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Chapter Text

Alicia Spinnet was positively shaking. That it was from the horrid October draft was secondary. She’d been in the toasty, comfortable Gryffindor common room with her best friend, Angelina Johnson, when her head of house, Professor McGonagall, ushered her and the rest of her house to the Entrance Hall. They were to greet the incoming Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students. In the rush, she hadn’t the time to retrieve her cloak, so here she stood, shivering in just her day robes as the professors scrambled the students into four neat lines just outside the front steps.

Professor Flitwick gave her a pitying glance as he rushed past. The tiny professor flicked his wand, and Alicia felt warmth surge through her body, down to her bones. She smiled gratefully at the professor, who responded in kind before running off to deal with the Weasley twins, who’d turned a handful of Slytherins’ robes hot pink. Alicia stifled a snicker at the sight, catching the twins’ eye with an approving grin. They bowed with exaggerated swagger even as McGonagall and Flitwick berated them, receiving exasperated resignation from the professors.

“I don’t see why we have to go through all this unnecessary posturing,” Angelina grumbled in front of her. “It’s just a bunch of other students. Who cares?”

“Well, we have to show we’re better than the Frenchies, surely?” Alicia whispered conspiratorially, and Angelina conceded with a shrug.

“Fair, anything to show up the French.”

“ Non, nozzing is better zan the Français, ” Alicia said with a poor imitation of a French accent. Angelina snickered.

“Merlin, that was horrendous.”

Alicia crossed her arms. “I’d like to see you try, then,” she challenged.

“ Is zis what ze Breetish call food? ” Angelina said with an air of exaggerated haughtiness. “ Een France, we would never even feed zis to ze pigs !”

“OK, that was definitely worse,” Alicia said. Angelina shook her head.

“No way, mine was so much better,” the dark-skinned girl flipped her long, braided hair over her shoulder dramatically. “The bit about the food? I would bet you someone says that tonight at dinner.”

“I’m too smart to take you up on that,” Alicia conceded with a grin.

“Oi, stop going around saying you’re smart. Someone might believe you,” a third voice chirped from further down the line.

Alicia turned around to see her other best friend, Katie Bell, grinning at them. Her sandy blonde hair curled down to her shoulders, and her hazel eyes glinted with laughter. The professors had sorted them according to year, resulting in Katie being stuck with her fellow fifth years, while sixth years Alicia and Angelina managed to stay together.

She prepared a retort but was interrupted by Professor McGonagall, who shushed the Gryffindors with a stern look.

Merlin, that woman was scary when she wanted to be.

Alicia snuck a rude gesture under her crossed arms when McGonagall wasn’t looking. From Katie’s smirk, she figured it had been received.

A hush fell over the student population that turned into a buzz of excitement. Alicia turned from her silent battle with Katie to see what everyone was whispering about. She squinted and spotted a tiny, dark blemish against the setting sun.

The spot grew larger and larger, and she heard increasingly outrageous guesses from the surrounding students.

“It’s a bird!” exclaimed third-year Gryffindor Joshua Hawkins.

“It’s an Aeroplane!” said a first-year Hufflepuff.

“It’s Superman!” yelled fifth-year Ravenclaw Imani Shah.

“What in the hells is a Superman?” sneered Draco Malfoy. Alicia rolled her eyes and resisted the temptation to jinx the crown ponce of Slytherin.

“It’s a giant carriage,” said a girl in blue-trimmed robes that Alicia recognised as Cho Chang.

Turned out that Cho was correct, as a giant, powder blue carriage flew toward them. The carriage was pulled by giant, winged palomino horses that Alicia recognised as Abraxans. She smiled slightly. Maybe listening to Katie gush about magical creatures for hours on end was useful for something after all.

The elephant-sized stallions and the carriage hit the ground with a thud that sent tremors through the grounds and up Alicia’s form. A young man dressed in powder blue robes jumped out, pulling forth a set of stairs.

Out of the carriage came the largest woman Alicia had ever laid eyes upon. She was dressed from head to toe in midnight black silk that shimmered with each step. She was covered in opulent jewellery, and Alicia was sure she could wear the large woman’s opal necklace as a belt buckle. Her black shoes, the size of Alicia’s torso, were studded with glittering jewels. The Hogwarts students applauded her, and she nodded as if it were her due.

The woman had a beaked nose and heavy-set features, but moved with a grace and poise that exuded elegance.

“Ah, Madame Maxime. Welcome,” Professor Dumbledore kissed her hand in greeting. It was a testament to her incredible size that the rather tall headmaster didn’t even have to bend to reach her hand. “I hope your travels were comfortable?”

“Very comfortable indeed, Dumbly-dorr,” Madame Maxime spoke with a deep, smooth voice. She was clearly French, leading Alicia to the conclusion that she was the Beauxbatons headmistress. “It is so good to see you. You ‘ave been well?”

“In excellent form, my dear,” Dumbledore patted her hand.

“Oh yes, my pupils,” Maxime gestured behind her with a dismissive wave.

