Chapter Twenty-One - Ice Cream Privilege

"Boy troubles, dear? Frowning so much will turn you into a prune if you're not careful."

Fleur glared at the mirror and gave a final yank of the brush through her hair before dropping it on the dresser. Truthfully, her hair rarely needed much help to stay unknotted, but brushing often had the effect of calming her. It seemed not today.

The bright morning light made her squint as she stepped out the door. A warm breeze lifted her hair and ran pleasantly along her skin. A strong pine smell carried from the forest nearly made her sneeze.

She shielded her eyes and looked over to the boys' cabin. The door was open, and the doorway blocked by Benoit's lanky figure. It did nothing to stop the sounds of an argument echoing over the lawn.

With a sigh, Fleur closed the door behind her.

They ended up being late for breakfast and Fleur barely managed to grab a croissant before the food vanished from the table. Benoit and Harry had been after her, and didn't get anything in time, which of course led to yet another spat. Fleur felt the beginnings of a headache forming.

Trudging along to the first lesson of the day with Ms Blanchet, Farrow fell into step alongside her.

"You planning on doing anything?"

Fleur glanced over at him. "Doing anything?"

He sighed. "You got siblings, Delacour?"

"A sister."

"I have four younger brothers, you see, and it's given me something of an idea of how this is going to play out." He counted a finger, "First, they start bickering over little things, posturing and what not. Second, they'll start trying little acts of violence. A tripping jinx while walking, a sticking charm on the bench, whatever. Annoying stuff, but ultimately just that. When you're a parent, that's the point you scold them and they sullenly back off for a couple hours before doing it again. You know what comes after that?"

"I can guess."

"Let me tell you, just so it's clear. What comes next is someone escalates it just a bit too far. The irritation turns to real anger, and the little acts of violence stop being so little. The tripping jinx now happens at the top of the stairs, you understand? That's when someone gets hurt, they go crying to mummy, and we all lose ice cream privilege, and the older brother gets scolded for not doing the parent's job for them."

Fleur pursed her lips.

"Fortunately, I'm not the older brother here," Farrow said. "But I still like my ice cream privilege. Deal with the children, Delacour."

Fleur watched him walk away with a scowl but couldn't bring herself to really be annoyed at him. Condescending dick he might be, but he wasn't wrong. Fleur had to get control of her cadre.

Fleur's eyes were trained on the duel before her, but her mind was elsewhere.

She'd asked Farrow to summon the other boys for her, and now she was wondering if she should have done it herself. She shook her head. No more second guessing. She knew she'd been too hesitant to step in until now and was annoyed it had taken Farrow saying something to finally push her to action. She could blame it on lack of experience. She'd never led a cadre before, and she was antisocial at the best of times while at school. She knew, though, that it just came down to exactly what she'd promised herself she wouldn't do: be too scared of bigger older boys to do her job properly.

Fleur might not have had four younger brothers like Farrow, but she'd had three great cadre leaders before this who'd managed their squads with enviable ease. It was time Fleur had the courage to do the same.

"You wanted to talk to us?"

Fleur's arms were crossed as she observed the duel between Harry and Farrow starting. The three boys stood beside her, having obediently responded to Farrow's summon on her behalf.

"That's right," she said, turning to glance up at the three older boys. "I have a proposal for you."

"What proposal?" came the bored reply from Drechsler.

Fleur smothered the spike of irritation and kept her expression placid.

"Ignore Potter," she said.

Moseley scoffed. "What?"

Fleur sighed. "You're embarrassing me. You might not care for what others think about the fact you're feuding with a twelve-year-old, but I don't enjoy the association. You're going to stop now."

They stood in what Fleur assumed was stunned silence, while she continued to stare at them patiently. When nobody seemed to have anything to say she continued. "That was about the sum of my proposal. I'll make sure Potter does the same, and we can go back to actually learning something from this camp. Okay? Great."

Fleur turned away in dismissal and ignored the feel of their irritated stares. In a way it was kind of pleasant, like the sun warming the side of your face. Sometimes condescending really was the best approach.

Fleur watched them closely the rest of the day, and to her moderate surprise, treating them like unruly siblings had worked. She'd expected to have to threaten punishment even a little bit; it was hard to overstate just how deep under their skin Potter had burrowed in just a couple of days. After an awkward lunch where everyone seemed to stew a little, the afternoon duels with Allard felt rather constructive. Moseley and Benoit took up most of Allard's attention, but despite the lack of oversight, Harry and Drechsler managed the whole session together without a verbal exchange. So much of an improvement it was, Fleur even got a nice little condescending nod from Farrow.

"Potter," Fleur called on their way back to the food hall.

"Huh? Oh, hi, Fleur."

"Thanks for keeping it civil with Drechsler today."

Harry shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

"Just ignore them, alright?"

