Hey all, thanks to everybody who reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. I'm having a lot of fun doing this and your response has been awesome. Quick side note before we get the show on the road.
I started this story at the recommendation of the lovely folks at the Fleur/Harry discord server as part of something called the Emily Collection. Any flowerpot fans out there may have already seen some other stories under this tag, but for those who don't know, there is a Fleur/Harry fan out there named Emily who's in need of some lifting up, so the moderators have got something pretty special going to help her out. I genuinely wouldn't have started writing without them, so if you are a writer or someone who is thinking about getting into it, this would be a great opportunity to do some real good.
The invite url is : discord . gg/KsGGTxcQ (delete the spaces ofc)
Once there you will be welcomed with open arms just like I was and you can find out more information about the Emily Collection, as well as have an awesome group of writers there as a resource to help your own writing. Anyway, that's my shill for the day, on with the story!
The Great Lake
Harry awoke to faint light of the rising sun and the sound of rhythmic footfalls on sand. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he tried to remember exactly why he wasn't in his comfortable four poster bed in the Gryffindor fourth year dormitory. Still under his father's cloak, Harry lifted his head to gather his bearings.
In front of him, the Great Lake rippled as small waves gently lapped against the shore. Warm rays of sunlight reflected off the surface of the water, wavering in tandem with the wrinkles in the lake. The sun itself was nested in the crevice between two of the mountains that sprawled on the opposite shore, and it was unobscured by rainclouds that had dominated the previous night.
The memory of last night's rain shook something loose in the raven-haired teen's mind and he remembered the full account of his escapade.
"What the bloody hell was I thinking?" Harry mumbled to himself as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. However, as he recalled his connection to the sky, the declaration of his resolve, and the dance of his familiar, he couldn't help but smile. He regretted nothing.
Looking slightly to his left, the sounds that had roused him from his slumber became clear as he saw the shirtless form of the Durmstrang champion jogging on the beach around the lake. Even though Harry could only see the back of the seeker's head he could imagine the grim focus on the man's face. Harry grimaced as Krum's tightly muscled form only served as a reminder to the level of competition he was facing.
Harry had always viewed running as a necessity, whether it was fleeing from his cousin's gang as a child or desperately avoiding a sixty-foot magical snake in the bowels of the castle, he couldn't imagine actively choosing to expend that amount of energy this early in the morning. Krum's impressive form accelerated as he rounded a corner of the lake, his powerful strides leaving sand spraying in his wake. Then again, sometimes the results spoke for themselves.
Slipping off the invisibility cloak, he was greeted by the familiar magic of his surroundings. The castle beckoned like the open arms of a parent, and his stomach rumbled in hunger. Harry stretched his arms and twisted his back, sighing in contentment as a series of cracks and pops alleviated some of the stiffness in his body. Cushioning charm or not, he wasn't going to be making a habit of sleeping in the dirt.
Harry took a few fleeting steps towards the castle, before turning once again toward his sprinting competitor. Feeling a sinking pit in his stomach that had nothing to do with his hunger, and everything to do with the recoiling ball of energy he had acquainted himself with the previous night, Harry realized exactly what he needed to do, despite his previous reservations.
"Damn it, I really don't want to though." Even with his weak protest, he could feel the magic in his belly endorse his reluctant decision; it would not rest until its wizard took his previous vow seriously. "I must be crazy, nobody has ever told me that magic would be like a moody juvenile cat… That and I keep talking to myself." As if to mock him, he could have sworn that the core of magic in his belly had begun to purr.
Harry began disrobing, and with a quick transfiguration of a nearby tree branch, he stashed his map, his invisibility cloak, and his outer robes in a chest under the tree. With another wave of his wand, his boots had become imitations of the expensive running sneakers he had seen his cousin wear, three diagonal stripes adorning the simple ergonomic shape. Of course, the idea of his cousin Dudley and exercise in the same sentence made him chuckle a bit.
With a smile that he tried not to let become a grimace, Harry began to run. He felt the wind on his bare chest and arms, and after the chilling rain from the night before, the faint warmth of the sun actually felt nice. As he turned the corner, he saw Krum glance at him out of the corner of his eye and he nodded in acknowledgement.
Maybe this won't be so bad after all, Harry thought optimistically.
An hour passed and the positive outlook of the young wizard was long forgotten as he gasped for air and sweat poured from every nook and cranny in his body. It was with no small amount of pride that he had noticed that the Bulgarian champion had not once overtaken him, and as he collapsed against the trunk of his familiar tree, he could see his new rival approaching.
Krum had a small smirk on his face, but his eyes were not unkind. It was the most emotion that he had ever seen on the other seeker's face before. "Vell Potter, it is good to see that you are taking this seriously, da?" he said as he bent down to lend the younger teen a hand up.
After a moment of surprise, Harry reached out and took the offered hand, nodding in thanks. Through deep breaths of air he replied, "I don't have much choice now do I? I do plan on winning this thing after all."
The Bulgarian raised an eyebrow and replied, "Ah, the boy believes he can compete with the men? Ve vill haff to see if you can back up those vords, Potter." Ignoring Harry's look of indignation he continued, "It takes more than a morning vork-out to be a real threat."
Harry's eyes narrowed, but a retort came to mind quickly. "It's not the men I'm worried about, Krum. Haven't you noticed the French champion? Her magic is more potent than any of ours."
Krum's eyes blinked in confusion, he was not expecting this defense, and bringing up magical strength seemed strange when none of the champions had seen each other in action yet. Potter was a strange one. "I am not worried about any other, I haff been training like this for years. You on the other hand," Krum's face regained the ghost of a teasing smirk, "need all the help you can get."
Harry's eyes met Krum's own and the older teen could detect a defiance that reminded him of his own drive to win. That told him all he needed to know, and a seed of respect was planted into the Bulgarian's heart.
"Didn't your team lose in the World Cup final? You should remember that us Brits don't give up so easily."
Krum snorted derisively. "It vas the Irish that beat us, not the British. And that vas not my fault, I did my job."
