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Harry would have to figure out how he'd thank the Weasleys for bringing him along to the World Cup. He'd always been hugely interested in Quidditch; its rules, its history, everything about it down to the competitive side of the game, and that wasn't even mentioning the connection it made him feel to his father. Maybe, if Harry were lucky and all the Voldemort madness ended sometime in the future, he could play Professionally or for his national team.
That'd be a right dream come true, it would.
Harry picked up the Omnioculars in his lap when he noticed the game was about to begin. A hush had come over the stadium after a few words from the Minister and officials from the two nations that were attending the final this time around; Ireland and Bulgaria. With everything seemingly said and over, much of the lighting seemed to dim, and though the Minister was still standing where he'd given his speech with his wand raised to his throat… the first team made its appearance.
It was the Irish that'd arrived in their long flowing green robes, and down below where the Mascots from the other teams had danced and played for the crowd, appeared a myriad of Leprechauns. Harry looked closer as the Leprechauns danced about, jolly and playful with big red beards, green clothes and golden belt buckles. There were little green fireworks going off all around them, and when next Harry looked away to the sky above, there was one giant Leprechaun dancing a little jig with a smile on his face; the Irish themselves had raised their wands in unison and joined their magic to form it.
Hermione had found their altruism and teamwork to be especially well-done. Harry would have agreed had he seen it, but he'd take her word for it. After all, the Mascots at the start of any Quidditch match seemed to be some of the most interesting stuff about the culture of the game — it wasn't like Hogwarts had them, even if they should for the different houses.
Harry felt himself jostled between Hermione and Ron. He took a quick glance away from the events unfolding on the pitch to have a gander at Ron, and as he did, he saw the same thing the other boy seemed focused on. Beyond the dancing Leprechaun and rapidly approaching the Quidditch Pitch, seemed a group of red blurs not unlike the shade which Harry and Ron were wearing. He didn't waste a minute in bringing up the Omnioculars to glance at the figures rather than the spectacle.
What he saw upon doing just that made him grin. The Bulgarian team had arrived, and no more than a second after that thought coursed through his mind, did the group disintegrate the Leprechaun that'd been dancing in the air into nothing more than red-hued fireworks. There was dismay from the crowd in having their show interrupted, especially the Irish fans and Leprechauns down below, but the Bulgarian team did not care for the results of their actions. Instead, they continued flying circles around the pitch with no small amount of fireworks following after them… and then fireballs joined the fireworks.
For half a second, Harry had taken the Omnioculars down to make sure they'd not invented the sight by way of an enchantment, but sure enough, down at the bottom of the pitch, were these beautiful women with silver-hued hair. All of them were more stunning than any witch he'd seen in Hogwarts or Diagon Alley. They almost seemed perfect, and by Merlin, were the tugs at the back of his mind to worship them, strong; it was very strange.
But Harry, fortunately, had beaten off stronger tests of willpower. Beautiful as they were, it wasn't like he'd speak or interact with them from how high up he was, not to mention, the game was finally about to begin. Thus, he settled for watching the fire as the witches handled it with expertise that even he knew was rare and the fireworks the Bulgarians had put on to intermingle with their fiery mascots.
Harry wasn't quite certain how witches could be classified as Mascots, but he'd not question it. The Magical World was… unique, to be certain.
Maybe that was a question for Hermione. He turned to her, for a split-second. "Hey, 'Mione, figured you would know, but why do the Bulgarians have Witches for their mascot? Seems a bit strange, yeah?"
Hermione huffed, her eyes especially narrow and angry-looking. Harry hadn't heard any mean comments, nor had he heard his friends break out into an argument. All the same, he was on edge. Hermione's anger wasn't something to get in the way o—
"That's because they're not just Witches, Harry," Hermione sounded distinctly annoyed, but he understood then that her eyes weren't narrowed at him, but rather, something beyond him; a quick glance to his other side revealed the Weasley men — save for Bill for some reason — all seemed to be affected by something strange, their expressions goofy and unthinking, almost as if they were spectators in their own body. Hermione, who'd taken the same long look at him, shook her head and sighed. "They're Veela." she sounded, well, defeated… almost.
He was pants when it came to reading Witches.
"Veela?" He parroted back at her. Maybe he was a bit of a donut, but he didn't exactly recall learning about anything called Veela in Hogwarts.
That seemed to momentarily distract Hermione as her brows furrowed together, almost as if she were thinking to recall something she'd read in a book. Not more than a few seconds later did he receive her response. "Veela are humanoid Magicals that, like Sirens, are always women. Most people here won't call them Witches, but more often than not, they're quite magically powerful, especially when it comes to fire," she indicated the show they were putting on with the aforementioned element centre to it. "As you can see from the ones putting on a show below, they've got white-gold hair and shiny skin, but that's not all."
