The Chamber of Secrets, long abandoned, had been transformed into a clandestine training ground.
The air was thick with anticipation and the subtle hum of magic as Harry Potter stood at the centre, his posture relaxed yet vigilant.
With his wand in hand, he looked over his three opponents.
Fleur Delacour, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom.
The three of them formed a triangle around Harry, each holding their wands with varying degrees of confidence.
Fleur, with her silvery blonde hair elegantly tied in a bun, exuded an aura of grace and competence.
Hermione, ever the scholar, had her hair pulled back in a practical style, her eyes sharp and calculating.
Neville, though earnest, looked slightly uneasy, his wand trembling in his grasp.
Harry glanced around, appreciating the familiarity of the Chamber despite its transformed state.
"Ready, mon amour?" Fleur said with a playful voice that sent all kinds of alarms through Harry's body.
Harry nodded, offering her a reassuring smile.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
And with that Hermione stepped forward, her wand moving in a precise arc as she cast,"Flectere Stellas!"
A barrage of glittering silver projectiles shot toward Harry, each one aimed with meticulous intent.
Harry's magical awareness kicked in instantly.
Without even moving his eyes, he extended his left hand, a shimmering golden shield materialising in front of him.
The silver stars fizzled harmlessly against the barrier.
"Nice try, Hermione," he replied cheekily.
With a fluid motion, Harry flicked his wand in a tight loop, casting"Confusio!"
The spell sent an almost invisible wave of magic toward Hermione, hitting her squarely between the eyes.
She stumbled slightly, her movements becoming erratic as her coordination faltered.
Neville seized the moment, thrusting his wand forward."Ignifors!"A plume of blue fire erupted, twisting and writhing like a living entity toward Harry.
Harry spun on his heel, his free hand forming a jet of water.
"Aqua Ignis!" he shouted, meeting the flames mid-air.
Steam hissed as fire and water clashed, the blue flames extinguished by the cascading water.
Harry smirked at the pair, their attempts at coordinating attacks still needing a lot of work.
Lastly, Fleur decided to—ever so gracefully—step forward, her wand flicking with practised ease that the other two lacked.
"Glacielancea!"
A spear of ice formed mid-air, darting toward Harry with lethal speed.
Harry didn't hesitate.
He raised his wand, muttering, "Deflecto." The ice spear veered off course, shattering against the chamber wall with a loud crack.
Fleur's eyes gleamed with approval. "Not bad."
"Honey, if you think this is not bad then you haven't seen anything yet," Harry smirked, his emerald eyes twinkling with mischief.
Fleur raised an elegant eyebrow, her lips curving into a challenging smile. "Show me then, mon coeur," she purred, her wand twirling between her fingers with deadly grace.
"Terramotus!"
The ground beneath Harry trembled violently, cracks snaking outward as chunks of stone threatened to destabilise him.
"Flamma Swathe," Fleur chanted without missing a beat and waved her hand, conjuring a flame just beneath Harry's feet.
And as if the two spells weren't enough, she also wordlessly cast the spear of ice from before.
Harry's response was nought but a smirk.
Channelling his magic, he focused on the earth beneath his feet and… stomped.
Not only did the very ground respond, swirling and twisting into a chaotic whirlwind that surged toward Fleur with surprising speed, but he also aimed at the growing flames beneath his feet, extinguishing them with another burst of magic.
Harry grinned, feeling just a bit of adrenaline rushing through his system.
Feeling bold, he closed his eyes briefly, relying on his enhanced magical senses to track the spear's trajectory.
As the ice spear was about to meet his face, he extended his hand, palm open and ready.
With seeker-worthy reflexes, he caught the ice spear mid-flight, his magic instantly dissolving the crystalline projectile into harmless snowflakes that drifted to the ground, creating a small snowman.
Fleur's eyes widened slightly at the display.
"Impressive," she conceded, though her stance remained ready for another round.
Harry's playful smirk widened as he spread his arms in an open challenge.
The trio of opponents, undeterred by Harry's flawless counters, exchanged determined glances.
Hermione adjusted her grip on her wand, while Neville took a deep breath.
Both of them looked at Fleur, waiting for the command.
The three of them had been training with Harry for a week now, and though they couldn't match his prowess, their coordination was slowly improving.
Their shared determination shone in their eyes as they prepared for their next assault.
