends stepped down from the platform and made their way to the waiting carriages which would take them the final distance to their destination. While they were waiting in queue, however, her fiancé stared ahead at the gathered carriages, his eyes wide with astonishment.

"What are those things pulling the carriages?"

Almost as one, the group followed his gaze. Confused, Fleur glanced back at her betrothed—there was nothing in front of the carriages. They appeared to be propelled by some sort of magic.

"There's nothing in front of the carriages, Harry," Hermione told her friend gently.

"Yes there are, Hermione," Harry disagreed. "They look like big scaly horses, with wings folded along their backs."

"Oh, those are thestrals," the voice of Luna Lovegood piped up.

Now, in the time that they had spent training and associating with one another, the group had become intimately familiar with Luna, and her odd ways. Her proclamations regarding fantastical creatures such as Nargles, Nifflers, and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, among others, were well-known to the group. And though they truly liked her and had quickly come to consider her a good friend, her pronouncements were still somewhat confusing—at times, they did not truly know how to take the little blond.

"What are you on about, Luna?" Ron demanded. "There's nothing there."

Luna turned her gaze upon Ron—more focused than was her wont, Fleur noted—and chided him. "Just because you cannot see them, Ronald, doesn't mean they don't exist. Thestrals are invisible to all but those who have seen death."

"Then that means since I saw Cedric die at the third task last year…" Harry's voice trailed off as he was clearly remembering the events of that horrible night.

Fleur reached out and took his hand, imparting what comfort she was able, while Luna addressed Harry.

"Yes, Harry—that would qualify. Cedric was such a nice boy…"

"Then why can you see them, Luna?" Neville asked.

"My mother died when I was nine," responded the girl. "I was there."

"I'm sorry to hear that," was Neville's response, as he reached out to take her hand. Luna smiled up at him, but she did not remove her hand from his.

The group waited in silence until they boarded the carriages, Fleur's thoughts centered upon her betrothed. Harry had not spoken much of the night he had seen Cedric die, but she knew that it still had the power to affect him. As they entered the carriage, she took up position to Harry's right, never letting go of his hand, while Hermione bracketed her friend on the other side. Fleur raised a knowing eyebrow at her friend, which Hermione ignored, before Neville, Ron and Luna entered and took their positions on the other seat. Fleur noted idly that Neville and Luna had not released each other's hands.

The mood lifted, however, as they approached the castle, and Fleur, still excited as she was, peered forward, eager to catch a first glimpse at the famous building. Harry favored her with an indulgent smile, but Fleur was too excited to do more than return it somewhat breathlessly.

"Maybe Fleur should have ridden in the boats with the firsties," Ron commented with a grin.

"And why is that, Mr. Weasley?" asked Fleur with an uplifted eyebrow.

"The boats carry first years to an underground grotto where they wait for the sorting," Harry explained. "The boats are kind of cool, but the most spectacular thing is the first sight of the castle as you round the point on the lake. I've never seen anything so awe-inspiring in my entire life."

"Then I'm sorry I've missed it."

"That should be our goal for this year, then," said Neville. "We'll build a boat and sail her round the head at dusk so Fleur can see the castle from the lake."

As the friends laughed, Fleur looked archly at the young man. "Thank you, Neville, but I think part of the mystique is the first glimpse of the castle. I have already seen it, after all."

"True enough," said Hermione. "But it's still worth seeing if you get the chance."

The carriage stopped in front of the castle and the six friends disembarked, meeting up with their friends who had ridden in different carriages. As a group they strode into the entrance hall, making their way through the milling mass of students.

At one point Fleur noticed the blond Slytherin from earlier staring at them with some displeasure, but he made no comment, merely pointedly turning his back on them with an exaggerated flourish.

"Looks like something I said may have finally penetrated through Malfoy's rock-hard skull."

Fleur glanced questioningly at Harry. He pointed toward a tall man with dark hair and black robes who was currently glaring at them with some disdain.

"In previous years Malfoy would have gone directly to Snape with tales of how I mistreated him. But with Snape just standing there, I guess he hasn't—maybe he wants to turn over a new leaf and start living up to his potential of a bully who doesn't go running to daddy or his head of house at the first sign of trouble."

"Oh Harry," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes, "don't even joke about something like that. Malfoy is bad enough the way he is—he'd be ten times worse if he actually grew a backbone and acquired some competence."

Harry chuckled and winked at her, while Fleur merely smiled. She had seen Malfoy in action and could not help but agree with their assessment of the boy. And as for Snape, she had already been warned many times over by members of the entire group. She expected nothing less from the man than the treatment to which he routinely subjected Harry. However, with her father as a protector this year, Snape had better watch his behavior—Jean-Sebastian Delacour was not one to put up with the kind of nonsense for which the man was infamous.

The group moved further into the hall, and had reached the massive doors to the great hall when they were stopped by the diminutive charms professor Fleur remembered from the previous year.

"Miss Delacour, welcome to Hogwarts!"

"Thank you, professor, I am happy to be here."