Seamus would kill him if he knew what Harry was about to say. "The Irish are like our little brother. We bullied them for years until they snapped back at us, but at the end of the day we are still the same." Never mind Seamus, Harry could feel the ire of every Irish citizen within a fifty-mile radius, but he continued. "And unlike yourself, the only quidditch match I ever lost was when dementors got involved. Believe me, they pack a stronger punch than your mascots." Weirdly, Harry found himself beginning to enjoy this back and forth, and from the look on Krum's face he wasn't alone.
Viktor Krum had spent years building his reputation as a cold, ruthless competitor, and it had been years since anyone had the quaffles to challenge him directly to his face. He still felt that the younger champion had no chance to actually compete, but it was entertaining to say the least.
"Oh, so the boy Potter wants to fly with the big boys, but he cannot even stand after a simple run. I am shaking in my boots." Krum was outright grinning now.
Harry matched his grin and began to chuckle and was joined by the Bulgarian teen a moment later. The two competitors were an odd sight to behold as the morning sun began to shine in earnest. Harry could begin to feel the magic of the castle begin to bubble and swirl in motion in the distance, it must be time for breakfast.
His smile began to fade as he realized what exactly he was facing when he returned to the Great Hall. The leers, the hushed whispers, his friends… Were they even still his friends? Hermione had warned him to stay away, and honestly, he didn't want much to do with the other two at the moment either.
Krum followed his gaze to the castle in understanding and with a final nod he began to walk back towards the Durmstrang ship on the lake. He had walked a dozen or so paces before he looked back at Harry with the same smirk as before.
"You vill meet me here again tomorrow morning. I vill show you how a professional trains his body, da?"
Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what did you say?"
"You are young, not deaf or stupid, da?" Krum's smirk grew even more pronounced.
"But why would you train your competition?"
"First of all, you are not competition. Second," Krum actually turned slightly red as he seemingly struggled for a moment as if to find the right words. "The girl, she sits next to you at dinner. Vat is her name?"
Hogwarts Library
Harry ignored the whispers and stares as he settled into the veritable fort of books he had built himself in the Hogwarts library. Breakfast had gone better than he had thought as it was still an early Saturday morning and most students had chosen to sleep in after the Halloween festivities. There were a few older Ravenclaws that he had noticed with NEWT-level textbooks haphazardly splayed out on their table, obviously taking their upcoming exams seriously. None had even spared Harry a glance, so he was able to eat in peace, but the students had given him an idea.
When he had summoned the bolt of lightning the previous night he had simply felt alive, his magic had sung in pleasure and he could feel the sky itself respond in kind. It was a feeling that was only matched, if in a completely different sense entirely, by the intricate dance between Prongs and the Eagle. It had felt like ethereal stag was a projection of the wizard's very essence, true and unfettered by modesty or self-consciousness. It was as if his communal with the sky had revealed his true nature, and in jubilation, Harry had shouted for the world to take notice. And he was answered by the Eagle. A presence that accepted his offering, cherished it even, and the two had created something beautiful.
He had been too tired to focus on the source of the eagle's magic, but now that he thought of it, who exactly could it be? There were none at Hogwarts save the professors that could cast the charm in the first place, and furthermore, the eagle had come from the Beauxbatons carriage.
Well that really narrows it down, thought Harry. He had honestly paid little attention to the French visitors besides his fellow champion, and despite her obvious magical strength, the eagle's magic had been whimsical and playful, a far cry from the Veela's fiery aura. Even if it had been Fleur responsible, he thought with a pang, she would probably never accept the 'leetle boy' as her magical dance partner, and that sentiment had to apply to the rest of her delegation as well.
The sparking ball of energy in the pit of his stomach recoiled at the prospect, reflecting the wizard's inner defiance. Taking a deep breath and realizing it would do no good to dwell on the second momentous event of the previous night, he focused on the first. What the hell had he done with the lightning? Nothing he had ever learned at Hogwarts, no professor had even suggested that what he had done was a possibility. Of course, he was only a fourth year.
Glancing again at the NEWT level spellbooks on the Ravenclaw table, his mind made a connection.
"The library!" His shout had earned him the attention and glares from the studying students, and Harry sheepishly looked back down to his breakfast. That is how he found himself in the Hogwarts library, surrounded by the spellbooks and tomes of magical theory that appeared on the syllabi for the next few years of the Hogwarts curriculum. He could already feel a headache forming while thinking about the sheer amount of reading he had in store for himself, but a small part of him was excited to be applying himself, especially since he knew he would use the knowledge in the very near future.
"Maybe this is the feeling that Hermione is chasing all the time, no wonder she never leaves this place." Harry chuckled to himself for a moment before remembering the last conversation he had with his muggleborn best friend. Not to mention the Bulgarian champion's unexpected crush. It had been a strange twelve hours. Sighing to himself, he opened the first tome and began to read.
Great Hall
Fleur Delacour had crashed back to earth after her strange, magical evening. It was hard to even imagine the heavenly atmosphere of the night before as she sat at the Ravenclaw table, fending off the suggestive looks and outright dumfounded stares of the majority of the male populace. At least most of the louts had the decency to look ashamed when she met their eyes with the steely gaze of her own, but some still had the nerve to keep ogling! It was enough to drive anyone mad!
"Eloise, I am suddenly not so hungry," the classic English breakfast fare hadn't appealed to her in the slightest anyway, "didn't you say you spent some time in the library last week?" She suddenly turned and shot a fiery glare at a fifth year Ravenclaw boy that had the audacity to purr lecherously as he heard Fleur's native French. The idiot boy nearly fell out of his chair in embarrassment, which made her feel slightly better.
"Oui, Fleur. I'll get my things together and we can leave together in a…" Eloise was interrupted by an approaching sixth-year Ravenclaw, Roger Davies if Fleur remembered correctly.
He interrupted the French witches with an arrogant smile. "Don't worry darling, you finish your breakfast." Eloise blushed in irritation, but she was never the best at direct confrontation. "I'll show Fleur here to the library." He spoke a butchered version of her native tongue and had stretched out her name in a way that she supposed he thought was enticing, and Fleur resisted the urge to rub her temples in irritation.
