CHAPTER 18: FROZEN DREAMS AND HARSH AWAKENING

The morning sun invaded Fleur's room, casting its bright and intrusive rays upon her. She squeezed her eyes shut in response, yet even through closed lids, she was met with an overwhelming wall of crimson. Her pulse reverberated in the recesses of her skull, and the remnants of last night's wine left her mouth feeling as dry as sandpaper.

An excess of wine, she mused, prompted a low, remorseful groan, and she sought solace by burying her face deep within her pillow. The persistent throbbing at the base of her skull served as a painful reminder. "Urgh," she muttered, her voice muffled, "Stupid. You let yourself get carried away."

Summoning her wand, Fleur conjured a crystal-clear glass of water and sipped it in small, measured gulps. With a practiced flick of her wand, she cast a potent spell that targeted her mouth. The unpleasant remnants of her night's indulgence vanished, leaving only a faint echo of a headache to contend with. Taking another long drink of water, she leaned back, closed her eyes, and patiently waited until her headache dissolved into nothingness.

As the pain receded, she couldn't help but marvel at how easily she'd banished the physical discomfort. "And just like that, all the morning's problems are gone," she murmured to herself, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. Yet, a persistent inkling in the recesses of her mind prodded at her thoughts, much like a loose thread begging to be pulled.

Oh, merde. I kissed a fourteen year old.

Fleur let out a soft, almost mournful sound, pressing her face deeper into her pillow. "And it was my very first kiss," she lamented, her voice muffled by the fabric. She rolled over onto her back, clutching the pillow tightly to her chest, her gaze fixated on the unadorned expanse of the ceiling above. "Well, at least it was rather pleasant," she muttered with a hint of resignation. "Harry would've undoubtedly enjoyed it."

The thought of Harry brought a wave of panic. Fleur's eyes widened, and she kicked her feet against the bed in frustration. "Merde," she cursed under her breath. "I never told him it wasn't my allure." She winced and squeezed her eyes shut. "He's going to think I enchanted him. Merde!"

Trying to calm herself, she took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter. He probably would've turned out like all the other boys anyway," she reasoned. Fleur forced herself to divert her thoughts. "Don't think about it," she repeated like a mantra.

She studied the fine network of cracks in the white-painted ceiling, attempting to distract herself from her whirlwind of emotions. But then, uninvited, Harry's voice resurfaced in her mind. "You're the most beautiful girl I have ever seen." A soft, affectionate smile found its way to her lips.

"This is utterly ridiculous," Fleur chided herself, frustration and self-doubt creeping back into her voice. "I sound like Emilie or Caroline."

Fleur's mind swirled with worry. "What do I do?" she whispered to herself, her voice fraught with anxiety. "He must hate me, thinking I forced him to kiss me for a joke." Her fists clenched, and she fought to suppress the pain that was wrenching her heart. "People like us don't trust easily, and now he must not trust me at all."

The rhythmic hammering on the doorframe by Madame Maxime pulled her from her inner turmoil. Fleur knew it was time for the inevitable scolding she deserved. "Merde. Merde. Merde."

With a resigned sigh, Fleur hurriedly kicked her crumpled dress into the bathroom and shoved her shoes back into the small cupboard beside the door. She flicked her wand at the door's lock. "Come in, Madame," she called.

Madame Maxime swept into the room with an air of authority, her presence commanding respect. She took a seat in the corner, her stern expression speaking volumes. Fleur knew that the conversation wouldn't be an easy one.

"I did not see you return from the castle after the Yule Ball," Madame Maxime began, her tone measured and unyielding.

Fleur perched on the edge of her bed, the duvet draped around her shoulders, forming a protective cocoon over her pajamas. "The disillusionment charm. I left early," she offered, her voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness.

Madame Maxime's gaze remained unyielding, her concerns not so easily brushed aside. "You did not return here early, neither Emilie nor Caroline saw you," she countered, her tone sharp.

Fleur couldn't help but sigh inwardly. "I see Emilie and Caroline didn't even wait until this morning to start spreading gossip," she mused, frustration evident in her words. "I spent some time with a friend," she explained, trying to provide a reasonable explanation.

"If they'd actually managed to get dates, they wouldn't have had time to make things worse for me," Fleur added with a touch of bitterness.