He shot her a flat look. "Ignoring them won't stop anything."

"And provoking them has worked so brilliantly?" Fleur snapped back, voice dripping sarcasm.

They both stopped walking to face each other.

He gritted his teeth. "I'm dealing with them fine—"

"Look, Potter," Fleur said sharply, forcing her voice calm. "I'm tired of playing referee. Ignore them, please. They'll get bored eventually."

Fleur could see his jaw clench as he held back. "We'll see." He finally ground out.

With a sigh, Fleur nodded, resigned.

Fleur woke the next day with an anxious tension that had her mirror, once again, in a fit about her premature ageing.

Fleur glared at the mirror, which ended up with her simply glaring at herself. "You're lucky seven years bad luck isn't worth the hassle."

Ignoring the affronted gasp, she brushed her hair and tied it in a ponytail. She'd woken earlier than usual feeling restless, so it was a little too soon to head to breakfast. With little else to do she sat on her bed and tried to untangle the thoughts in her head that refused to settle.

Did her squad resent her now? What if Farrow was right, and someone did get hurt? She'd never heard of a cadre leader losing their squad—but that didn't mean it hadn't happened. Somewhat hesitant to open the door, she peeked out the window until she saw the boys' cabin door open.

With a fortifying breath she stepped outside. The breeze tickled her skin, and the sound of birdsong rang through the air. From the cabin ahead came the sound of Benoit's gruff laughter. Fleur hesitantly made her way over.

"Morning," she said, to grunts of acknowledgement and a friendly nod from Farrow.

The tension she hadn't noticed in her shoulders started to relax, and she rolled them.

"Where's Potter?"

Moseley gestured with his head to their cabin. "Still asleep."

Forestalling her question, he rather smugly said, "You said to ignore him, so…"

Fleur pursed her lips, forcing away the sharp retort that threatened to spill out. "Fine, head to breakfast then."

With a wrinkle of her nose, she took a step into the cabin. It smelled of boys, but it wasn't as gross as she'd imagined. Two of the large windows were open, and despite the bedsheets being fairly messy, their clothes were neatly packed away.

"Potter?" she called from the doorway to no reply.

With a sigh, she stepped in further, walking down the middle of the room until she could make out the lumpy form of Harry beneath the beige covers.

When he still refused to move, she huffed and reached out to shake his foot.

With a yelp, Harry shot up, sheet tangling in his limbs as he looked around blearily.

"What?"

"You're late, Potter. The rest have already headed to breakfast."

"Fleur?" he looked completely disorientated.

"Get dressed, Potter."

"Right," he said, rubbing his eyes and reaching for his glasses. "Uh, I'll just be a second."

Fleur rolled her eyes and stalked back out the cabin. She debated leaving without him but thought better of it. Offering him an olive branch after yesterday felt like the better decision.

Harry stumbled out of the cabin a minute later, hair even more dishevelled than usual.

A quip got stuck on the tip of her tongue as she got a good look at him.

"Are you okay?"

He squinted at her through bleary eyes. They were shadowed by rings that stood out like bruises on clammy looking skin.

"I'm fine."

They walked to the food tent in what would have been awkward silence if it weren't for the fact that Harry clearly wasn't present enough to realise it.

After a fairly rushed breakfast, they went back to the cabins to brush their teeth, and Harry to shower, before heading down to the duelling pits for the last session of the week.

Harry's hair was still wet, which turned the raven colour almost coal black; it clashed starkly against his pale skin. He looked completely drained, like something was sucking the life from him. Fleur wondered if he was coming down with something.

Blanchet had them work individually on their casting sequences that morning, which allowed Fleur the opportunity to observe her squad without distraction. She was pleased to see that yesterday's improvements hadn't been a fluke. It was clear that Benoit, Moseley, and Drechsler were making an effort to avoid Potter. Their obvious grumbling, and disdainful glances at him weren't ideal, but it was a far sight better than what it had been before. Hopefully they'd grow bored with him over the following weeks.

Fleur's improving mood took a turn around two o'clock, as Harry was lining up for a duel against Drechsler.

Harry had been cleaning his glasses on his robes when they slipped from his fingers. That by itself was hardly a problem: Harry had been off all day, sluggish and mopey, but apparently for Allard that wasn't good enough. Just as Harry's fingers reached out to pick them up, his glasses shot away, and into the outstretched hands of the instructor.

Harry blinked in obvious confusion, before he suddenly straightened with a stormy expression. "What the—"

"Mr Potter," said Allard with a sneer, speaking for the first time in clear English. "Since you clearly can't be trusted to keep your glasses on your face during a duel, it would be remiss of me not to address such a weakness."

Harry squinted at him, even as Fleur stared at their instructor with wide eyes. Surely—

"Begin," he intoned.

