Author Note: I don't own Harry Potter.
The First Day of the End of Your Life
End of Fourth Year
Seven days from Privet Drive
~ Ask Your Doctor ~
A ceiling. Always that ceiling. Harry had been at school for four years now, and that ceiling was uncomfortably familiar to him. It was more comforting than the ceiling of the dorms, and anywhere was more comforting then his stark room at Privet Drive. It was so blank though. Madame Pomfrey always joked around about putting his name over one of the beds (she did it with an exasperated voice); but a real kicker would be decorating the ceiling. It would add a sense of home to this sterile environment. Moving his head from side to side, Harry noticed the empty hospital wing. He rarely had company overnight; most injuries were just little schoolyard scuffles that went wrong, or a little bit of spell reversal. Ron and Hermione didn't spend much time here as patients – well, except when one of their escapades went wrong.
The night of the tournament final wasn't an escapade like the others. He had met Voldemort alone before, with Professor Quirrell and Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets. Never before had he felt quite like this last time though. Until the wands connected, he was sure that he would die that night. After that it was a mad dash to one possible escape option and keeping a mad promise to the ghost of a classmate. Once he got back, it was timing that saved him from Crouch Jr. It was almost as if Fate had a hand in it.
His dreams after taking the potion did nothing to help. It was like being himself, but not himself. Certainly places he had never been, people he had never met, and things he had never done. But some of it was familiar. Orphaned, alone, desperate; it was a dream about running as hard as he could, but never making it out. Harry could understand that. But there was fighting in his dream, and that was something Harry had never done. Fought for himself. He would fight for Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, hell – he would fight for Dudley. But to fight solely for himself…
Harry's eyes went wide as the combined weight of recent events falling onto his head. He was trapped. Voldemort was back. Voldemort tried to kill Harry Potter. The Death Eaters were back. A fluke saved him the first time. Luck and fear saved him a second time. Third time's the charm.
It was funny, school was supposed to be safe, but it had never been safe. The teachers had spent more time berating him for saving himself then they had spent saving him. Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore couldn't make up for Quirrell, Lockhart, and Crouch. Someone – or something - was always trying to do him in at school. The funny thing was that something always popped up to intervene on his behalf. Luck? Chance? Divine Intervention? Professor Trelawney might know something. There might be some kind of divination at work here, and she just kept predicting his death far too early.
A giggle erupted from Harry's lips. Even if there was nothing written in the stars, he was still a dead man walking at this point. Voldemort didn't exactly look interested in a truce – or even a non-aggression pact – at this point in the game. Harry, however, wishes that he could just quit. The sound of shoes on the infirmary floor interrupted his depressed musings. Madame Pomfrey approached him. It was odd, watching her as she approached his bed. He was going to die, and his "doctor" still worked so hard to keep him alive.
"Mister Potter, how are you feeling this morning?" Her no nonsense tone always brought a smile to his face
He laughed. "Well, I'm going to die soon," a maniacal grin appeared on his face, "So I'm feeling pretty damn good right now." Turning his maddened eyes to the Mediwitch, he grinned at her shocked expression. "How are you on this beautiful morning?"
Madame Pomfrey's expression turned from shocked to annoyed, and she slapped him on the arm. "Mister Potter, you should be less melodramatic. You have gotten worse injuries from –"
"I meant that Voldemort is going to kill me."
Madame Pomfrey's hand flew to her mouth, shocked by the flat statement.
"I give it two years," Harry hesitated, "Maybe even three if I'm lucky."
Pomfrey's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. She stood there watching Harry with tears forming in her eyes for a moment, and then shook herself, crinkling her brow into a stern face. Drawing herself up, she began swishing, flicking, jabbing, and twitching her wand every which way around his body. Murmuring soft incantations, she moved up and down his bed in a ritualistic manner.
Harry watched her with shining eyes, feeling the spells wash over his body as she continued to look for some result. He had never watched Madame Pomfrey while she worked; being that he was quite often too preoccupied with the pain he was in to really notice the care he received. The woman was industrious in her movements, too practiced to be anything less then perfect. Economy of movement warred with her need to be precise, and casting speed was sacrificed for clarity of spellwork. What did he know about her? She was a school nurse. She looked younger than McGonagall, but must be older than Snape. Just this year, he had heard rumors that she was having an illicit affair with a student – that student was, of course, Harry Potter – but it proved to be false. She was an excellent Mediwitch, with an impressive repertoire of spells – proven simply by the past five minutes of continuous casting, if nothing else. Where had she learned her skills?
