CHAPTER – 19 CLASH

"Candidly, it doesn't surprise me much," Fleur remarked, savoring a spoonful of her frozen yogurt. "It's still a step up from the Ministry, isn't it?" "Really? That's all you have to say? Better than the Ministry." Fleur couldn't help but appreciate Harry's dry wit. His response was the perfect blend of contempt laced with nonchalance, a rare trait in this rather peculiar country. And it was indeed Harry, not Lord Potter or Monsieur Potter. If someone had told her a month ago that she'd be sitting in an ice cream parlor, enjoying a raspberry sundae with Harry Potter, engaging in mundane conversation on a Friday afternoon, she would have dismissed them as absurd and walked away. How circumstances change!

The two of them occupied their cozy nook at Florean's, with Fleur meticulously examining Harry's feedback on some of the investment proposals she had presented. Unlike her previous encounters, Fleur had opted for a semi-casual attire, eschewing the formal garb and bun. Her hair was neatly tied in a ponytail, and her silk blouse displayed a modest yet noticeable décolletage. She couldn't help but notice Harry's gaze briefly wandering downward, and she took a certain satisfaction in it. He, of course, feigned indifference, and she played along. It reassured her that while Harry Potter might resist her allure, it didn't mean he was immune to it.

Furthermore, it was no secret that finding worthwhile conversations among these individuals was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

"I'm somewhat surprised that Monsieur Black allows the Order to continue their meetings at your residence," Fleur noted.

"I'm not," Harry grumbled, "Our differences aside, the Order is fighting against Voldemort. The last thing I'd want is to hinder their efforts."

"Voldemort," she repeated, "a dreadful name for a dreadful being, isn't it?"

"A monster, not a man. One I've had to confront more times than I'd care to admit."

Fleur tilted her head, observing Harry who was now slouched in his chair, one elbow casually propped on the table. It wasn't exactly elegance but more of a relaxed posture, which created a striking contrast with the casual tone of his conversation.

"You remain an enigma to me, Harry," she confessed, "ever since our first encounter by the fireplace after the Triwizard Tournament drawing."

She wasn't exaggerating. When she had first crossed paths with Harry Potter, she had dismissed him. Throughout the year, she had maintained her distance, engaging in only brief and neutral conversations as the situation demanded. Then he had rescued Gabrielle, and her attitude toward him had softened somewhat. But, by Merlin, she had never realized how gratifying it could be to converse with a man who didn't practically drool in her presence.

He responded with a crooked grin, one of the genuine smiles she had observed on him. "Back then, you, Krum, and Cedric looked like true Champions. I was just... a mistake."

"A mistake that, in the end, turned into a champion, didn't it?" she mused, absentmindedly swirling her spoon through the yogurt. "In the Third Task."

"I still can't help but feel it's unjust, the way everything unfolded," he admitted. "I didn't enter my name, but I didn't truly deserve to win, either."

"Why would you say that?" Fleur cautiously inquired, hoping her words didn't come across as accusatory as they did in her own thoughts. Her disdain for Harry Potter had gradually transformed into a friendship of equals, given his relative immunity to her allure and his decency. It might not be much, but beggars couldn't be choosers. However, his words, his acknowledgment of his own limitations during the Triwizard Tournament, intrigued her. She wanted to understand what Harry Potter, the Triwizard Champion, thought about the whole event.

Harry let out a snort. "Honestly, I think you deserved to win the tournament."

Fleur frowned. "Now you're just flattering me."

He shook his head. "No, really. I mean, I was the one who decided to take on the dragon by following Moody's suggestion. I had nightmares for nights afterward, waking up in a cold sweat every time the dragon caught me in my dreams. There were like a hundred and twenty different things that could have gone wrong. Krum? He went at it head-on, blinding his dragon and exploiting that. Cedric, well, he just transfigured a dog. Nothing wrong with it, but it was... well, a bit dull."

A chuckle escaped from Fleur's lips at that assessment.

Harry's grin widened. "If I were the dragon, I'd have gone for Cedric instead. Maybe the dog could have collected the egg."

Fleur laughed once more at the somewhat morbid image.

