So, here's the final chapter!
It feels weird to say/type that, given how long I've been writing The Life He Leads without actually completing it, but here we are.
As ever, the biggest thank you to Michal, or Honorversefan, for the wonderful assistance in editing and beta-reading. I'd never have written this without him, and I urge you all to check his writing out as it's great.
Thank you to the Flowerpot discord, for the great inspiration and community. You're all the best.
Lastly, thank you for reading. I hope you've enjoyed your time, and I'd really appreciate a review to let me know what you thought.
Here it is!
Christmas morning, for Harry, began under the warm glow of the fire in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. Dean had mentioned that his family held a tradition every year of sleeping beside the chimney so that they could catch Father Christmas when he arrived. So, each of the fourth year Gryffindors found themselves with sore necks and wide smiles.
Father Christmas had not visited, as far as Harry could tell, though the House Elves had, as the base of the Christmas tree was covered in their presents. With the increase in numbers that stayed at the castle, each dormitory had each been given a tree, though Harry had asked Dobby to put theirs underneath the grand one in the centre of the common room.
So Harry, for the first time in his life, experienced a Christmas morning surrounded by his family. Ron was the most excitable by far, and true to form, Christmas proved to be the one day of the year he woke up without duress. He first aimed himself toward the soft lump of his annual Weasley jumper and threw it on, before commencing at the task in hand.
Harry soon followed, his own steps slightly laboured, and wrapped himself up in Mrs Weasley's knitwear. The gift was a relief more than anything as it became one of the few warm items of clothing that he still possessed, though he doubted that he would have it for very long. Fleur had taken last year's; he had thought she might not, given it was emblazoned with his initials, yet she was utterly undeterred.
"Merry Christmas," were Harry's first, croaky words of the day. He soon found his own gifts pile. To his surprise, he found that the pile was larger than it had been in any previous years.
"Mornin'," Ron said. Despite his hurry, he waited until Harry had sat down beside him before tearing into the wrapping paper of his first present. "Let's get on with it, then."
Most of Harry's gifts, as Harry came to realise with an amused grin, were from the couples he'd helped set up. Kind little things, really. Chocolates and cards, often from countries he'd never been to, in the case of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students. Others, that knew him slightly better, like Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, gave him butterbeer for, as they put it, 'kicking Fred and George's arse into gear'.
The only couple that he had a hand in getting together that did not come with a gift was his own, as he and Fleur had decided to give one another gifts when they met up later in the day.
Of his friend's gifts, he opened Hermione's gift first, noticeable as it was the one of the few whose shape was bookish or book-adjacent. He unfolded her perfectly wrapped present, rather than tore into it, to find it was not in fact a book but rather a journal. When he opened the first page, he found she'd inscribed a message for him. It read:
Merry Christmas, Harry
I hope you have a wonderful time at the Yule Ball with Fleur who I do know you've asked, by the way. I'm sure you'll have a lovely time and I can't wait to see you again.
Thank you for your gift; it meant the world to me. I can't believe you managed to get me a library card to the Library of Alexandria. Honestly, I can't even begin to imagine how hard that must have been, so I'll just say thank you again.
With love,
Hermione
P.s. There are 7 always-inked quills in your dresser's top drawer so that you never have to steal mine again.
Harry wore a grin by the time he'd finished reading. He couldn't wait to see his best friend again. The library card hadn't cost anything but money, and what good was money if not for making the ones you loved happy?
He quickly wrote Hermione a response back, on how much he missed her, and how he couldn't wait for her to get back, with the intent to visit Hedwig at the first moment he'd find himself able to walk out of the warmth of the common room.
Soon after, Ron tore into Harry's present. The sight of its contents brought a confused look upon his face for a moment, which matched Harry's expectations given that the gift was a Chudley Cannons scarf.
"You know I've got quite a few of these, mate," Ron said, looking at Harry strangely.
Harry nodded; the room they'd both shared over the summers had been filled with them. "Not like that one, you haven't," he said. "That's a season ticket scarf."
Rather than the paper tickets that muggle teams preferred, upon buying season tickets Quidditch teams gave their fans a scarf holding a magical signature that allowed them into the team's stadiums and through their wards.
Ron's hands grew delicate as he gripped the scarf. "You shouldn't have," he said, his eyes holding disbelief.
