A/N: Hello people and welcome to a fun, light-hearted fic with Harry, Fleur and friends! Part 13 with still another 8~ on the way! (There could be a bit more too, maybe, and thank you for all the comments)
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When Harry blinked himself back into a state of awareness after being so suddenly pulled away from the centre of the maze, he found that he and Fleur had not been brought back to the pitch, or anyplace else that was familiar. No, by the look of things, they'd appeared in a cemetery after they'd grabbed the Goblet — he looked around, given Fleur wasn't directly by his side as she'd previously been. His fear spiked when she wasn't immediately found in any direction he glanced.
But as easily as said fear had come, it abated, for he saw her some few feet away, and partially concealed by a tombstone. It was her hair, blonde and all but glowing in the otherwise dark, moonlit cemetery.
He waved to her after the relief had run through him, and with his other wand — his wand hand — he put a finger over his lips. If they'd not gone back immediately, he reckoned that meant this was some sort of final bit of the task. Creepy as it was, it had to be.
Fleur did as he wished, and remained silent easily enough as she sought Harry's side out the moment they'd seen one another. In no time at all, she reached it and immediately wrapped an arm around his person so as to pull him close. He could feel from the very first moment they made contact, how much their doing so eased the worry that'd been present on her visage.
"Alright?" he asked, his voice so low a whisper that he half thought she'd not heard him.
Not until she responded after some few steps taken. "I am weezout eenjury," she turned her attention from peering ahead, where a building was, back to Harry. "You are as well, yes?"
"I am," Harry took in a breath. Good. That was good. They were both fine, just a smidge shaken after that bloody goblet had brought them Merlin knows where. "Reckon we should be careful. This could be part of the task."
Fleur's hold around his centre tightened in response to his words. "Weez zat, I agree. We must stay close to one anozzer — I weel check for traps or wards, you kee—"
Harry cut her off by pulling her down, behind the nearest tombstone. He'd heard something from the area ahead, and past a few statues and countless tombstones, he saw a light flicker on. Torchlight, by the look of it. His eyes danced around whilst he waited for a person, beast or something of that ilk to come forth; graves were everywhere, but strangely enough, a cauldron too was present and right in the midst of the area before them.
It almost seemed like it was actively working towards something too, and whilst he was, admittedly, quite curious, he wasn't reckless. Fleur and Hermione together had tempered him into being a more patient person, and beyond that, the French witches especially had given him more cause to care for his person.
"We stay togezzer," Fleur whispered those words directly into his ear, her soft lips pressing thereagainst as her breath splashed down the side of his neck. He shivered, and when her arm tightened again around him, he brought over his own and held her closer; she was too dear to him to allow anything to happen to her.
He'd die before she fell.
"Together." Harry's voice was instilled with promise. "Here they come." his latter words were said when, from that same area they'd been looking towards earlier, a figure approached. It was dark, with a dirty mass of hair atop its head and something clutched in one arm.
Harry winced then. A tingling sensation hitting his scar. One that, as the person approached, grew from tingling, to painful.
He knew what that meant, and without pause, a feeling of dread overtook him. He knew he could best Voldemort time and time again, but Fleur was here. That'd normally always make him happy, but Merlin, he didn't want to risk her. The thought of a future sans her presence was sobering and rage-inducing.
Abruptly, he rolled his neck and tightened his hold of his wand.
He'd do what he had to.
"Harry?" The voice that came from the figure was familiar, and caused those embers of anger to further inflame themselves; Peter Pettigrew. Scabbers. Wormtail. "I… I know you're here, Harry. There's n-no need to hide! Your mother and father…"
At the mention of his parents, Harry tuned out the voice of the man before him, and began to shift. He was preparing to jump out from behind cover, and stun the man.
But Fleur pinched his side, and pressed herself into his side in a silent show of comfort.
That cooled the fury he'd been feeling just as quickly as it'd formed, and after it did, a thought struck him.
This wasn't part of the task. No, as Wormtail shifted about with Voldemort nearby — perhaps even on the back of the traitor's head or in his arm — and called for Harry in that eerie, 'friendly', stuttering voice of his, Harry concluded there'd been more tampering, like in the second task.
Or what'd seen his name entered into the Goblet in the first place.
For all he knew, and really, what he'd begun to reckon as he hid behind cover with Fleur, was the whole tournament had been manipulated for this exact moment.