"But you," Harry continued, "you did something truly inspiring. You enchanted a dragon to sleep. Just think about it, a heartstring of a dragon is powerful enough to craft a wand. Your enchantment was remarkable enough to overpower a fully grown dragon. If it were up to me, I'd have ranked you higher than everyone else."

Well, it turned out she wasn't very skilled at accepting genuine praise. Perhaps because most compliments she received were tainted by the allure. Her cheeks flushed, and she felt a growing excitement within her. Unlike others, Harry wasn't attempting to charm his way into her affections; he was genuinely acknowledging what he considered her outstanding qualities.

"I'm aware that veela are beings of fire, and I... I witnessed how those Grindylows were relentless in their attacks on you in the lake. You were at a clear disadvantage the whole time. And in the third task, Cedric used the Cruciatus Curse on you, which was clearly against the rules. He tricked me into attacking Krum and then ambushed me from behind. To be honest, if everything had played out fairly, either you or Krum would have been the rightful winner, not me."

Harry's words struck deep into Fleur's heart. After her lackluster performance in the Triwizard Tournament, life had become increasingly challenging for her. Winning the Triwizard would have offered her a chance at an independent life, free from her mother's influence. A thousand Galleons, a job at the Department of Mysteries in the French Ministry, and so much more were at stake. Instead, an English boy had emerged victorious, and she had received a dismal score in the second task, requiring rescue in the third task as well. The other Beauxbatons students had been merciless in depicting her as weak.

That was precisely why she had opted to work for Gringotts, even if it meant living in England, a place she genuinely despised.

"Although, there's something I don't quite grasp," Harry said. "You chose to work here of all places. I thought you detested everything about Britain."

Fleur felt herself blush. He had pinpointed her feelings accurately. "I'm training to become a wardmaster, Harry. Gringotts employs some of the finest wardbreakers and wardmasters in the field. I'm fortunate enough to be learning from William Weasley; he's—"

"Bill? You're learning from Bill?"

Fleur furrowed her brow. "Yes." After a brief moment of hesitation, she inquired further, "What do you think of him?"

Harry shrugged. "He's the eldest Weasley brother. He worked in Egypt initially, but he returned home this summer, I believe. He's also a member of the Order."

"Ah," she acknowledged, "He, umm, teaches me, and I practice in my spare time. I also work for Overseer Griphook in a part-time capacity."

"Oh," he muttered. "I did wonder."

"What do you mean?" Fleur asked.

"You, working at Gringotts as a paperwork person," Harry explained. "I always thought you'd be doing something, well, more enchanting or magical."

She clenched her fists. "You were discussing this Order, weren't you?"

"Sirius persuaded Dumbledore to allow me access to information about what Voldemort is planning. But it's not a big deal," he continued with a sly grin. "He had Kreacher eavesdrop on every Order meeting without the others knowing, and then he gave me the memory without Sirius ever realizing he had done so. After that, he obliviated his own memory of it."

Fleur blinked in surprise. "You mean—"

Harry burst into laughter. "We've only had one Order meeting since then, and Kreacher showed me his memory in the Pensieve. This way, Sirius doesn't have to break his Secrecy vows, and no one's the wiser." He chuckled before his expression suddenly changed. "Um, please don't mention this to anyone else."

Fleur couldn't help but smirk. "Too late."

"Damn!"

She threw her head back and laughed.

"Yeah, yeah! Have your laugh," he grumbled, though he couldn't quite hide the smile as Fleur's laughter filled the room.

Changing the subject, she inquired, "What about your friends?"

Harry's demeanor shifted, and the mirth faded from his face. "Friends... it's a bit... complicated. I received one letter from Ron earlier in the summer, but he didn't mention anything about Hermione staying at the Burrow with him."

"And you're upset about it."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I mean, Hermione is my closest friend. I know Ron's had a crush on her, but honestly, I don't think they're a good match. She's so passionate and enthusiastic about everything, while Ron tends to be laid-back and lackadaisical."

Fleur offered a comforting thought, "They do say opposites attract."

Harry's frown deepened. "I highly doubt that."

"You have feelings for her," she teased, though admitting it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

He seemed taken aback. "No. Yes? I mean... I've never really thought about Hermione that way. I did have a bit of a crush on Cho last year, but she ended up going with Cedric."

