Disclaimer: It's fanfiction. We get exactly zero dollars and zero cents for this. It all belongs to JKR.
Chapter 3- Fire and Ice
I was very young when Papa died - only six years old. At first, I didn't understand what had happened. He didn't come home, reporters flocked our house. But there'd always been reporters, and he'd always be away. Even at his funeral, I sat there wondering why he was in the casket, why he lay so still, why he didn't respond when I called his name. That, I remember clearly – tugging at Mama's skirt, asking
"Why won't Papa talk to me? Why are they putting him in the ground? Mama? Mama, why are you crying?"
I'm not sure when I realized that Papa was not returning home, that Merle and I would never run, laughing, into his arms to be lifted on his shoulders. Mother's smile seemed wane and lost for years, but even she learned to live again, if only for her daughters. Merle was less affected, not because she didn't see Papa as her true father, but because she couldn't comprehend his fate 'till she had forgotten him. For myself, I kept a photo of him near me at all times, at my desk as I learned, under my pillow as I slept, clutched close to my heart whenever I thought of my family. I spoke to it every day, telling him about all my exploits and epiphanies, my hopes, my fears, my tragedies. But time passed, and I began to speak to the photo once a day, then once a week, then less… and less. I forgot the way he smelled, the way he laughed. It terrified me at first, because I hadn't even noticed it happening. Yet no matter how hard I tried to hold to my memories of him, he slipped away. One day I couldn't recall his warm hugs, the next his proud face. Slowly, inexorably, uneventfully, the memories of my father faded away, till all I had left were second-hand tales and a much worn photo.
- Fleur
"Could you sign this transfer form, please?"
Merlin. Not another one. Snape scrawled his name across the line, accepting Potter's potion with the other hand. His voice was flat, filled with the excruciating boredom he felt day after thankless day, trying to ram an education down ungrateful teenage throats.
"Glad to have you," he said, anything but. "Please take a seat, Miss…" he glanced at the top of the paper, "… Delacour."
Resigned, he handed the sheet back, resigned to yet another trial to his patien-
Potter's potion shattered.
Several students jumped at the sound, some looking sympathetic, other's smirking at Potters horrified expression. His eyes narrowed at his Professor, falling to the limp hand the flask had slipped from.
The girl's eyes flicked to Potter, then back to Snape, and her eyes rose slightly. She looked back at him, her level gaze countering his irate glare.
"Books… are in the back cupboard." Snape's voice was thick with quiet fury.
She stood still for a moment, before nodding slowly.
"… -ly unfair to blame me for your greasy grip, this is…" Snape tuned out Potter's angry voice, too distracted to even dock House Points.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry!" Granger's apologetic cry broke through his shock. "I vanished it, I thought you and Ron'd - " Her voice tapered off as Snape turned his eyes towards her.
"Professor, you can't really expect me to take another zero for - "
"Potter, if you stop talking right now, you can have Weasley's grade," He rose abruptly and, stony-faced, swept out of the room. Dumbfounded, Harry stared at his back.
"Bloody hell, mate, since when has Snape cut you a break?"
"Yeah, "Harry answered in bewilderment. "You don't think he dropped it on purpose and just felt bad, or something?"
Ron snorted. "You've been sniffing too many fumes if you think Snape's grown a conscience, the man's a - " He caught Hermione's pointed glare. "Uh, a professor...?"
"I've always said he isn't as unreasonable as you make him out to be."
"Of course he is. Did you see the look he gave that Beauxbatons girl? Besides, he as good as gave me a zero anyway," Harry grinned, shoving his best friend playfully. "Know who she is?"
Hermione shrugged. "I thought only sixth and seventh years were allowed in the Tournament."
"Too bad it's not that blonde," Ron sighed. "Merlin, she had a nice set of knockers, didn't she? I really - "
"Ronald, do me a favor and don't finish that sentence." Hermione said haughtily. "She has a name, you know. Fleur Delacour."
"How'd you know that?" The redhead suddenly looked a lot more interested.