Alicia’s attention turned to the teenagers filing out of the carriage behind their headmistress. They were dressed in pale blue robes. The robes were fancier than her Hogwarts ones, being woven out of silk, though she thought pretentious was a better descriptor. She snickered when she noticed them shivering in the Scottish cold. If she retained any doubt that the students were from France, it was absolved by watching their ineptitude with the desolate autumn weather.

The Beauxbatons students marched up to them in two lines – boys and girls. Alicia felt an intense surge of dislike when she saw the sour, distasteful looks on their faces. She hoped Hogwarts would win the tournament just to wipe their smug little smirks off.

One of the girls was hauntingly beautiful. She was slender, with pale skin and silvery blonde hair that glinted in the moonlight. Her pale blue eyes surveyed the Hogwarts students with an upturned nose that belied haughty condescension. Despite finding the same expression vexing in the other French students, she was willing to forgive this one instance.

Because Alicia was very, very gay, and she thought this girl was very, very hot.

She tore her gaze from the gorgeous girl and looked at the line of boys. Her gaze was drawn to a boy with messy black hair. He was significantly shorter than his compatriots and seemed to walk separately from them. There was an invisible wall between him and his peers. The other thing that separated him from his fellow Frenchmen was that where they looked upon the castle with disdain, he stared with unabashed wonder.

Her sudden burst of jingoistic indignation was balanced by smug satisfaction as she watched him shamelessly gawk at the many ramparts and towers that jutted out of the castle.

The French students followed their headmistress past their British fellows and into the Entrance Hall. The Hogwarts students remained outside to wait for their Durmstrang counterparts.

Alicia shivered. The warming charm was beginning to wear out, and she was quickly growing tired of this welcoming party.

She was shaken out of her thoughts by another wave of gasps and whispers. Alicia drew her attention toward the lake, where a ripple formed in the water. Alicia’s momentary guess that the giant squid was coming to say hello was dashed when a long wooden pole broke the water’s surface.

A giant ship of the swashbuckling, pirate kind emerged from the depths of the Black Lake. The wooden boards were rotting and covered in a mossy mural of varying shades of green. Eerie, pale green light shone out of the portholes, giving the ship a spectral appearance. Rusting anchors were thrown, and the frigate moored on the edge of the lake.

Out of the ship came a single line – all boys – wearing thick brown fur coats and grim expressions.

Alicia wasn’t impressed with the burly Eastern European students. The lack of pretty girls in their ranks was certainly a contributing factor.

Durmstrang’s headmaster, Karkaroff, was a tall man. He wore dark robes with a thick fur coat that Alicia wished she was wearing instead. His gaze was shifty and suspicious, though he greeted Dumbledore with sycophantic enthusiasm. Dumbledore responded cordially, and Alicia was impressed by her headmaster’s composure because she was uncomfortable just looking at him.

Alicia and the rest of the Hogwarts contingent followed the Durmstrang students into the Great Hall. She found her usual spot at the Gryffindor table and sat across Angelina and Katie. The latter of whom grinned at her in a manner that suggested she was due for a good ribbing.

“Someone caught your eye, ‘Licia?” the fifth-year waggled her eyebrows. “A couple of those French girls…” she fanned herself, laughing.

“Shut up,” Alicia said, feeling her face warm up.

“You should’ve seen her staring at the tall blonde one,” Angelina snickered, jumping in her seat when Alicia poked her in the ribs.

The three Gryffindor chasers watched the Beauxbatons students linger near the entrance before heading en masse for the Ravenclaw table. The smaller, excitable boy was speaking rapidly to the beautiful French girl, ignoring the wide berth their peers gave them. They seemed to be arguing about something, and the boy seemed to be winning. The girl huffed petulantly and stomped her foot, which Alicia thought was rather adorable, and the boy pumped his fist.

The two split from the pack and approached the Gryffindor table. The boy was practically vibrating with excitement, and the girl followed with the resigned gait of an indulgent older sibling.

“Are these seats free?” He asked, gesturing to the empty seats next to Alicia.

She blinked. A sudden wave of unquenchable desire washed over her as the girl neared, and her brain momentarily short-circuited. She clamped down her jaw, biting so hard to avoid the sudden urge to say something very stupid in front of the girl, that she felt the inside of her cheek bruise. The boy gave her a bashful smile and whispered something to the taller girl behind him. The feeling dulled, and Alicia wrangled control over her motor functions.

“Y-yeah. All yours,” she nodded jerkily.

“I must apologise for my friend,” the boy said with a surprisingly subtle French accent as he sat down next to her, opposite Katie. “She’s part-veela. Sometimes her allure, it – er – slips.”

The girl nodded sharply, sitting on the boy’s other side. Alicia felt her brain muddle, but grit her teeth and mentally recited the alphabet backwards.

“No worries,” she said slowly. “She can’t control it, right?”

“No, but she can reduce it,” the boy’s eye twitched. “Fleur, arrêtez . Even I can feel it”

Her mind cleared as the girl looked at her curiously.

“I am zorry,” said Fleur with a thick French accent. “I deed not zink any of you would ‘ave such a reaction.”