Fleur responded in English, ignoring the gasps of the less intelligent of her so-called admirers. "Zank you Monsieur Davids," she deliberately misspoke his name "but we will be just fine finding it ourselves." With that she grabbed her best friend's wrist and made to leave.
Davies, a tinge of red on his cheeks, blocked her escape, "But I insist Ms. Delacour! What kind of host would I be if I let you get lost? The castle must be so confusing for pretty foreign girl such as yourself." He took a step closer, uncomfortably intruding on her personal space.
Fleur was aware that their conversation was the center of attention for most of the Great Hall, and she knew that the best way to avoid causing a scene was to relent and let the boy escort her. However, his unkind eyes and body language betrayed the "helpful" words he had spoken; this was just another man seeking to redeem his wounded pride, but it was not Fleur Delacour's job to mother this child's insecure manhood!
Drawing herself up to her full height and releasing a little control of her aura, she responded bitingly "Monsieur Davidson, you will find zat I am very capable of 'andling myself in your insignificant little castle." She reached out to pat his cheek in a condescending gesture, and Davies let out a yelp as the heat from her fingertips singed his skin. "You on ze other 'and, boy ," she smiled contemptuously, "don't seem to be able to 'andle ze 'eat." With that she brushed past the fuming Ravenclaw, Eloise following close behind.
"Fleur, you're smoking." The two witches had almost made it out of the Great Hall and were aware of being the subject of many unabashed stares and whispers.
"Argh, not you too!" the last thing Fleur wanted was to be complimented on her looks right now.
Eloise gave her humorless smile . "No, Fleur. Rein it in a little. Your feathers are showing." Fleur was in fact lightly smoking as her Veela heritage strained to let itself take over.
Fleur sighed and took deep breaths. Thankfully they were out of the hall and being out of the spotlight helped calm her nerves. "I'm sorry, Eloise, it usually is not this easy for those fools to get to me. I think last night drained me more than I thought." Fleur couldn't resist brushing back her blonde hair in attempt to soothe herself.
Though the intensity of her experience the night previous had worn off, she had been slightly dishonest with her friend. Instead, she felt more energized than ever, as if she had loosened the chains of her magic for a moment and had given them the taste of freedom, and now they refused to be shackled back again. She closed her eyes as she tried to remember the exact sensation she had been feeling when she had cast her Patronus. Powerful, free, exhilarated, and… Accepted? Was that right?
If so, it was not something she exactly had much experience with. Yes, her family was wonderful, and they loved her for who she was and took just as much pride in her achievements as she did, but this was different. She had risen above her peers from a young age, and that combined with her Veela ancestry, meant that there were not many that she could relate to at Beauxbatons. No one had been able to equal her, and many had given in to their jealousy, or simply put Fleur on an unattainable pedestal. If it weren't for the fact that Eloise had been with her basically from the cradle, she wasn't sure she would have any friends at all.
But the stag… The stag had seamlessly anticipated her actions before she herself was even conscious of them. The stag had not just allowed her Eagle to fly free, it had challenged it to better itself, embraced it, and they had created that perfect magical dance. She had been part of something beautiful, and for once it wasn't due to her inherited good looks or magic. Her being had been accentuated by the stag just as her magic accentuated his. It was electric. Absently she dared to hope that the stag's master would prove just as worthy as his familiar, otherwise she would be very disappointed.
"Fleur are you even listening to me?" Eloise had elbowed her in the ribs to get her attention. Fleur looked abashedly at her friend and quickly apologized. Eloise shook her head and continued, "I was saying that you can't let them provoke you, you had been doing such a good job of tuning them out." Eloise stopped her admonishment and her face fell, "I.. I'm sorry that I wasn't much help, I'm not very good in those moments, I should have done more."
Fleur took her friend's hand as they paused in the middle of the corridor in front of two cold and inhospitable suits of armor. The decorations in this horrid castle were simply garish.
Thankfully they had a bit of privacy as no other students were in sight. "Eloise, you don't have to worry, I promise. You are right, I must be better, if not for myself, then for my scaredy cat best friend."
Apparently, this was not the right thing to say, and Eloise was not in the mood to be teased. She pulled her hand away from Fleur's and motioned to the corridor in front of them. "The library is on the right, I'm going to go back to the carriage to catch up on homework over there, do you mind?" Her hands were fidgeting, and she pointedly avoided eye contact with her friend.
Fleur sighed, knowing that this was the closest to a fight that she and her shy friend would come to, Eloise was always the type to make an excuse to leave before she was forced into a conflict. She gave her friend a nod, and Eloise turned away to leave. Fleur called out to her as she walked away, "Eloise… I'm sorry. I'm not myself."
Eloise turned back with a slight understanding smile, "It's okay, Fleur. With everything that's been happening, I think my social well has just run dry too, I'll see you at the carriage. I'll be feeling better in a bit." And with that she disappeared around the corner.
Fleur rubbed her temples; she was feeling completely out of it today. Curse that damn stag! She began walking again, passing yet another graceless suit of armor and an equally gauche teenage wizard who couldn't seem to keep his mouth closed in her presence. Curse that damn, wonderful, stupid, beautiful stag!
Hogwarts Library
Harry had been reading in the library for a few hours and was deep into his Intermediate Charms Theory textbook, and though it had been more interesting than he had hoped, it had yielded no answers in regard to Harry's strange interaction with the storm. However, he had read a snippet that mentioned "the original intent of earthbound magical forces," but it had been in relation to the ley lines that cut across the earth. These ley lines were thought to be the source of all magic on earth, but other than that single line, the author gave no insight as to what that intrinsic intent even meant!
Harry felt like he was trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle, but some pieces were mixed in with other sets, a couple were lying on the floor, and oh yeah, hadn't he seen one in the butter dish by the stove? It would take ages to compile all the information he needed even if he found all the bits and pieces in these books, what he needed was a dedicated source!
Harry was drawn out of his reflections by his least favorite voice on the magical intent forsaken earth.
