First and foremost, thank you to my beta readers, a constant source of humility and genius: gamer0890, DJKopper, x102reddragon, Proctorb_32, Ajjaxx, Brock, Red Renera.

I wanted to have this out a lot sooner, but stuff got in the way. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 8 - A date with Grindylows and Gobstones

Fleur threw down the newspaper. A few students edged away, whether from her or the contents of the so-called article she couldn't be sure.

Of all the mornings to print this awful article, Rita Skeeter just had to pick the morning of the Second Task. Fleur's hand itched for her wand, or perhaps a throat, anything but the flames that danced at the edge of her reach. Burning Rita Skeeter's words wouldn't fix anything, not unless they were still coming out of her mouth.

Her mother would be livid. It was a vain hope that she wouldn't get a hold of a copy—another lecture would be almost as unpleasant as those lies. The words hammered in her mind as she stormed out of the Great Hall.

'Fleur Delacour, enthralling beauty as she undoubtedly is, clearly found it no issue to ensnare Harry Potter. Every single student I interviewed says he has been seen following her around Hogwarts like an obedient pet. Delacour, being a Veela, had been promised to be kept on a tight leash…'

'No doubt, she thinks removing the competition is her best way to win, and after having seen her performance in the First Task this reporter couldn't agree more.'

The lake taunted her with its still waters, and the stands erected around the outer edge were another reminder. The muddied lawns and cobbled stones of the Hogwarts grounds fell away under her furious stride, thankfully no one was outside to see the tears falling.

'If I may be allowed, I would suggest that the young lady spend more time practicing her skills rather than her flirting. Even for Veela, looks are fleeting, it would be such a slander for Beauxbatons to suffer the shame of what might be an unfit Champion.'

She slammed the door behind her. Fleur hadn't thought to check whether or not Gabby was awake yet, though within seconds she could tell her sister wasn't even in the room. The bed they had shared the past few days was a wrinkled mess, and Gabby hadn't tidied up the clothes she'd strewn about. It wasn't as good as coming back to her, but it was better than being completely alone.

That bitch had barely said a word about her in the first article about the Triwizard Tournament, Fleur couldn't even remember if she had been mentioned after the First Task, but this was something else.

Then, the morning of the Second Task, she releases her indictment of Fleur's relationship with Harry, as if she had any right.

'Students from each and every house have proclaimed their concerns. One Slytherin student confided in me, "We all saw her, batting her eyes at the judges, it wouldn't surprise us to hear that she was only dating Potter to distract him from the Tournament."

She launched a weathered book against the wall, Fleur felt the tickle of fire just out of grasp. So close if she wanted to seize it—all she had to do—the book caught alight. Whisps of smoke danced in the growing embers below. Fleur rushed to reel in her fire, and wrench some control back. She needed control today.

Today, though, there could be no running from it. She had to be the centre of attention today. That woman, if that was fair to the entire gender, had managed to twist and torture the one thing she had enjoyed since being at Hogwarts. She had made it into a weapon against her.

It took Fleur a few minutes to regain herself enough to realise Gabby should've been back. She checked the bathroom, and unless Gabby had visited her parents she wouldn't have anywhere else to be. Fleur really didn't want to see her mother, not today. But she could just see some fool trying to hurt her sister to get one over on her, and ruling out that would save her some headaches.

Being a Veela hadn't been much of an issue in France, but Britain was hardly France. Words like the ones she had read wouldn't have been allowed past the first set of eyes. Not to mention the timing of it — it was almost like she was being sabotaged.

Fleur set about the walk to her parent's room, tucked away down a forgotten hallway in the carriage. She wished the thought of her mother didn't make her feel worse. She had already endured a lecture from her mother about her 'breeding years' being upon her. It had taken everything in her not to lash out.

The door opened without a creek, she had expected it to sound more ominous. Rustling clothes and the whisk of a hair brush was all she was greeted with. Her papa stood at the edge of the bed folding away some clothes and placing them in neat piles. Her mother sat in front of a large mirror, hairbrush clutched in a rigid fist.

No Gabby.

"Good morning, Daughter."

