Edited 17.08.2024

Decided to change Gabrielle's nickname from *Frenchie* (generic and unimaginative as fuck) to *Magpie*. I stole the idea from a reviewer on FFN (Thanks MorphCross) and thought it was a far better fit. Anyway, here you go.

~An Emerald amongst a Sea of Stone~

Chapter Seventeen

Harry sat in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, his legs resting on a small stool he had transfigured from one of the lamps which dangled from the train's ceiling.

Absentmindedly, he was skimming through the scripts in his journal, reviewing his notes on the Cruciatus Curse. A few days after his trip to Denmark, it had become apparent that his occlumency skills would soon reach a point where he could comfortably move onto actual emotional direction, and as such, he knew it wouldn't be too long until he could make his first attempt at casting the curse.

Yet, despite the usual commitment he showed to his studies, today, his thoughts lingered elsewhere. In the very recent past, to be precise.

Mere minutes ago, when he'd just been settling into his compartment at the very back of the train and taken a glance out the window, he had noticed a heated goodbye between two… dislikeable individuals.

Longbottom and Longbottom.

His natural instinct had been to feel satisfied with the fact that son and father were arguing. When he had deigned the interaction a further thought, however, the faint tug of his lips had vanished, replaced by a thin line and a frown.

He had always assumed that, between being the boy-who-lived, a – as Harry had to admit – decent enough student, and a seemingly stark supporter of his father, Longbottom would've had an excellent relationship with him.

After all, Frank Longbottom had decided to cart him off to the Dursleys for that exact reason, hadn't he? To be able to properly care for his famous son.

But as he had watched their conversation on the platform, this notion had cracked more and more the longer he had continued to observe.

Of course that could have simply been a false assumption. Perhaps Longbottom had merely demanded a new broom for his birthday and hadn't received it yet. Or maybe the boy was angry over the fact that his father hadn't been able to land him a spot in the exchange. After all, Harry had never shied away to think that his cousin and Longbottom shared a fair amount of qualities.

The only reason which had actually led him to dismiss those prejudices, was that Longbottom Senior hadn't looked even remotely regretful about the predicament. On the contrary.

It was the first time he had seen the Lord Longbottom in person. And yet, even in the presence of his son, who everyone assumed to be his one pride and joy, there had only been the stone-cold, professional facade he knew from the papers. The same facade Harry had imagined to fuel his first attempt at the Lacero Curse.

The Longbottoms hadn't just been arguing over nothing. No. For some reason, Frank Longbottom was greatly displeased with his son. And what irked Harry, was that – no matter how hard he thought – he couldn't come up with an explanation for why.

His only idea was that the boy had gotten punished over the stunt with the Philosopher's stone, but somehow, that didn't exactly sound right. After all, he was almost certain that Dumbledore would have not only defended, but praised Neville's actions to keep the stone safe – right after Kant's philosophy.

Beyond that, he'd been struggling to set up a different theory. Perhaps he was overthinking it, but for some reason, the whole scenario just seemed… off.

First, Frank Longbottom had randomly signed the form for him to attend Beauxbatons, then he had agreed to Flitwick's demands, and now the man was suddenly cross with his son? It was strange.

He sighed, shaking his head. I should probably just stop thinking about it…

After all, he wouldn't have to deal with either Longbottom or his father for the upcoming term. Re-absorbing the knowledge he had gathered on the Cruciatus and how to cast it was undoubtedly far more important.

He inhaled. Alright. Focus.

It wasn't easy, trying to steer your mind in the direction you needed it to go, but as Harry had found, an incredibly valuable skill.

At first, he'd been under the misconception that advanced occlumency allowed you to actually control your thoughts and emotions, but while practising, it had quickly become apparent that gaining absolute command over your feelings was an ability as unattainable as it was paradox.

He had been able to blend out the animosity he felt towards the Longbottoms, yes, but that was quite different compared to voiding what he felt. While you could momentarily ignore your feelings to make way for better critical thinking and a state of heightened awareness, you still needed to find an exit for your emotions elsewhere.

Suppressing them in hopes that they would eventually die or under the delusion that it would come without any future ramifications, was nothing but foolish. The only thing you achieved by trying, was making yourself into a ticking time bomb of anxiety, anger, and sadness. Which, ironically enough, was the exact opposite of what an accomplished occlumens sought to be.

