Ultimately, the scoring for the first task was pretty even. Harry wasn't sure what he was expecting, and Bagman had indicated that they'd originally planned to just rate everyone on an arbitrary ten-point scale like in the Olympics. But the audience had seen the Ancient One having a profound conversation with Crouch about how that would allow bad actors (read: Igor Karkaroff) to make a farce of the scoring. So Bagman and Crouch rated each contestant from best to worst in their opinion, and the headmasters did the same, but didn't get to include their own student. That theoretically meant the highest possible score was 17, with three or four points for top marks.
In practice, it was kind of a farce anyway.
Bagman and Crouch had both given the "local" boys their top ratings, discounting Fleur and Viktor. Conversely, Dumbledore and the Ancient One were most impressed by Fleur's ability to bewitch a whole dragon. Maxime and Dumbledore had also given Harry high marks for leadership and the ability to shield against dragonflame. Cedric had received overall low ratings because it hadn't been entirely visible what he had done, hidden as he was in the rocks of the valley wall. Most of the headmasters ranked Viktor somewhat low, since he didn't really seem to have had a backup plan if his dark magic blinding spell hadn't worked.
Then Karkaroff had done the math and arbitrarily rated Fleur highest and Harry lowest to try to level out the scores of Viktor's rivals.
The final total for the first task was basically a dead heat with Harry at 13, Fleur at 12, Cedric at 11, and Viktor at 8. Karkaroff could have bent the scores even more in his student's favor if the Ministry officials hadn't rated Krum so low. But at least it still seemed like it was anyone's game to win. And Dumbledore had praised all of their teamwork, in the grand spirit of cooperation between realms.
Gryffindor was still thrilled that Harry had won, though.
Unfortunately for Gryffindor's desire to throw another rager and Harry's deep desire for a nap, only morning classes wound up being cancelled. McGonagall ushered them all out to lunch and their afternoon work, which was runes class for most of them. While he worked on tracing elder Futhark, Harry was absently using his other hand to mess with the golden egg he'd kept of the four. Bagman had claimed it was a clue to the next task, and Harry could tell that the surface was subtly faceted, though not to the extent of dragon eggs in a certain popular television series.
The dull murmur of pens scratching and quiet conversation was broken by a ratcheting click as Harry's exploration of the egg's surface caused it to suddenly rotate like a Rubik's Cube. "Oh, man," Dean said, quickly figuring out what had happened from where he was sitting immediately to Harry's left, "if Pinhead shows up I don't know you."
"It's a puzzle box!" Hermione barely managed to control the volume of her voice in her enthusiasm. Her fingers twitched with the urge to try.
"Later," Harry told them both, slipping the egg into his bag before the Slytherins in class noticed what was going on and figured out how to sabotage him.
Later became after dinner in the Gryffindor common room, as a small party befitting a school night was held for Harry's victory. "It was intense!" Dean was enthusiastic about it. "I mean, obviously you were there, but we should get the video so you can see what was going on from our point of view. And I want to just see it again in better lighting than trying to watch a projection screen through a portal in the middle of the morning."
Colin shook his head sadly, having been hovering near Harry as usual. "There's no recording," he explained. "We already asked Oona at dinner. She figured out enough of the tech to get the camera drones to fly around and broadcast, but the dark elves that made them didn't seem to have thought of playback."
"Huh," Harry realized, "they really are just getting ancient dark elf tech working over there, yeah? I guess those were, what, old combat recon drones? And she got those working on her own? Do you think Oona wants to work at Stark Industries?"
"I think Nokia would offer her a bunch of money if they knew what she could do, but Stark probably has cooler toys to play with," Colin figured. "But if you're hooking people up with Stark internships…"
"Got it!" Hermione announced, the egg suddenly snapping open as she manipulated one last ring of the puzzle. It was hollow inside, and Trelawney's Norn-augmented prophecy voice began to emanate, reciting a poem…
Which they could barely hear over the crowd noise or the frantic attempts to shush everyone. The room finally quieted down just in time to hear the final rhyme.
Your time is short within their court to save what they have taken
"Run it again," Harry suggested.