"I know," Harry said, mock-beleaguered. "I know there's a quite a few games you'll miss while we're here, but I spoke with Professor McGonagall and she said that you'll be able to floo into the Cannons stadiums on weekends so long as you don't have detention."
"I didn't mean that," Ron clarified. "It's too much…"
As Ron trailed off, Harry's only thought was that it was not nearly enough. He sighed.
"I wanted to give it to you," Harry said, stubbornly. "Do you want to go to see the Cannons?"
"Well, of course but-"
"-then it's settled," interrupted Harry. Ron rolled his eyes. "They're playing the day after Boxing Day."
Ron sighed, though he did so with a small smile. "I know," he told Harry. His eyes were fixed on the scarf in his hands. "I can't believe it." He did look up to Harry, for the briefest of seconds. "Thanks mate."
Harry smiled. "Tap it with your wand," he said, then.
With an amused smile, Ron did as he asked and the second he did so, the scarf changed from the fluorescent orange of the club's crest to the colours of the rainbow. The change brought about a similar transformation on Ron's face, going from pale white to bright red.
"Took a bit of work and a letter to the Cannon's ticket office," Harry explained. He was rather proud of it, in truth, as he'd written the runes for the enchantments of the scarf himself, though only after very thorough checking to ensure that his own handiwork wouldn't alter the pre-existing enchantments. Harry met Ron's eyes. "I'm proud of you, mate."
Ron didn't meet his eyes after he'd spoken, his face still hot.
"Thanks," he did manage to say, though.
Content with his work, Harry returned to his own presents. Seeing it fitting, he opened Ron's next and found that it was his own turn to become bright red.
To his surprise, Ron too had given him a book, albeit disguised under mounds of wrapping paper and fluff; it was 'The Runes of Ancient Egypt'.
"You left out some of your homework one night," Ron explained. Harry coughed, slightly uncomfortable. "I know you didn't want anyone to know, but I thought you'd want something like that, so I asked Bill if he had anything you'd be interested in."
It took a moment, but Harry did grin then. "Thanks mate."
Ron laughed all of a sudden, the sound easing the odd tension. "Thank Merlin this is only one day a year," he said. "I don't think I could handle this if it happened any more often than it did."
Harry laughed, before tearing into his next present. It was Dumbledore's, he soon found out. A wand-holster impressed on which was the image of a phoenix, and with a letter attached.
Merry Christmas Harry,
I do hope this letter finds you well.
Enclosed to you is a wand-holster of my own recent creation. Beyond the normal, practical features of such an item, this particular example holds within it a feather from my companion, Fawkes. That feather has not seen the brightest of days in its time since separating from my familiar's body. It is my hope that, with you, it will see brighter days once more. The shared origins that it holds with the core of your own wand may even, perhaps, provide some greater control in your magic, though that is entirely speculation.
Fawkes also has a gift for you. He would like you to know that at one point in the future, should you require his services, be they as transport or company, he is at your command. All that you must do is call his name, and he will come.
The gladdest of tidings to you, for this year and many more to come.
Best Wishes,
APWBD
Hagrid's was next. Harry's first friend had very kindly given a book on the care and grooming of snowy owls, for which he found himself most grateful.
The final gift Harry opened was from Sirius. They had exchanged letters daily in the build-up to Christmas, mostly concerning Sirius' trial. Dumbledore had kept him very busy in their preparation, so how he'd managed to find the time to buy Harry a gift, he did not know.
Or two gifts, as it would turn out. The first was a pair of cufflinks that Harry immediately knew he'd be wearing in the evening. The second was a door key upon which a message had been inscribed. For the future , it read.
That key wouldn't leave his hands for some time.
Christmas dinner was a grand affair, with most of the school's students remaining. The Professors had made it more than clear that food would be served at the Ball, yet that did not seem to blunt the collective appetite at all. The afternoon passed in the blurred bliss of their indulgence with what seemed like half of the castle spending the time napping off their meals in the common rooms.
Yet, it was with giddy excitement that they all arose. As the sky took to darkening and the lights that adorned the castle walls twinkled all the brighter, the ball-goers fell off to get showered and get dressed.