Fortunately, he wouldn't have to deal with this particular problem. Casting dark magic, after all, was an excellent way to get rid of negative emotions. He glanced down into his notebook.

Especially spells like the Cruciatus…

A knock echoed against the glass of his compartment. Lazily, he twirled his wand, undoing the locking charm he'd placed on the door. The milky glass slid aside, revealing Daphne's slender frame and blonde hair. Sapphire blue eyes which bore a striking resemblance to the Veela's he had seen past summer, eyed him with feigned annoyance.

"I've been trying to find you for half an hour," the girl said.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the exaggeration, glancing up from his notebook "What made you assume I was already on the train?" he asked.

Daphne sat down opposite him, levitating her mahogany trunk up onto the luggage rack above their heads. As she did, she noticed the stool to Harry's feet. Her eyes shifted towards the ceiling.

"You transfigured one of the lamps?" she asked, in her usual, monotone tone of voice. "Seriously?"

"Isn't it impolite to answer a question by asking your own?" he replied smoothly.

Daphne stared at him for a moment, before arching an eyebrow. "Grown humour over the summer, have you?"

He leant back into his seat with a shrug.

"I've heard the French are less uptight than us Brits," he replied. "I thought it might be a good adjustment."

Not that he really believed that. Isabelle Fawley, the only French woman he knew, had nothing akin to a sense of humour. He still remembered the nasty stinging hexes she had flung at him whenever he'd butchered the pronunciation of any given word – intentional or not.

Can't say her methods weren't effective though…

Daphne's lips curled. "Perhaps that's for the best. We are, after all, supposed to enjoy the exchange."

Enjoy… The word rang deaf in his ears. Harry shrugged. "There's a lot to learn. I'd like to enlist in spell creation."

It was one of the few magical subjects for which he had actually heeded the literature's advice and refrained from making his first forays without an instructor. After all, the idea of severed limbs, however temporary, was rather unattractive.

I need it to come up with a cure though…

"They're teaching spell creation at Beauxbatons?" Daphne asked, not quite able to hide her surprise.

He nodded, eyes still on the page. "My French tutor mentioned it."

She stared at him for a moment, her expression blank. Then she sighed. "Of course you had a French tutor." She managed to deliver it in a way that almost made him feel guilty of something.

"You're telling me you didn't?" he asked with feinted surprise.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "I don't know if you've noticed, Harry, but for most people one summer isn't really enough time to become proficient in a foreign language."

"Should've attended muggle school then," he smirked. "They did a pretty decent job with the basics."

"Oh yes," she replied dryly. "The joy I would've had. Regardless…" She glanced over, her sapphire eyes pinning him to his seat. "How was your summer?"

Not as productive as I would've liked.

He nodded to himself. "Good enough, I suppose. Spent most of the time studying. You?"

Her lips thinned. "It was fine. Mother and father took us to our chateau in Switzerland. My sister greatly enjoyed having someone to annoy again. I think–"

A loud thump echoed against the milky glass of the compartment – almost as if someone had just collided with the wall. Moments later, the door opened, revealing their three remaining friends. Tracey stumbled inside, her blonde, frizzy hair even more dishevelled than usual.

"I almost missed the train…" she gasped, crashing on the space next to Daphne. "Thank god…"

Harry raised an eyebrow. He turned towards the other two.

"Good summer?" Blaise asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Your robes are looking quite dapper, I have to say. Whoever bought them for you must've had good taste," he grinned.

Very funny…

Harry rolled his eyes. "Nice to see you too, Blaise. Summer was fine. Yours too I hope?"

"Yep," the Italian replied, taking a seat by his side. He smoothed out the wrinkles of his shirt. "Alessandro taught me how to make a flawless Draught of Living Death," he said, unable to hide a smile.

"He hasn't stopped talking about it," Theo added, taking a seat as well. "I'm afraid we've entirely lost him to his academic arrogance."

"Really?" Blaise asked, unconvinced. He itched his chin. "I suppose that means we lost Harry a long time ago."

Everyone laughed. Even Harry couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his face. Shaking his head, he turned back towards the booklet in his hands.