Hermione began with a swift motion, casting "Luminara!"
A blinding flash of white light erupted toward Harry.
Simultaneously, Neville, summoning every ounce of his rudimentary duelling knowledge, cast "Petrivolans!"
Small and jagged stone projectiles flew from his wand, aiming to pin Harry down.
Fleur, not to be outdone by her two juniors, followed with "Mortis Umbra!"
Shadowy tendrils writhed from her wand, seeking to ensnare Harry and drain his magical energy.
Harry felt the barrage of spells approaching; his senses were keener than ever.
He closed his eyes briefly, not even bothering to use the counter to Hermione's spell.
Harry briefly played with the idea of castingNubilus Umbra, the black fog spell that Fleur had taught him in one of their first duels.
Ultimately, he decided against it.
'It's not needed anyway,' he thought with a slight smile.
His heightened awareness had mapped out the incoming threats before they had even materialised...
With an ever-widening smile, he began his counter.
First, he countered Hermione's attack by making a quick pistol gesture with his fingers and firing a stunner, using her light spell to cover his own.
She didn't know what hit her and Harry turned his attention to his remaining attackers.
He cast an overpoweredProtegothat deflected the stone projectiles with ease, sending them clattering harmlessly to the ground while halting the shadowy tendrils in their tracks.
Harry shifted theProtegocharm to his hand, his movements fluid and deliberate.
Without missing a beat, he unleashed aShield Breakertoward Neville, followed by aPetrificus Totalus.
The spell, designed to dismantle defensive enchantments, sped through the chamber and met with a hastily cast shield, shattering it instantly.
Neville's eyes widened as the freezing spell struck his chest.
He staggered backwards, his body seizing up from the effects of his most dreaded spell.
Fleur, still channelling the shadow spell, demonstrated her own wandless capabilities by hurling fireballs at Harry.
'Let's finish this,' Harry thought with a grin.
"Glacialis Lux."
Fleur's eyes widened in fear as a very familiar concentrated cloud of frozen space encapsulated both the fireballs and her shadow tendrils with ease.
Snuffing the spells out, the frozen light continued to surge forward toward Fleur, who barely managed to leap aside.
"What ze hell, Harry! That could have killed me!" she bellowed furiously, her French accent becoming apparent in her agitation.
Her wand hand trembled slightly, though whether from exertion or anger was hard to tell.
Harry had the decency to look somewhat sheepish.
"No, it wouldn't have... You know I wouldn't have fired something lethal at you. The spell I cast was not the same as the one Dumbledore did; it's nowhere near that level. Besides," he added with a playful wink, "you're far too skilled to let a spell like that hit you anyway."
Fleur's expression softened slightly, though she maintained her stern posture. "You're lucky I'm tired, mon amour."
Her irritation simmered down and Harry went to 'revive' his two downed friends, giving her some much-needed space.
"I suppose we should wrap this up early today," Harry murmured after everyone was up, getting nods of agreement.
…
Being the girlfriend of one Harry Potter was not the easiest of things.
Between attending a few classes, dedicating most of her days to preparing for the tournament, and dealing with constant attention from other students, Fleur had her hands full.
Not to mention the ever-present worry about his safety, given his tendency to find himself in dangerous situations.
Still, she wouldn't have it any other way—being with Harry was worth every challenge that came with it.
This, however?
There were some things that bordered on being too much…
"There's no way I'm climbing on you," Fleur said firmly, crossing her arms.
The person she was talking to… wasn't actually human.
It was midnight and she was currently in the periphery of the forbidden forest.
Standing before Fleur was a dragon—an actual fire-breathing menace.
A creature of pure, unrelenting darkness with an overwhelming, absolute presence
Its scales were blacker than a starless night, each one sharp enough to pierce through steel, reflecting no light and absorbing it instead.
Massive, leathery wings were folded tightly against its sides, and its serpentine tail coiled menacingly around its enormous body.
Every part of it exuded strength and terror, a living embodiment of the abyss itself.
Its head was even crowned with jagged horns!
When its massive maw opened, rows of sword-like teeth glistened, capable of effortlessly rending through any creature foolish enough to challenge it.
"Oh come on. Pleeease?" the dragon rumbled in a surprisingly whiny tone.
Its massive head lowered to her level, sparkling green eyes gleaming with an almost puppy-like pleading expression that seemed bizarrely out of place on such a terrifying creature.