"I had to see it for myself. The pathetic Harry Potter, reduced to doing his own research without his pet mudblood around," Draco Malfoy, flanked by his two goons, Crabbe and Goyle, approached Harry's table with all the subtlety of a prancing peacock and two silverback gorillas. He gave his Harry his trademark Malfoy sneer, "it would almost be sad if it wasn't so… hilarious."
Harry wondered exactly when Malfoy had stopped being infuriating and had become more of a passing annoyance. Probably when he had faced dozens of dementors out to suck his soul- it was hard to get worked up over a fourteen-year-old with an inferiority complex after facing down that eldritch horror. Harry absently noted that what little magic he could sense from the Malfoy teen felt unstable and lukewarm, with the slightest touch of sticky slime. Could hair gel have an effect on magical auras?
"I'm a little busy Malfoy, you know, fame and fortune wait for no man," Harry gestured to the books around him, "but you should do a little reading while you're here, maybe then daddy wouldn't have to punish you for underperforming to a muggleborn witch year after year."
Unbeknownst to either of the two teens, Fleur Delacour had entered the library moments before and had begun watching her fellow champion with slight interest. Well, he's certainly more arrogant than I gave him credit for, she thought dismissively. Typical boys, when they're not acting like idiots they're acting like cawing roosters.
The blonde haired one was barely holding it together, she could tell, but the Potter boy seemed undisturbed, almost as if contemplating a cockroach under his heel. Perhaps this rooster had more to him than his caw?
Draco was beet red now, obviously his opening salvo hadn't had the effect he wanted, and Potter had touched a nerve right off the bat. "I would worry more about your imminent humiliation in the tournament, Potter! The smart odds at the moment are that you won't last five minutes in the first task."
Harry rolled his eyes, "I hadn't realized the Ancient Most Noble House of Malfoy," Harry emphasized each word in the ridiculous title with all the false gravitas he could muster, "had sunken so low to concern itself with petty gambling. It would be so sad if it weren't so… hilarious."
Fleur had to stifle a giggle. She had to admit, her Triwizard counterpart had a bit of wit to him. Perhaps he wasn't a rooster after all, maybe a clever crow?
Draco had been inches away from grabbing his wand, but after a moment his eyes gleamed and he sneered in a hoarse whisper. "I can't wait to watch you fail, Potter. Just like your mudblood mother. And your blood-traitor father."
Harry's eyes flashed in anger, his magic springing to fingertips, begging to be released, but Ron's concussed gaze flashed in his mind and he took a deep breath to calm himself. Draco was beneath his contempt and he couldn't jeopardize what little time to prepare by getting into a petty schoolyard brawl. Instead, he leveled the iciest glare that he could at the Malfoy heir as he prepared to respond, but as it turned out, it wasn't necessary.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched in surprise as Fleur Delacour strode over to the three Slytherins with purpose, and as she caught their attention, the two Neanderthals at Malfoy's flank went slack with impotence, and Malfoy himself couldn't seem to blink.
"I am très fini listening to zis drivel!" She leveled a cool glare of her own at the Malfoy heir. "You are evidently a part of ze Malfoy family in zis country, no?"
All Malfoy could do was nod his head in confirmation. Harry himself was shocked at recent developments, and he took the Beauxbatons champion in. She really was captivating, even, no he admitted, especially, when she was angry. Her perfect platinum blonde hair cascaded down in waves, her narrowed eyes a brilliant blue like a clear sky on a sunny day, and by god her magic. If it had been potent before, it was simply a formidable cloak of potential devastation, reined in by the tiniest of threads. Despite the wonderful sight before him, Harry couldn't help but feel a tinge of worry. Was the French witch unwell?
At closer glance, he could see the slightest hint of dark circles forming under her eyes, and her foot tapped in a constant rhythm as if striking the beat of a bass drum. Those signs along with her seemingly tentative grip magic pointed to someone who seemed to be under a lot of stress.
Unaware of her fellow champion's musings, Fleur continued laying into the Malfoy heir. "I am guessing zat your leetle branch of ze Malfoy family tree would suffer greatly if zey were cut off from zheir French roots, non?" After realizing she wouldn't receive an articulate response from the Malfoy air, she sighed, her anger abating.
These were just children she was dealing with after all, she couldn't let a frustrating day and her eager magic turn her into a raging Veela stereotype. She had her dignity after all. Turning away from the three Slytherins, she waved her hand dismissively. "Run along, leetle boys. Zink about what we have talked about, oui?"
As if breaking from a trance, but realizing he had nothing to gain by staying with the two champions, Malfoy gave Harry a final glare and began dragging his two goons away, leaving behind the raven haired teen and the blonde Veela.
Fleur turned her attention to Harry, sighing as she caught him staring at her as well.
"You are not like zose ozzer idiots, at least you were not before. Why do you stare now?" Fleur was disappointed, though she wasn't quite sure why.
Harry narrowed his eyes indignantly. "I wasn't staring at you like that you know, it's just… Never mind." Fleur could tell the boy was being truthful, and to be honest, she had seen the intelligence behind his eyes beforehand. Merde, she was feeling sensitive today.
Fleur's eyes softened as she gestured toward an open seat across from Harry, who shrugged in acceptance. "You are right," Fleur sank down into the seat gratefully, now that she thought about it, this had been the first time she had felt safe since she had left the carriage earlier that morning. "I have been… jumping through conclusions today."
"Jumping to conclusions," Harry corrected idly.
Fleur rolled her eyes, "Excusez-moi, have I offended your Breetish sensibilities?" she asked with a smirk.
"Of course, you may as well just burn the Union Jack and call the Queen a bint," Harry quickly responded, "You can insult Thatcher all you want though, we renounce our claim on her."
Fleur's eyes widened imperceptibly. She had expected the boy in front of her to apologize after she called him out, there were precious few people in her life that could keep a joke going with her. It was one of the reasons Eloise was so dear to the blonde witch.
"I'd settle for burning zose 'orrid beans you call breakfast instead."
"Oh, would you prefer bull-blah-base?"
