They left the bustling Great Hall behind, treading silently through the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts.
Soon, they arrived at an unused classroom tucked away in a quiet wing of the castle. The heavy wooden door creaked softly as Harry pushed it open.
Fleur had folded her arms under her chest and fixed her gaze on the high, rib‑vaulted ceiling.
Harry's heart gave a slight lurch at her tone. "Bad day?" he asked carefully.
Her eyes narrowed. "Maxime. She cornered me again—lectured me about 'appearances' and implied I'm losing focus because of you."
He grimaced, guilt mingling with anger on her behalf. "That must have been lovely."
Her lips thinned. "Oh, it was. She basically told me not to 'dally'—her words, not mine—with a Hogwarts student. Because apparently me and you spending time together might tarnishherprecious reputation." Fleur rolled her eyes, a flash of indignation lighting them.
Harry placed a hand lightly on her elbow. "I'm sorry you had to put up with that. But you know—she can't do much. You're her champion now. She can't exactly kick you out."
A small, wry smile touched her mouth. "Yes. I love that she trapped me in this Tournament, and now she's stuck with me… and mydistractions. Come to think of it, I also love being stuck with mydistractions."
She uttered the last word with a purr that made him grin widely.
Then Fleur sighed and turned her attention to the corridor behind him. "We should find somewhere quieter," she said, her voice softening. "I assume you want to work on that new spell you found?"
"Yep," Harry answered, popping that 'p'. "Ready?"
Fleur gave an elegant shrug, stepping close enough for Harry to place a steadying hand around her waist.
Her hair shimmered in the pale light and, despite the dust and gloom, she still looked poised—like she belonged somewhere more refined.
"You look entirely out of place here," he said under his breath, half in admiration, half in jest.
"I'll consider that a compliment," she returned, a hint of a smile curving her lips.
Closing his eyes, Harry centred himself.
In his mind's eye, flame burst to life: pure, golden‑white fire that felt both fierce and strangely comforting.
With one sharp inhale, he let that energy overwhelm him and, a moment later, golden flames licked around them, radiant yet cool to the touch.
They flared up, swallowing the classroom in a brilliant flash.
When the fire dissipated, they stood in the familiar chamber.
Fleur breathed out. "Impressionnant.I'll never get used to that feeling."
Harry took a step back, giving her room to catch her bearings.
Fleur gestured to the wide, open space. "So, we're alone here. What do you need me for?"
His lips twitched. "Target practice, basically."
"Just what I needed to lose some steam," she said, smiling devilishly. "So? What does the spell do?"
Instead of answering, Harry flicked his wand into his hand.
"Lumina Reflexa," he said, slipping briefly into Parseltongue to familiarise himself with the incantation, his voice twisting into a soft, serpentine hiss.
"It's supposed to conjure a mirror‑like barrier that bounces spells back. It's in the last of Salazar's old tomes—probably the last useful spell I will find."
Fleur nodded, wand at the ready. "So you want me to throw spells at you?"
He shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. "Well… it's the best way to test it. Start with a stinging hex. Low power, if you please."
A mischievous spark lit her eyes. "Sure."
Before he could protest, Fleur flicked her wand. A tight beam of stinging red light shot towards him.
"Lumina Reflexa," Harry hissed, raising his wand.
He envisioned a shimmering wall forming before him, like quicksilver.
The translucent barrier flickered into view—but the stinging hex burned right through, grazing his left shoulder and making him yelp.
Fleur pressed her lips together, concern briefly flickering. "Sorry—didn't expect it to fail so soon."
Harry rubbed his shoulder, heat pulsing through his robes. "No, it's alright," he muttered, exhaling. "I need to make my intent more precise."
He inhaled deeply, letting his enhanced magical senses ripple out.
The Chamber felt alive with power, swirling in hidden eddies.
He needed to harness just enough of it to strengthen the reflection.
"All right. Again," he said, steeling himself.