Angelina snorted, and Katie snickered behind her palm. Alicia waved off the apology, kicking her two best friends under the table.

“‘S Alright.”

“You speak good English for a Frenchie,” Angelina commented, spreading butter on a dinner roll. Katie hissed and slapped her on the arm, but the boy only laughed.

“I am from England,” the boy said. “ Mon parrain – my – er – godfather and I speak English at home.”

Fleur sniffed distastefully.

“I did not get any of your names,” the boy asked politely.

“Alicia Spinnet,” she said, and the boy nodded. “This is Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell.”

His grin widened when his eyes met Katie’s. “ Ciao, Bella .”

Katie pinked a little, and Alicia smirked.

“That’s not even French,” chortled Angelina.

“ Non , but it is accurate,” Harry grinned. Katie’s blush deepened.

“This is Fleur Delacour,” the boy gestured to his friend, who nodded sharply. He rolled his eyes at her. “My name is Harry Potter. Enchant é. ”

The English girls gaped at the boy, while Fleur’s lip curled slightly.

“You’re taking the mickey,” Alicia said. Her gaze flicked reflexively to his forehead. Under his fringe, she just about made out a scar shaped like a bolt of lightning.

 “I wish I were,” Harry laughed bitterly. Fleur looked confused, and he leaned over, and they held a whispered conversation. A faint smirk appeared on her face.

“I was explaining what it means to – ah – take the mickey. Not a common saying in France,” Harry explained. “She thought you were referring to the mouse.”

That sparked a round of laughter.

“Aren’t you supposed to be younger than us?” Katie asked curiously. “All the other foreign students look much older than you. Surely you don’t intend to compete?”

“Oh, not at all,” Harry laughed. “I’m here to see Hogwarts. My parents went here, you know? They were both in Gryffindor.” He gestured to their red-trimmed robes. “They were in this house, so I wanted to sit here.”

“So, you’re a tourist?” Alicia raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Harry said. “Simply here to – how do you say – see the sights, non ?” He winked at Katie.

“What year are you, exactly?” Katie asked neutrally, patting the pink out of her cheeks.

“Fourth year,” Harry grinned, unfazed. “ Et vous ?” Katie looked at him, nonplussed. “And you?”

“Oh, fifth year.”

“We’re sixth years,” Angelina said, gesturing at herself and Alicia. “I turned seventeen a few days ago, though.”

“Will you be entering the tournament?” Harry cocked his head and grinned easily. “You seem like quite an accomplished witch.”

Angelina laughed uproariously. “Quite the flatterer you are, Potter.”

“My godfather taught me how to talk to beautiful ladies,” Harry grimaced. “He was too specific with the details at times.”

Angelina laughed heartily. “Yeah, I’ll put my name in the ring. Can’t hurt.”

“Yes, Fleur will also be entering,” Harry said proudly. “She’s the best Beauxbatons has to offer. She’ll get selected for sure.”

Harry smiled at the pretty blonde, who preened under the praise. Alicia noticed a particular fondness in his smile.

It was the fondness with which she looked at her little brother during a particularly tender moment — not that she’d ever tell him that.

She thought it was sweet, and it only made her more curious about the French duo.

As Dumbledore unveiled the Goblet of Fire, she pondered: Who exactly was Harry Potter, the missing hero of British wizarding society? Why was he French? And who was Fleur Delacour, and why did the Boy-Who-Lived adore her so much?

Harry Potter grew up hearing stories about Hogwarts, so he had high expectations when he stepped off that carriage. Those expectations were subsequently blown out of the water when he saw the castle for the first time.

The mismatched grey stone; the living, moving tree; the ghosts, poltergeists, and portraits; the endless hallways and corridors; and even the moving staircases. The combination was unbelievably whimsical and stereotypically mystic. Hogwarts felt magical in a way that Beauxbatons did not.

Beauxbatons was a prestigious school with a gorgeous campus. It boasted a magnificent château in the Pyrenees mountains, with unmelting ice statues that glittered like solid diamonds and wood nymphs that serenaded students during meals. It was stunning, and it was familiar.

Hogwarts was everything Beauxbatons was not. Where Beauxbatons was elegant, polished, and refined, Hogwarts felt lived-in, unorthodox, and unique. Beauxbatons felt like a museum to show off to guests. Hogwarts felt like home.

Maybe that was it. The thing about Hogwarts was that it felt like coming home.

Every corner he turned, he wondered whether his parents had been there twenty-odd years ago. When he sat at the Gryffindor table last night, he imagined them sitting beside him, talking – or arguing, as he knew they were prone to do. The smile didn’t leave his face till the next morning.

Harry couldn’t get enough of the castle, though he’d only been there for a day. His biggest regret last night had been returning to the carriage that doubled as his lodgings.

The beginning of his first full day at Hogwarts was a dreary mid-October Sunday morning. The sun was hiding somewhere behind grey clouds, and a frigid breeze blew through the Scottish Highlands, keeping most of the castle’s occupants indoors and within arm’s length of a fireplace.

In other words, it was perfect flying weather.