Fleur remembered Cho Chang, a pretty and delicate girl who probably had a gaggle of giggling girlfriends raving about how romantic it was to be in the spotlight with a Champion.

"What do you plan to do about it?" she inquired.

"Me?" Harry responded. "Nothing, really. I have a trial to prepare for, and all this... House business to deal with. I need to learn more spells, and my magic has been acting up lately. To be honest, it's one thing after another."

Ah, yes, that issue. Harry had been quite evasive about it. He had tried hard to pass it off as mere magical exhaustion, but Fleur knew better. It was in the way he hesitated before performing even the simplest spells, and the unsure looks he cast her way. She had seen him stand indecisive for a full minute before finally asking her to cast Scourgify. If she didn't know any better, she would've said he was afraid of attempting those first-year spells.

"Honestly, I'm not all that surprised. It suits you perfectly," she remarked with a mischievous grin.

She couldn't help but chuckle at the withering glare he shot her. "Oh, come on, you've told me you always find yourself in precarious situations like this. Or should I say, 'Arry?" She snorted. "You have to admit, there's a history here. Precedence."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're making it sound like it's my fault that Voldemort's been trying to—"

"I'm not just referring to Him," Fleur reassured, raising both her hands in a placating manner. "I've heard stories about you, Harry. The Philosopher's Stone in your first year. The Chamber of Secrets and the basilisk in your second. You saved William's little sister, didn't you?"

Harry's expression darkened at the mention of Bill's name.

"And then in your third year with Monsieur Black and those dementors..."

"Alright, I see your point," Harry grumbled.

Fleur reassured him, "I'm not saying this to make you feel guilty, Harry. You know I wouldn't do that. I just think you should have a talk with Monsieur Black about this whole situation."

"It's not that I don't want to tell him," he confessed, "It's just... Sirius has a lot on his plate right now. With the Black Lordship, my trial, and Dumbledore's..." He paused once more, gesturing in frustration. "I just don't want to burden him with even more."

Fleur bit her lip. "Harry, can I be honest with you? Without you getting upset?"

"Go ahead," he said.

She took a deep breath. "You've questioned Dumbledore multiple times about why this Dark Lord tried to kill you as a child, haven't you?"

"A question he's evaded repeatedly, yes," Harry confirmed.

Fleur winced at the bitterness in his tone. It was clear that this was a sore point for him.

"Why do you think he did that?" she probed.

"Because he—"

"Take a moment to think, and then tell me," Fleur gently urged.

In contrast to what she expected, Harry didn't become defensive. Instead, he took a deep breath and contemplated her question.

"He believed he was allowing me to have a normal childhood," Harry answered in a soft voice. "He thought I shouldn't have any more burdens to carry. But I'm not a child. I haven't been one for a long time. The Dursleys made sure of that." He furrowed his brow in frustration.

"The Dursleys?" Fleur asked.

A complicated and unreadable expression briefly crossed Harry's face. "My Muggle relatives. They... they despise magic."

Fleur had to employ every bit of her Occlumency training to conceal her surprise. The Boy-Who-Lived grew up with Muggles? Muggles who loathed magic? It explained much about him, while also opening up a myriad of new questions. She was tempted to delve deeper into the topic, but the look on his face told her he wasn't inclined to entertain questions about his upbringing.

"I understand," she replied. "So you're unhappy because he's making decisions for you."

Harry let out a breath of relief. "Yes, that's it. But what does this have to do with Sirius?"

Fleur leaned in closer. "Everything. Because, my friend, you are doing the same to Monsieur Black."

"I— I—"

There was a noticeable tension in Harry's demeanor, one that Fleur had witnessed precisely once before—on that fateful Halloween night when it all began. To her, someone highly attuned to the ebb and flow of magic, it was like observing a pressurized container, with wind pressing in from all sides.

It was the calm before an impending storm.

"I'm quite a mess, aren't I?" Harry openly acknowledged.

But the storm didn't break loose.

Fleur shot him a crooked grin. "Well, boys are known to be...faible, I believe. Dim, as you English say."

They shared a brief, lighthearted chuckle.