"Charms?" he guessed, his eyes taking in row after row of wizard that seemed to be in a trance of sorts.
"They call it an Allure, officially," Hermione corrected. "Apparently there's an active and passive allure, b—" as if she suddenly remembered something, Hermione blinked at him, and then she waved a hand before his face, near to his eyes. "You're not affected." It was more a statement than a question that came from his friend.
He shook his head. "No, not really. I felt something tugging at the back of my mind for a few seconds, but I didn't pay it any mind."
Hermione blinked at him, and then she smiled. "Well," she said, seemingly pleased. "At least it's not every wizard that can't behave properly."
Harry wasn't sure where it'd come from, but he had a gut feeling Hermione and Ron would be having words later. Words he wouldn't want to be in the middle of, but somehow, words he reckoned he'd be referenced directly in.
Thankfully, at least for now, he was spared from such a fate, for the Veela and Leprechauns were ushered to their respective sides as the game began, and what a game it'd be!
Harry couldn't believe it. Krum had gotten the Snitch, just like Harry had thought he would… but the Bulgarians had still lost the game. The Irish, seeing as they'd won the game, went absolutely mad with joy as the bulk of the Bulgarians — fans and players alike — set off, their minds made up on returning home after coming so far just to lose the final bout. If it were Harry playing, he'd be just as sombre.
The Veela and Leprechauns had certainly gone at it too; the former were in a small minority that'd caused problems after the game. Enough so that they'd had to be separated from the Leprechauns, who were also guilty for goading the literal bird-women on; that was something Hermione had to explain to him when they were on their way down, descending the massive stairs of the stadium.
Veela weren't just beautiful women the likes of which could captivate most in a second's glance or flare-up of their allure. No, they were also avian, distinctly avian, when angry or riled up. Enough so that those alluring visages morphed into something cruel and sharp, complete with a beak and all. If that wasn't enough, feathers would sprout just the same as wings, and their cries… unlike when he'd fought Voldemort, there was something primitive that made him wish to back away from such noises. He likened it to a time when Magicals and Muggles alike would huddle together around fires in the dark, to keep whatever lingered therein away from them.
"What?"
Hermione poked him in the side. "You were zoning."
"Oh, leave him alone, 'Mione," Ron said with a scoff from his other side. "Bloke's just thinking about the best game of Quidditch we've ever seen — I mean, blimey, did you two see how Krum flew around? He's got to be the greatest Quidditch player alive!"
"And you were only watching Krum, were you?" Hermione's tone had a biting edge to it, and so, wisely, Harry nodded at the Twins and walked ahead of the pair that nearly everybody thought should get together. He wasn't too certain. That was how friendships ended.
The rest of the walk back to their 'tent', as a result, was quite peaceful. Fred and George were right cheerful, and they even gave Harry a few galleons of their winnings on account of what he'd done for Ron. He'd told them they hadn't needed to, but the Twins were the Twins; once their mind was made up on something, they could be right stubborn. That resolve had to be a Weasley trait, for certain.
Back in the tent some few minutes passed, Harry sought out a seat and all but fell into it. The hour was late, they'd done more walking than was typical — especially on those dreaded stairs — and he may have had a few sips of something the Twins had procured. He wasn't sure if it was the drink or the other events, but he felt like he could take a nice long nap, and the tent certainly had the space for it.
Maybe, maybe he could close his eyes for a moment or two…
"... up! Come on!" Harry was roused from his sleep by the shouting voice of Ron, his mate shaking his shoulder roughly enough to jostle halfway out of the chair. "Wake up, Harry. We've gotta go!"
Luckily, Harry had fallen asleep with his glasses on, and so he stood up in an instant. He still wasn't completely awake, there was that grogginess everybody felt first thing after waking up, but as that began to clear, he heard what'd made the Weasleys and Hermione look so nervous. There, in the distance, were screams of terror and agony, explosions, loud and rattling the ground, and finally, as they peered out of the tent at the bustling path of fleeing people, smoke and fire.
Either the Bulgarians were really taking it rough, or something else entirely had occurred. Whatever it was, Harry couldn't tell, not before Arthur ushered them all away down the path everybody was fleeing as he went towards the source of the cries with his wand raised; the man earned even more respect than he'd previously held for that action alone in Harry's eyes.
"Come on!" Fred or George, Harry couldn't tell which in the darkness, and the crowd certainly didn't help any.
Still, he tried to follow after them. There were many twists and turns, more panicked screams of those that were hit or nearly hit, people falling over, the sound of shield charms being struck in the distance; all that and more, such was the chaos that had fallen over the campgrounds as if it were a blanket. Harry wished he could turn and help the men like Arthur, but he also reckoned his friends needed help too.