A consortium of hair-care products was launched in Harry's general direction as he did the same, though all seemed to fall far short of the task at hand. Even his own family's creation, the Sleekeazy's potion, could not muster the strength to tussle with his tangles and come out the winner.
In the end, Harry waved them all off and left his hair as nature intended. He found that he rather liked the wild look he wore, and Fleur certainly had no problems with it, if her hands wandering into it and making it look all the wilder were any indication.
And so, armed only with Fleur's gift, his wand, and his wits, Harry began the walk through Scotland's snows to the Beauxbatons' carriages. The Yule Ball wouldn't start for a long while, though neither he nor Fleur wished to be away from each other for any longer than they had already been.
Neville was beside him on this perilous journey of a hundred or so yards, though that time allowed Harry to truly reflect on the change that had been brought about in Neville. The other boy looked to have grown half a foot in half a month, his voice louder and carrying further.
"How're you feeling?" Harry found himself asking.
Neville shrugged, nonchalant. "I reckon it'll be a fun night," he said, calmly. "Though I don't have to dance in front of everyone like you." Neville shot him an apologetic smile. "Sorry."
Harry laughed. "I don't really care," he said, and what was most odd was that he believed himself, too. "Besides, I've heard pretty nearly everyone there's sappiest thoughts and feelings, so their judgement doesn't quite hold the weight I thought it might." He laughed again. "It's just a fun night with your friends, in the end."
"Friends and Aimée ," Neville said, the name holding reverence. He stood still for a moment in spite of the cold. "I really can't believe I get to go out with someone as amazing as her."
Harry grinned. "That good?"
Neville nodded, his eyes closing briefly. "The best," he said. "The world just seems a lot better whenever she's with me."
"I know the feeling," Harry replied. They shared a wonderfully lovesick grin, before walking the rest of the way to the carriages.
There had been a sense of foreboding about this night before for Harry. Before Fleur , before every activity became not a chore but an event because she was there too.
"So," Neville said, his Yorkshire accent coming through to form the 'o' of the word into a long 'u'. He turned to stare straight at Harry. "How do I look?"
Harry adjusted the other boy's tie and straightened his lapels.
"Perfect," Harry said. "How do I look?"
Neville did the same.
"Perfect," Neville replied. "Apart from the hair, obviously."
Harry rolled his eyes and waved Neville goodbye as their path forked. He thought to wish him luck, though Harry knew that Neville did not need it.
Even on that day, strange as it was, Harry did not even have to knock on Fleur's door to be allowed into the great warmth of her carriage. He found himself smiling at her haste to keep the heat in, though more so that she soon wrapped herself around him, her hands falling into the thickness of his hair.
Harry only had a moment's glance to see how she looked then, though it was the finest moment he could've had. She looked utterly sublime. Her dress, her hair, her .
"I really doubt I'm all that warm," Harry said, though he pulled her tightly to him too. Perhaps they should've offered some deference to the creases that would no doubt form either on his dress robes or her dress, but they truly could not have cared less. "I've been outside."
"It is the fire in you," Fleur said, her words muffled on his skin. "It keeps you warm."
Harry thought Fleur did that job perfectly.
"Are you excited for tonight?" Harry asked. "Ready to watch me fall flat on my face?"
"I'm still not so sure we have to go at all."
"You really want to miss out on seeing Madame Maxime and Hagrid together?" Harry asked.
Fleur sighed. "Of course not," she said. "But I have no doubt that they'll be together until we're old and grey. Today is only the first of many nights for them."
"But it is the first," Harry replied.
"It is the first," Fleur agreed. Only then did she take a step away from holding him; the smallest amount of distance that still allowed her to look at him properly. "So, would you like to get your gift?"
For a moment, Harry was caught mesmerised by Fleur's eyes. Then, he grinned brightly. "Of course," he said, before adding. "What did Dumbledore get for you?"
Fleur turned to her bureau and retrieved a silver ring. "This," she said. "It holds the same enchantment that Beauxbatons itself holds."
"So, when you wear that, your-"
"-my Veela abilities are totally nullified," Fleur finished, giddy at the prospect. "So, on days that I do not wish to have to suffer the reactions of the others, I have this."
She slipped it onto her index finger. To Harry's eyes, absolutely nothing changed, though he found himself smiling at her joy.
