Chapter 25 – A Fighter and a Lover

"No, Davies. I had not forgotten."

Turning slowly, Harry faced his accuser, one eyebrow lifted in question. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Roger scoffed.

"I just don't see that you have a way to win," said Harry.

Roger's intense glare seemed to bore right into Harry. "Pretty tough words for a little twerp who has been perched on a pedestal all his life. You've never had to do anything to prove you deserve it, and yet you think you'll beat me without any problem?"

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "That's not what I mean," he said, impatient that Roger kept willfully misunderstanding him. "We both know you're a seventh-year and I'm only a fifth. What I mean is that I don't see any way for you to come out ahead in this. If you win, well, you're supposed to since I'm only a fifth-year. If I win, you get humiliated by losing to a fifth-year."

"Oy!" Lee Jordan's voice broke out over the group. "I lost to a fifth-year too!"

His attempt at levity fell a little flat, as most of the club was focused on the showdown between their leader and the Head Boy. A quick glance around him showed very few smiles at Lee's interruption, and that the sentiment appeared to be with him, if the nods and expressions of discontent with Roger's behavior were any indication.

"Ah, but you're forgetting the whole 'Boy-Who-Lived' angle," Roger crowed. "You're not just some ordinary fifth-year."

Harry allowed all of his disdain to seep over his features. "In one minute you decry my fame, and in the next you say you want to profit from it, Roger. Seems to me you want it both ways."

"I didn't come up with this ridiculous Boy-Who-Lived nonsense."

"Neither did I!" Harry rejoined. "It all happened when I was a baby, in case you've forgotten. Ask Hermione or Ron or any of my other friends—I don't want this fame any more than I want Voldemort after me."

"You sure don't act like it."

"Maybe you just don't know me."

"Harry," Fleur interjected into the argument, "you will never to convince him. He has made up his mind."

"You might as well get on with this," added Hermione.

A general murmur of agreement rippled through the club members, and Harry acknowledged the girls' points.

"All right then. Fleur, will you referee?"

"I will adjudicate the match."

Turning, Harry noted the approach of the Headmaster and Professor Flitwick, though it was Dumbledore who had spoken. Both were regarding the two combatants with severity, though Harry thought the greater portion of the professors' disapprobation was directed at the Head Boy.

"Are you certain you wish to continue with this?" Dumbledore asked, looking in turn at both Harry and Roger.

Harry shrugged to indicate his complete ambivalence, while Roger, in a softer and much more diffident voice, agreed that they should proceed.

"Very well, then," said the Headmaster. "I will allow it in light of your willingness to continue."

"It's not a bad thing, professor," Harry assured him. "I'm the leader of this club, so it makes sense that I have to prove that I know what I'm talking about."

Dumbledore regarded Harry and smiled. "I dare say that is a good thing in a leader, Harry. However, I cannot say that I approve of the reasons for this challenge, nor do I believe that it is merely to prove that you 'know what you are talking about.'"

The Headmaster's pointed glance in Roger's direction as he said this was missed by no one, though Roger did a credible job of appearing unaffected by the mild rebuke. For Harry it mattered little—his reasons for accepting the challenge were no more and no less than he had stated, and he did not fear the result. At worst, a loss would seem like an inevitability, easily explained by their relative ages and levels of education. A win, however, would cement his ability to lead the club and do away with any further dissention which might arise in the future.

"If you will both take your places, I believe we should begin," Dumbledore prompted. "It is getting close to curfew and I would like you all to return to your dorms before the remaining time has elapsed."

With a glance at the Head Boy, Harry vaulted up onto the platform and turned to face his adversary. Roger sported a Malfoy-esque sneer, clearly pleased with himself at his success in provoking this confrontation. A glance to the side revealed Fleur's discontented glare at her former date, though when she noticed Harry's gaze, she directed a brilliant smile at him, making him feel warm all over. Harry had always thought that Hermione was his biggest supporter; now it seemed as though she had competition in that role.

Harry smiled back at his betrothed, wagging his eyebrows in her direction, to which she responded by rolling her eyes and directing several significant glances at his opponent. "Concentrate on him!" she mouthed at him, nodding her head in the Head Boy's direction.

Taking the point, Harry grinned and bowed slightly at her, before pivoting and facing Roger. He peered at the Head Boy for a moment, noting the insolence in his casual stance, which completely belied the expression of anger on his face. Roger had obviously witnessed the exchange and was clearly upset at the feelings the two had conveyed.

"Are you ready to be exposed for a phony?" Roger taunted.

Harry, now certain that Roger's dislike was founded in jealousy, nodded tightly in the Headmaster's direction. "I'm sure the others will judge me for more than what happens in this little fracas."

"Now let's make this a pleasant affair, shall we?" Dumbledore's deceptively mild voice interrupted their conversation and reduced the tension slightly. "It is not considered good form to taunt your opponent. On the other hand, concentrating on your opponent is definitely considered to be good form."