Fleur fired off the same hex, though she tweaked the angle slightly to avoid hitting him in the same spot. Harry tried again, firming his stance.
"Lumina Reflexa."
The silver sheen emerged faster this time, swirling into a mirror‑like surface. The stinging hex struck, cracking the barrier but ricocheting back—straight past Fleur's ear. She let out a small gasp and ducked.
When the barrier dissolved, they both stared at each other, wide‑eyed.
"That… worked a bittoowell," Harry said, his heart pounding. "I need to direct it properly, not just reflect it at random."
Fleur blew out a breath, smoothing a stray tendril of hair from her face. "Mon Dieu, yes. You hit me on my head."
"Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't have time to aim the reflection. I'll need a moment to figure out how to control it."
Fleur's expression softened. "Well, at least we know it can work. And quickly, too."
"Indeed." Harry flexed his wand hand, rolling his shoulder. The residual sting from the earlier hex was fading, replaced by a sense of growing excitement. "Let's try again. I promise not to maim you this time."
She gave him a teasing smirk. "Those are heavy words for alittle boy."
They ran through half a dozen more attempts. Each time, Harry had tofeelthe magic—sense how the barrier formed.
Lumina Reflexafelt different to a typical shield. It was more fluid, more like an extension of his own focus.
When Fleur's hexes struck, Harry's task wasn't just to hold the barrier but toguidethe reflection, sending the force away rather than letting it scatter.
At first, he could barely manage a single reflection before the barrier shattered. But by the sixth attempt, he was controlling the bounce more smoothly, directing spells safely into the stone floor or walls, leaving harmless scorch marks.
Panting slightly, Fleur lowered her wand. "That's quite a bit of progress," she remarked. "I thought you'd need days."
He shrugged, a faint grin curving his lips. "Might still take me days to do it reliably, and I'll have to incorporate it into our practise with the others. But you're right—this is good progress."
Fleur rolled her shoulders, then squared them again. "One more for luck, hmm?"
Harry grinned, raising his wand.
He extended his magical awareness again, letting the Chamber's subtle currents bolster him.
He felt Fleur's stinging hex before it leapt forth.
"Lumina Reflexa."
The barrier shimmered into being, immaculate and mirror‑bright.
The hex slammed against it, and with a flourish, Harry guided the swirling red energy off to the side, where it fizzled into the damp stone.
He let out a slow breath, taking a step back. "I think I've got the gist. A bit more refinement, and I could weave it into an actual duel."
Fleur's lips curved in approval. "You did well,mon amour."
He went for a high five, but immediately realised his mistake.
Before Harry could respond, Fleur flicked her wand again—this time, it wasn't a stinging hex but a mildStupefythat streaked towards him.
Instinct jolted through him; half‑formed words gathered on his tongue—only to die unsaid.
He could have cast a wand‑less Protego, but no.
The swirl of red energy approached, and something in him shifted.
He didn't consciously say any incantation—he justwilledthe reflection.
With a swift flick, he angled his wand, shaping a flicker of barrier andbattingthe spell aside.
A final twist of his wrist sent theStupefyfizzing harmlessly against the floor.
Fleur gaped. "You didn't speak Parseltongue… I didn't hear a thing."
Harry stared at his wand arm, heart hammering. "I—I justfeltit and reacted."
Excitement surged in his chest, mingling with astonishment. He'd cast a silent parselmagic earlier in the year—but not so smoothly.
She let out a startled laugh, her eyes gleaming with admiration. "So you can do it wordlessly now?"
Harry swallowed, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Looks like it. Not perfectly, but yeah… maybe I can."
Fleur's face lit with pride for him, and Harry felt a spark of warmth that could chase away the gloom in the whole world.
"Well," Fleur said at last, relaxing her stance, "Maxime can stuff her warnings. I'm proud to help you, mon amour."
Harry reached out and took her free hand, lacing their fingers. "And I'm proud you're by my side."
She squeezed his hand gently, the corners of her mouth curving in a quiet, fond smile. "Come on, let's go take a shower."