Harry held out his own gift for Fleur to take.
They had both decided, for both of their peace of minds, that neither were to spend money beyond three galleons on the other. So, their gifts would be mostly of their own creation.
Fleur let out a soft gasp the moment that she saw what it was.
"Thank you, 'Arry," she said, leaning in to press her lips against his cheek.
He'd gotten her a necklace; the pendant upon which a Fleur-de-lis was placed. He'd placed a minor enchantment on it too, so that it would be forever warm to the touch.
Fleur gave him his own gift then. "Great minds think alike, it seems," she said, as she passed it to him.
Harry opened the box and found out why.
Fleur had gotten him a necklace of his own. It was an elegant design, a silver band that, at its central piece, was shaped into antlers like that of his patronus.
Harry brought her toward him again, sweeping her into his arms and lifting her from the ground. "I love it," he said, against her hair.
"Do you want to put it on me?" Fleur asked, with a coy smile. Harry nodded immediately, following her to her mirror so that he could see what he was doing.
By some miracle, the silver of her necklace paired with her dress perfectly. She had already styled her hair into a braided chignon so that the elegant sweep of her neck was exposed to him. Despite how clumsy his hands felt in front of her, he did manage to fasten the clasp, albeit after two or three attempts.
He took a hundred moments to enjoy how wonderful she looked after that, his smile ever-present, his joy evergreen. She was a wonder beyond words.
"We will be late to the ball if you do not move soon," Fleur teased, her grin forming as she watched him watch her. It was not true, of course. Harry could've spent hours looking at her as he did then. It wouldn't have been enough; not even close to enough. But he could have.
Harry groaned, his face coming to rest against her shoulder blade, his lips pressing a light kiss to the back of her neck and earning a sigh. "Are you sure we have to go to this?"
"Do you really want to miss seeing Maxime and Hagrid?" Fleur asked, her voice holding a laugh. "Not so funny to be the one hearing it and not saying it, is it?"
He kissed her cheek, her skin warmth against him. His arms wrapped around her waist. "If I agree, does that mean we can just stay here for the rest of the day?"
She turned in his arms to meet his eyes. "No," she said, softly. "But we have now, and we have the time after, too." She kissed him once, leaving Harry dazed. "We have time."
They had each other, too, and that was perfect for the pair of them.
The time passed too quickly for either of their tastes, spent doing all that they wished to. Laughing, kissing, not-dancing. It was how they seemed to spend all of their time, though neither could tire of it.
Yet, as the night truly came upon them, they were forced by circumstance to detangle themselves and make the arduous journey back to the castle.
Harry offered his arm to her, the act oddly formal in contrast to the decided un-formality they'd demonstrated in the hours prior. Fleur took it with an amused smile.
"Ever the gentleman," she said, as she rose to her feet. Despite their prior activities, she looked utterly immaculate. Harry, by contrast, did not, though given how he most often looked, the difference was unnoticeable.
"I'm the perfect gentleman," Harry replied. "Despite your less-than-ladylike conduct."
"Me?" Fleur asked, affronted. "I am not the one who was biting."
"I'm not the one who asked me to, either," Harry replied, watching her blush. She blushed wonderfully, too, like the first red hues of a sunset.
She tugged at his arm. "Let's get on with this," she said. She drew a heavy breath. "How do I look?"
Harry softly sighed. "Beautiful," he said. "How do I look?"
"Beautiful," Fleur said. Before he could groan at her wording, she added. "I mean that too. You're just beautiful ."
Harry had never even thought he existed on the spectrum of beauty, yet to hear Fleur say that he held it in abundance was startling. Words failed him, for a time, until they left her carriage and were struck with the cold air of winter.
Snow fell gently from the sky and snowflakes settled upon Fleur's hair. The twinkling lights of the castle cast an ethereal glow around her. Her blue eyes were shards of the sea, her lips the softest touch he'd ever wished to know.
Harry kissed her because he'd never wanted to do anything more. Because, then, nothing else crossed his mind other than kissing. Her hands rested upon his jaw; he leaned into her touch.
"Ready?" she asked as they parted, revelling in the faraway expression she so often inspired.
"Unfortunately," he agreed, rolling his eyes. Yet, as he spoke, something else grew in the periphery of his vision.