Harry scrambled to draw his wand and was allowed a small moment by the surprised but gleeful looking Drechsler, who spat out a stream of curses with no further hesitation.

Harry really tried. It was a seriously impressive attempt, but it was painfully obvious he couldn't see a thing. Fleur winced each time his shield was hit by a spell, matched by a deepening glower on Harry's face.

After a minute of diving and dodging, Harry was breathing ragged breaths, and the first spell slipped through. It hit him right in the neck, and Fleur could see an immediate spread of painful looking boils on his skin, running up to the side of his face.

Allard was unmoved.

Harry dodged desperately, wisely forgoing shields against curses he couldn't identify, responding with his own sizzling hexes that flew wide more often than not. The second spell caught him in the chest, and he tumbled over backwards from the impact with his wand flying away.

"Match," called Allard in a bored voice. Fleur didn't wait a moment longer than for the wards to drop before walking briskly over to Harry and helping the groaning boy to his feet.

She helped him limp off the pitch and signalled one of the hovering Mediwitches, who swooped down on their broom to land beside them.

"Boil hex and a bludgeoner," Fleur offered, and the young woman thanked her before ordering Harry to sit on a conjured stool.

Fleur hovered for a moment before being shooed off by the witch.

Still a bit dazed by what had happened, her brain took a moment to catch up where her feet had taken her.

"Yes?" Mr Allard asked, looking down at her with a raised brow.

Fleur held out her hand. "Harry's glasses please, sir."

Allard's cold eyes bored into hers, clearly challenging her silent defiance. After a pointed pause that stretched just long enough to make her start to sweat, he reached languidly into his robes and withdrew Harry's glasses with deliberate slowness.

Fleur did her best not to snatch them out of his hand, but she was hardly delicate.

By the time she returned to Harry, the Mediwitch was done, and getting back on her broom.

Fleur approached slowly, letting Harry notice her before offering his glasses.

He gingerly put them on his face and grunted. "Thanks."

Fleur returned the nod and stood silently, watching as Farrow and Benoit took to the pitch.

"Are you alright, Potter?"

He shrugged. "Shoulder's a bit sore, but I've had worse."

Fleur frowned, biting her lip. "Harry, I— I'm so sorry that Mr Allard did that. I'm truly shocked—"

Harry chuckled, and she pouted, not quite seeing what was funny.

"Don't worry, Fleur. I'm used to bullies like him. Not sure exactly what Allard's deal is," his tone grew dark, "but I can wager a guess."

Harry shrugged, giving her a tired, but wry smile. "Besides, he's not wrong. Getting my glasses knocked off has caused me trouble before. I could use the practice."

Fleur looked at him incredulously. She shook her head. "This is the P.D.E., Harry, not a hitwizard training camp. Nobody expects you to have to fight blind. It's dangerous, let alone the fact that it's wasting everyone's time. Neither you nor Drechsler are going to learn anything like that."

Harry shrugged, as if he disagreed.

Fleur crossed her arms and looked back to the duel, feeling restless. What should she do? Should she report Allard, perhaps? She very much doubted that would do anything. Allard was almost a law unto himself here at the P.D.E.

"Dueling is stupid anyway."

Fleur blinked, and glanced back at Harry.

"I'm sorry?"

"Dueling," Harry said, with a look of distaste as he gestured before them. "It's not as useful as I hoped it would be."

Fleur's response was cut short by Allard. "Potter! Stop wasting our time and get back for another round."

Expression set; Harry walked back towards the pitch. Before he stepped over the boundary he veered his path towards Allard. Harry looked up at the towering figure and reached up to remove his glasses.

Allard looked down his nose at the offering with a cold expression, before plucking them from the boy's hand.

Harry walked onto the pitch with some of the swagger he'd lost the past day, and Fleur sighed. Part of her was baffled by the seemingly limitless extent of his antagonism towards people able to make his life a living hell, but she was beginning to realise that perhaps such an attitude was a response rather than a cause. Harry just seemed to attract trouble like a flower beneath a beehive.

The duel ended much like the last, with Harry in the tender care of the Mediwitch. Fleur was somewhat annoyed at the woman for the almost bored way she treated Harry for the second time in twenty minutes without even a question.

"I can make a complaint if you want," Fleur said, arms crossed as she glared at Allard. Even Farrow was frowning as he watched beneath a creased brow.

Harry shook his head. "No. The more I've thought about it, it's actually quite a good idea."

Fleur peered at him through narrowed eyes. "He's not trying to help you."

Harry's expression darkened. "I know exactly what he's doing. But honestly? Being forced to fight without my glasses isn't the worst lesson I've had. At least here, nobody's trying to kill me."

Fleur blinked and waved her hand. "Just seriously injure."

Harry cocked his head to the side, looking up at her from his seat on the floor. "That's why all these rules and restrictions are completely pointless, you know."