His green eyes glowing from the magic coursing through his system, Harry surprised her by speaking, "Madame Pomfrey," his soft voice made her jump. Eyes fading as her magic left him, Harry watched her regain a semblance of confidence before speaking again. "What do you do?" he gestured around the wing, "Other then this?"
Her mouth dropped open. Madame Pomfrey watched Harry with a shocked expression on her face. Her eyes were wide, starting to glisten with tears as she read the boy's body language. If Voldemort walked into the room at that moment, Harry would lie on his bed and die. She saw a deep loneliness within him, as though he was waiting to die – and he believed he would die alone. Steeling her will, Poppy sat on the bed next to his and watched him. Wiping the tears from her eyes took a moment, and then she spoke, "I read, Mr. Potter."
Her eyes fell to the floor, and she started to become lost in thought, but was interrupted by Harry's voice. "What?" he rasped out. Seeing her puzzled expression, Harry coughed to clear his throat, "What do you read? Where do you read it?"
Smiling, Madame Pomfrey raised her eyes to the boy – her patient – on the bed. "I read everything." Her eyes went far away, looking through him as she traveled to the past, "Muggle novels, spell books, guides, some medical texts." Frowning, she thought for a moment more, "I suppose I mostly read fiction, but I'll read a horror story every so often. Fantasy and science fiction hit a little bit close to home for me. I could read a history text if I wanted goblin wars and powerful wizards." She refocused her eyes on Harry, as though inspecting him for some form of duplicity. Shrugging, she continued, "For the school year I live in my rooms here. Other then that…" she looked away from him, a painful expression on her face, "I have a small home, but it's so quiet there that I usually work a lot during the summer." Shaking her head, she spoke to the floor now, "There are a few magical communities out in the countryside, they always need some help for the summer. A little bit of veterinary knowledge goes a long way when you're a healer."
Silence settled between the two. It seemed strange to Harry that even after four years at school, that he barely knew anyone. The list of people that he considered close friends was depressingly short, and the list of friendly acquaintances wasn't much better. At least a week per year was spent in the hospital wing, and he had never asked Madame Pomfrey about herself until today. Ron and Hermione were his only really close friends; Hagrid was more of a good acquaintance – Harry loved the half-giant, but didn't spend much time talking to him very much. Out of his other roommates, Neville was the only one that Harry spoke to regularly. The other Weasleys – Ginny, Fred, and George – were at about the same level. Harry smiled at that, he had faced Tom Riddle with Ginny lying at his feet, but he had never gone out of his way to even ask how she was feeling after the battle was over.
Frowning, Harry thought about the only other person he spoke to regularly and came up wanting. Draco Malfoy was, for all intents and purposes, one of Harry's closest friends just by the amount of time they spent together. It wasn't like Harry actively sought the git out, but between classes and meetings in the hallways, Harry was seeing Malfoy almost as much as he saw Ron and Hermione. For that matter, Harry would bet that he'd spent more hours with Snape then he had ever considered even talking with McGonagall. What was his head of house for? It wasn't like she called house meetings or organized anything.
Shaking his head, filing all of those thoughts onto a "to-do list", Harry looked back at the Mediwitch. While Harry was wandering down memory lane, Madame Pomfrey had taken the opportunity to bustle around the ward and clean things up a little bit. She flicked her wand and replaced sheets, levitated objects, and animated a few beds to make themselves better. It was busywork. Harry remembered spending hours in primary school devising methods of doing busywork, the Dursleys were proud advocates of the 'Idle hands are the devil's workshop' school of thought – at least for him. A wry smile found its way to his face, and Harry let his voice carry through the ward. "Does that help?"
Turning her head, Pomfrey allowed the dirty sheets to float to the dumbwaiter. "Does what help?"
"The work," he stated, before elaborating, "Does it help distract you from the loneliness."
Looking into the eyes of her charge, she saw a look of understanding. She nodded, not bothering to speak her answer. There was something between the two of them, a loneliness that was mutually understood. She tried to mother him whenever he showed up in her ward, while he would always be polite and try to escape at the earliest possible opportunity. It was a little game that they played, even though they were both completely serious in their roles.