If that were the case, the amount of planning they'd put forth had been extreme, and the level of danger would mimic that.
"Zey weel see zat we took ze Goblet, and zen zay weel look for us," Fleur's voice filled his ear once more. The warmth and splash of her breath, despite the earlier whisper that should've prepared him, still sent a myriad of shivers from where it made contact, all throughout his person. "Eef we 'ave to do battle weez 'eem, we weel 'old 'eem off togezzer, unteel zey come."
Harry hoped it didn't come to that. "There's two," he wouldn't keep Voldemort's presence a secret. "He's here. You know who." he'd almost said his name aloud, but with the man himself nearby, a tickle in the back of his mind told him not to; maybe it was childish, but he swore when you spoke of a person you were hiding from, they always tended to find you.
Fleur had a sharp intake of breath as a result of his words. "You are sure?" Hope was evident in her tone — a hope that Harry was wrong.
But he wasn't. "I'm sure." He knew what that feeling in his scar meant. "When he comes, don't get between us. I've fought him before. I can do it again… just handle Wormtai—"
A blast went off.
Harry saw Fleur pushed away from him, and then, all that was, went dark.
When he came to, he found he was bound by a statue he'd taken note of earlier. It'd been close to the cauldron, and as his blurry vision cleared, that familiar cauldron came into view once more; it seemed closer than it'd been.
He looked to his left and right, but he didn't see Fleur. She wasn't held captive by either of the statues near to his own. When he failed to see her, his heart sank.
That feeling was exasperated when Wormtail walked out from behind him, and smiled, wide as could be and whilst his shrivelled, hunched-over self nodded rapidly, as if responding to something. Harry needn't wonder what that was, for a second later, and as Wormtail came closer and closer, Harry saw what the man had been holding all along; a broken, bony, malformed body.
One that was alive, and caused an intense, burning heat to start again in his scar.
It was Voldemort.
He was here, in Wormtail's clutch.
Harry struggled against the stone-made bonds he'd been placed under. His wand. He needed his wand — and Fleur. Wherever she was, she would be alright. She had to be.
Wormtail hit Harry with a spell, helpless and struggling as he was.
Words were spoken which he couldn't comprehend or make out thanks to the ringing of his ears, and the dizziness that now took hold of him. Whatever spell had been used had disoriented him something fierce, enough so that even with his glasses on, his vision was blurred and doubled.
He winced away from the snivelling man when he drew closer, the sounds and 'apologies' given only vaguely registering… but there was only so far he could shift his body. And so, as Wormtail stood right before him, the two nearly touching before he whispered an apology, Harry could do little but let out a sharp yell of pain as he felt something sharp cut him.
As if it hurt Wormtail as well, he too let out a pained noise as he withdrew the knife he'd cut him with. With it covered in blood, he shushed Harry and spoke again, his words still unintelligible after the spell he'd used; they hadn't been for Harry anyways.
An answer came from a broken voice as soon as Wormtail was finished, one that caused further pain by way of Harry's scar. The two moved away from him then, happy to leave Harry to bleed where he'd been cut. 'Alone' as he was, he tried shifting again, ignoring the throbbing pain from where he'd been sliced open. He needed his wand, he needed Fleur, and he needed both to make his escape.
Some few seconds later, and as his vision as well as the rest of his senses finally righted themselves, he saw Wormtail flourish his wand, and dump the abomination that was Voldemort into the cauldron he'd taken notice of.
Before he could blink or mull over what he'd just witnessed, he was dropped to the ground. The statue that'd held him had released its hold seemingly of its own volition, but he knew better. With a turn of his head to look towards the back thereof, he saw Fleur; she was bloodied with her clothing ripped and her angelic visage marred by way of dirt and mud, but still, she seemed an angel.
She shoved his wand into his hand, pulled Harry up with her off-hand whilst mimicking his earlier action — that being to put a finger over her lips to shush him — and nodded towards the Goblet. He watched as she raised her wand thereat, he watched as she summoned forth the item that'd be their escape.
And he watched as it was frozen in mid-air.
When he turned to look away from their escape and towards Wormtail, who'd likely halted it, he saw something he'd yearned never to see.
