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Chapter Text

Station Nine and three quarters was bustling as usual on its busiest day of the year. Wizards and witches rushed around the station, in hurry as usual. Mrs Weasley was smothering Ron and Harry in a flurry of hugs and kisses, deaf to their protests. The train gave another loud hoot as the pair of them jumped onto the train with Hermione close behind them.

'C'mon, lets find an empty compartment.' Said Harry as he walked along the train, heavily conscious of the whispers that followed him as he did his best to ignore it.

The trio soon found an compartment occupied by only Neville and Luna. Neville was wearing a shirt which was quite large for him and he smiled as soon as Harry entered. He shifted over so that Hermione could sit.

'Hello, Harry.' Luna greeted him serenely as he sat down alongside her with Ron. She was wearing a striking yellow attire and looking at him with spiral glasses which rather gave her the impression of an owl.

'Hi, Luna.' Harry replied cheerily.

Ron just gave a brief nod in her direction, not doing much to conceal his impression of the girl. He turned back only to find Hermione looking at him reproachfully.

'What!?' Ron exclaimed.

Hermione did not deign to reply. Instead, she turned to Luna who was busy taking off the wrapper off several chocolate bars and neatly piling them up beside.

'Luna!' Hermione said, 'How are you? And what are you doing with these…' Her voice trailed off as the wrappers came into focus.

'I'm fine.' Luna replied happily, 'I'm collecting these wrappers as a safeguard against Dingy Wombats. They can be really disconcerting if they get into your eye.'

Hermione didn't know what to say but carried on, 'And these… chocolate wrappers keep them away?'

'Yes.' Said Luna.

Ron let out a snort which he quickly converted into a very obnoxious sneeze.

'Sorry.' He said, though he sounded far from it, 'I think one of those Wingy Dombats got into my nose.'

'Dingy Wombats.' Luna corrected him absentmindedly, once again focused on the task at hand.

There was silence in the compartment till Neville nervously spoke up,

'Do you know what's going on at school this year?'

Hermione instantly responded,

'What's going on?'

'I don't know.' Neville said embarrassedly, 'I thought you or Ron might.'

Ron looked at him curiously,

'You know what? I think Bill actually hinted something exciting's going to happen this year.'

A spurt of laughter came from the door, which was followed by more and more chuckles until they finally stopped.

'Are you done, Malfoy?' Harry said coldly. Draco Malfoy, along with his two goons, was standing at the doorway, with the usual sneer on his face.

'I can't believe you don't know what's going to happen.' Malfoy said, continuing as if he hadn't heard what Harry said. 'My father told me all about it.'

'I couldn't care less about what your father said.' Shot back Ron, 'Now get out of my face.'

Draco turned to Ron. 'Gladly.' He said,' Its not like you have much of one.'

He went out of with a sneer and a bang of the door.

'Now that we're done with that,' Started Hermione and the rest of the journey passed as it usually does. The great, imperious sight of Hogwarts caught even the seventh years by awe and before they knew it, the golden trio were one again seated in the Great Hall. Green, yellow, blue and gold flags hung from the ceiling as thousands of candles floated in front of them. The teachers looked much the same seated at their table along with a usual vacancy of one particular seat. The vast hall gave off a homely feeling which was like by everyone.

'Welcome!' Intoned Dumbledore once the sorting was done and everybody was waiting for the meal, his voice reverberating through the hall. 'This promises to be another great year of education for some, and not such a great year for others. Indeed, in some ways this year will be unique in an aspect which… forgive me, I will explain in detail afterwards. I have always found that a well-fed audience is far more responsive and satisfied than a hungry one.'

With a clap of his hands the food appeared on the table and the students began to tuck in voraciously, the sound of chattering spreading throughout the Hall. The headmaster presided with a wise, slightly smiling face which quickly vanished.

He had just remembered that he had forgotten to stock up on his Sherbet Lemons for this school year.

'Reckon its something exciting?' Ron asked between two mouthfuls of food.

Harry gave an eloquent shrug.

After they were done Dumbledore clapped his hands once more as the food vanished.

'Very good, very good.' He muttered, smiling benevolently at the expectant audience.

'Straight to business then. It is my pleasure to announce that our school has been invited to participate in the Triwizard Tournament this year hosted by the most prestigious school in France - Beauxbatons'.

This announcement was received by several forms and degrees of disbelief.

'Hogwarts was supposed to host it!' Shouted out Malfoy from the Slytherin table in fury. Several students also seemed to be asking about if anybody knew anything about Beauxbatons or the Tournament.

Dumbledore seemed to catch the general gist of the confusion.

'Ah, I will clear any doubts you have if you would just allow me.'

Instantly the hall fell silent.

'First of all, the Triwizard tournament is a competition in magic between 3 students of the 3 most most prestigious schools of magic in Europe - Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Each school will have its own school champion. As Mr Malfoy so astutely pointed out, the competition was supposed to have been hosted by our school. However, since some disturbing evidences of attempts at sabotage have been found since, the Tournament organisers shifted the venue to Beauxbatons. Hogwarts will be taking along an entourage of twenty of its brightest students to France, mainly from the sixth and seventh years. Interested students may give their names to their respective Heads of Houses.'

The announcement was received by so much excitement that the students almost missed the dramatic entrance of their new Defence again Dark Arts teacher - Retired Auror Alastor Moody.

Soon the crowd dispersed to go along to back to their respective dormitories. The Gryffindor Trio slowly made their way back to the tower.

'What d'you think about entering, Harry?' Ron said excitedly.

'I don't know, Ron.' Harry answered tiredly,' I think I'll like a bit of rest this year. You know, away from the excitement.'

'But this is HUGE, mate! Think of the glory if we win this!'

'I don't want it. And we aren't even going to get selected to go to France anyways.'

Ron opened his mouth but Hermione beat him to it,

'I think Harry's right. I remember reading about this in a book. Each school has only one champion nominated by it. And I remember Dumbledore saying they were only going to take sixth and seventh years for trying.'

Ron deflated a bit,

'But still,' he said,' I'm going to give my name to McGonagall.'

Th days passed swiftly passed as Harry discovered he was doing significantly better in classes. All Ron could talk about was the tournament and Harry started to find it a bit annoying over time. He took to spending less time with him and instead devoted more time to his studies as magic continued to fascinate him and never threatened to bore him. He started to understand what Hermione, as a muggleborn, saw in it.

Expectant students submitted their names for the delegation and bets were placed on the favourites. Of them, the main focus was on a few Ravenclaws and Cedric Digorry from Hufflepuff. Angelina Johnson was the favourite from Gryffindor to be the champion.

Almost a month passed before Harry found himself in the Transfiguration classroom, struggling with a particularly complex variation of stone to marble transfiguration. Hermione kept giving him unhelpful hints until he hit upon the correct approach. He had to focus more on the composition than the colour. Later, he realised that was what exactly what had been shouted at him him minutes before. He finally succeeded in the transformation and looked up see that he was only the second one to achieve it after Hermione.

Suddenly, a Ravenclaw, Cho Chang, entered the room and gave a note to McGonagall.

'Mr Weasley, Mr Potter, Miss Granger, you are excused from the remainder of this class. I think Miss Chang will guide you.'

The three got up confusedly and followed Cho out of the room.

'What happened?' Asked Harry.

'Dumbledore wants you in his office. He said he likes Fizzing Toffees.' Cho said, growing slightly pink. She quickly hid her face and exited quickly around the corner of the corridor.

'Dumbledore.' Said Hermione,' I wonder why he wants us.'

'Your guess is as good as mine.' Harry answered. Ron merely walked on with a determined air that he would not have to wait long to find out.

'Fizzing Toffees.' He said to the stone gargoyle in front of the headmaster's office.

They parted to show the way inside. The office was as eccentric as usual to the current headmaster's tastes. An assortment of whirring, spinning instruments were scattered on the table and throughout the office. Fawkes, the flaming red phoenix, trilled a little from his perch. Dumbledore received them with a slightly troubled look on his face.

'Anything the matter, sir?' Harry asked politely.

Dumbledore shook his head,' Nothing you need worry about. There is just one problem which I keep forgetting to rectify. You only reminded me of it.'

The three took the three seats that had been conjured for them as Dumbledore motioned them to sit down.

'As I was saying, there is only one pressing concern. I am, as you know, in the habit of offering one my sweets to anyone who comes to my office. However, I am afraid, I forgot to top up my supply this year and have woefully been left with 2 Sherbet Lemons when there are three of you. It is most troubling to my conscience.'

'It's alright, professor. We don't want any.' Ron spoke up hurriedly.

'It is not the act of wanting, but rather the act of offering that counts, Mr Weasley.' Dumbledore eyes twinkled through his half-moon glasses.

'But no matter. We shall come back to it at some other time. Now you must tell me Harry,' the white bearded wizard said,' if you would like to come with me to France.'

Harry was taken aback.

He said, 'But sir, I don't want to participate in the tournament. Am I not a bit too young?'

Dumbledore beamed at him, 'That you are, Harry. But my intentions for taking you are quite different. I have been warned of a danger inside Hogwarts as Voldemort grows stronger. It is the reason the tournament was shifted to Beauxbatons.'

'Is he after me? Voldemort, I mean.'

The old wizard nodded gravely, 'In a way, yes. The other students will not be harmed. Just as a precaution, I would like to have under my eye; if you consent, of course.'

'I…' Harry looked around him, 'I'm not sure I want to go when my…'

'I anticipated the request.' Dumbledore interjected,' Which is why I have taken the liberty of calling your friends along with you to my office. Anything else, Harry?'

Harry shook his head mutely.

'Very well then. Are we agreed, Mr Weasey and Miss Granger?'

Hermione looked like Christmas had come early while Ron's mind drew imaginary pictures of him winning the cup. He nodded furiously.

'Yes, professor.' Said Hermione.

'Alright, I would prefer it if you kept this to yourselves. Necessary excuses shall be provided to your classmates at a later time. I will then expect to meet the three of you beside the Great Lake at 7 o' clock sharp tomorrow morning.'

'Tomorrow, sir?' Harry repeated.

'That is correct.'

With a wave of his hand they were dismissed.

Ron's joy knew no bounds as he almost skipped the entire way to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Harry seemed in a pensive mood while Hermione tried to cheer him up.

'What happened Harry?'

'Nothing.'

'You don't look very happy. We'll be going to France! I've only been there once with my parents. It's very pretty. You should be excited!'

'I don't know, actually. Of course I'm excited, but it doesn't feel fair somehow.'

Hermione sighed. Trust Harry to think of fairness when they had practically been given a trip to Beauxbatons with no strings attached. Well, three students would probably miss out because of them. But, oh well, it was no fault of theirs.

The common room's fire burned brightly as usual while a few students lounged about on the sofas.

'G'night Harry.' She said just before she went up to the girls' dormitories.

'Night 'Mione.' He said after her.

*****************************************

It was morning as the sunlight streamed through the small windows into the dormitories.

'Ron' Harry shook his friend, pausing momentarily to push back his glasses, 'Its already six-thirty! You need to wake up!'

The red-headed boy simply groaned. He got another push before he came to his senses. Ron rolled over on to his back and shakily sat up on his bed. He pushed the hangings aside and stumbled a bit as he got this feet. Harry muttered a curse as Ron promptly fell down in a heap. His friend's face completely white.

'What happened, mate? C'mon, we need to get you to the hospital wing.' Harry said.

Ignoring Ron's protest, he half dragged and half assisted Ron as he took him to Madam Pompfrey. Thankfully, not many students were about and the Marauder's Map came in useful to avoid unwelcome company. The dreary corridors soon gave way to the clinic.

Madam Pompfrey was immediately alert.

'Oh dear, oh dear.' She said and began casting diagnostic spells as soon as Ron was in bed.

'What happened?' She looked sharply at Harry. Harry gave a somewhat garbled account of what had happened that morning.

'No matter.' She said once he had finished, 'You can go back to classes now.'

Harry was a bit taken aback and tried to remain calm as he asked her,

'But… but can't you fix him right now?'

All he got was a cold glare, 'My dear boy, if I could I would have already. Unfortunately, your friend has got an illness called Fingroit, a mild form of Spattergroit. It will take him at least a week or two before he can even think about getting out of this bed.'

'But… but the tournament.' Harry spluttered at the same time as Ron, who seemed to have recovered partially, made an effort to get to his feet.

'I… I can do it.' Ron said weakly, his face becoming almost purple with the effort.

Madam Pompfrey looked at Harry as if he had grown a second head,

'Surely you don't mean the Triwizard…' She stopped herself abruptly at a sudden movement from Ron, 'And you, young man,' She poked her wand at Ron's chest, 'don't even think of moving from here until I say so - tournaments or not.'

She looked around for Harry but he had already gone. Gone after saying a quiet 'goodbye' to Ron.

Harry was confused to say the least. A twinge of pity remained in his heart for his friend, but he wasn't as disappointed as he would have expected himself to be. Refusing to let his emotions grow any stronger, he fairly sprinted out to the grounds just before the clock struck seven. The solitary boy found a group of students, the Headmaster and Professor Mcgonagall assembled near the Lake as he thankfully slowed his pace. As he approached, he noticed somebody arguing with Dumbledore who was patiently listening and apparently refusing him something.

At a closer look, Harry noticed that 'somebody' was Draco Malfoy.

Dumbledore seemed to magically know that he had arrived as he turned back with an indiscernible look on his face,

'Harry, I am glad to see you here in time. May I assume that Mr Weasley is on his way?'

Harry sadly shook his head and explained briefly what had happened.

'Fingroit…,' Said Dumbledore thoughtfully, 'It is very rare, I must admit. This is altogether an unfortunate incident. He will take at least 2 weeks to recover. We will have to go without him.'

A gleeful look came onto Malfoy's face.

'There, professor.' He said, barely concealing the triumph in his voice, 'You can't refuse me now.'

'No,' Replied Dumbledore gravely, after a moment's thought, 'I suppose I cannot.'

He waved his wand as a huge ornate double decker bus came into view. Harry heard Mcgonagall give an almost imperceptible sigh.

'We used this bus the last time around, Albus.' She said.

'And so we will do again.' Was the reply.

The students patiently filed onto the red bus. Harry had found Hermione and they settled themselves into seats on the second deck of the bus near the back. Once everybody was inside, the door shut themselves with a bang.

'On we go, Hagrid.' Said Dumbeldore, after another flourish of his wand.

'All righ', Headmaster!' Shouted back Hagrid from the enlarged driver's seat. The bus silently lifted off the ground and into the clouds.

'I still thin' we should've used Dragons. They go a lot faster.' Said Hagrid in his usual dialect. Dumbledore only chuckled.

***************************************

Minerva Mcgonagall, now stand in Headmistress, walked slowly back across the dew covered grass towards the castle, 'Take care of the students, Minerva.' He had said just before he went, 'The school can take care of itself.'

She wondered what exactly the enigmatic white-bearded wizard had meant by that. Regardless, she was going to do her best - even if Dumbledore had prohibited use of his office.

Her left eye twitched irritably.

****************************************

Meanwhile, high up in the clouds, Hermione patiently explained to Harry how exactly Malfoy had managed to worm his way into this trip. It seemed Malfoy had somehow come to know that they were leaving for France that day, inspite of the secrecy maintained. He had come fully prepared to leave Hogwarts and had been trying to convince the headmaster that he was more worthy than the students who were going. He had been refused point blank.

But after that, there was the small matter that Ron could not go and no other student could be called in time to leave for France.

Harry was livid when he heard this.

'He did this!' He almost shouted, 'Ron's not coming with us because of Malfoy!'

Hermione had anticipated this outburst and had accordingly put up a Quietus charm in their vicinity in advance.

'It does seem a somewhat fortunate coincidence for Malfoy.' Hermione agreed calmly, 'But we can't be sure, Harry.'

Harry was aghast, 'What's there not be sure about? Malfoy wants to come, he can't. Then some student who is actually going mysteriously gets an illness which will confine him to bed for weeks. Voila! Enter Malfoy. Exit Ron.'

Hermione tutted impatiently, 'No, Harry. I'm almost sure he's not guilty. For one thing, he can't make someone have Fingroit and for another, he couldn't have known that Ron was going to France.'

With a feeling that she had convinced Harry, she leaned back in her seat in a satisfied manner.

For a moment, Harry was stumped. But he shot back with an argument that no one else was benefitting from it. Hermione responded by saying that Ron's illness could have just been, and probably was, an unfortunate coincidence.

The rest of the journey passed in peace with Harry also attempting to make friends with a few of the older year students - most of whom he found quite nice. The seats elongated into beds for the night as Harry fell asleep while watching the solitary light from the tip of Dumbledore's wand.

Next morning they found themselves flying over green and ice-capped mountains.

It was a spectacular sight. Hagrid adventurously flew a bit lower while reassuring the others that the bus was invisible from the outside. Harry could almost see the patterns on the leaves as they rushed from his sight. Poignant green valleys and sparkling blue lakes passed by as suddenly a pure white palace came into view. It was surrounded by vast lawns on every side, which was interspersed by the occasional fountain. Narrow, shingly paths between the gardens spread out in all four directions from the palace.

The bus went lower and lower as Hagrid brought the vehicle to a halt on the ground with a screeching of brakes. A collective sigh of relief came from all the students. Dumbledore led the way as everybody else followed him out of the bus. Harry exited with a slightly awed look on his face as his ears met the sweet sound of falling water from a fountain behind him.

The entourage of Hogwarts was met by a group of students all dressed in blue. In front of them of them was a giantish lady who greeted Dumbledore with a smile.

'Good morning, Dumbly-dorr!' She said in a slightly gravelly voice.

Then she turned towards the students from Hogwarts.

'Welcome to Beauxbatons!' She said impressively, spreading her arms wide and giving them a huge smile.

A pattering of feet followed as everybody entered through a majestic archway into the main building. Hermione almost squealed in delight, the architecture was exquisite. Harry curiously looked at the other students from their school, - they were all talking excitedly in French or accented English. Some of them even pointed at him, whispering amongst themselves. Harry pushed a lock of hair in front of his scar irritably - it appeared that people had heard of him even in France.

He switched his attention back to the school. It was more of a palace rather than a castle like Hogwarts. It was also markedly less 'magical' than Hogwarts, Harry noted with some pride.

They eventually came to a vast space near the middle of the building. One huge table stretched across its length which was made out of marble. The Hogwarts students settled near the centre while those from Beauxbatons sat in a haphazard manner. Madame Maxim took the chair at the head of the table. There was space for three chairs as Dumbledore sat on her right.

Harry sat with Hermione close to a couple of French girls.

'What do you think of it?' He asked his bookish friend as they ate a very heavy breakfast.

'Its amazing!' Hermione gushed, 'Its even better than described in the books. I must find the library.'

Harry smiled, 'Yes, but I prefer Hogwarts.'

Hermione frowned, 'I suppose I do too. But I need to know more before I can decide.' She cut off abruptly. 'Look at Hagrid.' She said.

Harry turned to where she was looking. It seemed like Hagrid was saying something to Madam Maxime who was getting angrier by the second. Hagrid seemed oblivious to it. He carried on excitedly.

The Headmistress eventually stood up and shouted something at Dumbledore who in turn said something to Hagrid. The half-giant eventually resigned himself to walking away with a noticeably hurt look on his face.

'Wonder what that was about.' Harry remarked once the ruckus had subsided.

'We can ask Hagrid later.' Said Hermione.

After breakfast, a problem presented it to themselves.

'Where are we supposed to go now?' Said Hermione, 'Do they give us rooms or something?'

Harry shrugged when he noticed the two girls who were sitting beside him getting up. Hermione caught the movement and approached the them with a mischievous smile on her face.

'Excusez - moi.' She said in the best French she could muster, 'My friend here wants to ask you something.'

Harry found himself under the eyes of two very pretty red-haired witches.

'I…' He faltered as caught the large blue eyes of one of them. She giggled a bit. Harry immediately recollected himself. He was not going to make a fool of himself.

'I well, I don't speak French.' He started.

The blue-eyed girl looked at him curiously, 'I speak a bit of English.' She said.

'I just wanted to ask if you know where the students from other schools will be accommodated.'

'You are from 'Ogwarts, non?' She asked. Harry nodded.

'I know the place. I will show you. It is in the west wing.' She said and shooed her friend away.

'My seester.' She said in reply to Harry's questioning glance.

'Let us go.' She motioned for Harry to follow. Harry came obediently. The words had been on the tip of his tongue that he would find the way himself but he found that he couldn't form the words.

'I'm Aurelié.' The girl said as Harry fell in step with her.

'Harry Potter.' He responded with a wary glance at her. She showed no outward signs of recognition.

'Do you like it here?' She asked, just to break the silence.

'I do, it's very beautiful. But I think I prefer my own school, though its nothing like yours.'

'I suppose we all do.' She answered diplomatically, tilting her head to one side.

They talked about a few of their shared and diverse interests for a while before Harry finally asked the question he had been longing to.

'I suppose,' Harry stole a sideways glance at the girl, 'I suppose you couldn't tell me where the Quidditch pitch is?' He said hopefully.

Aurelié gave him a half-amused smile as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

'I can.' She said, 'But I will not.'

'Why ever not?' Harry protested.

No reply followed. She refused to say even another word before they arrived in front of large door which had 'Guests' written on it in huge black lettering.

'This is where you will stay.' She told Harry and paused for a moment. 'I will meet you here at 8 tomorrow morning to take you to the Quidditch pitch. You will be there, won't you?' She looked at Harry sweetly.

'Ye…es, of course.' Harry stuttered back.

'Okay then, I must go now. Bye 'Arry!' She said as she turned back with a slight whirl of her blue robes.

'Bye Aurelié.' Harry said, not having the heart to point out that it was Harry, not 'Arry.

Hermione nudged him slightly as they found themselves inside a huge corridor with numbered doors all across the walls.

'Well done, Harry.' She said, 'On the first day too. Ron would be jealous.'

Harry looked at her while blushing slightly,' I don't think it's like that. She just wants to show me around the place.'

'And how does that account for her not having even acknowledged my presence all this while?'

Harry shrugged, a dismissive look on his face.

'I'm not complaining.' He said as he shut the door on which the word 'Harry' had appeared as soon as he had touched the doorknob.

It was not noon yet.

************************************

Dumbledore was a wise man.

Popular belief was that he put on the appearance of a senile, ageing old wizard in order to hide his true power from potential enemies. But this was not true. He was actually a senile, ageing old wizard.

The only difference between him and other wizards was that he made considerably less effort to hide it. Which did not in any way diminish his prowess at magic. Such was the genius of one Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He was, at this very moment, looking thoughtfully at one of the various instruments he made a point to carry wherever he went. This particular object had been passed down to each Headmaster for generations. It alerted him when any serious harm was intended towards any one of the school's students. It was at this moment, spinning madly - which was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all, thought Dumbledore. He had a very good idea of exactly which one of his students it was referring to.

'Harry Potter.' He said out loud. He went back to thinking deeply. It seemed like all he could do these days.

The table was entirely filled at lunch as the Durmstrang continent had since arrived by ship. They were entirely clad in black and brown travelling cloaks accompanied by their sinister looking Headmaster Igor Karkaroff. The students noticeably sat a little way away the other schools', preferring to be left alone. A questionable incident had taken place on their arrival when quite a large number of dark objects had been detected by the palace wards. They had to then submit themselves for scrutiny when all the 'dark' items - blood quills, cursed rings and the like- had been carefully confiscated and disposed of. The Durmstrang students had shocked expressions and the general defence was that 'it vas only for a harmless prank.'
Some adopted slightly constipated looks which they explained away as seasickness.

Hermione sat listening to Harry as his idol sat but ten metres away from him.
'Viktor Krum... Do you think he'll talk to me, give me some Quidditch related advice maybe?' Said Harry with an awed face, looking at the famous seeker.

By some twist of fate, Draco had ended up sitting two places beside Harry.

'Yes, Potter.' He said with a sneer, completely disregarding the fact that the question clearly wasn't meant for him, 'Of course he'll talk to you, why don't you try and see?'

'Oh yeah, Malfoy?' Shot back Harry, firing up 'And I suppose you'll be best buddies in a couple of minutes? Why don't you give it a shot?'

Draco smirked at him in a very arrogant pureblood manner.

'Watch and learn, Potter.'

He slid off his seat and confidently approached Krum, somehow managing to find some place to sit beside him. To his horror, Harry found Krum turn around and say something to Draco who instantly gave superior look towards Harry.

Suddenly, to Harry's delight, Krum pushed Draco off the seat in a very humiliating manner.

There seemed to be some kind of commotion near the back end of the hall. Krum, as the rest of the Durmstrag, had got up in a frenzy. In fact, everybody seemed to getting up and gravitating towards the back. A few cheers came from there. There was almost a deafening thud of footsteps as Harry looked desperately around for Dumbledore. He was not to be found, as was Madame Maxime. Only Karkaroff was present, lounging at the table, with no interest in what was going on around him.

'Hermione!' He said excitedly, falling in with crowd,'C'mon, let's go!'

'Oh, I'm not sure, Harry. Don't you think it could be a bit dangerous?' She replied worriedly.

Harry only made an incredulous expression and dragged Hermione to her feet. He pushed her in front of him but soon lost her in the crowd.

He still surged ahead, determined to find out what was going on. Amid the multitude of people, he suddenly found himself falling forward. He grabbed the thing closest to him, which was the shirt of the person who tripped him. They fell down in a heap, his head mere inches from the wall.

He felt a weight, quite a soft weight, land on him which quickly rolled off. As the dizzying feeling dissipated, he dimly saw an outstretched hand towards him which he refused and pushed himself to his feet, quite unaware of the shocked expression on the person's face. He stood up straight and looked directly ahead, quite unable to focus on what was in front of him.

'Ere' The person said in a distinctly female, French voice, 'Let me help you.'

She then proceeded to take his glasses from him and tapped them with her wand.

'You can see me now, can't you?' She said, looking at him worriedly as the world spun back into focus for Harry. He found himself looking back into a pair of deep blue eyes which seemed to almost draw him in. Her pale blonde hair had an almost silvery sheen to it. Her features exuded perfection. Something made want Harry to go closer, but he withheld the urge. It would surely be disastrous.

Suddenly, afraid that he had let his gaze wander a second too long, Harry quickly replied,

'Yes, thanks for, you know, repairing my glasses.'

'It was my pleasure, Harry…' Her voice had a faint questioning tone to it. Harry was confused, then suddenly realised.

'Of course, my scar.' He quickly pushed a lock of hair over it.

'I'm sorry.' Said the girl sympathetically, 'I know how it feels.'

'Oh, I didn't mean to… to say that aloud.' Harry said hurriedly 'But… but what do you mean by saying you know how it feels?'

'Maybe some other time.' She replied and turned back.

'Wait!' Said Harry, 'I didn't catch your name.'

She turned back slowly, smiling a little,

'You can call me Fleur.' She said before quickly joining her friend who was watching them with a curious look on her face.

Harry stood like that for a few moments. He found the girl distinctly pretty, although a trifle arrogant in her manner. But he supposed he shouldn't judge her on one meeting. The thought of meeting her again seemed quite appealing to him.

But he shook himself out of his musings, once again looking across to gathering at the rear end of the hall. He slowly walked across, knowing that there was no way he could get to the front. A huge circle seemed to have formed around a clearing. Suddenly a magnified voice came from the middle, 'PLEASE MOVE AWAY FROM HERE!' To Harry's pleasant surprise, the crowd parted in front of him as it formed a bigger circle.

He could now see what was going on. Two wizards stood there, wands in their hands and facing each other. Confidence oozed from them. One of them reminded Harry of Gilderoy Lockhart. His smug smile was especially reminiscent.

'Who are they?' He asked an older Beauxbatons student standing beside him.

'Mr Durant, our Defence professor and Pierre, an old student of our school.' Came the curt reply.

Harry noted the Mr Durant similarity in appearance to Lockhart, though it was very probable that the similarity ended there.

The atmosphere was crackling with anticipation.

'How many times have I told you Pierre? Don't come back to this school.' The silky voice of the Defence Professor was punctuated by a short spell after each word he said.

Pierre's green shield shimmered in front of him. Not a crack showed on it.

'I will do as I please.' He said back in a pleasantly firm voice. He had black eyes and brown hair accompanied by a stiff posture.

'You know you don't want to do this.' Warned Durant.

'I think I do.'

'A duel it is then.'

They briskly walked a few paces away and faced each other. They bowed and instantly a red 'Stupefy' came fizzing towards Durant. A cloud of smoke erupted where he was. Pierre stood waiting as three identical beams of light rushed towards him from the fog. He deftly sidestepped and the smoke suddenly vanished. Durant stood there with a slightly impressed look on his face.

'You've improved.' He said, while lazily deflecting a Reducto.

He suddenly burst into action as lights began to fly around the place. A golden ring around them prevented any students from getting nearer. Intricate chain of spells were weaved with ease as gashes appeared on the duellers' arms and face. It was clear that things had become serious when a stray spell burst a section of the wall into pieces.

Amid the action, the huge marble door to the hall suddenly spread wide open. Dumbledore entered majestically,

'WHAT is going on here?!' Madame Maxime shouted from beside him.

The old wizard had meanwhile closed his eyes and was concentrating hard at something. Suddenly, amidst the duel, the two wands of the duelists right flew from their hands into the hands of Dumbledore. The faces of Durant and Pierre were a sight to behold. They were beyond enraged and their faces shifted between being outraged and astonished at Dumbledore's display of power.

The student crowd quietly and orderly dispersed under the commanding stares of their superiors. They reluctantly shuffled back to their seats at the table. Harry was pleased to find Hermione in one piece.

'Fantastic, wasn't it?' He asked eagerly.

'Disastrous would be more like it.' Replied Hermione drily, 'Although I would be interested to know how Dumbledore did it.'

Harry quietly muttered 'Spoilsport' under his breathe. He then silently watched on as Madame Maxime gave a formal apology to the visitors. It clearly hurt her pride, but she recognised that some things had to be done.

'I'll be going to the library after lunch.' Announced Hermione.

Harry shrugged,' I'll be around, I guess. I think I'll attend some of the classes.'

'That's a good idea. You better find some fourth years you can ask.'

Harry nodded and got up with a slight spring in his step.

'I think I'll attend the defence and transfiguration classes.'

The classrooms were bigger than Hogwarts was the first thing Harry noticed. It also had a few windows which opened to the lawns outside the school. A cool breeze floated in, blowing a few sheets of paper and pens away. They used pens, Harry noticed. Real muggle pens. It was unusual, but he liked it. He took a seat near the front of the class with a quiet, studious looking guy with enormous front teeth. All the talking subsided as their Transfiguration teacher walked in. He was very professional looking person who seemed to look right through people, which was a very unnerving experience.

'Today we will be learning how to transfigure wooden objects into identical metal ones. Beware of loosing focus during the transfiguration, in which case you will not succeed. It is all about intent and how you direct it.'

He continued to expound on the theory behind it which Harry found quite refreshing. Mcgonagall would usually just explain the basics and leave them on their own to figure out the rest. He had done this particular transfiguration and was interested to see how the students of Beauxbatons would react.

It turned out that not a single person was able to do it. Harry looked curiously at the boy beside him,

'Here, I think you're trying too hard.'

The boy with jutting out teeth looked back at him defiantly, 'That ees what I am supposed to do.'

'Maybe you should try to do… do it as you feel it.' Harry offered.

The boy scoffed - but sure enough, after a minute or two silver spots began to appear on the wooden box.

He still carried the same defiant face but it noticeably softened.

Harry walked away from the fairly uneventful class. Defence was next. If Mr Durant was anything like he had seen, it promised to be more than interesting. He slowly walked along the marble corridor with his hands in his pockets.

'Harry!' Hermione suddenly shot around the corner towards him, waving a piece of paper towards him. Harry stepped back, a bit unsettled.

'What's the matter?'

'I can't believe this! It's about Hogwarts.' Hermione said excitedly. Her cheeks more flushed than usual from running.

'What?!'

'Look at this.' Hermione showed Harry the piece of paper. 'It says that Hogwarts is the only school in the entire world which uses house elves.'

'House whats?' Said Harry, clearly puzzled.

'Elves.' Hermione enunciated clearly, 'Here, read this.'

She shoved the bit of paper into his hands.

'Hogwarts,' Harry read, 'The premier school of Britain, thought to be situated in Scotland, has devised a completely novel method of catering to the needs of its large student populace. It has been obtained from a reliable source that house elves are employed for meeting the daily requirements of the castle, …It has the largest population of house elves in a single accommodation in all of Europe.'

'This!' Hermione shoved her finger onto the line that Harry just read, 'Can you imagine, Harry? The food we eat, the mess we make in the common room - the house elves take care of all of it!'

Harry nodded confusedly, 'That's good, I guess.'

Hermione irritably turned over the paper and showed it to Harry,

'Read this! It's written here that the house elves aren't paid for their work. Not a single penny. It's all slave labour. Can you believe it?'

As a matter of fact, Harry could believe it. The kind of things he had come to expect from wizards matched exactly with what Hermione said. But he couldn't say that to her face.
But she had already continued talking,

'But this book is pretty old. I'm sure Dumbledore pays them, don't you think so?' She said.

'Ye-es.' Harry said unconvincingly.

'I'll have to ask him. Remind me to do that, Harry.'

She would have gone on to say more but Harry interrupted her.

'I… umm, Hermione.' He said apologetically, taking a quick look at the non-existent watch on his wrist, 'I have to go to another class, I'll get late. I'll see you around.'

He quickly retreated around a corner, trying not to laugh at Hermione's incredulous and slightly annoyed face. He walked quickly, trying to locate the classroom.
But soon, despite the clear instructions he had been given, he was lost. He kept walking around the place, trying to elicit some English from a few of the students he , with a relieved sigh he noticed Aurelie walking in front of him.

'Aurelie!' He said, falling in step with her, 'I need your help.'

Aurelie looked at him with a pleasant smile on her face.

'Harry, I didn't expect you so soon.' She gave a small emphasis on the word 'soon'.

Harry grew slightly red.

'No, its just that I can't find the defence classroom.' He said.

'You want to attend Mr Durant's class?' Aurelie asked in a slightly surprised tone.

'Yes.' Said Harry.

'I don't think you'll want to.' She said, after a moment.

'Why not?'

'It's just,' Aurelie shook her head, 'You'll find out. Come with me. I'm going for defence right now too.'

Harry looked at her in astonishment.

'You're in fourth year too?'

'Yes.' She said, 'Why? You look surprised.'

'Nothing.' Harry mumbled, 'You just look older.'

Aurelie gave a slight tinkling laugh.

*********************************************

There was an aura about the Defence classroom that Harry just couldn't grasp. It was slightly dark, lit only by a few lanterns and… majestic, for the lack of a better word. There was a huge space cleared front of the class for duelling and the seats were arranged in a semi-circular fashion around it at a slightly higher level.

Harry took a seat at the front alongside Aurelie, much to her amusement.

'You could've sat anywhere and you choose to sit here.' She teased him.

Harry stumbled at a few words before speaking,

'It's just that… you're the only person I know in here.' He said.

He only got back an amused look.

'Relax, Harry,' Aurelie said, 'I'm only teasing you. Both of us know why you wanted to sit here.'

This time, Harry wisely kept his mouth shut.

Mr Durant walked inside in a black cloak in a way strangely reminiscent of Snape. But he unfastened the cloak and kept it on a chair afterwards. The room grew silent with expectation as Mr Durant's eyes roved over the group of students. He kept making little comments as he looked at each student. He said it without much force, but somehow it carried throughout the room.

'Very good Michel, you've haven't forgotten to practice this time around, have you? And you, Sophia - looking as charming as ever - but lets hope your spells are just as potent. Ah, Mr Black - I see you've finally done us the favour of attending my class.'

The little stream of observations continued until they came to a stop on Harry.

'And who's this here? I don't recall seeing you here before, young man. What's your name?' Mr Durant asked, his voice dangerously prosaic.

'Harry Potter.' Came the reply. Harry was sure the man knew his name but still purposely made him say it.

'Ah.' Said Mr Durant softly, 'Le garçon who lived, isn't it? You are one of those who came from Hogwarts, I expect. I've heard only sixth or seventh years were brought. But then, you've always been quite exceptional, haven't you?'

Silence intruded upon the gathering but Harry was not forthcoming with a reply.

'Alright then, let's see what you're capable of.' Said Mr Durant.

He whipped out a wand as fast as lighting and shouted out 'Stupefy!'. Almost as fast, Harry's green shield was shining in front of him. But no spell hit it. The professor had not cast any spell at all.

'Very good.' Said Mr Durant, almost to himself. 'You may sit down.' He told Harry.

Harry sat down, a bit puzzled, wondering if he had done the right thing since no spell was cast at him. But he had a small feeling of pride at being able to produce the Protego so quickly.

'That was marvellous, Harry! Did you see that look on Mr Durant's face?' Aurelie said in amazement.

Harry muttered a small 'I don't know.' but inside that feeling of pride grew. He hadn't done much, but for what it was worth, Mr Durant would know that he wasn't completely inept.

Meanwhile Durant had already started teaching,

'Today, my lesson will consist of two parts. For the first part you are required to pair up and practice the disarming spell.' He stopped for a moment, looking at the incredulous faces of his students.
'No, I am not mad, I assure you. I expect you to be relatively proficient at this particular spell; or at least, you should be. But this time your aim will primarily be not to cast it, but to defend against it. For the lack of a better word, immunise yourself to it. Have you ever wondered why so few duels end with the wand flying out the owner's hand? It is because, with considerable experience, one can become so attuned to their own wand that disarming techniques will become obsolete against the wizard. The wand will resist to go away from the wizard. But I talk of something far beyond you. I want you to practice with a very low powered disarming spell. Cast the spell as carelessly as you can. Your partner will not attempt to block it but rather focus on his/her own wand. Try your best to not let it slip out of fingers.'

He directed a wry smile towards his students.
'Let's see what you can do.'

Then he flicked his wands as the chairs and tables all vanished.

'I trust you kept your wands on your person, as any sensible wizard should. Else you will have to wait until the end of the class. Anybody who has done so may leave the class and come to collect his/her belongings after it over.'

He waved his wands as the doors opened, allowing a bit of light to come in.

'No one?' He asked, his eyes roving over the students, 'Mr Black?'

Mr Black gave the professor a baleful look and walked out of the room. The doors shut with a bang.

'Well, this should allow you to pair up completely.' Mr Durant said and suddenly gave a short, silky laugh.

Nobody else even smiled.

'Get to work, then. I will be watching.' He said as everybody obediently got into pairs and stood about five feet away from each other. Mr Durant had been correct, there had been no odd one left.

Harry focused on his wand and motioned Aurelie to start. He gripped his wand tightly. But nevertheless, inspite of how weakly the spell had been cast, his wand landed ten feet away on the ground.

He picked his wand up and looked at motioned Aurelie to cast again with a determined look on his face. His knuckles grew almost white as he clutched his wand only for it to tremble a little before falling to the ground, but not as far away.

They continued this way for quite some while before Mr Durant called out.

'Exchange your roles, please.'

Aurelie smiled charmingly at Harry. 'Looks like its my turn now.'

Harry looked at her amusedly, 'You know, its not easy.'

'I noticed.' She motioned around her at all the others who were having as much, if not more difficulty than Harry did.

Harry shrugged.

'Okay, then.'

True to his word, her wand went soaring into the air.

Mr Durant took this moment to arrive on the scene.

'So, let's see how you two are faring.'

'Not very well, sir.' Aurelie said dejectedly.

'I wouldn't expect you to,' Said Mr Durant, 'Only a wizard of very caliber could be expected to even partially resist it.'

Aurelie frowned towards Mr Durant.

'If it's so hard, why are we doing this at all?'

He sighed, 'Your magic, dear girl. I said earlier that as you practice this, your wand will become more attuned to your wants and respond better than before. As a result, your spells will become stronger and more precise. It is very important to keep trying, trust me.'

Aurelie nodded in understanding, appreciating the depth of what she was doing.

'Okay then, show me how far you've reached.' He said.

Harry got into position and shot a very weak 'Expelliarmus' towards his counterpart. She, as instructed, did not block it. Her wand predictably flew out of her fingers.

Mr Durant went on to explain how it was more of her focusing on keeping the wand to herself rather than gripping it tightly that mattered.

Harry was slightly fascinated by the entire proceedings. At Hogwarts he had never yet had a teacher whose career was based on teaching Defence. It was always somebody whose profession was never teaching, and even they wouldn't stay for more than a year.

It was interesting to see how teaching was done in France. It was refreshing, to say the least.

After another half an or so, Mr Durant called the proceedings to a halt. Everybody heaved a sigh of relief as they picked up their wands for one last time. The drill had quite inexplicably exhausted everyone even though there was not much physical or magical exertion involved. The desk and chairs came back once more as the students collapsed wearily on their seats. The obsidian walls gave off a slight flicker from the torches as Mr Durant spoke up again.

'You have done well.' He said in a voice that indicated he wasn't completely satisfied.

'You see, a point I want to make is - this is important.' He said gravely, 'Understand this, I cannot emphasise enough on how important this is for wizards and witches of you age. It will enhance your magic. It will bring improvement in all aspects. I want you to arrange a partner and practice this whenever you can.'
He looked into everybody's eyes one by one. 'We will do this once every week for the rest of the year and I will gauge how much you have been practising.'

'And now,' He continued, ' to come to the second part of today's lesson. This should be…ah, more restful for you but I expect the same amount of concentration you have shown until now. Understand that I will be making some effort to show you how a duel should be fought and exhibit certain tactics that are commonly used nowadays. Today morning's debacle should not serve as a basis for your knowledge of duels. I have asked one of my best students to assist me in instructing you by acting as duelling partner. Please welcome - Fleur Delacour.'

Fleur emerged from the shadows at the back of the class dressed in blue duelling robes and hauntingly beautiful to Harry's eyes.

Chapter Text

Somewhere not very far away in a deceptively ordinary room with no windows a person kneeled in front of a wall. Two ancient torches had been strategically placed at some distance apart at chest height. They waned intermittently - and between the torches a shadow flickered ever so slightly.

But that was enough for the loyal devotee who regarded the mere shade with benevolence at first sight, and fear at the second. Another strange thing about the room was that it had no doors, and the walls were made to be impenetrable by all but the strongest magic.

There were woefully alone - the shade and its advocate.

'My lord…' The devotee's voice trembled with practised fearfulness.

'You may rise.' A voice came from somewhere in the vicinity of the shade. It was a shrill whisper, almost pitiful to hear. But it struck terror into the listener's heart. The voice was stronger than before, he was gaining power.

'My lord,' the person said, 'The first stage of our plan has succeeded. But I fear the Goblet will not be so easy to fool. As you said yourself, it is guarded…'

'Fool!' Hissed the voice from the shade, its shrillness almost painful to hear, 'Utter fool! Is this how you expect to gain my favour?! You will not complain. You will carry out my bidding, or suffer the consequences. Be glad that I have not attained my form yet.'

The person listened to all this with quiet detachment. It was not the first time that he had to listen to this sort of tirade. But this time the shade seemed to sense the effect, or lack thereof, his words had on his only advocate.

Suddenly the torches burned wildly and a sense of complete weakness came upon the follower. Pain shot up from his feet to his head. The only person in the room fell down, arms flailing wildly.

'You will do as I said.' The voice came in almost a whisper from the disembodied shadow, but the threat was evident. The torches went out all of a sudden, hissing in the darkness.

Some of the strength had now returned to the stricken. The dismissal was understood.

With a crack not quite entirely unlike disapparation, the room was suddenly empty.

A cruel laughter faded away into oblivion.

Harry stood, enraptured by the performance that he was receiving. In fact, by now all the students had gotten up. A transparent shield guarded them from stray spells. Fleur was holding her own against the more experienced defence professor. Mr Durant kept shouting out common techniques and defences to the students. Some of them were scribbling madly while others simply enjoyed the duel. Fleur shot a stunner to the right of Mr Durant which was followed by another to his left.

'That was the Crombie attack!' Shouted out Durant, shielding against an orange spell directed at him.

'The Coulier Counter!' He shouted once more while running with his shied towards Fleur, dispelling it at the last moment and firing an expelliarmus at her midriff and her feet. To his disappointment, he found Fleur appearing behind him. He quickly motioned for her to stop.

'That was a very good use of an illusion during a fight.' He directed this remark towards his students. While my shield momentarily distracted me from seeing her, she disillusioned herself and left an image of her for me to attack.'

Fleur smiled a little.

'And that was a demonstration of how proper duels should happen, even though none of us were serious. Nevertheless, a small applause for Miss Delacour would be well deserved.'

Everybody instantly started clapping, even a few hoots were heard. Fleur simply smiled constrainedly and vanished through the back door.

'Class is over.' announced Mr Durant.

Harry left the classroom with Aurelie.

'That was awesome!' Harry burst out as soon as they were outside.

'That's what all the boys will say.' Said Aurelie, bitterly.

'Why? What?' Harry stuttered a bit., 'Didn't you like it?'

'Of course I did! It was amazing. But I'm not sure all of us thought the duel was the best part.'

'I did.' Protested Harry, ignoring his slightly guilty feeling. It was true, he did think the duel was the best part. It was just that it wasn't the only part.

'Didn't you hear what some of the other boys were saying just now?'

'What?'

'Oh, only I wish she showed a bit more leg' She mimed. Harry almost choked with embarrassment. Time to take the conversation away, he thought.

'Why… why are you so bothered by it?' He asked.

'You would be too, if you knew her side of the story.'

'You're friends?' Harry asked cautiously.

'The best.' Said Aurelie, a slight grin on her face, 'I bet you'll like to be friends with her too.'

'I don't know.' He shrugged unconcernedly.

'But then, you always have me.'

'I… guess.' Harry said, 'You know what, I'm getting late for dinner. I'll see you later.'

'Sure.' Said Aurelie, 'Tomorrow, if you care about your Quidditch.'

She skipped away merrily towards another girl walking on the other side of the passage.

Harry remembered their appointment the next day with a shock. Ah well, how bad could it go? He quickened his pace as he approached the table. Somehow, it managed to capture his awe once more. It was massive with a vaulted white roof at the top and traditional french carvings on its sides. The table was populated with a crowd of students in different colours. He found Hermione waving at him. He smiled and went and sat down beside her.

'How was your day, Harry?' She asked brightly.

'Not too bad. I just saw an amazing duel back in the Defense classroom.'

'Between whom?' Hermione leaned forward with interest.

'Mr Durant and somebody named Fleur Delacour.'

'Oh really? That's nice.' She suddenly sounded a bit distracted as she spoke, probably thinking about something she read in a book earlier. Harry followed her gaze towards the head of the table where the Heads of the school sat. He saw nothing of much interest.

Harry was a bit annoyed at the docile response, but he didn't say anything else.

They ate in silence while his thoughts wandered to how the next day would be. To be honest, he was actually feeling a tinge of nervousness in the new surroundings. They were just so unfamiliar.

That night he had a very unusual dream. He dreamt he was a shadow, without any body; and strangely mutilated - as if a very important part of him had been torn away. He could see himself flitting around the walls of Beauxbatons. A feeling of anguish came over him: he could not get inside. Something… someone was preventing him. The thoughts were strangely foreign, as if they were not his own. Then a strange voice spoke out of nowhere, in almost a whisper,

' Harry Potter.'

Harry woke up breathing heavily, his eyes slowly getting used to the darkness around him. He had just realised something - the voice speaking had been his own.

The room was mostly dark except for a few purple and orange lights flashing and twinkling intermittently. There was complete silence. The most powerful wizard in the palace was sleeping when a feather rose from a huge ornate, wooden table near his bed. It drifted steadily towards the sleeping man and positioned itself carefully in front of his ear. Dumbledore woke up with a start. His ear was still ticklish as he willed the feather to his hand. He lifted the lone feather to his ear, as if listening for something. With a slightly surprised look he place the feather back on the table and summoned his wand. With a silent spell he was dressed in his usual midnight blue robes.

With another twitch of his wand, his nightcap vanished from his head. Soon he was walking on the vast gardens of Beauxbatons with only one thought in his mind - What was Harry doing outside the palace?

The very object of his thoughts soon arrived in front of him, but only one person was surprised at this apparent coincidence.

'Professor… Professor Dumbledore?' Harry said in surprise, taking off his invisibility cloak, 'What are you doing here?'

'Alas Harry! That is a question I ask myself everyday, but I have yet found no answer.' Came the enigmatic reply.

Harry simply stared at the old wizard and adopted an appropriate wise expression. He couldn't find any way to further what may be constituted as a conversation.

Luckily, and unlike some other times he could think of, Dumbledore came to the rescue.

'What brings you here, my dear boy?' He asked. Harry was tempted to reply in the manner as Dumbledore had but decided that he wasn't old enough.

'I had a dream. I… I couldn't sleep after that.' Said Harry honestly.

'Indeed, what sort of dream?'

Harry explained it as best as he could, while the old man simply listened in silence. Dumbledore gave a huge sigh at the end of his description.

'I feared… I feared very much that it might come to this. Tell me, were you feeling strong or perhaps a bit weak?' Asked Dumbledore.

'Very weak.' Replied Harry instantly.

'That is… good news.' The reply was slow and thoughtful, 'You need not worry about it, Harry. Just tells me the next time it happens, if it does.'

'But what does it mean?'

A long period of silence was followed by a quiet dismissive reply,

'Nothing much, only the tremors of what it is yet to come.' Dumbledore then disappeared into the night, leaving Harry to his own thoughts. The boy with a scar on his forehead was troubled, he hated it when things weren't explained clearly to him, which had a happened a lot in the past few years. For the first time, he felt a burning curiosity of the like he had never felt before. Somebody's advice came back to him. An advice which had been offered many times but rarely been given even the tiniest consideration.

With a purposeful step, Harry headed towards the library.

The Beauxbatons library was practical. The books were arranged in neat little rows and columns in shelves inside the walls which reached up to the very top of the high roof. The covers were mostly red, brown or green with golden markings on them. There was the usual dusty smell of old books and parchment, creating an overall cozy atmosphere. Harry craned his neck to read the book titles in the higher racks but some of them seemed to be written in an indecipherable language. After a while, he couldn't even make out the letters. He pondered along the lower shelves, scrutinising them deeply. After a while, a sleepy looking librarian in a nightdress approached him. He looked at the boy sharply through his monocles.

'Que faites-vous?' He said. What are you doing?

He then made a show of looking at his watch. Harry looked at him, puzzled. This was the first time someone had addressed him in french.

'English?' He asked hopefully.

'Non.' Replied the librarian. He scrunched his eyebrows thoughtfully.

'Dumbledore?' He said.

'Yes. I'm from Dumbledore's school.' Harry replied eagerly, thankful that the librarian caught on quickly.

The sleepy man waved his hands dismissively and muttered something incomprehensible. He then started walking towards the back of the place. Harry looked at his retreating form in apprehension. He needed to find a book. Surely the librarian could help.

'Hey, mister.' He called towards him. 'I need your help.'

The man turned back in slight irritation.

'Quoi?' He asked, his tone a bit harsh.

Through a complicated series of motions which involved pointing to his head, pointing to the shelves and repeating that for quite a few times, Harry finally managed to convey what he wanted to the librarian. The librarian lead him to a shelf, grunted out something and walked away at an astonishingly quick pace.

It was clear that he wasn't paid for night shifts.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief and looked at the towering shelves which loomed above him. Thankfully, most of the titles were in English. Not so thankfully, there were too many books to count. Selecting a book at random, Harry started reading the book with concentrated fervour. It was a detailed account of an art called Occulumency.

An arcane and oft lightly dismissed branch of wandless magic, Occulumency has its origins deeply rooted in the times of Merlin, specifically during the War of Peace. It was harsh time, with both sides trying hard to keep up with the other. Secrets were impossible to keep. The enemy would be forewarned of almost every attack and its respective tactics, courtesy of the ancient art of Leglimency. Merlin was thus forced to devise a method to counter its attack - and Occulumency was created. It was initially crude and easily detectable, albeit effective. The War was, not surprisingly, won soon after its inception. Centuries later it has evolved to a point wherein, with sufficient expertise, it is impossible to determine whether someone has employed Occumlumency or not, and to distinguish between true thought and a false trail of images left by the expert Occulumens. This is the reason due to which courts do not allow its use or trust any evidence thus presented. In a recent…

This was followed by a drawn out description of how to start learning it. It included several mind exercises which Harry initially perused with interest. But gradually he started to feel a bit dizzy. Maybe it was the long, technically phrased paragraphs in small sized print or the homely warmth of the library.

Harry Potter was fast asleep in ten minutes.

The students of Beauxbatons were not very different from the ones at Hogwarts in one particular respect. They were all fond of sleep, except for a few fitness freaks. However it was not someone in track suit who found Harry in the library. Far from it. It was someone who had her priorities carefully placed and sleeping was not anywhere near the top of it.

'Harry!' Hermione almost shouted in surprise when she saw his sleeping figure slouched over a book.

Over a book. In a library. Hermione nearly tried to check his pulse, but desisted and opted for an Aguamenti instead. This was after she had carefully removed the book from his hands, of course.

'Arrghzca!' Harry sat up in shock, rubbing his neck. His pleasant dream had been interrupted just at the wrong moment.

'Hermione?' He asked questioningly, quickly drying himself off and matting down his hair.

'Hi Harry! I'm so glad you finally decided to take your studies seriously. I mean, I really think it was time you realised that exams were not something you could give after preparing just a month or so. Well, I won't say I told you so now that you've realised yourself how imp…' .

Hermione suddenly trailed off as she realised that Harry wasn't paying any attention to her at all.

'Harry!' She said irritably.

'Yes… yes, I was listening! Go o…' Harry's voice stuck in his throat before he could get the words 'Go on' out of his mouth. He just couldn't.

Hermione huffed and looked in another direction. She picked up the book Harry was reading.

'What's this? Occulumency: A Contemporary Analysis. What's that? I've never heard of it. Sounds like pretty advanced stuff.'

She looked up after reading the first page of the introduction. No, she did not flip the pages. Hermione simply did not flip through books - that was sacrilege.

'Why are you reading this?' She asked, unable to conceal the surprise in her voice.

The boy shrugged. He wasn't ready to deal with another barrage of questioning.

'I felt like it.' He said.

'Well, I'll leave you to it then.' A small tinge of pride crept into her voice. She got up, said a quiet goodbye and left the library.

Harry read the book for some more time and finally decided that it was impossible for him to learn on his own. He had to get someone to help him. The problem was, he didn't know whom to ask. It was highly unlikely any of the Hogwarts students would have even heard of it. The same applied for the other school's students. A professor then. It couldn't be Dumbledore, he had already shown exactly how much he was willing to help. Mr Durant was a possibility, but he had to be convinced.

Harry left the library with his hands in his pockets, deep in thought. Students in blue milled around him, with the occasional sprinkling of black and yellow. He walked around aimlessly for a while before a thought struck him. A very important thought. He brought out his wand and muttered Tempus.

12:32.

He buried his face in his hands. He had missed his appointment with Aurelie. He looked miserably at the glowing white numbers. Right then, with amazing timing, the person he wanted to least see at this moment appeared in front of him.

'Potter.' Draco sneered, 'Finally realised how pathetic you are?'

'Go away, Malfoy.' Harry said tiredly, 'I don't have time for all this.'

'And I don't have the patience to talk to you. So get out my way.'

'I'd rather not.'

And without saying another word, Harry pushed past his nemesis. The Malfoy scion looked behind in astonishment and rage. He would not tolerate such disrespect. HIs raised his wand at Harry's back, a hex on the tip of his tongue, and let fire. Suddenly a glowing green shield appeared in front of it and a yellow streak shot past it and hit straight at Draco's chest.

Some of the students around stepped back in caution. Corridor duels had zero tolerance in Beauxbatons. Sure enough, an imperious Monsieur Durant came striding around the corner.

'Hogwarts!' He shouted. Harry and Draco looked at the professor.

'Follow me.' Came the order. The two rule-breakers were lead around a maze of corridors until they finally approached a door with Durant written on top of it.

'Inside.' The professor ordered, 'Sit.' He pointed them to two chairs in front of a table. He himself conjured a chair and sat in front of them.

'You represent your school and all it stands for. Do you truly wish to dishonour its name?' He asked pointedly. Two heads shook mutely.

'Who fired the first shot?'

'He did.' Said Harry. Draco opened his mouth at the same time but no words came out. His face grew red and he furiously pointed at Harry.

Faint traces of a smile appeared on Mr Durant's face. He looked at Harry.

'I assume this is your doing. This was the spell which you hit him with, no?'

Harry nodded, struggling to keep his face serious. Draco had started rocking his chair in an attempt to gain their attention by now.

Mr Durant dispelled the charm with a swish of his wand.

'You!' Draco burst out furiously, pointing at Harry. 'You fired at me while my back was turned! How dare you injure a Malfoy.'

Harry looked at Draco with his mouth open. Wasn't he the one who fired at his back?!

'I swear…' Harry started insistently.

'That would be enough.' Mr Durant said quietly. 'May I remind you that there were plenty of eyewitnesses and I already took the precaution of questioning a few students. Perhaps one of you would admit that you were mistaken.'

He looked pointedly at Draco. Draco kept quiet as Mr Durant knowingly turned his face back to Harry.

'But he fired at me!' Draco burst out in indignation, 'He injured a Malfoy!'

Durant turned back to Draco with a raised eyebrow.

'Losing your voice for few minutes could hardly be qualified as an injury, Mr Malfoy. However, I concede that he should not have fired at you. An apology would be in order, I believe.'

Malfoy immediately adopted a smug look on his face but Durant soon took care of that.

'From both of you.'

'Sorry, Draco.' Said Harry, barely stopping himself from smiling. Draco would have to swallow some of his pride now.

'Apology accepted.' Said Draco. A stern look came from Durant.

Malfoy gritted his teeth for a few moments but finally said,

'Sorry, Potter.' He mumbled.

'May I go now?' He asked Mr Durant.

'Of course.' Durant's hand waved towards the door.

The door shut with a small bang. Harry immediately accosted the professor.