"He—" There was a loud explosion, a flash of light, and after both, he felt himself propelled far and away from them.
And then much like his nap, the world went dark.
That darkness didn't last especially long. No, as Harry came to with a hard-hitting headache, a hint of dizziness and a sprinkle of nausea, it was still to the sounds of violence being committed. All around him, he could hear the sound of people screaming spells or calling for help, and the fire that'd been present previously, was now like that of a building burning down; many buildings, really. Whole patches of the campgrounds were up in flames, and Harry, as he made to stand, saw that there was one such fire that was quite rapidly approaching where he'd previously been laying down in the grass and muck.
He was lucky he'd risen when he had, and unlucky in the fact that nearly everybody that'd been fleeing, was gone. There were unmoving forms on the grounds all scattered around, and others that seemed stumbling off however they could, the bulk of the latter group wounded or tired.
With a hand grasping a pole in the ground that was near to him, Harry balanced himself on unsteady feet until the spinning of the world around him grew fainter and fainter. It took a minute, perhaps a bit more, but eventually, he gathered himself and started off down the path he saw the others head. It was slow-going with many stops made as his head threatened to explode — he reckoned he might have a concussion or something of the sort — from the pressure of his headache, and that wasn't to mention the urge to puke he had.
It was worse than after any vial he'd had to drink in Hogwarts' hospital.
All the same, Harry pressed on, his will to find the fate of his friends urging him on better than anything could. Step after step, by the tents that were nothing more than red-hot ashes on the ground or figures unmoving and strangely positioned, Harry went, trying his best to block out the scenes before him.
He came to a split in the path not too long after the final row of burnt-out tents. The people that'd been ahead of him were no longer there, and so Harry had a choice to make. Neither path was familiar to him, and each had noises further on… his head throbbed again, forcing him to close his eyes. The pain was almost overwhelming as it threatened to blind him.
But then, something strange happened. He heard a person yelling, a witch by the sound of things, but in a language he couldn't comprehend. Whatever she'd yelled, however, had seemed to do something to him; his vision unblurred, the pain in the back of his mind was subdued, and the need to balance himself on something was gone.
In the plane of everything was a strange, pleasant hum the likes of which Harry could only just make out. It didn't overcome his mind, but whatever it was, it chased away those debilitating feelings; for a scant few seconds, he thought of his mum and dad, thinking maybe they'd had a hand in helping him.
And then he heard that female voice call out again, and this time, Harry could conclude it most certainly was not English that he'd heard. It sounded French, he reckoned, but it could just as easily be Italian or Spanish. He didn't much know his languages. All the same, Harry found his feet carrying him in the direction of the screaming witch; he could never resist a person in need, and he'd not start now.
His pace changed to a jog, the maximum effort that he could give at the current time, and finally, through the trees and burning remnants of tents, he could make out the witch yelling for help. He didn't take the time to glance at her or the person fighting by her side. No, there wasn't any time to take the two in.
Instead, Harry spared a few seconds only to take in the two they were fighting; each was a man, large and hulking, with a mask over their face and dark robes worn. They were duelling the two witches before them, and while the witches were calling for assistance, it seemed near-enough to a stalemate.
Until Harry jumped in. He might be a bit unsteady, but by and large, those earlier feelings had given way to the pleasant buzz he now felt, and so he rained down a barrage of spells at the backs of the two wizards. Stunners, leg-locking hexes, petrifiers; everything that Harry had in his repertoire, he fired off at the backs of the two men. His aim seemed a touch off, but the first dark wizard fell all the same.
The man hadn't seen so much as one spell coming. His companion, however, had seen the man to his side fall from the angle he was facing, and rather than shield Harry's magic or counter it, he voluntarily fell to the ground below, and rolled to the side. The two witches he was fighting, luckily, managed to catch him with something that froze him, and Harry, taking advantage of their quick-thinking, shot a series of stunners.
Two of the three connected, the third off on account of his still unsteady aim, went sailing off elsewhere.
Harry ran over immediately. His wand not ceasing its movement the whole while. In short succession, the two men were fleeing, with one of their wands having flown to Harry's off-hand; a wand he doubted belonged to the man. One was wounded for certain by a well-aimed burst of fire from one of the two witches as well. Harry's eyes remained on the fleeing men until they were well out of sight, and only then, after Harry was completely and utterly certain the men were no longer a threat, did he turn his eyes on the two witches he'd helped.