Madame Maxime's voice took on a more serious note. "Your friend was also your choice of company and fellow champion, Harry Potter, I assume," she inquired, her posture rigid, like she'd been frozen in place.

Fleur nodded, meeting her head-on. "You assume correctly," she admitted.

"He is fourteen, Fleur," Madame Maxime pointed out with a tone of disapproval. "I can understand your desire to have a platonic date, one that is not affected by your natural magic, but sneaking off with him for the evening… I cannot and will not condone such behavior. He is a child."

A simmering sense of irritation began to course through Fleur's veins, and beneath her skin, she could feel her Veela heritage stirring. "I think you should've put far less trust in what you've heard about my evening than it seems you have, madame," she retorted, her voice carrying a challenge.

Madame Maxime's scrutiny remained unrelenting as her eyes briefly flicked to the faint white tufts sliding through the skin of Fleur's forearms, a telltale sign of her Veela heritage. Then, her gaze returned to meet Fleur's eyes. "Oh? So you weren't seen by your fellow students disappearing off to the abandoned upper floors of the castle?" she pressed, her voice laced with skepticism.

"I'm sure we were," Fleur responded with an edge in her tone. "I wanted to spend the evening away from gossiping, shallow individuals who had nothing better to do than cast aspersions at their betters. Harry was kind enough not to leave me on my own. My only regret of the evening is failing to avoid them half as well as I had hoped."

Her thoughts veered toward that ill-fated kiss with Harry, and a sinking feeling overcame her. "And kissing Harry," she thought to herself. "Or kissing him and leaving before he understood why I did."

Madame Maxime's jaw dropped, and the tips of her ears turned red in astonishment. "You mean to say you spent the whole night talking?" she queried, her disbelief evident.

"Until I left at a little before midnight," Fleur replied, her voice steady as she buried every image of mistletoe and candles beneath layers of practiced patience.

What is the point of asking me these ridiculous questions if she is not going to believe my answers?

Madame Maxime listened to Fleur's response with a thoughtful expression, steepling her fingers as she considered the situation. "I believe you," she began, her tone more understanding, "however, you showed poor judgment in directing your allure at him so blatantly, then again in attending the Yule Ball with him. You've compounded it by vanishing with him for the evening. Rumors are already flying."

Fleur's defiance flared. "Let them," she retorted, her disdain evident in her voice. "I've never cared before. I won't start now." An anxious thought nagged at her. "I hope Harry doesn't believe them."

Madame Maxime's words were seasoned with wisdom. "It might be best for the two of you to let things calm down before spending too much more time in each other's company," she advised. Her dark eyes softened as she continued, "I approve of your friendship, Fleur. Harry Potter stands a better chance than most at understanding the trials you suffer because of your heritage, but neither of you have made things easy for yourselves."

Fleur nodded, realizing the truth in Madame Maxime's counsel. "She might be right," she thought. "I need to sort out my head before I make things even worse."

Madame Maxime then handed Fleur a copy of the Daily Prophet, her expression one of finality. "You should probably read this," she said. "Throw it away once you're done. I don't want to read anything else in it."

Fleur scoffed at the headline, her disbelief evident. "Part-veela rival charms Boy-Who-Lived," she muttered. "There's no such thing as a part-veela."

"I don't think I need to bother reading it," she said dismissively, recognizing the sensationalist style of Rita Skeeter. Fleur tossed the paper into the bin with a huff. "Anyone who believes that trash isn't worth listening to."

Madame Maxime leaned forward, her tone more reassuring. "I've already written a letter to your father in France to reassure him there is no truth behind this. I'm glad to discover this was also the truth."

Fleur's gratitude shone through as she favored Madame Maxime with a warm smile. "Thank you."

Madame Maxime then shifted the conversation towards a more practical matter. "I suggest you focus on preparing for the second task. It will help take your mind off this and allow time for the air to clear for both you and Mr. Potter. He has his own solution to worry about, too." She tapped her large fingers on her knee in thought. "Is there anything you would like assistance with?"

Fleur pondered the offer for a moment before inquiring, "How much are you allowed to give?"

Madame Maxime cleared her throat and looked away for a moment before answering. "As long as I'm not directly helping you with the task, it's not cheating."

Fleur contemplated the boundaries of this assistance and the potential advantages it could offer. "Better to win. If they're smart, they'll all take advantage, too," she thought.