"Good morning, Mother," Fleur replied, matching her distant tone with ease. Though her papa rushed over to wrap her up in a warm hug. His width always made them feel more like a squeeze than a hug, but she wouldn't trade it for anything.

"Where is Gabrielle?" She asked. Her papa glanced at his wife, as if looking for permission. Fleur loved him with all her heart, but she wished he had more of a backbone.

"She is busy. You should be getting ready, no?" Her mother said. Her hair brush clattered onto the vanity she had been sitting at.

"I was worried about her-"

"Perhaps you should be worried about your performance in this farce of a tournament."

Her papa raised his hands in a consoling way, glancing between Fleur and his wife. "How about we —"

"I, at least, want to make something of my life, rather than being some broodmare. I understand your envy but don't you dare take your failings out on me." Fleur snapped, cutting her papa off, leaving him with a sad grimace on his face.

Her mother brandished two thick papers, both covered in words from different languages, Fleur knew them well enough. The articles were reviews and coverage of the First Task, one was scathing of her performance, and the other barely even mentioned her. She had to bite her tongue to keep from embarrassing herself further.

"And this? This shame you bring on our kind, this is more valiant than rebuilding our people?" Though her mother carried no wand, the way she gripped her hairbrush and those newspapers Fleur was still on edge, expecting some outburst. It had to come eventually.

"We have been fighting tooth and nail to regain an ounce of respect after the war, an ounce, and your pride will see it all come to nothing.

Fleur opened her mouth, but her mother's diatribe didn't slow down.

"And then I see you distracted over your sister, when you ought to be giving this task your all."

"Sometimes I wonder where we went so wrong with her, dear," her mother turned to her papa, speaking to him in her singsong tone, the way she did when she twisted his mind.

Fleur slammed the door on her way out. She was eager to face the cold dark depths of the lake, at least there would be more warmth than with her mother.

. .

Harry clutched his gillyweed, the damp plant an unwelcome reminder of what was waiting in the water — and whatever his "you'll sorely miss" was supposed to be. He was sure there was much worse than mermaids down there.

The crowd cheered, their feet hammering on the wooden platforms shook the make-shift dock under foot. Somehow even with all those onlookers he was alone. Harry looked over at Fleur, her eyes were fixed on the rippling lake. Fleur still hadn't made eye contact with him. He swallowed, eager to cast her from his mind, if only for now.

The water crashed onto the dock as Bagman called out to the gathered audience. Harry's feet got splashed more than once, even that brief introduction was enough to warn him of the terrible cold. Once in the depths, that chill would be much worse. Moody might well be livid at him for failing to grasp the bubble head charm, but having a backup plan made a world of good.

Bagman let out a raucous yell, and the crowd matched it.

Harry turned and saw the other champions glancing around. A few nervous smiles and nods later, they took a deliberate step forward. Fleur still had that look of severe focus on her face.

Harry noticed the others slip their wands out, each bore a leather cord around a leg to act as a holster. Harry had tucked his own wand into the side of his overlarge swimming shorts.

"Three. Two. One." Came Bagman's voice. Harry choked down the gillyweed as fast as he could, it instantly filled his mouth with salty, slimy strings. The other Champions dove into the water. Harry was pretty sure one had looked like a shark. It didn't matter though, he needed to focus on himself, so he pulled his wand out and waited.

Before long his breathing started to feel wrong, he reached up to touch a rough spot on his neck, only to find something rippling and flapping. Gillyweed was aptly named.

Harry dove into the water. The cold ripped at him, yet somehow, it wasn't nearly as bad as he imagined. A deep breath, despite the sharp cold, felt wonderful. He kicked out with his feet and started to attempt to navigate the lake. Whatever he had to look for would be fairly far out, but not too far.

The dark surrounded him, making it hard to see anything. It didn't take long before he lost track of time.

Distance was hard to judge, only when he saw a tangle of weeds did he have a sense of how fast he moved, and it was fast indeed. After only a few kicks of his feet they were lost behind him, though he doubted he would be the fastest thing down here.

His swim was uneventful to say the least, not a single creature in sight nor even a threat. The water grew darker the further into the depths he swam, he could make out shapes in the distance but nothing clear. His wand never left his hand.