Such a thing soon became known to him as Mad-eye Moody, though he did not look as he most often did. He looked far more whole than he had in times before. His limp mostly gone, his skin suddenly lacking many of its scars. Even his hair was not the dark grey age had faded it to, but nearer to the brown of his apparent youth.
And, most odd of all, as he passed Harry and Fleur by, the glint of electric blue false eye was nowhere to be seen. It was as if his old eye had grown back.
Harry turned to Fleur. "That's odd," he said, rather dumbly. His eyes held the brightness of curiosity, though. "Why would Mad-eye be leaving the castle on a night like this?"
"I doubt he holds interest in a night of revelry," Fleur replied, though her expression began to match his own.
"I suppose," Harry agreed. "But I really doubt he'd not want to be there, making sure he didn't miss anything that happened."
"Perhaps he is checking the apparition wards?" Fleur offered. Her point held merit, as the Professor was heading in the direction of one of the wardpoints; one the places in which the runes had been inscribed. "No doubt tonight would be a good night to know they're still standing."
"But why wouldn't he take his good eye with him?" Harry asked, the cogs beginning to turn. "That thing can see through walls. I'm sure it can see things being tampered with that normal sight can't."
Fleur was silent for a moment.
"Madame Maxime helped design that eye for him," she said. "After his sight was lost, he wished for an artifact that would record his Auror work, to make it easier to supply evidence."
"You think that whatever he's doing, he doesn't want it filmed?"
Fleur nodded. "I don't know of any other reason."
Had another person been there, they might well have cautioned the pair against their thoughts. Or mentioned that they were in the midst of accusing the greatest public defender Britain had ever known of crimes he'd spent the better part of a century fighting against. But they were not there, and what was there were the two most sceptical teenagers in Europe.
"Want to follow him and find out?" Harry asked.
They were already off before Fleur could respond. They kept a good distance between themselves and the Professor, conscious of great awareness the man had. Yet, what was most odd was that he took no apparent notice of either of them.
The wardpoint sat in between the most easterly point of the castle and the greenhouses, making it place furthest away from any of the entry points into Hogwarts, as far away from the lake or the gates as was possible.
In the time they followed Mad-eye, his apparent health only seemed to improve. By the time the Beauxbatons' carriages grew to specks in the distance, he no longer limped. By the time the greenhouses were in sight, his hair had grown into total blackness.
And, by the time they reached their shared destination, he was no longer Alastor Moody at all, but another man entirely.
"I know you're there, Harry Potter," this new man called out into the inky blackness of the night. Gone was the Irish lilt to his accent too, replaced by the clipped sharpness of a high-society pureblood. "My Lord had hoped this would take place on another night, but it seems that you've forced my hand."
Before Harry could even stop to think, this stranger cast a spell onto the snowy turf, sinking where they stood into the ground, trapping the three of them and the wardpoint.
"Now, you can't get away," the stranger said. "I have promised the Dark Lord that I will bring you to him unharmed. So, surrender yourselves to me and I'll ensure that the journey to him will be painless." He laughed to himself, mad. "The journey will be, at least."
For Harry though, another thought entirely began to manifest.
If he and Fleur could not escape then this mad servant couldn't either.
He turned to Fleur, finding her face holding a grim setting. "Fire," was all he needed to say.
In perfect synchronicity, they pulled forth their wands and set their trappings alight, their world nothing except for their spelled flame. They held the other man still, lest he be singed. Flames danced around their bodies, lapping at them, though neither were harmed in the least.
The flames were theirs, and only theirs.
"Fawkes!" Harry called out, over the dull roar of the inferno. He pointed to the trapped man. The phoenix glimmered into existence from the fire like fire incarnate. "Take him to Dumbledore!"
In an instant, the man disappeared from his trap in a flash of light under Fawkes' power, leaving the two of them alone again.
Fleur let out a sudden gasp.
"What on Earth was that?" she asked. Remarkably, despite what had just occurred, through their own control, their clothes remained in perfect fashion.
"No idea," Harry replied, with a shrug. "A follower of Voldemort, clearly." He sighed. "You know those weird times every year, when someone tries to kill me?" Fleur nodded. "I think it was one of those."
It had happened sooner in the year than it most often did, though the outcome, it seemed, was much the same.