" Bouillabaisse."
"Oh excuse me, have I offended your French sensibilities?" This time it was Harry leveling a smirk at Fleur, and she couldn't help but giggle. She had fallen for the same trap as the Malfoy boy, but this time, the arrogance in her fellow competitor was absent, just the spark of witty humor in his eyes remained.
Harry couldn't believe what was happening, yesterday his fellow champions had brushed him aside, today they seemed all too interested in his business.
Reluctantly, he broke eye contact with the French witch and glanced down at his book. Fleur followed his gaze with her own, and nodded in understanding. He was obviously in the middle of studying before the Malfoy heir had disturbed him, she realized.
Speaking of the devil, he vaguely gestured to the door to the library, "Thank you for sending Malfoy away with his tail tucked between his legs, he can be a right git," he said with an annoyed grimace. He continued, "but I do have some work to do, do you mind if I read?"
Fleur nodded in acknowledgement, "No need to zank me, 'e was disturbing ze peace and quiet wiz his squawking," her beautiful features scrunched for a moment in disgust "not to mention the smell of zose brutes by 'is side."
Harry chuckled and began to look back down at his text, "that's why you were so angry, I thought you were going to attack him," if he had been paying attention, he would have seen her eyes flash in annoyance, but he continued, not knowing the hole he was about to dig himself. "Is it normal for Veela's magic to be so explosive? Or is there something the matter?"
The sound of the chair across from him scraping against the stone floor brought his attention back to the woman in front of him, and he was shocked to see the angry dismissal in her face, all traces of its previous humor forgotten.
"I will 'ave you know zat I am not just some," she struggled to find the right word in her anger, " creature with no control! Garçon idiot !" she spat. The nerve of the boy, especially after she had thought him better than the other fools in this country, he just had to prove her wrong with his narrowmindedness!
She stood abruptly, chin high in the air and no longer looking at her fellow champion, "Goodbye, Monsieur Potter, it will be a pleasure to beat you in ze tournament." Ignoring his stammering protests, she turned heel and strode out of the library, leaving a wide-eyed, confused Harry Potter in her wake.
Harry watched her go, dumfounded. He had barely been paying attention to what he was saying, surely it couldn't have been that bad… Well, sure it was tactless, but he was sure that everyone on the floor could feel the magical maelstrom that had enveloped the French witch. Then again, he knew that they had been the center of attention yet no one around him had reacted in fear or shock.
He took a glance around the library, realizing that many were watching as if the past few minutes had been a West End production. One Hufflepuff boy even had a small bowl of popcorn, his eyes unblinking as his hand dipped between the puffed kernels and his mouth in a steady cycle. Where did he even get that?
Harry sighed, vowing to himself to practice his privacy charms, perhaps even investigate some warding magic as well. He had a feeling that he would need them. What a strange day.
Hogwarts Dungeons
The next week went by quickly enough, and Harry had settled into a schedule of classes and training. Every morning he would meet Viktor Krum by the lake for their work out. Despite his insistence that he and Hermione were not speaking at the moment, the surprisingly embarrassed Krum merely wanted to know more about the girl.
"So you say Herm-own-ninny.."
" Herm. I. Oh. Nee."
"Yes, Hermy-own-ninny," Harry sighed in exasperation, but Krum continued without noticing, "does not haff interest in quidditch?"
"No Viktor, in fact she feels the whole sport is quite stupid."
Krum huffed, "Vell as long as she does not think I am stupid, I think I can make this work." They had finished their run and various body-weight exercises in the sand by the lake. Harry was glad that no one seemed to know about his daily routine, he was sure they would cause quite the stir.
His relationship with the Bulgarian champion had been a pleasant surprise, and he had been grateful for the opportunity to improve his physical health. He had noticed the changes in his energy levels already; he felt more awake, focused, and had an overall more positive outlook since he had begun his training. Unfortunately, he thought wistfully, he was nowhere close to attaining the rippled physique of his fellow champion.
The two seekers were more alike than either had previously thought. They were both normally quiet and reserved, but that was likely a side effect of the fame and recognition they had acquired. Krum had achieved his position through hard work and was motivated by personal betterment, he had no interest in what others thought of him and was just as uncomfortable with his fame as Harry was with his.
Not to mention the grueling expectations that his rigid school and foreboding headmaster put upon him, it would make anyone into a stone statue, Harry thought. What had started off as a friendly workout between competitors had been molding into the beginnings of a fast friendship, and Harry needed all the friends he could get.
Harry sighed. Hermione and Ron had been studiously avoiding him ever since the night of the surprise announcement. Of course, Harry had set up base camp in one of the many abandoned classrooms on the third floor, spending hours reading and practicing any interesting spell that he could find. Because of this, he would often arrive in his dormitory well after midnight and would leave early in the morning for his physical training, so there were not many chances for him to interact with his fellow Griffindors.
In class however, Harry was often left alone, and though Ron would shoot him the occasional glare, Hermione would always be nearby to yank his attention away. The other Griffindors seemed content to leave him alone as well, not necessarily outwardly hostile, but not eager to talk to him either.
Honestly, that served Harry well anyway, he could barely focus in class, as he was anxiously awaiting the moment he could return to his self-study. He had finally made his way through the NEWT level charms theory and spell books, rapidly devouring the pages at a higher rate than he ever had, and though he had learned many useful bits of information, there was nothing that even alluded to his experience with the sky, or even the sensing of magic in general.
Perhaps it was just something the wizarding world took for granted; it made sense that if you grew up around magic then you wouldn't think much of its qualities, it would simply be natural. Like having the ability to perceive another color, it wouldn't be noteworthy until you found out that others could only see in combinations of the three primaries.
That still didn't explain his lightning, or the very awareness he had perceived from the stormy sky. That was definitely abnormal, right? So far, his study had yielded no answers on that front, and he realized that his instincts were probably correct, he needed a dedicated source on the very topic. How would he even begin to find such a thing? He didn't even know what branch of magic he should be looking into if it wasn't Charms.