Harry grabbed his broom, a Firebolt that his godfather bought him for his thirteenth birthday, and ran out of the carriage.

He arrived at the Quidditch pitch and felt a smile split his face as he took in the red, yellow, blue, and green stands jutting into the sky, the house emblems and insignias painted onto the weathered wood. He imagined his mother sitting in the red section, cheering as his father scored point after point. Squinting, he made out the Hogwarts crest fluttering on flags at the ends of the stands. He watched a scarlet-clad blur loop around a flag in pursuit of a flash of gold.

Harry had been so entranced by the sight of the glorious Quidditch pitch that he hadn’t noticed the six scarlet blurs flying around on the far end. He watched, impressed, as three scarlet chasers transitioned smoothly from a Hawkshead rush into a Thimblerig shuffle, ducking and dodging bludgers as they made a play to the penalty zone. The Chasers entered the untended scoring zone, with the largest of the three ducking to the right while feinting a shot and passing to the smallest. The smallest feinted a shot on the left goal before sinking it into the centre.

He wondered if his father might have made a similar play some twenty years prior.

The beaters cheered as they met near the scrimmage line. Their chatter died as they spotted Harry and landed a few meters ahead. He recognised the chasers at the very least – it was the three girls he’d eaten dinner with the previous night.

“Potter!” Angelina walked over with her broom slung over her shoulder. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I thought I would check out the pitch. Maybe fly a little.” Harry shrugged. “I can come back later if you’re busy.”

“Potter?” Asked a boy Harry had never met before. He was at least half a head taller than him, with bright red hair and a freckled face. “Like, Harry Potter?”

“Yes, that’s me,” he grinned sheepishly. The boy blinked and stared at Harry’s powder blue robes.

“Harry Potter’s French?” asked another redhead, who looked to be one-half of a pair of twins. The twins also looked to be the first boy’s siblings, if the matching red hair and lanky builds were any indicator.

Harry laughed and nodded. He’d got that a lot. “Yes, and you are?”

The twins introduced themselves as Fred and George Weasley, and the first boy was their younger brother, Ron. Angelina explained that she was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain and a chaser. Her friends Alicia and Katie were also chasers, while the twins played beater. Ron was their seeker. The four house teams were holding pick-up games scattered throughout the term to keep skills sharp for when the tournament was over. The Gryffindor team was practising for said games.

“Whoa,” Harry said. “Pickup games sound very fun.”

Angelina eyed him thoughtfully. “Say, are you any good on that broom?”

“I am on one of the teams at Beauxbatons as a reserve,” Harry said cheekily. “If that answers your question.”

“What are the chances you play keeper?” Angelina asked. He smiled apologetically.

“Seeker,” he said. “I’ve never played keeper — too small.”

Angelina looked dejected, but Ron looked — happy?

“I could play keeper,” the redheaded boy piped up. “You know that’s my preferred position anyway. Let Harry play seeker.”

Angelina shared a look with Ron.

“I told you, Angelina,” the boy said. “If we can afford to, I’d like to switch off seeker. This might be that chance — at least for the year.”

“Fine,” Angelina looked conflicted. “Alright, Potter, how d’you feel about possibly playing seeker for us?”

“Playing for Team Gryffindor? Just like my papa ?” Harry grinned wide. “It would be my honour.”

Ron looked excited about the prospect. Angelina looked conflicted but nodded. “All right, let’s see what you can do.”

Harry kicked off with a whoop of joy. It had been too long since he’d gone flying. He twisted, stopping and looking down at the Gryffindors, who had followed him into the air. Angelina released the snitch before counting down from five. When her fist closed, Harry barrelled away, lapping the pitch lazily. The weather at Hogwarts was colder than Beauxbatons, but the cold air removed any remaining drowsiness from his system. His mouth was set in a wide grin as he smelled the faint trace of petrichor in the wind.

A glint of gold caught his attention. The snitch buzzed about near the goalposts, and the chasers, coincidentally, were nearing it. Harry spied Katie receiving a pass and one of the Weasley twins aiming a bludger at her.

He pressed flat against his broom and shot for the goalposts. He aimed for Katie, flying past her just as the bludger rattled off one of the twins’ bats. Pinched between the seeker and the bludger, Katie was forced to flip on her broom in a sloth grip with both hands. The quaffle dropped, and Alicia recovered it, but Harry didn’t wait to watch. With a shit-eating grin at the chasers, Harry dove for the snitch, resurfacing with it clutched firmly in hand.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed by that interference play or be mad that you nearly knocked my chaser off her broom!” Angelina flew up to him and punched him playfully on the shoulder.

“D ésolé , Bella, but I would have caught you if you fell,” Harry grinned, and Katie waved him off with a roll of the eyes, though her warm cheeks betrayed her attempt at nonchalance.

The rest of the practice went swimmingly, though Harry felt the Gryffindors were going easy on him to get him acclimated. Still, it was an exhausted Harry who landed on the grass.

“Bloody hell, Harry. If you’re only a reserve, how good is the main roster at your school?” Ron asked.