The smile that graced Harry's face after hearing that was, quite simply, brilliant.
…
A Web of Intrigue: Unveiling the Political Machinations at Beauxbatons
By Barnaby Cresswell, Daily Prophet
Recent developments at Beauxbatons Academy have exposed a disquieting nexus of ambition, coercion, and political influence surrounding the Triwizard Tournament. New information indicates that Fleur Delacour, the academy's esteemed champion, is being drawn into a complex web of external pressures that extend well beyond the arena of magical competition.
In a private meeting held in the office of Madame Olympe Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, it has been reported that Fleur was sternly admonished regarding her personal associations. Madame Maxime, whose reputation is built upon a commitment to both decorum and excellence, expressed concerns that any deviation from expected conduct—particularly in relation to inter-school interactions—could jeopardise the standing of the French academy. Despite the formality of the encounter, it is clear that the underlying tension was palpable, as Fleur maintained a measured yet resolute demeanour, asserting that her private life must remain independent of institutional oversight.
However, the situation acquires a far more intricate dimension when one considers the involvement of Fleur's father, Monsieur Sebastian Delacour, a fact of which his daughter remains unaware. Sources reveal that Monsieur Delacour, a prominent political figure in France, has been exerting considerable pressure on Madame Maxime to secure a Tournament victory for his daughter. In a discreet exchange, he underscored that Fleur's success is not merely a personal ambition but a strategic imperative intricately linked to his own political objectives. His insistence on realising this outcome underlines a disturbing convergence of personal, familial, and political interests.
It appears that behind the esteemed façade of Beauxbatons lies a carefully constructed alliance, one in which political expediency is prioritised over the well-being of its students. Monsieur Delacour's intervention serves as a stark reminder that, in the realm of magical competition, the lines between sporting endeavour and political manipulation are increasingly blurred. A well-informed source stated, "The stakes extend far beyond reputational concerns; they have significant implications for the broader governance of our magical institutions."
This exposé raises serious questions about the integrity of the Triwizard Tournament—a competition that has long symbolised the ideals of skill, bravery, and fair play. The evidence now suggests that behind its glittering spectacle lies a darker reality, one where familial loyalties are exploited and the pressures of political ambition infiltrate even the most hallowed of academic traditions.
The Daily Prophet remains committed to further investigating this developing story and will continue to report on any new revelations that may impact the future of magical governance. It is incumbent upon us all to ensure that the principles of transparency and accountability prevail, safeguarding both the spirit and the integrity of our cherished competitions.
...
To say that Harry was shocked upon reading theProphet's front-page article would have been an understatement.
He looked up from the newspaper and immediately glanced towards his girlfriend.
Fleur seemed to be reading the paper as well, albeit she hadn't yet finished it.
If her darkening scowl was anything to go by, Harry guessed that she was reading about her father's involvement.
'Whatever I expected Sebastian Delacour to be like, an immoral politician who couldn't give a crap about his heir, wasn't it. It would make a lovely topic when I first meet the bastard,' he mused absentmindedly, getting up.
After all, it wouldn't do for Fleur to transform into her Veela form in the middle of the Great Hall.
Making his way to the other side of the table, Harry stood behind Fleur just as she slammed herProphetonto the table, her hands shaking with barely contained rage.
Harry noticed several nearby students nervously edging away as he gently took hold of Fleur's arms. "Do you want to go somewhere more private?" he whispered into her ear.
She didn't even bother responding.
Fleur simply stood up, grabbed Harry's hand, and dragged him out of the Great Hall, her face set in a thunderous expression that promised retribution.
The few students who happened to be in their path quickly scrambled aside, recognising the imminent threat of stumbling into the furious beauty.
As they reached the Entrance Hall, wisps of fire began dancing around Fleur's silvery hair, making Harry grateful for his foresight in getting her away from the crowded breakfast tables.
'A dragon would be really handy right about now,' Harry thought wryly.