"I need to adapt the bubble-head charm for long and repeated underwater use," Fleur revealed.

Madame Maxime's expression grew concerned. "Not the best choice for a long underwater venture in which you might encounter dangerous creatures," she cautioned. "The more power put into the charm, the more air is compressed into the bubble, and the more dangerous the reaction when the bubble is burst."

Fleur considered her options and pressed, "Is there an alternative?"

"Transfiguration, or enchanting an item of clothing to convert water to breathable oxygen would be your best solutions," Madame Maxime suggested. "The latter, especially, given your skill at enchanting and charming. There are plenty of pieces of spell-weaving capable of creating such an effect, but I suggest simplicity. You don't need it to last the rest of your life."

Fleur nodded in agreement, recognizing the wisdom in keeping things straightforward. "I'll probably be very busy if I've got to create something almost from scratch," she mused. "That's good. I need some space before I talk to Harry again, and being busy will keep my mind off things."

Madame Maxime gave Fleur a nod and made her exit, leaving Fleur to her task.

Fleur browsed her wardrobe, her fingers selecting a thin piece of gauze. "You'll do. I never wear you, anyway," she said to the discarded garment. It was time for a transformation.

A light tapping echoed from the window, drawing her attention. Fleur gracefully flicked her wand at the curtains, allowing the wintry light to flood in and revealing the snowy owl perched on the sill.

But before tending to the owl's message, she decided to reply to her sister, Gabrielle. Fleur pulled a wad of parchment from the envelope and raised an eyebrow at the length of the letter. "This looks like an essay. Gabby must be lonely," she surmised.

With a determined sigh, Fleur picked up her wand and murmured, "Well, if you want a long reply, you're about to get more than you bargained for, Gabby." She tapped her wand's tip against the silver-nibbed quill resting on her desk. The small rings of runes around the quill's shaft glowed with a faint white light, and it gracefully lifted off the desk, hovering over a stack of blank parchment as it began to write on her behalf.

Leaving her letter to her sister in the capable hands of the enchanted quill, Fleur twirled her rose-wood wand over herself, performing a quick transfiguration. She then slipped out of her room, her steps light and graceful.

In the communal part of the carriage, she found Emelie and Caroline, who were deeply engrossed in their copy of the Daily Prophet, their sniggering serving as a backdrop to the carriage's atmosphere.

Fleur was acutely aware of the heightened emotions surging within her as she approached her fellow students. Her Veela heritage threatened to flare, but she quickly stifled it with a murmured incantation, "Credidero," casting a discreet charm. She gracefully looped her wand in a circle, directing it at Emelie and Caroline.

"Cassandra's Curse. Now nobody will believe a word either of you say," Fleur whispered, her expression a mixture of control and defiance.

A small, satisfied smile touched her lips as she walked away from the carriage, her destination the distant library tower. "At least Harry's never in there," she mused, her heart heavy with uncertainty. Her invisibility spell began to wane, its intent at odds with the emotions currently gripping her.

Within the library, she found Viktor Krum, who appeared deep in his studies, surrounded by transfiguration books and what seemed to be an intricate anatomical study of a fish.

Fleur noted his awareness of the upcoming second task. As she passed, he looked up, blinking away a faint glazed look and hurriedly covering his notes. Fleur acknowledged him with a nod of her head.

A familiar voice, Hermione Granger's, sounded from among the shelves. "Someone took out the best book about magical creatures," Hermione complained. "Madam Pince told me it was the Beauxbatons' champion that took it out. She shouldn't be allowed to take books out of our library. Isn't one school's knowledge enough for her?"

Viktor Krum's grin held a hint of amusement as he replied to Hermione, "We do not have access to our own libraries, Hermione. It is a good sign, da. Fleur Delacour is winning. If she has the book we want, it means we're on the right track."

Fleur's thoughts echoed his sentiment. "Yes, it does."

Hermione, however, remained skeptical. "It's still a bad idea," she insisted. "She's already bewitched Harry, and he was joint second with you. You're probably her next target, Viktor."

Viktor Krum's eyes danced with amusement. "You think because she is Veela, she'll manage to charm me into letting her win? I'm from Bulgaria; we have a proud tradition of Veela witches there. They rarely stoop to such a thing. Besides, I am very competitive. I do not let anyone beat me."