The moment he did so, he was hit in full-force with the same sense of something in the back of his mind that he'd experienced in the stadium. It only grew in intensity as the two witches rapidly approached him, the power they radiated far more than the squad of Veela he'd seen earlier; their hair and the soft glow of their skin alerted him as to why that was. The little fire that dropped from the hands of the pair confirmed it, if the hair and senses assault hadn't.
"You 'eard me?" the Older of the two asked, her wand still trained on the closer of the two figures as her eyes scanned the surrounding area; there was an almost wild look about her, and he swore there were little feathers near to where they'd been fighting. Even her mouth was a touch strange.
"Yeah," Harry said, blinking rapidly as he reckoned his vision had gone as strange as his mind seemed to feel. Speaking of his head, it was growing a bit foggier again, and that pleasant buzz that'd been little more than a tickle had begun to go away. The air seemed a touch chillier too, but there was more than enough fire to keep warm, and it felt rather pleasant to boot after all that exertion. "Are you two alright? Is there anybody else nearby?"
He spoke again after a second of thinking, his eyes taking in their surroundings just as the older of the two girls was doing. The younger, meanwhile, looked in a sorry state. Her entire figure was trembling, and little bits of fire dropped from her hands. He tried to get the older girl's attention and succeeded in doing so, silently nodding towards the smaller one.
"Gabrielle, eet ees alright, 'e 'elped us," It wasn't until he'd heard her speak right then that he realised just how thick her accent seemed to be. "We weel be 'ome soon," and then more was hurriedly said in a hushed tone, the few hints he heard seemed to be in their native tongue.
Harry wanted to ask more, much more, but that chance wasn't given to him. Not before forms suddenly appeared around them, but before he could go for his wand or the French girls, theirs, one of the figures called out.
"No, don't stun them!" The voice belonged to Arthur, and the man burst forward from the circle that'd formed to surround the trio. In the span of a few seconds, he was standing before Harry and the two Veela with his arms spread wide. When he was certain the others wouldn't do anything stupid, he grabbed Harry's arm just as a woman with the same hair and a man a touch shorter approached the two girls.
Merlin, did Harry want to speak with them to ask what'd happened, to make sure they were fine beyond what he could see, but no such thing would happen. There was barely the chance for the two adults approaching the girls to nod at him before Arthur side-along apparated him far and away from the grounds of the World Cup. It happened in the blink of an eye, and then Harry realised he was back at the Burrow.
Back home; the many hugs and greetings from the Weasley clan plus Hermione confirmed that.
Harry, after no small amount of questioning by Hermione, Ron and just about anybody else who knew he'd fought off 'Death Eaters' as they were called, was finally given the time to appreciate Hogwarts once again. It felt as much a home to him as the Burrow did, perhaps even more so.
Here, in the castle, was the closest he'd ever felt to his family. There were trophies, little scribbles, proof they'd walked the very same ground he now tread upon… in that same breath, it was here that he truly felt their absence. All of his mates would speak about their parents, what they did, how cool they could be, and he was left with nothing but memories and the few stories he could repeat that others older than him had passed along already.
"What'd ya think it's gonna be mate?" Ron asked, his mouthful of food hardly stopping him from speaking. "My brother told me something right big's coming to Hogwarts, but he wouldn't tell me what. Not yet. Reckoned it was funny keeping me in the dark, tosser."
"Ronald," Hermione pinched his side. "Be polite. Honestly, haven't you heard a word the Headmaster's been saying?"
Ron blinked at her. "No?"
Harry couldn't completely blame him. It wasn't like he'd be able to recite any of what Dumbledore had said. Only that it was in relation to cooperation and a tournament or something along those lines — the wagon and ship that'd arrived a bit earlier were related to that too. They were the guests Professor Dumbledore referenced in the tournament… or so he'd assumed. His mind wasn't exactly focused even if that concussion he'd suffered was treated.
"... more of that later. Finally, before we welcome the lovely ladies of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, it has been brought to my attention that at least one of them has a condition. You might feel cold, you might even swear to see snow… or perhaps that was simply me. The fact remains, you're all wonderfully bright wizards and witches, and I do hear tell that heating charms might make for great extra credit with many of our kind Professors," he gestured to Flitwick especially, the diminutive Professor raising a toast with the small glass in his hand. "I feel it would also be quite wise of me to say — make no unwanted advances towards Hogwarts' Veela guests, lest you find yourself with a nasty chill."
Dumbledore seemed quite pleased with himself as he finally welcomed in the witches from Beauxbatons, his chill comment seemingly going over the heads of most as the doors audibly opened. As for Harry, he was a touch confused. He'd heard rumours of a person that seemed to cool the air around them earlier in the day, when a few girls in blue had managed to slip-out of their carriage before being corralled back into it.