'You didn't speak with any people in the corridor. You didn't have any time.' He said.

'That's right.' Said Mr Durant airily.

'You didn't know who fired first or anything.'

'Right again.' Said Durant, smiling a bit now, 'However, I did have my suspicions.'

A bubble of laughter formed in Harry's throat. Draco had dug his own grave and he hadn't even known about it. The professor was smarter than he looked and Harry suspected an implied mutual dislike of Draco Malfoy. Nothing could possibly be better…

In that moment, Harry found the courage to ask him the question which had been pressing him for hours.

'Professor.' He started with a slightly questioning tone.

Yes?' Durant was busy looking for somethings in the drawer of his desk which seemed to be considerably larger than it looked. In fact, Durant was currently inside the drawer up to his his waist. His voice came slightly muffled to Harry.

'I wanted to ask you something.'

The Defence professor straightened up.

'Go on.'

'I was wondering if you could teach me Occulumency.'

Mr Durant involuntarily froze at that question but answered smoothly,

'That is a question you should ask your headmaster. He is an acknowledged expert in that particular field of magic.'

'But I… I would rather you teach it to me.'

Durant paused for a few moments before answering.

'I will not ask why you want to learn it, since I believe it is a skill every witch or wizard should have some familiarity with. I am touched that you asked me. However, as you know, I am a very busy man. I will not have the time or patience to do it myself, I am afraid. But if you are willing, I could arrange for somebody to assist you.'

Harry sighed in relief. It was as good as he could have expected.

'Thank you very much, sir. And, well… I'd rather this remain a secret, if you don't mind.'

There was silence for a few long seconds before the answer came.

'But of course, Harry… wasn't it?' His voice dangerously lingered on the name before he proceeded.

'I'll see you later, Harry. 9 pm. tomorrow would be good. At my office.'

'I'll be there. Bye, sir.'

That day Harry did not meet Aurelie, so he enlisted Hermione's help. The common area in front of their rooms was quite big and more importantly, did not have many people in it.

Hermione followed Harry and listened carefully to what he was saying.

'Cast the disarming spell at me as weakly as you can.' He said, 'I'll try to avoid its effects.'

Hermione looked at him confusedly,

'You mean you'll cast a shield? Or dodge?'

'No. I'll… I'll try not to be disarmed.'

'So you will cast a shield?'

'Nooo!' Harry's voice lifted slightly in frustration, 'I won't do anything.'

'Then how will you avoid it?'

Harry launched into a long explanation of what had happened in the last Defence class. Hermione was a good listener.

'Ah,' She said at the end, 'I've never thought of it that way. I'll have to read up on it a bit.'

'Good.' Said Harry, 'Now can we start?'

An hour of energy sapping practice followed at the end of which Harry felt nothing other than a slight tingling in his hand every time his wand flew out of it. They finally stopped when Hermione noticed Harry drop his wand even before she cast the spell.

'Are you sure you should be doing this?' She asked concernedly.

'Yes.' Said Harry determinedly.

A few moments passed before Hermione spoke again.

'Why?' She said.

'Why?' Harry stared at here as if she was crazy. He had just told her why he was doing this.

'Yes, why. I think there's more to it than you think.'

'Why can't you just accept what I said?'

'Harry… you know there's a reason why they never teach advanced magic to us students. It can cause magical exhaustion and even death.'

'You can't seriously…' Harry started.

'I'm not.' Hermione said patiently, 'I just think you ought to know the details before committing yourself.'

She sounded like she was hiding something. Harry stared at her. She unflinchingly stared back. They were at odds. The clock ticked by. Then by some mutual understanding, both of them parted in silence.

The next day was a Saturday and Harry felt no compulsion to wake up before he absolutely had to. He leisurely got up and walked to the breakfast table which was almost empty. Unlike Hogwarts, there were windows which opened up to the gardens outside. It looked to be a bright sunny day. The sky was a clear blue overhead with a few wisps of clouds visible. Harry helped himself to a large serving of toast and a weird tasty looking French dish. He had just started to eat when he noticed someone sidling up beside him. He turned, thinking it was Hermione. To his surprise it was Aurelié.

'Aurelié,' He said uncertainly, 'Hi'.

'Hi Harry, it's nice to see you so early in the morning.' She said sweetly, far too sweetly, laying unnecessary stress on the word 'early.' Harry frowned a bit.

'Its a Saturday, and besides I don't have any classes.' He said.

'I know you don't. You also didn't have any other appointments you can think of, I guess?' She said casually. But she was anything but it. Her eyes were watching Harry intently.

Then in a flash it all came back to him. Of course, he hadn't kept his word to Aurelié. The dreaded moment had come; and the worst thing was he couldn't even tell her exactly why without delving into topics he'd rather not talk about.

'Look, Aurelie.' He started, avoiding her eyes, 'I'm dreadfully sorry. I couldn't help it.'

Oops, wrong choice of words, 'I mean it was unavoidable.' Not much better, 'I mean, you know, something came up which… which couldn't be ignored.'

Aurelie kept looking at him intently, her bright blue eyes focused on his face. Harry braced himself for inevitable. But it never came.

'You know what, a girl doesn't like being kept waiting. But somehow, I believe you.' She said after some time.

'You do?' Harry asked startled.

'I do.' She smiled a bit, 'You like Quidditch so much, you wouldn't miss it for just anything.

'I guess.' Harry felt conflicted. He wanted to tell her it wasn't just Quidditch he would do it for. That he felt that keeping his word was important. She was a friend to him now, and he didn't let friends down like that. But he just… couldn't bring himself to say all that.

She stood up and bent her face down a bit in front of his, her black hair falling in strands over her face. Her blue eyes twinkled with mirth.

'I'll forgive you Harry, but only on one condition. Sunday. Eight am. sharp. Don't be late.'

'I'll be there.' Harry said confidently.

As she walked away, only one thing came to his mind. How did she know he liked Quidditch as much as she thought he did?

Harry attended a Charms and Potions class later in the day. Charms was undeniably a much more enjoyable experience in Hogwarts. Potions however, was completely the opposite. He was actually provided with a cauldron and other ingredients. And without Snape's irritable face ready to pounce upon his mistakes, he found himself performing better than he had before. In fact, by the time class was over, he had actually produced a pretty much passable potion which was almost the shade of lilac written in the book. The Potions master, a thin stick figure of a human being, smiled warmly at him as he placed his bottled potion on the table.

Hermione met him outside the library with around four books in her hand. Her hair was even more dishevelled than usual and she kept rubbing her eyes.

'Seriously Hermione, you need to relax for a bit.' He said insistently.

'I try, Harry.' She said, dropping her books into a pouch which seemed to swallow all the books whole.

'No, actually. What you need is a breathe of fresh air.'

'I'm fine, honestly.'

'Well then, I need a breathe of fresh air and you're coming to keep me company.'

Despite Hermione's protests, he dragged her outside to the expansive Beauxbatons lawns. It was dusk and the sky had turned a flaming red and yellow. Numerous other students loitered there, enjoying the evening. The breeze blew lightly and made the place slightly chilly, but still pleasant.

'It actually is pretty nice outside.' Hermione relented. Harry grinned at her.

'Told you.'

They just wandered around for a few minutes before Hermione decided to speak up.

'Remember what happened yesterday? About that weird disarming practice.' She said.

Harry nodded, confused why she wanted to talk about it. It wasn't like he held grudges.

'Yeah so,' She continued, 'I asked around and guess what? This is the first time Mr Durant teaching this. Ever. And he's been here for the last twelve years.'

'Yeah, so what?' Protested Harry. 'Maybe it's something he stumbled upon recently.'

Hermione shook her head.

'That might have been true if yours wasn't the only class he was teaching it to. Coincidence? I think not.'

Harry pondered it for a while but couldn't find any reasonable explanation for it. At least not one other than what Hermione might have been hinting towards. But that couldn't be true, could it?

The gravel screeched beneath their feet as they walked back to the palace for dinner. The white marble reflected the light off the candles to give it a lustrous sheen. The corridors slowly sloped upwards until they reached the huge dining hall. The inviting smell of freshly prepared food pulled Harry towards it and he had just started filling his plate when a small note floated beside his plate.

Come at once. My office.
Yours flamely,

A.P.W.B.D.

The initials were written with a huge flourish and glowed yellow at random intervals.

'Flamely?' Wondered Harry.

'Just go, Harry. That's Dumbledore. I recognise his initials.' Hermione said.

Those are his initials? Harry thought to himself as he got up hastily and picked up the note. A thought struck him. Just where was his office? Surely he didn't mean in Hogwarts.

All these thoughts barely passed through his mind before he suddenly found himself sitting in a chair in front of Dumbledore. His surroundings were as eccentric as ever, but with noticeably fewer oddments and gadgets. The surrounding marble walls confirmed he was still in Beauxbatons.

'Ah, Harry.' Started Dumbledore, 'I see you received my little note. Have a seat.'

Harry couldn't find a suitable reply, since he was already sitting. But apparently a reply was not expected.

'You will forgive me, of course, for delaying your dinner.'

Harry mutely nodded, it wasn't as if he had any other choice.

'Good.' Said the old wizard. 'Now, onto business. You see Harry, being a powerful wizard does have its perks but occasionally there are questions that even we can't answer. I need you to answer this question, my boy. Truthfully, for I will know otherwise.'

'Yes sir?' Harry questioningly. He was burning with curiosity. Dumbledore was clearly worried about something.

'It is this. Do you, Harry James Potter, know where it is?'

'Where is what?'

Dumbledore looked at him straight in the eye, almost piercing through them. A sharp pain seared in his brain which subsided as soon as Dumbledore broke eye contact. The great man leaned back a little and took off his half- moon spectacles wearily.
'Forgive me, Harry. I looked where there was nothing to find. But I feared that maybe you yourself would not remember the knowledge I require. However, you know nothing of which I speak. That much is evident.'

'What were you looking for? What happened?' Harry asked with some irritation. Dumbledore was always so annoyingly secretive and mysterious.

But this time the Headmaster looked up and answered his question without any riddles.

'The Goblet of Fire is missing.'

Chapter Text

Harry pulled Hermione to a corner of the hall as soon as dinner was over. A few students in blue milled around, but no one paid them much attention. Hermione crossed her arms in mild annoyance.

'Is now when you finally tell me why Dumbledore called you?' she looked expectantly at Harry.

Harry looked at her sheepishly and pulled out his wand, casting a silencing charm he had learned recently. He put it back in his pocket and nodded.

The words Dumbledore had said echoed through his mind ominously.

'The Goblet of Fire is missing,' he said, 'Dumbledore thought I knew who had stolen it.'

Hermione was instantly indignant on his behalf, 'That's crazy, Harry. You couldn't have possibly. Why would you even want to?'

Harry shrugged, 'He's been a bit more... eccentric, lately.'

He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, then stopped. Hermione caught the unsure look on his face.

'What's wrong?' she asked gently, 'You know you can trust me, don't you?' She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He looked around, biting his lip. 'I think he might have used Leglimency,' he blurted out, 'He looked straight in my eyes, just as they wrote in the book.'

Hermione let her hand drop down with a shocked look on her face.

Harry didn't give her a chance to speak, 'I know, I know. I must be crazy, but it's just a feeling.'

He looked at her, fearing her response and expecting a rebuke, at the very least. But Hermione was busy rifling in her bag for something. She brought out a green leather-bound book with 'Secrets of the Mind' written on its cover.

'I got this after you... you know, were reading this sort of stuff.' She switched into full lecture mode, pointing at a paragraph on the page she opened. 'See here: It says Passive Leglimency can be employed only with direct eye contact, and is almost impossible to detect except by a skilled Occulumens since it does not read thoughts but rather detects strong surface emotions and may be used to detect lies, as in the 1858 sitting of...' Hermione trailed off and closed the book with a snap.

'It's possible that Dumbledore used this, ' she said, taking out another book on the same topic, 'Read here.' She traced her finger down a page, 'It says that Passive Leglimency is notillegal except is very special circumstances... which does not include your situation. It actually says that it is often used to facilitate conversations and prevent misunderstandings.'

She looked at Harry fiercely, 'That's ridiculous, ' she said, closing the book rather viciously, 'Reading minds is not ethical, however little.'

Harry had followed only about half of what she had, but got the gist. 'I guess I'll have to read more about it, then.'

He absently started twirling his wand in his fingers. I wonder who stole the Goblet,' he said nonchalantly.

Hermione looked at him witheringly, 'It's obviously someone who's magically very proficient and has something to gain from sabotaging the tournament. One of the other school's head teachers, I guess. I'd say Karkaroff, he looks as if he would just about die if Krum didn't get in. And he runs a school of dark magic. ' She summed up with a satisfied expression on her face.

Harry looked sceptical, 'He certainly looks like he could. But why would he risk it, I mean? Isn't that unfair to Krum?'

Hermione cancelled the silencing charm Harry had put up. 'I don't think he'll care, somehow,' she said, sighing as if it was useless to argue about it anymore.

'I have to get some homework done, you coming?'

Harry looked at her pensively, 'Sure,' he said finally.

They chatted as they walked about a recent rumour they had heard involving the Beauxbatons Headmistress and Hagrid. She certainly looked big enough to be a half giant. The Beauxbatons rumour mill seemed to be as efficient as the one at Hogwarts, even if it was a bit more difficult to overhear conversations when they were being carried out in French and broken English. It seemed that almost everybody here had at least some proficiency in English, which had been encouraged on account of the foreign students coming to their school that year.

They took special classes in English from first year onwards and all professors were well versed in the language. The library staff evidently hadn't been brought up to those standards, even if they did keep books in several languages. The students, especially those in older years, switched freely between languages and English was highly encouraged in more formal settings.

They were just turning around the corner when someone came running and brushed past Hermione, causing her to drop her hand bag as most of the books spilled out on the spotless floor. The boy immediately stopped and said stiffly, 'Excuse me.' He stepped aside.

Hermione looked at him reassuringly, 'It's fine, you can just help me-'

But the boy was gone before she could complete her sentence, evidently in a great hurry. He hadn't even properly looked in her direction before sauntering away as if nothing had happened.

Hermione looked at the retreating figure in surprise. 'Well!' she said hotly, bending down to pick up her books, 'He didn't even apologise!' she said to Harry who was helping her. Harry suddenly dropped all the books, and stopped Hermione as well. He straightened up and waved his wand, at which the books neatly slid into her bag, which the witch picked up with some embarrassment.

'He should have still helped us,' she muttered, thankful that Harry hadn't commented on her unconscious habit of doing things the muggle way. It was a mark of their friendship that Harry didn't even give her a chance to say something herself, instead replying to her remark about the boy who had bumped into her.

'Yeah!' he said forcefully, 'But he can't help it, can he? I mean, being a slimy git and all.'

Hermione burst into a fit of giggles, it was just so strange hearing him insult someone they didn't even know in a solemn matter-of-fact voice. But it sure felt good, she had to admit. Sadly, this wasn't the only time someone from Beauxbatons' had been less than helpful.
It had been somewhat of a surprise for all the foreign students - the marked superciliousness in the Beauxbatons older students, which made most of them fairly unapproachable. Cold responses had become somewhat of a routine. Aurelie was a marked exception in this respect, Harry had noted. The reason for their distrust was still unclear, though most people thought it was their pre-tournament competitiveness coming out - they were very competitive.

But they were always polite... mostly, so no one could really complain. Somewhat surprisingly, the Hogwarts students got along well with the Durmstrang ones. Hermione complained about their hospitality - or lack thereof - all the way till they got to their study area near their rooms, with which Harry agreed enthusiastically. The study area was surprisingly spacious, well lit and had a variety of chairs and couches along with a clearing, presumably for practising spells. They quickly found a comfortable place to sit. The floor was also covered with a rug in several shades of blue.

Two hours passed fairly quickly, Harry finding he could now almost keep up with Hermione. At the end of that time, Harry got up hastily. Hermione looked at him curiously.

'You done?' she asked with a faint hint of disapproval. She hadn't paused writing her essay, her eyes were still glued to the parchment.

'Yeah,' he said, trying to flatten his hair but failing miserably, 'I have an appointment with Mr Durant about some Occulumency lessons.'

Hermione raised her eyes, placing down her quill. She looked at Harry with a slightly hurt expression. 'You never told me!'

'Err... yeah, I must have forgot.' The truth was that he was still a bit shy of admitting that he had done something proactive about his studies to Hermione, especially something which he wasn't sure would work out. The feeling was just so foreign to him. It made it seem all more... real somehow, and his worst fear was it might all come crashing down on his head.

'Anyways,' he gave her a small wave, 'I'm getting late.'

He left quickly before being barraged by another volley of questions. Curfew was at 10 pm. here, so he figured he had about an hour to get back. Few students walked about at this time of the night. Most people he saw were either a few couples busy wishing a passionate good night to their significant other or Prefects walking about doing their rounds. He noted with some interest that one of the couples was Aurelie and some guy who looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place. He saw her striking auburn hair disappear into a convenient shadow. He grinned, he would have to remember to tease... err- ask her about that later.

He reached Mr Durant's office in a huff, only a few minutes late. He took a moment to compose himself and took a deep breath, hoping the Professor wasn't staring through the eyehole.

He knocked twice.

'Come in,' a gravelly voice said from inside.

Harry stepped in, only to have his breath taken away by a willowy beauty sitting inside. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she had also arrived in a hurry moments before he did. She sat with her legs crossed in blue schools robes, looking back at Harry. He suddenly felt very self-conscious, and restrained a massive urge to rub something from his face. Her blue eyes seemed to draw him closer. He unconsciously took a couple of steps towards her, but managed to stop and tear his eyes away. He focused on the room instead. It had several pictures adorning its walls, all of them showing powerful spells being cast in the backdrop of huge groups of people. A small fireplace crackled with green flames. There was a single desk, chair and a couple of couches, one of which was occupied by the stunning girl he had been entranced by.

Mr Durant, wearing dark robes, was sitting behind his desk with a small smirk, but also looked rather impressed. He raised his left eyebrow at Harry and pocketed the wand he had been holding.

He stood up and promptly brought his hands together in a slow clap; once... twice... three times, looking straight at Harry.

Harry stood there awkwardly, wondering what he had done to deserve the applause.

Mr Durant motioned with his hand towards the girl, whose face Harry had finally placed. His mind felt a lot clearer now.

'May I present to you, Fleur Delacour, who I'm sure you recognise.'

Fleur smiled at Harry, who managed a small wave back without embarrassing himself this time. If possible, she smiled even more brightly, apparently pleased about something.

'Harry Potter, ' Mr Durant looked at him sharply, 'you have passed my test. Miss Delacour is to be your Occulumency tutor. Please take a seat while we sort out the details.'

Harry sat down gingerly on the indicated couch, glancing at Fleur beside him, her hair tied back in a ponytail.

'What... what test was that, sir?' He furrowed his eyebrows, pretty sure he had only walked inside the room. That didn't seem like a very praiseworthy achievement, somehow.

Mr Durant smiled, leaning against the back of a chair. 'Fleur will be able to explain it better than I can. All you need to know right now is that you have the potential to become a Master Occlumens, and I have the most marvellously suitable teacher for you.' He tilted his head towards Fleur, 'In fact, if my guess is correct, and it usually is, you will get there in less than a year.' His eyebrow twitched, a habit of his which Harry found to quite disconcerting, 'Indeed, yet another feather in the widening cap of the... Boy-Who-Lived.'

Harry listened with wide eyes, ignoring the uncalled for jab at the end. His books had said complete mastery took at least twenty years, why was Mr Durant trying to mislead him? He said as much, to which Mr Durant only shook his head.

'Tut-tut, one must not get ahead of oneself. It is mere guesswork on my part.' His tone clearly suggested that it was not 'mere guesswork', but he was unwilling to offer further explanation.

Harry felt infuriated at the condescending tone, but did not press ahead in what he was sure would be futile argument. Aurelie had been right, he didn't really like Mr Durant. He settled for a mild glare.

'My office is to be your classroom for instruction, as I'm sure no other place will be as well suited.' Mr Durant continued, looking into the eyes of both students. He walked to the door and opened it wandlessly. 'There will be no interruptions, as I will not return here this night. Take as much time as you require.'

He stepped outside, and the door had barely closed before it opened again with Mr Durant stepping in with a small smirk, 'I leave it to my most prized student to ensure there will be no... indiscretions.' He looked warningly at Harry, 'I have seen you have the willpower to control yourself, but the question is whether you choose to exercise it... or not.' His voice trailed off ominously.

Harry felt like he was playing a Quidditch match without knowing without knowing if was supposed to be flying. Something was missing here. It didn't add up, Mr Durant's tone, Fleur's unexpected presence and his carefully guarded animosity. Harry jumped a bit as the door banged close. He immediately turned to Fleur,

'Fleur, I swear I would never-'

'Relax, Mr Potter,' she interrupted, 'I know you wouldn't.'

Harry was mollified, but felt a bit indignant. She had known him for all of five minutes, and was already assuming things about him. He also felt a bit chastised at her using his surname. But hadn't she, at their very first meeting, told him to call her Fleur?

He decided to follow her lead.

'Thank you, Miss Delacour,' he replied. Ouch, that came out a bit more harsh than he had intended.

Fleur seemed to sense the frostiness in his voice, and bit her lip guiltily. Her expression softened, 'C'est de ma faute, 'Arry. It was like... reflexive. I forgot you haven't done this before. It's just that when I had them, my own tutor always used to...' Her voice trailed off in reminiscence.

She shook her head slightly and adopted a serious expression, 'Okay,' she said definitively, 'This is the only time I'm going to tell you this during our... sessions. I will swear an oath to keep your secrets and obliviate those memories of yours which you ask me to.' In response to Harry's questioning glance, she insisted, 'No, it is inevitable I will see some unwanted memories, however much potential you might have. '

She took a deep breathe, 'Formality is the only way to keep things from getting personal, as they very well might. We don't want to break it off before you're done. Occulumency is all about freezing your emotions. Ideally, a complete stranger should be teaching you, someone you have never seen and will never see out of these sessions. But we work with what we have. I...' she hesitated, 'I have some abilities which Monsieur Durant said would be able to help you. You.. you don't know yet?'

The question was more loaded with meaning than she let on. Harry shook his head, hoping she would get to the point. There was a look of faint surprise on her face at his answer, followed by a ghost of a smile.

Harry looked at her questioningly, but her eyes were flickering around the room in some strange uncertainty. She suddenly stood up, somehow making that one action look more graceful than Harry had ever believed possible. A strand of silvery-blonde hair fell over her cheek.

'I...' she muttered, half to herself, taking a few steps shakily 'But I must consult Maman, first,'

She looked apologetically into Harry's green eyes, wringing her hands.

'I'm really sorry, Harry,' she said, not sounding quite as French now she was composed, 'I can't... not today. I'll see you tomorrow, I promise I'll explain then.'

Her anxious face glowed with sincerity. Harry got up as well.

'Of course, Fleur,' he said, trying his best to hide the regret in his voice, 'I look forward to it.'

Madame Maxime's office was much larger than Dumbledore's back at Hogwarts. It had huge windows looking out to the lawns below and cool air came inside in a gentle breeze. The moon was shining brightly that night. The office had a huge marble table at its centre with chairs all around, decorated with copper and fine carvings. It was on the whole a much more homely and comfortable dwelling, and had several paintings covering its walls. There were old Headteachers and a few people in medieval clothing from a whole assortment of cultures.

A meeting was in session with Maxime at the head of the table, the Headmasters of the other two schools sitting around and Mr Durant pacing around the table glaring at a former student, Pierre, all the while. Pierre, his brown hair parted down the middle stylishly, looked straight ahead unconcernedly at the heated discussion going on around him.

'Madame,' Karkaoff said, trying to hold back his anger, 'Surely that boy Pierre is guilty. He will not swear an oath, he does not offer an explanation for being in the school recently, something which Mr Durant says he should not have done.'

The Beauxbaton's Headmistress was trying very hard to control her own temper as well. That former Death Eater was not only speaking rudely but was also telling her how to run her own school while sitting in her office.

'I do not agree,' she said calmly, 'Pierre is always welcome back here, no matter what Monsieur Durant might say.' She gave her employee a look which promised that they would have words later.

'The duel was inexcusable,' her voice grew harsher, 'Such actions will not be tolerated in these halls. But... I must say that I have known Pierre for a long time, and do not believe he is responsible for such a heinous crime.'

Karkaroff threw up his hands in disgust. Of course that... that half-giant would defend the children of her school.

'The Goblet of Fire must be found,' he said insistently as he could, 'We must take extreme measures. For all we know, someone might have imperiused Pierre and obliviated him later.'

'Then we must find the person who did that to him.' Maxime's voice was as hard as steel. It was clear she would not force her former student to do something he was not willing to do voluntarily.

'That gets us nowhere!' Karkaroff pointed out.

Dumbledore had been watching as silently as Pierre till then. He finally decided it was the time to interrupt.

'May I suggest a compromise?' he said in a grandfatherly tone, and continued without pausing, 'Madame, have Pierre stay with us in the school till the Goblet is found. He is currently out of a job, I gather. You could temporarily hire him as a... well, I'm sure you'll think of something.' Dumbledore smiled serenely around the table with a very satisfied look on his face.

Madame Maxime looked thoughtful, 'That is agreeable. I suppose it could be arranged. Pierre?' She looked at the boy who was stroking his small beard in contemplation. He grunted out a yes. Good jobs were hard to find these days.

Durant looked like he wanted to object; but settled for a scowl and a few choice words, 'I've heard the Western Greenhouses are in desperate need of a dedicated caretaker.' It was clear by his tone he considered it the worst sort of job available in the school. Not many would object, since it was the greenhouse with the poisonous and carnivorous plants after all. They were positively scary.

Pierre didn't dare to contradict him. Thankfully, there was no more discussion on that topic.

'And what of the Goblet-' Karkaroff started heatedly, was he the only one here interested in bringing it back?!

Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth taken from somewhere deep in his robes.

'Yes, the Goblet,' he said, 'Not to worry. I am sure the school has wards which prevent it being taken outside the school during the duration of the tournament?'

Madame Maxime nodded, 'It is still inside.'

Dumbledore stood up, holding out his hand in the air. A red phoenix flashed on top with a brilliant flash of light and flames. His soothing cry filled the office.

'Fawkes will help me find it - such an artefact cannot be concealed if I manage to get close enough.' Dumbledore glanced around the table, 'I am sure you are more than capable of catching the perpetrator on your own.'

He smiled a bit as if he had remembered some private joke and suddenly flashed away leaving a very irate Headmaster Karkaroff and surprised Headmistress Maxime. Karkaroff did not hide his sense of injustice.

'He could have said this before we started the meeting!' he cried out, 'Who does he think he is?'

Behind him, the Defence professor suddenly sank down on one of the various seats available in an exaggerated motion, his head in his hands.

Madame Maxime did not lose her calm, 'Headmaster, I believe it is not proper to address the Chief Warlock of the ICW in this fashion. As for this meeting, its purpose was to find the perpetrator, not the Goblet.'

'But the thief surely has the Goblet!' Karkaroff objected, 'The point is moot.'

Durant scoffed, he was tired of the meeting as well, 'Surely the thief is no fool to keep the Goblet with him, especially inside the school. It is not like Hogwarts - there are not many places to hide here. It is a school, not a fortress or castle or a sanctum for teaching... unorthodox magic.'

Karakaroff stood up in anger at the poorly concealed slight at his school, creases appearing in his white fur coat as they did on his face.

'I am sure your school staff is competent enough to catch the perpetrator by itself. I must leave.' he said.

He bowed stiffly and a strange gust of wind slammed the door shut behind him. Durant let out a long breathe and stretched his legs on the table, giving a meaningful glance to his Headmistress.

'Henri, please remember to be civil around important people.' Maxime reprimanded, 'It would serve you well.'

Monsieur Durant's eyebrow twitched once again. 'Important...' he said with a sour look on his face, 'The word infuriates me. People should be respected for themselves than their achievements or positions. Power only corrupts. Why, just look at-'

'Yes, Henri,' Maxime interrupted with a sigh, 'I know your views on this topic. I wish you would listen to me, though.'

'Have Pierre arrested. Then we'll talk. He is a dangerous influence on those around-'

'Monsieur Durant...' Maxime interrupted warningly, glancing at Pierre who was listening to the conversation with an interested look on his face.

'Fine.'

Durant suddenly fired a harmless jinx with a vindictive look on his face at the boy across the table, who deflected it without even looking properly. Maxime looked at the pair in resignation. Their animosity was no secret to her and even the large majority of the student population. Pierre would often visit his old school to look up teachers and just visit the classrooms - it was unusual but Madame Maxime saw no harm in it. She even found it somewhat endearing. An incident in Pierre's seventh year had somehow made the defence professor deeply distrustful of the boy, and it would often turn into full blown arguments. The duel was an escalation which nobody had foreseen, and which she was determined to prevent the next time around.

It was positively childish how the two behaved sometimes, she thought, looking at them through the corner of her eye exchanging tickling and hair growing jinxes in the most casual fashion. She was sure if she hadn't been there, there would have been another duel.

She would have to find some way to separate them while they were both here, somehow.

Harry trudged back to his living quarters, which were inconveniently on the other side of the building, the North Wing to be exact. His mind was still on his conversation with Fleur, wondering if he had done something wrong. She had said she would talk to him the next day, but there was still an odd feeling of rejection. He had been looking forward immensely to starting his Occulumency lessons. While the choice of tutor was a bit of a surprise - he had known it would probably be a seventh year but he hadn't expected it to be this particular one - Mr Durant had said she was somehow particularly well suited to teaching him. The matter of him having a lot of potential was surprising, to say the least. He had tried doing the exercises in the book but he hadn't found himself suddenly being able to learn everything with a lot of ease. In fact, he was struggling to clear his mind of any thoughts for more than a few seconds.

Then there was Fleur herself. He had never had his feelings change as quickly as they did around her. One moment, he felt like he would travel to the moon to make her happy and the next moment he felt the usual feeling of attraction he felt towards any other pretty girl, though she was prettier than most, if not any girl he had seen. She had come across as a bit arrogant and cold to him initially, but he could tell she was hiding something. It was reminiscent of the way he acted himself sometimes, preferring to keep to himself.

Aurelie had also mentioned people didn't usually like her, and she herself was one of the few friends Fleur had. He could tell she was hiding something during that conversation, but when he asked she had said it wasn't something she was supposed to talk about. He hadn't pressed further, realising it was something she really didn't want to talk about.

He walked inside the Hogwarts living quarters and found Hermione still on the couch with a mass of parchments surrounding her. A few older students were also sitting around, most of them in a similar state of deep thought. He nodded at Cedric, a friendly Hufflepuff he had befriended on the ride here. Draco was conspicuously absent, probably gone to sleep.

'Hey Hermione,' said Harry, sitting beside her.

Hermione motioned for him to remain quiet and took her time to finish the page she had been reading. She neatly bookmarked it and turned to Harry with an interested smile.

'How was it?' she asked but before Harry could answer Cedric approached the duo.

He looked towards Harry, 'Listen,' he said, 'you need to hear this.' He looked apologetically at Hermione, 'It'll only take a minute.'

He made a come-over-here indication with one of his hands as Harry jumped up in curiosity. There could be only one reason for Cedric to call him. They had talked a few days back. Harry had been curious about Mr Durant's lesson with disarming spells and he had asked around - Cedric had been one of the few people to take an actual interest. He seemed to be quite smart, even for a seventh year.

Cedric lead him to the far wall which had the painting of an earl or duke from the seventeenth century, complete with a fancy red suit with golden buttons and what looked suspiciously like a wig. He was busy fiddling with his eyeglass.

'Lord Stanley,' Cedric said formally. The Lord continued glancing through his eyepiece, changing his eye this time.

Cedric looked at him blankly for a moment before sighing, 'Lord Stanley the Brave,' he tried.

The painting of Lord Stanley cleared his throat and said, 'Approach, young man, and state your concerns.'

Harry restrained the urge to roll his eyes.

'You had just told me about how letting disarming spells hit you were used in your time...' Cedric said encouragingly.

Lord Stanley gave him a pleased smirk, 'Ahem, of course. It was used mainly to test a wizard's affinity towards magic. It may also increase resistance to the particular spell, but that was not its main function.'

Harry took a moment to process the information. It wasn't at odds with what Mr Durant had said, but the part about the test wasn't something he had heard before.

'Are you absolutely sure?' Harry asked. Better being safe than risking a lot of effort based on the meaningless drivel of a senile painting.

The painting gave an angry Harrumph, his face reddening slightly. 'My word is my bond, young man. I speak the truth, and nothing but the truth.' he said testily.

Harry paused, considering how to continue. 'How is it a test, exactly?' he said eventually. He had to know more to convince himself that there was some merit to the painting's words.

Lord Stanley put a finger on his chin, 'I couldn't say. Probably something to do with how long you hold it. But at a small price, I would be willing-'

Cedric suddenly dragged Harry away from the painting, ignoring its shouts of protest in which the words 'Discount' were repeated a very detrimental number of times.

'I talked to it earlier,' the brown eyed Hufflepuff said, 'Dumb as a doornail, of course. But what he said should be reliable. I haven't found any books on the topic either, and the other students don't know anything about it either. I had to search through quite a few paintings before I found this one. He loves galleons - kept asking for them and got angrier when I couldn't give them to him.'

Cedric gave a short chuckle, looking expectantly at the boy who had first brought his attention to this fascinating project of Mr Durant.

Harry thanked Cedric first of all, marvelling at his efficiency. It couldn't have been a couple of days since he asked him! But he still wasn't sure he could trust the painting, despite what Cedric assurances.

'Why do you think Mr Durant wanted to test us?' he said speculatively.

Cedric shrugged, 'I dunno. Just like any other exam, I suppose. I'll see if I can get hold of any other painting,' he said. Harry wasn't completely satisfied by this explanation but there nothing else he could think of either. Cedric wished him a cheery goodnight as he entered his room while Harry again took a seat beside Hermione. He felt tired and a strange feeling of dread overcame him at the prospect of reliving the events in Mr Durant's office. It was all so... confusing. But Hermione wouldn't let him go without saying something, judging from the way she had neatly put all her work inside her bag and was perched on the edge of the couch with a predatory glint in her eyes.

'Merlin,' Harry started enthusiastically, 'you won't believe who I saw on the way to Mr Durant's office...'

Chapter Text

Delight: Harry Potter

October 29, 1994

The sun was just setting when Aurelie led Harry to the Quidditch pitch. The sky was aglow with an orange flame which slowly disappeared into the black expanse of the night sky. A bright smile was on her face as she showed him that there were not one, but two pitches - one for practice and one for matches which was surrounded by stands.

A friendly match was ongoing beside them, and the practice pitch was empty. Harry gingerly stepped onto the freshly mowed grass, looking around in wonder at the high goalposts and imagining himself playing in the background of the towering mountains in the distance. He could almost feel the cool air rushing past his face. He mounted his Firebolt, looking at Aurelie beside him. Her blue eyes sparkled in contentment.

'You want to join me?' he asked, a bit hesitant. It would be rude to leave her alone on the ground.

She shrugged, 'Why not?'

She sat behind Harry and put her arms tightly around his waist as he pushed off smoothly. It was almost exactly as he had imagined it to be, except for the feeling of Aurelie pressed behind him. He was a bit stiff initially, but soon relaxed into the familiar feeling of flying. The summer was far behind him, a distant memory for drearier times. He was in his element in the sky. He casually did a few loop-de-loops in quick succession followed by accelerating slowly in case Aurelie wasn't used to flying. But he quickly realised slow just wasn't his thing.

'Do you mind if I try something a bit dangerous?' he asked her, slowing down a bit, his head turned sideways.

Aurelie spoke close to his ear, 'I love dangerous.'

Harry felt shivers creep down his spine as he sped up. His mind started to wander, but he squashed the misguided thoughts without mercy. She was just a friend, someone he liked spending time with. He didn't want to lose her over anything stupid.

'You might want to hang on,' he said. Aurelie happily obliged, her hair tickling Harry's neck. Harry winced, he really should have thought it through before asking her to join him.

He did a few complicated twists and turns, practising the manoeuvres at high speed such as he might while catching a snitch. He executed a few daring corkscrews and even the odd roll. Emboldened by his success and lack of any protest from Aurelie, he decided to try something he had seen Krum executing at the World Cup. He shot like an arrow towards the ground, eliciting a small terrified 'Eep' from Aurelie before he pulled up at almost the very last moment, his heart in his mouth. The grass rippled as he turned back up a few feet above it. He would have liked to have gone further down, but Aurelie's presence made him a bit more cautious than usual. He pulled up high into the sky, opting for a lazy pace as he calmed down.

Aurelie was almost giddy with excitement, 'That was a perfectly executed Wronski Feint!'

Harry was glad she couldn't see the blush that crept across his face.

'You know what it's called?' he asked her. He hadn't pegged her for a Quidditch fan.

Aurelie huffed. 'Everybody knows that!'

They flew around in silence for a few more minutes before Harry finally landed with a grin. It had been so long since he had last flown.

Aurelie brought out her wand and murmured a spell which Harry judged to be 'Accio' going by its wand movements.

'You never told me you're dating,' he said, faux-casually, starting to walk across the field to the stone pathway running to the palace.

Aurelie didn't miss a beat, 'I'm not,' she said, in the same tone.

Harry glanced at her walking innocently beside him, she didn't seem to be lying. He didn't want to be intrusive, but he was just concerned.

'I saw you,' he said seriously, 'on Saturday night with some boy in the corridor. It's fine if you don't want to talk about it.'

Aurelie rolled her eyes, 'That was a single kiss,' she said, 'doesn't mean we're dating.'

'Oh, err...' Harry didn't quite know what to say after that.

'It was Pierre,' she said after a while, 'if you want to know. He was visiting.'

Harry sensed there was some history between them from the way she spoke his name, but he assumed if she wanted she could tell him herself. He looked and saw a broom come whizzing towards them, slowing down as it approached and was caught deftly by Aurelie.

'I wanted to compare brooms,' she said, handing him her broom and taking his without warning. He looked at her broom in mild surprise, it was a Stardust 700, leading competitor of the Firebolt and just as expensive. Its bristles were thinner, but the broom was in much better condition than his. It was also a bit smaller, but he knew from the articles he had read that its speed had nothing on the Firebolt. It was built mainly for better manoeuvrability and had fairly good acceleration.

'I'm the seeker on our team, you know,' she mentioned, missing the surprised look Harry gave her.

'I'm the seeker for Gryffindor, too,' he said with a smile. Aurelie whirled about in astonishment and they spoke about it excitedly.

They exchanged brooms once more and Aurelie continued in a similar strain throughout the rest of the walk back. It was only after she said goodbye that Harry realised she could have easily summoned her broom earlier, instead of sharing his.

It had probably just slipped her mind, right?

Disbelief: Albus too-many-middle-names Dumbledore

October 29, 1994

Dumbledore had spent already countless hours of scouring the school for the Goblet. He had visited most of the places twice or thrice and some even four times. Only one conclusion seemed possible now - Madame Maxime had stolen the Goblet herself to sabotage the tournament, and was lying about the silent wards. A favourite quote of Dumbledore's was by a very famous muggle - "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." It seemed applicable in his case, since there was no other solution that was possible. He frowned deeply as he walked to his office, when a sudden thought struck him.

Unless, unless... but the thief would never dare, would he? He wouldn't. But it was not the case, Dumbledore found with a deep sigh as he turned the corner. It was the only place he hadn't checked yet. And there was the cup, lying in plain in sight in front of his office door. Such cheek! So his thief had a sense of humour then? It was reckless, but he apparently got away with it. Not for long, if Dumbledore could help it.

He picked up the Goblet of Fire with a resigned look on his face as he took it inside his office. He would keep it with himself until it was lit the next day, and check for any hint of damage in the meanwhile.

A bit of personal research into its workings wouldn't hurt either.

Renewed Purpose: Draco Malfoy

October 22, 1994

Draco Malfoy had found the last couple of weeks to be rather dull compared to Hogwarts. There were no ghosts, no eccentric DADA professors(although Durant could come close if he gave it a try), no devotion of his loyal Slytherin 'friends' and even irritating Potter - a usually dependable pastime - was proving to be difficult. With Weasley beside him, it was often easy to goad that red-headed idiot into getting angry, at which point Potter would rush to his defence. Nowadays, Potter would simply ignore him and leave him to his own devices.

Almost everyone left him to his own devices, which suited him just fine. Nothing would deter him from his goal of entering the Triwizard Tournament as Champion and bringing even more fame to the Malfoy name. He also had other work to do - important work - which had been entrusted to him by his father, but he was also fully confident of coming out on top on both ends. He was a Malfoy, after all.

Cassius Warrington, a seventh year Slytherin who had been a part of the Hogwarts entourage, had taken Malfoy under his wing, and was teaching him to be a true Slytherin. Of course, it didn't come without a certain motivation of his own. He had started by telling Malfoy that it required a favourable alliance between the two families, along with reasonable aid when required. Loosely translated, I'll help you in exchange for gold.

Malfoy had agreed with the full knowledge that he could break off the arrangement as he desired, since he was the one holding the purse strings.

But Warrington had been surprisingly useful. His first lesson had been quite informative:

It had been held in the dark of the night inside Warrington's enlarged room in the light from the tip of their two wands.

'So Draco,' Malfoy had given him a sharp look at this, but Warrington had smiled condescendingly, 'If I'm to teach you anything useful,' he had said, 'I'll call you Draco and you must refer to me as Mr Warrington or Sir.'

Before Malfoy could respond, he continued, 'Now. Your first lesson. What is the first thing you think of when you look at someone?' he asked in a theatrical manner.

Draco's features arranged themselves into a thoughtful expression, 'Whether they're pureblood, half-blood or mud blood,' he said finally, it was the obvious answer, but it was also probably the right one.

'No,' Warrington raised a finger slowly, shaking his head disappointedly.

'The first thing you should think is...' he paused for dramatic effect and said in a stage whisper, 'You must guess what they think they want you to give to them, and how to make them think you gave it to them, while at the same making them give you something that you want in return, but they think you actually don't.'

Malfoy blinked three times. That was the seventh most complicated sentence he had ever heard. Warrington had to repeat the sentence two more times before Draco finally got it, as a devious smile came on his face. He liked the direction this was going in. It was what his father always did, in a nutshell, except that he would probably kill the person he tricked to hide any evidence.

When he mentioned this, only a wide grin spread across Warrington's face which eerily didn't reach his eyes.

'Ah, but you see,' he said as if he was imparting the lost wisdom of the ages, 'a true Slytherin would never have to kill the person he tricked, since said person would never find out they were tricked.'

At Draco slight anger at his suggestion that his father was not a true Slytherin, Warrington amended his statement by conceding it was always better to be sure, just in case you missed something; a dead man can't talk.

Draco almost laughed evilly in glee. Warrington had said these were just the basics, just wait till he got to the real part. No one could stop him now!

Interlude: Hagrid

November 6, 1994

Hagrid whistled a merry tune, tending to the majestic Abraxans he had found in the Beauxbatons stables. The Abraxans resembled Palomino horses with the exception of humongous wings sprouting out of their sides. They had a beautiful white coat of soft hair, and their powerful legs stomped and fretted on the ground. Hagrid walked up to one of them, heaving a barrel of single malt whiskey as if it was made of feather. He placed it down in front of one of the winged horses, and comfortingly patted its fur. The Abraxan snorted with delight, and took a long swig of its drink of choice.

'Yer a girl, aren't you?' Hagrid said, in what he considered a soothing voice.

The Abraxan dipped its head forwards, taking another drink from the barrel and almost emptied it. She rustled the straw near her, and dropped down with her legs folded. She spread her great wings wide and looked expectantly towards Hagrid.

Hagrid looked as if Christmas had come early.

'Ye want me to ride yeh? Is tha' what yer sayin'?' The Abraxans reminded him of his beloved Thestrals back at Hogwarts. He hoped Miss Kettleburn was taking good care of them. He patted the Abraxas' fur fondly.

'I'll call you Buttercup, if that's fine with you?'

A small whiny and the whiskey was over in a matter of seconds. Hagrid took that as acquiescence.

The stallion suddenly snorted loudly, a small cloud of air coming from her nostrils. She sounded a bit angry, her waving tail catching Hagrid in his ribs. He wasn't even phased except for a concerned expression coming on his face. He sighed in resignation.

'A'right, Buttercup' Hagrid said, If yer insistin'

He climbed up on the Abraxas, which stood up firmly. Her great strength allowed her to lift someone like Hagrid easily. She stomped her feet once, trotted a few steps out of the stables and took off into the air with a huge flap of her wings. Her rippling tendons and muscles strained as she flew higher into the air with powerful flaps.

Hagrid looked around, taking in the breathtaking scenery of towering snow capped mountains and forests up its slopes. A faint sound of trickling rivulets could be heard and the school was like a small white dot from their height. The clouds were coming closer and closer. Hagrid huffed, unimpressed, and continued patting the great steed. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy, but he had faith in the Abraxas. How could such a magnificent creature have anything other than the purest intentions?

A little while later, he was snoring, nestled comfortably and safely between the two wings.

Buttercup flew happily in the endless blue sky, ecstatic with freedom after being locked up for so long.

Disquiet: Fleur Delacour

October 28, 1994

He met Fleur in the library. She was sitting cross legged in a corner surrounded by books, the end of her tongue just about visible in a picture of concentration. Harry approached her apprehensively.

'Fleur...' he said hesitantly, 'Have you decided?'

A book fell off the surprised girl's lap. She looked at him with an almost scared expression. She quickly schooled her features.

'No, not yet.' She got up, her blue skirt falling around her knees. She gave him a weak smile.

'Wait here,' she said, and vanished around a bookshelf. She came back with a single book in her hands and thrust it into his hands. Harry wondered why she gave him a book. The musty air made it seem as if there was nothing written on the cover. On a closer look, there was actually nothing written on the red leather, except for a fancy golden "D" in the bottom corner.

'Read the first chapter,' she said in a businesslike fashion, 'Do the exercises. You won't need my help for them.'

Harry looked at the book and back at Fleur with a serious look, 'You could just say no,' he said quietly. I'm used to it, he added inside his mind. He'd learn the whole damn thing by himself if he had to.

Fleur shook her head, 'It's not that,' she said gently, 'I just need... some more time.'

'You like Quidditch, right?' Her voice had the quality of clear glass.

'Yeah,' said Harry, 'How do you know that?'

Fleur had the decency to blush. 'Aurelie…' she said as if that explained everything, 'she likes to talk… a lot, you know?'

Harry nodded. He knew it only too well. She didn't mean anything by it, it was just her nature to talk about anything which caught her fancy and Harry - he had realised too late - was one of those on her list.

'So,' Fleur continued, 'think of this book as learning to fly. I can't teach you to play Quidditch before you can fly.'

Harry's piercing green eyes seemed to gaze into her very soul before breaking away. There was no hint of deception in her, only honesty and deadly earnestness. It was all so frustrating, why was she putting off a simple lesson? He had already done the basics... well most of it.

Harry turned around in deep contemplation, the seemingly unnecessary book just added to the air of mystery hanging about the strange girl. There was always an air of coldness around whenever he saw her in the school. She rarely talked to anyone except Aurelie, and then there was that 'ability' which no one was willing to elaborate on. Her beauty was undeniable, but it was only part of her, something which a lot of other boys he talked to failed to understand. He struggled to find something under it, but a blanket of ice was draped around her, melting only to harden again. He saw shades of himself reflected in it, but they were only shades, vanishing when he tried to throw a bit of light on them.

Lost and Found: The Goblet of Fire

October 30, 1994

The Goblet of Fire shone brightly with its blue and yellow flames inside Madam Maxime's office. They had chosen not to light it in front of the school for fear of foul play. They still hadn't figured out what had been done to it, so the precautions were necessary. Madam Maxime let out a sigh of relief.

'It seems to be fine,' she said.

But Dumbledore's eyes were no longer twinkling, 'No,' he said gravely, tracing his wand around the edge, 'I can feel it now. It has been tainted.'

Karkaroff raised an eyebrow,' Is it cursed?' He experimentally poked it with his wand.

'No,' said Dumbledore, 'It is in perfect functioning condition for the tournament.' He sighed, pacing the office in deep thought. He finally spoke out in a tone of deep worry, 'It has been used for some ritual... probably Dark. I cannot be sure of what it was, but...' he closed his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows.

'There is no way out,' he said finally, 'the Goblet has been lit. The tournament must take place.'

Madame Maxime was enraged, 'It is not safe!' she exclaimed. A French Ministry official, who had been standing beside watching the whole proceedings, coughed slightly to get her attention.

'I'm afraid the Chief Warlock is correct, Madame,' he said in a monotonous voice, 'Our hands are tied, the tournament must take place, else we risk losing the magic of all the tournament officials involved.' He tightened his jaw, 'Which includes present company.'

Karkaroff was back to his grumpy self, 'Dumbledore said it's in proper condition for the tournament. It doesn't matter if some nutter tried to use it for a dark ritual.' He gave a short laugh, 'he probably failed. This is no mere artefact to be used lightly. It takes great power to bend it to one's will.'

Dumbledore said nothing and the Beauxbatons Headmistress grudgingly agreed.

The Goblet of Fire was set on a high pedestal in the Entrance Hall surrounded by an age line, allowing only those aged seventeen and above to cross it. The day was October 30, 1994.

Madame Maxime had made an impassioned speech before allowing students to give their names.

'Glory awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Cup, but beware, for it would be both treacherous and demanding. Three tasks must one conquer to claim the prize. Three tasks which will challenge your ingenuity, magical prowess, strength of mind and character. Only the worthiest from each school will be chosen. Give your names wisely, for it is a binding magical contract which will require you to compete or lose your magic. I have presented the stakes, the choice is now yours. Commencez!'

She threw her hands up as the flames flew higher in the air as the first chit cast burnt into ashes. All throughout the day, students from the three schools eagerly dropped their names into the flames. It was the general consensus in Hogwarts that either Cedric Diggory or Angelina Johnson would be chosen as the champion. Harry and Hermione were both privately rooting for Angelina, since she was also in Gryffindor.

She had been very nervous before submitting her name and it was only the encouragement from her two housemates that she had done so with a confident smile on her face. Hermione had tried to reason with her for half an hour before Harry had suddenly interrupted her with a determined look on his face and a couple of words.

'We're Gryffindors,' he had said meaningfully, causing Angelina's face to become bright red before she kissed Harry on the cheek as thanks. She soon put her name in. One of the headteachers was always near the Goblet in case something went wrong. But it all went smoothly.

The next day was Halloween, a day on which Harry didn't even feel like getting out of his bed. Everybody celebrated this day, but to him it was just the day his parents died. It was like dragging a shard of glass across a fresh wound. He would have just liked one year when he could just be on his own, without the festivity, and with his thoughts. He just felt that maybe the Wizarding World could honour their sacrifice just once, but he knew that was never going to happen.

Harry had thrown himself into Occlumency and it had taken him just a couple of late nights to get through the initial exercises. They were much easier than the ones he had seen in the other book and had a much more cohesive structure. He had once again approached Fleur, but she had been too excited and distracted last night to make any headway with their Occlumency lessons, so they had called it off until the next day. Harry truly believed she would be chosen as Champion - that duel with Mr Durant had been nothing short of a sublime mixture of elegance and skill - so another day's delay seemed highly likely.

Finally the time for the Goblet to choose the Champions came, and all the students gathered in the Entrance Hall silently. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation and nervousness, and they all held their breaths as Madame Maxime stood on the platform with the Goblet.

Harry looked around and somehow caught Fleur's eye from the sea of blue. He mouthed 'Good Luck' to her to which she just smiled. Aurelie, standing beside her nudged her lightly, and received a stern glare from Fleur in response.

The first chit came flying out of the Goblet which Maxime caught deftly with her rather thick fingers.

'The Champion from Durmstrang is... Victor Krum!'

His school clapped loudly and he received several pats on the back and congratulations. Krum simply walked ahead with a bored face to a Tournament official who led him somewhere away along the corridors. It was almost as if he knew he would be chosen. His confidence seemed somewhat unreal. The Goblet politely waited till the applause died down.

Another chit flew out in a burst of blue flames.

'The Champion from Hogwarts is... Cassius Warrington!'

A somewhat muted applause came from the Hogwarts continent, the only enthusiastic one came from the few Slytherins present. Cassius himself looked a little surprised, but quickly asserted his composure as he was led away.

'The Champion from Beauxbatons is... Fleur Delacour!'

The applause and shouts were almost deafening as Fleur serenely walked towards the platform. There were even few hoots. Several boys became glassy eyed as they watched her walk, her long hair almost floating behind her. She first went and embraced her Headmistress, before she was guided away.

Suddenly another piece of paper flew out. Madame Maxime caught it, somewhat surprised. She read it.

'Harry Potter,' she said and let the paper drop from her hands, 'Hein?!' she muttered in a puzzled tone, almost to herself.

Dumbledore managed to grab the paper without seeming as if he was being rude.

'It says Harry Potter,' he said thoughtfully, though his voice carried across the hall.

'Mr Potter,' he said a bit more loudly, 'please follow me.'

Harry mutely set off after Dumbledore with a reassuring look from Hermione. The students parted as he walked to the far end of the hall to the corridor through which all the other Champions had gone.

Whispers broke out as soon as he left, which left an uncomfortable prickly feeling in his back. But it was an overwhelming feeling of dread, of being surrounded by a mire on all sides which overcame him. He was being suffocated, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Dumbledore led him to Madame Maxime's office, and a couple of more tournament officials followed hurriedly. Soon the Headteachers, officials and Mr Durant were there along with him.

'What is 'E doing 'ere?' Fleur spoke first of all, not caring about her accent.

Ludo Bagman, as one of the judges back in Britain along with Mr Crouch had declined to step down from their original post but had come to France via Portkey to fulfil their obligations. Ludo cleared his throat as if he was about to start commentary for a Quidditch match.

'Ladies and Gentleman,' he said with a spark in his eyes, 'Please welcome Harry Potter, the fourth Triwizard Tournament, as incredible as it seems.'

There were sounds of disbelief from around the table. Fleur was looking at Harry with a betrayed look on her face. Harry was deeply hurt. She had at least some idea of what he was like, for Merlin's sake! She of all people should have known he didn't do it.

'Surely not!' Maxime intoned.

Mr Crouch turned to her, 'The Tournament rules clearly state the names of those who come out of the Goblet must compete.'

'I vill not consent to this,' Krum said with a rare look of annoyance, 'Hogwarts cannot have two champions.'

'I agree,' said Karkaroff, putting a hand on Krum's shoulder, 'It is unfair to other schools. The boy must have tricked the Goblet.'

'He should be disqualified,' boomed Maxime.

Dumbledore sighed and looked straight at Harry, his eyes twinkling, 'Did you put your name in the Goblet, Harry? Or ask an older student to do so on your behalf?'

Harry turned his eyes away in disbelief and anger, 'No, sir!' he said forcefully, 'I don't want to participate.'

'I believe you,' said Dumbledore after a few moments, he had seen just enough to be sure.

'He is clearly lying!' Karkaroff protested.

'Karkaroff!' Dumbledore looked at him meaningfully, 'There could be other... circumstances which lead to this.'

The presence of the two officials stopped Karkaroff from protesting. The Goblet had been stolen. What if this had been the reason? What if the dark ritual had tricked the Goblet into accepting Harry's name? Everybody knew the tournament was dangerous, the question was,

'Who wants Harry Potter dead?' Karkaroff said out loud. Bagman started protesting instantly saying they had taken painstaking measures to ensure the tournament would be safe and strictly non-lethal. But the seed of doubt had been planted. However, the other champions were more skeptical than anything.

Maxime looked thoughtful as well. This was a discussion for another time. Mr Durant spoke up for the first time,

'Thank you, gentlemen,' he looked pointedly at the Crouch, 'Your instructions?'

'Ah, the first task,' said Crouch, relieved the protests had died down, 'It will test your skill in front of the unknown. The date is November 24. I wish you all the best of luck.'

He quickly left with Bagman, not wanting to get into an argument with the clearly incensed Headteachers. But rules were rules, and they must be upheld as such. They would surely come to understand in time.

The Champions were dismissed unceremoniously. It was time for another serious discussion. Dumbledore pulled Harry aside before he went,

'I have faith in you, my boy. I only ask that you too have faith in yourself.'

Harry knew Dumbledore was hiding something, but didn't question it. His mind was in a whirl, wondering how he would explain it to his friends. He really needed to write Ron a letter.

It was Halloween. Always Halloween. Every single year something had to happen on Halloween. Just what exactly was it about Halloweens?

Determination: Hermione Granger

November 2, 1994

Arithmancy had been one of Hermione's favourite subjects back at Hogwarts. She had been distraught to hear that it was not a subject taught at Beauxbatons. However, there was a similar field which was taught. Hermione had asked if it was similar to what had been taught at Hogwarts.

'Nonsense!' The stern eyed mistress had said in disgust. She looked rather a lot like a grandmother. Hermione half expected her to offer tea and biscuits. She sat rather primly in her office chair. There was no desk in front of her. She had wrinkles covering her face and leaned on a stick as she sat. Her frizzled hair was entirely white and her grey Dragon hide cloak stared at Hermione sternly..

The Hogwarts student politely waited for Mrs Scalar to continue. She did not disappoint.

'It is blasphemy, pure blasphemy, what they teach at Hogwarts!' she exclaimed, vibrating a little in anger. Hermione eyed her stick worriedly.

'Yes?' the expectant girl said politely.

Mrs Scalar's eyes flamed. 'What you have learned till now, dear girl, is only a convoluted branch of Arithmancy better known as Numerology.' Her voice went shrill at the end. There were some strong feelings behind her words.

'I teach Arxmancy,' she continued, standing up and tapped her stick firmly on the ground. A blue glow formed a cylinder around Hermione and vanished after a few moments. Hermione stood still in amazement. Wordless, wandless magic? Was this a dream?

The old woman suddenly took out her wand and chanted, 'Stupefy!'

The red beam flew straight towards Hermione and unexpectedly veered off a few inches from her skin and struck another corner of the room.