On the edge of his vision he saw an eruption of bubbles, a swath of them burst out in the direction he had been heading. He turned left, and swam with renewed haste.

His legs thrashed through the water, propelling him forward and away from whatever that had been.

He needed to find out what that was, he could almost swear it had been fire.

As he fled the scenery around him became clearer. Tall arches and waterlogged houses sprang up on the lake floor. Harry couldn't help but take notice of just how many mermaids there were, at least twenty of them.

Another burst of bubbles battered past him. This time he could feel the heat from the blast.

It had been fire.

He was lucky not to be singed.

He spun to find a mermaid. It was unremarkable, other than its being a mermaid. In the distance between them was a leashed, thick eel. Harry's wand slashed in the space between them, his stunning spell flew wide. The mermaid reacted though, it swam off to the side lightning fast. And started to close the distance.

Harry looked down at the village below, mermaids were pointing up at them, with tridents in hand. He caught a glimpse of hostages, in the pale light of whatever they used to light the waters below. There in the depths of the lake, he saw them. Four of them.

And it nearly stopped his heart.

One small child, who had the exact same hair as Fleur. Cho Chang. Hermione, her bushy hair waving in the water, thick and wet. And Hedwig. His Hedwig.

He stopped for a second. Forgetting all about the mermaid.

Then he saw the other mermaids below charging up at him, weapons brandished.

Their mouths opened as they screeched. Harry spun, and swam, for all he was worth. He had to shake them off, and rescue those hostages.

How had they even gotten in the lake? It wasn't as if Hedwig or Hermione would take a casual swim. Regardless, he had to find a way to save them.

Without meaning to, he found himself close to the weeds from before, or at least he hoped they were the same ones. He stopped and checked back where he had come from, and a ripple of white flashed in the distance. It was following his path though, and fast too.

The weeds brushed his leg, Harry gripped his wand tighter and made to dart off between the waving tendrils, to hopefully shake off his pursuers. The second he turned something tugged at him, pulling him downwards.

Thin but strong tentacles wrapped around his legs, his wand was already aiming downwards, the little creatures had large round eyes and horns. The spell was already on his lips as he recognised it as a grindylow, 'relashio', though no words came out, a burst of light shot out and hit the creature.

It fell away dazed and Harry spun to flee, then his eyes fell on a pale female shape. Fleur spun and thrashed. Her legs covered in grindylows, both arms were pinned to her sides, doing their best to keep her from escaping. Together Fleur and the grindylows descended.

Harry threw himself to the side as a swarm of bubbles blasted past him, he glanced back to see the eel thing swimming at him, a ball of flame shot from its gaping maw. Steam and char shot ahead of it faster than Harry would have believed. He managed to force himself out of the way.

He had to help Fleur get free first, or else she would be a sitting duck for whatever the hell that thing was. His eyes scanned the deep blue mass for her and found nothing. The top of some weeds were smoldering and burnt, Harry gulped. Just how many grindylows would be in that mess? A writhing mass of weeds swung in the gentle churn of the lake, no flash of silvery hair, not a single burst of light from a spell. Harry dove down, without a glance for the creature behind him.

The amount of useful spells he knew of were limited, at least without knowing they wouldn't hurt Fleur by accident. A grindylow clamped onto his outstretched arm, although Harry was ready for it and before long it was falling down towards the bottom of the lake.

A cutting curse chopped away some of the weeds. Harry had to throw caution to the wind. Fleur needed his help. His wand flashed again and more weeds floated up to the surface, and still not a glimpse of Fleur. A large ball of steam rushed by him, close enough to burn his leg. He screamed out as he tried to swim.

He fired a stunner behind him blindly and threw himself further into the mix. The weeds parted easily enough for him, though they were impossible to see past.

This time a flood of bubbles came from below, Harry stopped dead. If there was another one below he would need a plan, or else Fleur and he would be goners.

The patch of tangling weeds burnt away, revealing a person, though Harry wasn't sure it was a person. Tall, long limbed, and covered in blood stained silver feathers, Fleur turned to regard him.

Harry knew those eyes, despite the wicked sharp beak that graced her face, and the scaly pitch black wings that shivered behind her. He averted his eyes, not wanting to be rude. He really had no idea how to react, it was a shocking reminder that Fleur wasn't exactly human. He found himself looking at her sharp talons, long and deadly looking things, and twice as long as any fingers.