His study wasn't completely for naught, however. His magic was responding to his intent much easier than it ever had, and spells that would normally take him weeks to learn were mastered in mere hours, even minutes occasionally. He was proud of his progress and had dedicated himself to the other fundamental subjects in his curriculum.
It was highly unlikely he would find the answers to the big questions he was looking for in the fields of Transfiguration or Potions, for instance, but he still had a lot of knowledge to catch up on to level the playing field in the tournament.
Speaking of Potions, that was where he was heading now. Earlier that day, Colin Creevey had passed on a message from Dumbledore that something called the Weighing of the Wands was to take place, and it was just Harry's luck that it was scheduled in the middle of his double Potions class.
Snape had been simply unbearable since Halloween, taking every opportunity to snidely comment on Harry's attention-seeking tendencies and general dunderheadedness. The thought of the hook-nosed professor caused Harry to wrinkle his own nostrils in disgust; who had approved the man's teaching certification, the International Association of Petty Potioneers?
Harry had made it to the dungeons, and the other Griffindors and Slytherins in his class were filing into the narrow doorway. Honestly, did he even need to go to class anymore? He was a champion after all.
Idly a tune played in his head, and he couldn't help but dance along to the funky bassline as he gyrated his hips smoothly as he made his way into the classroom.
We don't need no education…
"Watch where you're going, Potter, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Daphne Greengrass was the unwitting victim of a particularly vigorous strut as he stumbled, nearly knocking her over. The other students in the vicinity had heard the disturbance and were now looking at him strangely.
Okay, maybe he hadn't been a smooth as he thought.
Snape's voice killed any remnants of the groove with his silky yet infuriating voice. "It seems Potter believes he is the champion of disco," he spat the muggle word as if it had been soaked in poison "as well as the undeserved celebrity guest champion of the tournament."
Most of the young witches and wizards wouldn't know a Saturday Night Fever if John Travolta himself had danced the funky chicken naked in front of them, yet they snickered anyway at Harry's expense. Snape continued, "Ten points from Gryffindor for that disgusting display, Potter."
Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in irritation. However, out of all the points that had been taken from him in Potions class, he had to admit that he maybe deserved these the most. Maybe.
Unfortunately, he thought as he made his way to his now familiar seat next to Neville, he did have one other subject to address with his professor.
"Professor Snape?" he called out before the man had the chance to start his lesson.
Snape regarded him as if Harry were a particularly plump bogey ready to be flicked from his finger. "Yes, Potter?"
"I am needed for a ceremony at one o'clock," Harry couldn't resist, "it's a disco-related commitment."
If he knew any better, he would have sworn he that he had witnessed the most miniscule twitch of the potion master's lips, but the moment was over in a flash. Snape spoke in his customary drawl.
"I have been made aware, Potter. Longbottom will have to finish without you." Neville looked up at Harry and gave the slightest whimper. "Any other needless interruptions before I may start my class?"
"None at all, Professor."
"Good. Now turn to page three hundred and ninety four…"
Hogwarts Library
Fleur and Eloise sat in the library together, silently working on their Enchanting homework. The two had reconciled quickly after last week's tiff, Fleur had admitted to having the patience of a particularly testy troll that day and Eloise accepted her apology with graceful understanding.
After she had left Potter in the library, her own studies forgotten, she had returned to the Hogwarts grounds to expel some pent-up energy. The poor twenty-square meter patch of forest never knew what hit it, she thought with no small amount of regret. Her furious flare-up had the desired effect however, and she had returned to her room exhausted but much more at ease than before.
That is not to say that the mere thought of a certain dark-haired Hogwarts champion didn't still rile her up, the nerve to ridicule her heritage after she had come to the boy's defense, the ungrateful cretin!...
But for the most part she was back to her usual cool, collected self.
Fleur paused in her reading and looked up in contemplative silence. Eloise gave her a questioning look, but with a shake of her head, Fleur gestured that there was nothing wrong. Eloise shrugged and continued studying.
Fleur was proud of her Veela heritage. Moreover, she was proud of her Delacour heritage. Her Grandmother on her father's side had met her husband while fighting in the Great War against the reviled Grindewald.
Pierre Delacour was a respected Lieutenant in the French Battlemage Corps, and his future wife Helene was the chief Medi-Witch in his division. Pierre was renowned for his ability to galvanize his men forward despite the brutal realities of their battles and had even survived a direct confrontation with Grindewald himself.
She hadn't learned much of this until recently; Fleur could still remember being a little girl, balanced on her grandfather's knee, as she asked about the various medals she could see in an ornate mahogany display case in his study.
"Nothing for you to worry about my dear." He had said with a small smile. "Your grandfather was involved in some trouble long ago, but that is not important now. What is important however," he exclaimed as rose to his feet and lifted her high above his head, "is that this little bird of mine must be ready for some lemon gelato, non?"
Smiling at the happy memory from her childhood, she felt the memory of her own childish giggle warm her heart as she enjoyed a moment of peaceful nostalgia. It was truly a wonder that her grandfather had survived the most brutal war in recent memory and had still become the loving, family-oriented man she knew today.
His son, Ricard Delacour, had little pure fighting ability or training- in fact, Pierre had been insistent that his son would know as little of battle as humanly possible- but he made up for this with his prodigal skill in defensive wards and enchantments, having designed the most recent improvements for the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France.
This skill, combined with his sharp political acumen, had allowed him to rise through the ranks of the French Ministry with ease, and was considered a trusted political advisor to the French Minister herself. Despite these titles, the man was good-natured and humble, and he instilled a sense of responsibility and pride in his daughters that Fleur would forever be grateful for.
Her mother, Apolline Delacour, was passionate and clever, shrewd yet patient, and had impressed upon both of her daughters the importance of their Veela heritage.
Fleur and her sister Gabrielle had learned from a young age exactly what it meant to be sought after by those who would abuse them. They had learned how and when to defend themselves appropriately when threatened. Most importantly, they learned to view their heritage as the gift that it was, a beautiful, dangerous, wonderful inheritance.