Hermione looked at it in shock, half ashamed at being caught off guard like that. She experimentally pushed forwards with her hands, expecting resistance, but stumbled a few steps ahead in surprise.

She stared with wonder at the old woman who was cackling in delight.

'Ever seen something like that, girl?' Her eyes were scrunched up in amusement, 'Septima's a good witch, but Arxmancy isn't quite her field of expertise.'

'You... you know Professor Vector?' Hermione asked.

'Know her? HA!' Mrs Scalar wheezed, 'I taught her! She's my niece, for Merlin's sake. But she never did take to Arxmancy, I never found out why. She left my tutelage at sixteen to make her own path, and...' her voice trailed off with a tinge of sadness, 'she's never talked to me since.'

The words hung in the air as Mrs Scalar was lost in thought. Hermione felt very awkward standing there - she was intruding on something personal and it didn't feel right. There was a hint of a British accent to Mrs Scalar's voice, and something in her face resembled Professor Vector. She half thought she should offer the old woman a tissue, but Mrs Scalar was soon back to her usual self.

'Arxmancy is all about focusing your mind,' she said, 'None of that foolish wand waving that Septima was so fond of. It's purpose is to protect, you know? Wards, shields, everlasting protective enchantments. All it does is take the ambient magic in an area and focus it in a particular place. It doesn't use any of your own magic, hence why you don't need a wand. A wand, as you know, is simply a conduit which transmits magic from your own magical core. But for Arxmancy, you simply direct the surrounding magic with your will, much like wandless magic. It's also much less tiring.'

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. Wandless magic at this age? The old lady was either nuts or completely brilliant.

But... she couldn't help pointing something out, 'You.. tapped the stick before you put the shield around me,' she noted.

Mrs Scalar grinned, 'You're a smart girl. The tapping only helps me to concentrate. Everybody does something before the spell. Some of my students even snap their fingers or say a few specific but irrelevant trigger words like... um... Fiddlesticks.'

Hermione wanted to drop everything and study this strange art she had never heard of before.

'When can I start?' she said eagerly. Mrs Scalar frowned, and a sinking feeling overtook Hermione's heart. Was she too late in asking?

The Arxmancy instructor pursed her lips. 'Have you heard of Divination?' she asked, her voice neutral. Hermione nodded with a frown, how was that relevant?

'Divination can only be taught properly to those who have the Sight,' the old witch sat down on her chair heavily, 'Similarly, Arxmancy can only be taught to those who have the Arx, or an affinity towards sensing magic. It will take over sixty years to train one who does not have the Arx, much like it is with divination and Seers.'

Hermione had a horrified look on her face. Arxmancy was like Divination? Was it another sham? No, surely not. She had just seen proof of it being real. A bit of sweat trickled down her brow. She wiped it off nervously. What if she didn't have the Arx? Would it be another indication that she didn't belong to the magical world?

Mrs Scalar, seeing Hermione's disconcertion, reassuringly added, 'It's alright if you don't have it. I only have about nine students in my classes, after all, and none of them with a particularly strong affinity. Septima had it in her, but she chose to ignore it, choosing to go for the flashy stuff.' She shook her head sadly. 'I'll be taking the test this Saturday morning. You can drop by if you're interested.'

Hermione took that as a dismissal and walked out of Mrs Scalar's office slowly, her mind frantically reassuring her and plunging her into the deepest depths of despair. She hadn't felt this strongly about anything since she found out about magic. She needed to prove to herself that she was more than a simple muggle born witch. She needed to prove to the whole world that they were all wrong with their prejudices; and she was determined to let nothing come in her way of ascending to the greatest heights she could possibly conquer.

You-Know-What: You-Know-Who

October 27, 1994

In a graveyard in Little Hangleton - underneath a shining full moon - a tall, pale ghost of a man rose from the thousands of ashes strewn across the ground. Peter watched in a terrified fascination as the ashes started intermingling and hardening methodically in a swirling fashion, forming the body of a man starting with the feet until the head. The red eyes stared into his very soul, filling him with fear.

'Robe me,' said the evil - almost hissing - voice. He no longer had a disfigured face, but he was once more the handsome figure he once had. He marvelled at the power of the artefact he had stolen to achieve this. Its power was truly remarkable - it was one of the old relics from the times of Merlin. So much could be achieved with its aid; it was almost laughable how Dumbledore had allowed it out of Hogwarts into the much poorly defended French school. No one would be free from his power now, not even France. He felt as strong as he did in the days before he had attacked the seven times cursed Potters. Darkness almost emanated from him - the grass had withered at his feet between the ashes.

Pettigrew almost fell over in his eagerness to please the resurrected Dark Lord. He did as asked, trembling all the while.

'You are truly powerful, my lord,' he stuttered.

Voldemort spread his arms wide as a wand flew into his hand. 13 and a half inches, Yew with a core of Phoenix feather. He kicked the ornately decorated Goblet lying on the ground aside with his feet. Its purpose was served for now.

'Behold!' he thundered, pressing the Dark Mark on the Death Eater's forearm, 'Lord Voldemort has risen!'

Chapter Text

Ma chère Fleur,

You write to me after a month, and just because of a boy? And here I thought you wanted to know how your poor mother was doing…

Don't mind me, I'm just teasing. I know it's a very important year for you, especially with your apprenticeship in Charms. I hope you're enjoying yourself.

So coming to your very incredible story.

Finding someone immune to your Allure is impossible. Full stop. There are no exceptions. I thought I had taught you enough to understand your heritage. It was the first thing we as Veela learn. There are simply some who are strong of will and mind, and those who are not. The simple strength of a magical core to resist our Allure does not appear before the age of magical maturity. Not even Dumbledore could have resisted it before, because it is a matter of function, not just of strength. Even after the age of seventeen, the most wizards can do is ignore us as one might ignore a beautiful flower. But when emotions come into play, there is no one who can resist us.

It is our curse... (The ink trailed off in a thin line)

But you know all this. And yet you sent me a letter describing how Harry Potter, an underage wizard, was able to shake off your Allure when you directed it towards him with your full strength.

I understand, more than you may believe, how you feel. But what you said is simply not possible. The most likely explanation is that you were Confunded. But I see you anticipated I would say this, and insisted in your letter that such was not the case.

I will add that, in your excitement, there is another possibility that you may not have considered. Harry may simply not be attracted to girls, the same way a few girls may feel attracted to you. As for your question about teaching Occlumency, Veela magic is magic of the mind. It runs in our blood. You would indeed be the ideal teacher for the boy, but only if my latter supposition about him is true. Please be careful, and remember your own lessons.

I have full faith in you being chosen for the Triwizard Tournament. Remember to write to me more often, like little Gabrielle does.

Love,

Maman

Fleur reread the letter for what seemed to be the hundredth time as she sat in her bed. The letter had reached her three days before she had been chosen, and she had still told Harry to wait for longer. She knew she hadn't been Confunded. She knew the symptoms and she had experienced none of them.

The very possibility that Harry wasn't attracted to females simply hadn't crossed her mind. She had seen the way he looked at her before he controlled himself, for Merlin's sake. But yet, a small doubt crept into her mind, what if she was wrong?

She glanced nervously at the clock hanging in the corner of her room. She had gotten her very own room because of her special… status. At first she had protested, not wanting to isolate herself from the other girls any further. But eventually she had realised that there was no point to it. The other girls were already too jealous of her looks and brains to accept her. She had eventually accepted her own room realising it would be better for all of them.

The clock struck nine when she cast a disillusionment charm on herself and quietly crept out of her room. She had realised the moment they both had been chosen as Triwizard Champions that she would start Harry's lessons. There was no uncertainty any more. There was simply a burning curiosity in her to find out how Harry fooled the Goblet and resisted her Allure. The boy was an enigma, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. It probably wasn't the best of reasons, but she knew she would be doing the right thing. He looked like he desperately needed someone to look out for him.

She waited at her door, keeping a sharp lookout for any disillusioned people, specifically someone by the name of Potter. Invisibility was a speciality of hers, and she prided herself at being able to look through the charm.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and whirled around in surprise, her wand ready to fire, when she saw a head floating a few feet above the ground.

'Arry?' she whispered throatily. There was no way he could have got past her. Was that an invisibility cloak?

'Yeah, that's me' said the messy haired boy, 'Let's go.'

She took a deep breath and opened the door to her room. They slowly walked inside with Fleur's hand on Harry's shoulder. Her room could not be entered by a boy unless she escorted them inside personally, for obvious reasons.

Harry removed his Cloak hastily and stuffed it inside his pocket. He glanced around the room, taking in the photographs adorning its whitewashed walls. They looked to be mostly of Fleur's family, in which he noticed a miniature version of Fleur clinging on to her in many of them.

'Focus, Mr Potter,' Fleur appeared in front of his eyes, the vision of perfection. She was wearing a simple white dress which hugged her in all the right places. Her silvery hair hung behind her and she leaned slightly forward with her arms folded to emphasise her point. The momentary display of her cleavage caught Harry off guard, they just drew his eyes in. He once again felt the enticing charm of Fleur's beauty and wondered how on earth he was going to get through his lesson without going crazy. He recalled his Occlumency exercises and forced himself to concentrate.

'Yes, Miss Delacour,' He looked at the French Champion seriously, determination shining in his emerald green eyes. There were two chairs facing each other in the middle of the room. Fleur daintily dropped into one and Harry followed suit.

'Clear your thoughts,' said Fleur in a low voice and Harry instantly felt a soft pressure on his mind. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair..

'That's me,' she continued, 'remember the feeling. It is different for every mind which tries to enter yours. Right now I'm very gently employing Leglimency. You need to clear your mind while I probe around for weaknesses.'

The light around them dimmed, which Harry assumed was to help him concentrate. The books had told him to choose any one memory, preferably of a time when he felt safe, and hold it in its mind for as long as he could.

Harry closed his tight shut and immersed himself into the time when he first found out he was a wizard. He remembered Hagrid's comforting presence and the Dursely's cowering in fear. It was a mental snapshot of the time. Each detail was as clear as crystal in his mind's eye - every nook and cranny of the small cabin. He could see Hagrid's umbrella about to cast a spell and the freckle on top of his uncle's nose.

The changes started without any warning. He noticed Dudley starting to inflate slightly, his cheeks started to bulge. That wasn't supposed to happen - nothing was supposed to blow up or move. Beside him, Vernon was undergoing a similar transformation.

Harry tried to focus harder, trying to will his two relatives into what they normally were - the intent clear in his mind. It lessened, slowly and steadily, until they both went back to their normal sizes.

That's enough, Fleur's voice suddenly rang out in his mind. He lost focus and opened his eyes, breathing heavily. It had never been so tough before. He was back in his chair and Fleur was looking at him with an indecipherable expression on her face.

'Magnifique!' Fleur exclaimed, 'You're a natural. Mr Durant was right.'

Harry frowned - he had only maintained his memory. 'But they changed,' he fumbled, 'Dudley, Vernon - they were expanding,' The corner of his lip twisted up at the comical memory.

'But they changed back to normal, didn't they?' Fleur said, her eyes shining, 'It usually takes about a month to get to this stage. And that was your only real weakness. The big man and the rest of the boat didn't even change a bit with the amount of pressure I applied. Try to get it all right this time.'

Harry gave a hesitant nod as Fleur once again dove into his mind, not trying to get past the initial memory. The Dursley's once again started to change in size and colour. At one point, Petunia became like thin stretched rubber.

Harry looked at Fleur with disappointment.

'It was worse this time,' he said.

'Do not give up, Mr Potter,' she said reassuringly, 'I pressed a bit harder this time,' She gave him about five minutes to recover.

'I can get you some water, if you want?' Fleur asked with a questioning tone. Harry licked his dried lips and nodded. His mind was rushing through all the possible reasons for his failure, and none of them were making sense. The fact that Fleur was right in front of him wasn't helping matters either. He couldn't help but follow her every movement as she walked over to a table and picked up a glass of water. Damn those hormones! He had come here to learn, not to be distracted by the beautiful girl teaching him, like some run-of-the-mill teenage boy. Fleur handed the glass to him with a hint of a smile, as if she knew exactly what he was going through his head.

She entered his mind once more, with the same weaknesses being exploited.

'We'll try again, Mr Potter,' was the only comment Fleur made.

They kept at it for a couple of hours, but no matter how much Harry tried, the Dursleys' were there in all of their rotund glory to haunt him.

'I really, really tried hard this time, Miss Delacour.' Beads of sweat dripped down Harry's eyebrows, and exhaustion seeped through his voice, 'It's not working.'

Fleur grimaced, it was inexplicable why he couldn't just focus on those three people properly. She would often break through them even with minimal effort. The other parts of his mind were degrees of order stronger than those three people. She had never even heard of such strong natural Occlumency barriers, except for the three weaknesses. The discrepancy was almost as unbelievable as his latent talent.

'That's all for tonight, I think,' she said, giving him a weak smile, 'Same time tomorrow,'

Harry got up, his legs feeling like lead. He glanced at Fleur, who was twisting a strand of hair around her finger with a thoughtful expression on her face.

'Do you want me Obliviate anything I saw?' she asked.

Harry shook his head, she hadn't seen anything worth asking her to erase her memory.

'Are you sure?" Fleur asked insistently.

Harry nodded firmly, getting up. 'I'll see you around, Fleur. Thanks for the lesson,' he said, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over him and closing the door. Fleur's mouth made a small 'O' as she sunk down with her back against the door. She had had her Allure at full strength during the entirety of their lesson, unlike other times when she kept it as tightly in check as she could, and Harry didn't even move a muscle to grab her attention - not any more than he had to.

It was just incredible.

The next few night were almost the same as the first one. They practised, and even talked a bit about various, casual topics afterwards. There was a tacit understanding between them to not mention the tournament, so no altercations arose.

Harry was left more discouraged than ever with his failure to improve his mental defences, but his determination never wavered.

The days after Harry had been chosen as the fourth Triwizard Champion were full of pain and isolation. The rest of the Hogwarts entourage had chosen to ignore him, even the nice ones like Angelina and Cedric.

Cedric had been furious when Harry denied having tricked the Goblet.

'I helped you out!' Cedric had exclaimed in frustration, 'Look, I'll even take an Unbreakable Vow to not tell anyone. I just need to know how it picked you and Warrington and not me?!'

Harry had vehemently denied and even offered to take the Vow on his part. Cedric had simply sniffed and said he didn't want to kill the Boy-Who-Lived.

Everybody's disappointment and jealousy was not wholly unexpected, but that didn't make it hurt any less. He wasn't even supposed to be in Beauxbatons, and here he was, chosen as a Champion, by the Goblet itself.

Draco was as bitter as usual and proving to be even more infuriating than ever. He had made some badges which said 'Potter Stinks' and distributed it around the school. The only good part was that the school staff had soon got wind of it and Draco had ended up in detention, for a month.

'I know what you want…' Draco had smirked in his direction before trudging away to detention with Mr Durant. Harry idly wondered what that was supposed to mean. Draco had been acting a bit weird lately.

He wanted to live, didn't everybody?

However, his chances of living out the year were looking increasingly unlikely - the Tournament had recorded 75 deaths in the last 50 years of running. A 50% chance of making it through wasn't exactly reassuring, even though Hermione had assured him that more girls had died than boys.

He was pretty sure Fleur had a better chance of surviving the tournament than he did.

Ron hadn't yet replied to the letter he had sent him about being chosen as Triwizard Champion, with a chance to win innumerable Galleons and Glory, though not exactly phrased that way. Hmm...He probably didn't take it too well. Ron was a bit touchy about these things.

Hermione's response had been guarded, to say the least. He had asked her point blank if she thought he had cheated. He had even felt slightly guilty before asking her the question, but she hadn't given a direct answer.

'I don't know, Harry,' she had said, her eyes firmly glued to a book.

Harry snatched the book out of her hands. Surely she wasn't being serious?

'Talk to me, Hermione,' There was a fierce desperation in his voice.

Hermione met his eyes unsurely. She was someone who loved everything to be in order, neat and tidy like her study notes. The downside was that when things went south, she just didn't know what to do. Right now the situation was completely off the charts. The obvious answer was that she should agree with Harry because she was a Good Friend. But a good friend wouldn't lie to him, either.

She simply pursed her lips and shook her head, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. Even his closest friend didn't believe him!

He stomped out of the library and endured a mostly sleepless night. It seemed the whole world was against him when he had done absolutely nothing to deserve it. Oh, the Glory, he thought drily.

But the desire to prove everyone wrong grew, and he held on to that thought as he finally drifted off to a troubled sleep... His dream was oddly realistic, with sights and smells and feelings.

He was sitting on a throne and shouting orders to several men in masks, in the most sadistic way possible. There was hate in his heart and an irritating sense of frustration. He felt invincible, as if there was nothing in the world which could harm him. Spells, powerful curses spewed out his wand over and over again. There was no hint of mercy. Harry felt his mind somewhat... dirtied by the terrible nightmare.

He vividly remembered the bloodcurdling screams when he woke up.

The next day, Hermione approached him before their defense class with a book in her hand and a guilty expression on her face. He knew this was her way of apologising, but his feelings hadn't changed from the day before. He refused the proffered book, even if the hurt on Hermione's face was heartbreaking. But he could see she still didn't believe him, even though she was willing to help him.

She kept telling him useful facts about the tournament throughout their class, which Harry steadfastly ignored. There was only one thing she could do to gain his forgiveness, and she didn't even broach the topic.

The chasm which he hadn't even known had existed between them widened, and the shy looking boy with glasses once again felt as isolated as he had back in the cupboard at Privet Drive.

Only this time, even the spiders weren't there to keep him company.

It was only after the first week when Harry had gotten accustomed to her mild attacks that the Veela decided she would have to try something stronger. The lack of progress was alarming. She had to dive deeper. This was the trickier part - if she didn't minutely control the strength of her attack it could even cause damage to Harry's mental defences.

Their session started the same way - Dudley started to change first, gaining quite a flattering red clown nose and extending his waistline. But this time he kept enlarging - despite Harry's efforts - till the whole interior of the small cabin they were in exploded, and twisted into another memory.

He was younger - running through the spaces between two houses as members of Dudley's gang chased him. His old rags - or shirt, to be precise - tore as it got caught on a stray twig. It was a game they used to play - called 'Harry Hunting'.

But it wasn't much of a game for him. He could remember his heart pumping wildly in his chest, and the searing pain in his feet as he ran and jumped away from the inevitable time when he would grow tired. Harry felt deeply embarrassed, and a spark of anger lit inside him as he imagined Fleur looking at one of his most deeply guarded childhood secrets. She was probably laughing at the scrawny little boy. The pain inside his head increased tenfold. The anger kept building inside him, until he felt he could contain it no longer. He felt everything boiling inside him and released all of his pent up magic with a huge 'NO!'

He opened his eyes to see Fleur's pale face as she physically tilted back in her chair and her head dropped down loosely. He immediately leapt up from his chair and shook her shoulder slightly, saying, 'Fleur.'

When she didn't respond, he grew more concerned and brought out his wand.

'Rennervate!' he cast frantically, but she didn't respond. 'Rennervate! Rennervate!'

Please wake up, he pleaded, his mind filling with dread. Even in her unconscious state, he couldn't help but notice the ethereal quality of her beauty. There wasn't a blemish on her skin, or a hint of imperfection in her features. It was as if magic itself had sculpted her to perfection. But it was the peaceful look on her face that caught Harry's attention more than anything. Usually she would be so... cold, so controlled, like a ballerina standing on the tips of her toes en pointe. But she was so relaxed in this state, it made her seem completely different. Harry resisted an urge to brush away a strand of hair from her face.

Her blue eyes fluttered wide all of a sudden.

' 'Arry?' she said curiously, 'Quoi? What is ze matter?' Her voice was heavily accented as he saw her straightening with a lighthearted feeling in his heart. He was feeling incredibly guilty for lashing out with his magic.

A flash of recognition came into her eyes as she said in a stronger voice,

'You repelled my attack?'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, 'I didn't mean to... hurt you.'

He half closed his eyes, expecting her to say that they couldn't continue their lessons any longer or something to that effect.

But Fleur leaned back in her chair, brushed the corner of her lips and gave him an understanding nod.

'I think I know what has been going wrong with your shield now,' she hesitated briefly, 'Who was that boy with you in your first memory?'

Harry instantly became guarded, 'My cousin,' he said neutrally.

'He is a muggle?' Fleur asked gently. She had a sinking feeling as to where this was going and she didn't like one bit of it.

Harry nodded, he didn't like being reminded of the Dursely's any more than he had to.

He felt the soft touch of Fleur's hand on top of his own, sending shivers travelling up his arm. She was looking at him concernedly, which made him lower his eyes in embarrassment. He hated being pitied, he hated being told anyone was sorry for him. They could never understand, and it only made it worse when they tried. It was the reason he never talked about his childhood - he didn't want anyone's pity.

'I have to ask, Harry,' Fleur said gently, 'Did that boy… bully you... as a child?'

A lump came into Harry's throat. He found he couldn't speak. Here was someone whom he barely knew, asking him about something incredibly personal, even if a part of him wanted to talk about it. There was that dreaded expression - Pity. A sudden surge of anger crept up inside him. Was she really that arrogant to assume that she could solve all his problems by talking to him? The worst thing was, he could see in her face that her concern was genuine.

He began scouring his mind for a way to divert her attention, and blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

'What's your special ability?' He saw her confused expression and repeated his question, more confidently this time.

Fleur frowned, letting go of his hand. She knew he was changing the topic, but that only confirmed what she had asked was true.

'Why do you want to know?' She bit her lip.

Harry saw the opening and took it. Anything less than his full effort to divert her attention would direct the conversation back to the Durselys and he desperately wanted to avoid that.

'Mr Durant said you'll be able to help me better because you have a special ability,' he shot at her, 'Aurelie refuses to talk to me about it and nobody else seems to know anything about it.' He fixed his gaze with hers. 'So tell me, Miss Delacour, what makes you so special?'

Fleur was lost for words, she didn't think they would be having this conversation so soon. She knew Harry wouldn't like something being hidden from his for so long. But she also knew she wasn't ashamed of who she was.

She flipped back her hair, 'I am a Veela,' she pronounced, 'Our kind is deeply linked to the mind arts and we have something called the Allure, which makes us attractive and more desirable to males, which usually manifests as their poor attempts to impress us.'

She laughed lightly at the gobsmacked expression on Harry's face. She had given him a brief overview about herself, but even that much seemed to be proving too much for the poor boy. He held his head in his hands and lifted it up slightly to look at the amused girl.

'So that's why...' he whispered.

'The odd thing is,' Fleur interrupted, 'you're not affected by me, even if you should be.'

Harry grew a bit red, all thoughts of Privet Drive driven out of his head by this new revelation. The Gryffindor in him forced him to speak up.

'I am affected,' he admitted, trying to look anywhere but towards her. The ceiling was painted quite a fetching colour of blue.

Fleur sighed, this was turning out to be more complicated than she had expected. She did take a certain amount of pride in her beauty, but it had caused more problems for her than any other thing in her life. She sometimes wondered how people would act if she didn't have an Allure.

'People try to impress me when they're affected by my Allure,' she said slowly, 'Do you feel like... I don't know,' she waved her hands, 'Flexing your biceps or doing a headstand or... or something like that?' Or stare and drool, perhaps? she added in her mind. But he wasn't doing any of those things. There was only one last thing to test.

'Dance for me, please,' Fleur fixed Harry with her sweetest smile, the kind that would make most boys turn into a mindless puddle of water.

Harry rolled his eyes, 'I'm said I'm affected, not crazy,'

'That's what being affected means. It would be like you wanting to do anything I ask of you to make me happy. But you're not affected!'' Fleur felt a small sense of elation. He had admitted he wasn't affected by her Allure. Maman had been wrong!

Harry looked at her coldly. He was having a hard time trusting people these days. Especially when someone just admitted to trying to manipulate him, and then denied it immediately afterwards. She should have told him about her right from the beginning. Who knew what ulterior motive she had to teaching him Occlumency? Was this something else he had to tolerate just because he was the freaking Boy-Who-Lived?! Did she look for the memory about Dudley and his gang on purpose?

He felt betrayed.

The green eyed wizard stood up abruptly, his eyes colder than liquid nitrogen and his heart hollow at thought of losing someone he had thought could be a friend.

'I'm sorry, Miss Delacour,' he said frostily, throwing on his Invisibility Cloak, 'I have to go.'

Fleur could only look in astonishment at her door opening and closing softly, wondering what she could have said which caused him to leave like that. And the look in his eyes, she shuddered, she didn't even want to think about it. It was a look which had no right being on the face of someone as young as he was. It just wasn't... right. But it was a look she was very familiar with. She knew it intimately. It was the look of someone who was alone.

She saw it every time she looked into the mirror.

The usually empty Malfoy Manor was abuzz with activity in the middle of the night. Lights flared from almost all of its windows and the carefully fashioned pathway to the front door had been trodden over thousands of times. The famed high vaulted dining room had been transformed into an impromptu meeting place - without the table - and a throne which had been hastily summoned. On that exaggerated throne sat the half-blood Tom Marvolo Riddle, self-fashioned as Lord Voldemort. His aristocratic face sneered at each of the cowards who wore the Dark Mark. They were standing in two straight lines on either side of his seat, fear etched on their faces.

He would have to organise an Azkaban breakout soon, so that his most loyal followers were not deprived of serving him any longer. Meanwhile, he would have to straighten out these brats who had become used to the comfort of the ministry and empty politics.

'WORTHLESS!' he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the hall, 'That's what you mudbloods are - worthless! Tell me, what have you done to regain the favour of Lord Voldemort?! Why should he spare your lives for your lack of faith? I have returned, no doubt to the... inconvenience, of many of you, but why should I allow you to live?'

His voice had become ice cold, and sent shivers up the spine of his followers. He was famous for his rage, and even those in the very lowest ranks knew something was about to break. No one dared to speak out.

'TELL ME!' Voldemort shouted, standing up. He twirled his wand in his fingers, a weapon of death and despair. The threat was evident.

Lucius Malfoy, as ambitious as ever and desperate to get back into his Lord's good graces, spoke up smoothly and confidently,

'My Lord, not all of us have been idle,' he gave a small condescending glance to those beside him, 'I myself, never gave up faith. My contacts in the ministry are flourishing and the Minister himself-'

'Crucio!' The Dark Lord shouted, enough of Lucius' silver tongued drivel.

Lucius' features contorted in agony, pain wracked every inch of his body. He screamed as hot knives pressed into his skin from all directions, twisting and turning as there was nothing but pain in his world. After what seemed like hours, but was only about a minute, Voldemort released the spell. It would not do to drive one of his most useful followers into insanity. The Dark Lord looked at the rows of Death Eaters, gauging their response. He could see from their faces that they had expected Malfoy to die, and this reprieve would be seen as a sign of weakness.

That would not do.

'Do not lie to me, Lucius. Your mind is as clear as glass to me, ' Voldemort snarled, 'Go now, and do not let it be said that Lord Voldemort is not merciful,'

Lucius somehow dragged himself back to where he had been standing, and passed into unconsciousness as he could bear the aftereffects of his torment no longer. Nobody paid him any heed except for a certain wizard who snickered quietly from a distance.

'And you, Avery!' Voldemort snapped his head in the Death Eater's direction, 'What have you done to gain my favour?'

Avery came forward trembling and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, 'My Lord,' he floundered, 'I have been loyal, always dedicated-'

'Crucio!'

Voldemort gazed with disgust at the filth which had the audacity to betray precious Death Eater secrets to the Ministry for his pardon. None of the traitors would go unpunished.

He released the curse after half a minute.

'You are merciful, my Lord,' Avery didn't dare lift his head, but deep in his heart he knew what was going to happen. He didn't even know when it hit him.

'Avada Kedavra!'

Voldemort gazed at the remaining Death Eaters in satisfaction, one less in number. This might give them some more motivation to serve him loyally. But he knew, in order to gain their complete confidence, he would have to dispose of Potter first. The accursed Boy-who-Lived-only-because-he-got-lucky-for-his-mother's-protection. The child had no power, nothing to deserve all the attention he had got. He could not be allowed to live as proof of one of Voldemort's failures. There was only one obstacle - he was in France. Dumbledore must have gotten wind of his return from somewhere - Ah yes... Snape... Voldemort knew he should'nt have trusted that slimy, pathetic, lovesick idiot.

But the blood of Slytherin ran through Voldemort's veins - Potter would not be safe from him anywhere on this planet.

He grinned evilly, Karkaroff would prove to be useful, even if that traitor hadn't answered his call. And regardless, there were other avenues available to him.

'Bring the girl in!' he roared.

Yaxley came forward, guiding a trembling girl through the middle of the room. She gazed fearfully at the corpse lying in front of her. Her blue eyes rose slowly to look at the famed, supposed dead, Dark Lord of Britain. She moistened her lips nervously.

'Speak,' said Voldemort with an evil glint in his eyes, 'how long till we have Harry Potter here with us?'

The girl closed her eyes for one long moment before speaking, 'He doesn't trust easily, my Lord. He is not allowed out of the palace, Dumbledore stopped him. But... I can do it,' her voice was shaking uncontrollably, 'I can make him listen to me. I will just need... some more time,'

She looked at the ground, her mind full of misgivings but she had forced herself to think that it would all be worth it... in the end. There was so much she had to gain, but her very life was at stake. Failing was not an option.

Voldemort laughed maniacally, the very sound sending shivers down her spine. It sounded so... unnatural.

'Foolish child,' he hissed, 'If Dumbledore does not want him outside, that means he knows already. He will not let the boy out of his sight now.'

He looked at the Death Eaters - Snape was not present. There were two possibilities. Either his loyal spy was loyal to Dumbledore, else he had a very good explanation for being late. Voldemort detested explanations, it made killing harder. But keeping people alive, his lips curled, was sometimes necessary. There would be very Death Eaters left otherwise.

The frightened girl wondered if these were the last moments she had to live. Her hands picked a few strands of her red hair as she fiddled with them nervously, her eyes glued to the polished dark floor all the while. That monster was not supposed to back so early. She had been told it would take several months, at the very least. She wanted to scream in frustration. Everything had gone wrong now.

Voldemort regarded the teary blue eyed beauty in front of him. She was only a means for getting to Potter, a temporary measure while he called in more... dependable serva-allies. She was expendable, but her death would cause too much unrest ahead of time. He coldly tore through the mind of the bearer of bad news, mercilessly ripping the thoughts from her mind. Her high pitched scream was music to his ears. She had indeed managed to befriend Potter. Very cunningly, indeed. That would make her death a greater loss, perhaps. Only perhaps.

He swished his wand in front of him violently, sending her crashing into a couple of Death Eaters.

'Send her back,' he said, almost as an afterthought.

Yaxley grabbed her roughly, walked out of the manor, brought out an old coin and vanished along with her.

Voldemort looked beside his throne at Barty Crouch Junior, his current second in command. Malfoy had to be shown his place, lest he become too arrogant.

'You said the Triwizard tournament is in progress, in France,' Riddle said thoughtfully.

'Yes, my Lord,' said Crouch.

'Students from the three most prestigious schools in Europe are present there, I believe. The most prestigious students, in fact.'

Crouch bowed low, 'As you say, my Lord,' He wondered where Voldemort was going with this.

'I have three people loyal to me, two of them branded with my Mark, inside its supposedly safe doors,' said the Dark Lord.

Crouch agreed with him once more, gazing fearfully at the red ring in his eyes.

'Harry Potter will not leave until the end of term, at the end of which he will be taken to a place where I will not be able to reach him. It will be roughly a year before I will be able to get close to him.' Voldemort eyes flashed. He was not satisfied with the current outlook. The entire hall reverberated as waves of power rolled off him. The air was almost saturated with magic as tingles travelled down the neck of the Death Eaters. A few tiles cracked viciously. Lord Voldemort was displeased.

'That will not do,' he pronounced, 'the world needs to know that I do not fear Potter, and he can do nothing, NOTHING, to stop me. Their saviour needs to die.'

The once again composed Riddle looked at the white face of Crouch Junior beside him.

Barty steeled his face, 'That is correct,'

Voldemort drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne he was sitting on.

'Dumbledore needs to be taken care of before we take any action.' Voldemort stood up, 'Gather our allies, all the dark creatures, wizards, and start recruiting and preparing. The War has begun!'

The Death Eaters cheered as the blanket of darkness deepened and grabbed them by their throats, never to let go and unmerciful. Voldemort was back, and he was more powerful than ever.

Yaxley appeared with a pop! in a side street off Grande Rue, the equivalent of Diagon Alley which could be accessed from Beauxbatons and a few other places in France. It was deserted, and the Portkey took the Death Eater back to his lair. The still shivering Aurelie collapsed into the side of a building, bursting into nerve wracking sobs. It wasn't fair, none of this was fair. But she knew what her father would said - she brought this upon herself and she would have to live with it.

She looked up at the buildings around her, they were stone structures with tiny windows - probably residential judging by the flowerpots hanging down.

Beauxbatons would allow students who were of age to do as they wished on weekends, when there were no classes or obligations. Students often visited Grande Rue, which was the nucleus of French magical culture and had plenty of shops to suit their fancy. No one would question a seventh year missing from school on a Saturday afternoon.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Aurelie dried her tears and walked back to the Grande Rue.

She sent a Patronus to Fleur, who appeared beside her in a couple of moments.

'Thank God, ' Fleur said in French, spelling a bit more colour into her school robes, 'You took your time.'

Aurelie looked at her apologetically, 'I'm so sorry, but it didn't go too well,'

Fleur shook her head and pulled in closer for a tight hug. Aurelie had told her she had been out trying for places in several Quidditch clubs every weekend; and had been rejected each time so far. Aurelie's passion for the sport was well known, but Fleur didn't really care about the game. She did care about Aurelie though, so she was always there for her when she came back with a dejected look on her face.

Fleur noticed a few dried tear tracks and felt another twinge of sorrow.

'Come,' she said to her red haired friend, 'I'll treat you to some coffee. You like it hot, non?'

Aurelie nodded, not trusting herself to speak without spilling all her secrets. She felt terrible about lying to Fleur, and felt like coming clean every time. But she knew if she ever gave a hint, all her hard work would vanish like Leprechaun gold.

That didn't make it hurt any less, though.

The coffee shop was crowded, and both of the girls attracted far more attention that either would have wanted. Aurelie could sense Fleur's frustration as her allure drew in several men trying to impress her. A brief notice-me-not charm soon took care of that, but just barely. A silencing spell took care of other concerns. Soft music played in the background.

'Do you want to talk about it?' Fleur asked with a small smile, folding her hands on the wooden table. Her talkative friend was unusually quiet.

Aurelie was startled for a second. She had forgotten to think of a story in advance for her visit to the training ground of the Balais Bleus. She had been far too distracted to do anything else other than call her friend.

'No,' she blurted out, not wanting to hesitate any longer. She took a large sip of her coffee, almost burning her mouth in the process.

Fleur was startled, and a bit concerned. Usually they would joke about Aurelie's trials, saying that the team didn't deserve someone like her; and it would all blow over and eventually be forgotten. Fleur hadn't got such an abrupt response from her ever before. She was just about to ask what was wrong when a Bear Patronus came flying in through the window.

It inched inside their privacy ward and spoke to Fleur in the voice of her school Headmistress.

'Fleur Delacour,' she said, her voice strained and a bit hoarse, 'Come at once. Your presence is required in the school.'

Chapter Text

Harry walked into Maxime's office, glancing around for familiar faces. The Headteachers were all there, along with the Ministry officials and some people he didn't know. Krum and Warrington were talking in low voices in the corner of the room and the atmosphere was a lot more formal than he had expected. He had only been told that he had to be there for something related to the tournament and all these unfamiliar faces were making him a bit uneasy.

One of the unfamiliar faces suddenly approached him. He would guess she was in her thirties, and her robes were a deep shade of purple. She gave him a friendly smile.

'Harry Potter?' she asked briskly. Her brown hair was made into a bun.

Harry tried his best to hide his annoyance, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. He brushed a lock of hair over his forehead.

'Yeah,' he said. He looked at her questioningly.

'Bonjour! I'm Louise Simon, reporter for La Vérité, covering the Triwizard Tournament and related stories. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions.'

Seeing Harry's lack of response, she continued, 'Well then, how do you feel about becoming the unprecedented fourth competitor in the Triwizard Tournament? Happy? Ecstatic? Elated? Apathetic?'

She brought a quill and paper out her bag and looked at Harry, raising an expectant eyebrow.

He gave her an awkward smile. He wasn't sure how to respond - he had never liked reporters much anyways. But there didn't really seem to be any harm in answering a few questions. In fact, it was the first time someone had asked him how he felt about this whole fiasco.

'Well...' he licked his lips slowly, 'I didn't want any of this, so angry should describe my feelings pretty well. I'm being forced to take part in something I had absolutely-'

A small cough interrupted Harry. Its source, a tall, old man with twinkling eyes and an overtly long white beard placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

'I'm afraid the Weighing of the Wands is about to start, my boy. And as a competitor, your presence is unfortunately essential to the proceedings. Excuse us,' Dumbledore looked at the reporter condescendingly, who ignored the old wizard but gave Harry a small wink. What was that about?

He guided Harry through the growing crowd to a small clearing where the three other champions were standing. Harry was a bit annoyed, he had been looking forward to venting a bit about his predicament, maybe even draw the attention of the public to it if possible. He had never used his celebrity status for anything, perhaps it could finally come in useful? But no, Dumbledore had arrived at exactly the wrong moment to divert his attention. His three opponents were trying to make small talk, and Krum seemed to be getting along with Warrington. Fleur stood a bit apart, and threw a few casual glances around the room. She looked a bit out of breath, and uncharacteristically flustered. Harry tried his best to look at anyone but her, but they were arranged into in a small line with both of them standing beside each other.

The bored witch turned her head brightly, only to see him looking stiffly ahead with an expressionless face. She frowned, what was wrong with him? His eyes were fixed far on the corner of a room. The events of their last meeting were still fresh in Harry's mind, and the the hurt still rankled, even though he had tried his best to ignore it. But Fleur didn't know that.

Ludo Bagman had started speaking with a beaming smile on his space.

'The Weighing of the Wands is an integral part of the Triwizard Tournament's tradition. Monsieur Argent,' he glanced at a short, old man with a slightly irritated look on his face standing beside him, '...the famed wandmaker, will be presiding over the proceedings and will check that each of the Competitor's wands is in proper working condition for the tournament.'

Krum went first, handing over his wand with a scowl. Monsieur Argent held the wand close to his eyes and scrutinised every inch of it, all the while muttering away to himself.

'A Gregorovitch creation, I presume,' Monsieur Argent's eyes darted towards Krum.

'Yes,' Krum said shortly.

'Ten and a quarter inches long, made out of hornbeam and dragon heartstring, ' the wand maker mused, 'Gregorovitch always did prefer his hornbeam.'

He gave the wand a short flick. Small flames jumped up from its end.

'Adequate,' he said, handing the wand back to Krum, who almost snatched it out his fingers. The wand maker turned to Warrington, taking his wand. He went through the same motions.

'Ten and a half inches... beech... unicorn tail hair, am I right? One of Ollivander's, I presume?'

'Yeah, that's right.' Warrington said.

Argent conjured a small flock of tiny birds and vanished it.

'Flexible, but not overtly so. It's in good condition.' He gave the wand back to Warrington. Fleur went next.

'Ah, Miss Delacour, I remember yours very well,' the wand maker said, holding the wand delicately 'Yes, one of my finest creations. Nine and a half inches, rosewood and containing... quite remarkably, a hair from the head of your grandmother.'

He gave it a look over and gave a swish of the wand, conjuring a bunch of white lilies.

'In exquisite condition,' he said, handing over the wand to Fleur almost reluctantly.

He turned to Harry and took the proffered wand. He examined it in fine detail, even sniffing a few places.

'Eleven inches...Ça alors,' his eyebrows parted in surprise, 'Holly and Phoenix Feather!' he gave Harry an odd look, 'A most unusual combination, it must be said. One of Ollivander's as well, I see. Harrumph...' He scowled, 'you British always put too much store by Ollivanders,' He looked as if he wanted to say more, but decided against it.

Harry nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Monsieur Argent cast a bright Lumos. 'Good condition,' he grunted, handing it back to Harry.

His job done, the renowned craftsman shuffled back and sank down heavily onto a convenient chair nearby. The silence which had accompanied the event was broken as whispers rippled through the crowd. The reporter Harry had seen seemed to preparing herself for something.

Bagman took centerstage and clapped his hands, 'Thank you everybody! Or as they say here - Merci!' He laughed a little at his own exaggerated French accent, 'I'm afraid that will be all for to-'

He was interrupted by a man with a camera walking upto him and glancing meaningfully at his apparatus.

Ludo coughed, 'Of course... of course. Photographs, everybody!' He gave a blinding smile which showed all his white teeth, 'Champions! Assemble!'

Harry groaned.

Warrington was left out of most pictures, courtesy of being neither a celebrity nor a Veela. Harry would have given anything for the Slytherin's good fortune, but he wasn't so fortunate. He was dragged into multiple pictures, a good chunk of which were of him with Fleur, in multiple poses and all kinds of expressions. It was excruciatingly awkward, and the corners of cheek hurt from all the smiling. It took ages for them to get a good angle on any of the pictures, and Krum's moody face made it almost impossible to get a good picture of him from anywhere.

Harry personally decided that he would go for Krum's approach for the next photoshoot - if he ever had to endure another. It seemed a pretty effective technique for discouraging... pretty much everybody.

Louise, the reporter, approached Harry after his ordeal had ended. They were both outside Madame Maxime's office. Louise was grinning with anticipation. There was nothing like exposing the faults of an established system to make a day memorable. Of course, she would triple check her facts. The only thing worse than no news was false news, in her opinion. That was something nobody in her office would tolerate.

'I'd love to hear all about-' she started.

But once again, Dumbledore, with his mysterious knack of appearing at exactly the wrong moment, stood frowning in front of them.

'I'm afraid the ceremony is over, ' his half moon spectacles wobbled dangerously at the end of his nose as he looked down at the two, 'As such, I must ask you to leave and Harry to return to his classes.'

Harry was almost seething with anger as he walked back to his room. Dumbledore had no right interrupting them like that - twice. Did he even remember that it wasn't his own school? He sure didn't act like it. He fumed as he kicked a stray knut lying on the ground in irritation.

He didn't even notice Aurelié on the other side of the corridor looking at him with wide eyes.

The Next Day:

Ron's letter arrived in the morning. It was short, concise, brief, straightforward and to the point.

Hey mate, how did you actually trick the goblet?

Harry stared at the note in disgust, as it promptly incinerated into ashes. Well... he tried to do it wandlessly. But he had to settle for tearing into shreds and feeding it to the resident Hippogriff, who chewed it up pretty happily.

His time, after lunch, had been monopolised by someone he had considered to be one of his closest friends.

Harry tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Hermione to emerge from her room. A few days before the Champions were chosen, she had told him about something called Arxmancy. She had droned on about how mind-blowing it was and how she absolutely had to try out to be selected in that class. It had caught Harry's attention at first, but he quickly lost interest as he realised it didn't have any practical application, for him at least. Taking more than a second to set up and cast a shield was pretty much useless if your adversary was standing a few metres from you and had a wand. But Hermione was positively hysterical about the whole thing. Eventually, Harry had promised to accompany her for the tryouts.

Of course, when she had asked, neither of them had anticipated that things could change so quickly between them.

Regardless, Hermione had reminded him, in a small voice, if he could just, just come with her and be there while she gave the test. It would be short, she promised, and he didn't even have to ask her how it went. She just wanted someone to come with her while she took "The most important test of my muggleborn life."

Harry had wanted to refuse with all his heart, but a promise meant something to him. Besides, it wasn't as if they weren't on talking terms. It was simply that Hermione was no longer what she used to be to him. It was like he had thought a sickle was a galleon all his life, but it actually turned out to be knut. It hadn't changed, it just was, and that was how it would be between them.

The bushy haired witch banged the door of the room behind her, with her wand in between her teeth, and her hands full of books and papers. She stuffed a good portion of her notes inside her bag and furiously skimmed through a book on Arithmancy.

'There has to be something...' she kept muttering, 'Let's go,' she told Harry.

They went up a flight of stairs and walked along the narrow corridor to the North Wing. True to her word, Hermione didn't try to strike up a conversation with Harry, opting instead to read through her papers with an extremely nervous look on her face. But the atmosphere was thick with tension. Harry walked beside her in a cold silence. She stopped outside a classroom.

Anxiety bubbled in her eyes. Her hands shook and a fluttering book dropped to the ground. He had rarely seen her this nervous, even before the year end exams. She looked at Harry with an incomprehensible expression, internally debating something within herself. She took a few steps towards the door, hovering uncertainly at its threshold. Throwing caution to the winds, she turned around and threw her arms around Harry,

'Wish me luck,' she whispered, letting go of him and walking inside the classroom.

No answer came. Harry's mind was still rebelliousness and unwilling to accept her as a friend once more. She had let him down, in the worst way possible, how could she not understand that? A hug wasn't going to change that.

He worked on a few Occlumency exercises while waiting for Hermione. They were starting to come to him more naturally now, and he was even starting to notice how the Dursely's were a major weakness in his mind. He would have to work harder on that part - force himself to overcome his natural disgust at their sight.

He was broken from his thoughts by the door being flung open and Hermione stalking out with red eyes and tear marks clearly visible on her cheeks. Her face was scrunched with creases. She ignored Harry and walked ahead by herself only to stop after a few steps. She turned with an angry face, and walked back with a forced confidence.

'I left my wand,' she proclaimed, as she walked past him.

Harry peered through the open door and saw an old woman with countless wrinkles staring back at him. Her wood rimmed glasses looked quite amusing. That must be the Arxmancy teacher, he thought. The room was spacious and filled with several charts covering its walls containing intricate diagrams.

'Come in!' the old woman said in a loud voice.

Harry thought about explaining he didn't really want to 'come in', but decided it would take more time than just saying hello and leaving. He stepped inside with a polite smile, and looked around for Hermione, why the blazes was she looking under a sofa for her wand?

'I'm Laura Scalar,' the woman said, 'You with her?' She looked at Hermione.

Harry nodded.

Mrs Scalar gave a small chuckle and said confidentially, 'She doesn't have the Arx - you need to make her understand that. Very passionate, she is. But when you don't have it - you don't have it,' She shrugged.

Harry nodded politely, hoping Hermione would hurry up. He didn't particularly want to spend his afternoon humouring half senile old ladies.

'What's your name, boy?' she looked at him piercingly.

Harry felt a sudden surge of anger at her using the word 'boy', but quickly quelled it and said, 'Harry Potter.'

There was no hint of recognition in her eyes, something which Harry was extremely relieved about. The wrinkles around her eyes only deepened. She pulled her Dragon skin cloak tightly around her shoulders, 'Bit of a chill, eh?'

'Yeah,' said Harry tiredly, even though it wasn't. Hermione was now frantically turning over a sheaf of loose papers lying on a table.

'So, you got the Arx?' Mrs Scalar shot at him unexpectedly. It was clear she had been wanting to ask the question for a while.

Harry was a bit startled as he replied, 'I'm not sure I even know what that it is.'

'Well,' she stood up, taller than Harry had expected her to be and said, 'Let's find out, shall we?' There was a an unnerving grin on her face.

Harry sighed, he wasn't really interested and he had been waiting far too long already, in his opinion. Maybe he could just leave, and Hermione would come back in her own time. He curled his lips up reluctantly.

But Mrs Scalar was looking at him sternly, as if knowing what he intended to do.

'It'll only take a few minutes,' she insisted. Finding new students to teach was somewhat of an obsession for her and she would scour the school for students looking for someone with the Arx. She was in no way inclined to let Harry go without satisfying her curiosity. The Arx could be in anyone, anywhere.

She laid her palm open in front of him, 'Your wand, young man,' she ordered.

Harry resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to spend more time here than he wanted to. Besides, why upset the old witch needlessly? Best to get things over with quickly. He gave his wand hesitantly. She tapped his wand with her own and gave it back to him. Harry frowned, the familiar rush of warmth that would rush through him when he held his wand wasn't there. It almost seemed... muted.

'What did you-' he started but was interrupted by a severe look.

'You'll find out soon enough,' she said and guided him to stand inside a small circle made on the ground. His body shivered slightly as he entered the circle. There was an odd feeling to it. The entire setup wasn't feeling right. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up in anticipation. The circle seemed to have transported him somewhere else entirely. He was inside inside the room, but the rest of it seemed so... far away.

Mrs Scalar had taken out her wand and pointed it at Harry. Her teeth were gleaming a pure white.

'I'm going to cast a Stupefy at you,' she said, her voice reaching him clearly, 'Cast a shield at the instant I fire the spell,'

Harry nodded, his fingers curling around the firm wood of his wand. He gazed at the woman's wand intently.

'Stupefy!' she shouted, and a red beam of light came racing towards him.

'Protego!' he cast confidently with the appropriate wand movements, awaiting the familiar green that would always appear shimmering in front of him. But this time it never materialised. The red light came closer, but at the instant it hit the side of the circle - it grew slightly translucent and veered off in another direction. Harry stared at the red spell in astonishment. He hadn't cast the shield, and yet the spell never hit him. Even if the shield had been invisible, it would have stopped the spell, not deflected it in another direction like a ray of light striking a mirror.

A sudden sound of wood clattering on the ground came to his ears as he noticed Mrs Scalar's wand lying on the ground.

'Impossible...' she muttered, sheer confusion etched on her aged face. She clutched the sides of her face in disbelief.

Harry stepped outside the circle with a sigh of relief as everything felt normal again. Everything except for his wand, that is.

Mrs Scalar looked at him as if he was a rare painting or some priceless work of art. She picked up her wand and sat down heavily, the old chair creaking at the joints. She motioned Harry to come closer.

'It is so strong within you...' she said, almost reverently, 'so strong. Almost as much as I-' her voice broke off.

'What?' Harry said irritably, why was she speaking in riddles?

'The Arx,' she breathed, 'your affinity towards raw magic is unlike any I have ever seen,' She grabbed his shoulders without warning and stared into his eyes, 'You manipulated it to defend you. The circle you were in was focused with a large amount of magic. You bent it to your will.'

Harry nodded, that made some sense.

That piece of wood you're holding is not your wand,' she continued, 'it was simply so you could believe you could do the defensive magic without a wand.'

Harry's eyes widened as she handed over his Holly and Phoenix Feather wand. 'A simple switching spell,' she said. Warmth rushed up Harry's arm, the wand overjoyed to be finally reunited with its master.

'The large concentration of magic helped of course.' Mrs Scalar explained, taking off her glasses 'For usual cases, the spell is supposed to hit you and I can determine if you have the Arx by finding out how successfully you could block my spell. Most new students having the Arx can stop only about 20%. You not only stopped the entire spell, but you sent it back!'

Harry tried to wrap his mind around the entire thing as Mrs Scalar spoke again.

'Look at me,' she said insistently.

Harry instinctively did as she asked and instantly felt a searing pain in his head. It was sharper and went deeper than any of Fleur's attacks had been, but it didn't look at any memories. The blinding pain only increased, and just as he felt he would scream, it subsided.

It took a few moments to regain his bearings, but when he did - Harry was livid.

'WHAT WAS THAT?!' he shouted, shaking with anger. The day just kept getting worse and worse. That batty old witch had just assaulted his mind without any warning. He pointed the tip of his wand at her throat. He should never have come with Hermione! This was a school, for Merlin's sake, and he had just been attacked by one of its teachers!

Mrs Scalar was flushed but not the slightest ounce of regret showed on her face.

'I had to know,' she said in a kind of a daze, 'The Arx is controlled by the magical core and the mind. Your mind...' she shook her head in wonder, 'It's unlike any I have ever seen. It is older, deeper and more convoluted than I could possibly imagine. It explains your Arx, and you're not so bad at Occulumency, are you?'

Harry lowered his wand. Either the woman was completely nuts or... or what?! How on earth could she imagine all this? She saw all that in his... head?

'But I'm not good at Occulumency,' he objected, 'you went through my barriers as if they weren't even there.'

Mrs Scalar chuckled, 'That's because I didn't go through your barriers, your memories are safe. I examined it's... ummm, blueprint, rather.'

Harry felt tired. 'What's wrong with my mind, exactly?' he asked, his anger replaced with confusion.

'Ah... that's difficult to say. Your mind is intermingled with... someone other than you, it seems. There is an extra layer to it, if I had to guess. Did your parents perform some ritual on you that went wrong when you were young, by any chance? It's fascinating what the old pureblood families get up to.'

Harry winced internally. He had no parents who could have performed any ritual on him. But she didn't need to know that now, did she?

He grimaced, as if remembering something painful, 'That's probably it,' he said.

Mrs Scalar beamed, 'So I'll see you day after tomorrow in my class?' she asked, but it wasn't really a question. She was already celebrating acquiring her newest acquisition.

Harry swore under his breath. His life was already complicated enough. He wasn't in a mood to learn party tricks, and he definitely wasn't going to let anyone force him into anything else.

'No,' he said firmly, 'Not a chance,' he told the surprised and dumbfounded witch. And definitely not after what you did, he added in his mind.

Hermione had finally found her wand and was looking at the two of them, comprehension dawning upon her features. So that's what the two of them had been doing for so long.

Mrs Scalar opened her mouth to speak.

'Never,' he said viciously, a bit surprised by his own aggression, 'Please don't ask again,' he said and took Hermione's arm and walked out quickly, leaving the door open behind him. The year had enough surprises as it was. Arxmancy probably wasn't going to help him survive the Triwizard Tournament, so it could mind its own business as far as he was concerned.

Aurelie sat on a rock beside one of the various ponds in the Beauxbatons' grounds. It was peaceful, not frequented a lot by students. It was pleasing to the eye. It was in fact her favourite place to think and reminisce, often of the days before she had embarked on this far-fetched plan of hers. The still, shimmering water helped her to think... and occasionally plot. She liked to think of it as her very own private place - not even her own sister knew where she disappeared to when she wanted to be alone. She threw a rock, watching it as it only skipped once and sunk into the water.

The count was pretty low by her standards - but her mind was pretty disturbed at the moment. No, scratch that - It was a turmoil of rushing waters swirling into a hurricane. She had to fix things - and fast. She knew she didn't have much to time to act if she wanted to have a semblance of control over her life. You-know-who didn't have a very high tolerance threshold, and if she didn't act fast, she would quickly become disposable - if she wasn't already. She had to prove herself to be valuable.

She threw another stone into the water, watching as ripples spread across its surface. The stars were coming out slowly.

She understood that there was some sort of protection Harry had which prevented Voldemort from directly harming him until he came of age. Removing that protection would go a long way towards ensuring she wasn't a twitching corpse at a crazed Dark Lord's feet, even though he was quite handsome.

A memory came back to her when she had seen Harry walking away from Dumbledore, his apparent mentor, in anger. In the past few days, she had noticed Harry slowly becoming isolated from those around him. He had garnered a lot of hatred, and rumours were strife of him cheating the Goblet to get what he wanted. She knew Harry wasn't in his best state of mind at the moment. He felt hurt, betrayed, cold, angry and like there was no one on his side.

She knew this was her chance to cement her position as his closest confident.

She would be the friend who would console him and comfort him. She would say she believed him, and he would have no reason to suspect her of anything untoward - that's what friend's are for, right? She would gain his trust in his time of weakness. They would finally become closer, and he might even be persuaded towards a few suggestions on her part. This was the golden opportunity she had been waiting for. The whole idea finally clicked in her mind.

She stood up decidedly, her resolve hardened. If this succeeded, things might finally start to look up and You-know-who would finally understand and appreciate her for her worth, and she would get what she wanted, at long last. Her ambition knew no bounds, and freaking Harry Potter wasn't going to get in the way.

She hurried back towards the palace, making sure her she had her red hair done up prettily in a ponytail. She even went to her room to pick out a fresh robe with a matching top underneath. Appearances were important, after all. The common area in front of Harry's room was occupied by a few older Hogwarts students who looked at her oddly. She ignored them, smoothened out the creases in her skirt and knocked sharply at his door. No answer came. She knocked again, a bit louder. A few moments later, a dull green eyed boy with more messy hair than usual opened the door. He was wearing a very old looking pair of pants and a faded white shirt. Harry looked faintly surprised to see her.

'What?' he asked, a bit harshly.

Aurelie bit her lip, giving him a small smile 'I wanted to see how you were doing. We haven't talked in a while,' She looked at him concernedly.

Harry shook his head, 'I'm fine,' He was clearly lying.

'No, you're not,' The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, 'you've not been fine since Halloween,'

Harry shook his head wearily, wondering why she had bothered to look him up. She had only known him a few weeks. But her words had hit true - he wasn't fine, and he had no idea what to do about it.

'Come in,' he said, opening the door wider, albeit a bit reluctantly. He wished she would leave soon - it wasn't as if anyone cared how he felt. Mrs Scalar sure hadn't when she violated his mind, and Fleur... she was just so proud that it made her ignorant of how others might feel.

Aurelie plopped down on his bed beside him, looking around curiously. It was like any other guest room, embellished with a few personal touches. She could see a picture on his bedside table which was probably of his parents, and there was his Firebolt lying in the corner. A few books were lying on the floor as if they had been thrown haphazardly. She picked one up.

'Mind Magiks' she read out loud, 'what's that about?'

Harry sighed, she didn't look like she was about to leave anytime soon. 'Mind magic,' he said flatly.

'Why?'

'I felt like reading.'

'Why this one?'

'I liked the cover,' Harry was starting to wish she would leave him alone. He really didn't feel like talking to anyone.

'Yeah, I know, but why the sudden interest in mind magic?' Aurelie crossed one leg up on the bed and let the other dangle freely. She turned her head to look at him seriously. Her blue eyes gave no indication of giving up anytime soon.

Harry raised an eyebrow, seriously?