“Eh, I think I am a little better than the main seeker,” Harry ran a hand through his hair nervously. “They don’t like me very much in Beauxbatons .”

“Really?” Katie flew over. “You seem nice enough. If a little bit of a philanderer.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Harry grinned. “Though I don’t know what a phee-landeur is. Non , people don’t like me because I am friends with Fleur.”

“Fleur?” Alicia asked curiously. Harry suppressed a smirk.

“Yes, they do not like that she is part veela ,” Harry said darkly. “They fear her for what she cannot control.”

“Fleur? Is that the blonde bird that gets all the boys drooling?” Ron asked, blanching when Harry’s glare turned on him. He threw his hands up in surrender. “I’m not judging or anything – just asking.”

Harry’s expression cleared, and he nodded. “Yes, that is her. They offered me a starting spot, but only if I betrayed her. I refused. She is like family.”

Then, a grin replaced Harry’s serious countenance. “Sorry, Angelina, but if you get selected, I will still be cheering for ma sœur . I hope you get second place, though!”

“Why, you little –” Angelina grabbed a laughing Harry into a headlock. She ruffled his hair.

“Great, my hair is messy enough as is,” he grumbled. “So, did I make the cut?”

Angelina nodded and held her hand out. “Welcome to Team Gryffindor, Potter.”

Harry whooped. “Wicked! As I believe the British say.”

“Congrats,” Ron clapped him on the back. The rest of the team followed, and he accepted Katie’s congratulations with a vast smile, drawing another flush out of her.

Angelina shooed the team off to the showers before dragging them out to an early breakfast. Little talking was done as the ravenous teenagers decimated their plates of food.

As the saying goes, there’s no appetite quite like a Quidditch appetite.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry woke early out of habit. He shook off his drowsiness in the shower and dressed quickly, changing into his powder blue Beauxbatons uniform with practised ease. One look at his hair in the mirror, and he gave up trying to fix it. He left the room, careful not to wake his roommate. The older boy was barely cordial as it was, and Harry had no intention of antagonising him further. His disrupted circadian rhythm turned out to be a blessing when Madam Maxime found him in the common area.

" Monsieur Potter ," she said, the French words rolling off her tongue in rapid bursts. " I was unsure whether you would be awake in time for breakfast, so I took the liberty of retrieving your schedule from the deputy headmistress ."

Harry blinked. " My schedule? "

She nodded. " Yes, your class schedule, " she raised an eyebrow. " You didn't think you could go through the entire year without going to class, did you? This is not a holiday. "

Harry nodded sheepishly. " You’re right, of course. "

Maxime nodded and handed him a piece of parchment. " I believe Professor McGonagall assigned you to the fourth-year Gryffindor schedule. She put you in Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures. "

He grinned. " Perfect. Thank you, Madame. Is that all? "

She nodded sharply. "That is all. Have a good first day, Monsieur Potter. Show the English why we are the superior institution."

He grinned mischievously before running off. He found Ron in the Great Hall, loading a plate with half a rasher of bacon while chewing on a spoonful of eggs.

"Guess what?" He asked, nigh vibrating with energy.

"Mornin'," Ron said, yawning halfway through his sentence. Harry's brow furrowed in disgust as his hungry mouth revealed half-chewed eggs.

"Guess what?" Harry repeated, undeterred.

"Wha'?" Ron asked. Harry slid his schedule over.

"I'm going to class with you!"

Ron swallowed his eggs and looked over the parchment.

"Blimey, that's identical to my schedule except Ancient Runes," Ron winced. "I feel bad for you, mate. Runes is supposed to be hell."

"A similar course is offered at Beauxbatons ," Harry shrugged. "I took it last year. I will be fine, hopefully."

"Well, I think Katie is taking it, though she’s a year above you. You could ask her for help," Ron suggested.

Harry grinned. "I think I will do just that."

He pulled a plate toward himself and piled it high with pancakes. He had just poured syrup on top when he saw Ron freeze opposite him. Recognising the way his eyes glazed over, Harry sighed. He turned around and saw Fleur standing behind him.

" Fleuuuur ," he whined. " Arrêtez ."

" I am reigning it in as much as I can ," she replied hotly. " It is not my fault you choose the company of such weak-willed boys ."

Harry sighed. " Be nice, please. Ron is an all-right bloke. Also, he’s right there ." He gestured to his friend, who looked on the verge of swallowing his own tongue. Harry grimaced, and Fleur shot the ginger a disdainful look.

“ Even if he spoke our tongue, I don’t think he is in any capacity to understand me right now ,” Fleur sneered and stormed off, and Harry stood up to follow.

"See you in class," he said to the other boy, who just nodded dumbly.

" Fleur, don’t be like this, " Harry pleaded. " Let’s eat. Look, there are Angelina, Alicia, and Katie. Let’s join them - your allure won't affect them too badly. "

With a little more cajoling, he managed to drag Fleur to where the chasers were seated. Angelina and Katie smiled in greeting, and Alicia followed suit after shaking her head vigorously.

Sitting down, he pulled Fleur into the seat next to him. He appropriated a plate and went through the motions of prepping his pancakes again. He gladly gorged himself on the sweet breakfast dish, ignoring everyone around him.