"Pointless? The duelling association has been around for a hundred times longer than you've been alive! You really think you know better after coming here for a couple of days?" She scoffed, jerking her head to look away from him with a frown.

Harry shrugged. "Pointless for me, at least. Learning how to beat stuffy duellists doesn't really seem like it's going to help."

"Help what, exactly? Why did you even come here if that's what you think?"

"I—"

"Potter! Delacour!"

Allard gestured sharply to the pitch.

Harry got to his feet with a grunt. "Don't go easy on me."

Fleur just shook her head and followed him in sullen silence.

They took their places and this time Harry didn't even bother giving his glasses to Allard, he just stowed them in his robes.

Fleur was flushed with simmering frustration—partly at Harry's stubborn self-sabotage, partly at Allard's petty cruelty. She couldn't understand why Harry insisted on making everything harder for himself—and for her.

Fleur shook herself of the thoughts and readied her wand. If he wanted to hamstring his own chance at learning, there was little she could do. Best she could manage was to keep her spell choice to something less painful than what her squad mates had been dealing out. If she also happened to demonstrate to him just what a 'stuffy duellist' could do when provoked, so be it.

As if willingly feeding the tension that sat between the two of them, Mr Allard let the silence stretch for a moment, before calling to start.

As soon as he did, Harry immediately launched a series of curses at her that she had to actually dodge.

A sweep of her wand rended the clay in an arc between them, kicking up a wall of dust that hovered in the air; rendering even the blurry vision he had useless. A few searching curses punched through before Harry thought to blast it away with a torrent of hot air, but that had given Fleur all the time she needed. As the dust cleared, twelve clay acromantula launched themselves along the ground towards Harry, almost invisible even to her keen eyes against the dusty ground.

Fleur smiled thinly as Harry stumbled back.

With impressive speed he managed to silently summon a wall of vicious stakes from the earth, impaling four of the spiders that launched themselves at him. Without pausing to even make the standard wand movement, he spun and sent a wave of scorching fire towards the others that had approached him from the side. Unfortunately for him, the fire wasn't hot enough to disintegrate the one spider that was already mid-air when the fire cooked it through. He let out a curse as a now vitrified acromantula crashed into him and sent him tumbling onto his back. The animated snakes that Fleur had sent as a follow up wormed their way around him, pinning his arms to his side.

Fleur was just putting her wand away when the snakes suddenly untied themselves, their heads swaying towards Harry like he'd charmed them with a song. In a moment he was free and scrambling back to his feet.

Fleur fumbled to raise her wand and only just managed to block the series of curses that battered into her shield like cannon balls. She held back a wince and managed to duck to the side of the following sequence so that she could blast the traitorous snakes that had slithered back from Harry towards her.

Fleur continued to dodge and block, breathing long and slow as she focused on her footwork, and on minimising her wand movements.

Fleur let her anger fuel her, embarrassed that she had let her guard down, and pushed her speed even further, cycling through memorised sequences of curses and taking every given opportunity to distract his limited vision with small animations, and bursts of light.

Harry, to his credit, met her increased salvo with grim determination, and impeccable reflexes. He barely got a spell out for every three of hers, but his speed meant his recovery was fast enough to recover from two or three near defeats.

Fleur stepped to the side of yet another surprisingly accurate curse and tried not to let his rapid improvement rattle her.

She narrowed her eyes, frustration giving way to cold calculation. Harry's rapidly improving accuracy meant the visual tricks wouldn't cut it anymore—time to remind him exactly what disciplined duelling could achieve.

Time to go back to the basics of her duelling skills.

Eventually, she got her opening. Harry stumbled as one of her stinging hexes hit him in the knee, and Fleur pounced without a second wasted, sending a blasting curse at his feet and following up with her fastest combination: the leg locker and a Confundus, one, bright blue sent directly to his right shoulder, and the other, a clear orange almost invisible against the clay, to his left. Harry stumbled back from the blasting curse, dodged the leg locker, and walked straight into the Confundus.

It knocked him on his back, but Fleur was not making her mistake twice, sending a wordless disarming charm that sent Harry's wand rolling away.

She straightened from her crouch, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and took a deep breath to steady her racing heart. Harry lay on his back with his eyes scrunched closed, groaning. Oddly, one of her animated snakes was wrapped around his neck and seemed to be hissing into his ear. Fleur flicked her wand and hit him with the counter-charm and immediately his eyes shot open. He took a moment to find her, and when he did, he looked at her with an uncertain expression.

Fleur's hand hesitated, but she forced it to jerk out and grab Harry's sleeve. She helped him to his feet and then took a step back. Her mouth opened and then shut again, words caught in the conflict of anger, sympathy, and begrudging respect swirling within her. Unable to sort through the tangle, she turned abruptly and retreated, irritated most by the lingering feeling that he wasn't entirely wrong.