"I suggest you both focus on your spells," Flitwick added.

Harry nodded at the Charms professor and assumed a dueling stance, which Roger immediately copied. The glare was still present on the Head Boy's face, but it was now tempered with a sense of determination. Roger clearly wanted to win this match to vindicate his claims.

"Are you both ready?"

When Harry and Roger both indicated their willingness to begin, the Headmaster's wand lit up with a light spell and the match was on.

Shifting instantly to the offensive, Roger snapped off a couple of stunners, and a banishing spell, trying to knock Harry off the platform and win the duel quickly. Harry merely smiled and sidestepped the attacks, responding with a disarming charm, and two stunners of his own, which Roger blocked and dodged.

Undeterred, Roger continued to attack, throwing an array of stunners, binders, and other offensive spells at Harry, who continually dodged, throwing up shields to augment his defense. Rolling to the side, Harry unleashed his own attacks, focusing on disarming spells and stunners, which Roger deflected or dodged.

The opening attacks thus thwarted, the match settled down into a rhythm of attacks and counter attacks, largely designed by each to take the measure of his opponent and identify weaknesses and tendencies. In Roger, Harry grudgingly had to admit that he faced a formidable opponent. As a Ravenclaw, it was expected that he would be knowledgeable and clever, with an impressive repertoire of spells and a healthy imagination from which to base his attacks. He was competent and clever, and this was clearly the reason why he was Head Boy, as Harry could feel the effects of his assaults and his unwavering determination to prove his point.

He was not, however, so easy to admire in his other attributes, specifically with respect to his insistence on attacking Harry, which appeared to be based on nothing more than jealousy and petulance. Harry had never really had much contact with Roger before the start of the year, and had never truly become familiar with him. He had always appeared somewhat distant in those few instances in which Harry had witnessed his interactions, and though his behavior of late had been downright nasty, he had never shown himself to be especially vindictive or ignorant in nature.

That had all changed with his recent actions towards not only Harry, but to Fleur as well, who truly did not deserve his disdain. Harry was not certain if Roger had simply hidden this facet of his personality or if it had recently emerged, and he did not know exactly what Roger's problem was—though he suspected strongly that it had something to do with Fleur—but his most recent behavior suggested a disturbing lack of any respect for the French witch. Perhaps Roger felt that it was only in her nature as a Veela to respond to any man's overtures in an amorous fashion—if so, Harry could only be disgusted with his prejudice.

Even more disconcerting—to Dumbledore too, if the frown Harry detected on his face when he had a brief moment to look at him was any indication—was the constant stream of invective Roger spouted during their duel, or at least when he was not shouting out his spells. He was certainly not pulling any punches, asserting his opinion on Harry, Fleur, and anything else which came to mind, all while sporting that same smug smirk with which he had begun the match. Harry longed to wipe it off his face!

"How does it feel to be in second place, Potter?" Roger sneered as he conjured a strong wind which buffeted Harry. He followed up with a stunner and a bludgeoning curse, which Harry all neatly avoided.

"I cannot imagine what you mean," responded Harry, replying with a leg-locker and several conjured birds which he directed at Roger.

The Head Boy merely laughed at Harry's attempts and dispelled them, before responding with his own attacks. "I just wondered how it would be to get the Veela, after I've already had her."

"I know exactly what happened between you and Fleur," was Harry's cold reply. His answering stunner was highly overpowered, blowing through Roger's shield and narrowly missing him as he dodged out of the way. "Unfortunately—for you—it was much less than you have imagined to be. I have complete confidence in Fleur."

Roger's responding banishing curse was wildly aimed and did not come near Harry. Harry smiled grimly, knowing that Roger's strategy of angering him was backfiring on the Head Boy. Harry fired a leg-locker at the smirking Head Boy, barely missing him as Roger responded.

"You wish, Potter. The Veela is delectable, after all. I can understand why you engineered your engagement to her."

"You talk too much, Davies," Harry growled while firing a reductor at Roger, then bracketing it with a stunner and a confundus, which barely missed him.

"Of course, knowing her… reputation at Beauxbatons, I expect I was not the first either."

Allowing a stunner splash against his shield, Harry slashed his wand forward, yelling, "Aguamenti!"

Roger's laugh of disdain turned to concern, however, as Harryfollowed the water spell up with a quick, "Glacius!"

The jet of water which had pooled about Roger's feet instantly froze under the lashing of the frigid jet of air, freezing the Head Boy's shoes to the floor. Roger flailed his arms desperately, trying to maintain his balance while at the same time attempting to thaw the ice. The attempt was almost comical, though Harry could not laugh, given the anger he felt for Roger's vile words. He was able to put the Head Boy away and end the fight with an almost lazy, "Incarcerous!"