He'd seen Fleur's temper before—this needed to be isolated, and fast.
Still holding her hand—or rather, being held onto—Harry called upon the phoenix fire and let its soothing touch wash over them both. For the second time in as many days, they found themselves in the Chamber of Secrets.
Harry's first instinct was to give Fleur some space and move away from her. Perhaps putting up a shield and letting her cool off some steam that way.
But seeing the barely contained rage in her eyes, he couldn't bring himself to do that.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close against his chest.
The effect wasn't immediate, but after a while, the contact seemed to ground her somewhat, though her magic still crackled dangerously in the air.
As if on cue, Fawkes flashed into the chamber as well, trilling as merrily as ever.
The phoenix's song immediately began to work its magic, its soothing melody weaving through the air and helping to calm Fleur's turbulent emotions.
Harry felt her gradually relax against him, though he could still sense the underlying promise of vengeance simmering beneath the surface. "I can't believe him," she finally whispered, her voice tight with controlled fury.
"I don't want to believe that article, but… that's exactly what my father—no, Sebastian—would do," Fleur spat out bitterly.
Her hands clenched into small fists as she turned in Harry's embrace to face him. "He's always been like this—everything has to serve his political agenda. I thought that didn't include me, but alas, even the price of losing his own daughter isn't too steep for him."
Harry hugged Fleur tighter, his heart aching at the pain in her voice.
He wished he could do something, but all he could do was be there for her.
Fleur buried her face in his chest, and for a long moment, they stood in silence as Fawkes' song continued to fill the chamber.
"I won't return to France after this year," Fleur eventually declared with quiet determination, her voice growing stronger with each word.
"I'll stay here in Britain. There's nothing for me back there," she spat.
'If only that were true,' Harry thought grimly.
"What about little Gabby?"
Fleur stiffened in his arms, and he felt a slight tremor run through her body. Her expression softened marginally at the mention of her sister.
"I... I'll find a way to stay in contact with her," Fleur said quietly, her voice catching slightly. "Mother actually adores the little minx, and I doubt that Sebastian would try going against her."
Harry nodded, but he couldn't help but worry about the long-term implications of Fleur's decision to cut ties with her homeland…
Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, a second article caught everyone's attention.
The article's headline stood out in bold letters:
Rita Skeeter Arrested for Unauthorised Animagus Transformation
By Evangeline Marwood, Daily Prophet
Renowned journalist Rita Skeeter has been arrested on charges of unauthorised Animagus transformation. Aurors intercepted her at her London residence after receiving intelligence regarding her unauthorised use of transformation magic. Ms Skeeter, long known for her covert methods, now faces severe penalties under Ministry regulations.
The Ministry has made it clear that no one is exempt from the law, and this incident underscores their commitment to maintaining strict control over transformation activities. Further updates on this high-profile case will be provided as details emerge.
…
When Harry, Neville, and Hermione stepped into the arena, they realised how different it felt compared to the first task.
The massive stands loomed around them, still scorched in places where dragons had once breathed fire.
Now, however, the open centre of the field had been transformed into a duelling space.
Bright banners—silvery blue for Beauxbatons, crimson for Durmstrang, and the gold-and-black crest of Hogwarts—fluttered from conjured poles.
"That's why they didn't take the arena down!" a Gryffindor exclaimed to a friend, gazing at the grand structure.
The three Gryffindors joined the throng of excited students filtering in through the main gates.
Professors Flitwick, Makarov, and Faure stood at the centre of the field, each sporting an air of eager anticipation.
Around them, clusters of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students mingled with their Hogwarts counterparts.
"Blimey," Neville muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as a chill breeze swept by. "At least it's not dragons you're facing this time, Harry," he said, earning a smile from the aforementioned teen.
Hermione's eyes swept over the lines of conjured practice dummies and the freshly painted duelling circles. "It's brilliant, isn't it? This will be our best chance to try and catch up with you, Harry!"
Harry mock-scoffed. "No amount of training will make you as good as me."