"What are you reading?" Tracey pried, trying to peer at the contents inside the pages.

Harry glanced towards her, raising an eyebrow. "Notes," he replied.

Tracey groaned. "Yes, dumbass. What kind of notes?"

He yawned. "From last year. About a spell I wanted to try out but didn't get the chance to," he answered truthfully. Whoever said they needed to know that the spell in question was an Unforgivable?

Blaise tilted his head to take a look. "The page is blank," he stated.

Harry agreed. "It's enchanted this way." Silence followed for a moment.

Tracey pursed her lip. "Has anyone ever told you that you're paranoid, Harry?" she asked with a frown.

Is keeping your secrets already paranoia? He shrugged.

His attention returned towards the booklet in his lap as the conversation between his friends resumed. After a while, a set of familiar words caught his eye.

You need to really mean it.

Momentarily, curly black hair flashed past his inner eye. The muscles in his forearm tightened, flexing his fingers involuntarily.

Oh trust me, I do.

With pursed lips, he closed the book's cover, letting it vanish in the pocket of his robe. His eyes flickered around the compartment, eventually settling on its door. Through the blurry glass, he could see that there was someone waiting outside. He frowned.

"Any idea how we'll get there?" Blaise asked.

Harry needed a moment to realise what they were talking about. Beauxbatons.

Daphne's lips flattened into a line. "By international portkey, I'd assume. Nothing else makes sense."

Great, he thought darkly, remembering his first experiences with portkey travel from a few weeks back. Like twice wasn't enough… His eyes flickered back towards the figure standing outside their compartment.

A knock echoed against the door. The conversation halted. Harry answered.

"It's open."

The glass slid aside, revealing a familiar face framed by honey and chocolate waves. Grey eyes met green. Gemma pursed her lip, lazily leaning against the doorframe.

His friends stared at her. "Yes?" Daphne asked.

Gemma didn't acknowledge her. Instead, she continued to look at Harry.

"You've got a moment?"

Harry's gaze briefly wandered around the room. Confusion was visible on his friends's faces. He frowned. Wasn't she the one who wanted to keep our involvement a secret?

Slowly, he nodded. "...sure." He rose from the bench, briefly glancing towards his friends. "I'll be back in a few." Nods were the answer. The door closed behind him with a click.

"Surdo ali," Harry muttered.

"Had a good summer?" Gemma asked, amusement lacing her voice.

He felt a flicker of irritation creep up his throat. You're the third person to ask me that in the space of an hour…

"I thought you wanted to keep our little arrangement a secret?" he replied, an eyebrow raised. Why are you trying to make a statement?

She dismissed him with a careless wave. "Great Aunt Belle isn't particularly discreet. I'd be surprised if most of the older British households haven't heard that she tutored you by now. Besides, keeping our friendship a secret isn't that important. The duelling club makes for a believable backstory anyway."

Admittedly, he couldn't really argue with her logic. Nevertheless, his point stood. She could have just as easily approached him some time after the feast.

"So," he asked. "What did you want?"

She pouted. "Can't I just check up on my protege after not seeing him for a month?"

Harry eyed her flatly. "Gemma."

She feigned a sigh. "Fine. Mainly, I just wanted you to keep practising while you're away for the term. My mother mentioned Beauxbatons offers a duelling class for their third years and above. Try to get in there if you can. And make use of their library. It's bound to have at least a few spells that ours doesn't."

That's all? he frowned inwardly. Nevertheless, he nodded in acknowledgement. "Thanks then. I'll keep that in mind."

"Good," Gemma clapped, before adding, "And write to me once in a while, will you?"

"I will." He briefly thought back to his raven companion who was probably already waiting in the owlery. He'll enjoy the flight.

"Perfect," she smiled. "Then, assuming we don't see each other again, I wish you a good time in France."

He nodded dryly. "Thanks. I'll see you in the new year."

"Most definitely."

And with that, Gemma vanished down the hallway, leaving Harry to ponder the girl's behaviour in front of his compartment door. After a second, he sighed, sliding it open.

Questions, here I come…

By eleven on the next day, Harry found himself in a significantly lighter mood, standing on a large, pale-green plain in the Scottish highlands, in a line with seven of his classmates.