She swam over to him, her head still encased in that bubble, and pulled him close to her, though Harry noticed her eyes narrow and watched above. Harry glanced up and saw that same writhing white eel and its mermaid swam nearby. Fleur cursed harshly in French, her hand, well talons, strained in a fist at her side.

The shapes drew in closer, and another burst of flame shot forth, Fleur gasped but Harry had expected it. He pulled her to the side, glad she hadn't resisted him too much, when they settled again Harry had to change his opinion. Fleur was not feeling good.

Her breathing was heavy and she bled freely from somewhere under those feathers. There was a fire dancing in her eyes, almost an anger, one he had never seen in her before. She could barely keep her eyes focused, and Harry knew she wasn't fit to fight this thing.

As the mermaid drew closer Harry could make out a few details, its webbed feet and fish like complexion reminded him more of a grindylow than some being of ethereal beauty from muggle stories.

A pale leather harness with matching skirt was all that the mermaid wore, and it gripped a deadly trident in its hand, the other hand held a leash attached to the eel. The mermaid was no larger than himself, but its arms were muscular, used to using that trident no doubt.

The eel writhed and twisted in the water, though it never moved from the side of the mermaid. Harry noticed long sharp teeth protruding from its mouth. Harry couldn't help but watch that mouth, waiting for an explosion of bubbles.

Fleur grabbed his arm, her razor sharp talons threatened to break the skin. She called out to him, but the sound was lost to the water. Harry trained his wand on the pair, trying to gesture to Fleur to do the same, though she only cradled her arm after letting him go.

The mermaid's eyes followed the wand, Harry grinned; despite the gesture being an empty threat it was good to see it work, the mermaid twitched.

A gout of flame and steam shot at them.

Harry pulled Fleur to the side, only just out of the way of the fire, his gillyweed provided enough aid to let him slip free of the path. If only just.

He lost his breath.

Pain wracked his side.

He glanced down to see the tip of the trident lodged into his stomach. Blood flooded out of the wound.

The creature writhed against the firm grip of the mermaid, eagerly licking out at the distance between them. The mermaid smirked, eyes fixed on Harry, and its foul tongue roamed across jagged teeth.

Harry tried to flick his wand, to attack, to do something. But Fleur collapsed onto him. In a moment he could tell she had returned to her usual state, long flowing hair and perfect face greeted him with exhaustion. Her eyes were unfocused and agonised.

Harry wished there was something he could do. If he didn't think of something they would likely die down here.

The mermaid swam forward, Harry felt the tug of the trident before he comprehended it, and he saw large black spots in his vision. The mermaid had wrenched the trident out of him. Like Harry was some scarecrow.

He expected to feel fear, panic, anything. Anything other than rage, but rage was all he had. The mermaid grinned as the trident spun freely in his grip, Harry could only clutch his wand; for all the good that did.

The lake grew black, despite the red of his blood.

Harry noticed a bunch of coloured shapes floating away from him; red, blue, green and yellow, all as familiar to him as his reflection. His gobstones had spilled free, and were flowing towards the mermaid.

He pulled at them, desperate to keep them from the mermaid. It would only be a minuscule victory, but he would have it. The brilliant beads shone brightly as they were carried away from him, lighted from some magic Harry didn't understand.

Three flowed towards him, as they had so often done before. The yellow gobstone, however, continued its journey towards the mermaid. Harry strained as much of the unknowable force as he could, he needed to keep the gobstone from the mermaid.

Slimy looking fingers clasped the gobstone, slowly raised it to its eyes, and Harry saw the vicious smirk on its foul face.

Harry flexed whatever strength he had left in him, and threw it at the mermaid.

Whether it was a spell, or some wandless magic, he didn't know. But somehow the gobstone cracked.

A thin tendril of yellow leaked out, the vibrant light seemed to fade. Until it exploded.

Yellow light drowned everything else, the only other thing Harry noticed was a violent crunch and a screech.

When his eyes could see again all that greeted him was a pair of corpses. The eel was floating limp, still attached to the leash that the mermaid had held. Where the mermaid had been was only a lump of melted flesh.