Colin Creevey scampered over, camera bouncing against his chest.
He snapped a shot of the new setup, nearly colliding with a Durmstrang boy in the process. "Wow, Harry, look at this! Professor Flitwick's actually set up wards along the stands—safe for spectators. It's going to be amazing!"
His enthusiasm echoed the mood of the crowd.
Up front, Professor Flitwick took a polite step forward, raising his wand to enhance his voice. "Good afternoon, everyone!" he squeaked, and the chatter fell away in a hush. "Welcome to our inaugural session of the Tri-School Duelling Exchange! We thought it fitting to host our meetings in this very arena as it's familiar to many of you, but perhaps not quite in this capacity."
A small ripple of laughter spread through the Hogwarts populace.
Professor Makarov inclined his head in greeting. His thick Durmstrang cloak flapped as the breeze caught it. "I am here to introduce you to the discipline of silent casting," he announced in his clipped accent, eyes roving over the young witches and wizards. "You shall learn to focus your intent inward, that your wand may respond more swiftly and stealthily."
Many of the younger students seemed to jump with delight at that, while the older ones smirked.
Normally, silent casting wasn't taught until the sixth year, as it was a difficult technique to grasp and an impossibly hard one to master…
A swish of turquoise robes drew attention to Professor Faure of Beauxbatons.
She smiled, stepping forward. "Bonsoir, mes chers étudiants. I'm delighted to share with you our tradition of spell choreography—combining refined wand movement with precise incantations. It is as much an art as it is a skill."
Finally, Professor Flitwick, short of stature but brimming with enthusiasm, clapped his hands together. "Indeed! Now, if we might have everyone form groups of two—preferably someone you've not partnered with before. We'll begin with the basics."
With a flick of his wand, Flitwick conjured shimmering lines across the arena's centre, dividing it into neat sections for pairs to practise safely.
A new kind of excited tumult broke out as students scrambled to team up, carefully stepping into the circles.
Hermione almost dragged Neville away, and Harry tried to find Fleur.
'She said she'd be here,'Harry thought, scanning the crowd for her silvery hair.
He spotted Viktor Krum among the Durmstrang students, but Fleur was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe she was running late.
"Alright, now form seven larger groups according to the youngest pair's year!"
The students shuffled around again, merging into larger assemblies based on year levels.
Harry found himself swept into a group of fourth-years, including several Beauxbatons students he didn't recognise.
Fleur was still nowhere in sight, and a Durmstrang boy with close-cropped dark hair gave him a challenging grin as Professor Flitwick began demonstrating the first exercise for the first years.
"What's your name?" Harry asked, studying the boy with curiosity.
"Anton Petrov, fifth-year. It's nice to meet you," the boy replied with a thick accent, twirling his wand between his fingers. "I heard you're cheating and taking the spotlight from the other champions, Potter."
Harry wanted to laugh at the accusation.'How can anyone believe such a rumour? They literally saw me competing during the whole first task.'
"You're wrong," he replied firmly, maintaining his composure despite the provocation. "I suppose you'll find that out by yourself, though." Anton's expression wavered slightly, but he didn't respond.
They remained silent until Professor Makarov stepped into their section of the arena.
His cold grey eyes swept over Harry, Anton, and the rest of the group. "For the advanced students, we shall demonstrate an elementary nonverbal exchange," he said in a clipped tone.
"Potter, Petrov, you'll demonstrate a friendly duel for the rest. The rest of you: watch, learn, and prepare to attempt it yourselves."
A few Beauxbatons girls whispered excitedly behind their hands, and Anton Petrov simply raised his eyebrows at Harry, as though daring him to back out.
Harry, unbothered by the Durmstrang boy's attitude, nodded curtly.
"Excellent," Makarov said, motioning for them to stand in one of the outlined duelling circles. "Bow, then take your positions. And remember, silent incantations only—if you can manage."