The spell impacted his opponent, throwing him off his feet—minus his shoes which stayed stuck to the floor—and threw him headlong off the platform to lie motionless on the floor.

"I told you—you talk too much," Harry rasped as his wand arm dropped to his side. The match had been longer than any of the other ones which had been fought that evening—with the possible exception of the Weasley twins' laugh-fest—and it had left Harry completely spent.

The silence in the room lasted an instant before the cheering of the club members shattered the silence of the aftermath of the duel. Harry only caught a brief hint of movement before he was assaulted by twin blurs—one brown, the other light blonde—as both of his closest friends latched onto him from either side.

"I knew you could do it," Fleur laughed in his ear. Hermione just hugged him tightly.

"Well done, Mr. Potter!" Professor Flitwick approached through the murmuring throng. "I see that Albus did not exaggerate in the slightest when he told me of your prowess. Very well done indeed!"

Ducking his head, his cheeks flaming, Harry was only able to mumble that he had simply done his best. The professor, however, was having none of it.

"I believe that you may be far too self-effacing for your own good, Mr. Potter. You must learn to accept praise when it is due, and in the matter of your dueling skills, it is most certainly warranted!"

"I want to see what would happen if Harry and Fleur dueled!" Ron exclaimed.

Of course, this began a series of discussions among the assembled club members, which gradually reached a crescendo of noise, with a near unanimous expression of excitement at the prospect of one final duel between the two undefeated leaders of the club.

"At the risk of offending all those present," the voice of the Headmaster cut over the noise, "I fear that it is too close to curfew to indulge in such a display."

Groans and protests ran through the crowd, but Dumbledore was adamant. "You shall all have another chance to witness such a spectacle, I am sure."

As the group quieted, Harry noticed Roger—who had been released, presumably by the Headmaster—standing behind Dumbledore, his head bowed. The fight appeared to have gone out of the Head Boy altogether.

"Good fight, Roger," Harry said, deciding it was better to be gracious in victory. He extended his hand as a gesture of goodwill toward the other boy.

Roger, however, did not take the offered olive branch. His head snapped up and he glared at Harry. The hatred in his gaze was evident for all to see. He snapped something under his breath which sounded suspiciously like, "You got lucky!" and then Roger turned on his heel and stalked from the room, his head held high and proud.

Harry shrugged, understanding that Roger was not likely to forgive or forget, and he resolved to ignore the boy from then on. He did not, however, miss the significant look the Headmaster directed at the Charms Professor, after which Flitwick once again congratulated Harry, Fleur, and Ginny for their victories and then exited the room. If Harry were to guess, he suspected that Roger would be having several very uncomfortable chats with both his head of house, and with the Headmaster before the week was out.

"I must commend you all," Dumbledore said, ignoring Roger's behavior. "Your matches were very well fought, and you all showed glimpses of your future potential.

"And well done to Harry, and all who help him with the club," Dumbledore continued, smiling at Harry and his friends. "This tournament was a splendid idea, one which I am certain you will make use of again in the future."

Slapping Harry on the back, Dumbledore took his leave with an admonishment for everyone to proceed to their dorms as soon as may be.

The meeting broke up soon after, the club members leaving to make their way to their respective dorms, the sounds of excited chatter echoing down the hallways of the old school.

Harry's core group, however, did not break up immediately with the rest.

"You sure showed Roger a thing or two," one of the twins said.

He was followed up by his brother. "Freezing his shoes to the floor was inspired."

"As inventive a prank as something we might have come up with."

"There's hope for you yet!"

Harry flashed them a grin and acknowledged their compliments with a grin. He then nonchalantly polished his fingernails on his shirt, and put his hand out as though to admire them. "What can I say? It appears that some of us have it, while others—"

"…like our esteemed Head Boy, pretend they have it!" Ron finished, to the general laughter of the group. Several of the female members were seen to roll their eyes, however, at the boys' posturing, though it was obvious that it was just for show, and more good-natured than mean-spirited.

"I'd like to know what's gotten into Roger," said Neville, to which several of the group nodded their heads in agreement.

Harry's eyes flickered to Fleur's face and though her expression gave nothing away, there was something in her eyes which suggested that ass much as he had thought of the need for them to speak, that she had decided they would have one at their earliest opportunity. Harry, knowing that Fleur did not and would never betray him, was not precisely concerned. He was, however, curious as to why she had never brought the subject up with him.

"Oh come now, Neville, it's obvious," one of the twins said with a snort.

"Plain as the nose on your face," chimed in the other.

"You see, it's clear that Roger has a bad case of Harry-induced jealousy, otherwise known as Boy-Who-Lived Envy."

"Harry's got the skill, the talent, and now," the second twin continued with a sly glance in Fleur's direction, "he's got Roger's Yule Ball date on his arm."

"It's got to be hard on the Head Boy's ego."