Hermione pushed the egg back together, twisted the puzzle the opposite way to lock it back into shape, then undid it again. The container splayed back open, but the poem didn't play again.
"Well crap," Dean said. "I think I heard something about Jotunheim."
"War with Asgard, definitely," Colin remembered.
"I think it was a poem about something beneath Jotunheim. And collections, somehow," Hermione frowned.
"If that was my clue for what to prepare for the next task, am I screwed?" Harry asked.
"I'll just ask Viktor not to open his yet," Hermione figured.
"Oh. Duh, right," Harry nodded. "I'll ask Fleur and Cedric. We can just do it as a group."
That didn't actually happen until before lunchtime on Sunday. Hermione had a quiz competition to get to after lunch, so was thrilled to be able to fit it in. The Midgardborn weren't going to be able to field much of a quidditch team, but they felt good about their chances at the academic challenges. Harry wasn't allowed to participate, as a tournament challenger: the little competitions throughout the year were to give everyone else a chance to compete at something.
Hermione, Harry, and the other three challengers posted up in a back corner of the library, having told their various entourages to let them work on their eggs in private: after the others were warned about the one shot to hear it and how it had been screwed up by the Gryffindor party, none were willing to risk any interruptions.
"It was easier the second time," Hermione admitted, having quickly solved Viktor's puzzle egg. "Ready?"
Everyone nodded, hunched with writing implements ready to copy down the poem. "Go for it," Harry told her, and she made the final twist to open the egg. Again, the magical recording of one of Trelawney's prophecies spilled out (how often did she even make them?).
Cold Jotunheim of frost and rime was once not quite so frozen
Beneath cold waves in ancient days a sunken void was chosen
Within installed a secret vault by the great Collector
And housed within through thick and thin an army of protectors
That world was sealed in icy shield upon the war with Asgard
A thousand years these volunteers entombed inside a graveyard
Yet live they still with endless will to guard their master's prizes
An open gate and it's too late the Fomor horde arises
They'll venture forth for things of worth to add to the collection
And you'll object as they select your prizes for protection
Please tarry not with second thoughts of treasure long forsaken
Your time is short within their court to save what they have taken
As the last sentence died out, Hermione nodded and said, "I'm pretty sure that was the same as Harry's egg. Everyone got it? Do we need to open the other two so we can be sure?"
They wound up opening Fleur's egg as well, just so they could make sure they'd recorded the prophecy correctly. When it confirmed that they'd gotten it, they saved Cedric's as a backup, unopened. "What's a Fomor?" Harry wondered.
"Our ancient enemies," Fleur frowned. "Zey were all supposed to be dead in ze Jotun wars. Sounds like some lived. I zink zey were supposed to be like Jotuns, only aquatic."
"Ve have heard of Collector at Durmstrang," Viktor nodded. "Powerful alien lord. He, vell, collects all kinds of things."
Harry nodded. "Guess he's been at it for a long time, then, if he had a collection on Jotunheim from before the war. How long ago was that?"
Cedric, seeming less happy about going to Jotunheim than Muspelheim, said, "Over a millennia. When the princes of Asgard were still babes."
"So there's a bunch of fish-giants that have been trapped in a vault for centuries," Harry frowned. "I guess we can assume they're not actually going to be rational and just let us negotiate for our stuff back. I wonder what they're going to steal? I guess keep your valuable magic items on you."
"Hopefully they come to Hogwarts, where we can protect things," Hermione figured. "If they can get to Earth, they'll probably steal the Iron Man armor or something."
"Tony would be so mad," Harry rolled his eyes. "I gotta figure it won't be that. If anything really important goes missing, they're not going to leave it up to us four to get back. I hope."
"Ve should prepare for cold. Underwater. Fighting giants," Viktor summed up.
"I really am curious what zey 'ave zere," Fleur said. "I know ze second-last line says we should not try to take ozzer zings… but perhaps zey simply 'ave old treasures stolen from our peoples zat we would want to recover?"