Fleur was not in fact scared by the dragon—no—but rather by his request.
The idea of riding on her boyfriend's back while he was transformed into a massive, fire-breathing monster was simply absurd.
Even for someone who had grown up in the magical world, this was pushing the boundaries of what she considered reasonable.
"Absolutely not," Fleur repeated, though she felt her resolve wavering slightly at the sight.
"It took me a whole hour to perform the transformation. Are you really going to let all that effort go to waste? And for no good reason whatsoever," Harry argued, his draconic features somehow managing to convey exasperation despite their terrifying nature.
"I even practised landing and taking off to make sure it would be completely safe. Just one quick flight—that's all I'm asking for."
In truth, he had only practised once before; it was the second time he transformed into his draconic form by choice.
'What Fleur doesn't know can't harm her,' he thought.
Fleur pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly as she tried to process the absurdity of the situation.
Here she was, in the middle of the night, arguing with her boyfriend—who also happened to currently be a dragon.
"A quick flight?" she repeated incredulously, gesturing at the towering beast in front of her. "Do you even hear yourself, Harry? You're a dragon! You could sneeze and cause a small forest fire!"
Harry's massive shoulders sagged, his wings drooping slightly. "I wouldn't sneeze near the forest," he grumbled. "I've got control, you know. It's not like I'm about to accidentally roast you or anything. And we both know that you are good with fire…"
Fleur crossed her arms again, fixing him with a glare that could rival even McGonagall's sternest expression. "Control? You nearly flattened Dobby when you flapped your wings just moments ago, mon cher. I'm not exactly filled with confidence right now."
Harry's green eyes flickered with guilt at the reminder. "That was a one-time thing! Besides, Dobby was fine—he even said so!"
His tail swished behind him, a clear sign of his frustration.
Fleur shook her head, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "This is insane. I can't believe I'm even considering this."
She muttered a string of words in rapid French under her breath before looking up at him again. "If you drop me—"
"I won't," Harry interrupted earnestly, leaning in closer so his enormous snout was nearly touching her.
"I swear, Fleur. You know I'd never let anything happen to you."
His deep, rumbling voice softened, the sincerity in his tone cutting through the absurdity of the moment.
Fleur stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
Finally, she let out a resigned sigh. "If I end up falling to my death, I will haunt you for the rest of your days, Harry Potter," she said, jabbing a finger toward his snout.
Harry's eyes brightened instantly, his excitement palpable. "Deal!" He crouched down, lowering one of his massive forearms to the ground like a ramp.
"Climb aboard, mademoiselle."
Muttering something about how this was probably the worst decision of her life, Fleur carefully stepped onto his forearm.
The scales were cool and smooth beneath her hands, glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Harry remained perfectly still, his gaze fixed on her to ensure she was steady.
"Hold on tight," he said, his voice reverberating through the night as his wings began to unfurl.
Theirsheer size took Fleur's breath away, the leathery membranes rippling as they caught the faint breeze.
Fleur swallowed hard, her hands gripping tightly onto one of the ridges on his back.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered.
With a powerful leap, Harry launched into the air.
The sudden rush of wind stole Fleur's breath, and for a moment, her stomach lurched as gravity seemed to disappear beneath them.
'Am I going to throw up?' she wondered, her fingers gripping tighter onto Harry's scales.
But then they were soaring.
The Forbidden Forest stretched out below them like a dark, endless sea, and the castle of Hogwarts gleamed in the distance, its towers illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight.
The air was crisp and cold, but it carried a sense of freedom that Fleur had never experienced before.
Harry let out a low rumble of satisfaction, his massive wings beating steadily as they glided through the night.
"What do you think?" he called back, his voice surprisingly clear despite the wind.
Fleur hesitated, her heart still pounding in her chest.
Slowly, a smile spread across her face as she took in the breathtaking view. "It's… incredible," she admitted reluctantly, her grip relaxing just slightly.
"But if you do anything reckless, I will hex you into oblivion, dragon or not."
Harry chuckled, the sound like distant thunder.
"Do you mean something like this?"
Without warning, Harry rolled to one side, causing Fleur to tighten her grip with a startled gasp.
The sudden manoeuvre sent them spinning through the air in a graceful barrel roll, the world turning upside down for one heart-stopping moment.