"Will you two ever be serious?" Daphne demanded with a roll of her eyes.

"Nope."

"Sirius is Harry's godfather."

Several groans met the twins' pun, but it was obvious from the identical grins the two sported, that the general reaction did not bother them in the slightest.

"They're not really funny," said Tracey with a sly glance at the twins, "but they may have a point."

"Hey!" the twins cried in unison. "I'll have you know that we are very funny!"

"What he said," said the other, pointing at his brother.

"All right you two," admonished Harry, though he was fighting back a grin. "Pipe down already."

Turning back to the group from the clearly unrepentant twins, he said, "I just hope that Roger will let up after tonight."

"Who wants to bet that he doesn't come back to the club?" Ron asked with a grin.

"I wouldn't want to take that bet," said Neville.

"I'd say the Head Boy will be having a little talk with the Headmaster," opined Daphne. "The way Flitwick and Dumbledore were looking at him suggested that they were not happy with how he acted tonight."

Harry just shook his head. "I don't care much about that. I just want him to back off; he's becoming a distraction."

Murmurs of agreement sounded all around. The group broke up soon after that, dispersing to their house groups—curfew was quickly approaching, after all. Unfortunately, trouble of a different kind awaited them once they stepped from the Room of Requirement.

Harry was chatting with Hermione and Ron, while Fleur—who had not yet let go of his hand—walked on his other side, when he was surprised by a voice addressing him.

"Potter!"

Knowing that voice anywhere, Harry turned and regarded the Malfoy scion while allowing the expressionless mask he usually wore when dealing with the Slytherin—at least when he was not contemptuous of the git's existence or irate with his continual baiting, which was more often than not—to slip over his face. For a change, Malfoy sported little of his usual expression of disdain or distaste, though it was so ingrained in the boy that Harry doubted it would ever completely disappear. Rather, he was regarding Harry in an uncharacteristically serious manner, one which Harry usually did not associate with Malfoy.

"Malfoy," Harry replied neutrally, deciding that if the Slytherin was going to be civil, that he would respond in like manner. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Daphne and Tracey—the only two Slytherins who had remained after the bulk of the club had left—had stopped to watch the confrontation. "What can I do for you?"

A grimace passed over Malfoy's face, as though he was about to do something distasteful, and knowing the ponce, if it had something to do with Harry, it likely was.

"I hear you have a club."

"News travels fast," Harry commented to Hermione. "A toad leaves, the need for secrecy disappears, and suddenly the news is all over the school."

Hermione said nothing in response. She merely nodded and stared at Malfoy, as though attempting to determine just what he wanted.

Malfoy to his credit glanced at Hermione and appeared to swallow back some retort or another. Harry, who had just about heard everything the Slytherin had to offer, could almost imagine what he had wanted to say. It made Harry suspicious; this was not Malfoy's normal behavior.

"Well, I'll be joining your club," the Slytherin continued. "You only meet on Wednesday nights, right?"

Harry would not have been more surprised if Malfoy had suddenly announced his intention to give up his magic, donate his father's fortune to Muggle charity, and announce his engagement with his father's house-elf.

"If his father still has a house-elf," Harry thought, stifling a snicker.

"You want to join our club," Harry repeated slowly, so as to ensure he had heard Malfoy correctly.

"I think you may be suffering from hearing loss," Malfoy sneered. "I don't want to join your club; I'm joining your club. What time do you meet?"

For the time being, Harry ignored his assertion. "Let me get this straight—you actually want to join a club which is run by a Half-blood, and taught by a bunch of Blood Traitors and those who you consider your inferiors."

"That just about sums it up," Malfoy drawled. "Glad to see you're beginning to understand your own position in life. The only part you got wrong was the part about me wanting to join. It's a school club—I'll join it if I want."

He appeared to be quite smug about what he considered his right to do as he wished, but Harry still ignored his assertion. "Why?" he demanded.

"It's a school club, Potter," Malfoy said, his tone suggesting he thought Harry was mentally challenged. "I have the right to join if I want to."

"No, I mean why do you want to join?" Harry clarified impatiently. "Given what you think of all of us, I'd assume you think you know better and could teach us a thing or two."

"I probably can."

"Isn't it amazing how people bluster and strut and don't realize how ignorant they really are?" Ron said in a stage whisper.

Though he glowered at the youngest Weasley male, Malfoy airily turned his nose up and pointedly focused on Harry. "Our Defense instructor left something to be desired. Though I'm supremely confident in my own abilities, I figure a little more practical application would be good. If nothing else, the rest of you should make me look good."