"It was oddly anticlimactic," Fleur said, bemused. "I don't know why, but I expected… more ."
Harry nodded, familiar with the feeling. "I can't imagine he expected the whole 'fire' thing, in fairness," he added. "With any luck that's me done for the year."
Despite the fact that an attempt had been made against their lives only moments ago, there was an odd calm about them.
"I thought you enjoyed the adventures, 'Arry?" Fleur asked.
He reached out to hold her hand. "I do, love," he said. "But I like adventures . This wasn't an adventure. It was a little dull, if anything."
Fleur pulled him to her, her hand finding itself in his hair, her touch amorous. "I think we now have a sufficient excuse not to go to the ball, at least," she said, only half-joking.
He kissed her immediately, hungrily. Yet, no sooner did they start, did they stop. With a flash of light visible even through their closed eyes, Fawkes had returned and dragged them to the Headmaster's office.
The room was filled to the brim with wonders as it so often was, though Harry doubted he'd ever been less interested in them than he was then.
Both he and Fleur swallowed their complaints and groans at their predicament, though, as Professor Dumbledore stood in front of the pair of them. Fawkes had at least been kind enough to place them in the seated chairs that sat at the Headmaster's desk after stealing them away without warning.
"Merry Christmas to you two," Dumbledore began, before turning to Harry. "I must apologise once more, as it seems I've allowed yet another security breach."
"The Death Eater?" Harry asked.
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. The man was nowhere in sight, no-doubt having been shipped off to the ministry's holding cells. "Barty Crouch Jr was his name, though he's long thought to have been in Azkaban. How he managed to overwhelm Alastor and impersonate him, I have no idea."
Harry too was stumped with that.
"If he could defeat Professor Moody, how did he lose so easily now?" Harry asked.
The Headmaster paused for a moment.
"What I'm to say next is something that very few know." Dumbledore began. "After tonight, I think you two might be trusted with this knowledge." He smiled. Both Harry and Fleur leaned in. "Many years ago, I placed a protection upon this school. For years, I did not know if its implementation had been effective, though tonight has given me cause to believe it has."
"What is it?"
"It's what I like to call an anti-curse," Dumbledore explained. "Rather than doom fall upon all those that suffer it, it does the opposite. Any being that enters into the castle with harmful intent will fail in their mission. Their thoughts will muddle, their actions grow slow, and their luck will run out."
The idea held merit. Harry could think of no other reason why he always seemed to prevail, against all odds.
"Do you think he is the reason I'm in the tournament then, Sir?" Harry asked.
"I would think so," Dumbledore agreed. "I do believe, however, that I ought to retrieve my old friend from wherever he'd been sequestered to." Dumbledore stood up straight and headed to the door. He turned to Harry. "Of course, now that we know the real cause of you entering the tournament, you are not required to compete, should you not wish to."
Harry looked to Fleur for a moment.
"You know, Professor," Harry replied. "I think this tournament is beginning to grow on me."
Dumbledore grinned, full of youth. "I thought you might say that," he said, the office door opening under his wordless command. "Enjoy the Ball, you two."
The Headmaster left the room, leaving the two of them alone inside. For only a moment, though, as he briefly returned.
"Fawkes would like you to know that he does not consider his gift spent tonight," Dumbledore told Harry, before he popped out again.
"Thank you for the gifts!" they called out after him.
With little else to do, they returned to Fleur's carriage for a while. To settle, and to enjoy their time before the ball. They would be late, more than fashionably so too, though neither found that they much cared.
Eventually, however, Harry and Fleur found that they simply had to go. And, to his dismay, the first sight that he saw upon arriving at the small antechamber outside the main ballroom was Professor McGonagall once more.
Her face was sterner than ever at the sight of Harry. She appeared to be caught halfway between her two desires. The first was propriety. The second, of course, was punishment. She was silent for a long time, deciding what exactly to say to him.
Harry himself spent the time trying to imagine exactly which number of weekends he was likely to miss out on. By the time she drew breath to speak, the number had settled around a hundred.
"Get in there," she gritted out to the pair of them. "Honestly, must you never do anything in the manner which you're expected to?"
The answer he wanted to give was no. He didn't say it of course, as he valued his life, but he dearly wished to say it.