Throughout the school year, she was kept entertained by the minor problems that showed up throughout the year, but she always waited for 'the big ones'. The big events of the year, which was the nickname she gave to the ones that inevitably ended with the most interesting injuries in her ward. Since she had taken the job, only Gryffindors or Slytherins had held the title – usually from conflict with each other – and there had been a collection of events in the past six years that revolved around the Weasley twins and Potter. Perhaps that made her a bit of a sadist, but healing magic was her passion. So many of the little things that came through her office were potions accidents and spell damage. Usually it was boring spell damage, because the students never picked up any really interesting spells until seventh-year, when they knew enough to either not use them, or didn't bring them to her office.
Harry rose from his bed, stretching his protesting muscles out as he placed his glasses on his face. Despite the residual ache in his body, he knew that there wasn't anything overly threatening. "Mr. Potter-"
"Please Madame Pomfrey," he smirked, "I think we know each other well enough for you to use my first name."
Huffing, she tapped her foot in a staccato pattern on the floor. "Mr. Potter. As my patient, it may behoove you to not dictate terms," she smiled, no malice in her voice, "Where do you think you're going?"
Scratching his head, Harry thought for a moment. "I'm feeling pretty good, I was thinking that maybe I could go out and stretch my legs." He smiled, "Maybe even return to school before it's out this year."
A smirk touched her lips, amused at the turn of events. "Why Mr. Potter, I'm sorry that you feel that way." A glint appeared in her eye, betraying the duplicity of her comfort, "However, it appears that as a tournament champion, you were exempted from all end-of-term exams." The smirk turned into a full-on grin, "Such a pity, but it would do no good to endanger your health."
Sighing, Harry rubbed his chin speculatively. The lack of beard left Madame Pomfrey unimpressed at his distinguished expression, and she continued the quick beat of her foot – alternating to the other foot and twirling her wand. Noticing the patience in the mediwitch, Harry decided to try for one last gamble, "Perhaps it would be good for me to get out a little bit. Some fresh air might relax me a little bit."
The pleading smile on the boy's face contrasted with the withering expression sent his way by the witch. Rolling her eyes and throwing a hand to the sky, she conceded. Sliding her wand into her bun of hair, she waved him off and turned away. "Your wand is next to your bed. I expect you back an hour after dinner," her voice lowered to a dangerous tone, "Or else I might be forced to come looking for you. We can talk more tonight." Her voice had modulated back to a cheery level, hurrying the boy along as he struggled to put on his shoes and leave her alone as fast as possible.
One thing had always scared him about being lonely was the uncontrollable desire to drive people away. The only ones that were truly let in were the ones that did something to break through that wall of emotion. Jumping as he pulled his shoe on, Harry grasped his wand and rushed out the door. But really, a wall built to keep people out can easily be turned to keep people in.
Needless to say, Harry would be on time tonight.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~
~ We Are The Champions? ~
The hallways were clear on his way through the castle. Of course, he was walking around during the middle of the day the week before exams. It seemed eerie though, perhaps because the castle was so silent. Even the walls were quieter, watching his passing with cautious eyes. It was likely that the story of Voldemort's return, Harry's own escape, and a correct account of Cedric's death were released to the public. At this point, only the people that knew he wasn't a killer would trust him. The rest…
"Hmmm…I wonder what Sprout thinks about the whole mess."
Harry's thoughts wandered as his feet took him through the castle on autopilot. A passing ghost elicited a greeting from him, its raised eyebrow meeting a cheery wave from the Potter. The alarmed expression made him pause in his thoughts as he kept his brisk pace going
"I'll tone down the happiness a little bit too," a sad smile touched Harry's face as he passed a set of yellow banners – edged with black – outside the Great Hall. "After all, Hogwarts is in mourning for a student," Harry stopped, snapping a clean salute to the banner. He felt tears gathering in his heart, but they didn't appear on his face. Grimacing, he murmured an apology before moving on. The house point containers weren't spared a second glance. Who cared about a silly pissing contest between dorms when people were dying?
Slipping his way through a door, Harry raised his eyes to the sun and looked at the clear skies. A perfect day for a quidditch match, if only there were teams to play. Sighing, Harry lowered his eyes to the ground and saw a few Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students milling around the lake. Looking at the uniforms, Harry noticed that they weren't that different from his own. The boys' ties were unkempt, the girls' varied between pushing the limits of conservative and provocative. They all looked so young, just like the Hogwarts students. A few Durmstrang students floated around on broomsticks, tossing a Quaffle back and forth – so similar to any kids kicking around a soccer ball. Some of the Beauxbatons students screamed when the Giant Squid splashed them as punishment for being too gloomy within its domain – or maybe it was just in a playful mood.