Of course, he knew how bad Hogwarts' rumour mill could be, so he'd not put any stock into what'd been said. And yet, Dumbledore's comment seemed to confirm it, and more than that, it seemed to lead to the fact that there were multiple Veela, and multiple Veela that seemed to have a sort of affinity for the cold. Harry wasn't very sure how it worked, really, he thought it was only fire that the mostly humanoid Veela seemed fond of.
Then again, he did vaguely recall a chill back when he'd been fighting alongside those two Veela. It hadn't been especially strong, not with the fire that roared around them in dozens of spots nor with his concussion clouding his mind, but it'd been present. He sw—
The rest of his thoughts wouldn't be had, for the doors to the Great Hall opened wide as Dumbledore's final words echoed through the gaf, and in came a whole group of birds dressed in blue. Blue was specifically the first thing Harry noticed too, on account of the earlier rumours of those that'd come from the carriage; rumours no longer, he supposed.
Next, was that there wasn't so much as a single wizard amongst the group of blue-adorned witches, which was peculiar. He could've sworn he'd seen some blokes there, not to mention, Hermione had said Nicholas Flamel himself had attended Beauxbatons. All the same, Harry's eyes danced past the first few rows, and while he might have expected to see a mix just like Hogwarts, especially after remembering what he had, the only discernible person was a towering woman. One that he suspected might even be larger than Hagrid. Naturally, his eyes drifted back to the witches towards the front of the pack.
They were almost swimming in the air, such was the grace of their strut as they marched past the two centre tables… until they paused right near Harry and fawned. He wasn't sure what else there was to describe what they did, but they swept their arm and let out that noise girls made that ensnared blokes just like him. For a moment, it even grew nippy as they approached, but that was gone just as quickly as it'd come, and from the big witch in the back, the first showing of blue-tinged birds sprung forth from the tip of her wand. The things even tweeted and flew about as if they were real birds.
Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight and sudden sense of warmth that flooded him, and that was before he so much as saw the two girls at the farthest back of the Beauxbatons ranks. They were two silvery-blonde haired girls, one was slightly taller than him, the other was younger and slightly shorter, her dress that of a gymnast rather than a student like all of the others. Harry wasn't given the time to contemplate that as they passed him by, the smaller of the two beginning a series of jumps, spirals, flips and more as the older began twirling, and all to the sounds of birdsong as the little blue creations flew about.
He swore it was them. Maybe he was going a bit mad since he'd been blasted to the side at the World Cup by whatever spell had done it, but those two witches had to be the ones he'd saved. That thought was in his mind from the time the two started their little routines, to the time they were finished, at which point the older of the two seemed to catch his eyes. When blue met green for the first time since that night, the slightest of nods — just like the ones her parents had done — was given to Harry. There seemed more that she wanted to say, and he knew there was certainly more that he wished to speak with the girl about, but it had to wait.
The boys of Beauxbatons came next, and then Durmstrang had arrived, and Merlin, were the blokes of the latter school far less soft in their approach than the entirety of Beauxbatons.
By the time the two schools had finished their entering ceremonies, introductions had been made and final comments from each school's participating Headmaster was over, the outside had fallen completely dark. It was well late, but school on the morrow wouldn't be had any how. He assumed such was the reason the Professors were fine with allowing their charges to stay up late as they'd be; Dumbledore's mention of cooperation seemed a driving point too.
Now, speaking of cooperation, there was something Hermione brought up as soon as was proper, unlike many of the French witches that'd sat at the Ravenclaw table. No, most of them hadn't cared to hear what Dumbledore or Karkaroff had to say, only their own Headmaster… Headmistress? Harry reckoned he wasn't quite sure what to call her.
"Was anybody else as cold as I was?" Hermione's question was accentuated with her hugging her arms around herself and pulling closer her Hogwarts robes. That only went on for a scant few seconds before she huffed, whipped out her wand and cast a heating charm over her person. "Sometimes, I forget I'm back at Hogwarts." the words were sheepishly said.
Harry snorted. "Me too."
Ron simply looked between the two as if they'd gone mad, and then he very quickly returned to eating, shovelling food down his mouth with nary a word said to the pair. The only time he looked up to speak, mouth-full and crumbs falling to his plate below, were when Dean or Seamus would bring up something about Quidditch.
"You noticed who it was, didn't you?" This time, Hermione's voice was quieter, hushed even, as she whispered across the table to him.
He furrowed his brow, not understanding what she was asking. "Huh?" all the same, his response was whispered back.
One of Hermione's feet kicked one of his under the table as she spoke again. "The one with the cold around her — it was the witch that hung back near Headmistress Maxime. You could tell."