Voldemort — not in the body of a misshapen little creature, not but a face on the back of one's head, no. This time, the man was a man once more, and with wand in hand, this version of the Dark Lord seemed the most dangerous he'd seen to date.
"Harry Potter." Voldemort smiled wide as could be, and then, with speed unlike that of any Harry had ever seen before, he brought forth his wand and their fight began.
Fleur had cleared whatever had hindered his senses when she'd gotten him down. If she hadn't done so by way of a spell, it was her presence; whatever the cause, it kept him in the fight.
He'd had just enough time and wits about him to summon a shield when Voldemort had sent an opening chain of spells their way. Where one might imagine he'd be slow, having just been returned to a physical form… Merlin, that couldn't be farther from the truth. He was fast, and powerful, and fearsome.
Enough so that it took Fleur and Harry both to cast shields or summon forth cover in the form of tombstones, rocks and whatever else they could grab in time to prevent shield-breakers or spells that'd ignore protego altogether from striking true. Had Wormtail joined in the fighting, it'd likely have tipped the scales decisively.
But the 'man' was left on the ground, partially hidden behind a tombstone whilst whimpering loudly.
Harry's eyes went wide when his shield was broken — he'd misread the spells as they'd come in — and the spell he found streaking towards him, was one he recognised. He threw himself to the ground, that being all that he could do, and rolled. The statue just behind him was cleaved clean in two when the spell struck it, and fell backwards, much to Harry's relief.
He heard Fleur let out a screech from where she'd been some few feet away, but he couldn't risk glancing her way. Any time not spent actively fighting Voldemort, was time in which one could be killed. So he rolled further, until he was on the opposite side of the tombstone he'd used for cover, and from there he rose again with wand in-hand and spells leaving it, one after the other.
It was only then, whilst moving from stone-made cover to stone-made cover, that he took a peek at Fleur to ensure she'd not been struck.
By the look of her, she hadn't; she was in her full Veela form, with one hand clutching her wand whilst the other held flames. Relentlessly, she tossed fireball after fireball whilst moving with speed that was, frankly, unhuman; it was a sight that, were the situation not dire, would have had him left awestruck.
Harry's own wand had kept up its saturation as he too dodged around on account of the plethora of cover surrounding him, but after witnessing Fleur's primal ferocity, he was left instilled with a new sense of confidence and hope, and so he pressed the attack as she was, but from Voldemort's other side.
With flanking spellfire from two wands and real fire joining it time and time again, surely they could force him back and have his hold over the goblet ripped away.
Fleur
Fleur had joined Harry in taking on the Dark Lord without pause. She had sworn to protect him, to care for him, to keep him close — to stay together, and that is what she would do. With her wand, she had attempted to cast a disarming spell at the man, but he had reacted faster than his followers she'd previously fought.
Far faster.
In the short time after he'd cast aside her spell, he'd sent a flurry of his own at her and Harry. Were it not for her aforementioned Harry, at least half would have struck her. But he'd thrown up a shield and intercepted some, whilst others, he'd banished a chunk of stone towards — all of that effort from him still hadn't ultimately been enough, and so he'd yanked her back.
From there, the pair had moved a few feet away from one another lest the monster use spells the likes of Bombarda, as his follower had done when he'd caught them unaware with recklessly cast magic to flush them out, and went on the defensive.
'Fighting' him with her Harry as she was, Fleur thought back to the mention of Grindelwald, the slayer of many French wizards and witches. He was quicker than any had a right to be, focused and calculating, and most of all, bloodthirsty. Many of the spells sent her way had been intended to kill.
As for Harry, it seemed he wanted to capture him or to wound him for another purpose. One that would be sinister no doubt.
Sh—
Fleur was taken from her observation of the monster and the constant duelling and dodging from his many spells cast when she saw Harry's protego break. He fell to the ground after it did so, and she saw him roll to the side — hurt or wounded, she knew not.
Dying.
When such an idea went through her mind, Fleur's restraint was lost in its entirety; the Veela instincts within took hold at the realisation that she could truly lose Harry — her Harry — during the midst of this fight, and be condemned as a result thereof, to a state of permanent loneliness all over again.
A screech tore free of her throat the likes of which she'd not released even when she and Gabrielle had been asailled all those months ago, at the Quidditch cup. Fleur was, at this point in time, a Veela without restraint. Her wings, silver and scaled appeared at her back at the same time her body was covered in a thin, fine layer of feathers — most startling of all, however, was the change that happened to her head. It elongated and grew sharper, to the point her mouth was like that of a cruel, hooked beak.