Perhaps this was why the Potter boy's thoughtless words had bothered her so much, and much to her own chagrin, her own recklessness was the source of her shame. If the boy could perceive her magic in the way he had described, she had been closer than she had thought to losing control. And that was unacceptable. She knew better! She was raised better!
None of this would have happened if it wasn't for that ridiculous lapse in judgement by the lake. The next time she saw a glowing patronus outside her window she would draw the curtains and go back to bed!
Never one to wallow in her own shame, Fleur was determined to make things right. She would apologize to the Potter boy, put all the nonsense from the previous week behind her, and focus on winning this bloody tournament. She owed it to her family, and she damn sure owed it to herself!
Her vigorous inner dialogue must have been evident on her face as Eloise was looking at her, torn between concern and exasperation. "Are you hyping yourself up again, Fleur?"
Fleur raised her chin haughtily, looking down at her friend with slightly narrowed eyes. "The inner workings of my mind are an enigma, Eloise." She held this position for a few more precious seconds, the two staring each other down.
Eloise was the first to give in as her face came to rest in the palms of her hands. "Why did I have to become friends with such a strange witch?" She implored the heavens, but alas, the heavens remained silent.
Fleur giggled triumphantly, "Come on Eloise, I'm not that bad. You know you love me!"
"Don't bet on it, bird brain."
"Now you're just being mean." Fleur fixed her friend with a mock pout, crocodile tears coming easily to her eyes.
"Oh get that look off your face, I'm not falling for it," Eloise shook her head, an amused smile gracing her features. "Besides, it's ten minutes to one o'clock, you have a ceremony to get to, non?"
Fleur's puppy dog face fled as her eyes widened in realization. "Thank you Eloise, I don't know what I would do without you," she said, scrambling to get her books back into her bag.
"My life would be so much less chaotic, less dramatic too," Eloise gazed in feigned longing out the high, stained-glass window of the library, the sun shining through the richly colored facade and framing her face in bright shades of red, orange, and yellow.
Fleur paused and glared at her friend, "Yes, I am the dramatic one," before she lifted her bag to her shoulder and hurriedly made her way out of the library. She paused at the stone arch that separated the study from the rest of the castle and turned back to her steadfast friend, "And Eloise?"
"Yes Fleur?"
A wicked smile grew on the blonde witch's face, "Life is no fun without a bit of chaos, remember that, non?"
Hogwarts Classroom
The Weighing of the Wands ceremony had gone smoothly; Ollivander the wandsmith had declared each champion fit for competition, the four competitors had their picture taken and were now mingling with the gathered members of the press that had come to report on the event.
Harry had been going through the motions for much of the past hour but had noticed as the French champion had arrived at the last possible moment. That was well and good, he thought, that just makes it easier to avoid another episode like last time.
At the moment, he and Krum were arguing about the merits of the newest line of seeker's gloves as the event died down and the reporters had begun to file out. However, right as he had been heatedly extolling the Snitch Snatcher Mark Four's obvious superiority in traction in all types of weather when compared to the lowly Seeker's Choice brand, he noticed Viktor's eyes widen.
The Bulgarian seeker abruptly deserted him, mouthing 'sorry Potter,' as he scurried off as if shot from a bow.
What the hell was that about, Harry thought to himself, before an irritatingly grating voice directly behind him startled him out of his confused state. He whirled around, and his pupils retracted as an irrational primal fear took hold of his psyche.
"I didn't know you were friends with Viktor Krum, Harry," his name had been nearly purred out by this creature in front of him, "how positively scandalous. "
Garish jeweled eyeglasses, voluminous blonde hair with curls wound tighter than a hanged-man's rope, scarlet fingernails that could have been the talons of a vulture, and an untrustworthy Cheshire grin. This was all the physical information Harry could process before he nearly choked on the feeling of her magic. Scurrying tendrils of slimy wrongness, constantly wriggling against his senses, scraping like the many legs of a centipede. He couldn't help but flinch away from the… She was a woman and not some demon spawned from hell, right?
Her smile widening at the visceral reaction she had produced in the teen, the 'journalist' went in for the kill. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rita Skeeter, reporter extraordinaire, and on behalf of the Daily Prophet," she lowered her glasses and Harry bore witness to the eyes of a true predator, "I will be interviewing you today."
She had said interview, but Harry's mind could only conjure the image of a venus fly trap closing in on its unsuspecting prey, his senses overloaded as he struggled to reboot his brain and get away from the danger. However, just as it seemed like he would become this monster's next meal, salvation arrived from an unlikely source.
"Zhere you are, Harry, I 'ave been looking everywhere for you!" Miracles upon miracles, God had not forsaken the teen just yet, for Fleur Delacour had arrived to rescue him. She was beautiful as ever, and the primordial terror generated by Skeeter's presence was no match for Fleur's warm, dazzling magic.
"You said you would show me 'ow to find your 'eadmaster's office, non?" Fleur continued as she meaningfully made eye contact with the raven-haired teen.
Rita Skeeter prepared her counterattack, "Nonsense, Harry dear, this will just take a moment, then you can go back to your intriguing date."
His wit restored by the influx of friendly reinforcements, Harry drew himself to his full height and looked Rita in the eye, preparing a façade of his very own.
"A date, Ms. Skeeter?" He suddenly looked the part of a very confused young teenager, "Fleur here just needed to speak to Professor Dumbledore about an issue with the…," he paused, brain working overtime to provide a reasonable excuse, and Skeeter leaned in anticipation, "the wild thistles! Yes there's a patch of wild thistles growing next to the Beauxbatons carriage, and one of Fleur's students has had an allergic reaction."
Fleur's eyebrows nearly flew up to her hairline in surprise, but she quickly schooled her features. The excuse was just ridiculous enough to be believed, and surprisingly, Skeeter was taking the bait. She had flipped to a blank page of her notebook and was scribbling furiously as Harry spun his web.
"Oh yeah, you should have seen him- hives all over his body, swollen eyes, couldn't even talk. The poor guy was just lying there for hours until his friends found him- what was his name again, Fleur?"