In the distance, a raven's squawk could be heard as Professor McGonagall began her speech, holding the raggedy boot between her hands with a well-concealed modicum of disgust.

She sniffed. "As you have no doubt noticed, we only have a few more minutes left until your portkey to France activates and you depart for the term. Thus, I will keep myself short," she began.

"During your stay at Beauxbatons you will adhere to all rules, guidelines, and directions provided by the academy's staff." She paused. "Should you fail to do so, you will not only endanger the chances of such an exchange taking place ever again, but also permanently earn yourself a place in detention with me for the remainder of the decade. Is that clear so far?" she asked, glancing over her spectacles darkly.

A few students, among them Granger and Bones, swallowed, before joining the others in on a nod.

"Good." The woman's expression eased, a prim smile slowly finding its way onto her face. "Then it is my joy to wish you an wondrous stay at France's Premier Academy for magic. I hope your time on the continent will provide newfound teachings, knowledge, and perhaps also friendships."

With a wave of her wand, the Professor banished the shoe away from her, towards the middle of the student pack. There, it hovered in the air, at just about shoulder height.

"Form a circle please" she commanded.

They did. Daphne grimaced, clearly dreading what would happen next. Blaise grinned at Harry in anticipation.

"Touch the portkey"

It took a moment, but eventually, each and every one of the eight students found a small spot on the grimy leather they could hold on to. Harry was far from the only one to wrinkle his nose at the sticky sensation on his skin. Couldn't they have at least used a scouring charm?

McGonagall cleared her throat.

"As some of you may know, once the portkey activates, you will feel a harsh tug a few inches above your navel," she informed them. "It is perfectly normal and no reason for worry. Additionally, I should mention that once you land, some of you may experience dizziness. Thus I have asked Professor Leclerc to provide you with a few refreshments and medical attention if needed. Any last questions?" the woman asked.

No one spoke. In between the bustle of robes surrounding him, Harry subtly waved his free hand, imagining glistening digits forming before his inner eye. They materialised in the grass below, tainting the green meadow a warm gold.

He smiled. Wandless magic is rather neat sometimes… He watched the conjured clock tick closer to the eleventh hour mark, drawing a deep breath and bracing his core. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. And…

Goodbye.

With a flash, the portkey activated, bathing everything around him in a swirl of white, blue, and purple. He felt the familiarly uncomfortable sensation of a hook attaching to his navel and tearing him upwards as his feet were thrown off the ground.

When he landed again moments later, for once, he didn't crash to the ground. Finally… A faint smirk flashed across his face – at least before a wave of nausea wiped his expression blank.

To his left, Terry Boot spewed his breakfast onto the marble-tiled floor to their feet. Disgusting. Harry wrinkled his nose as his wand slipped into his palm. Promptly, the puke and its unpleasant smell vanished.

As the ringing in his ears faded, he registered a heavily accented, deep, male voice telling someone to bring the boy some water. His eyes flickered towards its owner – a tall, brown-haired man with a twirled moustache in a set of dark-blue and white-speckled robes.

Leclerc, I assume. The Deputy…

The Professor offered a somewhat apologetic, kind smile.

"Welcome to Beauxbatons, dear students."

Harry was pretty sure most of his classmates hadn't even registered the man's words, seeing as at least four of them were still trying to fight off the dizziness caused by their trip. Besides him, only Blaise, Daphne, and Malfoy seemed to have dealt with the side-effects of portkey travel rather well.

As their host waited for his classmates to reign themselves in, Harry allowed his gaze to wander further around the hall they had arrived in. Its pristinely white floor contrasted heavily with the dark timbering and golden accents which found his eye wherever else he looked. Directly above their heads, a grand chandelier dangled from the roof, its diamond ornaments glistening in the warm light which shone in through the tall windows to their left and right.

Pretty. Looks a bit like the hall of mirrors, to be honest…

He still remembered a picture of Versailles he'd seen in one of the countless history books from Little Whinging's local library. For a moment, he felt a sense of nostalgia fill him as he reminisced the quiet afternoons he'd spent scouring the shelves for something worth his time. He crushed the smile which had briefly crept onto his face.

Probably the only thing I'm going to miss about that life…

When his attention returned to Leclerc, the man was already in the middle of his speech. His lip curled. Second time's the charm as it seems. Absent-mindedly, he listened to what the Deputy had to say.