"I believe it's the solitude that's causing you to overthink," she suggested. "Perhaps a visit to the Weasley House would do you good, and it would make them happy too, non?"

"I don't think it's a good idea," Harry replied tersely. "I'm in the middle of a trial for murder, and a lot of influential individuals are holding me responsible for what occurred in the graveyard that night. I don't want to drag others into trouble."

Fleur shook her head in disagreement. "I'll say it again. Isolation isn't good for you, Harry."

"I'm not isolated," Harry protested. "I have Sirius and Andi with me. Besides, I need to regain control over my magic, and I'm learning new things. This is what's best for me. It's best for everyone."

"Merde!" she responded, the words sharp but devoid of anger in her tone. "You're just scared."

Harry retorted, "Damn right I am," his wand sparking with anger as he spoke. "I'm scared that some Death Eater might show up and harm innocent people just because they happen to be near me."

Fleur countered, "That's not what truly frightens you."

Harry lowered his head, admitting, "I... I don't want to talk about this."

"Move past it," Fleur advised, her tone even gentler now. "Harry, when the graveyard incident occurred, it tore apart your life. It stripped away everything familiar to you—your life, your wand, and even your comfort with magic."

"I still have a wand!"

"It's best that you start believing it before you inadvertently splinter it," she retorted, casting a brief glance toward his clenched fist. He promptly released his wand. "Harry, you... you dislike surprises. They catch you off guard. Even I can see that. Ever since the Tournament began, things have been out of control."

Something dark and furious flickered in his eyes at each word she spoke. For a moment, Fleur wondered if he might lash out. But she persisted. "Naturally, the notion of a fortress, a secure and familiar place that can't be taken from you, is tempting. Even if it means isolating yourself from everyone else."

"It's not like that," Harry protested. "And I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Fleur gently contradicted. "You are far from fine, and you have to acknowledge that."

Harry slowly shook his head. "This is not the right time to get in touch with my feelings."

"Perhaps not," Fleur responded as she stood up, "but I'll say this: taking on the Potter Lordship on top of everything else you're already dealing with... Is it genuinely good for you?"

He clenched his fists once more. "I just wanted to—"

"Connect with your own roots," Fleur finished his sentence. "And I understand that. But is that the only reason?"

Harry remained silent.

"Perhaps you should give it some thought," Fleur suggested as she stood up and began packing her files into her bag. "I should be on my way. I'll submit this to Gringotts first thing in the morning, and I also need to look for a new rental."

"What happened to the one you were staying in?" Harry inquired as they left the cafe and stepped onto the street.

Fleur responded, "It's nothing to be concerned about."

"It's clearly something," Harry retorted, standing up for her. "You know you can talk to me about it."

"Are you worried about me?" she teased, but her teasing tone gave way to surprise when he nodded.

"I know it's relatively recent, but I've been starting to think of you as a friend," Harry confessed. "So, yes, I suppose I am worried."

"Well..." Fleur began, her expression reflecting her uncertainty about how to respond to Harry's statement. Her mother had taught her to categorize people as subjects, enemies, rivals, or prey. But friendship? She had no concept of it, especially coming from someone as unconventional as Harry Potter. In terms of wealth, he was in the same financial league as her mother, if not the same zip code. In terms of power and influence, he was poised to become a significant force between two Noble Houses. Yet here he was, extending an offer of friendship while remaining entirely immune to her allure. Fleur had no prior experience to guide her on how to proceed.

"I..." She hesitated, feeling conflicted. "I have encountered some difficulties. Living in Britain has been incredibly challenging. The Leaky Cauldron is quite expensive, and Knockturn Alley is unsafe. I attempted to live in a Muggle neighborhood, but my Allure—"

"People stare," Harry concluded.

"...Yes," Fleur affirmed.

He fidgeted for a moment. "You can, you know, stay at my place. We have a spacious house, and there are only three of us living there—me, Sirius, and Andi. Andi has a job, so she's out most of the time. It's the same for you. The Order members come and go, but they generally restrict themselves to the ground floor, so you won't even notice them."

Fleur hesitated before saying, "I... can't."

"Why not?" Harry inquired.