Either way, it was over forty students that had been at the school since before Christmas; but Harry could only recall meeting two of them and only hearing the names of maybe ten of them. It was time to work up some of that courage that Gryffindor was so famed for, or maybe a little of the cunning that Slytherin was. Giggling, Harry realized it didn't matter, "I'm from Hogwarts, and we're a little bit of everything."
With that, Harry casually strode down to the lake, trying to pick out a familiar face. A ways from the lake, he picked out Fleur Delacour arguing with a few of her friends – and waving a dismissive hand at a smaller figure that tugged at her pant-leg. Over the lake, floating with a grace that he didn't have on the ground, Viktor Krum easily controlled his broom through a series of falls and recoveries.
The champions were the only ones he had met, other than the heads (Karkaroff and Maxine). Harry slowed his pace; losing a little confidence as he realized the rather inauspicious circumstances he had last met them in. Flinching as he recalled the maze, Harry nearly came to a halt. Not only had someone died in there, but the Hogwarts professor patrolling the grounds had taken out the other two champions. Would the other two hold a grudge for the loss?
"'Arry!"
The sound of Gabrielle's voice made the decision for him, as the various groups of students took notice of his approach. Viktor did not even flinch, his eagle vision having already marked Harry's approach. Fleur let out an aggravated yell and began loudly berating her sister in French. The little girl simply stuck out her tongue and ran at the shocked young man. Eyes glinting dangerously, Fleur stalked after her little sister.
"Protect me Harry!" The little girl cried as she swung herself behind the fourteen-year old boy. Peering out from the side, she hardly noticed that her 'knight-in-shining-armor' didn't even match her sister's height. If she had, maybe she wouldn't have been making faces from behind her.
Harry made calming motions with his hands, trying to deter the irate French witch. "Fleur, she's your sister. You love your sister, remember?" Glancing down at Gabrielle, he clamped a hand over her open mouth, restraining her tongue from mocking her sister. "See, your sister doesn't deserve whatever hex you were going to put on her." He smiled as restrained the tiny girl, who was now licking at his hand. "Gabrielle, stop messing with your sister. She'll kick my arse-" The little girl's eyes went wide, she obviously knew what that word meant. "-From here to Paris if I try to fight her."
"Potter! Unhand the little brat and let me curse her like she deserves!" Fleur's eyes were getting dangerously fiery.
"Ow! She bit me!" Harry let go of Gabrielle, and was shocked at how fast the little girl sprinted around both of them. Ducking a curse from the explosively angry sibling, Harry was treated to a taste of just howgood the French witch was. It was impressive, half of the curses just materialized from the end of her wand, no incantation or anything. The other half was rope – that easily trussed up one Durmstrang student and two Beauxbatons students. Finally letting out a screech, Fleur lowered her wand angrily, obviously disgusted with her sister's maneuverability. Turning her angry glare to the lone Hogwarts champion, Fleur prepared to unleash a tirade.
"Hey, I didn't know she was going to bite me! Am I just supposed to try and hand the ickle girl to you." Harry's hands were raised in surrender, his wand noticeably absent. Scrunching his brow, Harry looked at his waist to discover it was missing from his waistband, along with his belt. A shouted spell and a lurch later, Harry found himself suspended in the air from his pants, barely holding on. Behind him, the little brat was concentrating hard on the spell. "Bloody Hell! Is this some kinda conspiracy or something?"
Giggling, Fleur flicked her wand and interrupted the spell, neatly disarming her sister and catching the wand. She then proceeded to change her sister's hair to a bright green and temporarily seal her mouth shut. Oomph-ing as he hit the ground, Harry spent a moment fixing his pants before he turned to the smug-looking French witch. "Who has won this game little boy?" Fleur's smile faltered as she remembered the winnings of the last game.
Harry's broad grin unnerved her, and his soft chuckles made her narrow her eyes in irritation. "Beauxbatons wins the dueling competition!" He announced, making a cordial bow before walking up to the silver-haired young woman. Speaking so only she could hear, he whispered, "Cedric wouldn't want us to forget how to have fun." His solemn smile lent an aura of regret to the words. Nodding, Fleur quietly handed his wand over.
Suddenly one of the ropes seemed to re-animate itself, tying both the champions together neatly. Fleur struggled to get free, teasing the boy in from of her with her wriggles. Harry blushed at his proximity to the Veela, looking up at the sky to see the dark grin of the Durmstrang champion. "Well Potter? Who was it that won the duels?"