Several snorts and chuckles sounded around them, but Harry kept his attention on the Slytherin and considered the situation. Malfoy was certainly not excited about joining the club—he had portrayed it as inevitable due to his perceived 'right' to do whatever he wanted. But it was clear that simply speaking to Harry without all the usual insults was not something he enjoyed. The question was why he wanted to join at all—the Malfoy Harry knew would have spurned the whole thing as a waste for someone as obviously superior as he was. Even worse, it was being run by a bunch of uppity Gryffindors. No, there was more to this than simply a desire to catch up in his work, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion he knew who was behind it. Regardless, it did not change the fact that he would not give Malfoy the time of day, to say nothing of his instinct to teach his worst persecutor how to get the upper hand.

"Well, when do you meet?" Malfoy demanded.

"No," was Harry's cold response.

The Slytherin gazed at him in confusion. "What do you mean, 'no'? Are you not meeting again? Have you taught them everything within your vaunted repertoire already? Are you now all experts who have no need to practice? I should have figured a bunch of Blood Traitors and lesser beings wouldn't be able to do anything right."

Malfoy was nothing if not predictable. When in doubt, fall back on the staple of tired insults and bravado. Harry decided he was not going to fall for it and get into a heated argument with the boy—it would serve no purpose.

"I meant no, you cannot join the club."

"What do you mean I can't join?" Malfoy queried, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"I'm not certain how I can make it any clearer," Harry said. "I run the club, I have the final say in who joins and who doesn't join, and I am telling you that you are not welcome. In fact, I believe that you are just about the last person I would ever allow into the club. Mordred himself would be preferable to you. Now, was there anything else you wanted or can we head back to our common rooms?"

"Perhaps you are not familiar with the rules of this school, being a Half Blood," Draco enunciated, as though explaining something to some recalcitrant and particularly obtuse child. "Of course, growing up amongst the Muggles is not in your favor either. The fact of the matter is that you have no right to block me from joining your little club. All clubs at Hogwarts are open to all students."

"And perhaps you know less than you think you do," rejoined Harry. "As usual, you take faulty and incomplete information and try to bluster your way through by intimidation. Actually, all clubs are open to every student unless the Headmaster approves the formation of an invitation-only club. Dumbledore has approved and it's my club, ergo, no, you can't join."

"There is no such rule!" Malfoy, predictably, was flustered, and had fallen back on his typical brand of petulance to get his own way. His attempt at his previous composure was now badly frayed.

"There certainly is. If you don't believe me you can go see Professor Dumbledore."

Sputtering, Malfoy had nothing to say to that, and Harry sensed that he had not expected to be rebuffed and was not completely certain of how to handle the experience. Very likely the boy had hardly ever been told no in his life, and this did not even take into account all the times his parents had filled his head with exaggerated impressions of his own superiority. He was learning a valuable lesson, though Harry doubted whether he would learn it at all.

"Look Malfoy, I've only invited those who I know I can trust to the club, and you certain don't fit into that mold."

"But you invited Greengrass and Davis and the other Slytherins," Malfoy blustered. "Are you trying to tell me that you trust them?"

"I'm not about to justify anything to you of all people," Harry responded. "Now, I've already asked you once, but you didn't answer; why do you want to join anyway?"

"Does it matter why I want to join?"

Harry threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Is he for real?"

"It depends," was Ron's sarcastic answer to his rhetorical question. "He's a real git, if that's what you mean."

"No one asked you, Weasley," Draco snapped. "If I wanted the opinions of charity cases, I would donate a few knuts to your welfare fund."

"Look Malfoy—" Ron began while stepping forward, his fists flexing in a threatening manner.

But Harry was not about to allow this to devolve into a physical confrontation. "Of course it matters why, Malfoy," Harry said loudly, motioning to Ron to stand down. "Your continual yapping about your own superiority and your support for your stupid dork lord puts you on the opposite side of the fence. That as much as anything is why I won't train you."

Though Malfoy appeared unable to find a reply to that, Harry decided to have a little fun with the ponce. "I'll tell you what," Harry said, "I'll tell you a story."

"Why would I want to listen to a story from you, Scarhead?" Malfoy demanded.

"Because it concerns you, git," snapped Harry in response. He thought for a moment before he adopted a storyteller's voice. Here was a chance to embarrass the git without any consequences, and Harry was not about to pass up the opportunity.

"You see, Malfoy, there once was a young man who attended a school in a remote location. He was a brilliant chap really, good in his studies, popular, had a gorgeous girlfriend, that kind of thing."

"I'm warning you, Potter…" Malfoy said, evidently attempting to be intimidating.

Harry ignored him. "But life was not all rosy for our hero," he continued. "He had the normal teenage worries and concerns, not to mention an insane megalomaniac after his head. But he also had to put up with a git who considered it his mission in life to do whatever it took to make the hero's life miserable."

"Potter!" Malfoy cried.

"Really, Draco, old chum, you do talk too much," Harry drawled. "Now where was I?" He gazed upward for a moment as though deep in thought before he turned again toward the Malfoy scion—who was by now almost purple with indignation—and continued speaking.