Welcome to our School, hope the trip went well, tour of the grounds, yada yada yada…

There was only one thing of particular interest to him. "Tomorrow after dinner, you will be able to sign up for 'ze classes you wish to attend during your stay. Do not be late!" Leclerc reprimanded softly, offering a warm smile. He turned on the spot. "Follow me 'zen, if you would!"

The students did, falling into step behind the Professor as he led them out of the large foyer they had arrived in, and into a hallway of similar aesthetic, but far narrower than any of the corridors Hogwarts had to offer. He noticed Granger eyeing the lamps which littered the ceiling approvingly.

No torches to be found here…

They briefly stopped in front of a large window, Leclerc gesturing towards the beautiful skyline in the distance. "As you may know, our académie was built in ze early seventeenth century when world-renowned alchemist Nicholas Flamel decided to sponsor France's first of eetz kind. 'E chose Paris as ze académie's location because of eetz large magical communities and reech cultural 'istory."

He motioned for them to follow along. "To your right you can find our laboratoires, fitted for boz spell creation and, eh – brewing. Right zrough here," the man explained, "expects you ze dining hall. We 'ave a personnel of elves ready to serve warm and cold dishes anytime, so do not 'esitate to find the hall, even outside of regular dining 'ours."

Neat, Harry thought.

He probably would've been more ecstatic about the opportunity to get food whenever he wanted, had he not already become accustomed to his nightly visits to Hogwarts's kitchens. His lip curled upward. I really love the Map.

"Does that mean there's no curfew then?" Terry Boot asked, surprised.

The deputy shook his head. "Not in the sense you know eet, non," he replied with a roguish smirk. "'Owever, I would suggest you do not, eh – 'ow do you say – abuse your liberté too much. Eet wouldn't serve your grades well now, would it?" he asked with a wink.

Harry decided he liked the man.

"Better not mention zhat to ze Directrice, yes?" Leclerc mock-whispered. "Come. Ze dormitories are just around ze corner."

And around the corner they were. Overall, Harry got the impression that Beauxbatons was arranged a lot more compactly compared to his own school. Where Hogwarts had hundreds upon thousands of empty hallways and classrooms, every nook and cranny of this place seemed to have its own use. That wasn't necessarily a good thing though.

Makes it more difficult to sneak away when I need to…

Leclerc's amplified voice boomed through the dorm hall. "The exchange students are here," he called in French.

Almost immediately, doors to both sides of the hall swung wide open. Harry noted that of the sixteen, exactly eight remained closed. One for each of us, he assumed.

He was surprised to find a familiar face among the students who had emerged from their rooms. The girl from the Playoffs… It took him a second to recall her name. Gabrielle. She stared at him with something between scepticism and surprise.

Leclerc cleared his throat, switching to English once more. "Zese are your fellow exchange students," he explained brightly. "Each of you 'as been assigned a partner, 'oo will be available for any questions you may 'ave during ze duration of your stay."

Harry traded a brief glance with both Daphne and Blaise, the latter of whom grinned back annoyingly, wagging his eyebrows in the direction of the French girls. Daphne sniffed.

They're pretty, he had to admit.

"I will now read ze pairs," Leclerc continued, producing a small piece of parchment from his pocket. Harry only listened absentmindedly until his name was called.

"Mr. Boot and Mr. Moreau."

"Ms. Bones and Ms. Dupont."

"Ms. Patil and Ms. Leroy."

"Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Gautier."

He glanced up. The two boys looked an awful lot alike as they grinned at each other. Relatives, probably…

"Mr. Zabini and Mr. Girard."

Blaise shot him a look of faux-disappointment before moving to greet his partner.

"Ms. Greengrass and Ms. Fontaine."

"Ms. Granger and Ms. Dubois. Which leaves–"

Oh you can't be serious…

"–Mr. Potter and Ms. Delacour."

Of course…

With no other alternative, he walked up to greet the girl. As he came to a stop, he met her baby-blue eyes. She eyed his offered hand for a moment, before eventually accepting it.

"Nice to see you again," Harry offered in French.

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow. For a moment it seemed like she would continue to keep up appearances as well – until she spoke, at least. "Bonjour to you too, farm boy," she replied, smirking to herself.