"So, Fleur," Alicia said, clearing her throat unsubtly as the prickly French girl turned to her. "How did you meet Harry?"

A smirk appeared on Fleur's face, and Harry looked up sharply.

"Fleur, no-" he began before Angelina cut him off.

"Nope," she shushed him. "There's a story here. Now I have to know."

"Eet was quatre ans —four years ago. September. 'Arry just started at Beauxbatons ," she grinned at him like a bird stalking her prey. "On 'is first day, 'e was lost. I found 'im trying to convince a nymph to show 'im to ze Charms classroom. But ze nymphs are very — ‘ow do you say — mischievous. She tricked him into going into ze ladies' restroom."

Angelina and Alicia guffawed, and Katie tried in vain to hide her snickers.

"I was washing my 'ands. Of course, I was furious," she said, and the other girls nodded. "Leetle 'Arry was so scared. 'E thought I would ‘ex 'im. He kept blabbering about ze green lady lying to ‘im. I felt so bad, so I escorted ‘im to class."

“And the rest is history," Harry said primly, barely getting a word out through the chasers’ raucous laughter, desperate to change the topic. “Do any of you know where the Transfiguration classroom is?”

"Yeah, of course," Angelina said. "Why?"

"I have it first thing today and have no idea where it is," Harry explained. "I was going to tag along with Ron, but he left already."

"It's on the way to Charms," Alicia said. "Come on, I'll show you."

Harry smiled gratefully and said goodbye to Fleur before following the three Gryffindors. Katie split off from the pack in the Entrance Hall, heading onto the grounds for Care of Magical Creatures. She waved to the girls and Harry, a gesture he returned with gusto and a wink.

Two flights of stairs and a near-death experience with a suit of armour later, Harry found himself outside the Transfiguration classroom.

He arrived just in time to see the fourth years sit, and he groaned inwardly when he saw Ron’s neighbouring seat filled by a tall boy with dark skin. 

He stepped into the classroom, suddenly conscious of his pale blue uniform, compared to the black robes donned by the Hogwarts students. Ignoring the instinct to hunch in on himself, he marched into the classroom, head held high. 

He eyed two empty seats. One near the middle of the class and the other near the front. He made for the middle seat when he noticed its other occupant eyeing the door, clearly waiting for someone. Suppressing the urge to sigh, Harry walked to the seat at the front.

He sat down, and a hush fell over the room. Frowning at the odd looks he received, he turned to his neighbour to introduce himself. “ Bonjour , I’m Harry. Nice to meet you.”

The girl mumbled a response, and he frowned. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Pleasure,” she said, her tone brittle, conveying anything but. Harry’s mouth curved downward. His attention was pulled back to the front when the professor entered the room. An older woman with greying hair pulled back into a tight bun under a large, green wizard’s hat. Her expression was severe, mouth drawn taut into a straight line as she surveyed her class during roll call.

Harry was shaking in his excitement at being taught by Minnie ‘Never call her that if you know what’s good for you’ McGonagall. His classmates were openly staring, and he realised she’d called his name. He raised a hand, and she turned to him. Her gaze rested on him for an extra fraction of a second, and her eyes narrowed as they absorbed his messy hair, thin face, and round glasses.

Harry’s anticipation dulled a little. He hoped she didn’t have any preconceptions about who he was. He’d dealt with enough biased teachers at Beauxbatons. They generally disliked his English heritage. His godfather had always described McGonagall as strict but fair. He hoped that remained true.

He needn’t have worried. Other than that initial interaction, McGonagall had been largely indifferent. She treated him like every other student, and he was perfectly fine with that. What was interesting was the bushy-haired girl sitting next to him.

The girl he had initially pegged as a recluse came alive in class. For every question that McGonagall asked, her hand would be the first in the air. After she earned Gryffindor some points for a particularly well-phrased answer, Harry complimented her.

“ Mon Dieu , you’re a genius!”

The look she gave him could’ve frozen a dragon’s lungs.

After that, he turned his gaze firmly toward McGonagall for the rest of the lesson. At the bell, Harry looked at his peers, hoping the majority of the crowd would be heading to the same destination as he: Charms. Thankfully, Ron had found him after Transfiguration and introduced him to his friends, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan.

Charms wasn’t quite as exciting as Transfiguration. Harry had been amused by Professor Flitwick’s antics. The tiny professor fell off his stack of books when he called his name. Other than that, however, the lesson was nothing spectacular. Harry spent most of the class passing notes to Ron, Seamus, and Dean. The three were hilarious, and Harry knew that if his teachers saw even one of the notes, they’d probably get detention till they were forty.

The quartet of boys sat together at lunch. Harry had sought out Fleur, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“So, Harry,” said Seamus. “Ron told me you were on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. How’d that happen? You don’t even go here.”

Harry shrugged. “I went for a fly. Angelina needed a player, and Ron agreed to change positions. Besides, I do not think I am on the actual Gryffindor team — just the temporary one for the year, non ?”