"It doesn't really give us a good idea of when this is going to happen," Harry frowned. "Do you three want to start coming to our practices? We do exercise, wandless magic, martial arts, that kind of thing. We could probably start adding swimming in the lake. The really cold lake." He shivered at the thought of the training they'd be doing.
There were vague noncommittal statements from all three. Viktor seemed the most likely to show, just so he could spend more time with Hermione. Harry hadn't asked how their dating was going, but she seemed quietly happy. Fleur was more standoffish about it. Harry wasn't sure what that relationship was, but wasn't really stressing about it: even his teen hormones knew that getting hung up on an older girl that lived on a different planet wasn't really likely to work, long-term. Cedric had a lot going on with his own friends and house, so even if he wanted to hang out with a bunch of younger Gryffindors, he'd be dragging an entourage.
That afternoon, Hermione and Padma put in an amazing academic performance, but they and the other brainy Midgardborn just weren't a match for the deep bench of upper-years that Ravenclaw was able to field for the Vanir team. The first quidditch match was upcoming the next weekend, and it might actually be more interesting: since nearly all of the members of the house quidditch teams were Vanir, nobody could agree on which students would represent Hogwarts. If they couldn't agree on an "all-star" lineup, they might wind up giving the win to one of the other teams (made up of everyone with the slightest ability to ride a broom).
McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick were mediating a multi-way argument about who was the best possible seeker for the team between Ginny, Draco, and Cho as Harry was getting ready to leave the great hall to let the staff get dinner set up after the academic match. Before he could head out, McGonagall spotted him and left the argument. Without preamble, she asked, "Potter! I almost forgot. Who's your date for the Yule Ball?"
He shrugged and admitted, "I was just going to go stag and see how it went. Maybe hang out." Sirius had been telling him a bunch of "going stag" jokes involving his father, and it just kind of sunk into his vocabulary.
She corrected, "Oh, no, you'll be seated at the high table with your date. And the challengers have to lead the first dance." Seeing his eyes widen, she asked, "You do know how to dance?"
"Uh. Maybe? This is… Vanaheim dancing?"
She closed her eyes to hang onto her emotional control, lips moving slightly as she counted to ten, then opened them and said, "Very well. I'll have to teach a class for those that don't know how to dance. I don't know why Albus didn't think of that. Get a date."
"Fleur, want to go to the Yule Ball with me?" Harry asked, before McGonagall could stride off. The elf had very good timing, having been walking out of the great hall at just that moment.
She considered for a moment before saying, "I accept." She gave Harry a faint smile then continued on with barely a delay in wherever she'd been going.
"Very well," McGonagall nodded. "At least that will save us two places at the high table…"
And before anyone was really ready, Yule was upon them.
On top of his actual classes and normal extracurricular activities, Harry had spent the month learning to dance and to swim in freezing water. Vanir dancing was different enough from Earth's ballroom styles that it would have tripped him up if he'd had any actual dancing training. Instead, he'd probably wind up doing something really wrong if he ever had to go to a formal dance on Earth, now that he'd been trained in the Vanir style. Once he started treating it like a video game and let it sink into his muscle memory, he got a lot better at it.
The cold-water swimming was harder. They'd worked out some personal warming magic that should work off of Vanaheim, but it did little more than take the edge off. At least it seemed like the water on Jotunheim didn't get some special power to be colder than ice on Earth or Vanaheim, so it wouldn't be dramatically worse than the nearly-frozen water of winter in Hogwarts' lake. It was still really easy to cramp up, and problematic to fight in. Their Kali-like martial arts style did not translate to trying to swing through water, where thrusting attacks had to displace less material.
Fleur, Viktor, and Cedric did come to the exercises a few times, but the entire study group admitted later that the frigid temperatures took a lot of the salaciousness out of seeing the attractive older students in swimwear.
Eventually, a few weeks and a few more underwhelming realm vs. realm competitions later, it was time for the Yule Ball.
Harry had to admit, he looked kind of sharp. Vanaheim "dress robes" had resisted being informed by the strange evolution of men's formalwear on Earth, so were basically dailywear robes in much nicer materials and brighter colors, with a slightly unusual cut to them following some fashion that Harry trusted Madame Malkin to navigate for him. He'd gone with Christmas colors: primarily red robes with green accents to match his eyes, and gold embroidery to give the red a Gryffindor vibe. They were snazzy.