'I've been told that I'm crazy,' he said, shaking his head, 'Mrs Scalar said something's wrong with my mind, and I'm having problems with Occulumency, to add to that.' He threw up his hands in disgust, 'And I can't do anything about it,'

They sat in silence for about a minute before Aurelie spoke up again, 'Why don't you ask Dumbledore? He's pretty good at this sort of thing, no?'

'Yeah...' Harry said, 'I probably should,' There was a hint of reluctance to his voice. Aurelie was starting to get a bit irritated by his moodiness, this wasn't getting them anywhere. She shifted a bit closer, it was time to force matters.

'How are you holding up after being chosen?' she asked.

Harry pounced on that question like a thirsty man in a desert after seeing an oasis.

'How do you think?' He half snarled, but then suddenly deflated like a balloon, as if there was no more air to go on, 'I can't, you know,' he wildly flailed his fingers, his voice desperate, 'I thought I could trust people, but they just keep... letting me down. And now everybody,' His voice trembled, 'my friends, labelled me as a liar,'

His heart hammered in his chest, wondering if he had said too much. Aurelie probably saw him as weak and pathetic now - Hell! He felt weak and pathetic. The only thing keeping him from breaking down was his frenzied drive to prove that he controlled his life, no matter how much the world tried to make him miserable.

'You know I believe you, right?' Aurelie asked, startling the boy sitting next to her, 'I don't think you cheated the Goblet,' She made her voice as heartfelt as possible.

Harry's eyebrows shot up for a moment.

'No...' he said disbelievingly.

Aurelie had her most angelic expression on, 'I just know you didn't do it,' she said softly, 'you're not like that,'

'You don't need to lie to me,' he said tremulously, 'I know what everybody thinks,'

'Nooo...' Aurelie insisted, 'I'm not lying, Harry. Look into my eyes,' she said, looking straight at him without a glimmer of dishonesty. She actually knew he hadn't cheated. She was probably the only one in the school - besides him - who knew that. There was no need to lie. She felt a twinge of regret for misleading him, but it soon disappeared when she thought of what lay in store for her if she succeeded.

She pulled Harry into a hug, and rejoiced internally when he hugged her back just as tightly. Oh damn, she noticed, my shirt is going to be ruined.

It was ruined, but it was totally worth it.

Chapter Text

Harry knocked twice on Dumbledore's door.

'Come in,' a deep voice came from inside.

Harry stepped inside, a bit amused that Dumbledore had tried to make his temporary office in Beauxbatons as similar as he could to the one back at Hogwarts. The portraits were missing, but many of the strange whizzing, whirring trinkets were there and Fawkes was perched majestically on his perch. A low trill greeted Harry as he sat down on the proffered chair.

'Lemon drop?' Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eyes. Harry declined with a shake of his head.

'I wanted to ask you something - if you have the time, sir?' He said cautiously.

Dumbledore gave him an encouraging nod, 'Go ahead, my boy, go ahead,'

'I talked to Mrs Scalar recently,' said Harry.

'Interested in Arxmancy?' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

Harry frowned, 'Not exactly. She... well, she looked into my mind and said that there's something wrong with it - she said it has another layer to it.'

The twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes subsided instantly. He instantly looked a hundred years older, weighed down more than he could bear. His eyebrows furrowed and to Harry's surprise, he thought he detected a bit of moistness in his eyes. Dumbledore took off his spectacles and inverted them on his desk. He didn't answer for a very long time. It was almost as if that one statement had taken him somewhere else - he was sunk deep in thought and he looked past Harry as if he wasn't even there.

Harry looked down at his shoes in embarrassment. After some time, when he thought it was safe to lift his head, he looked up. To his relief, Dumbledore was once again back to his cheery self, though shadows still lurked at the sides of his face.

'Are... are you okay, sir?' Harry asked.

'Yes... yes,' he said strongly, 'There are so many things in this world that we cannot control, it is folly to think we can and even more foolish to think that we should try,'

Harry blinked, not seeing the relevance to the current conversation, but Dumbledore continued,

'Your mind is special, Harry,' he said, 'The events of that terrible night had repercussions far beyond anyone on that day could have imagined. Mrs Scalar, no doubt with your consent, tried to glean something which cannot be interpreted.'

The Headmaster spoke almost as if he had tried it himself, and the tinge of disappointment suggested failure.

'Yes,' Harry said impatiently, 'but what does this mean?'

'I do not know for certain,' Dumbledore shook his head sadly, 'And I can only guess - which I should prefer to keep to myself for now, till I am certain. The only concrete thing that I am sure of is that your scar is no ordinary scar.'

Harry tried his best to not look irritated, but the Headmaster had been of no help to him at all. He only spoke in riddles and half truths, and one could only tolerate so many of those.

'What should I do, then?' His voice cracked.

Dumbledore looked at him calmly, 'You have been taking lessons in Occulumency, I understand,' he said. Harry was amazed, how did he know that? Frankly, the amount of things he knew that he hadn't been told or wasn't supposed to know was simply astounding.

'I... had been,' Harry said hesitantly. He thought he might get berated for not telling him earlier, but his response was far from what Harry had expected.

'And you have stopped them,' Dumbledore looked at him sternly. If anything, he had approved of what Harry had been doing.

'Ye-es,' Harry bit his lip, 'Fleur and I... had a small disagreement,'

'Was is it related to her being a Veela?' The old wizard asked perceptively.

'Yes,' Harry admitted,' she hadn't told me, and then she lied to me saying that I wasn't affected,'

Dumbledore had a small smile on his face, 'Sometimes I forget how fragile the emotions of the youth are,' he muttered to himself, 'Given the circumstances, I would say it is highly probable that you aren't affected and she wasn't lying,' he told Harry.

Harry looked at him sceptically, 'You really think so, sir?'

'Yes, I do,' said the white bearded wizard, 'I would also encourage you to continue to take the lessons,'

It was clear the reason Harry was being asked to do so was behind one of the guesses that he was not told of yet, and might never be told of. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

'I can arrange for a different tutor, if you would like,' Dumbledore asked.

'No,' Harry blurted out, 'I'll... I'm fine with the way it is,'

'Can I then safely assume that you have agreed to continue with the classes?' The Headmaster had a faint smile on his lips.

Damn! Harry wanted to smack himself in the side of his head. He felt stupid. He had fallen right into the neat little verbal trap that had been set for him. The senile looking wizard could sure be cunning when he wanted to. Harry knew had no choice other than to agree or look stupid and petty.

'Yes, sir,' he said.

Dumbledore brought out his wand. Harry marvelled at the smooth, dark wood which seemed to fit so perfectly into those ageing fingers.

'Would you mind if I test you, Harry?' the old wizard asked, 'Just to see how far along you have been. Do not worry, I shall not intrude into your memories.'

Harry looked at him unsurely. He cleared his throat and agreed hesitantly.

'Legelimens,'

True to his word, Harry only felt a light feather touch on his mind, and no more before it vanished just as softly as it had come.

'You are in good hands,' Dumbledore commented, 'You have great potential. Your scar is double edged sword - it has offered to you as much as it can take away from you.'

'Does that mean,' Harry asked curiously,' it is my scar which is causing this?,'

'I cannot be certain,' Dumbledore said, 'I can only guess. However, I think we can safely assume so in this case,'

He elaborated no further, and Harry knew it would be futile to ask. The Headmaster only listened to one voice of reason, and that was his own. It was all very frustrating for someone in Harry's position - unable to get answers when he needed them the most. He only nodded his head by force of habit and got up abruptly, turning his head quickly lest Dumbledore see his look of disgust.

'Farewell, Harry,' Dumbledore raised a hand.

Harry turned back, 'Thank you, sir,' he said, hoping his words didn't sound as empty as they were.

Dumbledore gazed sorrowfully at retreating figure of the boy who had been put through so many trials before his time - both dangerous and challenging. Here at Beauxbatons, there were indeed further obstacles for him to overcome. The Supreme Mugwump felt proud of the young man he had helped create, who had become such a kind and intelligent wizard. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no respite for the Chosen One.

But there were further hardships for him - Snape had reported the most troubling news. Voldemort had returned almost a year before he had hoped to. Dark clouds were gathering over Britain, and the underworld was stirring with rumours of a dormant power risen once again. Muggle killings had increased, and there was unrest all over the magical world. Even wizards were dying. Only last week, Avery, a former sympathiser, had been found found dead in the front of his house. It was quickly hushed up by the Ministry.

Voldemort did not take traitors lightly.

Dumbledore had hoped he would have had more time to prepare, but the situation was quickly deteriorating. Voldemort was moving fast, and there reports of several other former Dark Lord supporters who had been found dead in their homes with the Dark Mark hanging over it. The probable cause was their refusal to return to the Dark Lord's service, but the rules had always been clear - obey or die. Even their families weren't spared.

The Ministry had put it down to a series of unrelated attacks by some Light Wizard fanatic who had taken to eliminating former Death Eaters, with the Dark Mark as an ironic farewell. But that hadn't explained the death of one Robert Brocklehurst, who had never done a shady thing in his life and had devoted himself to faithfully operating the Portkey network. The Ministry had labelled it as a 'mistake' by the killer. But that wasn't all. There were many, many more.

The Order of Phoenix had been reluctantly reassembled with Dumbledore attending the meetings by Floo. Many of its old members were back, and a few new ones from the Ministry had been recruited as well.

The war had begun.

The Death Eater attacks were carefully spaced so Fudge was never sure exactly when to start reacting. He opted to do nothing other than giving his PR staff a pay rise. Snape had reported that the Dark Lord looked self assured and remarkably healthy for someone who had just recovered from his death. The good news was that he was still unwilling to come out into the open - which meant all wasn't as well as it seemed. The bad news was that he was recruiting dark creatures, as he had done in the last war. A bloody and battered Remus had told him that the werewolves weren't moving an inch from their decision to support Voldemort. But Dumbledore clung on to the hope that as long as Voldemort operated from the shadows, he could manage things from where he was.

Oh, how he wished he could back in his office at Hogwarts, and control the action from the nucleus back in Britain. France was turning out to be terribly inconvenient, but he had to stay, for Harry's sake. Perhaps it was good for both of them, in a way, that Harry wasn't anywhere near the danger zones. The boy was hardly ready to face all that awaited him.

Dumbledore had decided he would protect him a bit longer - he deserved at least one more year to enjoy his childhood. A quiet year before all the worries and burdens in the world were thrust upon his shoulders. Harry had already suffered enough. Dumbledore firmly believed he had done the right thing in concealing the letter (what do you mean, of course the Leader of the Light intercepted and checked all of Harry's mail before letting it reach him).

Hey Prongslet,

You told me in your last letter you were going to Beauxbatons for the Triwizard Tournament. That's wonderful, but don't let the chance of a lifetime escape you by not entering the tournament. I don't care what they cook up to stop you, you're the godson of a Marauder (and a son of one too), I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out. James and I sure would have.

I'll try to reach you in France if I can figure out where the school is, or its nearest village. I hear they have some fine looking chicks over in that country. Think I'll have a shot, eh? (Hint: The answer starts with a 'Y' and ends with an 's') Don't worry kiddo, Azkaban never could take away my charm. And, I don't believe I'm saying this, but don't relax with your studies even if things might be a bit different over there. Lily would never forgive me if I let her son waste a year of learning.

Write back as soon as you can. I'll probably be starting for France in a few days when that bad tempered owl of yours won't be able to find me. ,

Padfoot

Dumbledore closed the letter and put it back in his desk. Harry already had too much to worry about without letting his irresponsible godfather add to it. Besides, Dumbledore had made sure Sirius wouldn't leave Grimmauld Place any time soon. Escaping the border was too risky, especially for a highly wanted criminal. Harry was better off living in peace with the belief that his godfather was lying undercover and wouldn't be able to write or receive letters.

The Headmaster smiled serenely.

Shoot.

Shoot.

Dodge.

Repeat.

Harry wiped a drop of sweat trailing down his cheek. The walls of the room he was in had been enchanted to reflect spells cast towards it with decreasing power. It adjoined the Defence classroom and was used for what Mr Durant called a 'practical experience'. It's main purpose had been served back during the war with Grindelwald when Beauxbatons trained students to survive in the middle of a battlefield. The room was especially helpful in this regard, since a spell would undergo multiple refelections before dying out by itself. The caster would have to be prepared for spells coming from any direction. It helped to drastically improve reflexes and spacial awareness.

Harry rotated slowly on his feet with growing anticipation as he fired off two more spells, and waited for them to find a back to him.

He had taken to practising spell casting at nights, with Mr Durant's express permission as a means to prepare for the tournament. There wasn't anyone he could practise with, and he didn't know what to expect for the upcoming task, so he found this a good way to be prepared as any.

He gave a groan of frustration as another stinging hex hit him in his shoulder. It really wasn't easy to keep track of where the spells would be coming from.

There wasn't a bloody war going on - but Mr Durant had been quite effusive in his praise for the room, and Harry had to admit, it was starting to growing on him a bit. He was nearly through the entire array of spells covered in fourth and fifth year, and that too in a couple of weeks. The ministry really needed to up its difficulty scale.

The unfortunate thing was, the tournament sure wasn't going to make things easier.

He kept practising for another hour or so, but he couldn't barely last a minute without getting hit. It would have been much more helpful if someone had been there to practise with him.

He recalled Aurelie offering to help, but she was only passable at DADA, much to Harry's disappointment. She was pretty enthusiastic about it, but Harry had reluctantly rejected her help after a couple of disastrous attempts. The older students were all angry with him and Hermione... well, she was out of question.

A bead of sweat trickled down his other cheek, and he could feel his shirt was drenched. The training really did keep him on his toes, it must be said.

He stopped casting and relaxed for a moment, applying a cooing charm on himself. A short knock on his door startled him. He sighed in annoyance. He had told Aurelie that he would be fine, but she kept insisting he should take things easy. And it wasn't even that late yet - only past eleven.

He cast another cooling charm on himself and opened the door. To his surprise, it wasn't Aurelie.

It was Fleur.

'Hi,' he said with a mildly confused expression, 'Why are you here?' He frowned, 'Not that its a bad thing... or not really, that is,' he took a deep breath, '... I didn't expect to see you here,' he corrected himself slowly, a bit embarrassed. But he was too tired to think properly, and Fleur certainly hadn't helped with correcting his thinking process.

She laughed lightly, thinking back to the chain of events that lead her here. She had been thinking about it for a few days. Of course, he was still competition, no matter how young. She always took competition too seriously, but then again... maybe sometimes more than others. She remembered how she first got to know about someone using this particular room.

She had been lounging in her room, polishing her wand and wondering what the First Task would be. She hoped it wasn't something with water - M erde! That was too terrible to even think about. Aurelie had suddenly burst in and flopped onto her bed in a most unladylike fashion. Fleur calmly stood up and closed the door.

'Look who finally showed up...' she said sarcastically, alluding to the fact that Aurelie hadn't been around a lot recently. The redhead had been disturbingly moody and distracted, even during mealtimes. Fleur personally thought it was one of her plots - there was always that time in a year when Aurelie would embark on some harebrained scheme to 'liven things up', as she said. Last year she had thought it would be a good idea to try and make an apprentice level luck potion... that hadn't ended well at all. She had spent six weeks in the hospital quarters.

In her first year she had tried to buy a new wand, saying hers didn't work properly.

This year it was probably something else - which she wasn't telling Fleur about. She hoped to Morgana it wasn't love potions.

'Sorry, Fleur,' Aurelie said with an apologetic smile, 'I'm just worried,'

Fleur tried to look mad for a couple of seconds, but failed terribly. She never could manage to pull it off against her cheery friend. She settled for an expression somewhere in between, with a warm feeling at seeing Aurelie's familiar face in her room again.

'Worried about what?' Fleur asked, sitting down.

'Nothing,' the redhead replied,' just worried,'

'Is it about Harry?' Fleur asked with a teasing lilt, 'You're spending a lot of time around him nowadays,'

A slightly displeased expression came on her friend's face, as if she didn't want to talk about it. The redhead frowned, and thought about it for a few minutes before reaching a decision. Aurelie sat up, pushing her hair back from her eyes, 'Yeah, he's training too hard these days. Even with the tournament, I'm scared he'll burn himself out before it starts. He's using Mr Durant's room for training,'

'Mr Durant's room?' Fleur asked, her interest piqued. No one used that room willingly.

'Yeah,' said Aurelie, 'he can't find a partner to train with, but I don't get why he even needs to. He just needs to step inside the ring or whatever for the tournament, right? He doesn't have to win, just show himself and leave. I keep telling him that, but he seems to think something is bound to go wrong.'

Fleur patiently listened to the little rant, but she couldn't keep her mind off the fact that Harry used Mr Durant's room. It was so outdated, and positively scary.

'No,' Fleur interjected, 'He can't actually just show up for the task. He has to try to win, at the very least. He has to do something active instead of being passive. I checked, it's in the contract.'

'Why do you know that?' Aurelie looked surprised.

'Just curious,' Fleur said, unwilling to admit that Madame Maxime had made her read the entire document to search for loopholes. They hadn't found any useful ones, despite an entire night's effort. The closest thing to a loophole they had found was that nowhere in the contract was it mentioned that competitors weren't allowed to harm each other while a task was in progress.

'So then,' Fleur asked, eager to change the topic to something more relevant, 'How's he faring with the room?'

'Oh, well, he's still using it,' Aurelie said, laughing, 'I wonder how long he's going to last,'

Something in that sentence irked Fleur, but she couldn't figure out exactly what. She raised her eyebrows curiously.

'I'd like to find out how long. He hasn't come to me for Occlumency lessons, either,' Fleur said, shrugging, 'He looked interested, at first,'

'Speaking of lessons,' said Aurelie, switching to a conversational tone, 'Have you heard what Mr Thomas has planned for my next class?'

Fleur wrinkled her nose, 'I hope it's not mandrakes again,'

They talked about mandrakes for the rest of the evening, Fleur choosing to ignore the not so subtle change of topic. But more importantly, she had found out when Harry trained, so she could surprise the boy who seemed so oddly resistant to her Allure. She was quite affronted he hadn't continued with his Occlumency lessons or had even the courtesy to talk to her about it. She didn't like being... snubbed.

Especially by a boy.

She didn't have a lot to prepare for the tournament - she considered she knew enough to mount up a more than reasonable attempt against anything they threw at her. It wasn't like they had told her anything, to be honest. Madame Maxime had told her in confidence that she would try and found out what was going on, but she hadn't looked very confident.

Fleur was a bit surprised to find that Mr Durant's room occupied, despite Aurelie's prior assurances. She knocked and the door opened for her to find a sweaty, green eyed and confused looking boy who was finding it difficult to speak properly.

Now that was something she was used to - or was he just exhausted?

She laughed lightly, diffusing the tension.

'I wanted to see how you're faring with this room,' she said, closing the door behind her. She dropped her bag and plopped down beside it, folding her legs. The light from the shield she cast around her lit up the room.

Harry looked clueless, clearly wondering whether he should continue or not.

Fleur grinned as she said, 'Don't worry, nothing short of an Unforgivable will make it through my shield. You go ahead, I'll watch.'

She guiltily admitted to herself she would like to see the usually stoic boy squirm for a bit. Not too much, only enough to make him regret treating her as if she didn't even exist. Fleur Delacour was not used to being treated like a painting.

Harry grimaced for a few moments, and purposefully turned his back to her.

'Don't get in the way,' he said.

He waited for a few moments before starting to fire again.

Shoot.

Shoot.

Dodge.

Repeat.

It took some time before he could regain the level of concentration he had reached initially, but he got there eventually. He averaged around forty seconds before getting hit. Mr Durant had said anyone with less than a minute wasn't worthy of using the room; but then again, Mr Durant was the occasional dramatic.

Fleur watched for Harry's movements for some time, noting his spell casting ability was far superior to his shielding and dodging. He wasn't all that bad by half. She admitted he was pretty good, for his age. What he didn't have in a large assortment of spells, he made up with his speed. Nevertheless, the room could never provide what a real opponent would be able to. She didn't see it helping Harry all that much, and Aurelie's worried face came back to her. It would be a shame if he worked this hard for nothing.

She stood up, dispelling her shield and distracting Harry for a moment, causing a blue spell to hit him in the side of his face. He looked at her irritably,

'I almost had that,' he said, casting a counter charm on his face. Suddenly another blue spell came careening towards him out of nowhere and hit his side.

'Ouch!' he said loudly, holding his side and looking at Fleur accusingly. She had a mischievous smile on her face as she shot off another spell towards him. This time he managed to put up a shield.

He didn't think it was funny. He was busy minding his own business. She didn't have to come and interrupt him, he thought accusingly. But he could see she wasn't ready to give in. She wanted a duel. On the bright side, he was all warmed up and ready to go, and he really didn't want anyone interrupting his practise. Not even Fleur.

Especially not Fleur.

All right, she would get a duel.

'Expelliarmus!' he shouted, directing the spell at her chest, but she simply sidestepped it. She looked extremely pleased with herself.

She didn't speak her spells out loud, which made it difficult to figure out how to defend against them. He got smothered by a mountain of feathers at one point, and blasting curses really didn't help much with that. The vanishing charm worked, though he figured it out a bit too late. The worst part was that the spells kept getting reflected off the walls, although thankfully with lessened intensity. He had no idea where or when they came from. Fleur didn't have to deal much with it, since she was standing in a corner and could see them all coming. That was unfair, Harry thought to himself.

He stood right in the middle of the room, and grew extremely frustrated - but to no avail.

About 5 minutes - of rigorous wandwork for Harry, and nonchalant spell casting for Fleur - later, Fleur saw Harry's eyes open with a 'Rennervate'. He was lying back down on the floor, and sat up quickly, taking a quick look at her sitting beside him.

The rush of blood subsided, Fleur could see in his eyes that he finally acknowledged that he shouldn't have gotten in duel with the best Beauxbatons had to offer.

'The Boy-Who-Lived, hmmm?' she said, pleased that her little plan of getting him to talk to her had worked out. She had to admit it was a bit excessive, but she was nothing if not effective. It was partly for his own good, after all.

'In the flesh,' Harry said with an ironic tone, 'You want something,' he looked at her pointedly.

'Aurelie was worried,' Fleur shrugged, 'You need help,'

'No,' Harry protested, with clenched teeth.

Fleur sighed, shaking her head sadly,'You know why you lost today?' she asked, but didn't give him time to answer. 'It's because your Occlumency barriers aren't good enough. I knew which spell you were going to cast before you actually cast it,'

Harry was gazing at her with a gobsmacked expression, 'So that's how...'

'You were distracted while casting, so your mind was left completely undefended,' Fleur said, looking extremely satisfied with herself at seeing him shift uncomfortably on the hard floor.

Harry suddenly realised what a big mistake he had made in not taking her help. Even now, though her pretty blue eyes and perfect nose and lips drew his attention, he realised he could take his mind off her if he really tried. She really hadn't lied earlier. He felt terrible for ignoring her. He looked at her apologetically.

'About that...' he said, giving her a weak smile, 'I was hoping we could continue with our lessons,' he said hopefully. Instead of the haughty denial he had expected, Fleur surprised him yet again. She looked in a remarkably good mood, and her hair seemed to almost glow.

'I'll see you tomorrow night, Mr Potter,' she said, giving him a blinding smile. Harry couldn't help but think there was some hidden motivation behind her surprisingly helpful actions. Maybe she was just a helpful person? No, that couldn't be it. Maybe she was gauging her competition? Nah, their prior duel made the word 'competition' loose in this context, to say the least.

Maybe it was the thing about her Allure? Perhaps.

He was so going to beat her the next time they duelled.

The First task was quickly approaching, and Aurelie was finding it difficult to make any real headway with Harry. The most she had managed to get out of him was some better clothes. Him being an heir of House Potter, she had been appalled to find out his earlier state of disregard. Sadly, it had been arranged only through a complicated Owl Post order. He hadn't been allowed to leave school grounds.

It was only after a particularly crabby meeting with Dumbledore that Aurelie felt Harry might be irritable enough to have a (hopefully) open mind.

They were at the dinner table, and food was stacked in ample amounts above the dark blue coated surface. She sat beside Harry, saying 'uh-huh' and shaking her head at the appropriate times as he told her about his meeting. Gods, the charade was hard.

'It's like he doesn't care about me!' Harry said, exasperated. He put a piece of steak inside his mouth.

Aurelie shook her head sadly.

'You deserve better, Harry. Honestly.' She said, with an undercurrent of concern in her voice. She really was getting the hang of it. She suddenly made her face go blank, and then made an expression as if she had thought of something marvellous. She turned her face towards Harry excitedly.

'I think I know what you should do,' she said, her words falling over each other.

Harry raised an eyebrow, 'What?'

Aurelie's expression hovered between extremely eager and reluctant, as she twirled a strand of red hair between her fingers. She took a sip of water, accidentally brushed fingers with Harry and smoothly melded into indecision. The conversation of several students from several schools buzzed around them.

'Oh, I don't know,' she said, biting her lip.

Harry gave a slight nudge.

'I don't mind, what do you think I should do?'

'It's just, well...' Aurelie shook her head, 'No... you shouldn't even think about it, to be perfectly honest,'

She averted her eyes and looked along the table, noticing a dish that caught her interest. She was giving Harry some time to stew over what she said, just to increase his interest.

'Excuse me,' she said to a boy sitting near the dish,' Could you pass me the bouillabaisse?'

Draco Malfoy looked at the pretty girl asking him to pass the weird smelling French thing, as the cogs began whirring in his brain.

'That'll cost you 5 bucks,' he said, with a smirk, seemingly proud of himself. Aurelie huffed and asked another boy, who passed her the dish. Draco looked confused and turned accusingly to the Slytherin next to him.

'You need to be more subtle,' Warrington whispered sharply.

Aurelie took a serving and glanced at Harry, who was burning with curiosity by then, 'I don't know what you meant. Now you have to tell me,' he said, shooting her a withering glare, 'I know you want to,'

Aurelie hesitated once more for good measure and said, 'Did you know the Triwizard Tournament contract was only meant for overage wizards and witches?' she asked.

Harry looked mildly offended, 'You don't have to remind me,' he said irritably.

'No, I'm not done yet,' Aurelie said insistently, 'So, as I was saying - by forcing you to compete, they have essentially acknowledged that you are an adult, but without the privileges that an overage wizard usually has.' Her eyebrows were raised encouragingly, as if she had just delivered the punchline of a joke no one understood.

'So?' said Harry, apparently clueless.

She gestured with open palms, 'Haven't you yourself told me that you think Dumbledore has been concealing things from you? That he doesn't treat you with proper respect? And must I mention you being an heir of an old and respected family makes his actions more inexplicable to me. You don't like him treating you as he does, do you?'

'No,' Harry said slowly.

'You think he's been manipulating you, right?'

'I- yes,' he conceded, with a hint of bitterness.

'Don't you think it's time you took control of your own life?' Aurelie said forcefully. Instead of being strung along like a puppet, was left unsaid. The irony of that statement was simply delicious. After all, even she was manipulating him. Even though she didn't like to think of it like that. She liked to think of it as... guiding someone with finesse to make their own decisions.

Her words rung true in Harry's heart, like the deep resonating sound of bell being struck inside a well. Every word she said was true - he shouldn't be treated like a small child by Dumbledore. He had to stand up for himself, and force Dumbledore to stay true to his words and actions. Dumbledore surely knew about his torment at the Dursely's - Harry wouldn't let the old coot pretend to be clueless any longer. He knew it was time for him to take charge - especially with the Tournament about to begin.

Aurelie had forced him to face something he had been avoiding for years. He knew it was finally time for him to do something positive about his life, instead of moping around and feeling sorry for himself.

He looked towards Aurelie - determination emanating from his eyes, along with gratitude. He could feel his newfound confidence ooze out from every pore. He would change his outlook, and point his broom wherever darned well he wanted to.

But nothing could have prepared him for what Aurelie said next.

It was obvious, in hindsight, that this was where she had been leading to. Earlier, Harry couldn't imagine changing anything past his attitude. But now he had to admit to himself: Aurelie wasn't wrong, and the sheer decisiveness of her suggestion probably made it the right one.

'You should get emancipated,' she said.

Chapter Text

Bagman was unnervingly cheery as he met the champions in the tent before their first task. Harry thought it was in quite bad taste, since he was just about to hand out what might very well be a death sentences. The First Task of the Triwizard Tournament was important in the sense that it usually set the tone for the rest of the tasks. The deadlier the first task, the deadlier the tournament. And the easier the first task - well, they were never easy - so it was usually matter of how deadly. It was always something to do with a magical creature, either besting them or retrieving something of value from their possession. Harry had accordingly read up on them, and was hoping to Merlin he didn't get something like a... well, Dragon or an Erumpent.

There was no conversation between the competitors, and the atmosphere was thick with tension, though it showed on none of their faces. Krum was characteristically sullen and looked as if all this was a waste of time - like they should have just given him the Cup and got over with it.

Warrington was pacing in the back with a scowl on his face, though it seemed more for their benefit than his.

Fleur stood in one spot with her hands clasped in front, her lips curling up occasionally as if she was practising smiling. But Harry had seen enough of her to determine that, despite her usual complacence, she was a bit worried.

Bagman walked around, trying to make small talk with the champions, while occasionally glancing at his watch. He refused to tell the Champions what the First Task was - before the allotted time - and nobody seemed to be interested in talking to him any further.

Harry gave Bagman a strained smile as the slightly rotund man approached him. He was wearing brilliantly clashing yellow and orange robes, and gave Harry an energetic 'Top of the morning to you, lad!'

Harry winced at the loud voice, 'Good to see you, Mr Bagman,' he said, meaning exactly the opposite of what he had said.

His nerves were shredding with anxiety. He was seriously starting to reconsider whether he should have asked Fleur to help him with his spell practice, though he had decided not to ask a fellow competitor for help. They had decided to seriously advance his Occlumency lessons after the First Task, when they both would be able to concentrate better.

But that is not to say they hadn't tried.

Harry had spent plenty of futile hours trying to put up shields against Fleur's attacks. But while they held strong a few times, most of the times he wasn't even able to reach the level he had before. Each time he tried to focus, the terrifying prospect of the first task swam before his eyes, and it all came crashing down. It was fear of the unknown that disturbed him more than anything else. He would spent a lot of time trying to regain his concentration, sometimes just talking to Fleur deep into the night to take his mind off other things.

And then they would try again, rarely with better results. But Harry was persistent, and Fleur not willing to admit defeat. So their lessons continued in a weird sort of flux. Fleur took the opportunity to grill Harry about how he reacted to her Allure, and Harry was content to learn about her life in Beauxbatons - a stark contrast to his time in Hogwarts. If he didn't lie to himself, he enjoyed her company as much as the lessons.

They had eventually decided to stop meeting a few days before, after Aurelie's repeated concerns that they weren't achieving anything. Hermione flitted in and out of his life, both there and not there at the same time, while Harry simply focused on the task ahead.

The First Task - it was about to begin in a few minutes, and Bagman was not helping with his nerves. His energetic greeting failed to inspire any positivity. Bagman suddenly slapped him on the back and laughed as if Harry had just told him a joke. He lowered his voice.

'If there's anything you need a bit of help with, Harry, let me know,' Bagman shook his head sadly, 'These French Fries have made a mess of the whole thing, if you ask me,'

'What do you mean, mess?' Harry asked, his voice unsure. He wasn't sure either if Bagman's 'help' was within Tournament protocols.

The former Quidditch player sighed, 'You'll see what I mean. Meanwhile, anything you need - just ask, strictly unofficially, of course,' Bagman gave a friendly smile, perhaps trying to convey a feeling of solidarity in this foreign country.

Harry considered it - he wasn't exactly sympathetic to cheating, and Hermione would eat his head if she found out. But he remembered that he didn't care what she thought, so he turned to Bagman, ignoring the slightly guilty feeling in his chest. It wasn't as if his participation was strictly within the rules, so he figured he could live with bending them a little.

Bagman was again wandering the tent, but Harry quickly caught his eye, and the wizard approached.

'Yes, Harry?'

'How can you help me?' he asked, almost whispering.

Bagman looked a bit surprised, but he once again burst into laughter and lowered his voice, 'Not much at the moment. I've only got a bit of generic advice. Keep to sides, that's all I can say. I'll put in a good word for you with judges too, don't worry. Oh, and stay alive.'

'Keep to the sides?' Harry asked, biting his lip to keep out the derision. This was supposed to help him?

Bagman winked and straightened, glancing at his watch once more. His face brightened,

'Champions, please approach the centre of the tent,' he announced.

Almost on cue, a thin lipped wizard stepped inside the tent with a bag in his hand. His face looked young, but he had wisps of white hair on his head. His entire demeanour screamed the word 'Professional', entirely unlike Ludo.

Bagman introduced him, 'Monsieur Cavalier, everybody, my French on-field counterpart,' he gave a small sigh, 'The Ministry insisted on his presence,' he grumbled.

Cavalier was supremely unruffled by Ludo's words and handed him a small bag which seemed to have something moving inside it.

'Arrived a bit early, perhaps, Mr Bagman?' Cavalier voice was rough, but stern. He gave a shrewd look.

'Only a few minutes, my good man,' Ludo said casually. None of the Champions bothered to correct him.

Bagman cleared his throat and glanced around, 'Your First Task is to last ten minutes in the ring with a certain magical creature,' he glanced at Cavalier beside him who gave a small nod, 'a Skew-Whiff Hippogriff, to be exact,' Bagman continued, 'It is not against the rules, but we would prefer if you kept it alive. Everything else is fair play, except Unforgivables, but it's not like you'll be able to cast them anyways,' He gave a small chuckle, and was interrupted by a disapproving cough.

Bagman stopped and smiled bracingly. 'We have four breeds of Hippogriff for each of you to face, an exact replica of which you will draw from this bag, with the number at which you will enter the arena. We have the Chestnut, Stormy Grey, Pinkish Roan and Bronze varieties, all equally dangerous though the Bronze is particularly vicious.'

Harry almost burst into laughter in relief. Hippogriffs, why - they weren't dangerous at all. He had even flown on one.

Bagman continued, 'They are classified as XXX magical beasts - dangerous unless tamed, which I assure you these are not. Not tamed, that is. These are from the forests of Serbia, unused to humans and not responsive to etiquettes such as bowing, which you might have been taught,'

Harry's smile lessened, but he was still unconcerned. A few stunners could easily subdue one, along with an inarcerous for good measure: a Hippogriff would be as harmless as a Flobberworm. It wouldn't be much of a challenge.

Bagman offered the bag to Fleur, 'Ladies first.'

She took out a faint pinkish coloured snorting little Hippogriff with the number 1 hanging from its neck. 'Cute,' was all Fleur said.

Warrington got the Chestnut, and Krum got the Stormy Grey, both of them barely gracing it with a look. Hippogriffs really weren't much of a concern to anyone.

Harry took out the Bronze one, which proudly flew a few inches above his hand. He was number 3. Bagman winced and gave him a reassuring look. Harry looked back confusedly. He couldn't understand what the fuss was about.

Bagman once again addressed the Champions, 'I am sure all of you are wondering why you have to face Hippogriffs and not something worthy of this prestigious tournament,' he grimaced, 'The answer is simple, the French Ministry did not give the required permits to import Dragons. However, Hippogriffs were allowed.'

Bagman looked around, meeting each of their eyes.

'But to make this task a bit more exciting, we decided to introduce an unprecedented twist,' he paused dramatically, '...you cannot take or use your wand inside the ring.'

Sounds of outrage burst out in the tent. Krum looked downright furious, 'Are we battle vild beasts with our bare hands, then?' he said scathingly.

Bagman raised his hands placatingly. 'Not if you don't wish to, Mr Krum. Please keep calm. As I said - wands will not be permitted inside the ring. However, outside the ring, you will have five minutes to cast any spell on yourself or otherwise, summon or conjure any object or perhaps give yourselves a nice outfit. After which you will face your chosen opponent. The objective is to last ten minutes inside. You will be given points on your ability to avoid injury, and a few for style from myself,' He flashed a smile.

'Any questions?' He asked, looking around.

A few moments passed before Warrington said, 'Could you repeat our instructions once again?'

'Certainly,' said Bagman, 'You will face the Hippogriff you have drawn from the bag at the given number - last in your case. You will be given 5 minutes with your wand, outside the ring, to cast any spell of your choice to help you in your task. After that, you will have to leave your wand outside to face the Hippogriff, and spent ten minutes inside with it to complete the task. Keep in mind it will probably try to kill you.'

Warrington raised an eyebrow and muttered 'Thanks', retreating to whatever thoughts he was occupied with. They all were - deep in thought, thinking of ways on how to face a Hippogriff wandless and escape unharmed. Harry was finding it hard to come up with anything. None of the spells in his arsenal were even close to helpful when faced with such a situation. The words Bagman had said kept repeating in his mind. 'Keep to the sides' - that made even less sense now.

After a sizeable amount of time, the gong rang for Fleur to enter. Harry offered her a reassuring smile as she went and Harry could have sworn he saw the hint of an answering one on her lips as she walked out, confident and lethally beautiful.

Their tent was on one of the several lawns on the Beauxbatons grounds, in the middle of which their task was to take place. Temporary stands had been constructed in a circle to form an arena, and the crowd roared as the home Champion walked out. After five minutes, another bell rung, signalling that Fleur was about to enter the ring. Harry paced inside his tent, and the only hint he got of what was going on were the peaks and troughs of the crowd's noise. He desperately wondered what Fleur could have come up with; and what in the name of Merlin's left toenail he was going to do when his turn came.

Huge cheering broke out at the end of her time, signalling that she had indeed managed to get through the task. Harry was relieved, but his anxiety also grew as his turn came closer. Krum walked out next, stoic faced. The crowd was much more subdued, and at one point it seemed as if something terrible had happened, but cheering once again broke out at the end - signalling that Krum had also probably succeeded. The pressure mounted in Harry's chest as he saw Bagman glance inside and call him.

After much thought, he had finally decided on summoning his broom - he could probably mange the distance - and somehow outfly the Hippogriff. It had a slim chance of working, but that was better than nothing. He didn't know any shield charm which would stick to his body and there didn't seem to be any other way to avoid the Hippogriff. Transfiguring his clothes to steel was beyond his skill level, and would probably be ineffective anyways.

Spots danced in front of his eyes as he walked out to meet the crowd and the sun, but it soon cleared. He marvelled at the enormous number of people gathered - the entire school was here along with many other guests. Blue and white banners rung from the sides and there was an explosion of chatter and people. The green grass rippled in the wind to reveal the majestic creature which would try to kill him. It had the front half of an eagle, the rear half of an horse and two enormous wings sprouted from its sides. Its difference from a normal Hippogriff was clear to see - the Skew-Whiff was at least twice as big. It restlessly walked around, not able to get past the magical borders which sealed it in and extended at least a few hundred feet high.

'Try not to die,' said Bagman and informed Harry he had five minutes to prepare.

'Accio Firebolt,' Harry cast towards the sky. It was two minutes before his broom arrived. The noise level grew as Harry tried to block it all out and focus on how to use his remaining time. He quickly elongated his sleeves and thickened his clothes as much as he could, knowing full well the Hippogriffs talons would cut through it, but grateful for the false security they offered nonetheless. He would have given anything for a suit of armour at that moment.

Soon the gong rang, signalling him to enter. He reluctantly let his wand drop from his fingers. The officials had assured him it would be kept safely while he faced the Hippogriff. He stepped inside, completely focused on the Bronze furred Skew-Whiff Hippogriff in front of him. It had sensed him the moment he entered the ring, and was enraged at the invasion of its territory. Harry wondered if it had been given some potion to make it angrier than usual, since he couldn't imagine the noble creature Hagrid had shown him to ever be this enraged. It screeched viciously and ran straight at Harry, making its animosity abundantly clear.

Message received, Harry said to himself as he mounted his broom. He had hoped for a moment that he would be able to look into its eyes and bow in respect to quiet it down, as he had once done. But there seemed to be no chance of that.

He went with his plan of outflying the creature. He took off into the air, adrenaline pumping in his veins as the wind slapped him in his face. But he soon realised there was a flaw in his plan. The space was much too small, and the Hippogriff much too adept at flying for him to have a chance to outfly it. Despite its size, the Bronze manoeuvred like a Firebolt, and Harry knew things had gone catastrophic the moment its beak caught the back of his broom.

A stray claw caught his arm, and drew blood in a long, thin, jagged line. It was like hot knives cutting into his skin, again and again. Blood trickled freely to the ground.

His heart throbbed wildly in his chest as he furiously changed directions to dislodge its grip. Its hot breath sent shivers down the nape of his neck, but he somehow managed to twist out of its grip. He chanced a glance back. It was far from harmless, as he had initially assumed. Without a wand - it was downright terrifying. His broom veered madly, probably damaged from the bite. He took quick, short breaths as he managed to bring his broom down.

The Hippogriff descended as well, a short distance away. It walked leisurely towards Harry, knowing full well it had its prey cornered. Harry held his broom in front of him, wondering if he would make it out alive. Sweat trickled down madly, and drenched the too thick layers he was wearing. He licked his parched lips, all the while looking into the eyes of the proud beast.

He was defenceless, and beginning to lose all hope.

The Hippogriff approached until it was a few feet away, and took a swipe at the thing-which-could-fly-but-wasn't-flying-anymore. Harry slashed his broom in front of him defensively, and stared as its front bristled half was torn out ruthlessly. His heart broke a little at the sight of his precious broom which was now little more a small piece of a stick. Rage mounted, but he could only stare helplessly at the Skew-Whiff. He still wielded the broom in front of him like a knife, only without the pointy part.

His only small, minuscule, impossible hope now was to look into its eyes and bow, and hope it would reciprocate. Though the sheer prospect was laughable.

Even as death stared him in the face, he couldn't help but marvel at the multitude of colours rippling down the Hippogriff's sides. It wasn't just bronze - it was an exquisite blend of several shades which ranged all the way from the fine rich timber of mahogany to the midnight black of the darkest night. Its eye was a sharp, piercing orange. It resembled a Griffin in many ways, Harry noticed. It rose on its hind legs and screeched loudly, bringing its razor sharps claws to bear down on Harry. He was on the edge of the ring - there was nowhere to run. So much for Bagman's advice.

But at that moment, something shifted in him. Perhaps it was the medley of colours which reminded him all that awaited him in his life, perhaps it was the semblance of a griffin which brought back some of that old Gryffindor courage, and of never giving up. He felt the crackling of the magical wall behind his spine, and just as the talons were directly going to bear directly onto his heart, he brandished the piece of wood - that was all that was left of his broom - in front of him.

'Protego!' He shouted with all his might, not feeling even a little bit stupid at what he was doing. He loved his broom almost as much his wand, there was no chance of it not repaying his trust.

He knew it was no less than his wand.

It was as good as his wand.

It was his wand.

A shimmering green shield sprang into existence in front of him, stopping the talon mere inches from his chest. A feeling of disbelief and ecstasy enveloped his senses all at once. The Hippogriff pawed at it, ran at it and attacked it viciously from all sides. But with Harry's back to the side of the ring which was like a solid wall - where the shield ended, the wall started - there was no touching him. He was perfectly shielded in a cocoon of pure magic, which the Bronze Skew-Whiff couldn't do anything against. Though it certainly tried, ramming itself with all its frenzied strength.

But to no avail - Harry just watched it with wide eyes, once again admiring its magnificent coat.

It might have been a few minutes, or it might have been a lifetime, but the gong eventually rung to signal the end of the task. Harry quickly scrambled outside the ring, feeling numb in the side of his arm. His cut was still bleeding profusely. The crowd suddenly came back in full focus as the full shock of what he had done hit him like a bus.

A bus which had barrelled straight into his ribs, blowing all the wind out of him. He clutched to the piece of his broom like a lifeline, as he was lead into a small medical tent. A mediwitch cast a few spells and healed his arm in a matter of minutes.

The full enormity of the situation slowly sunk in - he had survived, and not only survived, he had escaped with far less injuries than he could have ever imagined. All that - without a wand. A few weeks ago he had dismissed it, but this day Arxmancy had saved his life. He didn't know what to make of it. It was more bizarre than he could have possibly imagined.

He carefully placed the piece of his Firebolt inside his pocket, revering it like some priceless treasure.

He was lead outside to a place in the stands reserved for the judges and important guests. He saw the other two champions were already sitting there, not even trying to converse. He quietly sat down beside Fleur, who almost jumped a few feet up into the air on noticing him. He could see the relief shining in her eyes, her face still a bit ashen.

Without a word, she grabbed him into a bone crushing hug, filling Harry's nose with her pine scented shampoo.

'I was so worried,' she said, from his shoulder.

Harry returned her hug reassuringly, taking in the warmth of her soft body pressed against him. His face grew a bit red as the hug lasted longer than he would have expected. He calmed himself down by reminding himself of one of the sayings he had heard from someone - something about the French being very emotional. It didn't sound quite right, but at least it helped regain his composure. Eventually Fleur pulled back.

'I'm fine,' said Harry, feeling it didn't adequately express how he felt, but he couldn't find anything else to say.

'When it lunged for your chest,' Fleur breathed, 'I thought... I thought...'

Harry shook his head, feeling like he didn't deserve her concern, 'I'm fine now,' he repeated.

'I know,' she said quietly, and gave him a look which said they would talk about it later. She turned to watch the arena, at Warrington who had just come out.

Krum leaned towards him and said in a gruff voice, 'Good show.'

'Thank you,' Harry replied, a bit embarrassed - he didn't even know how he had done what he had done.

He turned his attention to the arena. The crowd was quiet as it tried to decipher what Warrington was doing. His movements were magnified on big screens placed around the stands. But he didn't do anything. He didn't cast any spell, but simply stood there, looking around, and waving to the crowd occasionally, like he didn't have a care in the world. It was inexplicable.

The seconds slowly ticked by.

At the end of four minutes, Warrington called Mr Bagman, who was standing nearby in case of any problems. Bagman approached, and an argument broke out between them, with Cassius waving his hands about in an uncharacteristic fashion - as if he was very worked up. Just before his five minutes were up, he pointed his wand at Bagman and cast a couple of spells: Expelliarmus and Accio. Before Mr Bagman could react, his wand flew out of his hands and into Warrington's. Just as the gong rung, Warrington dropped his own wand and stepped into the ring.

The arena didn't eject Bagman's wand from inside as it would have done to Warrington's. A smirk plastered the Slytherin's face as he approached the raging Hippogriff, supremely unconcerned. Just as Harry had envisioned, Warrington cast three stunners is quick succession. The Chestnut Hippogriff grew noticeably weaker, its enormous wings drooping.

Warrington cast 'Incarcerous!', and then another one for good measure. Ropes shot out, binding the creature securely. It was so weak by that time, it didn't even try to struggle. It couldn't screech either, a couple of ropes wrapped around its beak holding it in place securely.

He put up his hands and bowed mockingly to all corners of the crowd, which was grumbling in discontent. A few jeers and catcalls came his way, which he ignored. Warrington looked as if he was struggling to hold in his laughter, and sat down on the grass, with a nonchalant eye on the Hippogriff.

A couple of minutes had barely passed.

At the end of the most boring and uneventful ten minutes the crowd had seen, Warrington got up, dusted his robes and walked out. Harry wanted to punch him. Had they all gone through so much trouble only for this upstart to breeze through without retribution?

He also wanted to punch himself for not thinking of it first.

Retribution - at least a form of retribution - did come when the points were announced. Before that though, Cavalier made a small announcement.

'Mr Warrington did not break the rules, as the rules stated that the competitor was not allowed to carry his own wand. Anybody else's wand, much to Mr Bagman's disappointment, was fair play. It was something, I confess, that we had overlooked. However, it has been determined that Mr Warrington's actions were not in the spirit of the competition; and it would be a disrespect to his fellow competitors as well as to the Tournament for it to be overlooked. This will be accordingly reflected in his judging. That would be all. Thank you.'

He sat down in a jerking sort of motion as Ludo Bagman called out 'Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons,'

Madame Maxime shot out a large glowing ten out of her wand, while another nine came from Dumbledore, a six from Karkaroff, a ten from Bagman and an eight from Cavalier. That made it 43 in total.

Krum received a six from Maxime, a seven from Dumbledore, a nine from Karkaroff (blatantly unfair), an eight from Bagman and a seven from Cavalier. That made it 37 in total for the Durstrang Champion.

Harry received an eight, a nine, a six, a ten and a nine. Which added up to 42. He was the second highest till then, something he would have thought impossible before the task. He still couldn't really believe it.

Warrington received five sevens, something which perhaps the judges had all unanimously decided on, since there was objectively nothing wrong with his performance. Seven was as high as they would go, and seven was what they had given him for not competing in the proper spirit of the Tournament. That made his points 35 in total. Not bad, considering the effort (or lack thereof) he had put in.

Harry joined Fleur on the way back to the castle, walking close as the crowd milled about and shouted their congratulations. The Tournament officials had said information about their next task would be given at night, and they all were to arrive at eleven on the grounds. Till then, there was no other obligation the Champions had to fulfil. Harry glanced at Fleur walking beside him, her expression as calm as a still wind blowing over a lake.

'How did you do it?' Fleur asked, catching him looking at her. Both of them knew what she was asking about.

'How did you do it?' he countered,' I didn't even see yours,'

Sensing he would rather talk about his experience some other time, Fleur decided to answer his question. She shrugged, trying but failing to look modest,

'I turned myself invisible, but the Hippogriff smelled me,' she said, 'then I shot fireballs at it, and eet ran away like a leetle dog with its tail between its legs,' she laughed lightly, recalling the incident.

Harry looked at her in awe, 'You can do wandless magic?!' he exclaimed.

Fleur nudged him, 'No, silly boy. It's a part of my Veela heritage - my Veela form can summon fire and throw fireballs. Remember - I told you.'

Harry shook his head, 'That's... well, that's pretty awesome. No wonder you weren't hurt.'

Fleur looked pleased, 'It grazed my lower back while I was transforming, but that was it.'

'Was it bad?' Harry asked concernedly.

'Not as much as yours,' she replied.

'You don't even know how deep mine was,'

'More than mine,'

'How can you say that?'

'I can tell.'

Harry huffed - she was really irritating sometimes. But he rather preferred the irritating Fleur to the dull and moody Fleur he had seen a few days back. She hadn't responded properly any time he had tried to talk to her. Despite her outward confidence, she had been extremely nervous before the task. Harry himself had felt the same, but had tried to talk Fleur out of brooding nonetheless. It had taken his mind off his own worries, despite the fact that he felt like the biggest hypocrite in the world while talking to her.

A short silver haired girl suddenly appeared out of the crowd. Harry remembered having seen her picture in Fleur's room. She looked to be around eight and was a splitting image of her sister.

'Fleur!' she came running and squealed happily as Fleur lifted her a few feet off the ground. Fleur set her down and looked at Harry,

'This is Gabby, my little sister,' she said, her face lit up like a thousand glowing candles.

'My name is Gabrielle,' the little girl protested. She turned angrily to her sister, her hands on her hips.

'You scared me,' she said accusingly, 'I couldn't see you when you threw those fireballs at that Hippo,'

'Hippogriff,' Fleur corrected.

'I don't care,' her voice rose, 'You got hurt, and that Hippo-whatever was really scary. I couldn't even see you,' She stretched the word 'see' in her little tirade, making sure Fleur understood her mistake. The little girl had been scared beyond reason when her sister had suddenly disappeared and all she could see was the Hippogriff viciously attacking her.

Fleur crouched to her height and looked into her big blue eyes, 'I'm sorry, Gabby. I'll buy you a donut to make up for it?' she asked, softly.

Gabrielle's eyes lit up, 'This weekend,' she insisted.

Fleur laughed, 'Alright.' She looked back at Harry, 'She's crazy about donuts,' she said in a stage whisper.

Harry smiled, bemused at the girl's antics.

Gabrielle tugged at her sister's hand, 'Maman and Papa want to see you,' she said.

Fleur's face hardened, 'Do they, really?' she sighed, 'Let's go,' she said, looking back at Harry apologetically.

'No problem,' he said, I'll see you later,'

'Au revoir, Harry,'

Harry walked confidently, feeling better than he had in weeks. His high at besting the Hippogriff hadn't died down yet, and he didn't think it would anytime soon. He brushed his fingers across the thin scar which ran along his arm, phantom pain flitting across his mind. He didn't think he would ever forget those few heart stopping moments when it had been just him and the Hippogriff and nothing between them.

Aurelie had asked to meet her on the west side lawn after the Tournament finished - if he wasn't critically injured or dead, Harry had added. Aurelie had punched him and told him to not joke about such things. Remembering his promise, with the added fulfilment of his clause, Harry broke away from the crowd. He walked leisurely along the shingly pathway, thrill and relief still coursing through his veins.

Aurelie was exactly where she had described she would be, sitting on one of the benches.

But she wasn't alone. Beside her was a very familiar lady, who was eyeing him like a piece of unwrapped chocolate as he approached.

'Surprise!' said Aurelie, 'I knew you could do it.' She stood him and gave him a small smile, which seemed a bit forced. Her attention was still on the woman standing beside her.

It was in direct contrast to Fleur's reaction, and this flippant dismissal made the Gryffindor a bit cagey.

'Harry,' she said, 'I think you've met, this is-'

'Miss Simon,' he cut in coldly. It was the reporter he had talked to at the Weighing of the Wands. Despite his earlier interest, he no longer felt inclined to talk to any other reporters. He had no interest in reliving his harrowing experience so soon. Aurelie knew he detested the attention, and yet she was introducing him to a reporter.

He had thought she would have prepared something else. She liked baking, so perhaps a cake or something.

Certainly not this. He didn't want any extra publicity. He was completely and utterly shocked. Disgust ran ice cold through his veins.

'Where are the photographers?' he asked, almost sincere in his tone. Perhaps that was why Aurelie glanced back for a moment and said,

'I... don't think-'

'And only one reporter?' Harry drawled sarcastically, 'Why, Aurelie, one might think you wanted to keep this low key,' He almost growled at the end, glaring at her.

Aurelie was at a loss for words.

Miss Simon, however, took this moment to make her presence felt.

'This young lady here tells me you are planning on getting emancipated. Since you are a part of the Tournament, and this decision is obviously an important one for your life, I would like to ask a few questions,'

'No,' said Harry bluntly. He was in no mood for niceties.

It wasn't about the First Task, so perhaps Aurelie wasn't as insensitive as he had first thought. But with the tournament going on, emancipation was about the last thing on his mind. At Aurelie's insistence, he had sent a letter to Gringotts enquiring about the feasibility of her suggestion. That was all he had actually done about it.

At the moment, he wouldn't have even objected to a little celebration. But whatever this time might be suitable for, it certainly wasn't one for an interview. Perhaps his red haired friend had sensed his thoughts, because she spoke up.

'This was the only time she was allowed inside,' Aurelie looked at him pleadingly, 'It will help your case if you go public,'

'I'm not interested,' said Harry.

'Just a few questions,' Aurelie insisted, 'It could be crucial to your emancipation. Everybody will find out eventually,'

Harry shook his head.

'Please, Harry. I did this for you,' Aurelie's face was as pure as driven snow, 'You owe this to yourself,'

The sincerity and desperation in her voice was hard to ignore. He hated to do it but... Harry gritted his teeth, 'Fine,' he said, sitting down. There was no going back.

'Thank you,' said Louise Simon, reporter for La Vérité, in a pleasant voice, 'Please put yourself at ease...'

Chapter Text

Dementors Demented?

- By Martha Wadlee

In the early hours of Monday morning, ministry officials arriving at Azkaban were shocked by the sight of inmates lying with lifeless expressions on their faces. The prisoners spoke only in garbled English, or Russian in case of infamous inmate Ivan Kuznetsov. They did not move, eat or appear to have any working mental facilities. Not one prisoner appears to have been spared. Only a husk of what they used to be remains.

These symptoms are the defining characteristics of a wizard having been subjected to a Dementor's kiss. Dementors feed on positive emotions and suck the happiness out of a person, and in case of their kiss - the very soul of a wizard. Ministry guidelines dictate that Dementors are not permitted to administer their kiss on inmates without permission. However, Dementors have blatantly violated Ministry rules, and left the prisoners mere shells of their precious selves - a fate many consider worse than death.

Such mass anarchy has never been documented in the history of Azkaban.

Is it just another failing of the ministry? Or perhaps an attack by the dementors on wizard-kind as they plan to take over our community? It is well known that the Patronus charm, an advanced spell capable of being performed only by wizards of high caliber, acts as a shield against these horrible creatures which now threaten our very existence. It is currently unknown why the resident Aurors were unable to prevent such an event from taking place.

Minister Cornelius Fudge has refused to comment on this matter. Retired war veteran Auror Moody said: "They deserved to die, but they aren't dead".

Are we to fear rogue Dementors wandering our streets and terrorising our children?

To this, the Ministry only had a short response: "No."

We fervently hope that such is indeed the case and Dementors are promptly brought under control. It has been theorised that this attack on our prisoners was only the work of one rogue dementor, and it should not prove too difficult to identify the creature responsible for this catastrophe. This begs the question, if Azkaban is indeed the ideal prison we want to have, if the jailers themselves cannot be prevented from feeding on prisoners. This lapse by the Ministry is only another one in the long series of incidents which have taken place, with unexplained causes.

We can only hope that Dementors are not planning to take over the world.

A black German Shepherd trotted along the streets of Paris, following a rather old gentleman wearing a large overcoat. The man briskly walked through the busy street, looking behind surreptitiously before entering a narrow alley. It was a dead end to any passerby, but he simply walked through the Eiffel Tower graffiti on the far wall. He didn't notice the little black dog hopping through joyfully behind him.

The bustling Grande Rue came into view, and the black dog continued to follow the man as he walked into a small store selling magic trinkets for household work. It was cramped with whirring and shining devices, and plenty of clocks. The man nodded to the shop owner and excited through a back door. It lead to a small windowless room filled with some old stuff covered with white cloth. The man stopped, and spoke to the wall in front of him,

'It's been a long time, my friend,' he said gravely,.

There was some scuffling as the small dog behind him changed into a rugged, escaped convict who had a grin on his face. His glamours to give him brown hair and a moustache were slowly fading. They faced each other.