Harry and Anton faced each other. They bowed stiffly—Anton's form a little too crisp, Harry's almost casual—then stepped back, raising their wands.
A hush fell over the nearby onlookers, and Hermione, stationed across the field with Neville, craned her neck to see. Colin had spotted the brewing duel and was manoeuvring for a good camera angle.
Professor Makarov gave a short nod. "Begin."
Anton flicked his wand, lips pressed together.
A sharp, greenish blast shot from the tip—some sort of stinging jinx, by the feel of it.
Harry reacted.
He slashed his wand diagonally, forming a shimmering shield that sprang to life instantaneously.
The jinx clashed against the barrier, dispersing into harmless sparks.
Swiftly, Harry thrust his wand forward, and a streak of red light flashed towards Anton—a simple Disarming Charm.
The Durmstrang boy managed to cast a hurried shield, but Harry's spell punched through it with startling ease, and Anton's wand flew from his grasp.
Anton let out a frustrated growl as it clattered to the arena floor.
A rustle of awe spread through the watchers, some gasping in surprise. The whole exchange had taken less than three seconds.
Professor Makarov's mouth was a flat line, but he inclined his head in grudging approval.
"Not bad," he acknowledged, flicking his wand to retrieve Anton's, which soared through the air back to the boy's hand. "Mr Petrov, while your proficiency in nonverbal casting is abysmal, it's surprising you can even cast without chanting. Mr… Potter?" The Durmstrang professor's stern gaze turned to Harry. "You are clearly more advanced than many of your year-mates."
Professor Makarov then stepped forward to demonstrate silent casting.
He began by demonstrating proper wand movements, emphasising the importance of focus and intent. "The key is to visualise the spell forming within your mind before releasing it," he explained, executing a perfect Shield Charm without uttering a word.
The students watched in rapt attention as he showed them the subtle differences between verbal and nonverbal casting techniques.
Harry simply stood there and watched as Neville and Hermione tried to cast nonverbally.
Professor Faure also came by and showed them an elegant, dance-like approach to duelling.
At first, Harry was quite intrigued by the art, but as the Professor continued instructing them, he concluded that the dance was purely theatrical and stopped paying attention.
When Professor Flitwick finally signalled for everyone to pause, the arena was alive with excitement.
Several students were breathing hard, wands still in hand as they grinned at each other.
"Brilliant first session!" Flitwick declared, voice carrying over the crowd. "You've all done marvellously for a start. Remember to sign up if you haven't yet, and note your practice schedule before our next exchange." He beamed at Professors Makarov and Faure in turn. "All three schools have much to learn from one another."
Professor Faure's turquoise robes shimmered as she stepped forward once more with a soft smile.
She raised her hand delicately, and the murmur of conversation died away.
"In light of the impressive demonstrations we have witnessed today—and to further foster the spirit of camaraderie and excellence between our schools—I am delighted to announce the Tri-School Duelling Tournament."
A wave of excited whispers swept through the crowd, and Harry could see students from all three schools exchanging eager glances.
'And I was beginning to think coming here was a waste of time,'Harry thought with a smirk.
The tournament would be the perfect opportunity to teach some of hisfellow studentsa thing or two about proper duelling.
"It will be a classic tournament with rounds of elimination leading to a grand final," Professor Faure elaborated, her eyes gleaming as she surveyed the arena. "You will each have the chance to prove not only your skill in duelling, but also your ability to remain composed under pressure. I trust you will all rise to the challenge with both vigour and grace."
Professor Makarov stepped forward, his stern expression unchanging. "The tournament will commence next month. Those wishing to participate must submit their names to their respective school heads by Friday evening."
As the overexcited students began filing out of the arena, Harry caught sight of a flash of silvery-blonde hair near the entrance.
Fleur was standing there, looking apologetic as she waved to him. He made his way over to her, curious about why she had missed the session.
.
.
.
[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 32: A Horcrux and a Mistake?
Chapter 33: The adorable and the arrogant
Chapter 34: The Duelling Competition
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