They were perhaps not as snazzy as Ron's strange foray into what looked like purple drapes, but it wasn't like he had a sense of Vanir fashion. Ron didn't seem thrilled, however, but he'd also been pretty reticent to learn to dance. It took Harry a weirdly long time to remember that Ron had been worried about the robes his mother had gotten him. Strangely, none of the other Weasleys had it as bad.
"See you both at the dance? Do you get to hang with us at all?" Dean asked, as he headed out of the Gryffindor dorms with Hermione and Harry, Neville slightly behind since he'd been having trouble lacing up his robes correctly. The other two boys were meeting Padma and Luna at the Ravenclaw dorms, while Ron and Seamus waited for the other girls to get ready (Seamus was taking Ginny as a friend, and Parvati was slightly-grudgingly going with Cormac McLaggen).
"Hopefully after the dinner and first dance?" Harry shrugged. He wasn't totally thrilled that this formal obligation had been sprung on him. As he and Hermione descended the stairs, he mentioned, "You look really nice, by the way."
While dress robes for men were very different from tuxedos, the robes for women were much more comparable to women's gowns from Earth. Hermione had gone with a close-fitting backless dress in periwinkle blue that showed off how slender she was. She hadn't quite been brave enough to try high heels, knowing she'd have to travel many flights of steps. "Thanks!" she grinned. "You clean up well, yourself."
"Hopefully I fastened it up right," he nodded in acknowledgement.
They saw Viktor waiting at the foot of the stairs as it exited to the main floor, so Harry hung back to give them a moment and avoid the other students milling in the entry hall assuming he and Hermione were together. Viktor gave him a nod as he took Hermione's hand and walked her off. The Bulgarian didn't look bad himself in an actual tuxedo: the Durmstrang boys had evidently decided that Earth formalwear would be sufficiently exotic, and it wasn't like they inherited fashion choices from Svartalfheim.
Speaking of elven fashion choices, Harry managed to get to the doors just as the Beauxbatons contingent entered. Like their temporary residence, they'd all leaned heavily on the power of illusion to transcend what was possible with real cloth. Harry was going to find a lot of similarities to Panem upper-class outfits when he finally got around to seeing The Hunger Games the next summer. If they weren't all impossibly gorgeous, there'd be no way they could pull it off. It was like one of those high-concept fashion shows.
Except Fleur. Catching annoyed looks from her classmates, she'd gone deliberately minimalist, wearing a simple and slinky silver-gray sheathe dress. Well, up close, there was an impossible intricacy to the subtle patterning of the fabric, catching the light almost as if the entire thing was an intricate braid of metallic threads. But she'd have fit in at any party or club in the galaxy.
Harry remembered his conversation with Coulson, where he'd said something similar about Natasha.
"Wow," Harry said, knowing that his mental shields were down as he took it all in, and not at all sure what she was picking up from him, but idly noting that her dress shifted from silvery to gold to match his own robes as he approached. He barely remembered to offer his arm for her to take.
As she took it, the connection again went both ways, and he could pick up on the delicious thrill Fleur was feeling managing to get more attention than her schoolmates without their extravagance. But there was also a nervousness about being seen in such a formal situation with a human, particularly one as notable as Harry. But she did seem to think he also looked nice. "Zank you," she said. "Shall we join ze ozzers?"
They moved over to meet Hermione and Viktor by the door, and Cedric showed up with Cho Chang a minute later. She also looked lovely, and Cedric extremely handsome, though he still didn't seem to be completely over his wounds as he used the cane for balance and had a tiredness behind his eyes. Harry wasn't going to ask whether he was going to be able to dance; the guy must have been really injured if he was still hurting months later. Maybe nerve damage? Harry wasn't sure how to bring up that if magical healing didn't know how to fix it, there were specialists on Earth that might be able to. Instead, he simply said, "Cedric. Cho. You ready?"