'You're not a very easy man to find, Sebastien,' Sirius said, hugging him before standing at an arm's length.

'I prefer it that way,' said Sebastien, surveying him fully, 'Keeps the riff-raff away,'

'Riff-raff?' Sirius wrinkled his nose, 'I won't deny I feel that way,'

'You look the part, as well,' Sebastien grimaced, 'What have you been doing with yourself?'

There was a glint in Sirius' eyes as he slung an arm around the man's shoulders, 'Oh, you know they say - Look like the dog. Sleep like the dog,'

Sebastien quickly stepped away from Sirius, 'No, you don't,' he protested, 'You need to take a bath first,'

Sirius shrugged, 'Your loss,'

'So, how did you escape your country? I thought our security was better than that. To be honest, I thought you were joking when you said you would drop by,'

Sirius winced, 'I'd rather not get into the details, but I'm here on business,'

Sebastien smiled broadly, 'I thought I'll never hear you say those words. Okay, what's up?'

'I need to break into Beauxbatons,'

Silence. Dead silence except for the muffled ticking of clocks outside the room. The atmosphere had shifted as suddenly and quickly as the breathe he sucked in. Sebastien tried his best to remain calm - Sirius sure didn't mince his words.

'I know you were imprisoned wrongly last time around, but-'

'I know,' Sirius looked completely serious. The dark shadows behind his eyes did not flicker for a moment.

Sebastien took a deep breath, 'Why?' he asked finally, in a strained tone.

'I need to see my godson, in flesh, as soon as I can,' Sirius' voice was unwavering and dangerously steady. Of course Sirius couldn't visit him the usual way - he was a dangerous felon who had illegally travelled to another country.

Sebastien's eyebrows shot up and travelled down slowly, 'Your godson?' His voice had the slightest suggestion that he was asking who in the world was crazy enough to make Sirius their kid's godfather. On a happier, normal day Sirius would have calmly replied - Prongs, who else? But sadly, this wasn't one of those days. So Sirius did not make any show of dramatics and simply said,

'Harry Potter,'

There were a few clocks which ticked on the seconds, and others which made a sound like a trumpet at every three.

The Head of the French Auror department pinched the bridge of his nose and stared at Sirius incredulously, 'And you thought I was the best person to ask?'

As if Harry Potter wasn't the most sensitive and important foreign national residing in France at that very moment.

Sirius' answer was instantaneous, 'Of course,'

Sighing in resignation, Sebastien put an arm around Sirius' shoulders, leading him out of the room. He desperately tried not to feel like he was escorting a particularly dangerous prisoner to a secure holding facility.

But he checked if his wand was still in its arm holster, anyways.

'It's been a long time since you visited Delacour mansion,' he said, exciting the dingy shop.

Sirius' face brightened, 'Aye, that it has. Say, shall we get a drink on the way?'

'No,' said Sebastien, in a hurry, even though he felt like he needed a drink very much, himself.

'And that's how you do it,' Fleur said triumphantly, materialising behind Harry. She poked the back of his neck and he groaned. They had taken one of their breaks while practising Occlumency, after Harry complained his head was hurting.

Fleur had offered to try and teach him a basic Invisibility charm, but Harry was having a hard time mastering it. He hadn't expected to get it right away, of course, but approximately zero progress after an hour was sort of discouraging. He had only managed to vanish the little finger on his left hand. At his glum face, Fleur laughed and said, 'You'll get it eventually. We have about an hour left, we should continue with Occlumency,'

Harry had managed to improve in leaps and bounds after the first task, much to their combined delight, but he still had the feeling he could do better. He felt nauseous while doing it, and always got a bad headache after exerting himself.

'I have something new planned for today,' said Fleur, after both of them were seated, 'It helps with the kind of mental blocks you're having,' she paused, 'Maybe you should try changing your mental picture - it helps occasionally,'

Harry blinked, 'But I've been using the cabin in the boat with Hagrid for forever,'

Fleur nodded patiently, 'Maybe it's not the right one for you - you just need to try something else,' She had another suspicion, one that she didn't voice. Harry had always been sensitive about his relatives - maybe they were the reason he wasn't feeling as comfortable as he should have been in his mindscape.

'How will I know it's better?'

'You just... will. It'll feel better, sort of when I look for dresses and I know that one's the right one for me. Get what I mean?' she raised an eyebrow, 'You'll know,'

Harry looked away distractedly, 'Yeah...' he said.

Fleur wondered why he looked off, but shrugged it off, 'Try it,' she said.

'What... uh, right,' he said, closing his eyes and focusing hard on another memory, this time it was of his bed in the Gryffindor dormitories. The only place he could think of the top of his head where he felt safe - mostly. The red, yellow decorations and the calming presence of Hogwarts soothed his mind.

'Whenever you're ready,' Fleur voice reached him through the darkness.

'Now,' he said, after a few minutes.

When Fleur attacked, he instinctively felt different - as if he had been stumbling over rocks and had now suddenly found a smooth, level road - although his lack of practise with the memory cost him. He smiled as soon as he opened his eyes, 'It's better,' he said, 'but not quite exactly what-'

'I know,' said Fleur excitedly, 'I could tell. Try another,'

He did, and met with a similar result. It was only after an hour that Harry felt confident enough in a memory to finally say that it was the one for him. He had finally found the right match. Fleur had her suspicions confirmed when he said it didn't have the Dursley's in it.

'That's great!' said Fleur, her wand feeling heavy in her hand after casting Legelimens for so long. But she made up it for it with a blinding smile.

'What memory is it exactly?' she asked.

Harry shook his head, 'You'll have to break through to find out,' he said, with a challenging smirk on his lips.

He felt really good about this memory, and it felt like a major breakthrough after months of effort. He didn't even have a headache after practising for so long. He glanced at the clock - it had been over two hours and it was way past curfew. He pressed his forehead experimentally - Nope, not a twinge. Maybe it was time he could finally start to figure out the strange visions he had been having lately. They didn't make any sense, but Merlin be damned if he didn't get to the bottom of it.

'Harry...' Fleur's lilting voice broke him out of his thoughts, 'You have to tell me,'

They had stopped addressing each other formally long ago. Fleur hadn't been pleased about it, but Harry had pointed out they had been frequently forgetting about it anyways and it didn't seem to have affected his lessons. Fleur had finally conceded that perhaps her tutor's method of teaching wasn't the best one to teach everyone - especially not friends. And with the Triwizard Tournament, nothing really seemed to matter that much anyways.

But it was still fun to tease Fleur, so Harry didn't feel like passing up the opportunity.

'Nope,' he said.

'Pleeeease,' she pouted.

Harry considered for a few moments, and said decisively, 'No,'

He knew that his skill in Occlumency was at a sufficient level that she would have a hard time breaking into his mind, especially if he dug deep and persisted - which he had every intention of doing.

Fleur bit her lip and stared at him for a few moments thoughtfully. Her demeanour changed all of a sudden. She leaned forward in her chair, and looked innocently into his emerald orbs. Fleur seemed to glow all of a sudden, and Harry thought she had never looked so radiantly beautiful. Her hair almost floated behind in a silver light. He became all too aware of the way the dress hugged her, and he forced himself to meet her eyes.

'Pretty please,' said Fleur, 'For me, 'Arry'

Harry flushed and internally cursed at the way his name rolled off her lips. Wait, what? That didn't sound quite right. Of course, Fleur was up to her old tricks again. He leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes, the spell broken.

'You know that doesn't work on me, ' he said smugly, though internally he was heaving a sigh of relief. He had been this close to revealing his memory. At this point, he didn't even how much was her Allure and how much it was she herself.

Fleur huffed, 'I thought I surprised you,'

Oh, she had no idea...

He forced himself to laugh, 'You'll have to try harder than that,'

Voldemort's dark robes lined with silver barely touched the ground as he sat at the head of the table. He sat with a contemplative upward curl of his lips as he surveyed the Death Eaters sitting around. They were mostly grumbling, or as close to grumbling as they dared to get with the Dark Lord's careful eyes watching them. It was supposed to have been a night of celebration, of drunken revelry and muggle killings at the very pubs they got their drinks.

They had done the unthinkable - the unimaginable. Haggard, sunken, pale faces lined the table at which the death eaters sat. Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood, Bellatrix Lestrange, all members of Voldemort's inner circle - the biggest breakout Azkaban had ever seen, and no one knew about it. The Dementors, natural allies of the Death Eaters, had instantly agreed to let the Dark Lord's followers go in exchange for feeding on the other prisoners. It had taken Voldemort barely a minute to Imperius the Aurors into submission, both of whom were now lying at the bottom of the cold sea.

Making bodies which looked like his Death Eaters took little more than a thought, and no one was the wiser for the ingenious breakout he had engineered. The bodies he had left behind were in identical condition to the bodies of the other prisoners who the Dementors had kissed, and nobody would know they had actually escaped. His most loyal stood by him once more, undergoing a daily potion regimen and it wouldn't be long before they made a full recovery.

Voldemort knew he was prepared. It was finally the time to strike. It was time for him to reveal himself to the world.

He knew he had to start with Beauxbatons. The boy prophesied to kill him had to die by his own hands before he took any further steps. If reports were to be believed, Harry Potter had exhibited wandless magic, which marked him as a very dangerous foe indeed if left unchecked.

No, despite his advisors' strongly suggesting otherwise, he knew he had to strike in France as soon as possible. In the last war, his limited vision had cost him. He had been satisfied with taking over Britain, slowly and painfully. He had been too casual and narrow minded. Grindelwald had had the right ideas. Why stop at Britain if the rest of Europe is there waiting for you?

He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

'Malfoy,' he said, his voice as smooth as silk, 'I assume you have the map,'

The owner of the house wordlessly handed over a thick roll of paper. Voldemort spread it out on the table, revealing a detailed map showing Beauxbatons. Each corridor, classroom and hall was marked in detail. More importantly, it showed the periphery of its grounds with an evaluation of how strong the wards were at which place. Most of it was uniform except for a few places marked in red which showed the weak regions.

'It's completely reliable, milord' Malfoy said, 'I got it verified from one of ours inside the school,'

Voldemort did not glance towards, nod, or do anything to acknowledge Malfoy's words. It was almost as if he could not be bothered by such conventions. He traced lines on the map with his wand, marking them in silver.

No one dared to speak while the Dark Lord minutely studied the chart. After an indeterminate amount, Voldemort straightened his shoulders.

'What about the wards above the school?' his tone wavered dangerously.

'It's... it's not in the map,' Lucius stuttered, tilting his head to look at it. His face had already gone white with fear.

'Crucio,' said Voldemort coldly, a sadistic smile on his lips as Lucius fell off his chair, writhing in pain.

'I know it's not on the map, you worthless fool,' Voldemort finally released the curse, 'Your information is incomplete,' he narrowed his eyes until they were mere slits, 'Next time I will not be so merciful,'

'Does anyone here know how to do a job properly?' he roared at the table.

Scared, anticipatory faces stared back.

'There are no physical wards above the school. Only a detection ward,' A man at the far end of the table spoke up.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, his wand pointing straight at the man, 'And how do you know this?'

'I made the map,' the man said, looking unflinchingly into the Dark Lord's eyes.

'Yes,' added Malfoy, his voice stretched and thin, a shade accusatory, 'Pierre's the one,'

Voldemort's voice was as hard as stone, 'Why are there no proper wards?'

'The only way from above is through brooms,' Pierre said, 'We will be too exposed to spells from the ground if we try that way. The detections wards will alert the school if someone is approaching from above, and they will be free to pick us off our brooms with wide range spells. It's a closely guarded secret, and a bait,'

Voldemort contemplated for a few moments and said dismissively, 'It can act a diversion,'

'Rabastan!' he barked, 'You will take five men and approach from above at my word,'

'Yes, milord,' Rabastan had escaped Azkaban not too long ago, but he was still grinning like a madman with the anticipation of the approaching attack. It would be like the old days, with bloodshed and spells weaving a web from which none would escape unscathed, except him of course.

'The rest of you will follow me to break the wards to storm the castle. Do not spare anyone who comes in our path,' Voldemort's lips curled up into a sneer,' except Harry Potter. That boy is mine.' He smiled thinly, 'But he will probably be cowering in the palace like the coward he is,'

'We will attack from the west wing,' Voldemort continued, 'They will be unprepared, and outnumbered.'

There was not a shred of doubt in his voice, nothing except absolute confidence and assuredness. He knew exactly what he would do, and no one would be able to stop him. He traced a line along the path from where they would break the wards and enter the grounds. 'Rookwood,' he drawled, 'I trust you will be capable enough to set up the anti apparition and portkey wards from outside. Take Dolohov if you feel your own expertise is lacking,'

He roved his eyes around the table, making sure to inject some fear into them by violently prodding their minds. He had to make sure he had their complete and absolute attention. Several of them clutched their heads. Bellatrix suddenly burst into a mad bout of cackling laughter, looking around derisively. Voldemort didn't miss a beat.

'We will occupy the Headmaster's office and I will assume control of the school wards and functions. Don't waste your time on the headteachers, I will take care of them.'

Barty almost reflexively started to say something, before realising it was a very bad idea to object to the Dark Lord. He closed his mouth instantly, but Voldemort had already heard his strangled squeak.

'Yes, Crouch? You wish to say something?' Voldemort almost dared him to object to the plan.

Barty shook his head vigorously, 'No, of course not, milord,'

'It's useless trying to lie to me,' Voldemort stroked his wand almost lovingly, 'Speak.' he commanded.

'Dumbledore,' Barty managed to get out of his throat in a fearful, constrained voice, 'he'll be there,'

Dumbledore, the only person who Voldemort ever feared.

'I'm sure he would want to.' Voldemort smirked, 'Now on to the next order of business. Yaxley,' he said in a commanding voice, 'Bring the girl,'

Aurelie had always been fond of boys with handsome faces, especially when they had aristocratic features and an enticing, mysterious smile. But on Voldemort, it looked just plain wrong. He should have looked more evil, perhaps a disfigured face and definitely some sunken cheekbones - something, anything to make him look mad would have done the trick. But he looked more the heir of a noble house, than an evil dictator trying to take over the world.

It didn't help that she was terrified of him and the darkness that came off in waves from his very presence. She knew what she had to do, but dreaded it. She had been dreading it ever since she realised she could not put it of any longer.

And now that she had been summoned - this was it. She had to stand up to him, remind him of their deal, but the very thought sent shivers down her spine. She was holding up her end, but without some certainty that he would hold up his, she couldn't go on any further. She would force him if necessary - call his bluff - that their oath had bound their magic. But she wasn't sure - she didn't know for sure - and she hoped to Merlin he didn't either.

She steeled her nerves, and remembered all that she had sacrificed to get to where she was. This was it, the moment of truth, when she would finally find out if her efforts would be to any avail. She clenched her hands until she felt her nails drawing blood from her palm, and looked up to meet the red, cold, scrutinising eyes of Voldemort.

'How far have you got with the boy?' he asked, each word taking a lifetime.

'He will get emancipated,' she said.

'How does that help me?' Voldemort sneered.

'His protection will end, you... you will-'

'Silence,' Voldemort hissed, 'This knowledge is not for common ears. What you propose is interesting, but only so if it is true. I require proof, not common gossip or lies. Can you prove your claim?'

The threat was evident in his voice. His patience had been tried long enough.

'Yes,' Aurelie nodded, thanking her stars that she had thought ahead to make sure she would have some proof when the time came, 'Yesterday's newspaper, Harry Potter said himself he would do it,'

That was stretching the truth a bit, but he had said he was considering emancipation. Voldemort's eyes bore into her skull, tearing thoughts from her mind. Tears came into her eyes, but she forced herself to not cry out or show any kind of weakness. She had to look strong.

'Interesting,' said Riddle, 'You truly believe you can do it,'

It was as if he was acknowledging for the first time that she could be useful - that her life held more value than that of a mere muggle. Perhaps Harry's protection bothered Voldemort more than she had thought.

'Yes,' she said, 'I can, but I made a bargain. I won't...' her voice shook, 'I won't do it otherwise. Your oath is tied to your magic - you have to... help me,'

It took all of Aurelie's willpower to get those words out. She half expected to be turned into fine particles of dust or be hit with the torture curse at least. She had threatened the Dark Lord in his lair. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. But neither of those things happened.

Riddle mockingly inclined his head, 'Lord Voldemort keeps his word,' Aurelie supposed he had a weird sense of honour, to go with his looks.

He stood up, 'My inner circle shall stay,' he said, making up his mind to proceed on to more important matters 'The rest of you - leave. Now,'

The sheer command in his words blew Aurelie away. It was as if his very voice had the Imperius Curse intertwined in it. The Death Eaters, normally a fickle bunch, didn't even look back as they left the room - not even to mock Avery who tripped over his robes and almost fell down.

Aurelie bowed and joined the Death Eaters leaving the room, still not able to shake off the cold feeling travelling down her spine. She also had a sense of victory. She had succeeded, though maybe he was just in a good mood, Voldemort had said he would keep his word. She fervently wanted to believe the Dark Lord - indeed, all her research had shown he kept his promises - but she couldn't quite shake off her feeling of helplessness, that she couldn't do anything about it.

She should have insisted on an Unbreakable Vow, but there wasn't any way to make such vows with disembodied spirits. She had done the best she could, and it was the only way to get what she wanted.

She wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she had turned down the opportunity.

She glanced around, looking for Yaxley to apparate her back, only she wasn't sure if he was a part of the inner circle. What if he was still inside that room, and she would have to wait for hours until the Dark Lord concluded their meeting?

She shivered at the thought, and the cold.

She didn't think she could stay in the manor for much longer - it was too dark and gloomy for her taste. The manor was enormous, but she supposed it couldn't hurt to look around for Yaxley for a little bit, if he wasn't in the meeting. The front door was wide open, and most of the Death Eaters were chatting outside on the lawn and apparating away. The stars shone brightly. She supposed she could start there.

She had barely walked a few steps before someone roughly grabbed her shoulder from behind and dragged her sideways into what appeared to be a small study full of books. She turned around with a furious face, ready to remind whoever it was that the Dark Lord would not be pleased if something happened to her. She wasn't scared - no, not at all.

Really.

But it turned out there was nothing to be scared of. It was only Pierre.

Pierre, with his neatly trimmed beard and roguish grin. He was wearing black Death Eater robes, though she knew he didn't have the Dark Mark - not yet, not while he had to keep his identity a secret. He was the one who had told her about Voldemort, though she hadn't dared to ask how he had got mixed with Britain's dead Dark Lord.

He cast a silencing charm and pinned her to the closed door with his hand, looking at her as if she was mad, 'You made a deal with Voldemort?' he hissed at her in French, 'What were you thinking?!'

Aurelie pushed him back - his concern was touching, but she wasn't made of glass. She could take care of herself. She smoothened imaginary creases in her skirt.

'I have it under control,' she said cooly, 'You don't need to bother yourself with it,'

'What the deal?' he growled, 'You know he'll never do what he said,' Pierre reached for her hand but she swatted it away.

'None of your business,' she said angrily, 'and he doesn't have a choice,'

'You don't need to keep it a secret,' he said, his words catching her surprise, 'You can tell me,'

Aurelie's features relaxed and she stared at the books piled up behind him, illuminated by the moonlight. She bit her lip. She hadn't considered that she could talk to Pierre about it. He was with the Death Eaters, surely he could be trusted not to betray her. She had known him a long while. And she desperately wanted to talk to someone about it - it had been festering inside of her for so long - she needed to talk to someone.

Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.

'It's Fleur,' she blurted out, 'that bitch,' she said viciously in a lower voice, but which wasn't low enough for Pierre to pretend he didn't hear.

'Fleur?' Pierre's eyebrows scrunched together, 'The Veela girl? What does she have to with this?'

'Everything,' Aurelie said forcefully, 'She's the entire reason I made the deal,'

'I don't understand,'

Aurelie's eyes became unfocused, 'She's so perfect,' she said bitterly, 'She's got everything - Looks, brains, money. Morgana! She's even got her Allure which simply draws boys towards her,'

'What?' Pierre was shocked, he had never seen this side of her before, 'You're jealous?' he ventured.

Aurelie gave a short bark of hysterical laughter, 'Jealous?' she giggled, 'How could I not be? We met before she became so... pretty. She was like me back then. I was her friend. Now...' a haunted look came into her eyes, 'honestly, I think the only reason I stick with her is because I'll be a nobody otherwise,'

It was a relief, getting all her inner demons off her chest. It was a blessed weight taken off her mind, in admitting who she really was and facing it head on. She knocked a paperweight off the table, rotating slowly. She felt like dancing. 'I can't stand that,' she whispered, 'At least this way, I'm Fleur's friend,'

She had been overshadowed by the Veela her entire life. There was only so much she could take without cracking. And she had cracked - cracked in a stupid, unforgivable way which she couldn't voice, but it would haunt her for the rest of her life. But it had got her somewhere - a place where Voldemort's promise could change everything for her.

Pierre was horrified, 'Can't you see how irrational that is?' he said, 'It's not healthy to-'

'He promised he'll change that,' Aurelie continued as if she hadn't heard him, 'I'll be like her,'

'Voldemort promised what?!'

'He'll turn me into a Veela,' Aurelie said dreamily, 'I'll be perfect, too,'

She wasn't particularly good in studies - what was the point of all that memorisation anyways? But she knew she had brains and could do anything if she put her mind to it. Nobody ever appreciated her for it, nobody even cared. And Fleur was miles ahead of her in the looks department - an unfair gift of her heritage. But it wouldn't matter anymore - nothing would. She could imagine her very own perfect world - where things weren't so unfair, where they weren't so damnably unjust and she was someone who mattered for once.

'Aurelie!' Pierre was shaken to the core, what had happened to her? She knew very well that Veela were born, not made.

'I'll be-'

'AURELIE!' Pierre grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him, 'Knock it off,'

Aurelie looked hurt, 'I thought you would be on my side. You understand how I feel, don't you?'

'I do. I'm always on your side,'

'Then why-'

'Don't you understand-' Pierre said, his eyes flaming but she cut him off, 'I do,' said Aurelie, 'It's all part of my plan,'

'What plan?' Pierre shook his head furiously, glaring at her, 'No, don't answer that. It doesn't matter. What's important here is you're crazy, and... and I don't know,' he threw up his hands, 'What can we do?'

Aurelie's features relaxed, 'I'll do exactly what I was doing, and it'll all be fine,' She wished she could believe her words herself.

Pierre was starting to think he needed to take her to a mind-healer, 'Absolutely not. I can't let you...Oomph,'

Aurelie had pressed a short kiss to his lips, and was now smiling at him sweetly. He forgot everything he had been saying, and cautiously touched his lip with a finger.

'You won't repeat anything I said, right?' her breath ghosted on his neck.

'No... no,' he stuttered, 'Never,'

She drew back, her blue eyes never leaving his for a moment.

'Last time... you said you weren't interested,' he said in a disbelieving voice. No, he reminded himself, don't get distracted.

'I did,' Aurelie said coyly, twirled on her toes and left the room with Pierre opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

He stared at the half open door, before her voice floated in once again, 'You coming? The apparition point is outside. I need a ride to Grande Rue,'

He shook his head, suddenly realising he hadn't been able to do anything at all to dissuade her. She had played him like a violin and he had been entranced by the beautiful, haunting melody; and done exactly what she had wanted him to. She knew he would never betray her - and he knew he couldn't - not now. He just hoped he could eventually make her realise what she was doing... before it was too late.

Pierre picked up the paperweight and put it back on the desk, before he left the room.

Chapter Text

The letter in his hand weighed as if it was made of lead. It explained a lot of things, but it posed a whole new set of problems for him. The broken Gringotts' seal stared at him in the face, challenging him to do something about it. Harry finally understood why Dumbledore hadn't called him to his office. He had expected the summons; dreaded it, even, but it had been four days since the article - stating his intention of being emancipated - had been published and there was no word from his Headmaster.

He hadn't congratulated Harry after the First Task, or even asked him about his display of wandless magic. In fact, the past few days - Dumbledore hadn't been seen at all, at meals or otherwise. It was almost as if he had disappeared from the school.

Harry hadn't dared to push his luck and ask around about the old wizard's absence. Everything was just fine as it was, he reassured himself.

The only problem was the letter in his hand.

He pushed his plate back from the breakfast table and got up, suddenly not feeling like eating anymore. He went back to his room, hastily took off his shoes and crashed onto his bed, roving his eyes over the letter once more. It was terse and direct, just as the Goblins preferred.

To the Heir of the Ancient House of Potter,

Harry James Potter,

Your request for emancipation and assuming Lordship of House Potter has been adjudged as having sufficient legal basis to proceed. Gringotts recognises your right to emancipation as acknowledged by both the British Ministry of Magic and the French Ministry of Magic. Gringotts requires your physical presence in any one of its main branches (of country), the presence of your wand on your person, the presence of your Magical Guardian Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and one drop of your blood at the earliest convenience to verify your claim and subsequent emancipation.

Wizarding lawyers and/or relevant witnesses are permitted but will have no legal authority within Gringotts premises.

May your gold always flow,

Manager Xealok

(Potter Vault Manager, Gringotts Wizarding Bank)

Harry stared at the ceiling. He should have known, but that was neither here nor there.

Two huge stumbling blocks stood in his path. His own physical presence at the bank, and the presence of his Magical Guardian - Albus too-many-middle-names Dumbledore. It explained all too well why he hadn't been called to the meddling wizard's office. Dumbledore never permitted Harry to leave Beauxbatons, and he would never willingly go to Gringotts himself.

He somehow knew what the Goblins would demand, and he had acted accordingly.

If anything, Harry would have to go to Dumbledore to ask for his permission and help. Consequently, he would be in a very weak position to make any demands, which the manipulative old coot was surely counting on. He would be able to delay proceedings till at least summer, citing his stupid safety concerns, and Harry didn't see any way of changing his mind.

The worst part was that Dumbledore had the authority to prevent Harry from leaving the school, especially since he was in France.

Harry cursed internally. He had expected Dumbledore to approach him and ask him to change his mind, which he would have thoroughly enjoyed shooting down. Instead, Dumbledore was the one holding the cards here and Harry didn't like it one bit.

Another troubling thing was: Why did the Goblins want both of them at the bank? Harry didn't know much about legal proceedings, but the way the letter was phrased it seemed as if there was going to be a trial or something similar. From what Aurelie had told him, he had understood that there was already proof of 'sufficient legal basis'; and Gringotts had agreed as much. Aurelie had said the rest would be mere formality, but it curiously didn't appear that way. His Magical Guardian should have in no way been involved in the matter.

Harry couldn't help but think Dumbledore had something to do with it, as he threw the letter away with as much force as he could muster. Annoyingly, the letter didn't oblige. It calmly floated in the air, entered its envelope and gently came to a rest beside him, much to his disgust.

'Thank you all for arriving at such short notice,' Bagman beamed around at all the four Triwizard Champions.

It was an hour after midnight and they were assembled near the back of the palatial white school glowering over them. An ornate brazier was placed in the centre of the garden, and it cast jumping flames and shadows all around them. Cavalier paced around surveying the scene.

The Champions had been informed at dinner, after almost a week of repeated delays, that they would finally be told what their Second Task was to be. They stood waiting under the watchful eyes of the stars, listening intently to Bagman.

'The Second Task will start at the base of the mountain over there,' said Bagman, pointing at a small but barely visible line of red lights shining in the distance. It marked the place from where the ground discernibly started sloping up from the plateau, in the which the school was situated. The mountains were an imposing, otherworldly presence rising up in the dark; the forests a foreboding dark green up the slopes - dense at the base but becoming thiner higher up.

Four purple lights shone brightly on one of the peaks - a particular peak which somehow jutted out far higher than those surrounding it - and Bagman pointed to it as he continued.

'Each source of light, or beacon, as we call it, has been allotted to a particular Champion. We will not tell you which is which, and neither will we tell you what your goal is. Since all of you have passed the First Task, I am allowed to freely tell you that your aim for this task is written in the sky above us; at this very moment,' Bagman met each of their eyes one by one, his face solemn and portentous.

His voice was dramatic as he continued, 'Take a good look above you, Triwizard Champions, for that is the only clue you will get for the Second Task,'

Bagman bowed low; green and red sparks whizzing around him from the ground. There was a small boom with a burst of smoke, and Bagman jumped up, clutching his feet. He gingerly put it down and looked at the incredulous faces without a shred of embarrassment.

'Long time since I used that spell,' was all he offered. Cavalier's stoic expression didn't waver for a second. He nodded to the Champions and set off walking across the lawns.

'That's all, folks,' Bagman said, 'I'll leave you to it.' He looked at his watch, 'I'm guessing you have... around five hours before the message vanishes. Needless to say, no outside assistance is allowed for this duration. Each of you are being closely monitored and any attempt at communication with your respective Headteachers or anybody else, will result in a severe point penalty,'

He gave them a weak grin and hurried after Cavalier, almost missing the stone step to the slightly elevated gravel path and stubbing his toe in the process. The two soon disappeared into the dark, dreary night.

Closely monitored?

Harry looked around for anybody at the edge of the garden border, who were presumably guarding the place, but found nothing. It wasn't a very big lawn - maybe around two Quidditch fields - but there was nobody stationed at any of its borders, as far as he could see.

He noticed the others doing the same, but it was Krum who after a couple of minutes approached the edge of the finely clipped grass. He took out his wand and muttered a few spells. The space just in front of his wand lit up, revealing a small criss cross of translucent yellow lines, which vanished after a heartbeat.

'It's warded,' he grunted as he came back, 'Ve can go out, but can't come back in,'

'So it's just us,' Fleur muttered to herself. She looked to Harry, 'I'm guessing you aren't an expert in Astronomy,' she asked.

Harry shook his head. Fleur's eyes roved around at the other two Champions, both of whom replied in the negative after a challenging eyebrow from the Veela.

'They know that,' Warrington said dryly, his voice cutting through the serene silence.

Fleur's head whipped around, 'What?'

The Tournament organisers know we aren't skilled in Astronomy. So whatever the clue is - it probably doesn't require any special knowledge,'

'That's... a bit reassuring,' Fleur said at last. Krum said something to a similar effect, and walked a small distance away. He clearly didn't want to be disturbed.

Warrington shrugged and conjured a chair near the fire. A simple but apparently sturdy structure, as the Slytherin lowered himself into it, after conjuring a couple more cushions.

'Might as well make ourselves comfortable,' he said. He focused his attention on the stars, trying to glean a message from their depths.

Krum followed suit, though his chair looked much more impressive.

The night was cold, and they were all dressed warmly. Fleur was especially thankful for the white and blue coat she was wearing as she conjured a small rug for herself and laid it on the ground. She sat on it, hugging her legs in front of her. Hmm, it was kind of cosy.

'Ummm... Fleur, could you...?' A faintly embarrassed voice came from her left and she realised she had completely forgotten about Harry. He looked pointedly at her rug and she thought for a moment he was asking her to move so he could sit. But he was gesturing to the space beside her, and she realised with a jolt that he wanted her to conjure another rug for him, since he obviously couldn't do it himself.

'Sorry, Harry,' she said, with an apologetic smile, and conjured a matching rug beside hers.

'Thanks,' the messy haired boy said, and laid down on his back on the conjured rug, looking for all the world like he didn't have a clue about what to do.

She herself barely did. Astronomy had never been her favourite subject, since it required very little magic. It was just a bunch of dull stuff like looking at complicated star charts and tracing the motion of the planets and moons. The few spells she knew were for imprinting a picture of the night sky on a piece of paper. Another came useful on cloudy nights, when a simple spell on the telescope lens would magically vanish clouds and rain when she looked in from the other side.

It was a rare cloudless night, and Fleur could think of nothing else other than to conjure a big chart of paper and perform her former spell. The visible night sky immediately appeared on her paper. The stars twinkled on it just as they did above her - a mesmerising picture. She could see Warrington and Krum had done the same out of the corner of her eye, and they were poring over their respective charts, deep in thought.

It was a draining spell, and she could feel her magical reserves take a noticeable dip after she performed it. She doubted she could cast two of them without completely exhausting herself. She said as much to Harry, who only remarked with a wry grin,

'I doubt it would have helped me anyways,'

'You can join me,' Fleur offered, but Harry declined.

'I want to see if I can figure it out myself,' he said, and turned his attention back to the night sky. It didn't appear noticeably different, and there was nothing obvious to go on. It was incredibly bizarre and aimless, yet he wanted to try himself.

Fleur would have insisted, but she understood why he didn't want any more help than he needed. She respected his decision, but privately decided she would share any findings with him; some other day, perhaps. The Tournament wasn't fair for him - he had been forced into a competition meant to challenge overage wizards. She was competitive, sure, but he deserved some help - as a friend, at least.

A voice in the back of her head pointed out that maybe he didn't need her help. It was the part of her that said that it would be foolish to underestimate him, to think he was weak. The First Task had shown her enough to dissuade her of that notion. She had been completely blown away that day.

She had seen the way he had flown, marked his grit as he challenged the Hippogriff in the air; twisted away from its claws as it had held his broom in a vice grip. A lesser man would have been cowered by those deadly claws and the hundred feet drop to the ground. But he defied all odds to land on the ground - with a broken broom, no less. He could have easily given up then, as the vicious predator stalked towards him, savouring its prey. There was no escape. But he had stared back, looking at Death straight in the eye.

He had the bold countenance of a man who had faced Death before, and come back stronger because of it. She had seen the look in his eyes - far older, far beyond his years. She wondered what secrets he hid behind those green orbs, what horrors he had seen. Because he had looked unflinchingly at the Hippogriff, as if it was nothing compared to what he had seen before, what he had faced and survived.

'Stop,' Harry said, far more commanding than she had ever heard before as she stumbled into a vast, underground chamber buried deep inside his memories. A huge statue dominated the forefront and a small figure lay unmoving on the ground. She thought she saw a ghost near the body before being roughly ejected from Harry's mind.

There were many things she had put together from their Occulumency lessons, many bits and pieces of memories which spoke of a hard life and horrors in his school years she simply couldn't imagine being true. She had put most of them down to nightmares, courtesy of an overactive imagination and - she suspected - traumatic childhood. But then there were some she couldn't ignore.

She still vividly remembered one of their lessons.

She rocked back in her chair, but her focus was only on the boy in front of her. He was livid - his anger lending strength to his mental shields, which threw her out even after she had expended a considerable amount of effort and magic. She hadn't meant to delve so deep, intrude so far; but Harry's shields had held strong for once, as she had pressed and probed, pointing out weaknesses and pushed further.

Then they had broken all of a sudden, and deposited her in that vast, damp, dreary chamber which she couldn't get out of her head.

And as she looked at Harry now, she knew that it hadn't been a pleasant memory - far from it. There was a dark, haunted look in his eyes as he presumably recollected those moments Fleur forced had him to relive.

'What was it, Mr Potter?' she asked, hating herself for asking but letting her curiosity get the best of her.

'I killed a Basilisk,' There was no pride in his voice, only sorrow and regret. He didn't look like he had realised he had spoken those words.

'What?!' she exclaimed, expecting anything but that. Had he gone insane?

He repeated his statement - monotone and carrying a depth of emotion at the same time.

Fleur almost started to believe him. But her common sense told her it was impossible. And then she tried to make sense of what she had just seen, at which point everything stopped making sense and she imploded.

She scoffed, ridiculed his claim, and called him a liar to his face. She didn't believed him; didn't want to believe him. There was a half thought in her mind which said he was only trying to impress her, like all the other boys.

So she lashed out, unthinkingly, hating him for trying to fool her to gain her sympathy; her admiration.

But he didn't lash back.

'My apologies, Miss Delacour,' he simply said. There was no warmth in his voice, no life, not even the trace of sincerity his apologies usually carried. It was a blank, robotic response to her tactless behaviour. She didn't dare to insult him again.

But the terrifyingly enormous snake skin she had seen lying on the floor of the chamber found its way into her dreams that night, and she wondered if Harry hadn't been lying after all.

Fleur shook her head, forcing herself back to the present. She looked at Harry's upturned face, and wondered why she had overreacted that night. The prospect had been so terrifying, her mind had simply blanked out and said the first thing it could come up with. To Harry's credit, he never held it against her, or even brought it up.

He understood her, in a way that few other people did. It was why she had come to trust him as quickly as she did.

Though Fleur still felt guilty.

'Find anything?' Harry asked, still looking up at the stars.

'No,' Fleur shook her head, mortified she had spent valuable time reminiscing - time which she could have spent in finding the all-important clue for the Second Task. Thankfully, Bagman had mentioned 5 hours, so there was still plenty of time to find anything if she could.

It was a moonless night, and the stars seemed to shine brighter than usual in the dark.

She turned her attention back to her chart of the night sky, and started comparing it to what she saw above to search for any inconsistencies. Anything which was there but shouldn't be, or vice-versa; anything which the Tournament Organisers could have planted to make for a clue.

An hour of fruitless search ensued, full of several false starts and wild guesses, which ultimately amounted to nothing. Harry finally got up and joined their rugs, taking her up on her offer as he curiously looked at the chart she had made.

'You're sure this isn't cheating, right?' he asked concernedly.

'No,' Fleur replied firmly.

'I don't want to drag you down, either,' said Harry, 'I mean, I don't know much-'

'It's fine, Harry,' Fleur gave him a small glare, 'I would enjoy your company,'

The invisible moon sunk lower in the sky along its elliptical trajectory.

Fleur traced another line with her wand, making a little loop at the end, 'Ursa Minor's done,' she told Harry.

Harry nodded with a worried expression, 'Do you remember any other constellations?' he asked.

Fleur's crestfallen look was answer enough for Harry. They had come to the end of their ideas. Their joined minds had been brimming with creativity in the beginning. Harry had started with the suggestion that they should only focus on the brighter stars and mark them. Fleur replied she was already doing that, but their search narrowed when Harry pointed out that Bagman had said to only look 'above them'.

After marking several hundred stars and trying to join them to make letters or words, they had the bright idea of looking for constellations - but it turned out they didn't know even ten between the two of them.

'Maybe there's a constellation up there which isn't usually?' Harry suggested, feeling a bit desperate.

To his surprise, Fleur agreed. She even looked hopeful as she pored over the chart, smiling briefly as if she had remembered some old joke.

Harry found he didn't have the energy to ask her about it. He simply rolled on to his back, preferring to look at the stars directly instead of from the chart. If Fleur had any objections, she didn't voice them.

It was easy to get lost in them, Harry mused, as he gazed at the infinite pinpricks on light; the shining majesty of the milky way and the way it made him feel - as if he was some insignificant speck of dust in the grand scheme of things; just some pretentious idiot trying to survive while the universe would move on, as it always did.

Then something caught his eye.

'Hey Fleur,' he said.

'Mm-hmm?'

'I found something,'

'What?! Really?' She rushed to his side, scarcely believing his words.

'Look,' Harry sat up and pointed upwards, 'That looks exactly like a flower'

Fleur's eyes shone brightly as she looked at where he was pointing... and shook her head in frustration as she couldn't find it.

'Where is it?' she said, annoyed.

'There,' he pointed again, 'Look carefully,'

Harry bit his lip as Fleur showed no sign of recognition.

'Show me,' she said finally, 'if it's really there,'

'Oh, it's there,' Harry said, laughing.

He scooted closer to her, his smile turning a bit apprehensive. He brought his face nearer till their reddened cheeks were almost touching, aligning their line of vision. He could feel the warmth from her body as he lifted his finger, making sure she followed, and pointed upwards to the collection of stars.

Fleur drew in her breath sharply, 'You're right,' she said,' It does look like a flower,'

There were thirteen stars in it - three which made the slightly bent stem and others which were arranged in the form of petals, to make what looked like a shining silver rose.

Harry smiled in excitement, 'I can't believe we finally found it,'

Fleur was more guarded, 'We've just started. We'll need to find more to be certain,' she nudged him, 'Don't get your hopes up,'

As it turned out, her words were not unwise.

Another hour yielded precious little. There were no constellations near it which were as distinctive and meaningful as the one Harry had found. Fleur found a snake, but as Harry pointed, almost any connection of stars would form a snake. It was discouraging, and their time was running out fast. It put Fleur in a bad mood, and she was starting to become a bit too irritable for Harry's taste.

'I wish I had some coffee,' Fleur moaned after an hour of fruitless work, 'C'est tellement frustrant!' she muttered under her breath.

He enjoyed talking to her, but when she relapsed into French, it usually wasn't a good sign. Harry sighed mentally. He wished he could reassure her, but the truth was that they simply weren't getting anywhere.

'I know,' he said tiredly, and jerked his chin to where the other two guys were, 'But I doubt they're doing much better,'

Krum was frantically making lines on his chart, erasing them and doing it again. His haggard face didn't look anywhere close to positive. Warrington, on the other hand, looked to be sleeping in his chair, with his wand hanging loose from one hand. Though it looked like he had given up, Harry didn't trust the Slytherin one inch.

Fleur huffed, and continued joining stars on her own chart. Annoyed with his own lack of progress, Harry found himself looking at her. The smooth contours of her face led to a slightly weary face, a pinched lip, and sharp blue eyes darting around the chart in concentration. Her silvery-blonde hair looked ethereal in the starlight, and as the cold wind kissed his face, Harry thought he would be content to sit there his whole life.

The picture shattered as Fleur looked up, 'Were you staring?' she asked, sounding more curious than annoyed.

'I... er...' Harry stuttered, still thinking of how the starlight caught the grass from her hair, 'No,' he said, 'Sorry, I didn't mean... Oh-'

His mouth hung half open as he stumbled to a revelation. It was a complete bolt from the blue... but...

There couldn't possibly be anything-

'Harry,' Fleur worried face swung into focus, 'Are you okay? You look like you swallowed a Remembrall,'

Starlight. How had he been so blind?

Harry barely got out a 'No' before jumping to his feet. He walked a few steps, before suddenly realising the very interested eyes of Krum and Warrington - who had miraculously woken up - were watching him carefully.

He quickly backtracked and stumbled into Fleur, who had also gotten to her feet. She steadied him with a hand, and looked at him concernedly.

'What happened?'

'Not so loud,' Harry whispered, 'I figured it out,'

They had been imbeciles of the first order to not consider the possibility earlier, but better late than never, as they say.

'At least I think I figured out the clue,' he said, 'I-'

'WHAT?!' Fleur exclaimed.

'Shhh,' Harry said frantically,' The others might hear. Keep your voice down,'

'What do you mean - you figured it out?' Fleur said in a lower voice.

Harry was bursting with anticipation, but he tried not to sound too hopeful as he said, 'Starlight - that's the answer,'

'What?' Fleur's eyes were scrunched in confusion.

'Remember what Bagman said,' said Harry, 'The answer is written above us - in the stars - in starlight,'

'I don't get it,'

Harry explained feverishly, 'There's a message which is written somewhere, in starlight. I think the light should illuminate the words, whatever they are,'

'That's...' Fleur hesitated, trying not to sound discouraging, 'That's a nice thought, Harry. But... it sounds a bit far fetched, doesn't it?' she said, not at all inclined to admit that all their hours of work had gone for nothing. Surely Bagman wouldn't have done something so stupid.

Harry shook his head furiously, 'It has to be right,' he insisted, 'You have to believe me. Why else haven't we found anything by looking at the stars and constellations and whatnot? Because there's nothing to find! We've been looking in the wrong place all this time!'

'I wish you were right,' said Fleur, with a sceptical expression, 'But if there's a message, why haven't we seen anything yet? There's no writing on the grass, or anywhere here,'

She had hit right on the part he had been struggling with.

'Look, Harry,' Fleur condescended, waving a hand around the garden, 'I'm sorry, but it's not here,'

Not here...

The final pieces of the puzzle finally clicked together in Harry's mind. Oh, they had been crafty. So very crafty.

'It is here.' His eyes shone with excitement, 'It's in the only place where the starlight doesn't touch the ground - beneath the fire,' he proclaimed triumphantly.

He was greeted with a kind of hardness in Fleur's eyes that he couldn't figure out.

'No,' she said shortly, and paused as if struggling to think of a good reason, 'It doesn't take any skill to figure this out. It's... too obvious,' she said, but it was clear she wasn't entirely convinced by her words herself.

Harry was a bit hurt and completely puzzled. Why was she acting so strange? Was it because she hadn't thought of it herself?

'I think it's worth a shot,' he said, 'What if I'm right?'

Stubborn blue eyes met steely green ones. 'All right, then,' said Fleur harshly, 'Let's find out,'

She automatically started to turn towards the fire, but Harry pulled her back.

'We figured it out,' he said, 'We can't let the other two know,'

True enough. They couldn't very well put out the fire and read the clue which might be there without the other two noticing. Fleur quelled her urge to go and find out for herself, and was about to suggest they think of something else.

But, to their surprise, both Warrington and Krum had gotten up and were walking towards the fire. Krum put out the fire with a casual swish of his wand. Harry and Fleur rushed over immediately - both surprised and dismayed. The timing simply wasn't making sense.

True to Harry's prediction, words starting appearing in silver lines on the grass as soon as the last embers of the fire died down.

'Merde!' Fleur stiffened, 'It's there,' She said incredulously.

'How did you find out?' Harry asked the other two Champions, disregarding Fleur for the moment.

Warrington sat on his haunches to examine the writing, and said mockingly, 'You should know better than to think that talking in low voices stops us from hearing what you two were saying,' he sneered, 'like those filthy muggles. It was easy to magically eavesdrop once it was clear you found something,'

'I am not proud of it,' said Krum, 'but this is war,' He shrugged.

Each word was like a hammer blow to Harry's pride. It was a stark reminder of where he was, what he was doing, against people who were set at all costs to beat their competition. Heck, maybe even Fleur...

No, not Fleur. Surely. But the other two... he shook his head. He felt stupid and naive for forgetting to be careful.

He read over the words carefully.

The Bane of ice and Foe of night,

Raging downwards in swift delight,

A beacon to retrieve,

'Fore fiendish death unweave,

An hour you shall have till twilight.

Harry read the limerick over and over until he was fairly sure it was engraved in his memory. He had a reasonably good idea of what it meant, and it filled him with a deep sense of dread. It was horrific, and terrifying.

He shook his head. He would have time to think about it later. His warm bed back in the school was starting to feel very inviting. He looked up.

Fleur was still focused on the writing, while the other two were already done reading and-

Merlin's saggy old Y-fronts...

Harry would have given anything for a camera at that moment, magical or otherwise - anything to capture evidence of this unforgettable moment. The Durmstrang and Hogwarts' Champions had a silly look on their faces, drooling and eyes glazed over. He had never seen them anything except serious or irritated, and now-

Krum had taken off his overcoat, wanting to show off his muscles. A deep sense of satisfaction spread through Harry. Serves them right, the cheating bastards. He grinned wildly.

They were enthralled, and completely in the grip of Fleur's allure. To their eyes, she was the most attractive person in the world and they would go to the ends of the earth to please her. As if sensing them, Fleur looked up with a faint, cold smile.

It was an unpleasant jolt. He had never seen her like this before. The look in her eyes sent a chill through Harry's veins. It was like there was somebody else standing in her place. Someone dark, mad and... dangerous. Her eyes were a dark blue, glowing brightly in the dark.

She held up a hand and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, and it was as if faint breeze passed through them. She slowly took a few steps backwards - careful, controlled ones. Then, all of a sudden, it was gone.

'Stop,' she said forcefully, her eyes back to their normal gentle hue. Warrington stumbled backwards from the steps he had taken towards her. Krum quickly put on his fur overcoat, shivering as he did so.

They looked mortified, rightly so, and stumbled over their words in frantic apologies. Harry couldn't help but savour their humiliation - they deserved it. They deserved every bit of it - for their little stunt earlier. They hadn't even been ashamed of it, and he was happy for once that unfairness didn't go unpunished, as it so often did.

Fleur stopped them after a while, with an apologetic look on her face, 'I'm the one who should be sorry,' she said, 'It's been a long night and...' she gulped, but put on a confident face, 'I lost control of my Allure, and I'm not proud of it, but I promise it will never happen again,'

She really did look sincere, and the embarrassed Champions had a slightly disgruntled look on their face as they slowly realised they weren't entirely to blame, perhaps not at all. But what was done, was done. So they put on a hard face, waved away the Veela's apologies and left the garden, privately nursing their sore wounds in shared commiseration.

Harry burst into laughter as soon as they were out of earshot, clutching his stomach as he remembered their antics. After a while, Fleur joined him as well. A clear spring of water bubbling with mirth.

They stopped after a while, completely out of breath.

'You really didn't do it on purpose?' Harry asked, still leaning on his knees. He had convinced himself that Fleur had loosened her Allure intentionally - as payback - and the thing with her eyes had just been something to scare them. Too bad they didn't see her, since she turned her eyes away from them almost instantly. But he had to ask, just to be sure.

The smile didn't die from Fleur's face, but her words were hollow as she said, 'Non, it was an accident,'

'I... what...' Harry fumbled, he had so many questions he didn't even know where to begin.

'Later, Harry,' Fleur said tiredly. She looked exhausted. Utterly spent.

He wondered if it had anything to do with what he wanted to ask her. But this wasn't the time to pester her with questions. He nodded understandingly, matching her step as they walked back to the palace. He felt the light ripple of wards as they left the lawn. He stopped just outside, causing Fleur to look back in surprise.

'I just thought of something,' he said, looking up at the sky. A smile tugged at his lips as he found what he had been searching for.

'Look,' he said. Fleur cast her gaze above, instinctively knowing what he was referring to.

There it was, in all its majesty - the shining silver rose hanging in the night sky.

'It's still there,' she whispered, 'It's real,'

Harry knew what she meant - it was an actual constellation, and not something which had been planted there as a part of the Tournament. A constellation - which he might have discovered himself.

'Do you think it has a name?' she asked him.

It would have been a difficult question... if he hadn't known exactly what to call it.

'Yes,' Harry replied softly, 'it has a beautiful name,' His heart beat a little faster than usual as he whispered, 'like it's namesake,'

He felt her gaze settle on him - scrutinising, interested.

'Go on,' she breathed, stepping closer.

'Fleur,' he answered, looking into her eyes, 'If I name it - I'm going to call it... Fleur,'

The Lumos spell lighting the tip of her wand dropped slightly, though she must have known what he was about to say. As far as he could see, her expression didn't waver as she looked up once more. The stars twinkled back in response.

'Not a bad choice,' she said, and Harry could have sworn he saw a pleased little smile appear on her lips as she started walking towards the palace, feeling perhaps a little bit better than before.

Chapter Text

Fleur stood still outside her Headmistress's office, her feet itching to pace in sheer anxiety. The room felt colder - which should have been impossible - but she wrapped her coat closer to her nonetheless. Madame Maxime never summoned her to her office so formally. Whatever this was, it had to be serious. Fleur didn't dare move around to warm herself, the door could open any moment and if she wasn't facing it - it would be a disaster - both aesthetically and proprietarily.

And Fleur Delacour was nothing less than a connoisseur of both; and she was nothing if not patient.

But gods it was hard.

'Come in,' A voice called from inside the door. Feeling a bit stupid, Fleur allowed a calm veneer to descend upon her and walked inside. The sight of the crackling fireplace immediately warmed her along with the huge smile on her Headmistresses' face. Fleur let herself relax a little - it wasn't so formal after all. She pushed past the several chairs surrounding the huge central table and sat down primly beside Madame Maxime's enormous chair. Half-Giant sized chair, if she was to be exact. Everybody in school knew, of course, but nobody really cared about it. 'Half-breeds' as the British called it, commanded much more respect in France on the basis of their magical ability. And Madame Maxime was one of the best duellists in Europe - in part due to her ability to resist some spells, but she was a very skilled witch in her own right - and Fleur looked up to her for that.

'Bonjour, Fleur,' Maxime greeted her warmly.

Fleur replied in a similar fashion in French.

'I'm afraid we haven't got the chance to talk much, but have I said how impressive your performance in the first task was?'

Fleur blushed faintly, unused to such direct praise. 'Yes, Madame,'

'But there are further trials you must yet pass, and you must be careful to not become complacent,'

'Of course not, Madame,'

Fleur didn't understand why, but despite all appearances, there was somewhat of a serious tone in the conversation.

'Have you had a good weekend?' Maxime asked.

'Yes,' Fleur smiled, 'the snowfall was wonderful,'

She had always loved the feeling of the ice cold crystals settling on her face; and seeing the white landscape with snowcapped peaks in the distance was one of the high points of her stay in Beauxbatons. Snow was light and rare back in her home on lower altitudes, and it never snowed on Christmas. Not naturally anyways; her father would usually call one of the wizards from the Climate Department for a small temporary snowfall which invariably made Gabrielle squeal with joy.

But the conjured snow never had the same wildness to it, somehow.

'Yes,' Maxime nodded, 'yes, it was,' It had been the first proper snowfall of the year, and just in time too.

'But Fleur...' she started and stopped, hesitating.

'Yes, Madame?'

'...I'm afraid I haven't called you here to just talk about the lovely snowfall. As you know, since we are hosting the Triwizard Tournament, we must also host the traditional Yule Ball. Champions will need a partner for the opening dance,'

Fleur looked slightly puzzled, 'We have talked about this before. I thought it had been decided I would go with Aurelie,'

Madame Maxime had an understanding, comforting expression on her face as she placed one of her own very large hands over Fleur's.

'I'm sorry dear, but it won't be possible for Aurelie to join you,'

'Is she all right?!' Fleur said, slightly alarmed.

'Of course,' Maxime replied, not elaborating further.

Fleur tried to keep her composure, not jumping to conclusions, 'Well then, I'm sure Caroline wouldn't mind if I asked her very nicely, or I'm sure Elise would love to have an opportunity to open the Yule Ball dance, or...?'

She trailed off, Maxime's expression hadn't changed a bit. It was still an unnerving mixture of pity and sadness.

'They wouldn't be eligible either, I'm afraid,' her Headmistress said gently.

Fleur didn't see any point in beating around the bush. There was clearly something very wrong going on.

'Why?' she asked stoically, though she suspected the worst.

'I let slip at one of our meetings that you would probably be dancing with Aurelie. Unfortunately and completely indecorously, it caused an uproar and we had to call for a vote. Dumbledore and I voted for, the two tournament officials and Karkaroff voted against. It seems the elitist bastards don't understand the concept of same-sex partners for opening a dance. Something about maintaining appearances,' Maxime shook her head sadly, 'They even said they'll permit you to dance afterwards, if you want. As if you need their permission,' she added hotly.

'I'm sorry Fleur, I should have been more careful,'

One of Fleur's eyebrows wobbled dangerously, straining to keep her face pleasant.

'It wasn't your fault, Madame. I'll... I'll find a way,' she said, though she didn't have the slightest idea how. A strange sense of shock had descended over her, past simple panic and to the point where numbness had crept its way into her mind. Dancing and boys just didn't bear any collective meaning in her mind. She couldn't voluntarily let any one of them put their hands on her... they wouldn't be able to control themselves. No, no - she felt sick just thinking about it. Why wasn't she raging right now?

'Non, non, non,' Maxime protested, a bit incredulous, 'It is a matter of your dignity. You are a full-blooded Veela and my school's Champion. I cannot possibly ask you to take this on your own shoulders,'

Fleur bowed her head in acquiescence.

'I know it is impossible for you to find a boy to dance with who will be able to keep his mind clear around you. No, it would be a disaster even to try,'

Fleur sighed. Every word she said was true. It was the contact that did it. She could keep her Allure contained even when a guy would stand right next to her, but actual physical contact? None of those weak minded idiots could withstand her, not one.

'I will try to find an appropriate match,' said Maxime, 'Someone experienced in Occlumency would be ideal,'

Till now, Fleur's mind had been blank and white with uncertainty. But a certain word suddenly forced an image to break through the fog, a place where she had the slightest chance to find hope. A green eyed wizard came to the forefront of her mind.

'Ha-' she started to mumble uncertainly, but was harshly cut off by Maxime.

'No, Fleur, not a word,' Her headmistress was truly distraught at having placed her in such a difficult position, 'Do not think about it. I take full responsibility for what my actions caused and I will find a solution. I only ask you to have faith in me,'

Fleur was torn between what she wished to say and what she was expected to. But one look at Madame's face, and she knew there wasn't much of a choice.

'Of course I trust you, Madame. You know that,' she replied.

'Thank you, Fleur. I can only imagine how it must be like to be a Veela,'

There was a brief pause, and a look passed between them, full of understanding and concern and a plethora of emotions which said more than words could ever express.

Fleur nodded, and stood up.

'Merci, Madame,'

Not far away...

'Merci pour votre aide, Paul,' Harry said a bit proudly, being able to employ one of the phrases he had learned. He politely waved a hand as the French boy left. It was nearing curfew, and the corridor was deserted. It was the teacher's quarters, and Harry loitered a bit as he thought back to a somewhat disappointing meeting. He had taken great pains to convince the French boy to accompany him as a translator, but it was eventually all to no avail.

Oh well, he had tried. He slowly took a few steps. He felt a bit lost, he hadn't even considered that he might not get the information he had been looking for.

A door suddenly opened in front of him. A shaft of light poured out, and he heard a female voice saying 'Au revoir' and then a name he didn't catch. The door closed, and he suddenly came face to back with a cascade of silver hair. Before he could call her or run away, he hadn't decided which, the shapely figure turned around with a stern look on her face.

'Following me, Harry?' she asked.

'I... er, how did you...?' Harry's words fell over each other, 'No!' he finally decided.

Fleur gave a supremely unconvinced nod, 'What brings you here?' she asked.

'I was meeting with a... teacher. The astronomy teacher,' he added at her questioning glance.

'Professor Artsinis?' Fleur said in surprise, 'Why?'

'Just had a few questions,' Harry said meaningfully.

Fleur eyes widened as she realised, 'About constellations?' she asked, moving imperceptibly closer. Harry nodded.

'And?' Fleur prompted.

'Nothing,' Harry said with a wry grin, 'Old fool doesn't know anything about constellations. He said his book had ten basic constellations, and they were the most useless thing he ever taught. He said I should ask the muggles and centaurs if I was interested in that sort of stuff,'

'Non?!'