Struggling to control his growing blush, Harry smiled up at the other man. "I stand corrected, my good sir." A roar of frustration sounded from the chest trying to smother his face. "It appears that this day goes to Viktor Krum!" His shout was a little bit muffled, but the sound brought out a cheer from the surrounding Durmstrang students. Stilling her body, Fleur kneed Harry in the crotch before degenerating into screaming French curse words at the unimpressed Bulgarian. Crumpling a little bit, Harry lost the handle on his balance, tipping the two over.
Rolling down the hill, Harry found himself crushed, pressed, and poked every which way. The wands crushed between the two of them went unscathed, but their pride was rather injured. Smiling from the sky, Viktor lazily curled his broom on a loop. "Why don't you get off your broom and fight like a real wizard!" Fleur's voice pierced Harry's ears with its intensity.
Grumbling in an irritable fashion, the Durmstrang champion swooped down beside them. Viktor released the pair, watching the two separate, and then spat out, "The chevalier you seek is dead," his voice was dark and angry, "The only champions left are the little boy and the dark wolf."
Looking down at his feet, Viktor held out a hand for the French witch. Looking up at his dark eyes, she saw the lack of sleep in his face too. Taking the hand, she rose to her feet, and they both reached down to help Harry stand up. They stood there, the three of them taking a moment for silent introspection.
"He was a good man."
Viktor's tone quavered, as though he was near tears.
"A true chevalier."
Fleur sounded full of regret, wishing that things were different.
"It should have been me."
Harry's pronouncement brought gasps of shock from the other two champions. They looked at him incredulously, both of them taking it differently. Viktor sneered, while Fleur's eyes glowed with rage. Disrespect for the dead, and disrespect for himself. Unforgivable. Harry crouched at the edge of the lake, looking into the distance. He picked up a rock and threw it, trying to skip it and failing miserably.
"It was rigged in the first place," Harry's soft admission tempered the looks of disgust, since they had all cheated in some manner during the competition, "The professor, a Death Eater in disguise, took you two out of the competition, and then we took the cup together." Harry clenched his fist around a rock, drawing blood against the sharp stone. "Only one person was expected on the other side. Voldemort had the other one killed." Harry grimaced, phantom pain showing in his face. Dropping into silence, Harry didn't see the raised eyebrows pass between the other two champions.
Smack
"Idiot!" Fleur cried, her fist impacting the back of Harry's head. The boy fell over into the lake, clothes soaked by the unceremonious drop.
"Potter…" Viktor's voice trailed off as he looked to the younger champion with a disgruntled expression. "You should be remembering Cedric's life. From what I knew of him, he wouldn't want you to – ah, what is the phrase – 'beat yourself up over it.'"
Looking up at the other two champions from the lake, Harry watched their faces. Fleur was examining him with sad eyes, but the smile on her face betrayed her amusement. Viktor's sad smile appeared to be more of a grimace on his stony face, but Harry had spent more than enough time around the vicious quidditch star to see the upturned quirk of his lips. The two were a dichotomy in looks, with Fleur's light, elegant beauty contrasting with Viktor's darkly handsome face and muscled frame. Harry's imagination created a phantom off to the side, a memory of a dead friend. Cedric seemed to be a part of the wind, but it was like Harry could make out the unblemished looks behind a veil of twisting air. The phantasm beckoned, a handsome grin decorating its ethereal face.
Harry lurched to his feet, wand clenched in his hand. "Aguamenti!" His spell caught the other champions off guard. Fleur and Viktor ended up completely soaked, and Harry's loud laugh at their dampened demeanor was a mocking thorn to their pride. Jumping to the side to avoid a pair of multicolored blasts, Harry took off from the lakeside, sprinting towards the observing students. Stopping in front of Fleur's friends, Harry raised his arms in surrender as a new idea popped into his head.
"Wait! Truce! I surrender!" The cries were ignored, and Harry found himself stunned and trussed before he knew what happened.
Regaining consciousness under questionable circumstances, Harry discovered Fleur and Viktor looking at him with bemused expressions. "Well Viktor? What should we do to the little boy?" A haughty look decorated Fleur's face, and she flipped her hair back as she turned an eye to the Durmstrang student.
Viktor tapped his wand against his palm, a sinister look in his eye, "Perhaps we can teach him to respect his elders and betters."
Harry grinned, "Perhaps the two schools would be interested in a pick-up game of quidditch, to prove just how much better you are," his grin widened, and a little chuckle punctuated his speech, "Since we already know how much more ancient you two are."