Without pause after transforming and tearing free of her clothing, she took to the air. With fire in one hand and her wand in the other, she assaulted the monster that had dared to attack them.
The monster that had dared to steal Harry from her.
Fleur let loose a flurry of fire, from balls that burst when impact was made, to walls or that which looked like the breath of a dragon and beyond. All the knowledge her mother, grandmother or other family had ever passed to her was put to use.
And she saw Harry rise up during this single-handed siege, and she watched as he joined in her assault.
But it seemed Voldemort had enough. He raised his arms and bellowed, and each was knocked back.
Fleur was able to right herself easily enough, her wings and body twisting mid-air as the concussive blast struck. Another sharp-eyed look Harry's way revealed he too had weathered the blow, albeit behind the tombs that still littered the ground, despite a vast many having been destroyed during the fight they still found themselves in.
She propelled herself forward once more when she made sure her life's love was living, and sought to unleash her flames as fiercely as she could to make her displeasure, her fury, known. As she summoned forth a great ball of flame, one that started from her hand and had her wand join in its growth, and one that'd have burnt all the way to Harry's feet, her enhanced vision took in the sight of smokeish trails.
They gave her a moment's pause.
And in that moment, when the first struck the ground, it turned into a masked figure not at all unlike that which had accosted her and her sister. His followers had arrived. A great many of them.
Fleur swerved to the left as spellfire started towards her by way of the Dark Lord and all those who followed him, and tossed her ball of fire prematurely. Strong and of a size greater than most any magical could cast as it was, the monster still managed to make knocking it aside look easy as could be.
But that was all the time that Fleur had needed.
She'd switched directions and sought out Harry with a single-minded duty to protect him, even at the cost of her own state of well-being. If she had to stand before him as a human shield and eat the spells meant for him as he summoned forth the Goblet so that they might make their escape, so be it.
Whatever it took to see him well and alive.
In the span of a second, Fleur made it to Harry and wrapped her arms around his centre. As she did so, she thought of how strongly she felt about Harry and came to the conclusion that the love she'd felt for him was genuine and deeper than any she'd ever thought possible. One could never know how it'd feel to fall in love, not until it's happened. Only then could she understand just how far she was willing to go for him, her Harry; she braced for the spells that'd strike, but even still, if this were the end, she wished to see him safe and alive until it came, and so she kept her gaze on his face.
He yelled something to her, but over the yelling and screams of those around them, as well as the crackling of her fire and the burning of much of their surroundings, she couldn't tell what words he'd said.
Harry wrapped an arm around her when nought but a second had passed after he'd spoken, and with it, he fell to the ground whilst making her follow. She saw the flash of colour that indicated spells had gone by — two of them — but afterwards, it grew eerily dull save for the flickering of nearby flames, almost as if nothing more was coming their way.
Fleur turned swiftly when the lack of different-coloured lights dawned on her. As soon as she did so, her eyes sought where the goblet had been kept; their escape had to be done now, when they could take advantage of the lack of spells raining down atop them.
But it was then she took in just why no further spells had been sent their way.
At some point, in the heat of the moment, her ice had blasted out just as her flames had done when she'd used them. The two had then mingled, contrary to all expectations of fire and ice. She peered past the errant bits of fire and flame as they crackled in a strange chorus, towards the outskirts where the monster's many followers had been.
There, men were frozen or caught on fire. Their screams were mostly muted by a wall of ice similar to that which she could create with fire, only this wall of ice had done something her Veela flames didn't.
It'd formed a crescent, complete with a roof and all to separate them.
Fleur shook her head, looking away from all the Death Eaters that'd been burnt, caught by her ice or, in the case of some, frozen solid. She then took notice of those that weren't in any of the aforementioned three categories. All of them were busy instead with aiding their compatriots in putting out the flames that threatened to envelop them — the monster himself was pushed back momentarily, the ice and fire each blocking him from his desires.
Thus, with no better opportunity likely to present itself, Fleur ascertained her hold of Harry by way of her wings as she summoned forth the Goblet. His face was pressed against her chest, her head was atop his own, and her legs had wrapped around him.
He was safe, and he'd remain safe.
Her Harry.