"Could you?" Harry did reckon it was the same girl he met that the chill originated from, and the more he purposefully listened to those around him, some fellow Gryffindors thought much the same. Though, one had to mention his reason was different. It was based on experience, what he'd felt when last he'd seen the pair. "Wait, 'Mione, why would some of them ha—"
On his left shoulder, he felt the gentlest of taps thrice over, and Merlin, was the air noticeably chiller all of a sudden. Even the previously warm Hermione seemed to have to up the strength of the charm she'd cast on herself, and that was whilst sitting near the roaring fire that belonged to Gryffindor's table.
"Excuse me," came the softest voice he'd ever heard, and accented to boot.
Harry turned in his seat partially, finally allowing himself a view of the girl that'd tapped him. It wasn't a surprise to see the girl he'd helped; the accent and cold had given her away well beforehand. As for what'd tapped him, well, based on where she was standing it hadn't been her hand. His eyes squinted, and only then could he make out a ghostly hand.
That was different.
When she saw that she'd garnered his attention by way of her presence and magic both, she took another step back from him and spoke, careful to keep her attention focused solely on him. "Are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"
He blinked at her. That accent of hers was just as thick as he remembered it being… but what in Merlin's name was bouillabaisse? "Bouillabaisse?" he hoped she'd give him clarification.
The girl nodded once, the action causing her silvery-blonde hair to fall further, to a point well beyond her waist. Harry couldn't help himself as his eyes followed the motion, and when they rose once more, he found the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. More so than when he'd seen her standing before the Professors table. Her teeth were white with nary a misalignment, an— he shook his head, ridding himself of the observations right as she spoke again.
"Ze platter in ze meedle, please," there was an almost imploring tone in her voice as she spoke to him, and again, he noticed her eyes were only for him; a quick peer around from the edges of his vision revealed most the blokes around them were open-mouthed and all but drooling.
He could nearly relate to how she felt, only the witches didn't drool over him. Instead, it was just about everybody that'd insult or speak poorly of him.
"Yeah, sure," he said with a shrug, grabbing up the platter and handing it over to her.
She cocked her head at him. "You are certain you 'ave finished weez eet?"
Ron opened his mouth, a bit of drool being swallowed before he could make speech, but Harry cut him off. He couldn't let his mate make a fool of himself, least of all with so many people watching the interaction; witches and professors especially.
"Yeah, we're finished with it. Anything else?" He nearly winced, his words sounded a bit rushed as he handed it off to her, almost as if he wanted her gone. In a way he supposed he did, if only for his friend's sake.
The girl's eyes peered into his curiously, very curiously, and then with the platter in hand, she spoke before turning on the balls of her feet. "Zank you."
From there, she carefully carried it back to the Ravenclaw table. All the while she went, Ron and most other blokes sat around, stared at her as if her walking was one of the most interesting things they'd seen throughout their entire lives. One glance at Hermione's annoyed, glassy-eyed expression was enough to set Harry off as he turned back around in his seat; his laugh seemed to jog Ron back to his senses, and it did much the same for many of the others that were sitting around seemingly in a trance.
"Veela," Ron's voice was hoarse as he rubbed at his eyes.
Hermione went off on him right about then.
As for Harry, well, he was left to think about the bouillabaisse and the French girl that'd taken it as his friends argued and other blokes got done in by the witches that were seated near them. Normally, the more he thought about it, the Hogwarts dishes refilled themselves. But as he recalled Dobby saying once, the food wasn't simply appearing in the dishes, but it was being made by the house elves in the kitchen. It wasn't a surprise, as such, that English food seemed predominant whilst the French and Bulgarian dishes were given less thought.
Harry's eyes sought the girl out again of their own accord, and only for a second — he didn't need Hermione dressing him down like she'd done to Ron. She seemed pleased with the dish before her, he noticed; he also noticed she seemed quite alone. There were people near her, there had to be, with all the witches of her school seated with the Ravenclaws. But aside from her, there was just the smaller girl with matching hair within the span of a metre or so.
He couldn't fathom why that was. She'd seemed polite enough, if just a bit… cold.
Harry had to admit, the bouillabaisse hadn't been as bad as he'd suspected. He'd nicked a bit of it from further down the table on his way out, sneaking into the space beside Katie as Ron and Hermione went on ahead. Katie and the others, of course, ribbed him as they always did with him being amongst the youngest on the team, with Katie herself going so far as to pull him into a partial nuggie.
As if his hair wasn't already messy enough as it was.
All the same, he'd sat with them for five or so minutes to snack and catch up with his mates, and then he was off. Hermione and Ron wouldn't have made too much progress, not with Ron's pace after a large meal, so he reckoned he'd be able to find them before they entered Gryffindor Tower.