“Well, obviously,” Ron said with a snort. “Though I would appreciate it if you flew in from France thrice a year for matches.”

Harry laughed. “I will speak to my godfather about international portkeys, then.”

“I must say, I’m a little jealous, mate,” Seamus nudged Harry.

“Do you fly?” Harry asked confusedly.

“Nah,” Seamus shook his head, and Ron and Dean looked at their friend worriedly. “I’m just a little envious because you and dear old Ronald get to work out with the hottest girls in Gryffindor.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised to his hairline, and Ron sighed tiredly.

“Sorry about him,” said his teammate. “Seamus has a bad case of foot-in-mouth disease.”

“Come off it, Potter, don’t act like you haven’t thought about it,” Seamus grinned.

Harry swallowed the disgust that rose in his throat. Seamus reminded him exactly of his former Quidditch team back at Beauxbatons. Bastard . He plastered an easy grin on his face, the likes of which he’d seen often on his godfather. He was saved from answering by one of the girls in question.

“Oi, Potter, Weasley the third!” Angelina shouted from down the table. The two fourth years in question turned to their captain.

“How many times do I tell you not to call me that?” Ron groused. Angelina rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grinned. “Practice. Tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Harry grinned, snapping off a salute. When Angelina returned the salute, whispers broke out across the hall. The story of the Gryffindor Quidditch captain calling the Boy-Who-Lived to practice spread like wildfire, with rumours suggesting that Angelina had ceded her captaincy to the celebrity.

Harry scoffed at the idea at practice that evening, as a laughing Katie recounted the stories she’d heard from her friend Leanne.

“How does one even come up with something this preposterous?” he asked, slapping away the twins as they pretended to place a crown atop his head.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Alicia said sagely. “Not a Gryffindor has gone by without being on the receiving end of one of Leanne’s rumours.”

“So, I’m an honorary Gryffindor at this point, no?” Harry asked with a hopeful grin. “I’ve always wanted to see the common room where my Maman and Papa lived.”

The assembled Gryffindors looked at each other warily.

“It’s not against the rules,” Alicia pointed out. Ron nodded.

“He’s Harry Bloody Potter. No one’s going to ask questions.”

Harry frowned at that. They looked to Angelina, who shrugged.

“He’s the Gryffindor seeker – it only seems fair.”

Harry felt his cheeks would tear from smiling so much.

The Gryffindor common room was everything Harry had imagined from the stories he’d heard growing up. A roaring fireplace enveloped the room in a warm, welcoming glow. Gold chandeliers lit every corner that the fireplace didn’t reach. Upholstered armchairs and plush couches were scattered around the room, with the odd bookshelf and end table pushed up against the wall.

The common room was packed as students lounged after dinner. A few students gave Harry’s robes an odd glance or stared at his scar, but refrained from commenting when Angelina shot them a warning glance.

Harry, for his part, was completely oblivious to anything and anyone. He ran his fingers over the mantle, closing his eyes as the heat of the fireplace embraced him. He imagined his father and his friends plotting their next big prank in front of this very fire. Glancing up at the dorms, he imagined his teenage mother coming down the stairs with her friends.

“ C’est magnifique ,” Harry breathed with wide eyes as he dropped into a free seat near the Quidditch team. His eyes were restless as he absorbed every nook and cranny of the common room. “Wow…”

His new English friends looked at each other with amusement.

“This might be the first nice thing I’ve heard you French folk say about us,” Fred commented waspishly. Harry grinned.

“We can be a little judgmental,” he admitted. “I’m mostly English, if that helps?”

“Oh, certainly,” George said solemnly. “The Frenchies might have their clutches on you now, but we all know you’re one of us at heart. We’ll get you back eventually!”

Angelina rolled her eyes. “Ignore those two – nothing that comes out of their mouth is trustworthy.”

“You wound me, o Captain,” George feigned a sob. Alicia leaned over to Harry.

“Angie and George have been doing this will-they-won’t-they dance since last year. I suppose this is what they consider flirting. Aren’t they just disgusting?” she whispered with a grimace.

He continued to look around the common room. A pile of parchment and a couple of quills were left forgotten on one of the tables. A house of cards teetered precariously in a corner.

“How long has the card-house been standing?” Harry asked, impressed. Ron turned to look.

“Since September,” Ron said. “Whoever knocks it over has to go to the Yule Ball with Granger, so no one even goes near it.”

“What is the Yule Ball? And who is Granger?”

“Bigsby was telling everyone that the Triwizard Tournament usually comes with a dance – during Christmastime,” Ron said, scrunching up his nose. “And Granger is the resident bookworm. She doesn’t have any friends; doesn’t talk much to anyone, really.”

Ron wouldn’t meet his eye. “She had something of an accident in our first year – nearly died. Never been the same since.”

“And why is the punishment going to the ball with her?” Harry asked coolly.

“Coz people don’t really like her, I reckon,” Ron shrugged. “She only ever talks to answer a question or correct someone. Bloody teacher’s pet.”

With narrowed eyes, Harry let the subject drop.