Hilarious.

He offered a dry look. "Still upset your cousin got demolished at the playoffs?"

Her expression lost some of its smugness. She scoffed. "Your friend did not demolish him. She merely had…" A sniff. "Luck."

Harry snorted. Right.

"So," he asked. "You gonna show me my dorm or what?"

Gabrielle sighed. "Not like I have a choice…" she muttered. "Follow me."

She led him to the far end of the hallway, where on the right side, his room was located. The polished, wooden door was adorned in curved, silver lettering.

Harry Potter – #1 - Hogwarts

His lip curved upwards at the reminder of his spot on the list. He turned towards Gabrielle, who rolled her eyes.

"Can I ward the room?" he asked.

She frowned for a moment, fighting her surprise. "Unnecessary," she replied after a moment, flinging her platinum-blonde hair over her shoulder. "The rooms are password protected. There is a small manual on your desk that includes everything you need to know."

Harry shrugged to himself. Suppose I'll just try…

"Anything else?" he asked.

She paused in thought for a moment before shaking her head. "No. At least nothing that comes to mind. Just don't be late for the meeting tomorrow. The Directrice appreciates punctuality."

Noted.

He nodded. "I suppose I'll see you at lunch then?"

She sighed exaggeratedly. "Unfortunately," she agreed. "If you need anything, I'm in the room opposite you." She pointed her finger towards her door. "Just knock."

Harry offered her a short smile. "I'll try to avoid it as best as I can," he promised.

"Good," Gabrielle said with a small grin, before turning around and gripping the golden handle adorning her door. "See you soon, farm-boy."

Harry's last thought before she vanished was pettier than he'd expected. I really need to come up with a nickname as well…

"What about spell creation?" Harry asked.

Him, Blaise, Daphne and their exchange students w ere sitting on one of the many tables in the cafeteria, chatting over breakfast. Naturally, the question of which classes they could choose was one that had come up.

Gabrielle snorted. "Good luck trying to attend zat class," she replied. "Besides ze fact zat Madam Moreau only accepts students zat 'ave perfect grades, eet iz only offered from fifth year and up. Fleur was one of the zree zat got in zis year."

"Fleur?" Harry asked.

"My seester," Gabrielle explained with a sigh, gesturing towards a table a few rows down. A surprisingly large amount of boys lingered around the small sliver of platinum hair Harry was able to spot. "She was ecstatic. Arithmancy 'as been 'er passion since she was leetle."

It was quiet for a moment. Blaise frowned. "Why is there, eh–?"

"Ze boys?" Gabrielle asked, sounding tired.

The Italian nodded. "Yeah."

Gabrielle pinched the bridge of her nose. It was clear this wasn't the first time she was having this conversation. "She is… ugh."

Something foreign tugged at Harry's senses, ever so faint. I know that feeling…

"A Veela," he realised aloud. Of course. Everyone's eyes snapped towards him. Gabrielle tilted her head. He shrugged. "It's not that strange. I've already met one, after all," he said, looking at the French girl.

Daphne frowned. "You two know each other?" she asked tentatively.

He sighed inwardly. Right… I didn't tell them about that entire thing. He massaged his temple.

"We met at ze Junior Duelling Championships," Gabrielle nodded unconcernedly. She turned back towards Harry's raven head of hair. "Eet was surprising 'ow easily you managed to zrow off muzzer's allure," she murmured.

Occlumency. A flicker of understanding flashed in Blaise's eyes. Harry shot him a brief smile.

"Thanks, I suppose…" Harry's fingers prattled softly against the table. He paused the motion for a moment. "You really think there's no chance I could attend spell creation?" he asked, returning to the matter at hand.

Gabrielle's eyes shifted towards the brown-haired woman at the far end of the hall he assumed was Madame Moreau. She shrugged. "Feel free to ask 'er. 'Owever, I do not zink your odds are very good," she replied honestly.

He nodded, minor tightness creeping onto his face. Suppose I'll just have to try then. Promptly, he rose from his chair. Frowns appeared on his friends' faces. Harry shrugged.

"No time like the present."