"You'd all better be," McGonagall said, sweeping out in her own matronly dress with a pattern to it that seemed based on Scottish tartans. "We're opening the doors. You'll enter once everyone else is seated and take your seats at the high table."
They were precisely positioned just off the doorway where they thought they'd be going in first, but instead got to be rubbernecked at by everyone entering. Harry got a lot of jealous looks that he was with Fleur. But he was surprised that she got a similar number of jealous looks, presumably due to being with him. He probably had written off more of the school for dating than made sense. Maybe he'd rectify that in fifth year.
The flood of hundreds of students finally finished, and they were able to enter the winter-themed wonderland that the great hall had been turned into. Somehow they'd packed enough tables in for everyone, even though they'd replaced the normal long tables with smaller round ones that could seat maybe eight at a time. Harry waved as he spotted his friends taking up a table on the left side of the room, as close as possible to the usual Gryffindor seating. He crossed to the high table, which had also been adjusted into a V shape to make space for several more seats. In addition to the challengers and their dates, and spots for Karkaroff and Maxime, Bagman was present with some pretty woman who was too young for him, Percy Weasley and Penny Clearwater instead of Crouch, and…
"Master Wong?" Harry said, surprised to see the man, apparently there instead of the Ancient One. He was busily catching up with Professor Sprout.
"Harry," Wong nodded. "The Ancient One… doesn't really do parties."
"Makes sense. Glad you could make it." They moved down a couple of spots and wound up sitting next to the graduated former prefects. "Percy! Penny! Good to see you both. No Mr. Crouch?"
"He was not feeling up to it, so was kind enough to give us his spot," Percy explained. Somewhat conspiratorially, he added, "His son passed some years ago, and his wife did not last much longer, so he does not like to celebrate the season these days."
"Hah. Passed," Karkaroff chuckled, overhearing. "That's a kind word for it."
Percy frowned, but said, "Died in Azkaban, then. Mr. Crouch is a great man. Few others would have had the fortitude to see justice done to their own son, when his crimes were discovered."
"Can you die in Azkaban?" Harry checked. "Aren't you just frozen in time?"
Karkaroff gave a yellow-toothed grin and elaborated, "If you piss off the jailers enough, yes. Barty Junior always had a way with people."
"Igor, please," Dumbledore cautioned from the apex of the table. "Perhaps these shocking revelations are an after dinner topic?"
The dinner was excellent, the Dumbledore-approved small-talk less so. Harry would have much preferred to be sitting with his friends, rather than squeezed among the adults. How did the teachers deal with this seating arrangement every day? If it wasn't already awkward enough to talk to a bunch of his teachers, he was having to face out over the entire student body and crane his neck awkwardly to talk to people down the table in either direction.
As they finished up, he was interested to ask Karkaroff to spill some more tea, but the meal went directly to the dancing portion. "If everyone could please step over to the edges of the room while we clean up?" Dumbledore suggested. As soon as the middle of the room was clear, the teachers began flicking their wands to clear the space down to the stone, tables evaporating as their conjurations ended and their place settings whisked off into an antechamber. McGonagall did something complicated to conjure a smooth surface as a dance floor atop it. "Let's make some space for the band," the headmaster suggested to the people on the high table, and then caused it to fold up out of the way. A half-dozen musicians began to levitate instruments out into the space.
McGonagall was looking at them as the musicians took their position, and, swallowing down his worries that he'd screw this up (and entering a level of waking meditation to hopefully protect him from being overwhelmed by being in closer contact with Fleur during the dance), he asked her, as gallantly as he could, "Miss Delacour, may I have this dance?"
"Mais oui," she agreed, letting him take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. His mental shields held with the help of focusing on his dance moves. Hermione and Viktor followed his initiative, with Cedric and Cho not far behind. The rector nodded approvingly.
The music started, and they danced.