Harry tried to check on Fleur, but he found his limbs hard to move, his eyes hard to focus.

. .

He felt a cold harsh breeze on his face, a glimpse of silver hair brushed past his eyes, water splashed gently against his face. Harry closed his eyes.

. .

"After conferring with Merchieftainess Murcus we have decided to award Harry Potter and Fleur Delacour thirty points a piece. Thank you for your patience." Whatever else Ludo Bagman said was lost to her, Fleur regarded Gabrielle, who still shivered despite the three large towels covering her from head to toe.

Dumbledore had brought her out of the water with Harry's owl, not a scratch on their heads, thankfully. Fleur had seen the brief glimpse of fury in the elderly wizard's face, and was reminded of the stories of how he had bested Grindelwald.

She stroked Gabby's hair, it was the least she could do, having failed so pathetically and endangering her sister; the very thought would haunt her until she died. Gabby, despite being cold, seemed to think it was some great adventure. That was until she caught sight of Fleur's recently healed wounds, then she mellowed out.

The pain had long since passed, though nothing would shake her fear or helplessness. Still, she had Gabby, even if she could barely focus on anything enough to listen to her sister.

The tent flaps twitched, and so did Fleur. The matron stepped out; blood on her shoes where she had forgotten to clean it off. Dumbledore was at her side in a flash, talking in hushed tones, though everyone in the gathering watched without any attempt to hide it. Harry's friends Ron and Hermione seemed to want to walk over there, while Cedric was sitting pale faced and blood stained.

He had been the first to notice Fleur swimming into the shore, and dove in to help with Harry without a second of thought. She owed him a great deal, though nothing compared to whatever she owed Harry.

The matron had ushered Fleur out of the tent while her wounds were still binding, intent to get to work on Harry, the thought of fighting to stay hadn't come to her. Now though, she regretted it more than anything.

Neither moved, though Dumbledore seemed to breathe in deep, Fleur clambered up to her feet. Gabby groaned but didn't make a fuss, Fleur could have given her the world for that. Her feet carried her towards the pair.

Out of the corner of her eye, Fleur saw her mother approach. She stopped, and turned towards her mother—regretting it even as she took her first step. The look on her face was nothing short of contemptuous, Fleur wanted to smack her, but she needed to be better than that. At least for herself and Gabby. A single crooked finger and she left, though Fleur knew a summons when she received one.

She swallowed the worst curse word she knew.

Her mother had wandered off towards the rear of the Beauxbatons carriage they had grown to call home. Far enough away from the students to not be heard or seen, perfect. Taller than her, and wearing a dress clean and free of lines, her mother waited, frown evident on her face.

"You've failed."

Fleur ground her teeth, her mother wasn't one for delicacy, but she was rarely cruel.

"There will be much to be done to fix this blunder, I will be writing to the nest, your summer will be long I'm afraid."

Such a lie ought to have been met with more than the silence that drowned the pair. Down to the very bone Fleur was shamed, apparently her mother was even more so. Despite knowing of the wretched mermaid and its illegal pet fire eel. Fleur wished she could drag up some argument, but really she had failed, worse than her darkest fears.

"You will stop the pretence with the Potter boy, it won't change your fate, a valiant effort to be sure…" Her mother smirked. Apolline Delacour could make others feel like trash before her, but that smirk only dredged up hatred in Fleur. "He would have been a fine mate, but as he has far too many years left to finish school… there will be another found for you."

Fleur held her tongue, though the threat was real, it wasn't new. Just plainly spoken for once. A bludgeoning hex instead of the usual tickling charm.

"When we return home, we set out for Sofia that very same day. If you try to evade or hide, you will regret it." A sad look crossed her mother's face. "I would hate to see you waste away with some brute," her voice almost sounded sincere.

Fleur shook her head, desperate to keep the tears from falling.

Apparently Veela weren't allowed ambition or pride, not since Grindelwald had decided to turn on them. Fleur could almost wish he hadn't missed so many, though she at least had her sister. One Veela that wasn't worthless.

One day, her mother would be able to look back and regret her choices in life, Fleur just hoped she would be there when it happened.