'I said I would,' Harry continued, 'Although I'm not sure how... and when,'

He had such a forlorn look on his face that Fleur gave his hand a short squeeze, 'Don't worry about it,' she said, though she was a bit disappointed herself, 'We'll think of something,'

Harry forced a smile, and motioned ahead with his hand. It was at least a good five minutes from the teacher's wing to the dormitories and other accommodations. They were cutting it close to curfew.

They walked in silence, both struggling to find something to say.

'How were your classes today?' Fleur asked suddenly.

'I didn't attend any today,' Harry answered, 'I... uh, I was practising something for the tournament,'

'Oh,' Fleur replied, a tad too politely.

They relapsed into silence once more. Harry found his throat drying every time he thought of something, and each subject seemed too inconsequential or too serious. The muscles in his throat were clenched with an unexplainable anxiety. He glanced sideways. She looked a bit... off, as well. He couldn't pinpoint his finger on exactly what, but there was something different.

'How did you practise?' Fleur asked.

Harry was startled by the sudden question. 'I, well.. like usual. The Room. I almost got to forty seconds once,'

Fleur suddenly stopped. He wondered why, it wasn't like getting to forty seconds once by a stroke of luck was that big of a deal. Then he looked around, and realised they were standing in front of the Defense classroom through which the Colosseum could be accessed, as Mr Durant liked to call it. Fleur looked unfocusedly past him, and he became aware of an intense emotion lurking behind her eyes.

'Alohomora,' she whispered.

The door to the Defense classroom clicked open.

'Fleur, what are you doing?' Harry asked, but she pulled him through the door without a word. It closed behind them softly. A light from the tip of her wand lit the dark, foreboding classroom, and she led him to the door at its far end.

She cast another spell and a key came flying to her hand after a few moments. She opened the door to the Colosseum, which glowed with a whitish light coming off its walls.

'Remember the last time we duelled?' she asked quietly.

'Yes,' said Harry, not at all eager to repeat the experience. A corner of his mind silently informed him that they were past curfew. What was she thinking?

'Have you improved since then?' a sudden ghost of a smile came on her lips.

'Ye-es. Why-'

Fleur cut him off, 'Would you mind having another go then, Mr Potter?'

Harry was, for the umpteenth time that evening, caught unawares. He could clearly see that Fleur was disturbed about something, but he knew it simply wasn't in her character to show any vulnerability. But surely this was going a bit far? He saw her surveying him for any sort of a reaction, able to read his mind as easily without Occlumency as with. It wasn't the staying out past curfew that bothered him, Merlin knew he had done that more than enough times. It was Fleur's attitude at the whole situation. He had never associated her with any kind of spontaneity. Couldn't she just talk about it, like a normal person?

'Not at all,' he suddenly found himself saying, because he realised that if he were in her place, he would have never done what he expected her to do, himself.

'Expelliarmus!'

Harry instantly put up a shield but no red beam of light shot from Fleur's rosewood wand. Instead, he felt the ground give way under his feet as he slipped unceremoniously onto the ground.

'Oof.'

'I told you, 'Arry,' Fleur chided from above, 'you 'ave to read my mind, not 'ear my words,'

Harry huffed as he gratefully took her hand and stood up. 'Your wand gestures were correct, how did you not cast?' he said incredulously.

Fleur shrugged immodestly, 'They were slightly wrong at the end, and lacked intent. I've practised. But what you have to practise is to use the link I created between our minds to fight back my Occlumency,'

Of course they were back to Occlumency, because Fleur insisted there was no way he was going to have a chance against her if he didn't learn how to shield his mind while fighting.

'I'm trying!' Harry protested.

'Try harder,' Fleur said without missing a beat.

Merlin, she could be a really merciless teacher when she felt like it. They had gone at it for two hours, after which she had proclaimed that his Occlumency was finally at a sufficient level to keep out the average witch or wizard. Harry would have celebrated, but Fleur insisted they were far from done. There were two types of advanced Occlumency, she said. The offensive one and the defensive one. The defensive one was more common, where one had to project false images in their mind to deceive the attacker. The offensive one was more obvious and direct. It was a sort of counter attack where the Occlumencer would use the temporary link created between their minds to strike back at the Legelimencer, and feed them their own memories instead of his own false ones.

At which point Harry had said he had an headache, and would like to be excused.

But here was, being worked to the bone by Fleur who showed no sign of stopping.

'You're an offensive one,' Fleur had insisted, 'All my senses are screaming the offensive style is best for you.'

That was fine, but he also preferred to be alive at the same time.

'I'm tired,' Harry said the words he had been itching to say for almost an hour, 'we should stop,'

Fleur opened her mouth, ready with a scathing retort, but closed it after a moment's thought. 'You're right,' she said, a weary look marring her pristine features as well, 'we should take a break. I don't know what came over me.'

They were in Mr Durant's famed duelling practise room, in which they could handily cast spells without breaking anything. The downside was that it didn't come with any chairs, so the two of them sat somewhat uncomfortably with their backs to the white wall. Harry gulped down glasses of water, with an Aguamenti proving quite useful. Fleur watched him with bemusement.

'I was that bad, yes?' she said with a teasing smile.

'Oh, much worse,' Harry replied, 'To be honest, I didn't think you had it in yourself,'

Fleur sighed guiltily, though it was clear he had said it in jest.

'I didn't mean to, it's just...' she wrangled her hands in exasperation, 'I needed to blow off some steam,'

'Yes?' Harry nodded encouragingly.

Fleur simply shook her head and seemed to retreat into a small corner of her mind. Harry almost frowned, she had been a little off for the last few days, though she refused to even acknowledge there was something wrong.

'Is this about the tournament?' he asked.

Fleur bit her lip. 'Non,' she said, like every other time he had tried to broach the topic.

She still looked reluctant to talk, so Harry tried a different tactic.

'Remember last week?' he asked, 'The night of our... misguided treasure hunt?'

Fleur stared at him, then giggled. She couldn't help it. After everything they had been through, calling it a treasure hunt just seemed so... silly.

'What about it?' she asked, thankful some of their awkwardness had eased.

'The incident with your Allure... what happened?' he asked, though he had been loath to bring up the subject until now. She had been so upset about it, he didn't want to bring it up and dampen the mood. But now, he thought it might be the only way to get her to open up a bit, about anything.

'I lost control,' a shadow passed over her face, 'I was careless,'

'Nothing bad happened in the end, don't worry about it,' Harry said, 'but.. your eyes. They changed, they almost glowed. I've never seen it happen before,'

'Zat is because I 'ave never lost control before,'

'Lost control? Of your Allure, you mean?'

'Oui,' Fleur nodded, 'It is like a wild beast, fighting for dominance; to reign free. I have been trained from childhood to control it, to repress it, and to... manipulate it if needed.'

'And last night?' Harry prompted.

'I was tired, and sleepy. I lost focus for a moment... That was all it took,' her voice cracked, a thunder cloud in her eyes, 'I liked it, Harry,' she looked so fragile at the moment, her words splintering like broken glass, 'the power. I didn't want to let it go,'

A hush stole over them. Harry wondered how difficult life must have been for her, always afraid of herself and what she might do if she lost control. It reminded him, in many ways, of someone he knew very well.

'It's never happened before at Beauxbatons,' she continued,' I felt safe here. And then... that night. Ever since, I've been simply-'

'Terrified,' Harry spoke with her at the same time, 'Afraid of what might happen if you placed one step wrong, let your magic reveal itself to others. Keeping it safe and far away from others who might despise it and be scared of it.'

Fleur glanced at him thoughtfully, 'Yes,' she breathed, 'Maman says its because I am a powerful witch, but I don't understand the connection. And then today, after what Madame Maxime said-' she stopped, not willing to go down that road. Not yet, anyways.

Harry didn't ask her to elaborate. He seemed to be caught up in a world of his own, her words having opened up a deep, hidden part of his mind. Fleur resisted the urge to use Occlumency, it simply wouldn't be right, and he would know what she did anyways.

She looked at him and decided, they had trained enough for the night. He had let her train him far longer than she would have anticipated. And now, they both deserved a much needed rest.

She hugged him, her intoxicating scent shrugging Harry out of his reverie.

'You're a good friend, Harry,' she said, whispering into his ear and sending shivers down his spine.

And then she was gone.

The manor was full of winding corridors, with wall sized paintings decorating the walls, some which slept, practised bowing or kept checking their large ornate watches. A casual wealth adorned the premises, and she wasn't allowed a moment's rest before being reaching what she assumed was the study.

The study was enormous.

She had never seen anything like it. A large table dominated the far end, beside a crackling fireplace. It reeked of wealth and opulence, as did most rooms in Malfoy manor. The Malfoy crest was regally placed above the desk with their motto - Sanctimonia Vincet Semper (Purity will always Conquer) - inscribed on it. An elaborately designed black settee was placed beside the door.

And to top it all of off - there was a freaking fountain in the middle of the room.

Aurelie bit back a snort, feeling self conscious of the simple red dress she was wearing as she sat down on the settee. Her eyes roved around, wondering why the mistress of the manor had summoned her here.

Well, she was about to find out.

Narcissa Malfoy soon glided in, her blonde hair tied back in a wavy bun, a predatory glint in her eye, and not looking a day above twenty five. Merlin, this was Draco's mom?! She looked downright gorgeous, but her slightly upturned nose bespoke an arrogance which instantly made Aurelie wary of her.

She sat down beside Aurelie, almost too close for her comfort, and struck a faux concerned pose. The excessive mascara in her eyes made for a quite disconcerting expression.

'Bonjour, dear,' she said sweetly, almost too sweetly.

Aurelie almost gritted her teeth at the term of endearment. She hated it when people called her dear.

'Good evening, Mrs Malfoy,' she said stiffly.

'Call me Narcissa, dear,' she purred, 'let's keep this informal,'

Aurelie wasn't fooled. This wasn't a friendly chat, this was a summons - from a superior to an underling, and Merlin be damned if she was going to let herself be pushed around.

'Of course, Cissy,' Aurelie said, having heard Bellatrix use that particular term earlier.

Narcissa's eyes flashed, and Aurelie wondered if she might have gone too far. But Narcissa controlled herself instantly and adopted a polite expression, which meant there was something she wanted very much from this meeting.

'You must be wondering why I called you here,' she said, draping her arms around the settee, suddenly reminding Aurelie very much of a cat - claws hidden, but ready to strike.

'I am,' Aurelie replied.

'I have a favour to ask of you,' Narcissa said, her words laced with poison. She looked straight at her guest. Aurelie raised an eyebrow.

'Beauxbatons is not a very safe place,' Mrs Malfoy continued, as casually as she might be discussing the weather. Aurelie's spine jerked upward in shock.

What did she mean by that?!

'Calm down, dear,' Narcissa said silkily, 'let me finish,'

She crossed her legs and continued, 'My son Draco is residing there currently, I assume you know him?'

Aurelie nodded. Harry had spoken of him in less than friendly terms often enough.

'I am his mother,' Narcissa said, 'and it my duty to take care of my ward. I only ask you to... help me in that regard,'

The lack of feeling in her words appeared more staged than anything. She cared, she cared very much. Aurelie wondered how she might be able to use that bit of information to her advantage. Why even bother to hide it?

She warily asked, 'What would that entail?'

Her host reached into an invisible pocket in her black dress and brought out a shining silver ring shaped in the form of a snake.

'This is a Portkey,' she said, 'The activation word is Salazar,'

Aurelie took the proffered ring and rotated it in her fingers. She looked at Mrs Malfoy questioningly. The pattering water from the fountain masked the awkward silence which would have ensued while Narcissa took her time to answer, a sly smile on her lips, as she debated how to phrase her words.

'A time will come when Beauxbatons will no longer be safe for my son,' she said slowly, 'At that time, I want you to use this Portkey on him and transport him to a safe place,'

Aurelie blood turned cold, 'What do you mean - no longer safe?' her voice was unsteady.

Narcissa smiled, an attractive smile, which somehow made her feel more dangerous than ever.

'You will know when the time comes,'

'When?' Aurelie gritted out.

'Sometime before the second task, perhaps on that very day,'

A Death Eater attack. It had to be. Sometime before the second task. But when exactly?

'Lucius didn't tell you,' Aurelie surmised. It wasn't a question.

Something akin to irritation flickered in Narcissa's eyes before she said, 'No,'

'Portkey wards take up to an hour to fix after being broken,' she continued, 'use the time you get wisely,'

'Why don't you give the Portkey to little Draco yourself?' Aurelie couldn't hide the accusation in her voice. She had been wondering about it for quite some time. She needed to know all the details before agreeing to do as asked, and more. And besides, something just felt off.

Narcissa smile turned feral, her poisonous claws were out and poised to strike.

'I don't need you to give this to Draco,' her voice wavered dangerously, 'I need you to force him to use it - stun him if necessary; do whatever you have to do to get him out of that place when they attack. As a reward - you get to escape as well,'

It didn't sound like a reward. More like a cowardly retreat.

She fixed her stare on Aurelie's, and suddenly the redhead could see the similarity that the Black sisters shared - Bellatrix and Narcissa, each with a different kind of madness, but both equally lethal.

'Why would I have to force him?' Aurelie asked calmly.

'Because he will not want to leave,'

And as Narcissa unconsciously tilted her head to the desk at the far end of the room, Aurelie understood. Lucius would be there, the father Draco so deeply craved to make proud; but his mother was afraid something would go wrong.

Despite the presence of the death eaters, or perhaps because of them.

'Lucius will be there,' Aurelie said shrewdly.

There was no reply. The words hung between them in ominous silence.

'Why should I help you?' The French girl finally said the words she had been itching to ask since she got here. Her business was with Voldemort, no one else; she wasn't a death eater and she certainlywasn't obliged to help them.

'A Malfoy will be in your debt,' Narcissa said proudly, as if it was obvious; assessing her face, assessing her reaction.

Aurelie considered it. She really, really considered it. The Malfoy's were a wealthy family; they had influence in England, less so in France but still considerable. They wielded respect and in many cases, fear. Having them in her debt would indeed be a favour worth its weight in gold.

But that wasn't the case here, was it? She looked around at the lavishly decorated study, everything perfectly in it's place and more...

Everything except for one.

'Lucius doesn't know what you're doing,' Aurelie said, letting a hint of surprise creep into her voice, 'In fact, he doesn't even know I'm here, does he? I guess there's a Death Eater meeting going on, leaving his study as the only private place you could use to meet me,'

Narcissa didn't betray any hint of a response, but her silence was reply enough.

'When you say I owe a Malfoy, that refers only to you, doesn't it? How can you ever help me in any meaningful way, without Lucius finding out? Because I would guess he's never meant to find out. His own wife, spilling Death Eater secrets to-'

'Enough,' Narcissa eyes were livid; her voice venomous with rage, 'You will give me respect I deserve, especially in my own house,'

Aurelie shrugged nonchalantly. There was nothing to be gained by staying here any longer.

'Thank you, Mrs Malfoy,' she said politely, tossing the ring towards her which she ignored as it clattered to the ground.

Lady Malfoy's glare promised certain pain as she commanded, 'Sit,'

Aurelie was about to shake her head, when her host drew another object out of her invisible pocket.

No, Merlin, no.

It was a small silver brooch, shaped in the form of a bird. The unique cut on one of its wings was visible even from where Aurelie stood. She knew the brooch very well, and even more so the person it belonged to; used to belong to.

The question was, Why was it in Narcissa's hands?

'That belongs to my sister, you...' Aurelie surprised herself with her anger, but she was furious, '...Putain!'

Narcissa cooly tutted at her, and looked almost regretful, 'I thought you would take my offer. It would have been better for both of us, you know?'

Aurelie could only see red, as she threateningly drew her wand with a trembling hand.

Narcissa was unfazed.

'Put it down. Sit down. Remember who holds the cards here,' Three simple commands. Three sentences which were enough to break Aurelie's will to retaliate, or put up any sort of a fight. She couldn't risk it.

With a paralysing feeling of helplessness, she found herself falling down on the comfy settee.

The brooch. Celine's brooch.

Just seeing it in Narcissa's hand made her blood boil. In her snake-like hands, it was more than just a brooch. It was a message. That brooch was her sister's single most precious possession. It was originally a gift from their mother, and her mother had always favoured Celine more than her older child. When their mother died - Aurelie still remembered that day, she was nine at that time - it was all Celine had left to remember her by.

Celine never let it out of her sight. It was always pinned on her left shoulder with a sticking charm. Even when she slept, she kept it close on her nightstand. Then about a month ago, it had vanished.

It took Celine a week to recover, a week full of crying and heartbreak and missed classes and comforting by Aurelie. No amount of Accio's had worked - it was as if it had simply vanished from the school.

And now Aurelie saw it in the foreign manor, and the message it sent. Someone had got close enough to Celine; close enough - perhaps when she was sleeping - to steal her most cherished possession without her noticing and leaving not a single trace of a clue.

The message was very simple - Celine wasn't safe either.

'I see you understand what this means,' Narcissa said, rotating the brooch in her fingers, 'Pretty little thing - your sister I mean. Shame her sister doesn't see sense when it stares at her right in the face,'

'You monster!'

Narcisa smiled sweetly, raising an eyebrow. Come on, come on. You know what you have to say.

'I'll do it,' Aurelie painfully gritted out the words, 'on one condition,'

Narcissa smiled again - she was enjoying this. Aurelie could see the twisted snake was enjoying this. 'You're in no condition to make demands, my dear,'

'Leave my sister alone,' countered Aurelie, 'and I'll do whatever you want,'

A sneer followed by a dismissive shrug, 'That's exactly what I was going to offer you anyways,'

Aurelie was almost certain that wasn't what Narcissa would have offered, but she squashed her feeling of absolute powerlessness. She would find a way to make sure the bitch would pay. There was no way she was going to let her get away with this.

'Give me your word you won't harm her,' she said.

'You have my word,' Narcissa said simply, and tossed the brooch towards Aurelie's trembling fingers, 'Keep it as a peace offering,'

Aurelie's mind whirred with ideas of vengeance. There had to be some way she could use her knowledge about Lucius, and the Death Eater attack.

'Don't even think about bringing my dear husband into this,' Narcissa said, evil in her near omniscience, 'My influence extends farther than you realise,'

Aurelie stood up. With a wrench of self-control, she plastered a fake smile onto her face as she innocently paused at the door,

'Why would I ever think of that?'

Chapter Text

Harry wiped his brow tiredly. He had never thought learning to dance would be so exhausting. Charms turned dance teacher Professor Fontaine – brown haired and slightly plump - flicked her wand at him. His arm stung. The preferential treatment he had been receiving was courtesy of being the only Champion who didn't know how to dance. Fighting crazed Hippogriffs almost sounded more appealing. But here he was, attending the dance lessons with the rest of the students, most of them outperforming him by about a mile.

'You'll get the hang of it,' Hermione said, standing next to him. Harry huffed, and went through the six steps again – rotating, stepping carefully and managing to mess up on two of them nonetheless.

'Well, at least you're improving,' The usually stern teacher said in a surprised voice, as a large majority of the students burst into giggles. Professor Fontaine tried to shush them in vain. Harry turned his head crossly. He knew the steps by heart now, and exactly how to perform them – he just kept panicking at the wrong moment. At this point, he wished the torture would just end. He was fairly confident he was going to mess up at the ball and no amount of practice was going to help him.

'Don't listen to them,' Hermione said kindly. Harry glanced back at her. A sort of truce had formed between them, wherein Harry agreed to be civil with her in exchange for her maintaining her distance – until he could find it in himself to forgive and forget. But somewhere deep in his heart, he doubted it would ever happen, even though he resented himself for it.

He was about to gingerly take Hermione's hand again, when Aurelie burst through the doors with her cheeks flushed pink and breathing heavily. All eyes in the classroom turned to her, as she self consciously tugged at her hair.

'Harry... Harry Potter,' she said between deep breathes, somehow finding his eyes from the sea of bodies. She noticed Professor Fontaine peering at her suspiciously.

'Mr Durant requires his presence immediately,' she said to the figure of authority, walking forward and handing her a note. The dance instructor tapped it with her wand twice, and waved a dismissive hand.

'Go,' she said, vanishing the note, 'It's not as if Monsieur Potter has much to learn here,'

Harry stood up with his satchel, and followed his auburn haired friend outside. She urged him to be quiet and follow her quickly. They walked as fast as they could without attracting attention. Students in blue, grumpy paintings and marble corridors streamed by in a blink. They were soon outside on the palace lawns. Melted snow covered the grass in patches. A few students from Durmstrang were playing Quidditch in the distance.

'Where are we going?' Harry stopped, looking at her. She hadn't said a word. 'Where's Mr Durant?'

Aurelie whirled around impatiently, tapping her foot, and gave him a weak smile, 'Please Harry, we need to hurry,' she said, 'I'll explain once we're out. D'accord?' She looked at him pleadingly, walking a few steps ahead. The snow melted beneath her boots.

Out? Harry paused, but his curiosity was piqued. He would reserve judgement for later. He cast a warming charm on himself and continued. They were soon outside the school gates. It was the weekend, and a few students apparated in front of them. Maybe visiting family, friends or more commonly, the Grande Rue. Aurelie's hopeful eyes meet his green ones.

'Do you trust me?' she asked, smiling a little as if realising her choice of words weren't the most reassuring.

Harry felt a familiar rush of blood as he gazed at her honest face. She held out her hand.

'Hurry,' she prompted, looking towards the school and growing more panicked by the second. She almost looked desperate.

Harry closed his eyes and said, 'Yes,' He hadn't done anything remotely not dull lately, and though he could hear Hermione screaming at him for being so irresponsible, he didn't owe anything to an imaginary voice in his head. He took his own decisions now. He felt warm fingers interlock with his, as everything became black and a wave of nausea descended upon him.

Just as suddenly, he found himself sprawled onto soft, green grass with a slowly easing headache. They had taken a Portkey, instead of apparating, contrary to Harry's expectation. Making a Portkey was quite a bit more difficult to make than just apparating. But then of course, Aurelie was also underage, Harry recollected wryly. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. He was on a smooth, undulating hillside covered with grass warm from the sunshine that caressed his face. The sky was a clear blue with patches of clouds. Phew, it felt sweltering hot in his thick clothes. Aurelie smoothened her white, transfigured shirt out of the corner of his eye and pointed a wand in his direction.

'May I?' she asked.

Harry acquiesced gratefully and soon the both of them were clad in comfortable clothing.

'Where are we?' he asked, blinking in the light, 'And why?'

'South of France,' Aurelie replied with a smile, 'Beautiful, isn't it? I'll explain on the way,'

They half walked, half jogged down the hill towards a town visible in the distance towards the east.

'Dumbledore left today morning for Hogwarts,' she said, 'I just found out. He left the country. It means he no longer has any control over where you can or can not go. I called in a few favours, and I don't think anybody noticed us leaving the castle. We should be safe for a while, if we're back by dinner. That's why we need to make this fast.'

'But where are we going?' Harry asked impatiently.

Aurelie flung her auburn hair back with a grin, 'You haven't guessed? We're going to Gringotts,'

Wait... what? He hadn't know... he hadn't expected... No, no, what?! Harry mouth fell open. He wasn't prepared for this. He stopped in his tracks.

'Aurelie,' he said, perhaps a tad bit sharply.

'What?' she said cheerfully but bit her lip afterwards, perhaps realising she might have overstepped.

'You didn't ask...' he trailed off, this deserved a more forceful reply. Indeed – the more he thought about it, the more it became obvious exactly what he had to do. She hadn't asked him, given him any hint or even the glimmer of a choice in the situation he found himself in. He had deserved to know they were going to Grigotts, and consider its consequences before being whisked hundreds of miles away. He had thought about finding out a way from under Dumbledore's nose for months without success. And now the choice had been taken away from him. Yes, he knew what to say now. What Aurelie had done was unthinkable. It was idiotic, it was too risky, too crazy... It was perfect. He grabbed her into a tight hug.

'Thank you,' he murmured, 'For caring,'

He knew she had taken an enormous risk to escape undetected from the school. She knew how much this meant to him. If she had asked him, he would have probably declined - for all the reasons he had thought about before and more. He supposed there was a weird, convoluted sense of freedom in not having to choose to make hard decisions. And now, on the plus side, he also managed to avoid the remainder of his dance lesson.

'I probably shouldn't be doing this, but...' Harry pondered, 'lead the way,' he said, as they jostled each other and walked with a renewed spring in their step. A realisation dropped at the front of Harry's mind like a brick. He was finally going to be free.

They stopped at the periphery of the small town. A small, black dog looked at them curiously. They stepped onto a cobbled side-street.

'We need to change your face,' Aurelie said thoughtfully, 'We can't have Harry Potter walking casually into Gringotts when he's supposed to be at school, right?'

Harry shrugged,' I'm not very good at those charms, so-'

'No bother. I'll give you a moustache and a thick beard. What colour would like? Brown, black, grey...' she flicked her wand as the colours changed, 'No, brown's nice. Let's keep it brown. And your eyes... Oh, they have to change. Humm... an innocuous black would be for the best, I'd say. Magnifique! Nobody will recognise you now,'

Harry put a hand on his chin. 'Um, I don't have beard...'

Aurelie laughed, 'No silly, it's just a glamour. It'll only look as if you do,'

She proceeded to make her hair long and wavy, and her eyes green, like his usually were.

'Let's go,' she said, linking arms with him and dragging him along.

'Is this really necessary?' Harry asked as they walked through the smattering of people out in the streets. It was clearly a magical village, like Hogsmeade. He looked at their arms. They walked through a large plaza of shops.

Aurlie winked impishly, 'No, but it doesn't hurt, does it? We'll be left alone, exactly what we need right now,'

The Gringotts here wasn't as big as the one back in Diagon Alley, but Aurelie assured him it would serve their purpose. She had purposefully taken them to a smaller branch so they wouldn't attract attention. Black marble guarded by two burly goblins with spears greeted him, followed by a circular interior painted in concentric circles; bounded by numerous counters. Aurelie removed their glamours.

Harry wordlessly handed over the letter for his emancipation - which Aurelie had brought along - to an important looking goblin. He looked it over a few times and motioned him to follow with a long, curved nail.

'No,' he said, looking at Aurelie, 'Not her. Only you,' he pointed to Harry.

'I'm not going without her,' he said stoically.

The goblin stared for a few seconds and grunted. 'The witch will have to explain herself,'

They followed him behind the counter through a long dark tunnel. Harry held his wand tightly gripped in his pocket. The passage was cold, damp and a bit unsettling. The goblins didn't seem to be particularly hospitable towards visitors. They entered a small office having a desk with a chair behind it, in which the goblin sat – staring at the wall with a vacant expression. Harry sat in the chair in front of the table. Aurelie stood awkwardly as the goblin gave her a pointed stare. She ignored him. A more elderly looking goblin entered after a while, shooing out the other one.

'I am Manager Xealok,' he introduced himself, 'We have corresponded, of course. I flooed here as soon as I heard you arrived. I was under the impression you were not allowed to leave your school's premises,'

'I... er, we were afforded an opportunity today,' Harry said, a bit surprised at the overall demeanour of the goblin. It was not at all coarse and rough as he had come to expect from their kind.

'And who may this girl be?' Xealok enquired, 'Only close relations and interested parties are permitted with you,'

'She is, well... my friend-' Harry started.

'Girlfriend,' Aurelie cut him off with a smirk, 'an interested party, I assure you,'

'- friend of the female variety, I meant,' Harry finished with a stumble, frowning inwardly. What was she playing at?

'You are betrothed, yes?' Xealok leaned forward interestedly, but stopped at their confused and embarrassed expressions, 'Ah, you are still courting her, I presume. I will permit her to stay, then,'

Harry felt obligated to give a response of some kind, 'We aren't exactly betrothed,' he said. That wasn't a lie now, was it?

'I see,' Xealok said, and paused.

'I knew your parents,' the goblin said suddenly, with a slight arrogance. 'James Potter trusted me with all of his finances. I have served your family for generations, wizard. Believe me when I say they would never have approved of anybody French-'

'Manager Xealok,' Aurelie interrupted, she had never seen such a chatty and pompous goblin before, 'We are in a bit of a hurry, I'm afraid,'

'We are,' Harry repeated as the goblin looked at him for confirmation.

'Very well,' Xealok said, seemingly affronted, 'A drop of your blood, please, and your wand,'

Harry quickly did the needful, and signed at the end of a long piece of parchment with his blood and magic imbued in it.

'Mr Dumbledore's presence is also required, as I mentioned in the letter,' Xealok said, 'I hope he won't arrive too late,'

Harry had forgotten. He and Aurelie exchanged looks, but it was the French girl who replied in the end.

'Dumbledore's not coming, but I... well, I read in your one of your law books that Harry could be emancipated even without the presence of his magical guardian,'

Xealok frowned heavily, 'It is a very old rule, and by all accounts should be removed since it is almost never required. Heir Potter will not be able to receive his inheritance or access the main Potter vault, which makes emancipation an almost moot point. The only change will be of him becoming a magically recognised adult, it will remove the trace from his wand, and a few other minor details. For the rest, he will have to wait until he is seventeen in the usual course,'

'It's enough. Isn't it, Harry?'

'It is?' Harry said uncertainly, 'I mean... I wanted to read my parent's will, and see the manor. Not the money, it doesn't matter. But the rest...' he trailed off, lost in thought as he wondered if it really was worth it.

'But you'll be free of Dumbledore.' Aurelie said softly, persuasively, 'Isn't that what you wanted? Harry?'

He hesitated for a very brief moment, but there was no harm in freeing himself from the old wizard's clutches as fast as possible. She was probably right. He could wait for the rest.

'Yes,' Harry said, 'Do it,' he looked at Xealok.

With a extremely displeased expression, the goblin flourished another document and went through the same procedures. As soon as Harry signed his name, a thin film of magic lifted from his wand and dissipated into the air. A strong surge of magic rushed through his arm, and he felt a tug towards his wand the likes of which he had never felt before. It was as if they were both one entity now, and nothing could take them apart. Warmth filled Harry's chest. The magic in his wand seemed clearer, more pure.

'That was the Trace lifting,' Xealok said and then frowned,' And another layer of protection... it shielded you from the wand somehow. It shouldn't have affected your ability to do magic much, but it prevented you from completely bonding with your wand. A terrible, terrible thing to do,'

'Dumbledore,' Harry and Aurelie muttered at the same time, looked at each other and grinned. The old coot would no longer be able to meddle in affairs which didn't concern him. They thanked the elderly goblin and retraced their steps back.

To Aurelie's mystification, Harry stopped at a gift shop and made her wait outside. He was back in a few minutes, knowing that they had hardly any time to waste.

'Christmas presents?' she asked. It was more of a statement than a question.

Harry grinned, 'Maybe,'

'You could have almost anything delivered via an Owl-Order service.'

'Since I got the chance, I wanted to see it for myself,' Harry said simply, and that was all he condescended to say about the matter. None of Aurelie's incessant pestering broke his resolve.

'You won't say no to me, will you Harry?' she pouted, and changed tactics, 'Fine,' she pursed her lips, 'Don't tell me. But my present better be good,'

Harry only quickened his pace. A wave of euphoria descended on him as they traipsed up the hillside. Things were finally looking up now. He cast numerous spells in a carefree manner and while they weren't perceptibly stronger... they were certainly a lot more precise. It felt as if he had been trying to write with broken pencils all his life, and was holding a sharpened one for the first time.

'Aguamenti!' he cast, showering Aurelie's hair with cold water and not a drop anywhere else. She quickly dried it and smiled back at him. She seemed unusually happy too, Harry wondered why. A stray thought wandered into his mind. No, he couldn't - could he? He was quickly running out of options anyways. Maybe it was the joy he felt at that moment, or the rush from casting so many spells, or simply being out in the sun pretending he didn't have care in the world, a wave of courage washed over him.

'Aurelie, will you accompany me to the Yule ball?' he found himself asking, turning a bit red in the process. He had spent countless nights wondering whom to ask ever since Dumbledore had cheerfully informed him. Fleur was too... Fleur... and he didn't have the nerve to ask her after seeing her turn away so many offers in front of him. She had probably turned down a dozen boys at breakfast on that day alone. He remembered her casually mentioning she had a partner to the ball not much later. No, he couldn't ask her. Hermione wasn't an option for a variety of reasons. Others... he didn't know how he could ask a complete stranger, and the Hogwarts upper years were... intimidating to say the least. Angelina had laughed, not unkindly, when he had mentioned he didn't have a partner; she said she was going with Roger Davies from Slytherin. He knew it was unlikely nobody had asked Aurelie to the ball yet, considering how pretty she was - and now a couple of days before the ball - but he had to try.

Aurelie looked stunned. Harry had never seen her so surprised before. Really, it shouldn't have surprised her that much. They were friends, weren't they? It shouldn't have been much of a shock.

'I had a partner,' she started slowly. Had. Past tense. That was good right? 'But I'm free now, I guess,' she finished.

'Does that mean you'll go with me?' Harry asked cautiously.

The fog seemed to have lifted from Aurelie's mind as she gave him a dazzling smile.

'Of course, Tête de citrouille. I'd love to!'

Pumpkin head, how endearing.

Sunlight flitted in through the cracks beside his curtains on Christmas morning. Harry yawned and glanced around. Presents covered the floor. He tore off the covers one by one. It wasn't too bad a haul, by any stretch. Ron had sent him a broomstick maintenance kit; Hermione had got him a book on Hippogriffs (which he supposed was her way of saying sorry); Hagrid had given him an enormous box of Bertie Bott's Bumper Bag of Beans, and a picture of his parents arguing playfully between themselves. Harry carefully put it on his bedside table with a smile. Aurelie had got him an expensive perfume set. Was he supposed to be insulted? Mrs Weasley had sent her usual Weasley jumper (orange and yellow); and from the Dursleys he got a solitary, soiled shoelace. Why did they even bother?

Dumbledore sent him a pair of wooly red socks, along with a short note.

Dear Harry,

I had always hoped you would grow up to trust me. I am not disappointed, my boy, only saddened that I was unable to form a bond with James' and Lily's only son. But I still hope, as I always will.

A.P.W.B.D

Harry threw the note away – the old wizard had no right to complain now. He shook his head and turned back to the presents. Sirius... where was his present? Huh, there wasn't anything from Sirius. Harry frantically shoved his presents over left and right. Was his godfather all right? Sirius had said he would try to come visit him in France. Had something gone wrong? Harry was probably worrying about nothing, but he resolved to have a talk with Dumbledore nonetheless.

Fleur's present brought a smile back to his lips. She had got him a picture of a herself in casual clothes, smiling and posing (she really did think it was a good present, didn't she?); and a Quick-correct Quill with a silver tip. He looked at the picture for a while, and swung his feet to the floor. He opened his curtains. A thick sheet of snow spread as far as he could see. It was a white Christmas.

'Hey Cedric,' Harry fixed his bowtie, 'Does this look all right now?'

Getting ready for the Yule Ball had proved to be more complicated than he had expected.

'Impeccable,' Cedric said, without turning back. He had a large assortment of mirrors and brushes hanging around his head. He had come out his room looking nervous, and hadn't been able to stay calm ever since, as the rest of the small Hogwarts contingent looked on amusedly. Some of the others had joined him as well, contributing to the rest of the mirrors. It was nearing a quarter to seven, and there was an air of anticipation as the room slowly emptied.

'What's got you so riled up?' Harry couldn't help asking.

Cedric smiled, half to himself, 'Nothing wrong with trying to impress a girl, is there?'

'No, I suppose not,' Harry mused, 'I just hope my date doesn't think I'm too shabby. You know, what with being Champion and all,' There wasn't a trace of arrogance in his voice, only resignation.

'Who is your date?' Cedric asked, looking at him interestedly, 'Don't you want to impress her?'

There was a brief moment of hesitation, and that was all it took for Cedric to catch on, 'Oh, the girl you've got your eye on isn't your date?' Cedric shook his head with sigh, 'That's a bummer, mate. Just... don't neglect your date, right?'

And with that brief bit of advice, Cedric left with a sparkle of mirrors and a scent of cologne in his wake. Harry tried to pat down his hair. Aurelie had promised to meet him here, and she arrived only a few minutes later. The door to the Hogwarts quarters opened with a small knock; Harry had to keep his jaw from hanging open. He knew she was pretty... but this was something else entirely - she looked simply stunning. She wore flowing red dress robes which matched her hair, done up in an elegant knot at the back of her head. She wore some makeup, but it wasn't too much to distract from her looks.

'You clean up nicely,' she said, looking at Harry appraisingly. He had a flustered moment before gathering himself.

'Oh, wow, um...You look really pretty,' Harry said sincerely, and the faint blush in her cheeks told him she was more than pleased by his complement.

They made their way to the ball room, turning more than a few heads. Harry had been surprised to hear the school actually had a ball room, but he had been surprised more times than he would have imagined since coming here, so maybe it wasn't so unlikely after all. The marble corridors looked resplendent with snow piled up artistically at their edges; Christmas trees at every intersection and small, golden balls of light which went whizzing past every so often, leaving behind a small trail.

'What are those?' Harry asked Aurelie, pointing at the faintly twinkling bursts of light.

'Dust fairies,' she answered, 'We got them from the greenhouses. We let them roam around for a day,'

'What happens to them after that?'

'They die,' Aurelie answered simply, 'Their lifespan barely lasts that long, but they look pretty while it does. They love flying around and showing off. So we get them here every Christmas night,'

Harry wasn't sure what to make of that, but any conflicted thoughts he might have had about it went straight out of his head as they arrived at the entrance of the ball room. The enormous entrance hall was filled with a multitude of colours, laughter and students in their best attire. But only one girl caught his eye. Fleur turned around to face him as they arrived - as if she had magically sensed his presence. Time stood still. She looked simply, utterly, breathtaking. She wore dress robes of silver-grey satin, and her perfect skin seemed to almost shine in the dim lighting. Her hair floated behind her, and her smile bespoke an arrogance that she knew exactly what Harry was thinking, Allure or not. After a long shuddering second, Harry remembered how to breath again.

'Great... um, Good evening, Miss Delacour,' he said, cursing himself for stumbling. It was just Fleur. He wasn't sure either if the formality of the occasion permitted the use of first names. Fleur, on the other hand, seemed to have no such problem.

'Bonjour, 'Arry,' she purred in a voice that sent shivers through his skin. Harry thought he noticed a scowl on Aurelie's face for a split second, before she complemented Fleur profusely on her dress. She also exchanged a few quiet words with Fleur's date who, Harry was surprised to notice, wasn't drooling like every other boy in a 10 feet radius. However, he was keeping a marked distance away from Fleur. Strange.

Fleur noticed his glance.

'Excusez-moi,' she said instantly, 'I must introduce you. Harry, Pierre Monet. Pierre, Harry Potter,'

Harry gave him a brief nod, which was returned by an even smaller one. Why did he look so familiar? Harry was sure he had seen him somewhere before. The devious smirk, the long brown hair; Harry didn't have a very good feeling about him either, and it wasn't just jealousy. But Fleur had chosen him, and Harry supposed he would have to live with it. Warrington, he noticed, was accompanied by a pretty girl in periwinkle blue robes, with an identical brooding expression on her face. Malfoy, talking to him, had managed to get a date as well, a blonde in striking pink robes.

Soft music started playing in the background, full of trickling melodies and occasional vurves. Harry looked around – most people had arrived. Krum, to his complete and utter amazement, had come with Hermione, who had clearly made an effort to look her best for this ball. Gone were the jutting out teeth and bushy hair, she looked transformed and if Harry was honest with himself... beautiful. She shot a cheeky smile in his direction, but he turned away - he couldn't bring himself to be the same around her as he once was. It didn't feel right.

'Champions!' Mr Durant said in a deep voice, 'this way, please,'

They entered the ball room in a line in pairs as everyone filed in around them. Huge ice sculptures decorated the edges and a choir of wood nymphs started serenading in the corner. Their sweet music slowly filled the room. It was different from anything Harry had ever heard. It was almost... angelic. A light snowfall filled the room, disappearing as soon as Harry felt their cold touch on his cheek. The champions accompanied the Headteachers and tournament officials at the largest table. A small menu was placed in front of each seat.

Madame Maxime picked up her menu and said clearly, 'Bouillabaisse,' A steaming hot dish appeared on her plate. Everyone took the cue, and soon the tables were filled with foods of a plethora of varieties and flavours. Drinks were available nearby. Monsieur Cavalier immediately struck up an animated conversation with Madame Maxime, while the other Headteachers exchanged brief words between themselves. Bagman gorged on his food, which resulted in most people ignoring him, and it suited him just fine.

Harry sat between Aurelie and Fleur, with the other Champions on the other sides of them.

'It is nice to see you with Aurelie,' Fleur told him, though not sounding completely sincere, 'I was afraid she wouldn't get a date,'

'Aurelie?' Harry said between mouthfuls, 'Yeah, I guess I'm a lucky guy. She said someone else cancelled last moment,'

'She didn't tell you who?' Fleur said with a slight smile.

'No...?'

'She was supposed to come with me,'

Harry almost choked on his drink. That... was not something he had expected.

'What?!'

A small, tinkling laugh. 'Not like that, idiot,' Fleur covered her laugh with one hand, 'Just as friends. It's difficult for me to dance with a boy, because of my... Allure,'

'Oh. So, why didn't you? Go with her, I mean?'

'There were complications,' Fleur gave him a strained smile, 'I had to settle for cet imbécile instead.' She jerked her head backwards. 'He has some experience with Occlumency, and none with conversation. He's not at good at Occlumency as you are, of course. But he's trying his best,'

Harry nodded, but left a question unsaid in his mind. She could have asked him to the ball – she must have known he would have agreed. If it was resistance to her Allure she required, there was no better person. But there was also the fear in his mind, of the possibility that she just didn't see him the way he saw her. It was frightening, and Harry didn't know what he preferred. Asking her, and getting turned down, or living in the eternal abyss of uncertainty.

Aurelie nudged him from the other side. He had barely said a word to her since the food arrived. He instantly felt guilty, and Cedric's advice rang painfully loud in his head. He murmured a quick apology to Fleur and turned to face his date, who thankfully, wasn't looking too annoyed.

'Tell me about Hogwarts,' Aurelie asked, shifting closer; their knees brushing, 'You rarely talk about it,'

It was clear she wasn't about to take no for an answer. All too aware of Fleur looking at him, Harry turned his attention to his counterpart for the night. He noticed Pierre get up out of the corner of his eye, and Bagman taking the vacated seat a while later. Bagman had been hovering around for quite some time to get a chance to talk to one of the Champions.

'The beautiful Miss Delacour,' he started, 'I have been wanting to speak to you for a long time,'

'Eet eez my pleasure, Monsieur Ragman,'

'Bagman,' he corrected her with a frown, emphasising the B.

'Bien sûr, Monsieur Backman,' Fleur said with an apologetic smile. Harry suppressed a laugh. He knew Fleur was deliberately being infuriating to chase away the retired Quidditch player. But to his credit, Bagman did not relent. Slightly disappointed at not being able to hear the whole conversation, Harry placed his fork on his plate with a clink and continued talking to Aurelie,

'Now if there's one thing you should know about Slytherins, it's that they aren't all as bad as Malfoy,' he paused for breath, 'but those purebloods are a bunch of conniving, self-entitled jerks all the same,'

'I couldn't agree more,' Aurelie said, her thoughts unwittingly going back to a certain female Slytherin she had encountered not so long before.

By the time they were deep into desserts, Fleur could bear Bagman's badgering no longer. She excused herself from the table and made her way to the mini-bar, where she was met by an irritated looking Pierre. He waved his glass about wildly and even spilled a bit of his drink on Fleur's dress, which she vanished with a cross expression. At an invisible signal, the choir and light music suddenly stopped. The nymphs vacated their spot on the stage and made way for the famous french band, Mérvue, who alighted full of moustaches and instruments and attitudes. The stage grew to fit their size.

'Champions,' Madame Maxime stood up from her seat, 'S'il vous plaît, commencer. La scène est le vôtre.'

That was the cue to begin. Harry stumbled while getting up from his seat and looked nervously at Aurelie, only to receive a wink in return. She clearly found his discomfort amusing. The Champions moved to the centre of the ball room, and the only sound was of their shoes on the smooth floor.

'You owe me a dance,' Fleur whispered into his ear, as she passed him. Harry had never wanted to do something so badly that he absolutely dreaded to at the same time. He placed his right hand on Aurelie's waist; her hand on his shoulder, and took a deep breath. A slow waltz struck up. He tried his best to not step on her feet as she lead. She was clearly a good dancer, and Harry was grateful for the few lessons he had from Madame Fontaine. They made their way around the floor leisurely, with Harry all too aware of all the eyes looking at them. There were a few close misses, but they mostly managed to match the rhythm. It was a jumpy affair.

'Don't look around,' Aurelie said, meeting Harry's eyes and holding them in place, 'Look at me,'

Was that concern in her eyes? He had never known her to be concerned before. She was always so carefree, almost too carefree. He looked into her half-closed eyes, scrutinising them carefully. They were intriguing. She almost looked... guilty somehow, as if she had no right to be dancing with him.

'My favourite subject is potions,' she murmured, surprising him so much that he stubbed his own toe while stepping sideways. Aurelie smiled, feeling his muscles grow tense.

'Growing up, that's all I ever wanted to be. A potioner,' she continued, keeping him focused on her.

'Potions?' Harry couldn't hide the tone of surprise, 'You said you wanted to play Quidditch,'

'I was... joking,' Joking, not lying, 'I sometimes wish I could have gone to Hogwarts, you know?'

'Why's that?'

'Severus Snape,' A somewhat dreamy look came in her eyes, 'He's one of the most famous Potions Masters in Europe,'

Alarm bells started blaring in Harry's head. It would be a gross dereliction of humanitarian duty if he didn't correct Aurelie. He didn't have to feign his disgust.

'Snape,' he said decidedly, 'is an an overgrown bat with hair management issues,'

Aurelie giggled, and Harry couldn't decipher why, but it was that sound which finally made him loosen up a little. His feet moved a little bit more smoothly and confidently; he could finally start enjoying himself. Dancing wasn't so bad after all. He looked around to see the rest of the couples had joined them. There was Hermione, who seemed to be having the time of her life with Krum. Malfoy was looking incredibly smug, and seemed to be in his element. Mr Durant had an incredibly serious expression on his face as he danced with Madame Fontaine.

'Bezant for your thoughts, Harry?' Aurelie asked, as the music quickened.

'I'm just... looking for Dumbledore,' he answered. His dancing promised to be amusing. But try as he might, Harry couldn't find him, not even at the main table. Dumbledore couldn't have left this early, right? Harry did, however, find another person he was looking for.

Fleur was dancing as gracefully as ever, but Pierre had a strangely blank look on her face. It was the Occlumency, Harry supposed, but that didn't stop Pierre's hand from wandering. Fleur glared daggers at her date, which was enough to put him in his place. A smile was quickly back on her lips, but it wasn't completely genuine. Harry knew her well enough to see that. Something was still bothering her. He wished he could do something about it.

The song came to a close to thunderous applause.

'Let's go and sit,' Harry told Aurelie, 'I'm feeling thirsty,'

She had a skeptical look on her face, but thankfully agreed. Harry sipped a glass of butterbeer as Aurelie talked excitedly about potions. Fleur emerged in their direction, looking positively exhausted. Pierre was following her like a lost puppy, but his eyes were back to being as sharp as ever. Maxime noticed the Champions with a predatory glint in her eye.

'Fleur,' she boomed, 'I was just about to join the dancing. Dumbledore has abandoned us, I'm afraid. Could you convince either of these fine young gentleman to accompany me?'

With a feeling of dread, Harry realised Maxime was looking at him. He quickly gulped down his butterbeer, and stood up.

'I would be delighted,' he said, taking her hand.

'I trust your date will not mind,' Maxime glanced at Aurelie, who politely smiled and conveyed her lack of objections.

'Fleur and I will be joining you,' Pierre chimed in, and Fleur nodded, albeit looking as if she had just been forced to swallow a Dungbomb. Harry, dwarfed by Maxime, was dragged across the dance floor as if he weighed no more than a mere feather.

'It seems only right that Dumbledore's Champion joined me since he himself could not,' she asked him, 'I wonder if you know why he left in such a hurry,' Madame Maxime looked piercingly at Harry, and he wondered if the only reason she had wanted to dance was to ask him this question.

'Err... what?' Harry asked, astonished, 'Dumbledore left?!'

Maxime's gaze appraised him silently, as cold as the thousands of small icicles hanging from the ceiling, 'I admire your loyalty,' she said, 'But know that I consider it an insult to both my school and myself that he left in such a fashion,'

'Well, I don't know why he did so, but I'm sure he had his reasons,' Harry showed apparent disinterest, but frantically wondered what could have prompted Dumbledore to leave the school twice in one week.

The slightest hint of a smile, 'I'm sure he did,' Maxime seemed content to just dance now, and wait until the song ended.

There were almost at the centre of the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry went back to observing the other couples - a world far removed from his own. All of them happy, contented, completely in sync with respective others... well, most of them anyways. Harry's mind went back to something Madame Fontaine had said. It was a night of romance, of dancing without inhibitions, of an expression of their souls. It was true. He could see it in their eyes - eyes of volcanic black, a gentle brown, of a darker brown, of amber; of a stormy, almost shining, unhinged blue...

No, not again...

Fleur.

He could see her, dancing with Pierre, turning and embellishing her movements almost hypnotically. Pierre didn't seem to notice, and was displaying worrying signs. His blank expression was quickly transforming into the dreamy look he had seen so often on boys near Fleur. And it wasn't just him – Fleur had her eyes half closed, and with each blink, her eyes were flickering. The dark, malevolent blue he had seen only once before was pushing... harder than she could handle, it seemed. Nobody else seemed to have noticed.

With a somewhat makeshift manoeuvre, Harry took the lead from Maxime, who seemed mildly shocked. It took some effort, but Harry managed to steer them towards the Veela. Fleur seemed to vaguely notice his presence, and mouthed a single word at him – Harry.

That was it. Cursing himself for not being able to come up with a better plan, Harry hastily said, 'Here, let's switch partners,' in a loud voice, and almost shoved Pierre away from Fleur, and in the general direction of Madame Maxime. It was a colossal mess, but Harry managed to get out of it fairly smoothly with Fleur clinging onto him like a life raft. Her eyes still flickered, but they seemed more confused now than anything. He could physically feel her Allure, almost like an ocean pulling him in its current.

He pulled her close – almost carrying her – and sent a gentle probe of Legelimency towards her mind. She had taught him a little, enough for him to discern a whirlwind of emotions howling inside her head. But the instant he touched her Occlumency shields, he was thrown back with a violence he hadn't know she was capable of. He stumbled more than once on his feet, but Fleur helped him adjust and when Harry looked at her again, she was smiling – genuinely smiling this time.

'Thank you,' she said, her eyes as blue as spring rain, 'I was afraid, so afraid that I might lose control again,'

'I don't... I don't know what I did,' Harry said uncertainly.

'You were here for me,' Fleur whispered.

For the first time, he could feel the smooth texture of her hand as he held it in his own, the rhythmic movement of her body as she swayed in perfect beat to the music and the intermingling of their breaths as she looked at him. A french song was playing - slow, melodic, full of quavering strings and grand, flowing crescendos. He couldn't understand all the words, but he knew enough to get the general gist.

'Poor Madame Maxime,' Fleur suddenly giggled, and Harry had to crack a smile as thought back to how unceremoniously he had deserted her. She was definitely not going to be pleased.

'I don't think she liked me anyways,' Harry replied.

'You never struck me as the type who cared whether people liked him or not,' Fleur rubbed her thumb over his hand, 'Most people anyways, oui?'

Harry was caught off-guard by the question, 'Well, not really. I've had to get used to the judgement,' he said honestly.

Seemingly satisfied by the answer, Fleur twirled around, followed by an elegant jump, and looked at Harry with a wild smile on her face.

'It was 'orrible having to control myself around Pierre – especially with him so close,' she said, 'It makes me wonder, this unexplained miracle - that my Allure doesn't affect you,'

'I'm not so sure about that,' Harry said instinctively, his heart beating in his chest as they revolved.

'Oh... really? Vraiment, 'Arry?' Fleur said with a coy smile, and a faint blush covering her cheeks. He had never noticed how red her lips were, how soft and enticing; Harry was dimly aware of the song nearing its end, trickling to a close. A reverse turn. Fleeting away before floating closer. A gentle whisk. Harry was remembering his lessons. Why was it that everything felt so easy... so right with her in his arms? They turned to face each other. They were now revolving so slowly that they might as well as have been standing. Closer, she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her. The song hit its final, heart rending note. Harry unconsciously turned his gaze to her sparkling, blue eyes, and they shifted even closer. Something tugged between them. Electric, powerful and surreal. Nothing seemed to matter – their age, the tournament, this dance. Only the two of them existed in that moment. The musical note started to die down, as Fleur's warm arm creeped towards his neck, and...

A large explosion resounded in the distance as the very foundations of the building were rocked to its very core. They were thrown apart.

BOOM! There it was again. Dozens of dancers were knocked off their feet as the place descended into chaos. Harry felt a prickle in his scar which he hadn't felt ever since he had started learning Occlumency. Dread, horror, and disbelief overcame him. Screams, breaking icicles and the sound of spellfire not too far away. No, not now, please not now. But there was no denying it.

Voldemort was here.

Chapter Text

The drink fell from Aurelie's hands and shattered. Shit, it was all going to shit. The sound of spellfire resounded in the corridors beyond the ballroom. She faintly registered Maxime and Karkaroff stand up, trying to calm down the crowd and chaos. Idiots – did they seriously expect people to listen? She took out her wand from a concealed pocket in her dress. She knew some of the girls had left their wand back in the dorms. Not her. Too bad for them.

She had a split second decision to make. She noticed Draco stumble to a side of the ballroom, white with fear and calling out Warrington's name. She pushed past frenzied couples, stepping on someone shoes and dress more than once, and furiously grabbed Draco's collar.

'Did mummy tell you about this, Draco dear?' She held a wand to his throat. 'Did she?'

'No, no, no... No, of course not. What is this?' he was a frightened mess, and Aurelie could see he wasn't lying. She lowered her wand.

'Death Eaters,' she said calmly, and Draco scoffed.

'This is France, Miss whatever-your-name-is. They're English.'

'Well, they're here anyways,' Aurelie snarled. She didn't have the time for this. 'Now are you coming with me or not?'

Draco sneered. 'Who do you think you-'

'Accio Narcissa's ring,' she cast, and a silver ring came zooming to her in a few moments, breaking a glass window on the way. A few shards fell to the floor, but nobody noticed or cared. They were too busy scrambling out. Maxime and Karkaroff were now nowhere to be seen.

'How did you get that?' Draco's eyes were fixated on the ring.

'It's a Portkey. I'm guessing it won't work without a Malfoy holding on to it,' Aurelie said, holding her breath. If he said no, then all her problems were solved.

'I know. You guessed right,' Draco said, 'how exactly–'

'Come with me,' Aurelie cut him off, dragging him by the arm. Draco shrugged it off indignantly.

'Give me the ring,' he demanded. Aurelie could feel her blood boil. The Malfoy brat was exactly as irritating as she had imagined and more. She pointed her wand at his back.

'Do as I say,' she said, hitting him with a Confundus charm, and then a stinging hex because she felt like it.

'Ouch. What?' he muttered incoherently. She grabbed his arm, and this time he followed her without complaint, slightly dazed and confused. Couples were streaming out of the ballroom doors and prefects were yelling at everyone to go back to their dormitories. The fighting seemed to be focused at mostly the front part of the palace, but the sounds kept getting louder and more insistent. Hastily throwing off her inconvenient heels, Aurelie ran on her bare feet with Draco hanging onto her like a leach. She pushed, clawed and fought her way to the second years dorms, and thanked Merlin the crowd was much thinner in that direction. She left Draco outside, and rushed up the stairs to a particular bed. Her sister was half asleep but got up as soon as she saw her.

'Aura,' the little ball of red hair rubbed her big, blue eyes. 'Que fais-tu ici?' What are you doing here?

'No time, Celine,' Aurelie replied in French. 'Come with me.'

She almost carried her sister out of bed in her nightclothes, and spared a glance at all the other frightened looking second year girls she could do nothing to help. They didn't have a clue what was going on. But she just couldn't leave her sister behind.

'Désolé,' she said under her breath as Celine tightly grabbed her hand and they ran outside. Draco looked at them as if they were a particularly interesting specimen of a Mimbulus Mimbletonia. Aurelie fumbled with the ring in her hand. She put it on her sister's finger, and held it herself as well.

'Touch it,' Aurelie hissed at Draco. 'Now.'

He stretched out a hesitant hand and touched the silver snake.

'Salazar,' Aurelie said the activation word, and for a moment nothing happened.

'Slytherin,' Draco completed almost unconsciously; Aurelie felt a tug in her navel and then they were gone.

'Harry Potter.' a voice hissed in his mind, and unimaginable pain coursed through his forehead. His scar was red hot with pain, and Harry stumbled to the ballroom floor with his hands tightly pressed against it. Fleur knelt beside him, grabbed one his hands and placed it on her lap.

'A Legelimency attack?' she asked softly. Harry nodded frantically. What else could he call it? His scar burned.

'Come to me,' the voice pressed against his mind insistently. 'And the pain will go away. All this will stop. Nobody has to die.'

Where was Dumbledore when someone needed him? Despite everything, there was no one better to fight Voldemort. Merlin, Harry thought desperately, had all his Occlumency lessons been for nothing?

'Focus, Harry,' Fleur said in her crystalline voice. 'Remember. One memory. One fortress. No one can breach it.' Their noses were almost touching, and Harry took a deep breath. She was right. He could do it. He was prepared for this.

With everything he could muster, Harry pushed against the intrusion. It hurt deeper, sharper, the longer he tried. But there was peace at the end, as if Voldemort was slowly conceding ground. Harry closed his eyes tightly, and suddenly he could clearly recollect his chosen memory – on a broom, far away from anything. Safe as he had ever felt. For a moment it felt as if his forehead was being ripped apart, but not any more. The pain vanished – Voldemort was gone. Harry was standing at the front entrance of Beauxbatons. Small lights lit up the place in the dark. The large fountain was smashed into a thousand pieces, and wizards littered the ground – unmoving and probably dead. The ground was charred and black from curses.