It wasn't nearly as difficult as Harry had expected. It was similar enough to ballroom dancing that he had a basic idea, but the Vanir styles were so distinct from dances he'd seen on TV that he wasn't fighting his own wrong mental impression of what to do. Rather than the most common Earth ballroom dances where they would hang onto one another and move as a couple, there was a lot of moving together, touching, twirling, stepping away, and circling. Harry wasn't sure if his meditation would hold if he just had to grab Fleur and waltz around the floor, but this was doable. And it was kind of fun: being a video game kid, he'd obviously taken some time at dance and other rhythm games, and if he just visualized points and combos stacking up as he put his feet in the right spots, it more or less worked.
The three couples only had to be alone on the floor for about half a song, before the adults started motioning others to join in and fill up the floor. "Band's pretty good," Harry commented to Fleur. They were playing very folk-style melodies, rather than the classical music he'd been assuming. And they had a full Earth-made drum kit, as well as acoustic instruments mostly of a modern Earth style (albeit amplified magically).
"Zis is interesting," she agreed as she twirled and moved toward him. "Alfheim music is… experimental."
"Like prog rock experimental, or theremin experimental?" Harry checked, having one weird musical education from Tony.
"We do 'ave zeremins, oui," she agreed, both of them surprised that the other one used the term.
"Huh. I guess you would have electricity," Harry realized as he spun her. "I'd been taking for granted that all the other realms were high fantasy."
"We do not use it as much as Midgard," she confirmed, "but we 'ave it in our 'omes. Mostly 'ydropower."
They had more interesting small talk about their realms in fits and snatches as they danced, and made it for three more songs before Harry asked, "Punch?"
"Please," she nodded, walking off of the dance floor with him before another song started. "Per'aps outside? It is getting very warm in 'ere."
"I think they set up the flower garden near the entrance as a hangout space?" Harry said. "Meet you out there?"
Harry didn't spend a ton of time thinking about the garden in front of the castle, which was nestled into the corner of one of the wings and had footpaths between, and benches for sitting. But it did seem a lovely date spot, especially since the herbology classes spent a lot of time cycling out the various types of flowers, and there were currently quite a few that bloomed in the winter. Most were species native to Vanaheim, and useful in potions, but they still flowered nicely.
Fleur was admiring a particularly-intensely-blue tulip-style flower with a bit of peppermint smell that was a key component of the calming draughts that Banner had been taking the previous year (Harry had eventually worked it out). She'd produced a shawl from somewhere that matched her dress, so she wasn't completely underdressed for being outside at the beginning of winter. And some kind soul had put magical warming spells throughout the garden that kept it well above freezing for the moment.
Harry handed her a glass of punch and they started to stroll. After a few moments of silence, rather than continuing their conversation about Alfheim technology, he asked the thing that he was really curious about and hadn't wanted to talk about where they could be overheard. "So… do the other elves dislike you because you mess with them, or do you mess with them because they don't like you?" There was probably a more politic way to ask the question, but it just popped out.
Eyes widening in slight shock at the audacity of the question, she admitted, "Ze latter. Zey are never going to be my friends, so why not tweak zeir noses?"
"Is there something about elf social relationships I don't get?" he wondered. "I mean, you seem pretty cool. It's hard to believe you have a hard time making friends."
That drew a small smile and she explained, "You said you are famous at 'ome, no? What if you went to a school wiz people zat wanted ze same fame, but could not 'ave it?"
"I mean, I'm friends with Ron," it just slipped out. He was trying to be a lot nicer about Ron. They had been getting along pretty well all year. Fortunately, he didn't think that Fleur would tattle on him like Parvati had. She did suppress a giggle, obviously having picked up something of the social dynamic in Gryffindor. "But, yeah, I guess Draco is kind of after me because he wants to be the most famous, bestest boy in the school."
"Right. I do 'ave friends, of a sort, back at Beauxbatons. But ze students zat came are ze… most competitive." She took a moment to smell a red winter rose used in certain healing poultices. "I guess you don't know who I am?"
"We haven't really spent a lot of time on Alfheim in cosmology class," he apologized, not really having done a deep dive on elf politics when he was learning about them from Hermione. "They probably talk about it in cultural studies, but I'm not taking that elective."
She nodded, and sadly explained, "You 'ave been calling me Fleur, because it is a convenient translation of my name into French."