Leaving a perplexed table of French and English students behind, he made his way through the cafeteria, steering towards the chocolate crown of hair Gabrielle had glanced towards. Steeling his features into a trademark smile, he approached the woman, who – as it seemed – was sitting alone, her only company being the few rolls of weathered parchment sprawled across the table and the cup of steaming-hot, black coffee which rested in her left hand.

Gently, he cleared his throat. "Excusez-moi?" he inquired tentatively. "Are you Madame Moreau, by any chance?"

Slowly, the woman glanced up from her table, turning her head to meet his eyes. Compared to Harry's cold, emerald-green ones, hers burnt a bright amber. She regarded him with a curious look – almost as if she was observing an exhibit in a museum.

"I am," she answered, the edges of her mouth curling upwards in a manner that felt forced. "And who might you be?" she asked.

"Harry Potter, ma'am," he offered, bowing his head for a moment. "I'm awfully sorry for the disturbance, it's just that I heard you would be teaching the spell creation class here. I was really looking forward to attending."

Despite their colour, the woman's eyes remained cool and unreadable.

"Ah, yes… You are one of those exchange students that arrived yesterday, are you not?" she asked, her fingers tracing the lines on the parchment. "Your French is surprisingly good," she commented.

He smiled, nodding. "I am. Thanks."

"And that would make you a… second year?" she asked. He nodded. Scepticism crept onto her face. "Then I'm afraid that spell creation might be a little beyond you yet. Perhaps arithmancy may be a better suit..."

That's not what I wanted to hear.

His smile tightened. "Forgive me if I sound arrogant, Madame Moreau, but I'm not exactly your average second year." He glanced towards the parchment on the table. The numbers represented on it were arranged in such a way that was reasonably familiar to him. "That's the Restelican Formula, isn't it?" he asked. "You're trying to calculate the best wavelength for a spell."

The woman stared at him in consideration for a moment, almost trying to discern whether he had offended her or not. He could see the amber eyes flicker, before eventually shifting towards the parchment. Madame Moreau folded her lips inward.

"Perhaps you do have promise," she muttered quietly, whether to herself or Harry wasn't really clear. She paused, not looking up from the table. "You know what, Monsieur Potter? Attend my fifth year class tonight. If you do well enough I may consider granting your request. For now though, I would appreciate some quiet. I have some calculations to finish."

I'll take that.

Harry nodded without hesitation. "Of course. Thank you for your time, Madame."

His features shifted back towards the usual stoicism and he made his way back over towards the table his and Gabrielle's friends were still seated on. As he sat down, they all stared at him expectantly, some shaking their head.

"You did not just do zat…" Gabrielle muttered miserably, folding her hands over her face. "Fleur 'as probably already told 'er zat I am your partenaire d'échange. I…" She shook her head.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know what your problem is," he replied lightly. "She was surprisingly nice to me. Besides – she invited me to attend her class tonight. Can't be that bad."

The girl shot up in disbelief. "Excusez-moi?"

A petty satisfaction spread in his chest at her reaction. He offered another nonchalant shrug. "She said if I did well enough I could join the fifth years permanently." He yawned. "Don't know why you thought it'd be so difficult," he added.

"But you–" He could see the gears within her head turning. Promptly, her expression darkened. "You are riling me up," she accused, wrinkling her nose.

Harry offered an amused smile. "I could never… Magpie."

Author's Note:

Damn guys, it's finally here. Really has been a while, hasn't it?

While I'm sorry for the long wait, I do hope you have enjoyed the chapter and its quirks. Personally, I'm pretty proud of how things turned out and happy we're finally at Beauxbatons.

It really doesn't feel that long ago that I started writing this story and it's really grown into something larger than I could've ever imagined.

As always, I want to say thank you to all the follows, favourites, reviews, comments, and kudos this story has received and will continue to receive in the future. It's a large part in what keeps me going, especially in times like these when I can't always find the time (or motivation) to write.

I hope the addition of Gabrielle as a character was well-received and you appreciated the first mention of Fleur's character.

If you've got any ideas, concepts, characters or anything at all you'd like to see implemented into the story, I'm urging you to join my discord – where you can talk to me and other readers who enjoy the story (FFN people, remove the spaces):

https: / / zwpshsfKJn

I'll hopefully see you for the next one soon and wish all of you a wonderful weekend!

Cheers!