Maxime and Karkaroff stood in his path. Igor's wand was visibly trembling in his hands.

'Death awaits you one way, and riches the other,' Harry heard himself saying, addressing the former Death Eater. 'Choose wisely.'

Karkaroff screamed in pain, clutching his arm, and turned his wand onto a surprised looking Madame Maxime. A red spell shot from Karkaroff's wand and Harry suddenly felt himself roughly ejected from Voldemort's mind. A worried looking Fleur lifted him into a sitting position on the floor of the ball room. It was deserted except for the two of them. A far cry from the bustling merriment not too long ago. A few scraps of decoration floated around. It had all the atmosphere of an abandoned graveyard.

'I did it,' Harry croaked. 'Aggressive Legelimency – you were right.' He felt the strength slowly return in his arms as he got up in haste.

'What's going on, Harry?' Fleur asked. He admired her calm and control. Not a trace of fear showed on her face.

'Voldemort is alive,' Harry said, 'and he's here.'

'Non.' Fleur shook her head. 'Not possible. Your Dark Lord is dead.'

'Oui. Yes possible,' Harry said grimly. 'We need to get out of here and find help.'

Still holding onto her hand, he pulled her outside the ball room with their wands out and prepared.

'The front entrance. We need to go there,' he said. Fleur nodded him and guided him through the deafeningly empty corridors. The spellfire had suddenly stopped. They went through a few winding hallways and past terrified students running the other way. There was something malevolent about the silence and scattered screams – like a tiger playing with it prey, waiting for the final strike. Three men in Death Eater regalia appeared around the corner.

A red light came hurtling towards Harry, who reflexively put a shield.

'Stupefy!' Harry countered, and watched as his spell was blocked. Another spell was shot at him, which he was barely able to dodge by turning sideways. Harry mentally thanked Mr Durant's Room for the training, and sent back three quick-fire curses and hexes of his own. The Death Eater somehow managed to block all of them, but was helpless against another stunner hitting him right in the chest, and was thrown off his feet.

Harry turned to see Fleur holding her own against two Death Eaters at the same time. As he watched, she hit one of them with a charm which made him slip and fall to the ground, wand clattering out of his reach. Harry quickly stunned him and turned back to see the remaining Death Eater looking around for a disillusioned Fleur. The masked man suddenly reached out with his hand, and seemed to have held on to her throat.

'Expulso!' Harry saw only red as his spell blew back the Death Eater into the opposing wall, he hit his head and was rendered unconscious.

Fleur came back into view and tightly hugged Harry.

'My hero,' she giggled as Harry turned red. 'Non, I'm just... what do you call eet? Pulling your leg. I had it under control,' she said a trifle arrogantly.

'We make a good team,' Harry replied, a bit disgruntled. He had been so scared for a second.

'Oui.'

They took the Death Eaters' wands, just in case, and hurried towards the entrance archway. They stopped just beyond the massive front doors. The doors were hanging open, and a stray spell had uprooted the rocks in front of it. Cold wind blew inside, chilling Harry to the bone.

'Voldemort is out there, I saw him,' he said, turning to Fleur. 'Dumbledore will be there as well.' He crossed his fingers. He was confident, but scared at what he was about to do at the same time. 'Voldemort is here because of me. I don't know how the hell he's alive, but I do know he's not going to leave without me.'

'What are you saying, Harry?' Fleur's face was marred with troubled lines. 'If Dumbledore is there, you don't have to worry. I have heard stor–'

'Honestly, I'm not sure if he is,' Harry admitted. 'But I have to face him – I have to face Voldemort. I think... I think I can kill him.' It was an ominous thought. Harry pulled out a smooth, shining black piece of fabric from his pocket. He always kept it with him – there were few people he could trust these days.

Fleur shook her head in disbelief. 'You are crazy.' Her voice cracked as she grabbed his hand. She sounded terrified, but the resolve was clear on his face.

'Take this. It's an Invisibility Cloak.' Harry pushed it into her arms, not looking at her. 'In case I don't succeed.'

'You are not going out there.' Tears threatened to leak out of her eyes. 'I don't care if you think you're some sort of hero. You're not. You're just...' Her voice trembled with emotion as she found she couldn't complete her sentence. A leetle boy, she wanted to say. But she knew he wasn't. All those memories she had seen, the way he talked to her, those nights, the Hippogriff – she couldn't bring the lie to her lips. He had grown up faster than most boys should have to, and she wasn't going to let him throw his life away.

'You can't risk it,' she whispered. Harry gently let go of her hand.

'I can,' he said, capturing her bright, azure orbs. 'I've done it before. Voldemort can't touch me. He'll burn to death most likely.'

But Harry words did nothing to quell Fleur's fears. She gasped in shock when she heard he had done it before.

'You are a stupid, English idiot,' she reprimanded, but her eyes gave away her worry.

'He should have never come here,' Harry said with a tinge of sadness, brushing a strand of hair from her face. 'This is all my fault.'

'Non.' She took out her wand, and pointed it at him with a sudden fervour. 'I'm not going to let you leave.' Her voice was sure and uncertain at the same time.

'Sorry, Fleur.' Harry gave her a lopsided grin. He leaned forward, and pecked her lightly on a cheek.

'Stupefy,' he cast, taking advantage of her slight distraction, and caught her gently in his arms. He placed her on the side of the corridor softly with a smile on his lips. He covered her with the Invisibility Cloak, knowing she would wake up in about a minute. He had cast a low powered spell. Ever since his newfound precision with his wand, he had discovered he could control the strength of spells according to his needs.

He knew he was taking an enormous risk, but he had no other choice. Not allowing himself to hesitate any longer, he strode out through the door and into the foreboding night. The rocks crumbled and shifted beneath his feet as the darkness rushed out to meet him.

He was greeted by a scene straight out of his worst nightmares. Except that this time it was all too real, and terrifying.

'Harry Potter.' The voice scrapped against Harry's eardrums. Voldemort stood with his arms spread wide. 'I've been waiting for you.'

Karkaroff knelt in front of his robes, and Harry noticed with a start that Madame Maxime was bound up in ropes nearby. A crazy looking female with wild, black hair and eyes lined with insanity cackled at his sight. No other Death Eaters could be seen. Bodies of teachers, students and unfamiliar men in dark blue uniforms lay on the ground. Harry recognised the Transfiguration instructor and the lifeless eyes of Madame Fontaine with a start. No, no... No. Rage and regret coursed through his veins.

All this had to end. Now.

He walked furiously towards the man... No, the monster, who caused all this death and destruction. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Harry had never felt as betrayed and angry in his life.

'My loyal followers are repairing the wards and taking control of the school,' Voldemort said casually. 'You have already lost.'

'Never,' said Harry forcefully. He had to fight hard to keep the empty feeling in his chest from consuming him entirely. Everything had seemed so perfect even an hour ago. Why did these things always happen to me? He bit the inside of his cheek, and could feel the blood trailing down with a coppery tang on his tongue.

'Crucio.' Voldemort twisted his wand at him, and Harry reacted reflexively. The spell flickered away an inch from his skin. Was that his mother's protection, or Arxmancy? Harry wasn't sure.

'Crucio.' Voldemort cast again, more powerful, and this time Harry recognised his shield – hardened and polished through weeks of practise with the art. He had told no one – he wasn't sure whom he could trust, among other reasons. There had been too many signs, indications, for him to ignore.

'Have you already forgotten what happened the last time you tried?' Harry said, though he knew there was a different reason for the spell not reaching his skin, unrelated to his mother's protection. Arxmancy, he thought with a mental grin. But Voldemort didn't need to know that, did he?

'The girl lied,' Voldemort hissed, his eyes becoming slits. Harry didn't give him any more time to think before breaking out into run, straight at the Dark Lord. Voldemort threw spell after spell at him – red, yellow, blue; colourless dark, vicious curses – but they all failed. There were no killing curses. Voldemort wasn't taking any chances with it after last time. Harry's Arxmancy shield depleted after each spell, but was immediately renewed. The ambient magic in the area was crazy high – he could almost feel its weight.

Harry didn't hesitate for a second – the monster in front of him deserved to die: for his parents' deaths, for this attack, for all the harm he had ever caused to the world. He flung himself onto Voldemort, grabbing the disgusting face in his hands – willing his mother's protection and magic to do it's work; burn Voldemort's face and kill him as Harry had done – albeit unintentionally – in his first year at Hogwarts.

Nothing happened for a second.

And then a huge block of earth rose from the ground and knocked Harry backwards onto the ground, in the opposite direction of the school.

'Looks like the girl hadn't lied after all,' Voldemort mused. 'It appears you have some other sort of protection. I thought I took care of Dumbledore, but it seems he didn't leave you defenceless.'

Harry lifted himself from the ground. The world was spinning. He raised his hand to his messy hair and felt the sticky texture of blood. For the first time that night, he felt terrified. Completely and utterly scared for his life, without the faintest idea of what to do. Why didn't Arxmancy protect him from the block of stone? Who was the girl? And what had happened to his mother's protection?

Tremors ran down his skin. He should have listened to Fleur. He tightly closed and opened his eyes. Voldemort stalked towards him; and suddenly Harry was back in the Quidditch pitch, on the ground, with the Hippogriff baring its talons at him.

'You are protected from normal magic,' Voldemort said with academic interest. 'Not from elemental magic, or secondary attacks, I presume.' A chain of earth rose from the ground and pinned Harry's arms and legs so he couldn't move.

'Fuck you,' Harry said with venom, spitting the blood from his mouth. He struggled to move his wand in his fingers.

Voldemort smiled, as if amused by the sudden curse. The boy was finally desperate, completely in his control, and devoid of his mother's protection this time. There would be no escape. 'Let's see how you fair with soul magic,' he said. 'It's time you died, Harry Potter.'

Harry braced himself, reaching out for all the ambient magic around him. But there was a sinking feeling in his heart as he knew that no shield could stop the killing curse.

'Avada Kedavra.' Voldemort cast the spell with a familiar feeling of satisfaction. Malevolent green, the colour of Harry's eyes rushed towards him in slow motion. He was powerless to move. There was a resounding boom as the spell connected, and Harry knew no more.

It was the usual, peaceful night at the Delacour mansion.

Sirius had been relaxing idly with a glass twirling in his hands. The Firewhisky sure was some heavy stuff. He felt drowsy, but the blueprints on the table weren't going to examine themselves. Sebastien was upstairs with his wife and kid, presumably asleep. But Sirius had a higher purpose. He had to break into Beaxubatons to talk to Harry, one way or the other, and these blueprints were going to help him do it. It had taken extensive requests (begging, Sirius reminded himself), promises and conditions to convince Sebastien to give him the plans for the prestigious school.

After all these weeks, Sirius had found only two cracks, and neither were as promising as he had hoped. He placed the glass on the table and knocked it back with his hands. Darned thing was distracting him too much. The glass fell to the ground with a crash.

'Reparo,' Sirius slurred, and got the wand movements right on the fifth try. Damn it. The Firewhisky had spilled onto the ground. What a waste.

He turned his attention back to the blueprints, spreading them out and noticing a room he had never seen before start moving upwards. A staircase suddenly compressed itself and turned purple. The ward lines became squiggly scribbles. Sirius' eyes bulged, and within moments he was fast asleep.

He was aroused by a voice shouting at him from the fireplace which had crackling calmly till then.

'Sebastien!' The voice shouted, and Sirius lifted his mane of shaggy hair from the blueprint on the table. He stared at the face of a man with blown up cheeks and thick, heavy eyebrows looking at him from the fireplace.

'Whu... Whuzzat?' Sirius said, the man really did have impressive eyebrows.

'Sebastien,' heavy, brown eyebrows said, 'Call Sebastien.'

'He's sleeping,' Sirius felt a bit more awake now. He glanced at the clock. It was the middle of the night, and his head felt a bit funny.

'This is important,' the man said. 'He would want to know. I'm from the Bureau. It's about Beauxbatons.'

'What about it?' Sirius' interest was piqued.

'It's urgent. Could you please call him?' It wasn't a request. Sirius huffed and reluctantly walked to the stairs, put an amplifying charm on his throat and called Sebastien's name. That would surely wake him up. Sirius quickly returned to the fireplace.

'He's coming. Now, what about Beauxbatons?'

Bushy Eyebrows hesitated for a second. 'I'm sure Sebastien wouldn't mind, seeing as you're sleeping at his house... It's under attack.'

'What's under attack?' Sebastien said, hurrying to the living room while fumbling with his tie. It was clear he had hastily put on his coat and his hair stuck out in all directions.

The man in the Floo looked relieved, and soon the two Guerrieres – French Aurors – were rapidly conversing in French. Sirius listened to the conversation with a cross look on his face. Sebastien nodded as the man left the Floo.

'What was that about?' Sirius asked.

Sebastien matted his hair and summoned a pair of shoes, which came flying towards him. 'Death Eaters from England,' he said irritably, 'They should know better than to mess with us. But here they are – for the kid with the scar, I'd wager.'

'They're here?' Sirius asked in amazement. In all his experience, he had never, ever heard of Voldemort wanting to do anything outside of England. Harry should have been safe in this country, by all accounts.

'Yes.' the French Head Auror nodded. 'You know anything about that?' he gave Sirius a calculating look.

'No,' Sirius said, 'but I'm coming with you.'

Sebastien knew from experience that if he denied Sirius, the old dog would find some other way to get into trouble. Best to keep him under his eye.

'Fine,' he said, taking some Floo powder from a nearby bowl. He put in the fireplace as the flames turned green. 'Follow me.'

'Bureau des Aurors,' he said.

Sirius fumbled with the pronunciation, but with some luck found himself beside Sebastien at the French Auror Department.

'Wow,' Sirius muttered, looking around at the large hall and uniformed, efficiently organised officials. 'Mad-eye would be jealous.'

Harry opened his eyes to find himself lying on the gravelled path between the lawns. A thin sheet of snow covered the ground. The ornate, marble entrance gates hung open in front of his face. He had been flung far, far away from the palace. His entire body ached as if he had been run over by the Knight Bus, and he could no longer feel the comforting shield of Arxmancy around him as he once had. He felt naked, exposed without its security. His scar prickled again and Harry turned to see the black robes of Lord Voldemort approaching him in the distance. The killing curse had miraculously failed, but Voldemort looked furious and ready to finish what he started.

Harry tried to summon the Arx again, but it feebly wavered before vanishing completely. He pushed himself to his feet nonetheless, his joints hurting and threatening to fold under him.

'Harry,' he heard a voice saying, and whipped his head around. He could see no one.

'Fleur?' he said unsurely.

'Harry,' the voice repeated. Rough, and deep. Why did it sound so familiar? 'Behind you.'

Harry turned his head to look at the gate, and a form materialised just beyond the entrance. It looked like Sirius, but what was Sirius doing here? Harry shook his head from side to side – he was becoming delusional. But Sirius still persisted.

'Come here,' his godfather said insistently. 'Hurry.' His voice was faint but unmistakable.

Voldemort drew closer, and Harry's scar stabbed with pain once again. He shut down his Occlumency shields as hard as he could, and looked towards the beckoning man. It really was Sirius, Harry realised with wonder. This was it. His opportunity to escape. Just a few feet away. He stumbled towards Sirius, but stopped, looking back at the school he was leaving behind. Smoke rose in the distance, and he could make out more than a few shattered windows as light streamed out through them into the darkness.

'Hurry,' Sirius said, stretching his hand. Voldemort seemed to have realised what was going on and angrily hissed a spell at his target, somehow knowing that Harry's protection was gone. The worn down boy couldn't have raised a shield if he had wanted to. The spell found its target. Harry instantly felt a sense of calm and euphoria descend on his mind.

'Step away. Come here,' a soothing, convincing voice said. Yes, that was what he wanted to do. Listen to the voice. Everything would be all right if he did. He knew it would. Harry stepped away from the gate, and was instantly overcome with a sense of wrongness. What was he doing here anyway?

Voldemort, the name pushed through the fog in his mind, and Harry was jerked back to his senses. He couldn't do what Voldemort wanted. Never. He fired a spell backwards and went through the gate, filled with guilt as he realised he was leaving Fleur behind. Voldemort watched Harry escape with surprise and silent appraisal – not many people could lay claim to having shrugged off his Imperius – and belatedly sent a foul looking yellow curse at his back, but it was in vain. The curse was stopped by the perimeter wards. The Dark Lord stepped closer to the gate. Dozens of Guerrieres appeared in front of him, stretching in a circle on either direction as far as he could see. Their wands were out and ready to fire.

'On the authority of the French Ministry, I command you to surrender and turn yourself in,' Sebastien Delacour intoned. 'The consequences of not doing so immediately will be harsh to the highest ruling of the law.'

Voldemort ignored the Head Auror and fixated his eyes on Harry thoughtfully. The corner of the Dark Lord's lips curled upward after a while, and he turned back towards the school without saying a word.

'You're not going to arrest him?' Harry was incensed and his voice felt hoarse. 'Go after him!'

Sirius put a firm arm around Harry's shoulders. 'I'm sorry, pup.' He looked upset, almost devastated. 'We managed to get through a few Aurors before the wards were up, but we can't risk putting any more children in danger.'

Sebastien Delacour spared him a pitying glance. 'You're very lucky to have escaped. I'll explain once we get you cleaned up. Believe me, I want to get in there and kill this bastard as much as anyone.' He looked visibly and very deeply troubled. 'My daughter is in there.'

'Your daughter, sir?' Harry asked hesitantly.

'Fleur.' Sebastien stared into the distance, lost in thought as he wondered what she was going through. If she was even alive... No, he couldn't think like that. He was in charge of the department, for Merlin's sake. He would stay focused and do his duty, and make sure everything worked out in the end.

He had to.

Back in an enormous white mansion, Sirius handed Harry a steaming cup of coffee as Mr Delacour – Fleur's father, of all people – briefly explained the very, very deep chasm of hell they were in. The coffee made Harry feel all warm and cozy inside, but there was no way he was getting any sleep that night – none of them were.

'The situation is far out of our control. Voldemort holds all the cards here. A school full of children of three different nationalities, strong wards to dissuade anybody from entering along with an army of Death Eaters...'

'Where was Dumbledore?' Harry burst out, a portion of his hot drink leaving a searing trail on his chin.

'In England,' Mr Delacour replied, 'I have received word that a Death Eater attack took place at Hogwarts moments before the attack here. Voldemort was sighted there as well. Thankfully, they retreated without doing much damage.'

'How is it possible that there are so many Death Eaters?' Sirius put in. 'Most of them were sent to Azkaban, where I heard they recently died due to a freak accident?'

'New recruits?' Mr Delacour offered weakly. 'They are ten steps ahead of us right now. We are doing all we can.'

His face grew graver and more worrisome with each word he said. He purposefully hadn't awoken his family – they would be able to deal with the bad new better in the morning; and he didn't have the heart to wake up Apolline and Gabrielle and tell them their baby flower was trapped in the school with an evil, mass murdering psychopath.

'How did you escape from old Voldy anyways?' Sirius asked Harry.

'Arxmancy. It's err... a kind of wandless shield–'

'It's what we use to make the strongest wards around the world. It's a very rare skill,' Mr Delacour cut him off, looking impressed.

'Speaking of wards,' said Sirius, after shooting Harry a stern glance that they would talk about this later. 'how did Morty break the Beauxbatons' wards? I've heard they're one of the most secure ones made in the history of France. Believe me, I looked into them hard enough.'

After a brief look of irritation at Sirius, Sebastien replied, 'He must have had some inside help. Voldemort is strong, but not that strong – to be able to do it single handedly anyways.' He looked pensive.

'I...umm,' Harry said thoughtfully. 'I think I know a fou-'

'It couldn't have been a student,' Mr Delacour interjected, 'Only a teacher, someone with experience, would have the kind of knowledge and access to wards that would have been required.'

'Mr Durant,' the words were out of Harry's mouth before he could stop them. He had never particularly liked the Defence Professor, and Durant had always been a bit snarky towards Harry anyways. He looked like the sort of man with a dark past.

'Maybe.' Mr Delacour shrugged. 'It's best not to make allegations until you're sure, but it's possible. And then again, I might be mistaken about the wards and Voldemort might have done it some other way. It's hard to say so early. But I'll keep your suggestion in mind.'

'Ah… right.' Harry nodded dejectedly. It was clear that Mr Delacour was as uncertain about whole situation as Harry was feeling himself. Voldemort was hanging like a dark cloud above his head, with rain and lighting and thunder all drenching him in their its' misery. Truth be told, he would have rather let Voldemort take him than let the school suffer. It was all so wrong.

'Chin up, Harry,' Sirius said, putting a comforting hand around his shoulders. 'You just defeated an evil dark lord and you're still in your teens. Prongs would be proud – I know I am.'

Harry smiled weakly at Sirius' words, feeling a bit better despite the words ringing hollow. 'I didn't defeat him.' Harry shivered. 'I escaped certain death at his hands.'

'That's all you can do, isn't it?' Sirius' words had a certain weight to them, borne with memories of the past. 'You live to fight another day. And then another... and you never stop.' He shook his head sorrowfully. 'You can never stop...'

Sirius' words hung heavily in the air; Harry stared at the roof, thinking back to the events of the night which had led him here. He couldn't forget, still couldn't fathom how everything had gone so wrong, so fast.

The fireplace glowed green and Bushy Eyebrows popped in his head.

'Monsieur Delacour, s'il vous plaît,' he said politely.

'I have to meet with the Minister,' Sebastian said, looking back at his two guests. 'It's an international crisis, and he's extremely pissed at being woken up in the middle of the night. Tell Apolline what happened, okay?'

Sirius grinned and gave him a thumbs up as he left, but Harry found he didn't have the heart to do anything more than nod blankly. It was so infuriating just sitting here, doing nothing. This was his mess, and Sirius was right, he wouldn't stop – he couldn't. Voldemort had declared war, and he would be damned if he didn't fight back.

Chapter Text

Sebastien Delacour smiled nervously at the French Minister of Magic, Monsieur Sauveterre, a big, burly man with a temper as big as his moustache.

'Death Eaters?' the Minister stared at his subordinate, his voice shrill at the end. 'Blasted English terrorists is our country?! C'est incroyable!' he threw his hands up in the air and tugged viciously at his moustache. 'What is the meaning of this, Sebastien?'

'It's all under control, Minister,' Sebastien said placatingly, cutting an insignificant figure as he sat across the desk in the Minister's oversized office.

'You lie too quickly and too readily, Sebastien.' the Minister's face turned dangerously red. 'When I asked you if we could hold the Triwizard Tournament safely in our country, you said yes. When I asked you if we should extend a hand of friendship to our insufferable neighbours across the pond, you said yes! And now you lie to me again! To me, the Minister of Magic!'

Sebastien's eyes dropped before the Minister's. It was clear no amount of honeyed words would calm down the Minister, especially when he was in such a bad mood. The Head Auror's vast experience told him that the best course of action in such cases was to tell the whole truth first, and deal with the barrage of backlash afterwards.

'You're right.' the subordinate looked at the Minister straight in the eye. 'I lied. Nothing is under control. We have limited resources and limited time in which to gather them. The way I see it – are choices are severely limited.'

The Minister's face grew whiter with each word but Sebastien ploughed on stoically. 'We need to lock our borders. No one comes in, no one goes out – at least through magical means. It should at least slow down the Death Eaters from getting reinforcements and give us time to retaliate. Secondly, news of the attack does not leave the upper echelons of the Ministry. We can't have panicked parents and overzealous reporters at our throats all the time. They can find out when we deem it appropriate. And lastly...' Sebastien sighed in resignation. 'We need the help of the British Aurors.'

The Minister had been listening quietly to his Head Auror... until the last sentence.

'Absolutely not!' Minister Sauveterre erupted in protest. 'I can manage closing our borders; I will happily restrict the press and keep the news quiet; but I will not – I repeat – I will not ask that pompous buffoon Fudge for his help!' The Minister banged his hand down on his desk, sending papers flying in all directions. 'It is their citizens who got us into this mess in the first place!'

'Convicted citizens.' Sebastien pointed out. 'And one dead Dark Lord.'

'Balivernes!'

'The British Aurors would know how best to fight them. We need all the help we can get, especially with so many underage wizards and witches involved.'

But the Minister was not moved, no matter how much Sebastien tried to persuade him. After a sustained charge of reasons and threats to support his arguments, which turned out to be an exercise in futility, Sebastien deemed it wise to return to his office. There was work to be done. Multiple late night floo calls, personal visits and summons had gathered most of the essential Ministry staff. Most didn't what the emergency was, but they had been labouring and complaining for multiple hours, which had made the atmosphere tense, feverish and nervous all at once. Sebastien wasn't feeling much different himself.

'Monsieur Delacour?' A prim brunette with thick glasses peeked in through the half-open door. It was his new assistant, barely a month at her post. He found her rather pert and loquacious for his tastes.

'Entrez, Emily,' he said sharply, but with a touch of weariness in his tone. 'you have the reports?'

Emily gave him the reports and left after commenting he looked as if he had come back from a meeting with a Hungarian Horntail, rather than the Minister. Sebastien smiled weakly and shuffled through the pile of illegal Portkey usage reports. Progress was maddeningly slow. There had been multiple incoming violations around the time of the attack, when the Death Eaters arrived, as expected. But one report caught his eye. Interestingly, it said there was another isolated usage of a short distance Portkey, almost a full half hour after the first ones. Also, unlike the other ones, it was away from the school, not to it. The destination was placed at an abandoned manor house about a couple of hundred miles to the west of Beauxbatons.

'Emily!' Sebastien shouted into the Floo, prompting the girl to come running into his office.

'Yes?' she raised an eyebrow as her superior gave her the specially marked Portkey report. 'Is there something wrong with this? But I was–'

'Give this to Dupont and tell him to investigate it on the double,' her superior interrupted, 'I have a good feeling about this.'

'Oh, well... Yes, of course, sir.' Emily nodded and briskly walked out, slamming the door behind her. Sebastien winced – the girl was efficient, but sometimes all he wanted was a softly closed door which didn't aggravate his growing headache.

Even though the hour hand of the clock indicated he had slept for almost twelve hours (or not at all), Harry felt as if he had barely slept for as many minutes. The evening sun filtered in through the curtains, but it was all flickering and twisting and turning in a dull haze. His head hurt, and his mind was still on a rollercoaster through his half-finished dreams and the deathly-still darkness of the night. He kept seeing Fleur, and hearing her voice in his head.

'Is that you, Harry? I miss you.' a ghost of a smile danced on Fleur's parted lips. She was lying there, right where Harry had left her under the Cloak.

'I.. I miss you too,' Harry replied, reaching out for her, only to see her form waver and turn into mist in Harry's fingers. And suddenly she was whole again, pouncing on Harry and trapping him underneath her fingernails.

'You left me!' she snarled, ferocious and wild as an untamed beast. 'You left me here – alone – to die!'

'No... no... no.' Harry protested, his skin growing cold. 'Never – I would never-'

'Pup.' Sirius' head popped into Harry's room. 'I heard noises, are you awake?'

Harry was jerked back to the present, sweat covering his forehead as he sat up ramrod straight. He fumbled on the side table for his glasses, putting them on. He glanced at the antique grandfather clock. Another hour had passed.

'Sirius.' his voice was dry. 'Yeah... yeah, I'm awake now.'

His godfather rolled his eyes and hastened him to come to the living room, where Mr Delacour was apparently bringing some guests. Harry absentmindedly nodded, his mind's eye replaying his dreams again and again. Guilt still coursed through his veins, fresh and unforgiving. He fervently hoped his Invisibility Cloak would be able to keep Fleur safe. Mr Delacour had been tepidly relieved when Harry told him about it, but he was far from reassured.

And then there was the small matter of being hit by the killing curse. A flash of green and a loud explosion ringing in his eardrums arrested Harry's senses. A wave of nausea slowly passed as he tried and failed to remember more details from that one, single moment before he fell unconscious. One thing he was almost certain of was that the spell had never touched his skin. It vaguely felt like the other times he had used Arxmancy, but there was something different. He resolved to ask Mr Delacour if he knew a specialist who could help him understand it. His pulse quickened as he thought about it. Arxmancy...

Arxmancy had saved his life more than once now.

He couldn't pass it off as insignificant. Not any more. He had to accept that, like Parseltongue, it was just another thing which pulled him away from his peers. All he had wanted all his life was to be another face in the crowd, leading an untroubled, quiet, happy life. But people were getting hurt, and trouble followed him wherever he went. It had followed him all the way to France. If he didn't accept who he was now, he might never have the chance again. In the eyes of the world, he was the freaking Boy-Who-Lived. But in his heart, he knew that he was just a kid making sure his parents' sacrifice didn't go in vain. There was something poignant and powerful about his realisation. that He took a deep breath as emotion welled up in his eyes – he would live up to it.

The Gryffindor lightly tilted his head from side to side, tracing a line over his scar, and made his way to the bathroom. He splashed a handful of water onto his face, letting the cool droplets trickle down the contours as he looked at himself in the mirror. His blurry reflection stared back, fierce and exhausted, as he let himself calm down from the rush of adrenaline that had been flowing through him. A sharp glint caught his eye. There was a small inscription on the edge on the glass. Harry traced his finger over the copper-tipped letters, putting on his glasses. The text was shifting, and getting blurred – it felt odd. The vagaries of the world are so often cloaked in darkness, but one never placed them in a different light. Was that from a book somewhere? Sounded like that kind of morbid quote. Regaining his composure once more, Harry shrugged and left the guest room.

He found Sirius and Mr Delacour, who was still wearing his clothes from work, seated in front of the fire. True to Sirius' word, there were also two unfamiliar faces settled side-by-side on the sofa. Harry looked at them curiously. One of them was a young blonde woman wearing an enormous brown fur coat and high heels – she looked rather ridiculous in them. The other was a heavily moustached man with his brown eyebrows scrunched behind fashionable, dark sunglasses. He wore an overcoat around two sizes big for him.

'Monsieur Ferrari and Madame Ferrari, ambassadors from Italy.' Mr Delacour introduced them with a flourish. 'This is Harry Potter.'

Both of them nodded rather stiffly, as if they had never heard the name before, and shook hands.

'Buonasera,' the man said in startlingly deep, heavily accented voice.

'Pleased to meet you,' said Harry, but the two strangers were no more forthcoming.

Harry sat beside Sirius, who grinned. 'Bloody foreigners, they call us. These two are more foreign than a bikini at the Ministry Gala.'

Mr Delacour frowned at Sirius, but sighed in the end. 'I'm sure the Ferraris' are here on important business, despite the fact that they declined an audience with the Minister.' he looked meaningfully at the couple, but they were admirably steadfast in ignoring their host. Their host repeated the sentence in Français and Italiano, but to no avail. Mrs Ferrari produced something which was between a half-nod and a shake of the head.

'C'est exaspérant!'' Mr Delacour threw up his hands in frustration. 'I don't know if they're scared or stupid, or both. I've tried to get them to engage in a proper conversation ever since they were brought to the Ministry. They haven't said a sensible word except their name, designation and greetings. I thought the Ministry might be intimidating them, so I brought then home. I can't risk offending them.'

The Ferraris' smiled blandly, offering no indication of their thoughts or whether they had understood what was being said.

'Who exactly are they?' Harry asked curiously. It felt as if Mr Delacour wasn't being completely forthright.

'They're important to my investigation.' Mr Delacour said and pursed his lips. 'I'll get some drinks. See if you can get them to loosen up.' Their host got up.

Harry looked helplessly at Sirius. 'Do you know what's going on?'

'I haven't the slightest clue.' Sirius smirked. 'But I'm going to find out.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Bothering someone who doesn't want to be bothered seems like a waste of time to me.' Harry stood up, still feeling weary from his earlier experiences.

Sirius dragged him down promptly. 'It's not wasting time if it's fun. Watch and learn, young apprentice. I know how to get someone to talk.'

Harry had a bad feeling about this. Sirius rubbed his hands gleefully and leaned forward, looking into Mr Ferrari's sunglasses.

'You, good sir,' the experienced prankster said, 'have a brain the size of a flobberworm.'

Mr Ferrari stared back unblinkingly, like a snake. No reaction. Sirius burst into laughter, rocking back and forth like a madman.

'Err... Sirius,' Harry ventured, not amused in the least, 'What if they understand English?'

'They're diplomats – of course they understand English!' Sirius grinned. 'That's what makes this so fun!'

'But Mr Delacour said–'

'Loosen up, Harry!' Sirius said, 'Listen, I got a few more.' He turned to Mrs Ferrari, who was wearing an inordinate amount of makeup. 'I love what you've done with your hair,' he said with complete sincerity, 'how do you get it to come out of your nostrils like that?' The woman's cheeks coloured slightly, but she didn't utter a word.

Sirius turned to Mr Ferrari once again. 'If I had a galleon for every time you said something smart, I'll be 29 knuts short of a sickle.'

Crease lines appeared on the ambassador's forehead. 'Your face would scare off a boggart,' Sirius continued in cheery vein, 'You're smellier than a blast-ended skrewt in a pile of dragon dung.'

Mr Ferrari drew his breath in sharply, his knuckles white as he clutched the arm of his seat in self-control. He directed a look of pure loathing at Sirius, who smiled in success. Mr Delacour chose that moment to arrive, a bottle of Firewhisky and four glasses floating behind him.

'Any luck?' their host asked, looking at his two red-faced guests. He deftly poured the drinks into the glasses and placed them on the glass-topped table, as the fire crackled merrily in the background.

'Loads.' Sirius grinned evilly. 'See.' He turned to Mr Ferrari once more, who seemed the more likelier to crack out of the two. 'Pillock.' the retired prankster said rather pointedly, close to the man's face. 'Plonker. Tosser. Wanker. Hag. Twit. Troll head. Troll breath.' Sirius took a moment to think.

'You missed troll.' Harry put in with a slight smile as he realised their dignified guest was starting to steam. This could actually work.

'Indeed.' Sirius said, raising an eyebrow. 'Troll. Chudley Cannons. Qo-'

Mr Ferrari had a restless tick in the corner if his eye, which grew more erratic with each word. He clearly understood English, and quite well at that. Mr Delacour was about to interrupt Sirius, but his previously mute guest got there first.

'Enough!' Mr Ferrari thundered in a distinctly younger, less deep voice, which took some of the edge off the proclamation, and made it sound more surly than scary.

'Merlin's beard!' Sirius drew back with comically wide eyes. 'IT SPEAKS!'

'You...' Mr Ferrari pointed a trembling finger at Sirius, looking ready enough to throttle him with his bare hands. 'You piece of mudblood trash!' His glasses fell off in his rage as he stood up, and Harry got a proper look at his face for the first time. It looked distinctly familiar. 'Flithy rat-nosed scum!' Mr Ferrari – who would be a distinct embarrassment to Quattro Formaggi and blue cheese, if not for the fact that he was now obvious as an imposter – took out his wand and pointed it at Sirius.

'Non!' Mrs Ferrari, who had been quiet till then, rushed to his side and hissed in his ear. She spoke English with a heavy French accent. 'Stop! You'll ruin everything!'

'He - he had the audacity to insult me.'

'Can't you take a few insults?'

'Never.'

Mrs Ferrari stepped on his foot vindictively. 'Just suck it up, idiot.'

'No,' Mr Ferrari said arrogantly. 'We Malfoys have more pride than that.'

What? The conversation had been carried out in whispers, but Harry had been sitting close enough to hear each word clearly.

'Draco?' he said in realisation. That was why he looked so familiar, minus the beard and the moustache. His snide voice was unmistakable. 'What are you doing here?'

'Potter.' Draco sneered at him, throwing away all pretence. 'The pleasure is all mine.'

Mr Delacour looked bewildered. 'You two know each other?'

'Far too well for my liking,' Harry replied, 'Who's with you, Malfoy?'

'Aurelie de La Fontaine,' he replied instantly as Aurelie made a frustrated sound. 'What?' Draco turned to her. 'You thought I was going to shield you? I don't even know you.'

'Aurelie!' Harry exclaimed, but it did make sense. The copious amount of beards, hair-colour changes and disguises were suspiciously similar to the one she had used when they had visited the Gringotts bank in the south of France. All that seemed such a long time ago now. But how in Merlin's name did Mr Delacour get hold of the two of them?

'You know her too?!' the head auror looked as if the eyes would pop out of his head.

'Yeah...' Harry said slowly as Aurelie waved her wand and removed the glamours now that they were no longer necessary. Mr Delacour shook his head in visible confusion.

'Expelliarmus!' he cast twice, taking the wands of both his guests. He looked like he desperately needed to get things under control. 'Okay, now you talk.'

Mr Delacour launched into a long and arduous line of questioning, as the bits and pieces slowly started to fit in together. Draco and Aurelie had taken an unauthorised Portkey out of Beauxbatons not long after Voldemort struck. They had ended up in an abandoned manor used occasionally as a vacation house by the Malfoys'. Before long, Mr Delacour had traced their magical signatures through some Portkey records and sent Aurors to get them for questioning.

'Dupont was conned by a couple of teenagers!' Mr Delacour almost spilled his drink in amusement.

On seeing the Aurors, the two escapees had (Draco claimed he had been coerced by the out-of-control redhead) raided a cupboard and put on some of Malfoys' parents clothes, in addition to Aurelie's glamours. They had then concocted the story of being two frightened magical Italian ambassadors suffering from amnesia in the hope no one would dare to arrest them or question them too closely. They had somehow succeeded in convincing Dupont. Draco's rudimentary Italian came in handy... but Mr Delacour had been suspicious from the beginning.

'Well, well, well.' The Head Auror leaned back with a perceptive eye. 'Nothing you said proves you're not working with the death eaters.'

'Of course not!' Aurelie protested, a bit too loudly. 'I mean, obviously – we're not even of age.' she tempered her voice.

Mr Delacour's eyes settled on her cooly. 'Then tell me, Miss De La Fontaine.' he swivelled the glass in his hand. 'How did you obtain your Portkey? Do not presume I did not notice you conveniently left that part out of your story.'

Aurelie opened her mouth once... twice... but was struck dumb. Draco shrugged impatiently.

'Just tell him.' he told Aurelie. 'It doesn't matter. My father will get us, well... me, out of here as soon as possible. I know you are plan–'

'Shut up, Draco!' Aurelie shouted, tears threatening to leak from her eyes. But still she revealed nothing.

'I... I don't know,' she said finally, not convincing in the least.

'I thought so.' Mr Delacour nodded, getting up. 'I will be detaining the two of you in a Ministry cell for questioning under Veritaserum, pursuant to the Marseille Civilian Emergency Act of 178-'

'Stop.' Aurelie had gone white. 'There was one more person with us.' she was talking very fast. 'My sister – Celine – I love her. She didn't arrive with us in the manor. I'm... I'm scared she might still be in Beauxbatons.'

'There was no magical signature within 50 kilometres of the manor besides the two of you.' Mr Delacour agreed, processing the information. 'Very curious, unless of course, the Portkey was tied to your magical signatures – allowing no one else to travel with the two of you.'

'No.' Aurelie breathed, her hands folded on her chest. 'No... how? A-...Celine,' she whispered. She stumbled over her words, but they carried genuine emotion.

'I am sorry for you sister, but if you don't give me anything to prove your innocence, I will have no other choi–'

'I'll talk.' Aurelie swallowed. 'I'm innocent. But I... I... know things. Secrets. Please believe me. I can help you help my sister.'

'I doubt it. Convince me.'

Aurelie closed her eyes tight shut, retreating deep into her thoughts. 'I have to speak with Harry Potter first,' she finally said, 'alone.'

'No.' Mr Delacour set his jaw hard. 'You are just buying time. I will not–'

'Mr Delacour?' Harry interrupted. He had been listening to the conversation intently and had been shocked as anyone to find Aurelie there. But there was something about her that intrigued him. She seemed different... gentler, more brittle, somehow. The Aurelie he knew was as stubborn and defiant as a mule. Despite his misgivings, or perhaps because of them, he knew he had to hear what Aurelie wanted to say to him.

'Let me talk to Aurelie first, please,' he found himself saying, 'I trust her.'

The head Auror had a grim look on his face.

'Sebastien.' Sirius looked at him meaningfully. 'There's no harm in it. I trust Harry to do the right thing.' Harry threw him a grateful look.

Mr Delacour threw his hands up. 'Outvoted in my own house!' he looked at Harry. 'Fine. Talk. But I'll be watching.' he motioned to the dining table. Aurelie and Harry got up in silence and walked to the modest sized, wooden dining table on the other side of the large room, taking seats on opposite sides. Aurelie reached across the table and squeezed Harry's hand comfortingly.

'Harry.' she leaned forward, whispering, her voice filled with pain and regret. 'I'm not the person you think I am.'

'I know.' This day had proved as much.

'You would hate me if you knew who I truly was, what I've done...'

'No.' Harry shook his head stoically. He wasn't going to give up on her just because she had pretended to be a crazy Italian. 'Never.'

'You would.' A sad smile grazed her lips. 'But we need your help first.'

Darkness. That was all Fleur knew for several desperate moments.

And then there was light – piercing through the fog in her eye, clutching, clawing desperately until finally reaching her retina. A soft, smooth cloth touched her lightly on her skin.

Footsteps thudded past.

Someone threw a match on her face, causing her to almost squeal in surprise as it sizzled out on the cloth. She held her breath, as she watched the man – a death eater by the looks of it – turn nonchalantly in her direction and let another matchstick drop, this time on her foot. He completely ignored Fleur, laughing at something his companion was saying. The two of them slowly plodded round the corner.

Fleur felt shivers creep down her skin. It was impossible to say whether it from the cold marble of the floor or the close shave she just had. After making sure the corridor was empty, she carefully stood up. She walked to a nearby window and looked into the crystal pane. The sun had set, and it was pitch black outside. She pressed her face to the cool glass, but try as she might, she could find no reflection. It was as expected. It confirmed what had been almost certain about. She was wearing the Cloak she had seen in Harry's memories a few times, and the one which he talked about so fondly.

But why did she have his Cloak, and where was Harry himself?

Memories came flooding back in her mind. The dance... the awkward change of partners... the almost kiss... the sudden attack... Voldemort... Harry's vision... their fight through the corridors... Harry's pigheaded idea to face Voldemort himself... and then he tricked her. That idiot had pecked her on the cheek and stunned her! Red, hot rage pricked at the corners of her mind. How dare he? He must have covered her with his Invisibility Cloak afterwards, the insufferable idiot. But a sudden realisation chased away all the anger from her mind, replacing it with something worse – worry. A lot of time had surely passed. There were death eaters roaming around freely in the school. That meant... that meant – no, she couldn't bear to think of it – they had lost. She leaned against the wall, feeling light-headed all of a sudden.

No, it wasn't possible. Madame Maxime wouldn't allow it. But what... what if? And what had happened to Harry? Her heart constricted. The mere thought of anything happening to him was unbearable. She had to find out. She had to find out what exactly had happened in the battle. She clutched the liquid-like cloth in her hands tightly, and let it go, exhaling as it slithered from her grasp.

She had to learn her surroundings, she had to find out what had happened. She took solace in her invisibility and set off in the direction of the biggest hall in the palace, the dining hall.

It was empty. Completely empty.

The enormous stone table sat coldly in the middle of the room, casting a foreboding aura around the hall.

'Tempus,' Fleur whispered under her Cloak. 1:52. Voldemort had struck at midnight. She had been dancing in Harry's arms then. All that seemed a lifetime ago. The glowing digits mocked her – taunting her to just think. A battle had just taken place. Fleur vividly remembered the students being rushed to the dorms. She shuddered. They would be there, herded together like sheep, until Voldemort decided what to do with them. She wondered what she could do when two death eaters walked in, passing inches behind her.

A blonde-haired man with a bad-tempered face was speaking loudly. 'You have inexcusably remiss in your duties, Mulciber. The dark lord will be most displeased.' the voice speaking, however, sounded quite pleased that the dark lord's displeasure would be directed at Mulciber. It was a snobbish voice, reminding Fleur of the host of one of her father's numerous fancy dinner parties.

'Do not presume to speak for the dark lord, Lucius.' Mulciber snapped back. Mulciber had a blackened eye and a bleeding nose, and spoke in a harsh grating voice which immediately reminded Fleur of the death eaters she and Harry had fought, and defeated, together. That had to be one of them.

'I would never dream of doing so,' Lucius answered smoothly, as Fleur picked up her pace and followed them. They were taking the north exit, which led directly to Madame Maxime's office. The death eaters knocked on the office door, which swung open after a few seconds. Fleur quickly hurried inside before the two.

'Report.' Voldemort sat in Madame Maxime's own personally crafted chair, embellished to his taste, and for a moment Fleur felt as if he had sensed her presence. She had heard powerful wizards could see through Invisibility Cloaks. Maybe this was when she would be discovered, her journey ending before it started. But Voldemort's red eyes quickly settled on his loyal followers. Fleur let out a slow, shuddering breath. There had to something special about this Cloak – she could feel it her bones. It seemed to almost hum to her, enjoying her attention. The Veela smiled and turned to the scene unfolding before her.

'Have you accounted for all the students?' the dark lord asked, casually exuding waves of inescapable danger and quietly menacing power that would carry all those who stood before him in its wake, leaving behind only utter despair and a dark patch in their souls. Fleur felt the wrongness in her bones, and instinctively shifted away.

'Yes... yes, milord,' Muliber stuttered. 'I beg for your forgiveness, milord. We found five to be missing.'

'Five missing students, you say,' Voldemort asked quietly.

'That is correct, milord.'

'Five?'

'Ye-es.' Mulciber withered under Voldemort's threatening gaze. 'Five, in addition to Harry Potter.'

'Imbeciles!' Voldemort thundered, his narrow eyes turning into narrower slits. 'Count again.'

'We've counted the students twice, milord.' Muliber gulped and started to visibly shake.

'Crucio!' Fleur jumped at how quickly and suddenly the spell hit the death eater. His screams rang out with an intensity which the revered office had surely never heard before.

Voldemort's lips curled up into a thin smile. 'Do not question my orders. Bring me the names of the students. Question their friends – use any means necessary – find out if they are hiding anybody.'

'I will make sure it gets done, milord.' Lucius bowed, putting in his first words at an opportune moment.

'You have until tomorrow.' The dark lord waved the two of them off. 'Leave.'

Not wanting to be locked inside the office, Fleur hurried after the two death eaters, wondering how in Merlin's name there were five students missing – four besides her, of course. Were they safe? Were they hiding? She only had more questions, but no answers.

Mulciber winced as soon as they were outside.

'Need to heal myself somewhat,' he said gruffly, referring to his cruciatus curse exposure. 'he's been in a bad mood ever since that Potter boy escaped.'

Fleur's heart lifted instantly. Harry had escaped! It was a miracle.

'Drat this school.' Lucius waved his wand in the air. 'Never know what's where.'

Fleur left the two irritable death eaters behind. She felt much more optimistic than before, and realised she needed to find a place to rest for the night. She would surely be able think more clearly after she had a good night's sleep. Her own room seemed too risky. The gardens seemed too drafty. Somewhere else inside the palace then – isolated, which could be made comfortable and offered at least a veneer of security. The abandoned classrooms on the third floor presented a safe choice. Yes, she could conjure some pillows and try to get a modicum of rest, before she figured out what to do the next day.

Sweat gathered on the nape of her neck as she hurried up the large spiral staircase to the upper floors. Fleur's shoulder felt stiff from crouching and she longed to be out from under the Cloak. She had spent her entire life underneath the stares of other people, but now she walked past several without being seen. It felt refreshing, she thought, she wouldn't mind more of it. The lights were dimly lit in the unused wing of the building, but Fleur didn't dare risk a Lumos. She removed the Cloak, applied her favoured disillusionment charm on herself, just to be safe, and pushed through the door of the nearest classroom she found.

The darkness was welcoming. Blessed relief and rest felt within reach before she brushed against a soft body in the middle of the room. Her wand was out in an instant as she buried her wand in her assailant's ribs, knocking the wind out of her adversary.

'Inarcerous!' Ropes wrapped around her assailant before they had a chance to react. Fleur bet they hadn't been ready for a Triwizard Champion. A muffled, distinctly female, cry burst from her victim's lips.

'Who are you? How did you find me?!' Fleur hissed, surprising herself with her ferocity. She made sure the door was locked before casting a low powered Lumos just above her adversary's face. She drew in her breath sharply.

A mop of dishevelled auburn hair framing a familiar, pretty, heart-shaped face greeted her eyes.

'Hello Fleur,' her captive said.

'Aurelie?'

Chapter Text

Last chapter...

'Harry.' she leaned forward, whispering, her voice filled with pain and regret. 'I'm not the person you think I am.'

'I know.' This day had proved as much.

'You would hate me if you knew who I truly was, what I've done...'

'No.' Harry shook his head stoically. He wasn't going to give up on her just because she had pretended to be a crazy Italian. 'Never.'

'You would.' A sad smile grazed her lips. 'But we need your help first.'

'Help?' Harry fingers scratched the mahogany surface of the table as he drew back his fingers, his expression darkening. 'I thought you wanted to explain what's been going on. And who's we?'

'My sister and I. I can't... I can't leave her there.' The red-haired victim bit her lip unsurely. She looked at Harry appealingly, but he was unmoved. She could see he wanted some answers, some clarity, and the more she delayed, the more he became suspicious.

'I'm sorry Aurelie. But...' Harry exhaled slowly, as if didn't want to say any further, but he did. 'At least promise me you're not working with the death eaters.' Aurelie turned her face away. 'No, dammit Aurelie! Look at me.'

'I'm not working with them, Harry,' she said softly, looking him in the eye. She was almost hypnotised by their intensity. She quickly looked away. What she said wasn't the whole truth, but Merlin knew she had lied to him enough already. She would have to tell him part of the truth to alleviate his doubts about her. Getting caught at the manor had put her in an incredibly difficult situation, and she knew there was no way she would escape unscathed. She needed Harry to be on her side. It was her only chance.

'If you're not working with them,' Harry echoed Mr Delacour's words. 'Where did you get the Portkey from and escape Hogwarts, with Draco – who might as well be a death eater – no less?'

'I'm... for,' she took a deep breath. 'I'm working for them.' Alea iacta est. Aurelie's voice was a heartbreaking note of shame and horror. 'I... I had no choice.' She flung her head down, as if she could not bear to see the look on Harry's face.

'You're WHAT!' Harry exploded from his chair, red sparks flying from the wand he suddenly found in his hand.

'No, Harry!' Aurelie said desperately. 'You don't understand. I had no choice.'

'What do you mean, you had no choice?' Harry's expression tightened as he controlled his simmering anger. He remained standing, barely willing to hear her explanation. Good, that meant she had something to work with.

'They – the death eaters – threatened Celine.' she put all of the concern she felt for her sister into her performance. 'They took her favourite brooch from her bed while she was sleeping. That 'orrible boy's mother,' she jerked her head back to gesture to Draco. '-threatened to kill her if I didn't do what they said.'

The clock struck twelve, filling the room with a resounding ring. Harry sat down with a dull thud, his face expressionless.

I'm so sorry, Harry.' Aurelie gripped his hand in both of hers pleadingly. 'I couldn't let them hurt her.'

She kept her eyes open long enough for tears to start forming in them. It stung like hell, but it worked. Harry would get swayed. He had to. It was her only chance. She could see he was unsure about her. Her story had carefully woven together half-truths and lies in a way that it shifted most of the blame away from her and onto the death eaters. It would provide sufficient explanation for what she would say and do next.

'Here, Aurelie.' Harry said, extending a conjured handkerchief towards her. His face was a mass of conflicting emotions.

'Merci.' she muttered, taking the handkerchief and dabbing her eyes with it. Why wasn't Harry saying anything else?

The minutes ticked by at an excruciatingly slow pace as she saw Harry lost in thought, contemplating her fate. She did her best to look as weak and fragile as possible, but he didn't spare a glance at her, even closing his eyes for some time. She noticed Mr Delacour and Sirius looking at them with interest and disquietude.

'I don't know what to think, Aurelie.' Harry finally said, his voice cutting though the tense atmosphere. 'My parents were killed because one of their best friends' betrayed them to Voldemort. My godfather spent half of his life in Azkaban because of that slimy rat. They used to sleep in the same dorm.' He paused, letting the words sink in. 'The mere possibility that someone could do the same to me frightens me. I-'

'But I'm different!' Aurelie burst out. 'I hate Voldemort as much as you do! Even more!'

'But you fear him more too,' Harry said quietly.

She didn't have a reply to that. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Fear him? How could someone not fear him?

Harry looked at her with a regretful, almost pitiful, eye, and then stood up, their little 'interrogation' apparently over. They walked back over to where the adults were sitting in silence. Mr Delacour had a slight smirk on his lips.

'I heard her confession,' the French Auror said, slapping Harry on the back appraisingly. 'Good job.'

'Wait.' Harry said authoritatively. His demeanour had changed completely. His back was straighter now, and more sure of himself. Her confession had awakened something dark and dangerous underneath the naive boy's skin, and it was out for blood.

'If she really does regret what she did, she would want to help us. Right, Aurelie?' Harry turned his emerald green eyes towards her.

Aurelie had never seen such a predatory look on the Gryffindor's face. It sent shivers down her skin. 'Yes.' she said meekly. It wasn't like she had a choice.

'Is there any way to magically ensure that Aurelie does not betray me again and is really loyal to me and not Voldemort?' Harry addressed the adults.

Aurelie drew in her breath sharply, her face white. Mr Delacour and Sirius exchanged worried glances, but it was the godfather who spoke.

'Look Harry.' Sirius said with a forceful shake of his head. 'You know she's guilty. She even admitted it – despite her excuses. It would be best to hand her over to the French Aurors. But as to your question, only two options come into mind. We can use Veritaserum – a truth potion – to determine if she is loyal to you, or the more radical option is to make her swear an Unbreakable Vow to that effect.'

'What's an Unbreakable Vow?'

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'Exactly what it sounds like. It's a vow you can't break.'

'That means if Aurelie swears it she would never be able to betray me?'

'No.'

Hundreds of questions flooded Harry's mind. Why hadn't his parents made their secret keeper swear it? Did Voldemort use it with his Death Eaters? Did Dumbledore use it? The implications were tremendous, but there was only one thing which was important now.

'How does that sound for a compromise, Mr Delacour? She would be able to help us in fighting the Death Eaters then, wouldn't she?'

'Yes, probably.' Mr Delacour admitted after a moment's thought. 'But unless the vow is carefully worded, there can be loopholes. And I wouldn't place the slightest trust in someone who betrayed her own school, nay, her own country to the darkest of dark forces.'

'Then that is a chance we must–'

'No, Harry.' Mr Delacour interrupted him imperiously. 'When I say I wouldn't trust her, I mean I won't. She clearly knows a lot more than she's saying. I will personally question her, by Ministry protocol.'

'No,' Harry said furiously. 'She can help us infiltrate Beauxbatons, perhaps with her Portkey or I don't know, somehow! She can help us save Fleur. And she can do it now.'

Mr Delcaour's face softened. 'Or she might be lying. She might be of no help. Your judgment is clearly compromised by your previous interaction with her.'

'Mr Dela–'

'No, Harry. I'm sorry. She will get what she deserves.' And with that, Mr Delacour viciously grabbed hold of the red-hared miscreant's arm, stepped forward two steps into the green flames of the fireplace, and vanished.

Fleur had her legs resting high on a table in front of her while she leaned back in her chair. It wasn't a particularly elegant pose, but she felt it was in accordance with the predicament she found herself in. A red-haired, blue-eyed petite girl stood in front of her with ropes tied around her faded Beauxbatons uniform. She looked a lot like Aurelie, just smaller, and it hadn't taken Fleur too long to discover that it was in fact Aurelie's sister, Celine. They conversed in French, but Fleur had decided not to untie the girl, for a while at least.

'When will you untie me?' Celine said with a tremble of her lips that would melt most peoples' hearts, but not Fleur's.

'Don't do that,' the older girl said sharply. 'I'll untie you when you tell me why you're here and not back in your dorms.' She kept telling herself that this was something she had to do, and that Celine in no way reminded her of her own sister.

'It's been five whole minutes!' Celine protested rather loudly, and it was probably a good thing the classroom had been warded thoroughly.

Fleur huffed, conjuring a feather in her hand. It was time to increase the pressure.

'You know what I'm going to do if you don't tell me.' Fleur said warningly as a shoe shook itself free of Celine's leg, exposing the sole of her feet. The second year girl looked on with horror and started squealing with laughter before the feather even touched her skin.

'Don't... don't,' she said between nervous giggles. 'Aura made me promise not to tell!'

Fleur drew her hand away as the ropes fell loosely from Celine's body.

'Not to tell what?'

'She came to my dorm, that's all. With a weird looking boy wearing the Hogwarts crest.'

'Harry?' Fleur's eyebrows furrowed.

'Non,' Celine said, 'It was someone else, with blonde hair. She said she had a Portkey and we were leaving the school before the bad men came. But she disappeared, and I was left behind, and people were screaming and I was sooo scared. So I came and hid here because I knew my dorm wasn't safe, Aura told me, and I knew nobody ever used this classroom.'

Tears threatened to leak out her eyes as she narrated the story of her abandonment, and Fleur quickly engulfed her in a hug, crouching to her height. A deep portion of her mind raced trying to figure out how Aurelie got a Portkey and who was with her, but her conscious mind was only focused on comforting Celine.

'It's alright, Cee. It's alright. I'm so sorry... it was brave of you to tell me. It's not your fault. None of this is.' she whispered into the miniature Aurelie's ear.

'I'm still scared,' she admitted in a small voice.

'It's okay,' Fleur said soothingly. 'I'm here now.'

Celine's breathing incrementally evened out and it wasn't long before Celine grudgingly let Fleur apply a cushioning charm on the floor for them to sleep.