Harry didn't really have enough French without his implant to be certain, but he'd heard enough of it and knew enough Latin to guess, "Um… fleur I think is flower… Delacour is of the… core… court?"
"Oui," she nodded. "At a certain level of royalty, we 'ave only titles. I will be called by a different name when I marry, and am no longer ze 'flower' of ze Seelie court."
"Wow. I thought it was bad that nobody around here calls me Harry Potts," he boggled, following her along. "Do you… have a name you'd rather be called?"
That got a genuine smile, morning breaking on a winter's night. "I do not, but zank you for asking." She considered and admitted, "I would not, per'aps, reject a nom de guerre I 'ave earned."
"We'll work on it," he said. "So you're… are you an elf princess?"
"Not quite so 'igh. My parents are in ze royal line, but it would take many deaths for me to ascend ze Seelie zrone."
"So… does your court rule for half the year, and then the Unseelie take over for the winter?" Harry asked. It had been bugging him.
"No. Ze Seelie court 'as been practically ze only court for many centuries now. Ze Unseelie is just a… political movement, zese days. Zey became linked wiz ze dark elves, and zat cost zem long-term power."
"Got it. So you're basically a duchess. You only have a title, not a real name. And it's hard to make friends with all the elves that… what, wish they were in line for the throne?"
"A reasonable summary," she allowed, settling to a stone bench under an arbor near the end of the garden.
He sat next to her and said, "And I thought I had it rough. Wait, did you only agree to date me because I'm a celebrity and might get it?"
"It was a factor, I admit. I 'ave not actually asked. It's 'ard for you?"
"I've kind of come to terms with it," Harry shrugged. "It probably helps that my friends don't really care. Well… I feel pretty weird that my aunt and her boyfriend are so much richer than my friends' parents. But they've been cool about it. Mostly it's just…" he tried to figure out how to explain it, settling on, "...the expectations, you know?"
"What do zey expect of you?"
"All kinds of things. Tony's had me making friends with Viktor to try to recruit him. And he's basically got me suited up for armor as soon as I finish growing. That's if I don't join the air force like Rhodey wants. And they're really going to be mad when the Ancient One explains that, no, what she has planned for me is totally different. Plus, I don't even know what kind of nonsense Dumbledore is preparing me for, because he won't tell me."
"What do you want to do?" she asked. He barely noticed that she was sitting closer to him. It was probably for warmth, anyway, right?
"Like… what if I decided I wanted to make video games? Or be an extreme sports star? Or manage Dean's art business? Or Hermione and I go to Oxford and become English professors or something?"
"I don't know what most of zat means, but… what would your guardians say?"
"Well… uh, my aunt would be overjoyed I was doing stuff that wasn't as dangerous as what I do here, even if it was extreme sports. And Tony would think most of that was pretty cool, probably. And Rhodey would be a little disappointed if I didn't join the Air Force, but I think he's going to have to be disappointed about that anyway. Who knows what the Ancient One thinks? She'll probably just smile mysteriously and say, 'I expected nothing less.' And who knows what Dumbledore wants, really?"
"It sounds like you 'ave more options zan you zought."
"Huh. Yeah. Maybe. And I'm probably going to do one of the things they expect, but because I want to, damnit." He realized he'd been pretty loud, succumbing to teen angst. Worse, he'd forgotten that he was trying to make her feel better. "You… uh… no chance you're in the same boat, huh? That your parents would be okay if you decided you wanted to… work at a bank, or something?"
She shook her head sadly, explaining, "Ze flower of ze court must be… pollinated." She made a disgusted face. "You see, I am not too closely related to ze heirs."
"No!" Harry gasped, quietly. "You have to marry back into the core royal bloodline? So you could become a princess?"
"Ze royal consort 'as… less power zan a princess. But, oui, zat is what my parents 'ope."
"Are you already engaged… er… betrothed? Have you met the princes? Do they… are they cool?"
"I am not, yet, but zat is not for lack of my fazzer's planning. I 'ave met zem. Zey… 'ow do you say… suck."