"And I am certain that Hogwarts is happy to have stolen such a bright and talented witch from our counterparts in Beauxbatons. You will be a credit to our school, to be sure."

He leaned close and conspiratorially, but in a stage whisper, said, "I know perhaps you are hoping to be sorted in the same house as your betrothed, but you should consider the house of the intelligent—we would be pleased to have you join us."

"Are you attempting to influence a prospective student, professor?" asked Hermione with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Professor Flitwick grinned at her. "Certainly not, Miss Granger, though now that you mention it, I believe there is another present who should have ended up in my house."

"Oh no, professor," Luna chimed in. "I think Hermione ending up in Gryffindor was for the best."

"You are probably right at that," Flitwick replied with a sigh. "But that doesn't stop me from wishing it were different.

"In any case, my errand here is not a social one," he continued. "I have been instructed by the Headmaster to convey Miss Delacour to his office for her sorting—he feels there is no need to make a spectacle of your sorting in front of the entire school."

"Yes sir," Fleur agreed, before turning to her companions. "Harry, Hermione, will you come with me also? If that is acceptable, professor."

"No problem at all, Miss Delacour—I'm sure the support will be more than welcome."

"We'll take her there, professor," stated Harry. "I'm sure we know the way."

Flitwick laughed. "I'm sure you do, Mr. Potter. In that case, I will resume my normal duties. Please hurry along, as we do not wish to delay the sorting of the first years."

With that, Flitwick departed. Harry turned to the rest of the group.

"Please save us places—we'll be back shortly."

As the group nodded and departed, Fleur noted that no one called Harry on his assumption that she would be sitting at Gryffindor table with the rest of them. Perhaps it was because she would be sitting with him regardless of whether she was sorted in the same house or not.

The trip up to the Headmaster's office was accomplished in silence, and when they arrived, the gargoyle guarding the door immediately moved to the side and allowed them to step on the revolving stair. They soon reached the top, and entered through the open door, to find Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, with Professor McGonagall perched on one of the chairs to the side.

"Ah, Miss Delacour," greeted the Headmaster. He gestured to a chair situated directly in front of his desk. "Please have a seat and we will begin.

"And as for you, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore with a barely concealed smirk, "I suppose you felt you had to accompany your betrothed to ensure she was sorted in the proper place?"

"Of course, Headmaster," said Harry with an answering grin. "I wouldn't want my fiancée to have to live with the snakes, after all."

The Headmaster chuckled, while McGonagall looked on with amusement. But it was a ratty old hat sitting on the Headmaster's desk that responded.

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Potter," said the hat. "Just because you had a bad experience with a future Slytherin and didn't want to be sorted into that house, doesn't mean you control me. Miss Delacour will be placed in the house in which she would be most suited, I assure you, regardless of your juvenile wishes."

Fleur gaped at Harry with astonishment. Not only was she surprised at the sight of her betrothed being chastised by a hat, but the fact that it had almost played him in Slytherin of all places was a revelation! She regarded Harry, noting that Hermione had an identical expression of shock on her face.

Harry shrugged and grinned cheekily. "What can I say? I met Malfoy on the train and didn't want to be anywhere near him. I asked the hat not to put me in Slytherin, and given what I have to put up with from the little prick ever since then, it was the right choice."

"Mr. Potter!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall, though to Fleur's eyes she did not appear to be overly scandalized.

At the same time, the hat snorted with some exasperation. "I still say you could have aspired to greatness in Slytherin, though I will admit that it was a tossup between Slytherin and Gryffindor. I suppose you have done well there too."

"Thanks." Harry's response was more than a little sarcastic.

"Though this is perhaps a most interesting discussion," interjected the Headmaster, "we should move on to what are here for."

Indicating her readiness, Fleur waited while McGonagall, receiving a nod from Headmaster Dumbledore, retrieved the hat and placed it upon her head. Suddenly, Fleur felt a presence in her mind.

It is a pleasure to finally be able to sit upon your head, Miss Delacour.

Fleur laughed. I'm not sure what I expected, but I don't think it was this.

Well, how could I have come to know your strongest characteristics if I was unable to see in your mind and communicate with you? Should I instead sort you based on the color of your hair, or perhaps you should just tell me where you want to go—would we save time that way, do you think? It worked for Mr. Potter, after all.

You're rather sarcastic for a hat.

The hat gave the equivalent of a mental shrug. My creator patterned me after his own personality, and Godric was as sarcastic as anyone I've ever met. I have developed my own brand of cynicism, though—it comes from sitting on the heads of every snot-nosed eleven year-old to come through this institution for the past thousand years.

I can see how that would affect you, Fleur responded politely.

I'm sure you can. In fact, I must say it is rather refreshing to be perched on the head of someone a little more mature. I can certainly do without all the pubescent hormones, emotional uncertainty, and the perpetual angst of the unknown which exists in the minds of most of those upon whose heads I have been perched. Now, shall was have a look and place you in your proper house?

Though speaking with the hat was amusing, its particular brand of sarcastic cynicism was beginning to grate on her. Please.