"Harry James Potter!" she yelled over the rushing wind, but there was no real anger in her voice.
Her heart was raced with fear and pure joy as she clung tighter to his scaled back.
"Sorry, I just wanted to check what you meant byreckless," he said, his tone teasing. "Now hold on—I'm going to show you something amazing."
Before Fleur could protest, Harry tilted his wings and dove, sending them plummeting toward the earth in a thrilling spiral.
Fleur's scream of surprise quickly turned into laughter, the rush of adrenaline making her forget her earlier fears.
As they levelled out once more, soaring above the treetops, Fleur couldn't help but marvel at the strange, magical life she had stumbled into.
And then, without warning again, the dragon roared.
The sound was deafening, a primal declaration of power that shook the very air around them.
Fleur's hands instinctively tightened on Harry's scales as the roar sounded across the world.
She was sure that the entire castle would wake up to investigate the sound, but Harry was already banking away, putting distance between them and Hogwarts with powerful beats of his wings.
In contrast, being Harry Potter's girlfriend might have been madness, but it was a madness she relished.
"Harry, I love you!"
Harry's deep, rumbling laugh echoed through his massive form. "I love you too."
…
Quick AN: The following scene should have been written much sooner.
Every conversation/thought is obviously in French.
…
One of her year-mates had told her that Madame Maxime wanted to see her.
'I swear to Morgana, if she tells me to stop seeing Harry again, I might just throw a fireball at her,' Fleur thought darkly, the mental image making her smile.
Needless to say, Maxime's previous concerns aboutimproper fraternisationanddistracting boyfriendshad fallen on deaf ears.
The very thought of being told whom she could or couldn't date made Fleur's Veela blood sing with fire.
'Even father, the bastard, doesn't dare tell me whom to date.'
Sebastian Delacour was a powerful politician in France who barely showed any affection towards his daughters.
Fleur's beauty and brains could be valuable assets to him, but so far, he knew better than to sink so low and use her as a political pawn.
Not even her mother, who had more influence over her life than him, would attempt to control her love life.
'The nerve of that woman is astounding. Wasn't it enough to blackmail me into this tournament? And now she wants to control my personal life as well?'
Fleur took a moment to gather herself in the quiet corridor, smoothing down the front of her uniform.
The sight of her own calm reflection in the polished marble floor almost made her laugh—inside, she was anything but calm.
Veela fire roiled just beneath her smooth skin—she couldn't quite shake off the anger at Madame Maxime.
The Headmistress was crossing into dangerous territory…
The tall doors of Madame Maxime's office were carved with elaborate designs of roses and doves—a decorative attempt at gentleness that, to Fleur's mind, did nothing to hide the Headmistress's overbearing nature.
Taking a deep breath, Fleur raised her hand and knocked.
"Enter," came the commanding voice from within.
Fleur pushed open the doors to find Madame Maxime seated behind a wide wooden desk laden with letters, official parchments, and a few half-eaten biscuits on a porcelain plate.
The Headmistress looked up, her dark eyes settling on Fleur with that same penetrating gaze that had unsettled countless students over the years.
But Fleur was no child; she wasn't about to be intimidated by stern looks or sweeping threats of expulsion.
Not anymore.
"Ah, Fleur," Madame Maxime said, folding her hands over a piece of parchment. "Please, sit."
Fleur slid into the chair opposite the Headmistress but kept her back straight and her chin held high.
She wouldn't give Madame Maxime the satisfaction of seeing the slightest hint of weakness.
"Madame," she acknowledged and carefully kept her tone neutral.
Madame Maxime studied her for a long moment, her massive frame almost dwarfing the desk.
'Is she really trying to intimidate me?' Fleur thought with scorn.
"I have been meaning to speak with you again regarding your commitment to the Tournament."
The pause was deliberate, and Fleur felt her nerves tighten. "You understand that you must remain entirely focused if you are to succeed, yes?"
"That is what I am doing," Fleur said, her voice cool. "I have not missed any practices. I've studied the official guidelines you gave me for each task. I've been present for every one of your briefings. My focus is on the Tournament."
"Good," Madame Maxime replied, and yet her expression hinted that she wasn't satisfied.
The Headmistress cleared her throat. "I'm sure I do not need to remind you that your performance reflects on Beauxbatons. Our reputation—my reputation—demands the best from our champion."