Hermione was persistent. "And Harry? She used her allure on him, everyone knows that."

Fleur bristled at the implication. "Not like that, I didn't," she thought bitterly. "And it didn't affect him at all, anyway."

Viktor Krum's analysis caught Hermione's attention. "He didn't seem enthralled by her at the Yule Ball," Viktor pointed out. "You can tell when someone is under the charm of a Veela; it shows in their eyes. I've never seen it in his, Harry Potter seems even more resistant than I am, so even if she tried, she must've failed. It hardly matters given the location of the next task. A Veela's at a disadvantage in such conditions."

Hermione considered the upcoming task. "Only if you manage to transfigure yourself," she remarked.

Viktor Krum chuckled and added, "Exactly why I should be concentrating on learning the details of this diagram and not getting distracted talking with pretty girls." Hermione blushed at the comment.

He then turned more serious. "It's only a partial transfiguration. I'll be fine, but we should keep our voices down. Fleur Delacour is in the library too and might come back this way."

Hermione's curiosity was piqued. "Maybe she brought the book back," she suggested hopefully.

However, Viktor Krum's response dashed her hopes. "It won't be returned until after the task."

Fleur skimmed the titles of numerous books on enchanted items that could render water breathable, along with a study of the Greek wizarding city of Atlantis, which had been swallowed by the sea when the Santorini volcano erupted over a millennium ago. "They produce a lot of aquatic water plants for potions' ingredients, so they ought to know something about it," she reasoned.

She selected a particular book and quickly flipped through the pages. "The Divers' Charm… it takes oxygen from the water and keeps a thin, constant layer of it on the reverse side of some cloth," she read through the details beneath. "That'll do."

With her newfound knowledge in hand, Fleur left the library, moving through the corridors with a sense of purpose.

As she passed the Great Hall, Fleur noticed that heads began to turn, and she realized that her disillusionment charm had worn off. Panic set in for a moment as she reached for her wand. "Merde," she whispered under her breath. She was now visible to everyone.

Fleur mustered a polite smile and maintained her composure as she strode through the hall. Her heart pounded as she spotted a head of unruly, black hair waiting at the far end of the Gryffindor table.

Dread filled her as she pondered what to say to Harry if he saw her. "He'll be angry. He thinks I tricked him into kissing me," she thought, her stomach twisting with anxiety. "I don't know what to say..."

Fleur's steps faltered, and she turned back the way she came. "It's for the best," she reasoned. "If I talk to him before I've straightened things out with myself, I'll only make a mess of it."

In his slumber, he found himself immersed in a surreal expanse of frozen statues, their crystalline forms extending as far as the eye could fathom. These sculptures glistened and gleamed beneath the soft glow of countless candles, as mistletoe twined itself around them, akin to ivy on the remnants of ancient, weathered walls.

Amidst this ethereal scene, Fleur moved gracefully, her shimmering gown trailing behind her in a dance that wove enchantment. Her gentle, inviting smile tugged at the strings of Harry's heart, as if he were a marionette under her delicate, skillful control.

Desiring to draw nearer, Harry found himself tongue-tied, unable to utter the words that beckoned her closer. He could only watch in silent longing as Fleur continued to dance, her presence causing the ice statues to slowly relinquish their frozen forms.

As they melted, Fleur danced upon the glistening surface of the water that emerged, her steps light as air, making her seem weightless, as though she were a feather adrift on the gentle waves. Her radiant silhouette gradually receded into the distance, while the dark, frigid waters of the Black Lake began to creep up, lapping at Harry's ankles.

Harry awoke, finding his feet extending beyond the bed's edge within the Room of Requirement. The room's once vibrant blue and silver sheets and pillows transformed into a more subdued white, and the lingering scent of burnt holly slowly dissipated, replaced by a faint memory of Fleur's fragrant colors.

With a resigned sigh, he muttered, "This room truly has no regard for people's privacy."

Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and hastily donned his robes, reaching for his glasses on the nearby nightstand. It was time for breakfast, or so he assumed. A quick Tempus charm confirmed that it was, in fact, closer to lunch.

Securing his wand, which he had hidden beneath his pillow, back into the sleeve of his robe, he stumbled down the winding stairs leading to the Great Hall. He plopped himself down at the end of the bench, causing a few first-year students to shuffle farther away from him as he helped himself to a generous portion of mashed potatoes smothered in savory gravy.