The hat went silent for a moment, before it began musing to itself in her head. Most intriguing. I see you have an impressive intelligence, more than enough to see you in the house of Ravenclaw, though perhaps it is not your defining characteristic. You have do have some ambition, though again not as strong as some of your other traits. Regardless, that particular house would obviously not accept you, so the point is moot. You are loyal in the right circumstances, so Hufflepuff is a possibility. However… Ah yes, you have courage aplenty, not only to stand up for who you are, but for the trials you've faced in your life. Then, at the second task, though you were terrified, you faced your fears and competed. For that alone, you would do well in…

"Gryffindor!"

Removing the hat from her head, Fleur smiled and thanked both of the professors. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in response.

"Well, Minerva?"

"Nothing more than I expected, Albus," replied the professor, a little smugly, Fleur thought. "In fact, I believe I should have made that wager with you."

"I think not," responded Dumbledore. "I believe I would have known better than to accept a bet of that kind."

McGonagall laughed then turned to face Fleur, a bright smile adorning her face. "And let me welcome you to Gryffindor, Miss Delacour! I trust you will be a welcome addition to the house, and will fit in with all your friends."

"Thank you professor," responded Fleur, somewhat embarrassed at the praise. "I will do my best to become a credit to the house."

"And I am sure you will," responded the deputy Headmistress. "However, I believe that we have a sorting ceremony to attend, and I would not wish to keep you all from your friends for any longer than is necessary. Let us go to the Great Hall now, shall we?"

The rest of the evening was somewhat of a blur for Fleur. Though the sorting proceeded in apace, she could not say who was sorted where, other than that her new house had received the most students—almost twenty in number. Not that the other houses were ignored. Harry gave her to understand that this group of first years was by far the largest he had seen in his time at the venerable institution.

The one thing which was quite clear in her mind when she thought about it later was what happened immediately after the Headmaster's opening remarks and introductions. And if she had not already felt a rather large measure of distaste for the pink-clad woman sitting primly at the head table, looking down her nose at the assembled students—though Fleur privately thought the woman had sneered in the direction of their group more often than anywhere else—the woman's words would have provoked her dislike.

Upon her introduction, Madam Umbridge stood and after usurping the Headmaster's position, proceeded to address the assembly.

"Students of Hogwarts, I thank you for the most gracious welcome you have given me. Indeed, I feel at home already amongst you all in this ancient institution."

The members of their group all exchanged smirks with one another. If the woman truly considered the silent stares a warm welcome, then she was either witless or blind, not to mention deaf.

"My name is Delores Umbridge," she continued, "and I have the very great honor to be serving as your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year. I hope we shall accomplish many great things together in the days ahead."

The woman stopped for a moment and gazed up at the ceiling, apparently deep in thought.

"The Ministry has become very concerned about the standard of education taught at this august establishment in recent years," she continued slowly, once her period of introspection had passed. "I am here to ensure the standards of instruction improve, but also to ensure you are taught the proper information which will allow you to succeed, without overwhelming you. I trust this will benefit you not only at Hogwarts, but also in your future life.

"But make no mistake—I intend to see that Hogwarts improves so that its graduates meet their potential. As a part of this, I have come to the understanding that certain… students," here she directed a simpering glance in Harry's direction, "have received preferential treatment. I assure you that every student in this school is—and is to be considered—equal, by all of the professors."

She once again flashed her insipid and insincere smile at the students. "Again, thank you, and I look forward to working with you all!"

The students were dismissed soon after Umbridge's statements, and though Harry and Hermione were busy directing the new first year students to Gryffindor tower, Fleur walked with the rest of their friends in the wake of the wide-eyed new students.

"Is she for real?" said Ron, voicing the thought Fleur suspected they were all thinking.

"For real or not, it's going to be an interesting year," said Neville ruefully.

"Is it any different from usual?" said one of the twins.

"Yeah, ever since Harry got here, every year has been interesting," said the other.

Fleur simply took all this in stride, while gazing around at the castle. It was the first time she had been up to the Gryffindor dorms and though she was not unfamiliar with Hogwarts, she was not certain she would be able to find her way again.

The common room was garishly decorated in red and gold (in Fleur's opinion anyway), but exuded a warm, comfortable feeling despite being rather hard on the eyes. She was introduced to some of the other students, particularly the seventh years, and though she was warmly accepted by the twins' friend, Lee Jordan, she felt the typical reserve from the ladies. Even the three Gryffindor chasers appeared to be somewhat wary of her, even though they clearly had nothing but respect and affection for Harry. She knew that for the time being, until she proved herself, she was been accepted based on the recommendations of the members of their little group. And it was partially her fault, she suspected—they had likely seen her aloof act at the tournament and equated her with the spoiled and arrogant princess she showed to keep the world at bay.

Still, it was much better than the almost blatant hostility she received from many of the other girls at Beauxbatons. With time—not to mention the girls' eventual understanding that she would not be attempting to steal any prospective boyfriends, not with Harry having already claimed her—she was sure they would become easier in each other's company. In all, she was happy with her first day at school. There would undoubtedly be challenges, but they would stick together and overcome them.

Updated 05/23/2013