'I hope Aura escaped.' Celine whispered as they lay under the blanket of darkness and warming charms, hiding in a school that used to be a home away from home; the worst part being they likely better off than most others in the school. Fleur wordlessly combed her fingers through her companion's red hair, like she used to do with Gabrielle when she was upset. Sleep soon engulfed them both as they drifted away into the land of dreams that were much too often interspersed with tall men in hoods and masks.

The next morning...

'The French Ministry has suspended all forms of magical travel and communication in and out of this country. They have established a state of complete lockdown that will continue indefinitely. We suspect it is to prevent us from obtaining any reinforcements, and to prevent us from escaping as well,' A hooded person in a mask said to his lord.

'The antics of these politicians are unfathomable and incessantly humorous.' Voldemort said without the slightest bit of mirth on his face. 'They have prevented themselves from getting reinforcements as well, which includes Dumbledore back at Hogwarts. He must surely be feeling a fool now. Is that not so, Lucius?'

'Indeed, milord.' Lucius bowed. 'With your unmatched cunning, you have exposed his idiocy to the world.'

Fleur pressed herself to the corner of the room as Voldemort's gaze travelled around. But it did not penetrate the Invisibility Cloak, Fleur was sure of it. She had learned a lot the past few days from overhearing conversations and attending such meetings. Voldemort had commanded an attack on Hogwarts with a few Death Eaters just before his attack on Beauxbatons. News travelled fast, and it had not been long before Dumbledore heard of the Dark Mark hanging above one of his school's towers. He had rushed back instantly, leaving Voldemort a clear path to take over Beauxbatons with minimum resistance. Of course, the few Death Eaters abandoned Hogwarts as soon as the headmaster arrived with a fiery phoenix on his arm.

The deviousness of the dark lord sickened Fleur, and she was suddenly filled with a burning desire to change into her Veela form and throw a big, hot fireball into that smug face of his.

'The students are growing restless, milord.' Lucius said a bit hesitantly. 'Yesterday one of them attacked Mulciber with a Reducto, but luckily we had backup.'

'Incompetent fools.' Voldemort hissed under his breath. 'I trust you taught those brats a lesson.'

'Bellatrix wanted to use the Cruciatus, but I reminded her that milord had told us not to harm them.'

'Crucio!' Voldemort cast dispassionately at his second-in-command.

Lucius let out half a scream before Voldemort cut off the spell abruptly. 'Did you die? Did you lose your mind beyond repair?' the dark lord demanded.

'No... No, milord.' Lucius said, wincing in pain. The spell had been short, but not lacking in intensity, and it was just as blood-curdling.

'I told you not to cause them harm without reason. If they become a trouble to us, the students should be appropriately... punished. Do you understand, Lucius?'

'Yes, milord.'

'Oh, and leave Bella out of it. She might lose control and kill one of the brats.' he said it as if killing one of the students would be minor inconvenience to his plans. Avoided if possible, but hardly something worth spending any more breath over.

Lucius bowed deeply, and agreed with fervour.

Voldemort looked into the distance, his mind already on other matters.

'I have given our stay in Beauxbatons some thought. It is an opportunity which should not be wasted. We are in a school, are we not, Lucius? Education should not be withheld.' he smirked. 'Make sure the classes continue as they should. But there should be a change to the... syllabus. Teach them about our ideals and the supremacy of pure bloods. I'm sure you can find a few capable teachers among our number. It will keep them occupied... and we will be able to shape the minds of a new generation – a noble goal indeed.'

Fleur was already dreading to think what sort of school Beauxbatons would turn into if Voldemort were to be Headmaster. The role seemed to appeal to him in a strange, twisted sort of fashion.

'But... but for how long are we to do this?' Lucius asked, involuntarily taken aback by his master's command.

'Till Harry Potter returns.' Voldemort pronounced, standing up imperiously. 'For return he must!' He turned his blood-red eyes at Lucius. 'Now, do you wish to question me further or do you intend to do as I command?' He lifted his wand, pointing its gnarled end directly at his subordinate's face.

Lucius instantly dropped to his knees with fear in his eyes, kissing the hem of his master's robes.

No... no more questions, milord.' He scrambled out of the Headteacher's office in haste. Fleur followed close at Lucius' heels.

Over the course of the next two days, the school transformed from an institution of learning into a fortress of oppressive, dictatorial instruction imparting Voldemort's propaganda and the dark arts. The real teachers were stupefied and kept unconscious in the Head office, including Madame Maxime, much to Fleur's despair. She had hoped she would be able to get to them for help, but they were nearly always under the dark lord's watchful eye.

Lucius went about forcing the students out of their dorms, with thinly-veiled threats and dark spells. The number of students outnumbered the Death Eaters by more than ten to one, but the lower years were too scared and helpless. As for the upper years, they hadn't taken long to garner an intense hatred for the usurpers. Beauxbatons, Hogwarts, Durmstrang – all became united as one, a common enemy proving to be much more effective in building international co-operation than a common prize.

Soon they began gathering in large groups in the corridors and having late night meetings, taking great care to avoid the death eaters. Leaders were made and leaders were found. Fleur sat silently through many of the meetings, her heart filling with pride at the determination and bravery of her fellow students. She longed to speak to them, but didn't for the fear it might set off rumours that might eventually reach unwanted eyes. Many of the rebels wore invisible badges pinned on their robes, a symbol of solidarity with the sole reassurance of knowing that they were there, and they were united.

Les soldats de Maxime, they called themselves, even those from foreign schools. They knew she had fought with every fibre of her being for the school. The Durmstrang students had openly denounced their headmaster, with Krum leading the charge. Madame Maxime held everyone's respect, and they would fight in her name.

Because they were angry, they were strong, and they were one.

Rumours of the rogue club did eventually reach the head Malfoy's ears, and he spared no time in acting on it. He set about tracking down the person who led the whispered club learning new spells and planning to fight the Death Eaters – a lost cause in any case, Lucius scoffed. But he took them seriously nonetheless.

It didn't take him too long to find their leader. A whole week to be exact, not that he would admit it. They covered their tracks well, but nobody was perfect, and she was found.

Caroline Blanc was her name, a tall, fierce-looking witch with dark eyes and shortly cropped hair. She was a born leader, top of her class, and was flung into the dining hall at meal time. Meals had resumed in their usual efficiency, but were conspicuously absent of bright chatter and merriment. A couple of death eaters patrolled the hall with equally menacing grins. The only voices which were heard were foreboding whispers among a few brave students. Even those whispers died down as Caroline, frozen with her mouth open in a silent scream, was levitated in front of everybody and dropped to the floor with a thud.

The silencing charm was apparently removed as she instantly shouted, 'Putain de merde! Bastards! English Death Eater vermin!' her hair wildly flew around as she turned to Lucius with a murderous glare. He threw a wand in her direction that clattered to the floor. Sparks flew as she picked it with with rage-filled fervour, pointing it at him. More Death Eaters filed into the hall, forming a circle around her. She turned around one way, and then the other. Fleur, with her Veela powers of sensing emotions, could glean Caroline's slowly growing despair.

'You would dare oppose our master? You would dare oppose the greatest wizard of all time?' Lucius asked her grandiosely, ignoring the wand pointing at him. This was a demonstration, far more than this was a fight, and everyone in the room knew it. But Caroline would not relent.

'I have no master!' she shouted at him. 'My loyalty lies only with Madame Maxime, my friends and Beauxbatons!'

Cheers joined in from the table. An orange spell fizzed towards Caroline from an irate Lucius, but she put up her shield just in time. She retaliated with a Reducto, but it was blocked as well. More cheers. Some students stood up, shouting encouragements. Fleur's heart grew warm.

'Impudent girl,' Lucius said coldly, 'surrender your loyalty to Lord Voldemort, and he will be merciful. Else you shall suffer the consequences.'

Caroline was a symbol of Beauxbatons' resistance. There was a small emblem woven into her dress just above her chest, and it was visible. Crossed wands in front of the Beauxbaton's insignia with a border of red. She had designed it, and she took pride in it, and Fleur knew that countless students looked up to her bravery and her magical prowess. Lucius had, probably correctly, determined that if he publicly forced her to submit, then the rest would follow like lost sheep without aim or direction. But it was a plan easier formulated than executed.

'Make me.' Caroline spat at Lucius with red-rimmed eyes brimming with determination.

'We shall.' Lucius said grimly. 'Sanguisix!'

Caroline blocked the unfamiliar spell, as it fizzled out like the splatter of mud on her shield. Lucius motioned with his wand, and two more death eaters cast the same spell at her from opposite directions. She blocked one of them again, and narrowly succeeded in twisting out of the way of the other. And then a third spell hit her right in the middle of her stomach. It left a long horizontal tear in her dress, which rapidly reddened with fresh blood. Caroline groaned, but didn't even lift a hand to cover her wound, choosing to glare defiantly at Lucius instead. More spells found their mark. Long, red gashes decorated her hands, her legs, her face. After a point, she started screaming. The halls reverberated with the noise, dying down only to be replaced by louder and more painful ones.

'Do you submit?' Lucius asked her finally, halting the barrage of spells. She lifted her red eyes from the floor, but all her throat could produce in reply was a hoarse, barely decipherable, 'I said, make me.' she dropped to her knees and let go of her wand. The floor beneath her had turned red with blood. It was a miracle she was still conscious. But then her eyes closed and she dropped limp. Lucius smiled in satisfaction.

'This is the fate that will befall all who oppose us!' he shouted at the silent students whose food hadn't passed their lips since seeing Caroline. 'Remember and obey!' Then he repeated the whole thing in perfectly articulate French. He kicked the prone girl in the ribs roughly, making sure she was really unconscious. He smirked. His job was complete. He looked towards Rabastan with a resigned face.

'She's all yours now,' Lucius turned to leave. 'Whatever you do, make sure she doesn't escape.'

Rabastan's unblackened right eye shone with satisfaction. 'It would be my pleasure.' he mockingly bowed.

Fleur had to cover her mouth from screaming.

It had been almost a full day since Mr Delacour had vanished with Harry's best chance of breaking into Beauxbatons. Sirius had showed Harry the result of all his work put into examining the map of the school, which was predictably meagre. Sirius had been trying to break into the school to get Harry out, his told his godson with a grin, but now he was working with the same person to get him inside the school. Both equally against Sebastien's wishes. Strange how things worked out.

Mrs Delacour had been nothing short of hospitable and spared no effort to make Harry feel at home. She had already figured out he was the same young man Fleur had written to her about, who was not affected by her Allure. In a moment of curiosity, she had unleashed her Allure with full force at him, making Sirius' eyes glaze over and his tongue hang out like a dog. Harry had merely blinked and pointed out that she should not lose control in front of Sirius, who had curiously transformed into his Animagus form, which could be due to a variety of reasons Harry was not inclined to peruse.

Mrs Delacour had promptly pulled him aside with admiration and motherly concern. She forced him to tell multiple stories about Fleur, from what she did at school to how she coped with Triwizard tournament, and if Harry wanted to get into her pants (like all ze ozzer boys). He had answered honestly and gone very red at the last question, insisting his first and only concern was to get her out of Beauxbatons. Mrs Delacour had shrugged nonchalantly and said that the two were not completely unrelated, but Harry could see she was barely holding herself together with her anxiousness for Fleur as well.

The sun was beginning to cast long shadows in the shape of skewed furniture through the roof-high windows of the mansion when Mr Delacour emerged from the fireplace in a crumpled suit and with a red face.

'Harry!' he exclaimed jauntily. Harry had been examining an old map with Sirius, and almost jumped out of his couch in surprise. To add to his astonishment, Mr Delacour was followed by a short and extremely disgruntled goblin with a blackened eye.

'Non, non, non.' the goblin muttered, 'you should not have brought me here.'

'Come now, Mr Trak, you gave me your word.' Mr Delcaour spared an apologetic glance at Harry. 'Your word, High Goblin Trak. The vault has been unlocked and the key is missing.'

The goblin made a sound between a sneeze and a grunt and said gruffly, 'Very true. The key must be returned. Now who's the wizard?' he looked around as his eyes smoothly landed on Harry and stayed there. 'I see it's you, Mr Potter.'

Harry took a step. He didn't like the way the goblin's gold-filled teeth were glinting. 'I'm what, Mr Trak?' he demanded.

'An Arxmancer.' the goblin stared unblinkingly at him. 'Follow me.'

The goblin made for the door leading to the gardens. It was almost comical how he walked with his short legs and somewhat bulky build. Harry followed Trak, after an encouraging nod from Mr Delacour. Stars twinkled in the night sky and Harry found himself taken back to that cold but somehow warm night he had spent on the Beauxbatons lawns with Fleur. It had been so quiet and magical and... and it seemed a lifetime ago.

'Mr Potter!' the goblin snarled at him, wrenching him back to the present. 'I repeat again, cast your most powerful spell at me.' Trak looked almost as if he was sitting among the tall grass because of his height.

'I'm not sure, Mr Trak.' Harry asked, taking out his wand nonetheless. 'I don't harm innocents, goblin or not.'

'Do it.'

'But-'

'Just do it.' he said stubbornly. Harry shrugged and sent a low powered Expelliarmus in the cranky goblin's direction. It fizzled out a few inches from its green skin.

It looked exactly like – 'Arxmancy.' Harry whispered, still confused. But goblins couldn't perform that type of magic, could they?'

'Indeed it is.' Trak said, 'Mr Delacour has convinced me it would be in my best interests to teach you.'

'But... but I thought only wizards–'

'Centuries ago,' Trak cut him off with a tone of disdain, 'only goblins could perform Arxmancy. We were masters of the art and paid handsomely to build wards for rich wizards. It was a golden age of wizard-goblin cooperation. But the wizards, as is their nature, became jealous. They didn't like depending on lowly goblins–' Trak made a face' –for anything, least of all the security of their homes. They became inflamed with their desire for the powerful art. With their wands and superior numbers and powerful mages, they stole the art from us. They stole our birthright. Arxmancy was the pride of all goblins, and it was taken away, leading directly to, and being the real reason for, the Great Goblin War of 1264, but I expect you know about that.'

Trak coughed, looking meaningfully at Harry. Harry nodded fervently, recalling Mr Binns had said something about goblins and wars and then Ron had distracted him with a new trick wand that cast spells backwards.

'But Arxmancy did not agree with all wizards. Most of their magical cores were not... compatible with the power, for the lack of a better word. Some even died from it. But then there were some, very few of their number, who were able to control it and wield it as goblins did. The wizards' greed were satiated. Then, about three hundred years later, the affinity for Arxmancy again began to pop up in a few goblins. We think it was most likely due to the intermittent cross-breeding between appropriate recessive magical traits. The end result was that goblins were left with the knowledge of the art and a few who could wield it and wizards were left without knowledge of the art and a few more who could wield it. Now, that is the rough background of our hallowed art. Any questions?'

Harry ran over the details in his mind. Somehow, even goblin wars sounded interesting when Mr Binns wasn't droning on about them. But the question was, did he really want to become proficient in Arxmancy? Yes, the answer instantly came to his mind. He had been a fool not to take instruction from Mrs Scalar. Maybe if he hadn't tried to fit in with everyone then maybe, just maybe, Fleur would be here, standing beside him. But now all he could hope for was that he wasn't too late. He looked at Trak with a hardened face. He had never been more certain of anything in his life.

'You'll be able and willing to teach me how to master Arxmancy?' Harry asked, because he had been let down just too many times in the last few days.

Trak stared. 'Master Arxmancy?' The goblin wheezed with laughter. 'My dear child, it takes a talented goblin at least twenty years to even get close to mastering the art!'

Harry put on affronted face, but inwardly his heart sank. Why was there always a catch?

'I am reasonably certain,' the goblin continued, 'that it would be in my best interests to teach you. But I can't teach you conventionally, there isn't enough time. From what Sebastien told me, your emotions or survival instinct is closely linked to your power, too closely in his opinion, but we can use it to our advantage. I will teach you how to harness your emotions, and then we will see what we can do.'

The entire arrangement struck Harry as rather dubious. Harness emotions? What did that even mean?

'Okay...' Harry trailed off uncertainly. 'If it works, I'm ready to learn.'

'Then we can begin.' the goblin showed off all his teeth again. 'Cast the spell at me again.'

Harry made sure to put some extra juice into his Expelliarmus this time. Let's see how the infuriating goblin liked dealing with that. The goblin looked pleased, too pleased even, as the spell flew at him. Too late, Harry realised too late that something wasn't quite right as the spell neatly reflected off thin air and straight into his own chest. Wasn't it supposed to fizzle out? His instincts took over. There wasn't enough time to move. He clutched the wand tightly in his hand, recalling his lessons with Mr Durant towards the beginning of his stay in France. The wand was part of him, Harry recited in his mind. It would not leave his hand because it was not a separate entity. They were one and the same.

Harry found himself falling face first into the cool grass, losing consciousness almost instantaneously. He could feel himself entering a dreamlike trance. It felt similar to the last dream he had. Surreal and peaceful and no matter how much he struggled, his mind slowly lost coherence.

What was he doing here again?

'Harry? Harry?!' A voice as sweet and melodious as a trickling waterfall trickled into Harry's ears. He was in Beauxbatons once again, except that it was completely empty. Fires shone with a muted crackle, books rustled in the library; the only other sound he could hear was the sound of his own footsteps. And then there was that voice.

'Harry! Behind you!' Harry heard it as he ran through the empty rooms and corridors. He turned back again and again. But there was no one. The voice enraptured his ears, overwhelming his senses, distinctly feminine and vaguely familiar.

'Where are you?' Harry shouted, his voice hoarse. His feet were aching and his throat was dry, and he had forgotten what he was doing there in the first place. He stumbled backwards tiredly, almost ready to give up, but felt the encircling arms of a soft body. He turned back haggardly, but only saw an empty corridor.

'Harry?' the voice said more softly, close to his ear. He could feel the warmth of her body, but she was still invisible.

'It's me,' he replied in a slightly confused voice. 'What do you want?'

He felt the light tickle of her breath on his neck, caressing it playfully, and the feather touch of lips on his ears.

'Save me, Harry.' she sounded vulnerable and entrancing. ' Get me out of here.'

He turned towards her, still in her intangible embrace. 'I will. But you have to tell me, who are you?'

The world instantly turned cold. The warmth left his arms, leaving behind goosebumps on his skin.

'You don't recognise me?'

Harry tried as hard as he could, but his mind was just a wasteland of uncertainty and confusion.

'No...'

The once-sweet voice rose in a screech, almost shredding his ears. He covered his ears, but it helped little. Nails scratched across his face, leaving trails of fire behind.

'How could you forget me? How could you? You left me behind!'

He was starting to burn from inside, it was all-consuming; and then the presence was gone, leaving behind a cold emptiness and the desolate corridors of Beauxbatons.

Harry woke up with a ringing voice inside his head, the memory of the dream burning a hole inside his head. And there was also another sound. The sound of his mind whispering a single word to him: Fleur.

Chapter Text

'Open up,' Rabastan snarled.

Caroline Blanc was a survivor. Ever since she had fled her home at the age of nine and arrived at the doors of Beauxbatons, hungry and with skin scraped from three nights on the streets – she had known it.

Madame Lavigne, the Charms professor, had found her, gasped, and treated her to a hot bowl of soup and bouillabaisse. It was better than her own parents had ever treated her, the useless drunkards and gamblers. Madame Lavigne had immediately agreed to take her in, like Beauxbatons did with so many magical orphans, but she treated the fiery child like her own daughter.

Caroline would never forget the kindness that had been shown to her, and all that Beauxbatons had done for her. It gave her the strength to look Rabastan in the eye as he force fed her a potion that was supposed to heal her wounds suffered in the dining hall. She was to weak to resist any further, and fervently hoped the potion would do what he said.

'There's a good girl,' the death eater said approvingly, as he stepped back from the chair she was sitting. Within five minutes, her blood-red wounds disappeared, though their rust-coloured stain remained on her clothes. Caroline's eyes slowly started to close, no matter how much she tried to keep them open. A sleeping draught must also have been mixed in with the healing potion.

'Merde,' she whispered in a strained breath before falling asleep.

When she woke up again, she was lying in a soft bed with softer pillows, with a fresh set of clothes and mildly damp hair. Sun streamed in through the windows and the passing clouds made flickering patterns on the white sheets. Her body felt light and unencumbered, yet her mind was quietly apprehensive. The bed was comfortable, but she didn't let herself forget where she was, and how she got there. Though her skin was now smooth, phantom scars traced their surface, the pain fresh in her mind as her fingers traced where they had been. Rabastan was close by, her heart quickened; she had to be alert. She shifted about in bed, pushing herself up to a sitting position, when something soft and smooth brushed her hand. Caroline had to bite her lip to keep herself from squealing in surprise. A muffled groan came from somewhere beside her.

'Shush,' a formless, female timbre whispered into her ear. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Caroline couldn't quite match it to a face. 'You're finally awake.' the voice sounded relieved.

'Who are you? Why are you invisible?'

'I'm Fleur Delacour,' there was a hint of annoyance in her voice at not being recognized. But Caroline should have known. Fleur was one of those infamous missing students, who had troubled the Death Eaters to no end, and rumors were rife that she had escaped with Aurelie. The Veela's expertise in invisibility was well-known, so Caroline guessed it wasn't a surprise she had been with them all along. But why hadn't she revealed herself before?

'I'm here to help you,' Fleur continued. 'I was afraid Rabastan had given you the Draught of Living Death, but it looks like he just put you to sleep.'

What does he want with me?' Caroline gingerly swung her feet out of bed and placed them on the ground. Her wand was nowhere to be found. She looked around. It was a small room, covered in blue, with a single bed and and desk on the side.

'Nothing good,' Fleur muttered. 'Let's g–'

The door creaked open at that very moment, making Caroline jump.

'Looks like Miss Frenchie is up.' Rabastan smirked at her. He cast an appreciating eye over her. 'Ah, I see that pesky house elf took good care of you.'

Caroline picked up a jar conveniently placed on the nearby table and threw it at him, making a quick dart for the half-open door, but she didn't manage two steps before being immobilized. Rabastan condescendingly waved his wand at her.

'I thought you might try something like that.' he reached forward and caressed her cheek with the palm of his hand, almost amused at the fire dancing in her eyes. 'You have caused Lord Voldemort much trouble, Miss Blanc.'

Caroline felt like screaming and kicking and punching the smug Death Eater where it would hurt the most, but she couldn't move. Rabastan had barely placed a hand on her back when a red spell narrowly went shooting past his head. A muffled sound of annoyance came from the far corner of the room. Rabastan immediately pulled Aurelie in front of him like a shield and pointed his wand at the corner of the room.

'Show yourself!' he exclaimed.

No reply. The bed rustled.

'Show yourself. Or she dies.' Rabastan shouted, pressing his wand into her neck.

Fleur came into view, lighting up the room with her ethereal beauty, standing about two feet in front of them. She had her wand pointed straight at the two of them.

'It's you!' Rabastan's eyes were wide with shock. 'We've been looking for you.'

'Let her go.' Fleur said calmly, but Caroline could see a bit of fear in her eyes. Maybe Rabastan could too, because he laughed at her words.

'Drop your wand, girl,' he commanded. 'It is of no use. You'll have to hit your friend before you can even touch me.'

For a second Fleur almost looked bewildered, lowering her wand, before a steely glint came into her eyes. She winked at Caroline as she pulled up her wand and shot off a quick, silent spell at the duo.

'You hit her!' Rabastan laughed uproariously, 'you think you could...' It was at that moment that he realised something was wrong. Very wrong. The stiff body in his arms had suddenly gone limp. It was the only thought that crossed his mind before a hard elbow came crashing straight into his face, sending his world into darkness and agony. Caroline quickly pushed off the burly man, and Fleur finished him off with a well-aimed Stupefy.

The two girls shared a quick hug before standing over the Death Eater, wondering what to do with him.

'We can't leave him here,' Fleur mused. 'He'll go and tell Voldemort about me and then it would be almost impossible to hide.'

'I'd like to kill him,' Caroline whispered thickly, thinking about her pain and the scars and the blood, and what he could have done to her if Fleur hadn't been there. But she quickly shook her head. 'No,' she said, taking a deep breath and calming herself. 'We're better than the Death Eaters. We can't kill him.'

Fleur nodded and reached for Rabastan's pocket, taking out a wand. It was Caroline's, which she took gratefully. Fleur viciously snapped Rabastan's wand like a dry twig and threw it out of the window.

'I know what we can do,' she said, leading Caroline out of the room. It opened up into a larger room that was decorated with sofas and tables with bottles of Firewhisky lying around. Fleur wrinkled her nose and turned back.

'We're going to lock the door with the strongest charms we know.' she told Caroline with a satisfied smirk. 'Without magic, he'll be helpless.'

Caroline added a small spell at the end after they made sure even a strong wizard would find it hard to get out of the room. 'I silenced the room,' she explained to Fleur, 'so nobody hears his cries of agony and despair.'

'Won't he starve in there?'

Caroline shrugged. 'He'll be fine for a few days at least. I think I noticed some drinks in his coat – we can worry about him later.'

They both applied invisibility charms on themselves before exciting Rabastan's quarters and into the Beauxbaton's corridors, both sporting identically evil grins on their faces.

Harry faced Mr Trak defiantly, wand in hand, feet planted in the wet grass, and eyes focused in front of him.

'Again,' the goblin commanded.

Harry cleared his mind, pointed his wand at the goblin, and said, 'Expelliarmus.'

The red light travelled towards his instructor, reflected back inches from the scaly skin, and hit Harry straight in the chest. He staggered back a few steps as his wand flew out of his hands. He felt light-headed, but for the first time, managed to stay conscious. He fought to stay awake, barely succeeding in taming the approaching darkness, like he would a Leglimency attack.

After two minutes, Mr Trak walked towards him with an appraising look on his face. He picked up Harry's wand and handed it back to him. It had been almost a month of training.

'Good,' he said. It was the first compliment Harry had received, ever, from the surly goblin.

'I did it,' Harry exclaimed in astonishment, joy and hope filling his chest. He had been convinced it was impossible to stay conscious after being hit by his own spell. It was a side effect all Arxmancers faced. Since the first time Harry had been able to make a rudimentary Arxmancy barrier around him, a thin shield always surrounded his skin, Mr Trak had explained. It wouldn't stop a first year's spell, but it would always surround Harry and was connected to his magical core. It was a permanent mark that he was an Arxmancer. As he would grow more experienced, the shield would grow outwards and thicken, protecting him from stronger and more dangerous spells. In its early stages, the shield regarded all magic towards him as dangerous, and tried to protect him from it, albeit failing most of the time. But when Harry's own magic interacted with his shield, it got confused and tried to both repel and absorb it at the same time. The end result was, quite literally, mind-blowing.

Harry knew that, because he had been knocked unconscious at least a dozen times each day in the past month, from his own spell reflecting off Mr Trak's Arxmancy shield. It probably wasn't good for his mental defenses, but the surly goblin assured him that as long as Harry took the potions he had been prescribed, he would be fine. While he wasn't being worn out by his training, that is.

Training his Arxmancy shield to recognize his own magic was the first step towards mastery, and Mr Trak had insisted he learn it before trying for anything more radical. It reminded Harry of his early lessons with Mr Durant, trying to keep his wand in his hand while being hit with a disarming spell. Both methods basically performed the same task, attuning ones selves to their own magic. It seemed like the first stage towards more advanced magic.

And Harry had succeeded. Well, sort of.

'Again,' Mr Trak said in his usual surly tone.

'Wha- what?' Harry asked. He had just done it. Finally. Couldn't they take a break or–

Mr Trak coughed. 'Again.'

Harry shook his head, half-frustrated, half-exhausted, and flicked his wand sharply, 'Expelliarmus.'

Fresh with confidence, he was sure he would be able to handle it. But his concentration wavered, and he received the full brunt of the backlash from his spell like a blow to the side of his head.

He crumpled unconscious on his side. His only thought as he fell – not again.

He was in familiar place, inside the walls of Beauxbatons; in the same strange dreamlike trance that he got lost in almost every time he got knocked out. Many times he would find himself walking the corridors aimlessly as strangers walked by – both Death Eaters with surly faces and students with eyes so deadened and empty that they might have been Imperiused. Once, he had even seen the gaunt visage of Voldemort, those terrifying blood-red eyes which bored right into his soul and destroyed all in its path.

But today he found himself in a corporeal shape, with a sharp mind and focused eyes gazing upon the sleeping form of the beautiful woman who haunted his dreams every night. He rationalized it as his guilt, borne out of a strong sense of loyalty, that refused to let him forget exactly what he had done and what was at stake if made even a single mistake. His subconscious mind was in a particularly devious mood today, Harry thought wryly, as he looked at Fleur's prone form in front of him. He watched the rhythmic movement of her chest and the slow, steady breathing that characterized a deep slumber. It felt so real... It was almost as if he could almost reach out and touch her, but he didn't want to wake her.

' 'Arry?' he heard a soft gasp behind him.

No, it couldn't be. He whirled around. 'Fleur?' he said, as everything went dark. No, no, he was so close! He had to see if it was her! He scrunched his mental eyebrows and painstakingly recollected all that he had just seen, reliving each of the tiny details. The smell of her hair, the creases in her dress. He held that picture in his mind, almost willing the dream back into existence.

Then, just as if a lightbulb had switched on, he was back in Beauxbatons. Fleur was still sleeping, and the voice he had heard seemed to have no source he could discern. But something felt off. Was it the vivid nature of his dream or was it just the foreboding chill of a nightmare in his heart? He took a step towards Fleur, and her eyes opened instantly, as if she had heard him.

'Harry Potter,' she murmured, the name rolling off her lips in wonder. He immediately rushed to her side and gripped her hand in his. It felt soft and real and reassuring.

'Is it really you, Fleur?' he asked. It felt like it – he wanted it to be real, to be more than just a dream, and with all the magic around him, it might just be that.

'Yes, it's been so long.' she smiled for a moment. 'I wish we had time to talk and catch up, but I need your help.' the smile vanished, replaced by a somber look. 'You-Know-Who is looking for me. He knows I'm hiding somewhere in Beauxbatons, but he can't find me.'

Harry grew angry - worried and angry, as Fleur continued to speak, describing how she had always been hiding and almost got caught a couple of times. He had hoped his Cloak would have shielded Fleur, but it seemed there was no hiding from Voldemort.

'He's so powerful, Harry!' Fleur's voice trembled, 'I'm risking so much by talking to you, but I had to tell you. You have to come to Beauxbatons, you have to save me.'

'Save you?' Harry echoed,' everyone's trying to save you, Fleur – the Ministry, Dumbledore, your father...'

'Not them,' Fleur pressed a finger on his lips. 'You. Only you can. Remember how you stopped You-Know-Who's spell from touching you? Not even Dumbledore could do that. Only you have that power, Harry. You don't have to be afraid of him.'

Harry stared into the distance, remembering the fight in the gardens; and when he defeated Voldemort in his first year, and then his second year. 'Yes,' he muttered. 'I can stop him.'

'Yes, Harry,' she said encouragingly. 'You just have to believe in yourself.'

He had got so much better at Arxmancy. He wasn't clueless about its capabilities or the power it possessed now. She was right, nobody could touch him if he used that power. He had to believe he could when it mattered the most.

'I'm coming, Fleur,' he told her, gripping her hand tightly and looking into her eyes. She averted her eyes, her body stiffening.

'What happened?' Shivers shot up his spine.

Fleur let go of his hand, closing her eyes as if pain. 'You-Know-Who,' she gasped, 'he's near. I have to go.'

'Where?' Harry exclaimed and stood up, wand in his hand.

'Bye, Harry,' she said with a sad smile, 'I'll be waiting for you.'

Harry found himself roughly pushed back into consciousness, back in his bed at Delacour manor. A myriad of conflicting emotions swirled through his mind, at the forefront of which was amazement at having just spoken to Fleur. He was convinced she had been real – he remembered the dream vividly. And she needed his help. He had to help. No one else could. But how would he get into Beauxbatons? The Ministry had been trying for weeks, but to no avail. His mind spun into sixth gear. There was very little time. Fleur had made it clear she was in imminent danger. Despair filled his heart. It was like living in his worst nightmare.

Harry desperately tried to think of ways to get into the school, each thought crazier than the last. Break the wards with Arxmancy? No, he didn't think Arxmancy could do that. Convince Sirius to turn him into an Animagus? No, that would take too long. Turn himself over to Voldemort? No, that wouldn't help anybody.

Then, within the swirl of muddled thoughts, a single clear solution emerged. One that he didn't believe he hadn't thought of before.

Aurelie, of course! She had gotten out of the school after the attack, and had clearly been working with Voldemort. Her betrayal rankled deeply, but if anybody could help him, she definitely would. This would be a test of her true loyalty. Harry flew into action and didn't let himself have any second thoughts as he gripped his wand in his hand, fingers curling around tightly. Don't worry, Fleur, he thought, I'm coming for you.

'Name?'

'Aurelie.'

'Full name, please.' the Ministry official grimaced, tapping his quill on the piece of paper.

'Aurelie de La Fontaine,' the red-haired girl replied, enjoying her interrogator's frustration. She had been interrogated by some stoic Auror almost every day for the past few weeks, and they always insisted on starting with the same inane formalities. She enjoyed riling them up whenever she could – it was one of the few pleasures left to her now.

'Place of birth?'

'St Chamond'

She had been tempted to say France, but that joke hadn't quite worked on the last interrogator she had tried it on. He had sent her straight back to the little room with the even tinier bed she was forced to stay the night at. And even though it was a pain, she preferred being questioned rather than stewing by herself in her cell for the whole day.

'Do you work for the foreign rebel leader who calls himself Lord Voldemort?'

'No,' Aurelie answered flatly. She had answered these questions more times than she could count now. Monsieur Delacour hadn't been able to force her to tell the truth. Hours after he had obtained permission to administer Veritaserum to her, it had been revoked by the Minister without explanation. She knew the Minister hadn't acted without provocation. There was someone who held sway over the Minister, the same someone who would very much prefer she keep her secrets. She had a very good idea of who it could be. It irked her. Needless to say, Monseiur Delacour had been furious, and subjected her to an unrelenting barrage of questions and interrogations, but she was good at lying, and her answers mostly amounted to a whole amount of nothing.

'Tell me about your childhood.'

This was a new tactic. They had recently started asking her questions which had nothing to do with Voldemort. 'I was happy,' she replied blithely, 'I was a small, fun-loving little girl who picked flowers and played in the garden all day.'

The interrogator kept down his pad and stared at her patiently. He knew she was trying to be flippant. 'Which flowers?' he asked seriously.

Aurelie paused. 'Dahlias,' she said, 'did you know they're supposed to signify betrayal? Isn't that a funny coincidence?' she laughed in half-crazed way. To her surprise, her feigned madness was only feigned in part. She could feel the endless days of monotony slowly taking her around the bend.

The interrogator stood up. 'Take some time for yourself. I will come back in... let's say four hours from now?'

His words were meant to be cruel, but she didn't mind much. As soon as the Auror had gone, she pressed herself to the left wall and muttered,

'Did you hear that?' she asked.

A deep, rumbling laughter came from beyond the wall. 'Yes,' Draco chuckled.

They were always kept in adjoining cells, which Aurelie had discovered a couple of days after falling asleep against the wall; she had woken up and was clearly able to hear Draco being asked questions. He hadn't been given Veritaserum either, since he was a foreign citizen and relations between the countries were strained already as things were.

'It was a particularly nice touch about the Dahlias,' his voice came smoothly through to her. There was a small crack in the wall which cut right through to the other side. 'I could tell he hadn't expected that answer.'

'You should have seen his face,' she chuckled. 'He thought I'd gone mad.'

'You're not mad,' he replied, 'you're just a gifted liar. Better than even me, perhaps.'

Coming from Draco, that was high praise. But...

'I wasn't lying,' Aurelie corrected softly.

'You... what?' Draco's voice was faint, confused.

'Dahlias were always my favorite flowers to pick – especially the deep purple ones.'

Draco didn't reply immediately, but as the silence stretched between them, he said,

'I liked bluebells,'

The awkwardness between them vanished as Aurelie started laughing, imagining Draco picking bluebells.

'Only to look at,' a voice growled through the wall.

'Sure,' she replied, but the smile didn't die from her face.

It took Harry a full day to convince Mr Delacour to take him on a tour of the Bureau des Aurors. The Ministry was working around the clock, with Monsieur Delacour at the centre of everything. He hardy spent time in the manor, coming back for a brief nap before Flooing out again early morning. Harry insisted, as his birthright, that he simply had to see with his own eyes what they were doing to stop Voldemort, before the Head of the Aurors relented to take him the next morning.

The Ministry was a sparking tapestry of efficiency and grandeur, with marble archways and clearly demarcated signs leading to the different departments. Witches and wizards with official badges milled about in colorful robes, a cacophony of conversation and the patter of shoes on the floor. Harry noticed there was an air of dismal coherence to the place, though it was well-hidden – having everyone's sons and daughters trapped in the school had shaken the general populace to their very core.

The floors had intercrossing green and blue geometric designs, out of which an arrow sometimes popped up to assist a lost visitor. Harry had never visited the British Ministry of Magic, but he doubted it would be half as impressive as this one.

'This is our main walkway,' Mr Delacour described while walking at a brisk pace. 'Everybody who enters and leaves must pass through here. As a security measure, Floo fireplaces are not permitted in the inner part of the Ministry. Of course, you cannot Apparate in or out of here either.'

Harry listened attentively, filing away details in his mind which might prove useful to make a quick escape from the Ministry. Of course, his primary goal for coming here was to get Aurelie out of this place, or at the very least talk to her, so she could tell him how to get into Beauxbatons. With Mr Delacour watching him all day, that might be difficult. He would have to find a way to give the Head Auror the slip somehow.

'The west wing encompasses of the crime analysis and the investigative department along with the holding cells.' Mr Delacour pointed down a deserted corridor. 'The north-east wing, however, comprises of the meteorology-'

'The west wing,' Harry interrupted innocently, 'Is that where Aurelie is being kept, by any chance?'

Mr Delacour sighed. 'I should have known you would ask,' he paused, 'she is well cared for, considering what she did, and she's only kept in the holding cells while she's being questioned.'

He looked at Harry for a pensive moment, before continuing in a businesslike tone to describe the meteorology department and other functionalities of the east wing. Harry didn't press the issue - he knew what he needed to and he didn't want to make Mr Delacour suspicious.

The green-eyed boy shadowed his host while the stern man visited several offices, talked to some people and described to Harry what steps the magical government were taking to stop Voldemort. Their Ministry was currently caught in complicated negotiations with the British Ministry with regard to opening their border to allow British Aurors to cross through. It risked Death Eaters getting through, notwithstanding their distrust of the foreign Aurors, and that was just the tip of bureaucratic iceberg. The Ministry also had to deliberate on the news they were to release to the impatient media, which Mr Delacour said gave him a massive headache as he stormed out of the media-witch's office.

They wound up in the large, lavishly decorated Head Auror's office around midday. Harry sat on a high backed chair with hard cushions that oddly felt comfortable; as he idly paged through some pamphlets on self-defense. Mr Delacour looked through some documents and signed papers as his assistant, Emily, a bespectacled brunette, bustled in and out. After half-an-hour, Harry decided an appropriate amount of time had passed.

'Mr Delacour?' he said politely, 'Please excuse me. I need to use the restroom.'

The Frenchman nodded distractedly as Harry stood up and walked towards the exit. Only when Harry opened the door did his host look up.

'Where are you going?' he asked.

'The restroom,' Harry replied patiently, feet itching to move.

'Oh,' Mr Delacour said, 'You many use my personal restroom. It's behind you on the right.' he went back to his work.

Harry paused, looking at the freedom of the half-open door in front of him, but begrudgingly pulled it close. He briefly visited the restroom, just to keep up appearances, and reassumed his place on the high backed chair. I'm coming, he promised Fleur, just a little bit longer.

The long awaited opportunity finally came when Emily burst into the office after a quick rat-a-tat. She conversed rapidly in French with her boss, involving plenty of animated gestures that Harry couldn't even begin to understand. Emily glanced at Harry sharply a couple of times, and after a quick conversation, Mr Delacour put on his hat and stood up.

'I'm afraid I shall have to leave for a while, Harry,' he said with a sigh, 'the Minister requires my assistance. I trust you will be comfortable in this room, and if you need anything, I'm sure Emily will be happy to help out.'

He looked at Emily who chimed in with a bright, 'Yes, absolutely.'

'Perfect,' he looked at Harry, 'À tout à l'heure, Harry'

'Au revoir, Monsieur,' Harry muttered distractedly. He was already thinking of how to get past Emily. It took him all of five minutes to decide that directness was the best way. Subtlety had never been his strong suit. He gathered up all of his confidence and stepped out of the office. Emily sat in a cubicle just next to him, and she approached him with a questioning expression.

'Sorry to disturb you, Madame Emily–'

'Monet,' she cut him off, 'you may address me as Mademoiselle Monet'

'Of course, Mademoiselle Monet,' Harry flustered, feeling his confidence waning all of a sudden. He thought of Fleur and hardened his resolve.

'Monsieur Delacour mentioned he would take me to see Aurelie, you know her?' he paused as she nodded with pursed lips. 'Well, since he's occupied, I was wondering if you be kind enough to show me the way.'

Harry had completely forgotten the way to the west wing, through the muddle of corridors, and he really needed her help though he didn't show it.

Emily looked unsure. 'I should ask Monsieur-'

'Oh, no need,' Harry cut her off. 'I wouldn't want to disturb him in a meeting with the Minister, would you?' Put that way, Emily seemed more inclined, but still required some more prodding. 'He did say that you would help me out if I needed anything.'

Emily looked thoughtful. 'S'il vous plaît, Mademoiselle Monet,' Harry said, 'I would really like to meet her once – see how she's doing.'

She shook her head with a slight smile at his insistence. 'I don't recall Monsieur Delacour mentioning this visit to me, but I know you were friends with the girl.' she tilted her head. 'I'm sure he won't mind if I take you, instead of him. Let's go.' she turned around with a brief motion to Harry to follow her.

Harry cheered inwardly as he followed the prim secretary. She made light conversation while they walked, asking how he knew Aurelie, and pointing out some details about the design of the building that Mr Delacour hadn't mentioned. Finally, they were in the jail area of the west wing. They walked past some petty criminals and thieves, and then by Draco's cell, where he seemed to be sleeping, and stopped in front of Aurelie's temporary home. She had legs folded up as she leaned her back against the grey stone wall. Her usually immaculate hair was strewn haphazardly around her shoulders, and her legs and arms seemed thinner than he had ever seen. She started as she recognized him, and their eyes met.

'Umm, Mademoiselle Monet,' Harry ran a hand through his hair as he looked at her. 'Could you give us a moment alone?'

She nodded. 'I'll be waiting at the entrance,' she looked at Harry kindly. 'I hope you find what you came for.'

Harry gave her a curious glance as she walked away, and turned his attention to Aurelie. She looked calm, waiting for him to talk. He took a deep breath, and approached the bars.

'Hey,' he said.

'Bonjour, Harry,'

He regarded her with distrustful eyes, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for the girl he had effectively helped send to prison.

'How have you been?' he asked her.

'I've survived.'

He knew Mr Delacour wouldn't resort to such measures, but still... 'They haven't hurt you, have they?' he asked. Her body and spirit seemed to have been drained of their vitality, but his words sent a flutter of irritation through her eyes.

'Not physically,' she replied shortly.

'I'm sorry,' he muttered, and he truly was – for the way that things turned out. But his words only seemed to enrage the girl.

'I know you don't care about me, Harry. Why are you here?' she asked harshly.

'I... I do care, that you're well,' he said with a touch of ironic sincerity,' just not as much as I used to.'

Dead silence met his words.

'You're not too upset, are you?' he ventured, looking at the girl's stormy eyes.

'Boo. Fucking. Hoo,' Aurelie deadpanned, 'I'm devastated with misery.' She glared at him. 'What do you want from me?'

'I need your help,' Harry stated strongly. He had to convince her, no matter how angry or miserable she was. 'Fleur's in danger – she's trapped in Beauxbatons, and I need to get her out. You worked with... with Voldemort – you know how to get in. You have to help me.'

Aurelie narrowed her eyes. 'Fleur's in danger? How do you know? And why should I get into this mess with you, or her?'

Harry sighed and explained his recurring dreams to her as quickly as he could, ending with Fleur's plea for help. She listened with rapt attention, but infuriatingly smirked when he finished. 'That answers my first two questions. But you didn't answer – what's in it for me? And besides, I can't help you if I'm trapped in this hellhole of a Ministry cell.'

It was clear what Aurelie was prompting him to say – for him to offer to break her out. That could be... difficult. He had a vague idea of how to go about it, but he wasn't remotely sure that he would succeed. Nevertheless, he was quickly running out of options.

'First, tell me how to get into Beauxbatons.' Harry commanded, 'Actually, do you know how to get in?'

'No, and yes. And I'll say nothing else until you get me out of here.'

He grimaced, looking over his shoulder for Mademoiselle Monet, but she wasn't in sight.

'Alohomora,' he whispered, pointing his wand at the lock, ignoring the nagging voice that was telling him that she would betray him again the first chance she got.

He stared. The door didn't budge.

Oh well, it was worth a try. Now was time for one his more crazier ideas. He pressed his left hand to the lock built in to the door, and did his best to flare his Arxmancy shields, guiding tendrils of power towards the lock. Something inside him shifted, reacting to the locking spell on the door. Taking a deep breath, and hoping to Merlin this would work and not backfire on his face, he again whispered,

'Alohomora,'

Nothing happened. If he was right, the passive Arxmancy shield surrounding his body, and his palm, would nullify the effect of the spell backlash of the more powerful locking spell which had countered his first unlocking charm.

He pushed the door.

It opened.

Aurelie instantly got her feet, sightly awed, as if she hadn't expected him to be able to open the door. She immediately closed the door and spoke in a low voice.

'The lady who came with you,' she asked, 'where is she?'

'Just outside,' Harry replied.

'How do you plan to get past her, and then outside the Ministry?'

'I...' he shrugged. He hadn't planned that far. 'I don't know about her, but I think we could use the Floo to get out,'

'Do you know how to get to the Floo?'

Harry nodded. It was directly at the end the main walkway.

'Okay,' Aurelie said, and whispered her plan to him through the bars. She then went to the back of her cell and held a short conversation with Draco though their common wall, as Harry could make out from his vantage point. How did Malfoy figure into this?

After five minutes, three people stood in the narrow corridor, disillusioned hastily by Harry's somewhat shoddy spellwork. He refused to let Aurelie touch his wand, despite her protests that she was better at charms than he was. She had forced him to free Draco, insisting the only way to get into Beauxbatons was with his help. Draco refused to acknowledge Harry was rescuing him, and didn't even look him in the eye. However, there was a tenderness in the Slytherin's gaze as he stared at Aurelie, and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

They walked quietly through the thankfully deserted passageway, to where Mademoiselle Monet was waiting patiently, dictating notes to a silver-backed self-writing notebook.

'Sorry,' Harry mouthed, as he stunned her with a quick flash of red light and disillusioned her, placing her gently on the side.

A couple more steps took the trio to the main walkway, which was positively crammed with people trying to get to work or away from it. Bollocks, this was a complication they hadn't expected. Trying to navigate a crowd that couldn't see or avoid you was a recipe for disaster. They stuck to the sides, trying but failing to avoid bumping into Ministry workers. With each shove, push and trodden foot, Harry concentration wavered. He did his best to focus, but his invisibility spell kept flickering. He fervently wished he had his Cloak with him, but Fleur needed it more than he did at the moment.

They were walking on a tightrope and continuously being pushed off-balance by people. Something had to give.

And it did. They were almost at their destination when it happened. The Floo fireplaces were in sight when he saw the last person he wanted to see in the world. Mr Delacour was striding imperiously along the walkway, steel in his eyes and clear purpose in his steps. Harry had evidently been missed.

The Gryffindor froze, trying to push himself closer to the wall. Distracted and in his haste, he bumped hard into someone beside him. Already off-kilter from seeing his illustrious host, Harry tripped on his own feet and went crashing to the floor. His invisibility charms dissolved like ice-pops in water, as the crowd gaped at the now visible escapees. Nobody moved.

Every time someone is caught by surprise, a few seconds pass before they react, as their brain tries to process the sudden anomaly in their world. Draco took advantage of these precious few seconds to pull Aurelie close and whisper something in her ear. A slight blush covered her cheeks as Draco pulled away and whispered to both of his companions,

'I'll distract them. The two of you - run. Run!'

Mr Delacour was already pushing through the crowd towards them. The second exclamation from Draco broke Aurelie from her reverie as she grabbed Harry's hand and pushed through the crowd. Several protests and grunts followed them, but Harry ignored them all as they broke out into a small walk-run.

'Behold, you sorry excuses for mudbloods!' Draco sneered loudly at the working-class backbone of the French magical government. Sounds of outrage broke out.

'Serpensortia Maximus!' Draco cast in front of him with a smile of vindictive delight. A large snake burst out, hissing and slithering threateningly. The crowd shifted away in an enormous shuffle of alarmed feet. A small circle formed around the Slytherin and his snake.

'Scared, wee little wizards?' Draco taunted as another snake burst from his wand. The crowd gasped, and moved back even further. Someone shot a spell at Draco, but he dodged it with unnerving quickness. He sent back a Stupefy. Harry watched on with amazement. Draco was doing a distinctly stupid and un-Slytherin thing by sacrificing his chance to escape for them. No, not them. Her. He chanced a glance at the girl's face, and smiled a bit at her awed face. Maybe those two deserved each other.

It was easy for Harry and Aurelie to make their way through the general confusion. Harry was pretty sure he tore someone's coat as he clawed through the throng. But as he craned his neck to look for a way to the Floo, his eyes suddenly met Mr Delacour's above the crowd. His blood froze as he looked into those disappointed, angry eyes. Pushing through harder, they reached the Floo with bruises all over their body and arms.

Aurelie went first. As Harry stepped into the green flames, the last thing he saw was Draco being overwhelmed by Aurors.

Back in Delacour manor, Aurelie met him with a concerned look.

'Did you see what happened to Draco?'

'The Aurors got him,' he said.

She shook her head, crestfallen. Even though it was the first time he had seen someone show concern for Malfoy, Harry understood her disappointment. Draco had gone against his core principles to make sure Aurelie escaped, even though Harry's stupid and hopeless plan was doomed to failure, as he had so eloquently put it. But Harry was not prepared to wasted precious time, especially for Draco.

'He made his own choices, Aurelie,' Harry said, 'were you lying when you said we couldn't get into Beauxbatons without Malfoy's help?' That was his primary concern.

The red-haired girl shook her head, then nodded. 'No... yes. I mean I thought so, but Draco had lied to me.'

'What?'

'When you asked me the first time, I thought we needed his help, because that's how I got out,' she paused, 'but just before we separated, Draco told me we didn't need him if we knew the activation phrase.'

'The activation phrase for what?' Harry was astonished. Lies upon lies. Would the deception never end?

'The Portkey to Beauxbatons,' she replied.

Before she could elaborate, a half-shaven man with foam covering half his face stumbled into the room.

'I thought I heard voices – oh!' he stopped short upon seeing Aurelie, and straightened his back. He looked at Harry, who shrugged.

'Long story,' the boy replied, 'Fleur needs my help, and she,' he jerked his chin at his companion. 'will help me get into Beauxbatons.'

'Are you sure that's a wise idea?' the former Marauder asked, even as he sported an involuntary grin.

'No,' Harry said slowly, an idea forming in his head. 'Look, Sirius, could you help me with that Unbreakable Vow thingy you told me about? I'm not sure I can trust her yet.'

Beside him, Aurelie's hand flew to her mouth. 'No, Harry!'

He ignored her. 'Padfoot, can you help?' he asked his godfather seriously. Sirius raised a hand to his chin in thought, and brought it away covered in shaving cream. He wiped it absent-mindedly on his shorts.

'I can,' he said, 'but only if you're sure.'

'I won't do it,' Aurelie protested.

'I'm sure.'

'I won't do it!'

'Yes, you will,' Harry turned to her with fire in his eyes. 'You betrayed me, led me on, worked for Voldemort,' he spat the name, 'and told me trust that you were really on my side. Well, if you're really on my side – you should bloody well prove it!'

'I am on your side.'

'Your words mean nothing to me!' Harry raged, 'They're empty lies! Lies like you've been telling me all along!'

Aurelie placed her hand on her heart and turned away, a sliver of wetness covering her eyes. Harry's words seemed to have affected her deeply. She said nothing for a minute, then nodded. 'I decide the wording,' she said quietly, 'and you promise not to turn me over to Mr Delacour when we get back.'

'Deal,' Harry said.

After a few more minutes of consultation with Sirius, the deal was struck.

'Do you, Aurelie, swear to be loyal to me,' Harry asked, clasping hands with her, as his godfather cast the spell, 'and to help me rescue Fleur from Beauxbatons unless it puts your life in immediate danger?'

'I do,' Aurelie replied. 'Will you, Harry, offer me your protection and ensure that Mr Delacour does not find and imprison me again?'

'I will,' he swore, as two shining strands of light encircled their wrists like the red tongue of a snake, and the Vow was sealed.

A huge weight lifted from Harry's mind as the Vow took effect. He had been worried all along that Aurelie would betray him, but now it seemed that he was finally safe. Safe from further betrayal. Safe from unrelenting pain. He smiled at her, a smile that wasn't returned.

'Harry, I need to tell you something,' she said.

'What.' Harry knew the Vow was compelling her to speak.

'I had a suspicion that I didn't tell you, but I think it's important for you to know now,' she looked unsure, 'the dream you told me about,' she paused as Harry nodded, 'the dream in which Fleur asked for your help – it well, it seemed to me like it was too unreal.'

'Unreal?' Harry tilted his head. 'I was talking to Fleur in my dream – of course it was unreal!'

'No, it wasn't that.' Aurelie paused. 'It was the way you described your conversation. She didn't ask about you, she didn't seem to care that asking you to come to Beauxbatons would put you in the greatest possible danger,' she shrugged, 'she acted like an entitled, selfish bitch.'

'No!' Harry burst out in protest, before stopping to reflect. 'Well, she does act like that some–'

'Not when your life could be in danger. And besides, she's too arrogant to ask for help unless she really needs it, perhaps not even then.'

'So what are you saying?'

'I'm saying that Fleur's either about to die, or that she's working with You-Know-Who, or that was just a dream or that wasn't even Fleur whom you spoke to.'

Harry loudly and vehemently disagreed with Aurelie on all four counts. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he acknowledged her smartness could prove useful; and maybe she was even right, but his conscious mind refused to seriously entertain any of the possibilities that the French girl had listed. Anyways, maybe she was just manipulating him again and trying to mess with his mind. He didn't know how much leeway Unbreakable Vows had with these things, but the redhead kept arguing undeterred.

'No, no, stop, stop!' Harry held up his hand. 'You might be right or wrong, I don't care! If there's even the slightest chance that Fleur is in danger, and I can help her, there's absolutely no chance in hell that I'm going to sit back and do nothing!'

'But why, why?' Aurelie cried out in frustration, 'Why do you care so much about a girl you just met a few months back? Why is she worth all this trouble?'

At her words, even Sirius, who had been steadily ignoring their conversation, glanced at Harry curiously.

Harry took a deep breath before replying. 'I don't know,' he said as he looked deep into the broken fireplace, as if searching for answers. 'I just know that she is.'

Sirius started to say something but Harry cut him off, 'And it's not just about her; it's also about everyone in there; it's about standing up to Voldemort; it's about doing something, anything, to make a difference; it's about doing what's right.' Conviction rang clear and true in his voice.

'You don't always have to do something,' his godfather said gently, 'sit back, grow, and let others help you out. You don't have to be a hero.'

'I know,' was the simple reply, 'but I want to.'

Preparations took but a few minutes, with Aurelie chiming in with a few helpful suggestions that were surprisingly supported by Sirius. Harry didn't want to wait too long. He had stalled Mr Delacour long enough by destroying the Floo fireplace with a powerful Reducto the moment he stepped out. But there was nothing stopping the Head Auror from walking right in through the front door, assuming he knew where they had gone. They had to leave as soon as they could.

His magically enlarged pockets were soon filled with food, water, books and a few prank items that Sirius had enchanted in a jiffy and insisted that Harry take them along. They spent a few more precious minutes deciding how he was to find Fleur and what he was to do once he did.

'Alright, Aurelie. It's time.' Harry said once everything was crystal clear. 'You still haven't told me where the supposed Portkey is that's supposed to take us to Beauxbatons,'

A cheeky smile stole across her lips as she reached a hand into the front of her soiled dress and pulled out a small, shiny object from her cleavage. A bright, silver ring glittered in her palm.

'It was the only way I could hide it from the Aurors,' she said by way of explanation.

Harry nodded mutely as he took the still warm ring from her hand. An emerald-eyed snake looked back at him.

'What...' he stopped himself from speaking in Parseltongue. 'What's the activation phrase?'

Aurelie touched the ring in his hand, brushing Harry's fingers. 'Draco had said it needed a Malfoy to say the phrase for it to work. But then he told he had lied,' she mused thoughtfully, and then without warning–

'Salazar Slytherin,' she said, as something caught his navel and twisted him out of existence. A few moments later, they arrived in the middle of the enormous dining area in Beauxbatons. They were lucky there were no students there.Finally, Harry thought, after so many days of wandering here in my dreams. He was finally in the besieged school. Fleur wasn't too far away – he could feel it.

But beside him, Aurelie had turned around, her face as white as sheet as she looked at the far corner of the hall.

Harry followed her eyes to see a man striding towards him with an almost inhuman grace.

'Harry Potter,' Voldemort spread his arms wide, a vicious smile spreading across his thin lips as he stopped not five feet from them. 'The Boy-Who-Lived,' his words mockingly hung in the air with undisguised malevolence. The Gryffindor felt his heart leap into his mouth.

'I have been expecting you,' the Dark Lord's robe swirled around him like black night as his blood-red eyes regarded Harry with a grim satisfaction. 'I daresay you're just in time for the Second Task.'