He took the first turn beyond the Great Hall, his feet carrying him quickly through the warm, torch-lit and decidedly busy halls of Hogwarts. The place was certainly packed this year around, but there was something almost cosy about that, and all the new guests present certainly made the Magical World he knew feel far larger. It wa—
An involuntary shiver ran through him, the sort that you felt when somebody was watching you. He paused for a quick glance around, but he didn't notice anybody. There seemed a hint of cold too, it was only just noticeable to him, but those around him seemed far more affected as he saw no shortage of people pull out their wands, a heating charm on their lips and in the air. He'd not do the same, the differential was only just something you'd notice if you were bored, he reckoned… but something he'd not choose to ignore, made itself known to him; a tickle in the back of his head. He didn't seem to be the only one that felt that either. A little more than half those around him — the dozen that they were — seemed to pause and look quite similar to how Ron had when the… oh.
Harry turned to look back whence he'd come, hearing many of the steps go silent in favour of but one set. He was quite certain who'd come, but when the girl turned the corner a moment later with the smaller version of herself right by her side, that'd confirmed it for him.
The two walked through the hall with their gazes fixed forward and a hand of each joined together. As they'd done when they'd first entered, they walked with grace, the fluidity of their movements better than any of the Pureblood witches he'd seen. Harry blinked when he realised what he was doing; he was watching them, observing them, just like a great deal of people had done in the Great Hall. That wasn't very kind of him.
He turned around, leaving those that stared at them to do just that as he started off once more. This time, as he continued and the steps did much the same, he'd only just turned the corner when a voice called to him, hushed and soft as it was.
"You are 'Arry Potter, no?"
He turned to the source of the voice and took another few steps for good measure, coming to a stop at the forming of an alcove. At least this way, the three of them would be out of the line of sight of their nosy peers. It also… wait, that sense of cold wasn't all that strong. He'd yet to throw a heating charm over himself, but close as he was to the pair, it was a degree's difference. That was all.
Now, he had to wonder just why everybody else seemed to blow it out of proportions. It might catch you unaware for a moment, but it didn't cause him to feel a literal chill. Not like Hermione.
"I am… you're the Witches from the World Cup." He picked those words carefully. Harry hadn't wanted to mention Veela, and he hadn't wanted to claim that he'd saved them. The fight had been close, after all. There was a chance they could've won without his interceding, but he hadn't wanted to risk that.
Whilst he'd been thinking, the two had been whispering, quickly and animatedly, in French. At least until the older of the pair caught him looking, and switched to English. "... 'e does not understand us, Gabrielle — English," she turned to him then, taking a cautious step forward and all the whilst watching his reaction to her doing so; it grew even more interested, he swore it did, when he stayed put. "My papa and mama wanted to zank you for 'elping us. We zink 'ad you not, we might not be 'ere today. My papa, 'e ees the Minister of France."
"Oh." Harry hadn't known that, his little exclamation accidentally breaking her sentence.
She nodded, understanding his look and exclamation. "You 'elped more than us. Surely, zere would 'ave been an eenternational eencident 'ad eet not been for you. Zat ees why we wanted to see you — our papa, 'e said 'e will be along soon to zank you personally. Eet ees because of you that 'e will be able to stay and watch ze 'ole tournament."
Harry blinked at her a fair few times by the time she was finished. Her accent, whilst distracting and heavy, didn't mean it was impossible for him to understand… he just couldn't fathom that her father was the French Minister of Magic. That was a strong, very strong position. Harry only hoped the man wasn't half as corrupt as his English counter-parts usually were.
Gabrielle whispered something, and the older girl nodded.
"Fleur," she said then, louder than her sister had spoken, but still soft and pleasant to hear as a whisper was. "I 'ad not zought to offer my name. Eet was eempolite of me, but luckily, Gabby was 'ere to remind me."
"It's alright. Didn't exactly have any time, did we?" He felt a bit awkward next to her now. It wasn't her allure or that insignificant temperature difference either; she was taller than him, pretty, and kind… and the intensity of her gaze, by Merlin, he felt like he was under a microscope.
As for those traits of hers, it was the latter most that seemed the rarest of all thus far; kindness.
"We did not," Fleur nearly made as if she were offering him her hand, but she stopped short of doing so, retracting the offending limb. He swore there was even a flash of annoyance or wistfulness, but he'd always been pants at reading Witches. "Madame Maxime said we must 'ead back to ze carriage early tonight. Tomorrow, 'Arry? Our papa should be 'ere to speak wiz you soon, but I see no reason for us not to speak, no?"
Harry nodded with a small smile coming to his face. "Tomorrow," he agreed, giving a wave to the younger girl as she moved partially behind her big sister. Fleur.
Fleur wrapped an arm around the girl and turned them back whence they'd come, a polite, tentative smile the likes of which he gave immediately returned by her; Gabrielle gave him a half-wave too, it was adorable.