Fleur opened her mouth in outrage, but Viktor's raised hand stopped her. He looked at Harry, a glint of interest in his eye. "Name the teams, Harry Potter." Rolling her eyes in annoyance, Fleur crossed her arms and watched the bound 'Boy Who Lived' speculatively.
"Fleur picks a team from Beauxbatons, with me as the Seeker," Harry nodded to the French witch, "And you pick a team from Durmstrang." Shrugging his shoulders, Harry went on "After all, Hogwarts cheated to win the tournament. We don't need to prove anything on the Quidditch pitch," Harry smirked, "Unless Potter beats Krum to the Snitch."
Swiftly disenchanting Harry's binds, Viktor held out a hand to help the young Hogwarts champion up. Grasping the other boy's hand firmly, Viktor turned to Fleur. Shaking her head, she consented to the game. Pulling Harry up close, Viktor grinned broadly, "You're on, Potter!"
~O~O~O~O~O~O~
~ Dinner And A Show ~
"Wheeee! We won! We won! Run faster Harry!"
"Gabby! Stop pulling on my hair!"
"Damnit Potter! Come back here with my sister!"
A sudden cacophony of voices shocked the unnaturally quiet Great Hall into a somber silence in the middle of dinner. When the doors flew open, revealing a bruised and stained Harry Potter – gasps of shock went through the hall. The looks turned incredulous as they noticed that he was decorated with a little girl riding on his shoulders, triumphantly waving her arms around. Dropped jaws only dropped farther when the pair was followed by a battered collection of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students, chattering and talking amicably with each other. Fleur Delacour, part-veela queen of Beauxbatons, was grass stained and smiling, a cut over her eye leaving a trail of blood down the side of her face. She stuck her tongue out at an equally disarrayed Viktor Krum as they came through the doors of the Hall. Viktor sported a black eye, a swollen lip, and a more noticeable gait to his walk.
The Hogwarts students just watched as the crowd of friendly competitors made a space for themselves at the end of the Hufflepuff table. As they sat down, the bench and table lengthened itself in response to the number of additions. A few of the mismatched players tossed a Quaffle over the table at each other, remembering excellent shots as they gathered food from the platters of appetizers appearing in front of them. The house elves were obviously told not to expect the other schools after the previous nights, as the selection seemed far more sparse then usual. One popped up next to Dumbledore, and he whispered a quiet instruction to the elf before it popped away. It reappeared next to the three champions, trying to get their attention. The three champions looked like they had been through hell and back, but they were ribbing each other as they recounted the highlights of their match.
"Harry! You must have some kind of death wish," Fleur threw her hands in the air, "I swear that you almost ate a few of those bludgers in the face trying to lure Viktor into them."
"Hey now," a cheeky grin came to Harry's lips, "It worked, didn't it?"
Viktor thumped his goblet to the table, "You are an evil Seeker, I should have never fallen for some of those feints."
The elf managed to capture the attention of Gabrielle, who gleefully took a hold of Harry's unruly hair and brought the server to his attention. "Gabby! What did I say about the hair!" Looking over at the elf, Harry raised an eyebrow. "Dobby? What can I do for you?"
"Mr. Harry Potter – we's elves weren't expecting so many people so suddenly, so it might be a little while before we have any food prepared."
Fleur raised a hand to wave the elf off, "We'll be fine, just send it up when it's ready," raising an eyebrow at the oddly attired elf, she commented, "Do you really wear all of that all the time?"
Viktor threw in a word, "It does look like it might be a fire hazard, is that safe in the kitchen."
Dobby wrought his hands in embarrassment. "I's is careful in the kitchens, we's use magic to keep it out of the food."
"Whee! You look fun!" Gabrielle flipped herself down Harry's back, and Harry was caught by surprise, only grasping her inches from the bench.
"Gabrielle, careful…" Harry spoke as he lowered her to the bench next to him.
"Can we have some cookies too?" Gabrielle pouted to the elf. Fleur went to raise an objection, and then shrugged her shoulders when she noticed Viktor laughing at the little girl.
Dobby nodded, snapping his fingers to make a platter of cookies appear on the table. The tiny French girl squealed and hugged the elf, before taking a seat beside Harry and grabbing a cookie. Fleur just rolled her eyes, eating a piece of cheese before launching back into a critique of the match. Dobby's eyes bounced between the champions for a moment until he just smiled and disappeared. Viktor countered Fleur's tirade with his own examinations.