With no response, Professor McGonagall opened the door to let the pair of them inside where the other champions and their partners stood. The closest was Cedric and Cho, who both flashed him warm smiles, which he easily returned.
However, what was most surprising was the next couple. Viktor Krum, and his date. Which, as it would turn out, was none other than Ron Weasley, who looked mortified.
"I think I get why you didn't want to tell me, mate," Harry said, meeting the eyes of his best friend. He gave Viktor a quick, stern look. "I didn't realise you two knew each other."
"It is rare to meet one who loves my sport as much as I do," Viktor mumbled.
Ron shifted in place. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry," he said, suddenly. "I promise I'm not fraternising with the enemy here." He studied the floor judiciously. "I just really like him."
Harry paused for a moment, confused, and then laughed. "Oh, I really don't care about that," he said. The tournament mattered a little bit, but not quite that much. "As long as you're happy, that's all I care about."
Ron coughed. "I am," he managed to get out.
Harry reached out, to pat Viktor's shoulder rather roughly. "Just keep making sure he's happy, and there'll be no problems."
And, perhaps it was the fact that the scent of smoke seemed to cling to Harry, or the odd weariness of a battle-hardened warrior that Harry wore, or just the fact that Viktor really, truly liked Ron and wished for him the best that life could offer, but there was a dash of fear in his eyes after that.
Perhaps it was cruel, but Harry rather enjoyed the sight.
"You're telling me all about this," Harry said to Ron, feeling rather like Hermione as he did.
"There's not much to tell," Ron replied. "I like him, he likes me. We met in the library. The end."
Harry shook his head at the suggestion that he'd spoken of all there was to speak, though he was robbed of any further inquiry by the arrival of Professor McGonagall once more.
"Now, it's well past time that we begin the ball," she said, surveying over the six of them. "You will all enter as one and when the orchestra begins, you will dance until the music stops. At around halfway, the other couples will join you in dancing." Professor McGonagall turned sharply to look solely at Fleur and Harry. "You two, I think will suit being the principal dancers in the movement too."
The pair of them blinked rather stupidly up at her.
A cold smile fell onto her face. "Have fun, you two," she said, before leaving them to go into the ballroom herself.
With little else to do, Harry and Fleur looked at one another for a moment and followed her in.
The sight that greeted them was a phenomenally daunting one. Thousands of their peers staring expectantly at them, with the great and the good of the Ministry of Magic there too. Even Dumbledore had managed to return in time, though that was more due to their slowness than his haste.
For a moment, the sight overwhelmed Harry. Until Fleur gave his hand a squeeze.
Their eyes met.
"Remember," she said, smiling warmly to him. "If all goes wrong, I'm here."
All would go wrong, he was sure. Yet, that did not matter. Fleur was beside him.
Before his very eyes, the room seemed to shift. Gone were the expectant faces, and what appeared were instead the faces of friends. Not faceless masses, but faces of Neville and Aimée, Hagrid and Dumbledore, Fred and George and Angelina and Alicia.
The music began quickly, and soon the dancing started, though Harry did not take a great deal of notice of what was happening around him. He rode that odd wave of joy and looked only at Fleur. He might not have been dancing well, or dancing at all, but she was, and she was magnificent.
Before long, he and Fleur were not alone any longer, instead surrounded by the couples that Harry had helped to bring together. Once more, he did not take a great deal of notice.
He had eyes for Fleur and Fleur alone. They had a night to spend together. Dancing and laughing.
He leaned in, despite the dancing they ought to have done, and kissed her in the middle of the dance floor. They kissed amidst the laughs and the cheers and kissed even as the music stopped.
Harry could not tell a soul much of what happened that night. Of which couples remained together and which couples broke apart. He supposed that he talked to his friends and that they enjoyed themselves, but he did not truly know. By the end of the night, he'd mostly forgotten the entire episode with the false Moody and Ron and Viktor became wonderfully normal in his mind. Hagrid and Madame Maxime danced excitedly in the periphery, a joy to behold for all but him.
But, he knew of one thing perfectly, and that was Fleur.
There it is!
Let me know what you thought, and I hope to have something new soon, though I'm going to likely take a break having written this as quickly as I have.
Thank you so much for reading!