Hermione looked uncharacteristically sour. "Well, everyone in the castle with a Y-chromosome, and a few without, actually, wanted to know the 'blonde bombshell's na-"
"A Y-what?"
"Never mind, Ron. Anyway, by now, some of the seventh year boys have even put in orders for the French society pages. Apparently, her mother's a politician. Honestly - "
"Pretty damn cute, though," Ron cut in again.
He stopped at Hermione's incredulous glare. "She's a politician's daughter. She's got that pretentious accent and everything; they're all silver-spoon-fed self-indulgent socialites, just look at Mal-"she stopped, realizing the dark-haired girl was standing by their desk.
She turned towards them and raised an eyebrow.
"Let me introduce myself. Ariane Carina Delacour." She extended her hand. "And while I'm sure you're painfully right about whichever of us silver-spoon-fed," her lip curled, "politicians' children you're referring to, I can assure you that my sister and I are not tarred by the same brush. The socialites you're referring to were raised to be exceptional politicians. I – and Fleur – were simply raised to be exceptional."
Ariane gave Hermione a polite handshake, in stark contrast to her frigid grey eyes. "Nice meeting you."
Ari turned towards an open-mouthed Neville and gestured to the vacant seat at his side.
"May I join you?"
Neville glanced toward a reddening Hermione, then, looking back at the French girl's imperious smile, nodded wordlessly.
Harry and Ron looked at their open-mouthed friend, and tried vainly to stifle a wide grin.
"Enjoy class," Fleur smirked. "You could have just opted out of it, you know."
Ariane stalled in front of the door. "I'd have had to double it next year. Besides, that'd be a cop out. I'll figure it out this year."
Walking away, Fleur gave her sister a two fingered salute.
With a sigh, Ari pushed open the doors to McGonagall's classroom. She handed over a transfer form, meeting her new professor's flat gaze. "Please, take a seat, Miss Delacour."
Addressing the class, McGonagall announced "This class we will be changing a hedgehog into a pincushion. Pair up. We have a new student, so we've got an odd number. Miss Granger, I'd ask that you work alone today." She began passing around instruction sheets, adding "Mr. Longbottom, please try not to do anything that would require a trip to the Hosptial Wing."
Ari swore under her breath.
She saw Neville looking at her hopefully. He sat down beside her, probably expecting her to recreate her success with Nightshade antidotes that morning.
"Okay," he began, looking to her for instruction. "How do we start?"
She looked at his round, cheerful visage and sighed.
"Longbottom," she hissed, ignoring his optimistic look. "Don't expect much in this class. My talents lie elsewhere."
Neville blinked owlishly. "Oh, don't say that - I'm sure you'll be brilliant."
"Longbottom," Ari repeated. "Perish any thoughts of my supposed modesty. When I say my talents lie elsewhere, they really do lie elsewhere."
He almost… deflated. "What?"
Ari pinched her nose in annoyance. "Look, you're going to see it. Let's just see what I manage to conjure up today." She turned, raised her wand, and cast a sympathetic look at the innocent hedgehog.
"Sorry, prickly little mammal." She waved her wand and tried to visualize a pincushion.
The hedgehog blinked at her. Suddenly, its cheeks puffed up. Spines raised, it bloated and shot into the air. Whizzing around the room, it missed a dark-skinned Gryffindors head by less than an inch and sent a pair of shrieking girls under a table before impaling itself on McGonagall's desk.
Ari swore loudly in French as a thin-lipped McGonagall picked up the curiously rubber-like hedgehog with two fingers
Neville inched away surreptitiously, with a look of horror mixed with twisted awe. "You're even worse than I am."
It was going to be a long year.
Ari rushed out of the door when the bell rang. Her eyes narrowed, spotting her sister leaning against the wall.
"How was class, Merle?" Fleur smiled coyly.
Ari scowled. "Stupid bloody Transfiguration laws. Give me Potions any day, at least those make bloody sense not like Gamp's ludicrously illogical Five Laws of Elemental Transfiguration. I swear to Merlin, Nature was on drugs when she wrote those laws…" She continued, muttering darkly.