"It wouldn't appear... proper," she explained.

"Rubbish," Harry snorted. He seemed like he was about to say more when Fleur sensed a surge of magic in the air. Before she could react, his hand grabbed her right arm and thrust her behind him with force, using his body as a shield, just as a volley of spells struck him and the large poster board he had conjured an instant before. Fleur struggled to get her wand in hand while Harry was already in action, swiftly moving forward as the attacker raised their wand to unleash a curse. He fired a blasting curse as he leaped forward to protect her, narrowly avoiding another spell that passed through the space they had occupied.

"PROTEGO ORBIS!" she heard him shout.

A translucent, silvery dome materialized around him, enveloping them and blocking the attackers. The speed at which he cast the protective spell was astonishing, rivaling some of the best duelists she had seen at Beauxbatons. The shield held firm as at least half a dozen spells struck it.

"Merde! Why are they attacking us?" Fleur yelled, positioning herself just behind him, a Disintegrating Hex on her lips.

"Welcome to my life!" Harry exclaimed.

Fleur could clearly make out four individuals, all donning silvery masks and black cloaks. She briefly locked eyes with Harry, finding a familiar, unwavering resolve in his green gaze, just as one of the assailants shouted, "DIE, POTTER!"

"Use fire," Harry whispered as the silver-colored spell struck the protective orb, shattering it. Fleur raised her wand and, with a determined flick, wielded it like a weapon.

"INCENDIO DUO!"

A massive sphere of crimson flames erupted from her wand, accompanied by a wave of searing white heat that surged toward the attackers. As a veela, controlling fire came naturally to her, and in this intense moment, her ability was amplified. However, nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.

"PROTEGO HORRIBILIS!"

Fleur wasn't entirely certain what had occurred, but somehow, the shattered remnants of the Protego shield transformed into pure energy and exploded outward as a raw, kinetic force, carrying the white heat of her spell with it. She winced as it struck one of the attackers head-on, lifting him bodily and sending him flying across the street. Two others were less fortunate, slamming into walls before collapsing. The remaining assailant crashed into a pewter cauldron, his head bleeding profusely. He remained motionless after the impact.

"Get up!" Harry commanded, his tone cold and relentless. "I didn't even hit you that hard."

Fleur shot him an incredulous look. Not hit that hard? She was certain that his spells would register in the upper eighties if not the low nineties on the Dupont-Lavigne index, and he didn't appear remotely fatigued. It was as though he hadn't even noticed the spells that had struck him earlier.

Instead, he strode forward and cast a wind spell, blowing away their masks.

"Pucey, Urquhart, and Murk," he called out. "What? Couldn't beat me on the Quidditch field, so you're trying to take me out of the game? Seriously, guys, tone it down!"

Fleur blinked. He knew them? Were these Hogwarts students? From their appearances alone, she was certain they were in their sixth or seventh years.

"YOU SON OF A—" one of them began, blood trickling from his mouth as he raised his wand, but Harry acted more swiftly, casting what Fleur assumed was a Tongue-Tying Hex, rendering the older wizard helplessly attempting to undo it. The other two were still sprawled on the ground, groaning as they struggled to rise, only to collapse once more.

"Guess Snape was right," Harry muttered, "Horribilis might as well be a curse!"

Fleur didn't comprehend the reference, and she didn't care. She observed blood seeping through his shirt and grabbed his arm, drawing him into a partial embrace. She noticed how he stiffened at her touch.

"Harry, you're injured!" she exclaimed. "You need medical attention."

"Hush, Fleur. I'm fine, it's not a big deal. Just a little sore. Nothing for you to worry about."

"Harry!" Fleur emphasized. "You have serious injuries, and you were struck by a dark curse earlier. We need to go to the healers immediately!"

"What injuries? I'm just a bit tired and sore, no need to fret," he protested, pushing her away.

Fleur paid no heed to his words and took hold of his arm once more, just in time to prevent him from collapsing. What was happening? Had he sustained a head injury, maybe even a concussion? She was growing genuinely concerned now.

"Come on, we have to take care of this. Hold on to me."

When he didn't offer any further objections, Fleur placed his arm over her shoulders and disapparated with him.

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