"You see, though the two did not get along in the slightest and there had never been even a hint of a truce between them, one day, the git asked the hero for help to improve his skills. The hero, being far too trusting and hoping that his nemesis would finally get over his grudge agreed and proceeded to train the git until he gained some semblance of competence.

"Are you following me, Malfoy?" Harry demanded with a smirk.

"Is there a point to this long-winded drivel?"

"Of course!" Harry exclaimed. "I was just getting to that. Because you see, after the hero had taught his enemy to better himself, the git tried to use that knowledge to stab him in the back."

Harry grinned at Malfoy's near apoplexy and continued slyly, "Of course the git was still defeated as the hero, though trusting, was not completely foolish, and did not teach the git everything he knew. Besides, the git was not even close to the hero in terms of competence or ability, so it wouldn't have mattered if he had shown him everything. Still, it was somewhat foolish to assume that the git could change, as he had proven himself time and time again to be a bigoted creep with no redeeming qualities."

By now Harry's friends were all smiling and more than a few snickers could be heard at Harry's obvious and outrageous story. On one level Harry knew that what he was doing was unkind, but on another, he was happy to finally be getting some payback for all the times that Malfoy had made his life miserable.

Though Malfoy was visibly furious, Harry suspected that the only reason he had not whipped out his wand by now was the fact that he was alone against Harry and all of his friends. He would have to be extra careful in the next few days as he would not put it past the git to try to hex him when he was not expecting it. Luckily, Harry had grown to expect it at any time—especially when the Slytherin thought he could do it when Harry was unaware—so he was used to watching the Slytherin closely.

"Are you quite finished?" Malfoy growled.

"Really, Malfoy, I knew you were dense, but I didn't know you were this stupid. I'll make it clear so that even and inbred twit like you can understand—I'm not going to teach you how to defeat me, even though you and I both know that you will never be able to match me."

"My father will hear about this," Malfoy threatened, repeating an oft used refrain. It was, in fact, the first time Harry had heard it from Malfoy this term.

"I'm counting on it," Harry responded. "I'm pretty sure 'dear Daddy' put you up to this, and I know that Lucky Lucy never wipes his arse without the Dork Lord's express permission, and his instruction on exactly how to do it."

"You'll pay for this, Potter!" Malfoy threatened.

"Just like I paid all the other times you made that threat," Harry rejoined dismissively. "Now, why don't you piss off and go kiss Voldy's arse again? Speaking this much to you all in one go makes me want to go bleach my brain."

Malfoy directed a withering glare at him before he turned and stalked off in a snit. Harry watched him to make sure he would not pull anything stupid before he resumed walking with his friends, most of whom congratulated him on his disposal of the hated Slytherin.

Hermione, however, directed a worried look at him before speaking. "Harry, umm… should you wind him up like that?"

"Probably not," Harry admitted. "But it was pretty satisfying."

"Satisfying or not, it is really not very kind," added Fleur. "You are just pulling yourself down to his level."

Sighing, Harry nodded and agreed that they were likely right. It had only been in the past several months that he had gained a certain level of confidence that he had begun pushing back at Malfoy in such a manner. It was not surprising to note that pushing the boy's buttons was eminently satisfying, but there was also something to be said for taking the high road and not getting caught up in Malfoy's own game.

"I suppose you're right. I guess I just let myself get carried away—he's been a git the whole time I've been at Hogwarts and sometimes it's nice to get a little payback."

"Harry," Fleur said softly, but affectionately, "I know he has been a thorn in your side for years, and I know you have every right to give him a taste of his own medicine, but I do not think you need to stoop to his level."

"Aw, does that mean no more rubbing the Quidditch match in Malfoy's face?" one of the twins asked playfully.

"Yes!" said Hermione. "They deserve it, but you shouldn't lower yourselves and act like they do."

"You take the fun out of things sometimes, Hermione," Ron grumbled.

"But she's right," Ginny said. "We are the good guys, after all."

"Good, bad, it's all semantics," Harry responded with a grin. "I much prefer 'us' and 'them'. It's very clear and doesn't mix morality up in the situation."

The group laughed at Harry's words before they dispersed for the evening, each house separating into its own group and starting back toward their own dormitories. For Harry, he spent the journey back to the dorms thinking about what Hermione and Fleur had said. Yes, Malfoy deserved it and yes, it was fun at times, but Harry had to admit that he had begun to behave in a rather Malfoy-esque manner recently, and it was not something that had ever been part of his personality. There was something to be said for restraint, especially when every word he spoke would likely make it back to Voldemort's ears.

On second thought, Harry admitted to himself with a grin, Malfoy was not likely to relate the entire confrontation, as it would undoubtedly cast himself in a less-than-favorable light to either his father, or his father's master. And if there was one thing that the blond ponce could not stomach, it was the thought of his image taking a hit. No, Malfoy would likely tell them nothing other than the fact that he had been rebuffed.