Harry eagerly devoured his first few forkfuls of mashed potatoes, appreciating the comforting taste. As he ate, his mind played host to a cascade of memories, like ink seeping through parchment, and at their core were the sugary images of Fleur's tender, sugar-glazed lips. He pondered the reason behind her kiss, wondering, "Why did she kiss me? It was meant to be a test of her allure, and she couldn't have thought I would dislike it, not after an entire evening spent getting accustomed to her proximity."

Absentmindedly, he twirled his wand on the tabletop, lost in thought. "Is there something inherently special about veela kisses?" Harry mused, his sigh a testament to his perplexity. "It would make sense if I had tried to kiss her—I was enthralled. But her kissing me? That doesn't seem to add up."

The Great Hall gradually filled with people, groups gathering along the table from the entrance to the teacher's dais. Harry observed the influx of students in the reflection of the magnificent stained glass window.

Seamus and Neville, looking cheerful, entered the hall, escorting a rather gloomy Ron and Dean. Ginny, on the other hand, engaged in a conversation with a blond Ravenclaw student whom Harry vaguely recognized. Katie, typically among the Gryffindor chasers, sat in the middle of her teammates, absentmindedly toying with her food as Alicia and Angelina animatedly conversed nearby.

It was evident that she had not enjoyed her evening, as she bore the telltale signs of a less-than-ideal experience. In that moment, Harry's emotions were a complex mix of sympathy and a small, but undeniable, rush of satisfaction. He couldn't help but think that her night would have been far more enjoyable if she hadn't agreed to accompany Roger Davies, of all people.

As he gazed out into the dimly lit room, a glint of something familiar in the window caught his attention, prompting a gasp. "Fleur," he whispered under his breath, his heart quickening with both anticipation and apprehension. He swiftly clamped his hand over his mouth, fearful that he might inadvertently say more.

Fleur, her presence radiating an aura of ethereal beauty, drifted gracefully between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. Her steps, however, seemed uncertain, and the charming smile that was usually a permanent fixture on her face appeared to be a facade. Harry's heart ached at the sight, and a strong desire welled up within him. He wished he could wipe away that polite, reserved curve of her lips and reveal the true warmth of her genuine smile.

Suddenly, Fleur's gaze shifted towards the end of the table where Harry sat. She froze in mid-stride, and the forced smile slipped from her lips. Without a word, she turned and walked away. The realization hit Harry like a cold, icy grip around his heart—she was avoiding him.

Harry sighed in disappointment, the hollowness in his chest intensifying. He lightly spun his wand on the table surface and then carefully slid it back into his sleeve. Time seemed to crawl as he counted the seconds, hoping that a chance to make amends would eventually present itself.

By now, she had likely left the hall. Harry pushed his chair back and swiftly strode out into the corridor. However, a flicker of hope crossed his mind—what if she were waiting for him just outside?

As he approached the staircase and surveyed the corridor, there was no telltale shimmer or sign of her presence. His heart sank further, and a numb, cold emptiness settled in his chest. Determined to find her, Harry took the stairs two at a time and hurried towards the Chamber of Secrets.

Upon entering, he was greeted by Myrtle's presence. However, the initial cheer on her face faded as she observed his distressed expression. Concerned, she inquired, "What's wrong, Harry?"

Harry stared down at the puddle on the floor, struggling with the words that threatened to burst forth. "You flooded the bathroom again, Myrtle," he finally muttered.

The ghost let out a mischievous giggle. "Well, if you slip and break your neck, you can stay here with me."

"Thanks, Myrtle," Harry replied with a wry smile before opening the chamber door and descending the stone steps.

As he entered the study within the Chamber of Secrets, Salazar Slytherin's portrait immediately chimed in with a stern tone, "Don't even think about opening that egg."

Harry frowned, pondering the task at hand. "I have to open it to figure out the clue," he explained.

Salazar countered, "Maybe the clue is on the outside?"

Harry responded with a flat, resolute look. "I'd endure the egg's relentless screams all day, but it won't change whatever mess I've got with Fleur."

Salazar grumbled in agreement, "It sounds worse than Godric's singing. The only things less bearable than his singing were the months he spent learning Mermish and speaking it constantly above water, and Rowena's poetry. She just couldn't grasp that a poem needed more than just rhythm and rhyming."