Fleur was ready for her cue at the drop of a hat, almost like they had rehearsed their story. "Poor Jean-Carlo, 'e's always getting 'imself into zeese messes. Born under a bad post." She nodded her head with excellently feigned false gravity.
"Born under a bad sign , Fleur."
"Oh oui, zank you 'arry." She continued, "'e must still be in ze 'ospital wing, non? Last I 'eard 'is parents were threatening legal action." She trailed off towards the end, innocently rubbing her chin as if deep in thought. "I'm glad 'e survived nonezeless, it was 'orrible."
Rita was really going at it now, fluttering her eyes as if it made her more charismatic or innocent but in truth it just made her look like she had something in her eye. Fleur swallowed her disgust, wasn't the reporter too old to be playing these games?
"Oh that does sound wretched, just wretched my dears, I'm so sorry you've had to worry about this on top of your oh so heavy obligations. Now, what was poor Jean-Carlo's last name?"
Harry piped up now. "Macaron!" Fleur gave Harry a look of light exasperation, but luckily Rita had swiveled to face the boy, paying full attention. He at least had the decency to blush. "I remembered because it's my favorite kind of cookie." He finished lamely.
"Thank you, dearies, you've been oh so helpful! Ta-ta!" Rita finally turned and sauntered away, her crocodile handbag clacking against her hip with every other step, the sound of her muttering under her breath echoed throughout the nearly empty room. "Jean-Carlo Macaron… Wild Thistle… Hospital Wing…" And then Harry and Fleur were alone.
Fleur and Harry shared an incredulous glance and gave simultaneous sighs of relief, and the girl couldn't help but be impressed by her competitor's quick-thinking. Of course, a foreign student suffering a life-threatening accident on school grounds was just juicy enough to make front page news, and by the time she had realized she had been sent on a wild goose chase, the two teens would be long gone. She wondered idly if Harry had known what he had been doing from the start.
She was roused from her thoughts as Harry smiled in her direction, his eyes bright with mirth at their stunt. "Thanks for saving me back there, she caught me by surprise. Her magic was just too overwhelming."
Fleur smiled back. It had truly felt natural to work in tandem with the teen, even for something as silly as a spontaneous cover story. "Nonsense, I was going to apologize to you anyway for my 'orrid behavior, now we are even, non?"
Then she fully processed what he had said and her eyes widened . "Wait, you said 'er magic was overwhelming? What exactly do you mean?"
Harry's bright green eyes grew slightly murky in confusion. His eyes really are quite expressive, she thought in the back of her head.
"Er, you know. Her aura. It kind of felt like a wriggling insect, and she was all in my face and she looked so…" He trailed off as Fleur showed no sign of recognition, so he tried again. "Well like err, Krum's magic feels like a stalking tiger, and the wards here make you feel comfortable and safe, and like yours…" His words died again as he remembered the last time he had mentioned Fleur's magic. He did not want a repeat performance, but he needn't have worried.
"Feels like it will explode? Zat is what you said, non?" Her voice was far from her usual melodic croon, it was but a faint whisper. Fleur was dumbfounded, she could barely process what he was saying.
"Well actually right now it's quite nice, very warm, like a campfire." Harry said cheerfully. He had gained a bit more confidence now that he knew that the blonde wasn't going to lambast him again. But as Fleur's shaken expression refused to budge, he grew unsure again. "Wait, you do know what I'm talking about, right."
Fleur met his eyes with her own bright blue orbs flickering with uncertainty. "Non, 'arry. I don't." A stray thought crossed her mind, and her eyes narrowed. Of course! She raised her chin and looked down at the boy.
"You are just 'aving one against me, are you not, g arçon?" She should have known, Potter was just a trickster at heart, she had seen enough evidence of that firsthand, but she was not prepared for his reaction.
Harry flinched for a moment, his eyes flickering around her oddly, before they hardened and he raised himself to meet her furious gaze. "First of all, you need to stop biting my head off. I haven't lied to you once since I met you." He took a step forward and Fleur found herself stepping back. "Second of all, I was raised by muggles , I wouldn't know what to lie about or what importance this magic sensing thing should have, I thought everyone could do it!" Another step forward, another step back. "Lastly…" He paused, took a deep breath, and some of the tension drained out of his body and he regained a spark of humor in his eyes. "It's having one over me, not against me."
That did it for Fleur, she had believed him even before he had started talking, his eyes had said everything. Her own demeanor softened and she offered an apologetic smile, meeting those remarkable green orbs with her own blue. "I have offended your Breetish sensibilities. I'm sorry ."
Harry looked at her for a moment, as if weighing whether he should trust her, but soon he relaxed and a small smile of his own graced his features. "It's okay, Fleur. You didn't know. You barely know me at all."
She nodded, schooling her features into a more serious expression, yet there was kindness there too. "If…" she struggled to put her sentence together, not knowing how much she should say. Should she trust this boy, her competition? This could change everything, the very course of history if she was right. She took one last look into his eyes and saw something of a reflection of herself. There was kindness. There was defiance. There was curiosity, sincerity, vitality, and light. She steeled her resolve. This would be more important in the long run than a little competition between schools.
Fleur Delacour grabbed Harry Potter's wrist and started leading him towards her carriage. "Come along 'arry, zhere is somezing I need you to see."
Cliffhanger, I know. Few things I wanted to get off my chest about this chapter.
-I'm getting the hang of the dialogue portion of this work, I'm not quite in love with it yet, but I think it does the job. Yes I know that everyone is a sarcastic bantering fool, but I do want the spoken words to take some of the tension out of some of the denser sections to balance the work, let me know what you think
-Speaking of dialogue, hopefully you noticed that Fleur speaks perfectly when it is implied that she is speaking French, and I did my best to keep her accented English consistent. If you see a glaring discrepancy then that's my bad
-If you missed the AN at the top about the Emily Collection, give it a read, it really is an awesome cause.
That's me, I've spent a lot of time ignoring my real life partner (god bless them) but damn it if I'm not excited to keep this story going. Expect an update in less than a week, possibly sooner if my plan for a grand romantic gesture goes off without a hitch... So probably a week ;P