Back at the tent only a few people were left, the champions and Harry's friends, Fleur made her way over to them. "Any news?"

"No, Professor Dumbledore is in there now, and has been for a while," Cedric replied.

"Madam Pomfrey has been in and out," Hermione added, "she didn't seem too rushed, and only came back with a few bottles. It can't be all that bad, can it?"

"Of course not," Viktor replied. His hand casually rested on her shoulder, Fleur had forgotten they had gone to the Yule Ball together. "Harry is stronger than you think, he took worse from the dragon."

If it was meant to soothe Hermione, Fleur could tell it failed, her eyes widened and her foot tapped impatiently. Fleur couldn't blame her, Harry wasn't indestructible.

. .

He felt heavy, his arms and legs refused to cooperate, though his eyes at least did. The ceiling was made out of a flowing fabric, no doubt another emergency healing tent. He was surprised not to see Madam Pomfrey bearing down on him like an angry goose, though maybe his wounds weren't as serious as he remembered.

Surely even a stab wound wasn't that bad for magic, after all, she had regrown all the bones in his arm once. He had been stabbed though, and somehow he had killed that mermaid, or his gobstone had.

However, that could have happened.

He swallowed, or tried to, somehow he just felt like he needed to vomit. Though his every breath tore at his throat, it wasn't long until he coughed, spluttering up what felt like the entire lake.

Madam Pomfrey appeared at last, bottles of potion clutched in her hands. Once his coughs calmed she thrust them at him, and he didn't even consider fighting, not yet at least.

Her mutters were lost to him as in that moment Harry noticed Professor Dumbledore lounging by the entrance to the tent, the wizened Headmasters' face was pale and sombre. Harry gulped, though finished with his potion; he wished he had more to occupy himself with. Facing Dumbledore's quiet disapproval was difficult.

None more so than when he deserved it.

Fleur flooded into his head, the image of her feathered and bloody. He distinctly remembered her weak grip on him, she had barely been able to function—let alone help.

"Is Fleur alright?" he asked. Dumbledore smiled and nodded, though it was Madam Pomfrey who answered.

"She will be fine, only a few scratches and a hit to her pride. Though, she isn't the only one who suffered there, Mr Potter." She continued about her business as if she didn't say anything though, and Harry waved her off. If his pride were the only thing at risk he would have nothing to worry about.

"Thank you Poppy, might I have a word with Mr Potter alone?" Dumbledore asked, for once not sounding amused.

Dumbledore walked over with brisk steps, before Harry knew it the Headmaster was beside him, a morbid look on his face. His knees creaked as he lowered himself into a rickety camp chair. The image was farcical. Harry knew Dumbledore wasn't all for the airs of other important wizards. Still it didn't feel right to him.

"I must apologise," Dumbledore said. His eyes lingered on the tent flaps that shut, Harry started to shake his head, though Dumbledore turned to regard him, a kind smile on his face. "I fear this old fool must ask for your forgiveness. Today I failed you all, and it happened to be you and Miss Delacour who were faced with the brunt of that failure."

"Professor, what are you talking about?"

"That Mermaid you encountered, his proclivities were kept from me, and as such I placed you and your peers in added danger. Not to mention the captives…" Dumbledore finished in a whisper.

Harry licked his lips at the image that burst into his mind, his entire mouth seemed dry despite having spent the last hour or so underwater. He fumbled in his pocket and held onto the first gobstone he felt, but quickly let it go.

Memory seemed to singe his fingers, the events with that mermaid and the effect his gobstone had. The almost shapeless mass of burnt flesh wouldn't soon be forgotten.

"He's dead…" Harry placed his hands carefully down either side of him.

"Yes, he was taken by the other mermaids. I heard one of them complain that the fire eel was burnt too badly to eat," Dumbledore said. His tone was so normal it made Harry blink, when he met Dumbledore's eyes a smile graced the Headmasters face.

"It wasn't Fleur, I did it… well…"

"I know Harry, they found some shattered glass." Dumbledore trailed off, his eyes focused on the pocket Harry had played with a few minutes ago. "I was amazed they had considered it worth noticing, but magic works in strange ways, it is likely they noticed some residue."