Harry began to tune out Salazar's complaints, his mind preoccupied with the enigmatic nature of the egg. He couldn't help but wonder if the basilisk lurking in the chamber had been influenced by the constant bickering of its former inhabitants. "If the basilisk can hear you talking to yourself," Harry mused, "then perhaps Tom Riddle isn't solely responsible for its madness."

"Right, you," Harry addressed the egg, prodding at it until it swiveled and toppled onto its side.

"Mermish," Salazar exclaimed.

Harry couldn't help but think, "I think he may actually be growing senile. I didn't know that could happen to paintings. Perhaps the magic wears off over time."

Salazar, however, persisted with his advice, "Don't open it until it's underwater."

Harry sighed, crossing his arms. "I can't hear it if it's underwater."

In Parseltongue, Salazar hissed, "You'll be underwater, too. Stop doubting and listen to the wisdom of a wizard who was hailed as one of the greatest of all time."

Harry contemplated this for a moment and finally asked, "Will it sound any different underwater?"

"It's Mermish. It sounds horrible above the ground, but below it's supposed to be quite beautiful," Salazar explained.

Harry considered this and then asked, "How deep is the pool?"

Salazar replied, "Only about five meters. I didn't want my basilisk to drown if she fell in." He couldn't help but grin as he added, "It will be cold, though."

Harry couldn't help but reflect on the irony of his situation. "It seems my anti-Salazar device has come back to bite me."

As the egg continued to screech all the way to the bridge, drowning out Salazar's indignant protests, Harry wasted no time. He swiftly stripped off his clothes and descended into the pool, the vast visage of Salazar's face watching over him. The moment the water covered his ears, choral singing emanated from the egg in his hands.

"'Come seek us where our voices sound. We cannot sing above the ground. And while you're searching, ponder this; we've taken what you'll sorely miss. An hour long you'll have to look, and to recover what we took, but past an hour, the prospect's black; too late, it's gone; it won't come back,'" the enchanting voices echoed, delivering the cryptic message Harry needed to decipher.

Harry struggled to regain warmth as he pulled himself out of the pool, shivering like a leaf in the cold confines of the Chamber of Secrets. He fumbled to retrieve his wand from beneath his robes, his chattering teeth making it difficult, but he managed to mutter the incantation for half a dozen warming charms. After some time, the color began to return to his cheeks, and he pulled his robes back on before stumbling back into the study.

Salazar couldn't help but tease, "Was it warm?" His amusement was evident as he observed Harry's blue fingernails and pallid complexion. "It looks like it was warm."

Ignoring the jibe, Harry responded, "I will leave the egg open when I depart..."

Salazar inquired further, "What did it say?"

"It mentioned something of mine that has been taken, or will be taken," Harry explained.

Salazar raised an eyebrow in a manner that Harry found eerily familiar. "I thought everything you possessed was down here cluttering up my study?"

Harry pondered the riddle and replied, "So did I... Maybe it's just a turn of phrase."

Salazar contemplated the situation, suggesting, "Perhaps they intend to take something you can't hide or protect even with warning and time to prepare. A person, perhaps?"

Harry was quick to reject the idea. "Who would I even miss? They can't choose another champion; that wouldn't work."

His thoughts then turned to his godfather, Sirius Black, and he added with a hint of concern, "The only person they could take is my godfather. If they find him, then being party to the tournament is the least of his worries, or mine."

Salazar leaned in, curious. "What else did you learn?"

"Whatever they intend for me to retrieve will be kept by the Merpeople, underwater, for at least an hour," Harry explained.

Salazar pondered this and remarked, "There are merpeople in the Black Lake. Godric used to talk to them."

Harry nodded in agreement, his face contorting with annoyance. "There's a giant squid in there too, and who knows what else lurks beneath the surface. I bet it's as bone-chillingly cold as that pool."

Salazar, showing his curiosity, asked, "Where did the squid come from?"

Harry shrugged. "How would I know?"

"You might've been curious," Salazar suggested.

Harry chuckled, recalling a random piece of trivia. "I wasn't, but I do know it eats toast. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan have a habit of feeding it."