Fleur inclined her head. "Of course, Madame."
Maxime exhaled, her eyes flicking down to the parchment beneath her hands.
She tapped it once, letting the silence stretch. "I am aware you have been spending an… inordinate amount of time with Mr. Potter."
Fleur's jaw clenched.
She'd expected this.
With her anger threatening to smoulder through her calm facade, she fixed Madame Maxime with a level stare. "Yes, Madame, I have. And I see no reason why that should be any of your business."
Madame Maxime sat back, the chair creaking under her weight.
"It might not affect your performance now, but you must understand appearances, my girl. People talk. They question your priorities." She looked pointedly at Fleur. "I do not wish for these distractions to take away from your responsibilities."
Fleur bristled.
She'd been ready for the usual words—distractions,priorities,focus.
"I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, it is unnecessary. My tasks and my preparations—they are all in order."
"As long as it stays that way," said Madame Maxime, steepling her fingers. "I would hate to see you compromised."
A hot retort burned on Fleur's tongue—compromised?
She remembered, all too well, the humiliating threat of expulsion at the start of the year if she didn't put her name into the Goblet.
Fleur couldn't do anything back then, but now…
She forced herself to remain calm. "Is that all, Madame?"
The older witch didn't know how close she was to getting seriously burned.
Madame Maxime's eyebrows rose slightly, but she didn't miss a beat.
"Not quite. There is a banquet next week in honour of the Tournament's recent progress. It will be a chance for the champions to mingle with visiting dignitaries. I expect you to represent Beauxbatons with the utmost decorum—"
"Of course," Fleur interrupted, making sure to keep her tone polite, though her heart was pounding with anger.
She didn't trust herself enough to let the Headmistress continue talking about behaviour expectations without finally snapping. "I shall be there."
"Good," Madame Maxime said, leaning forward slightly.
Her massive presence cast a long shadow over the desk.
"And, Fleur… while I cannot order you to, let us say, adjust your personal arrangements"—her lips tightened at the last two words—"I would advise discretion. It would not look well for a champion of Beauxbatons to be seen dallying excessively with a student from another school."
Fleur's temper flared, but her upbringing—and the knowledge that Harry wouldn't want her to start a public scandal—kept her from retorting with a scathing remark.
Slowly, she rose from the chair, letting the silent protest of the legs scraping against the floor fill the room.
"I understand, Madame," she said, her voice still neutral.
Madame Maxime gave a single nod. "Then you may go."
Without another word, Fleur swept toward the door, reminding herself with each graceful step that she had to keep her composure.
She could practically feel the heat of her Veela magic simmering beneath her skin, begging for release.
But she refused to grant Madame Maxime the satisfaction of a tantrum.
No—there were lines she wouldn't cross, not for the Headmistress's sake.
Only when she was alone in the corridor again did she let out a shuddering breath.
The anger still raged, but she inhaled deeply, allowing the taste of fresh air to calm her.
If Madame Maxime wanted a flawless champion, she would get one.
Fleur would make certain that no one could possibly question her dedication.
'It's very funny how becoming a champion shields me from further threats. Maxime can't very well expel me now—not without causing a scandal that would tarnish Beauxbatons' and her own reputation,' she thought with vindictive glee.
The irony wasn't lost on her—that the very thing her Headmistress had forced upon her now served as her protection.
Still, she wouldn't let her guard down—she knew better than to underestimate Maxime's influence.
That's why she'd heed the woman's words.
Discretion,the Headmistress had said.
Well, Fleur could be discreet.
She had learned from her father that sometimes you bide your time, smile, and do exactly as you please anyway.
A small smile found its way to her lips at the thought of Harry waiting for her in Hogwarts' Great Hall.
They had been together for four months—four months of gentle kisses, shared secrets, nights spent studying charms side by side, and stolen moments beneath the star-filled sky.
She wouldn't give that up for anything in the world, least of all for the sake of Madame Maxime's public image.
.
.
.
[d=i=s=c=o=r=d=.=g=g/NJ3WV9RVgR]
[p=atreon=.=c=o=m/Mr_0ne] or do a Google search of 'p=atreon Fake Violinist'.
Chapter 29: Wings Clipped
Chapter 30: Heartstrings and Dreams
Chapter 31: Duels of Intention
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