Once they had arrived back at the Gryffindor common room, Harry and Fleur said good night to their fellow Gryffindors and by unspoken agreement, retired to an unused corner. It was a small cubbyhole which was largely out of sight from the rest of the room, and typically used by couples seeking a relatively private location for their amorous liaisons. Harry and Fleur had never made use of it, not yet being that comfortable with their relationship, but of course they received a round of wolf whistles and gentle teasing from the rest of their friends once their destination was known. If either could have seen into the thoughts of the other, they would have seen a similar determination to have the long-overdue discussion about a certain Head Boy.

Situated comfortably in the small love seat in the cubbyhole, Harry sat and looked at his beautiful betrothed. Things had been going quite well between them, he decided, and fresh off her victory in the tournament, she looked more appealing than ever, though her hair was in disarray and her face still slightly flushed from her exertions. He was lucky to have someone like her, he decided, and it was not only because of her looks—she had an innate goodness and competence about her, not to mention a sweet personality which was especially appealing.

"Fleur—"

"I think we need—"

They spoke together, each stopping and smiling at the other when they realized they had spoken at the same time.

"You first, Harry," she said, reaching out to take his hand between her own.

"I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you for winning the tournament," Harry told her with a smile and a squeeze of his hand. "I always knew you were a resourceful and powerful witch, and now everyone else does too."

Fleur ducked her head a little, but then looked him in the eye with some determination. "I am not concerned about what other people think of me, Harry. They can believe whatever they like."

"I know," Harry said with a shrug. "But I've heard lots of people say things like they didn't know how you were made a champion. That kind of stuff. But I always knew it wasn't true."

"It is fine, Harry. I have had to deal with attitudes like that since I was a girl. I am not offended."

"You don't need to be offended," Harry said with a grin. "I'll be offended for you."

Smiling at him, Fleur released his hand and leaned against him, while Harry lifted his arm and put it around her shoulders. They had never been this physically close, and Harry was finding he was enjoying the sensations their closeness engendered. Fleur was soft and curvy and very feminine. Oh yes, he was enjoying it very much.

"Thank you, Harry. But I believe we should speak about Roger—I am sure you have noticed a change in him lately."

"I have," Harry admitted, "and though I'd like to dispute it, I've got an idea that the twins were right."

"They were," Fleur confirmed. "I have told you before about my Yule date with Roger. I want you to know that I never saw anything more in him than as a date which I was required to have as a champion. After that night, I do not think I spoke more than two words to him for the rest of the year."

"You don't need to explain further," Harry assured her. "I don't believe anything he said. I trust you."

Seemingly buoyed by Harry's assertion, Fleur let out a sigh and burrowed in closer to him. "Thank you, Harry. But I still think I owe you an explanation."

Quietly, and without much fanfare, Fleur began to speak of the encounters she had had with Roger over the course of that year, focusing on the specifics of what had happened and what she had felt and how she had responded. She touched little on her opinion of Roger's possible motives—they had already agreed on what they believed his motives to be, after all, and neither considered further conversation on the subject to be necessary. It was in some ways worse than Harry had expected—especially their last confrontation in the library—and less than he had feared. At least the Head Boy had not gone beyond verbal passes in his attempt to get Fleur to dally with him.

This could not continue, however. Roger was intruding upon Fleur's peace of mind with his efforts, and Harry was not about to stand aside and allow her to be imposed upon in such a manner.

When she had finished, Harry immediately asked her what she thought they should do about the situation. The answer was not surprising, considering her personality.

"Do not worry about me, Harry. I can handle myself."

"I know that, Fleur," Harry responded, pulling away to look her in the eyes. "But I won't allow him to continue to do this. You don't deserve to be treated like this. You know he's just using your heritage to justify what he's doing."

Sighing, Fleur leaned into Harry's side again. "I suspect as much. But I think he will no choice but to change after your duel with him. The fact that you beat him will make him stop. I am certain he is just a bully.

"And besides," Fleur continued with a small giggle, "did you see how Professor Dumbledore was watching him? I think the Head Boy is in trouble!" she finished in a sing-song tone.

Chuckling, Harry hugged the French witch to his side, still thinking about the situation with Roger. A part of him—admittedly the Neanderthal intent on protecting his woman—wanted to hex Roger all the way to London and back. He wanted Roger to break out in a cold sweat every time he even thought of approaching Fleur again.

But he had to admit that Fleur was likely right. And even if she was not, there were still ways to handle the situation which did not involve confrontations and violence. He highly suspected that his friends were right and that the Headmaster took a very dim view of Roger's actions that evening. It was likely that Roger would back down now. Besides, Harry had already admitted to himself—that very night!—that he had developed a very undesirable character trait in the past few months. Did that not apply to this situation as well? Challenging the Head Boy, taunting him or trying to humiliate him—these things were the mark of a bully, a label Fleur had just applied to Roger. Harry wanted to be better than that. He would be better than that, he decided.