"But you're so awesome!" Harry told her, mad on her behalf. For all that he was the Boy-Who-Lived and Tony Stark's potential heir if he and Pepper didn't manage to self-destruct, nobody had ever intimated that they wanted to pick Harry's girlfriend for him. "Is that why you joined the tournament? So they'd see you?"
"I am afraid… zat my parents will never see me," she admitted. "I joined ze tournament for myself. So I would know zat I 'ave more worth zan as ze court's flower."
At some point, they'd started holding hands without even realizing it, leaning into each other. The empathic channel was open, and all the little bits he'd been learning about her feelings piled together. He'd unconsciously been drifting into teen resentment of his privileged life, but she had it so much worse. He'd talked to her less than he'd liked, but he knew that she was smart, funny, talented, and deserved so much more than a political marriage for her pretty face. "I see you," he said, quietly and simply. Because he did.
"And I, you, 'arry Potts," she smiled. Had her face always been that close to his? Had he even been shielding at all the last few minutes? Was it weird that, with him completely open to her, she just looked like her actual self: the age-slowed elf girl that was seventeen but looked closer to fifteen?
Of course, what was, in hindsight, two seconds away from a passionate kiss was interrupted by two gruff voices coming down the aisle.
"This has 'trap' written all over it!" Karkaroff's voice sounded.
"Then don't go," Snape's silky baritone chided.
"Are you going to go?" the Durmstrang headmaster asked.
"I have already written that I would certainly attend, but my presence at Hogwarts prevents me from quickly responding to an invitation with such short notice."
"Damnit. If the summons comes soon, I have the same excuse… but should it come after the tournament…"
"You're going to do what you see as best. Why are you involving me?" Snape wondered, having stopped directly in front of them.
Karkaroff, looking slightly crazed, explained, "You always had his favor, but we must be in the same ship, now? Both traitors? If I go… is it only to my death?"
"We are not in the same ship," Snape raised a pitying eyebrow. "I was not the one that named names."
Karkaroff made a sour face, remembering, "Yes. You had Albus to speak for you. Would you have made the same choice as I, without his patronage?"
"That is, fortunately, one of the few memories I don't have to replay hoping for a better result."
"Will it be this summer? Have you gotten anything other than the letter?"
Snape shook his head, "I cannot share other intelligence, but I think you have seen the same things I have. The letter will reveal the location only in time for you to scramble to attend. Do or do not. I cannot make your decision for you, Igor."
"I thought we were on the same side, thrilled to be done with it all," Karkaroff snarled, stalking away. "I should know better than to ask the opinion of a spy."
"You should," Snape said, quietly. He cast a suspicious glance toward the bench, then slunk off down a different path out of the gardens.
"We are… invisible?" Fleur asked, as soon as Snape was out of earshot.
"Sorry. I… uh… I have a cloak?" Harry admitted, realizing that he'd reflexively wrapped himself and Fleur in the folds of his family heirloom rather than be discovered. Wrapped her tightly, as the case turned out to be. His arm was fully around her, pulling her close enough that the cloak was able to fall to cover them both.
"It would 'ave been very 'elpful wiz ze dragons," she smiled. He could feel it, rather than see it, since her face was clutched right next to his. As the thrill of spying on Snape ended, he realized that he was in closer contact to her than he'd ever been before, but he wasn't being assailed by their empathic connection. Maybe they'd just figured out everything they needed to know about one another. "It is warm under zis cloak. Perhaps… too warm."
He hastily withdrew his arm, allowing the cloak to retract and hide itself. The cold of Yule bit more, suddenly losing the captured body heat of another person. "Sorry…"
"Do not apologize. I did not mind. But… well… you understand why we cannot tryst?"
"Totally," he agreed. They were still very close together, even though he'd dropped his arm. "I mean I'm… I'm not trying to start anything. I think you're cool. But you're from another planet, and I know you have other things to deal with, and…" He was rambling. Why was he rambling?
"I'm glad we understand each ozzer," she interrupted him. And then she was giving him a quick, soft, mindblowing kiss. "I zink I'm going back to my room for ze night. See you after ze 'olidays, 'arry."
"You too," he agreed, in a daze, as she left him in the gardens.