"Fleur, I think that your chasers were flirting with mine," he shook his head, glancing down at the guilty trio – who didn't even bat an eyelash at the scrutiny – and snorting at the idiocy that they performed on the field.
Fleur let out a loud laugh, "Maybe if your chasers were as beautiful as the pair that I chose." Batting her eyelashes, she spoke in a mock-seductive voice, "Weren't you distracted too, fearless captain?" Running her tongue over a cherry she picked up, she sucked on it a bit before biting into it.
Across the table, Harry rolled his eyes, "Your beaters nearly ruined that plan Viktor, where did you find that pair of berserkers?" Harry pointed down the table to a boy and girl, who sat with clasped hands farther down the table. Harry shivered at the sight of their open affection for each other, "Any child they have is likely to try to knock out the teachers at the sight of a bad grade."
Viktor let out a laugh, "They want to go pro, but the Bulgarian national team wouldn't take them as a pair last year." He eyed them speculatively, "Perhaps when word gets out that they managed to bludgeon the best that Beauxbatons has to offer…"
Fleur ducked her head, looking down at the couple with fear in her eyes, "Mon dieu! They were terrifying to play against. It was like bludgers just appeared at the best moments." Shaking her head as she considered her own woeful beaters, one of which had his arm in a sling, the other had conjured a set of crutches. "Jacques and Vincent tried, but they were no match for yours in teamwork."
Harry nodded, smiling at the thought of Vincent, "Yeah, but when Vincent got his bat to the ball that one time… BAM! It was like a rocket to Viktor's face."
Viktor winced, gingerly icing the bruise over his eye with a cold piece of fruit. "What they lacked in teamwork, they almost made up for with pure power," he admitted, "But they never would have gotten that hit if it weren't for you blinding me with that feint." Grinning, Harry took a bit of his apple, wincing when he felt one of his teeth bleed a little bit.
"Without that hit, I would never have had the time to get the Snitch!"
Around the amicably chatting group, the Great Hall watched the group of players with looks of disgust, awe, shock, irritation, and anguish. Ron had returned to eating, but was watching Harry's interaction with the Beauxbatons champion with an evil eye. Hermione was tearful at the callous behavior of the other schools, laughing and playing around at this time. Some of the other students were less unnerved, Draco Malfoy simply sneered at the behavior, while the Weasley twins grinned and toasted the voices – Harry's proclamation bringing them no small joy. Some of the students returned to eating, small smiles on their faces – Neville Longbottom, happy to see that his roommate wasn't brooding over anything; Ginny Weasley, proud that Harry had defeated Viktor; and Luna Lovegood, who had never noticed the entrance in the first place. The Hufflepuffs had tentatively continued eating, a few raised eyebrows and confused expressions crossing their faces.
However, one face was angry. Rising to her feet, a distraught Cho Chang marched over to the three champions. Professor Dumbledore and the Heads of House rose to their feet and drew wands, prepared to petrify the tearful witch. Touching a shaky hand to Harry's shoulder, Cho watched him turn with divine retribution written all over her face.
SLAP
Not even drawing her wand, Cho had simply hauled off and smacked Harry across the face. Screaming, she slapped him again before she found herself tackled to the ground by a tiny, silver-haired girl. "Harry!" Gabrielle's battle cry brought a few snickers from the Hall. Viktor and Fleur rose to their feet, wands out in a ready stance. Harry stood up and pulled Gabrielle from the dark-haired witch, shaking off his shock at the powerful slap with ease.
"Whoa, chill out Gabby," he crunched his eyebrow as he noticed the identity of the aggressor. "Cho? What was that for?"
Breaking into loud tears, Cho hiccupped as she sat in an unceremonious heap on the ground. "How dare you…" her voice came out hardly louder then a whisper. "Cedric-"
A voice from the side cut her off, "Cedric is dead," the voice sounded hard and cruel from the mouth of the Durmstrang student – Ashe – Harry recalled, one of the beaters.
Cho rose with a scream of anguish and rage, her wand raised. Shouting, she began a tirade on the unimpressed students, "How dare you disrespect his memory! You didn't even know him," she hissed, before yelling some more, "All of you just go out and smile and laugh!" She jabbed her wand into Harry's chest, burning a hole into his shirt and a mark into his chest as her wand spat sparks of angry magic at him. "And you! You killed him! And you've got the balls to come here and laugh and joke, and be happy…and…" Cho broke into tears, dissolving back to the floor. "How dare you, how dare you…" she kept whispering.