Fleur raised an eyebrow. "My, my, you're in a foul mood. Something rather interesting must have happened then."
Ari glared at her sister, who merely smiled invitingly. "Fine," she snapped. "I turned the hedgehog into some kind of a cross between a puffer-fish and a balloon and it nearly impaled some guy from Gryffindor. Happy now?"
Her sister grinned. "Quite. I was beginning to get bored." She took hold of Ari's arm, dragging her down the hall. "Come on, we have to prepare for the Opening Ceremony," she made a face, "and more of that disgustingly rich Hogwarts food."
Dumbledore stood on a dais before his eager students. "This Tournament symbolizes the international cooperation between the three great magical nations of Europe - Albion, Gallia, and Prussia. So, on that note, students, colleagues, distinguished guests, and friends – we welcome the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang."
The doors of the Great Hall swung open with a dramatic crash. Krum, at the head of the Durmstrang delegation, stood before a prodigious rune-carved urn. Beside him, Fleur stood before her own cistern, a cool expression on her lovely face.
Krum gave her an impassive glance. She smiled wanly, cocking an eyebrow. Then, in one instant, the two raised their wands, sweeping them down in a slashing arc that cut the urns in two.
There was a bright flash, and Ari furiously blinked away the vision spots. She heard a few screams as two dragons roared to life – undulating effigies of the scaled prophets of the Far East, twisting coils of flame and scintillating ice. Krum pulled a thick staff from behind his back, pounding it twice against the floor before raising it in a complex stave pattern. Behind him, each of the Durmstrang delegates did the same, a cascade of sparks flying with each turn of the wood.
Fleur raised her wand, drawing a shimmering rune in the air. High above the Great Hall, it glowed silver for a moment before solidifying into millions of glinting crystals. Each of the delegation drew their wands and traced a rune into the air, casting it forward to merge with Fleur's. As the last runes dissolved together, the emblem shattered, showering the students in effervescent crystals of ice, dancing with reflected sparks. The hall was bathed in a fiery, brilliant light.
The dragons wove past tables filled with students, most of who had regained their composure and were watching in awe as they swirled across the hall. Fleur and Krum led their delegations forward. Ahead of them, the pair of undulating dragons flew to Dumbledore's raised dais, twining around each other as they landed before him. Ripples marred the flowing ice and flame, each dragon's form solidifying. As the scales of flame stiffened, the dragon pointed its snout towards the sky, releasing a last fiery breath. Beside it, its twin exhaled, spears of ice spiraling around the column of flame – water and fire frozen, entwined for eternity.
Krum spoke first. "The schools of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons present this gift to the school of Hogwarts for its hospitality. May the Games be noble, the Champions honorable, the Winner worthy."
"May the friendship between our schools last as long as stone stands, as long as Gubraithian fire burns, and as long as the Ice of Perrenelle endures," added Fleur.
Dumbledore nodded sagely. "The School of Hogwarts accepts these gifts of alliance and welcomes you to our school. May you have the use of the stone of our walls, the fire in our hearths, the food at our tables."
Beside him stood a table – upon it, a rich velvet cloth covered a vaguely cup-shaped object. With a flourish, he vanished the cloth to reveal the glinting Goblet of Fire. He held his wand at the Goblet's edge for a moment before murmuring a spell. Flames roared to life, tinting the Goblet's crystal in twisting shades of red and blue.
"The Goblet is lit," he intoned. "May the Triwizard Tournament begin."
A/N:
We always thought just unveiling the Goblet at the Halloween Feast was rather anticlimactic. So this is our version. If you can't tell yet, Fleur's not going to the week leetle French girl she was in Book 4 – she wouldn't be champion if she was.
If you're wondering, Albion is the ancient name for England, Gallia is Latin for Gaul (France).
Sorry, we didn't explain how our tasks are going to work… next chapter, we promise.
Reviews are, as always, welcome.
Echo & Kibou