Salazar corrected him with a sly grin, "Squid do not eat toast. Still, I advise avoiding it for the duration of the task. Unless you're the type who enjoys cuddling creatures with lots of tentacles?" He playfully stroked his goatee with the fingers of his left hand. "How do you intend to breathe? There's the Bubble-Head Charm, but it isn't meant for long-term use. Self-transfiguration, enchantment, and even a selection of magical plants might be better options."

"Transfiguration is my specialty," Harry replied. "I don't want to rely on anything from Snape's stores. He's probably pre-emptively poisoned half of it."

"You'll have to pick something to transfigure yourself into. You've chosen the hardest route. You won't be able to master a full self-transfiguration in time, but a partial one could be managed," Salazar advised.

Harry nodded, contemplating his options. "Obviously, it needs to be something that breathes underwater."

Salazar warned against making it too complex, his fingers drumming on his chin. He playfully pushed aside his serpent's tail when it curled around his forehead and muttered, "You only need to breathe for an hour, gills would be enough." He exasperatedly removed the snake from his neck and let it drop to the floor. "Irritating reptile."

Harry chuckled and accepted the advice. "I guess I'll just stick with gills, then."

Salazar continued with the instructions, "You're going to have to redesign half of your respiratory system. If you replace the alveoli and bronchi within your lungs with the filaments of gills, you'll simply have to inhale water to breathe. As long as you keep oxygenated water flowing over the filaments, you'll be fine."

Harry frowned at the apparent simplicity of the concept, having learned from past experiences. "That sounds deceptively simple. Everything you've made sound simple turns out to be horribly complex, like blood magic, or Parseltongue."

Salazar reassured him, saying, "Well, you'll have to breathe very quickly to keep the water flowing in and out fast enough, and it'll feel extremely unnatural to inhale water in such a manner."

Harry sighed, resigned. "I knew there would be a catch."

Salazar added a final piece of advice, "If you're careful, you'll be fine. I'll teach you the spells used to reverse faulty transfigurations before you start practicing, just in case. And don't even think of dying in some kind of transfiguration-related mishap. Godric will never let me hear the end of it if you do."

"You know, it's probably unfair that I have your assistance," Harry mused.

Salazar countered, "Unfair on who? Your rivals? Tom Riddle? Albus Dumbledore?" He gave Harry that familiar, no-nonsense look that Harry had come to recognize as the "you're-acting-like-Godric" expression. "You're here to win."

Harry considered this and admitted, "I suppose that's true."

Salazar inquired further, "You aren't going to defend Dumbledore?"

Harry's response was firm, "The prat has been doing his best to get me killed every year; I won't be defending him again."

A sly smile crept across Salazar's face. "There's my heir. Don't let him use you; you aren't his sacrifice to make."

Harry asserted his independence, saying, "I'm not anyone's sacrifice but my own."

Salazar sighed, reflecting on Harry's determination. "I suppose that's better than being everyone's enduring, noble hero. Any chance you'd consider not dying to destroy that Horcrux?"

Harry's voice held a sense of somber resolve as he replied, "It has to be destroyed. I can't stand here and pretend my life outweighs the hundreds, and maybe even thousands of lives it would save."

Salazar observed Harry closely, his deep green eyes searching. "You've not snapped at me. Are you okay, Harry?"

"The Yule Ball didn't go how I expected," Harry confessed, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Salazar raised an eyebrow, asking, "The Katie girl again?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I went with Fleur, my rival."

Salazar leaned in, clearly intrigued. "I assume there's some context to explain that?"

Harry gathered his thoughts and explained further, "I didn't realize at first, but she's a bit like me. I remembered what you told me about finding equals, and her company's not awful. She... demanded that I take her to the Ball. I agreed. She told me she was different from all the others who turned on me."

Salazar's gaze softened as he inquired, "She left you for another during the evening?"

Harry shook his head once more. "No. We spent the day before together, getting to know each other a bit beforehand. We talked about a few things, the egg, the second task, veela..." He hesitated as he noticed Salazar's expression darkening. "What?"

"Veela?" Salazar repeated, his tone contemplative.

Harry nodded, confirming, "She is a veela."

Salazar muttered, "That makes sense. Did she try to use her allure to get you to do something?"

"I'm resistant," Harry stated.

Salazar nodded with approval. "Of course you are! My family has always been gifted with the mind arts. The longer you study Occlumency, the less effect you will feel from such magic."

Harry continued his account, saying, "She turned the full force of it upon me to test my resistance. Once I gave in, she kissed me and left."