When the pair were well and truly gone, Harry blinked and said not but a word aloud to himself. "Tomorrow."
As it turned out for Harry, the next day came quickly. He'd been tired by the time he'd returned to Gryffindor Tower, so tired, in fact, that he'd hardly lasted thirty minutes inside the place before he was off, tucked away in the comfort of his bed. Fred and George had still caught him regarding the galleons having disappeared… but there wasn't much Harry could do about that; the leprechauns were tricksters!
Of course, he knew he couldn't stay there all that long. Not if he wished to make lunch, and certainly not if he wished to speak with Fleur and Gabrielle again; he'd want any tips they'd be kind enough to give him when it came to their father. Speaking with a Minister, especially of a foreign country and after his daughter mentioned an incident was stressful stuff, really. Enough so that Harry reckoned anybody in his position would be deadly nervous.
But as it turned out, they hadn't been at the Great Hall. Nor had they been anyplace else so far as he could tell, though admittedly, he'd not gone searching for them all that much. He'd have been nervous had it not been Hogwarts; but here, he and everybody else were safe… for the most part. It was still Hogwarts, after all.
As such, Harry had opted to go through much of the day as he normally would, and that had proven rather productive for him. With his mates, he'd gone down to the pitch and flew around, enjoying the privacy of the place before it was overrun by Krum and his myriad of fawning girls. Next, he'd fit in a bit of studying with Hermione, at least until Ron saw them off to the kitchens for a snack raid before dinner came around, and Merlin, did it come around right quick.
It wasn't until then that Harry finally saw the pair. Yet, conversation didn't seem as if it'd be happening immediately. As had happened during the previous meal, the two had opted to join the Ravenclaws at their table, keeping them well away from him… well, until, as had happened previously, Fleur approached.
He had to wonder if it was a game of hers, or if it were truly the house elves failing to put out the amount of food they needed for the French and Bulgarian students; he supposed the latter sort of made sense. They were used to English food the same as him, and as such, it was what they'd opted to make in bulk.
"You are well today, 'Arry?" There was that accented voice of hers; it took but a second for him to recognise in the corner of his vision Ron's blank, obsessive gaze. He wasn't the only one either.
Dean and Seamus, the pair having sat beside Ron to discuss Quidditch as they'd been doing, had also fallen to Fleur's allure. It wasn't much of a surprise. Just about every bloke in the Great Hall within a good dozen metres or so of her would fall to it.
"I am," he returned with a nod as he scooched over a touch. "Whe— what could I help you with?"
For a moment, Harry had nearly asked when her father would be arriving. He'd stopped a few seconds before doing just that, reckoning it'd lead to some… interesting questions from Hermione. Most anybody else too, if they were still aware of themselves.
"Zees time, yes?" There was almost a touch of mirth in her eyes, but as quickly as it was there, it was gone as she gestured to a stew — it was almost like she'd remembered herself mid conversation. "Ze stew, please. Eet ees not refilling often enough for me or Gabby to 'ave a plate, and I saw 'ere, you and ze ozzers are not eating it — please?"
Harry reached out and pushed the dish over just as he'd previously done, only this time, Fleur hadn't been as patient as before. One of her hands had snaked across the table, grabbing for the dish before he'd raised it for her, and as a result of that impatience, their hands accidentally grazed one another.
He feared there'd be ice or some intense cold, maybe he'd even be turned to ice for touching her… but nothing of the sort happened. There wasn't so much as a hint of cold beyond that which was normal, and the more he looked where their hands had made contact, the more he noticed there wasn't so much as an ounce of ice. That had to be something significant.
Before he could so much as speak or manage a question, Fleur took the dish away, her hands moving nice and slow like. On her face seemed an expression of surprise, shock if you would, but as quickly as it'd come it was gone, a polite look in-place of it even if her eyes still had a shaken sort of quality to them. "Zank you very much, 'Arry. You are too kind."
Nobody else save for Hermione seemed to notice the latter quality, or their surprise. Harry was right grateful for that too, for he knew Hermione wouldn't say so much as a word about it aloud. There was already more than enough gossip about him, and Fleur, well, he could already tell how she was used to being treated; even now, as she returned to her seat, she sat alone save for her sister. A few glances were shot her way upon her return, all of them by fellow Beauxbatons girls, and all of them dismissive or tinged with dislike.
Looks he was well familiar with.
Harry turned his gaze away only when she began to portion food from the platter for the pair with a soft smile on her face as she spoke to her sister. It felt strange, watching them any longer… not to mention, Hermione had started in on Ron and the other blokes again. That'd make for some good amusement for the remainder of the meal.