"If you think we can leave it be, then I'm fine with that," he told her.

He could feel, rather than see, Fleur's responding smile, and indulged himself in a brief reflection of just how beautiful it appeared on her face.

"Thank you, Harry," Fleur responded. "Thank you for your trust and for your faith in me. Believe me—you have nothing to worry about from Roger."

"That's a relief," Harry said with a laugh. "I'd hate to think that you prefer a loud-mouthed braggart over me. Sorry, Fleur, but that's the way he's behaved lately."

"I know," Fleur admitted. "But to be honest, I am much more interested in our relationship, than in talking about Roger any more."

"Oh?"

"I have just been wondering… Well, actually I have been meaning…"

She trailed off and fell silent.

"Fleur?" he prompted, getting a sigh in response.

"This is all just so frustrating," said Fleur. "I've never been in this situation before and I don't really know what to do."

"Neither have I," Harry said. He was proud of how his voice was steady and clear, but inside butterflies had begun fluttering in his stomach at the suspicion that she wanted to talk about them. He was not good at this interpersonal stuff, and part of him wanted to run screaming, as it was obvious that Fleur wanted to discuss their relationship. Any hot-blooded male would flee at such a prospect! With his upbringing, Harry knew that he was not very good at speaking about such personal subjects.

Fleur pulled away from him and smiled. "Then I guess we will just have to figure it out together."

She stopped for a moment, thinking about what she wanted to say, before looking back up at him. She began hesitantly, "I was just concerned over the state of our relationship."

"Is it because of what Roger said?" Harry asked.

"Partly," Fleur admitted. But more than that, it is just that it is… moving so slowly. But I have never been in a relationship before and I do not know how quickly it is supposed to develop. I guess I just wonder what you think about me."

Abashed, Harry felt his cheeks begin to burn at her direct question. Never having been comfortable with relationships of any kind, he did not know precisely how to act, or how to respond. He was about to respond—how he was not certain, but likely with some stammered drivel which would make little sense—when he glanced up and was caught by Fleur's eyes. She had very pretty, light blue eyes with darker flecks around the irises, but it was the earnest determination in them that calmed Harry and made him realize that Fleur was being very open and serious about the conversation. He could do no less.

"I really like you, Fleur," he said, albeit somewhat hesitantly. "I've enjoyed getting to know you and I have come to feel that you are someone I can confide in. I've never had many friends I've felt particularly close to, but you're quickly moving to the top of the list.

"I'm also very attracted to you," Harry quickly admitted, before he could lose his nerve. "I'd have to be a zombie, not to be attracted to you. But it's much more than that. You're a wonderful person, Fleur, and I feel lucky that I have you in my life."

Apparently it was the right thing to say, as Fleur directed a brilliant smile at him, so beautiful that it almost took his breath away. "Thank you, Harry," was Fleur's quiet response. Then she winked at him. "You sure are a charmer, to be saying things like that to a girl."

Pleased that he had gotten it right, Harry grinned at her and squeezed her hand. "I think we're both lucky. I know we both wondered if this betrothal contract was really a good idea. I think we've both seen that we can be very good together."

"We can," Fleur agreed. "But I have wondered if we are moving too slowly. We are to be married some day, after all. Should we not begin to act like we will?"

Abashed, Harry still nodded with whatever composure he possessed. "I was just giving you space to get used to the betrothal. I didn't want to push you. I wasn't sure of your feelings."

"Oh Harry," Fleur said with an affectionate hug. "That is so like you. You do not need to worry about me—I will let you know if we go further than I am comfortable with."

Still bashful, Harry nodded his head in agreement. "So, you want to start acting a little more like a couple?"

"I think we should," said Fleur. "There are some benefits, you know." She laughed and favored him with an arch smile. "I assume you would find some of the normal activities of engaged couples to be pleasant. Would you not?"

Grinning, Harry waggled his eyebrows, relieved that he was beginning to feel confidence swell within him. "I'm sure they could not be anything but pleasant."

"In that case, I think we should seal it with a kiss," she said before she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

As a first kiss it was soft and sweet and very pleasant, and Harry could only agree that it was an excellent suggestion. Harry found himself responding immediately, and though they kept it chaste and did not venture into the territory Harry had sometimes heard Dudley bragging that he had done with his girlfriend, he still decided he liked kissing Fleur very much.

It did not last long, but Harry found himself strangely breathless when Fleur leaned back and regarded him. Harry was filled with elation. "That was very nice," he said, unknowingly beginning to babble. "I think you were right about our relationship and I—"

His words were stilled when Fleur, smiling softly, reached out and pressed her fingers against Harry's lips. "You talk too much, Harry. Kiss me again."

And so he did.

Updated 06/27/2013