Salazar's frown deepened as he considered the situation. "I don't understand. There seems to be no dilemma except why she might've kissed you. I feared..."

Harry couldn't hide his disappointment as he admitted, "She's avoiding me." The memory of Fleur turning away from him in the hall gnawed at him, and he clenched his fists. "I thought - I knew it'd be too good to be true. I'm fourteen. She's seventeen. She kissed me after testing how well I could resist her allure. She knows I don't like people close to me. And now she's avoiding me."

Salazar murmured, "Ah."

Harry looked at the painting in confusion. "Ah?"

"I was about to say that my fears seemed unfounded, but..." Salazar trailed off.

"But they weren't?" Harry pressed.

Salazar explained, "You said she asked about the second task and the egg." He picked up his snake and let it coil around his wand arm. "And she began avoiding you shortly after realizing you were not entirely resistant to her allure."

As Harry processed this information, pieces began to fall into place in his mind like the initial stones of an avalanche. He realized, with a heavy heart, that she had sought to understand him not out of genuine interest, but to find a way to gain an advantage. The revelation stung. "She understood me, but she just wanted to find some way of beating me. A fist of ice clenched around his heart. She lied. She's just like all the rest."

Salazar offered a tentative perspective, murmuring, "I could be wrong. She didn't have to kiss you."

Harry's laughter was bitter and laced with a hint of anguish. "No, she didn't have to kiss me, but she wanted me to know she'd won, didn't she?" The icy feeling in his chest began to seep into his veins. "She used me," he hissed.

Salazar sought to understand the depth of Harry's feelings. "She didn't need to ask you to the Yule Ball. You're taking this very hard, Harry. What does this girl mean to you?"

Harry grappled with the overwhelming mix of emotions—the icy bitterness, the knot in his gut, and the aching in his chest. He admitted, "Fleur was supposed to... she was meant to understand. To be my friend. A real friend, one who wouldn't turn out like Ron, or Hermione, or Katie, or any of the rest of the people who just want me to be a hero when it's convenient, then disappear when it's not."

As he poured out his frustrations and regrets, a relentless, chilling voice in the back of his mind echoed one name repeatedly: Albus Dumbledore. The name hovered amidst the storm of his emotions like a dense, freezing fog, each repetition an accusation for the years the headmaster had seemingly placed him in danger. The despair began to eclipse his rage, shrouding it in a thick, dark blanket, like night clouds blotting out the stars one by one.

Harry's grip on his emotions tightened as he continued, his words laced with self-reflection and self-blame. "You were right. I let them take advantage. I let them walk over me as if my goals and dreams didn't matter as much as theirs. I let them, because the way they looked at me made me feel like I was somebody important after all those years of being nobody. I deluded myself into playing the hero for people who'd trade away everything I gave them in a heartbeat just to win some small token."

The snake that had coiled around Salazar's wand-arm retreated inside his robes, the weight of the moment palpable.

"We're such wretched creatures," Harry mused, acknowledging the flaws in himself and others. He pushed the despair down, burying it beneath the icy facade. "I don't need to be better than them. They wouldn't even understand it. There's no reason not to chase my own dreams."

With determination in his voice, he declared, "I'll seize my dreams, and if I find anyone worthy of my trust and friendship along the way, then so be it." Taking a deep breath, he asked in disbelief, "How can Dumbledore expect me to die for people like this?"

Salazar's gaze sharpened as he posed a thought-provoking question, "Can you name a single one of them who'd die for you, Harry?"

The answer was a resounding "No," sending a blizzard of ice swirling through Harry's veins. He was resolved not to become a mere pawn, not for a world that had seemingly done nothing for him. He retrieved the Marauders' Map from his pocket and scanned it, his eyes searching for a familiar name. "Where are you? You're always there when I look, Pettigrew. Where are you now?"

Pettigrew's name appeared beside the Quidditch pitch, and Harry took one look before dropping the map onto the table.

Salazar inquired, "Where are you going, Harry? You need to be careful."

Struggling for words, Harry finally said, "I'm the Heir of Slytherin." The words sounded like they belonged to Salazar, not himself. "I'm not a sacrifice for lesser wizards. I refuse to be sacrificed for people like them." He took a deep breath, exhaling his determination. "They don't deserve it. They don't deserve a hero. And they're not going to get one."

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