"Professor, it was an accident, I never wanted to…"

"From Miss Delacour's accounts, you were both very likely to be killed. Could we wish that you never had to be in that position? Of course, but you were. And by skill or luck, you survived and protected a friend. An outcome not many could achieve."

Harry frowned, praise felt a little bit much, considering the outcome. Dumbledore must have sensed his mood shift, as he gently placed a wrinkled hand over Harry's own. His clear blue eyes seemed sharper than usual.

"You did very well Harry, I mean it. If I could have protected you from that, I would have. But you did what you could." His smile stretched already aged skin, the lines of his face redoubled. "Miss Delacour would have fought tooth and nail to be by your side, she would likely tell you the same as I did."

Harry opened his mouth, but words failed him.

"I must ask you though, what exactly happened with your gobstone?"

"It broke open, shattered I guess, and—"

Dumbledore leaned forward, his small smile shone bright, "Before that, I surmised that something was unique after the first task."

"Well, I guess I can do stuff with them." Harry muttered.

His hands felt nothing but ribs as he felt for his gobstones, he hastened to pat himself down, but Dumbledore cut him off. With a wave of his long fingered hand he gestured to a torn and burnt pouch laying on the table, Harry noticed the gash across the corner before much else. He really was lucky not to lose more than one.

His hand shook as he reached for them, they felt heavier somehow, but their warmth still shone through. Even if that warmth was now linked to a horror deep underwater, it was still his.

He pulled a pale blue gobstone out of the bag, without his hands but with whatever magic he had over them. It bounced and floated off his palm.

Dumbledore leaned closer in, his glasses threatened to fall right off his often crooked nose, and a gleam flashed across his face. If he had been anyone else, Harry would have called it a smug smile.

"How are you doing this?" Dumbledore said. His eye never left the gobstone, and his hand seemed to itch to reach for it.

"Don't know, most players can to some extent, but none as well as I can." Even if it's the truth, it feels awful to say, he thought. Dumbledore would think he was an arrogant fool, or worse, he might believe him.

"I never noticed that at the finals last year—"

"We don't use it with games, it's an unspoken rule, I think."

"Very well, so they respond to your will?"

Harry nodded, and made the gobstone fall from his hand, right as it was about to hit the floor he pulled it back to his hand.

"So when the gobstone broke, what happened? If I may?" Dumbledore's eyes barely met his own, but there was regret clearly plastered across his face. His weathered fingers clasped his bony hands as he waited for a reply, Harry could tell though that Dumbledore was very eager for that reply.

"It was too far for me to pull it back to me, I was struggling to stay… awake, then the mermaid grabbed for it, and I pushed for it. Yellow light, that was the colour of the gobstone, it leaked out. Then it exploded. When I could make anything out, there was only… the… body."

Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's knee, a smile blazed on his elderly face, and unshed tears threatened to fall. Harry tried to smile, but it felt forced, judging by the Headmaster's chuckle it looked forced.

"Your bravery and ingenuity never fails to amaze me. You are a remarkable wizard Harry. I will tell Madam Pomfrey to allow you to have visitors, if you wish." He paused, after Harry's nod he continued. "Get some rest please, and when you feel better, visit me with those gobstones. I would very much like to learn more about them."

A curious look in his eyes caught Harry's attention, if he had to guess he would have said Dumbledore looked eager.

He turned in his heeled boots and left the tent. Before long Madam Pomfrey entered and set about fussing over him. Though the flaps of the tent opened once more to reveal Ron and Hermione, both looking worse for wear, worry etched their faces. Then Fleur walked in.

Her eyes found him instantly, and her smile made him blush.

AN: This one was rough to get done, between getting ill and motivation dropping off a cliff it wasn't easy. But with the help of some friends I made it, and I'm pretty happy with how it's looking. I'm not delighted with the update speed of this fic, but I really am trying to make it decent quality and that makes it a lot slower than if i just posted a first draft. I hope that doesn't ruin it for any of you, but I do understand how it can be frustrating.

If you've been enjoying the story please let me know, don't forget to follow/favorite too, you'd be amazed at how much that brightens my day. And if you want to chat or anything here's a link to the Flowerpot (Harry/Fleur) discord server, discord. gg/ qtpsGE5bRQ