Pushing Gabrielle to the side, Harry took a napkin from the table, passing it to the distraught girl. Cho ignored the offering, inconsolable in her grief. Harry looked up at the hall, seeing the same judgment in so many faces across the hall. Professor Flitwick slowly approached the two, his wand away as he prepared to comfort one of his ravens. "Miss Chang, it's alright," the professor whispered in a soothing voice.
The professor was cut off by a cry of fury from Fleur. "How dare we? How dareHarry?" the haughtiness was gone from her voice, replaced by pure disgust. "We," she waved her hand to include the whole hall, "who were Cedric's schoolmates through this year. We," she gestured to the other two champions, "Who competed with Cedric, facing the same dangers that he did at every turn." Fleur stood up on a bench, stepping onto the table with one leg, "And Harry, who watched him die." Fleur's voice was damning, condemning Cedric's ex-girlfriend with its intensity. "Harry, who brought his body back." The French witch walked onto the table, "Cedric didn't belong to any of us…" her voice was quiet as she stepped down next to Harry.
SLAP
"At least we're celebrating his life." Fleur sniffed, a tear making its way down her cheek. "He would want it that way." Fleur caressed Cho's cheek, her eyes boring into the soul of the other witch, "I weep too, for everyone's loss. So I won't forget him." Fleur took her hand from the witch's cheek, "But I care enough about him to remember him in a way that he would have loved."
The whole hall was silent, lost in thought at the words of the French witch. Viktor picked up his refilled goblet, raising it into the air. "To Cedric Diggory. A great man." The Durmstrang students let out a resounding "Aye!" The Beauxbatons chorused "Oui!" Some of the Hogwarts crew let out a "Hear Hear!" And Harry toasted Fleur's glass, taking a small sip and offering his goblet to the shocked witch on the floor.
Giving her a sad smile, Harry spoke, "Chin up Cho. He loved you. Would he want you to suffer like this?" Harry tipped a little bit of juice onto her lips, and she smiled back as the liquid stained her lips.
"I'm sorry Harry." Cho spoke, her voice barely audible over the crowd of students toasting around them. Fleur raised an eyebrow, looking between the two for a moment before she went to make her way around to her seat. Harry smiled, rubbing his cheek as he set his goblet back down. Gabrielle held out a cookie to the thoroughly chastised Asian witch, who took it with a soft "Thank you."
"Cho…" Harry ran a hand through his hair. "If I could change things, I would," Harry smiled, tears gathering in his eyes. "I can't change it though. I wouldn't know what to do if I could, it all happened so fast." Harry's eyes went far away for a second – the voice,'Kill The Spare,' brought a shiver to his body – before Gabrielle tugged on his leg, forcing him to sit down and live in the present. "So I'm just trying to live the best I can," he smiled at the weak admission, "For him."
Cho looked down at her feet. She was still in pain, distraught from losing such a large piece of her life. She spoke softly when she did, taking a tentative bit of the cookie, "I'll try that Harry." She smiled as the sugar touched her tongue. Wiping her eyes, "Bloody hell, I must be a mess." Harry just smiled at her, shrugging his shoulders at his own appearance. The smile fell from her lips, and she started to turn away. "It might take me a bit longer, but thanks Harry." Cho looked over at the Beauxbatons princess, acknowledging her work too, "I'll see you around sometime."
Harry watched her leave with a soft smile. He didn't feel quite so drawn to her right now. Maybe it was the conversation, but Cho definitely wasn't the girl for him today. Feeling a fork poke into his strained leg muscle, Harry let out a yelp. "Gabby?"
"Eat, Harry Potter." Her frank observations made him laugh. This might be the girl that he needed today. A ten-year old with questionable English and violent tendencies was definitely at the top of his list. "Ouch!" Another poke sealed it. He returned to eating, tuning out the quietly whispering Hogwarts students and diving back into the fast and furious discussions with the foreign students.
Oddly, upon his return to Madame Pomfrey's clutches after dinner, he wasn't too unhappy with the dressing down he received for playing Quidditch. He hugged the stern witch and stripped for his check-up, smiling as she prodded him with her wand and forced him to take some disgusting potion. She smiled right back, a feral grin that betrayed her intentions as Harry found himself being levitated to the hospital bed – almost completely knocked out.
Today was the first day of the end of his life. He made friends, played Quidditch, and received kisses from beautiful girls. Falling asleep, Harry wondered just how he was going to match it.