The newly completed Gryffindor Quidditch team sat around the common room, exchanging stories and getting to know their newest member. Angelina seemed to be the de facto leader, though they kept referring to a ‘Wood’ who was their taskmaster of a captain who’d graduated last year. Alicia was Angelina’s best friend. They had been inseparable since their first year. Their bond had seemingly only strengthened when Katie joined their trio the following year. Harry found that Alicia was very nice, though she had a bit of a sarcastic streak to her.

The third chaser, Katie, was something of a mystery to him. She seemed nice enough and was very fun to tease. She was a bit reserved, though Alicia assured him that she was like that around strangers. Supposedly, when among friends, she turned into quite the chatterbox.

Fred and George were incorrigible prankster extraordinaires who were infamous around Hogwarts. Harry looked forward to comparing notes with them, for he too had something of a mischievous streak. He blamed his godfather’s influence. Their little brother, Ron, seemed to be dependable and unintentionally hilarious and was the only person on the team who was Harry’s age.

Looking around the common room, Harry would’ve been pleased to notice that not many people were staring at his robes – if they weren’t instead staring at his scar.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to focus on the story that Alicia and Katie were telling. Though he was the victim of a few nasty rumours and snide remarks at Beauxbatons, having the spotlight shone so directly in his face was still jarring, to say the least. Still, if there was anything his godfather had taught him, it was how to deal with attention.

“Hey, Lavender, Parvati,” Ron greeted as two girls in red and gold trim approached. One had curly blonde hair and pale skin, while the other was of Indian descent, with black hair and dark eyes.

“Hi, Ron,” the blonde giggled, her eyes on Harry. “Who’s your friend here?”

Her tone betrayed that she knew exactly who he was.

“Harry Potter.” Harry put on his most charming smile as he stood and brushed his lips against the back of her hand. “And you are?”

“Lavender Brown,” she said with pink cheeks. He withheld a grin as she gestured to her friend. “This is Parvati Patil.”

“ Enchanté ,” Harry smiled at the Indian girl, repeating the gesture.

“So, it’s true?” Parvati scrutinised him. “Harry Potter is at Hogwarts – and he’s French.”

“ Oui , I do believe I am at Hogwarts. Unless I came to the wrong address,” he gave her a winning smile. “I was told the most beautiful girls in the world are at Hogwarts, so I must be in the right place, non ?”

Parvati blushed. “Laying it on thick, aren’t we?”

“ Désolé, I am not familiar with the expression. I am just being honest,” Harry smiled. “If you’ll excuse me, mademoiselles, I believe my friends here deserve my attention for now. We will speak again, I am sure.”

Harry withheld a wince as Lavender blew him a kiss before the two left the common room. He turned back to his new teammates, shaking his head at Angelina and Alicia’s amusement. Ron was looking at him with a mix of awe and envy. Katie’s lips curved downwards.

“The ladykiller of Hogwarts!” Fred and George fell to the ground, grovelling at his feet. “Harry Potter has returned — fear for your girlfriends, lads!”

Harry took a step backwards, a mix of mortification and laughter on his face. Alicia kicked Fred in the arse, sending him tumbling over. Harry took another step back to avoid the flailing redhead, stumbling as he knocked into someone behind him.

“I am so sorry! I was not looking where I was going,” He exclaimed as he turned around. “Oh, it’s you! From Transfiguration!”

The girl with bushy brown hair was crouched, picking up the books that he’d knocked to the ground. He joined her in gathering them. She accepted them from him, eyes never leaving the floor. She muttered an incoherent thank you and nearly sprinted out of the common room.

Harry turned back to his friends with a frown. “Who was that?”

“That’s Granger,” Ron said grimly.

“She does not seem like a bad person,” Harry said.

“She isn’t. Just a little hard to get along with,” Ron said diplomatically, and Harry didn’t miss the three frowning Chasers behind him.

“I see,” Harry nodded. “Well, I must be going. Fleur will wonder where I am. Thank you for inviting me to your common room.”

A round of goodbyes rang from the group as Harry made to leave.

“Oh, and Potter,” Angelina called out as Harry opened the portrait hole. He looked back with a raised eyebrow. “Practice Thursday night at seven.”

Harry grinned and saluted before closing the door behind him.

He found his way down to the Beauxbatons carriage, getting only slightly lost. The carriage was the size of a town home on the outside, though it was enlarged to be two or three times the size on the inside. The interior was painted a soft cream, with baby blue accents. Decorative marble pillars with gold trim lined the walls. On top of polished hardwood flooring, extravagant mahogany furniture was neatly placed around the common area.

Fleur sat on a love seat, a navy blue blanket over her lap. She sat alone, haughtily staring down any who tried to approach her. Not that many did; they’d had seven years to learn that lesson. When she saw Harry, her eyes softened just a little.

" Where were you?" She asked in French.

" With my friends, " he responded in kind, and she raised an eyebrow. " Some Gryffindors - including the girls we had breakfast with this morning. "

" Be careful, " she warned. " You know how much the British idolise the Boy-Who-Lived. You don't want to be taken advantage of. "

Harry sat down next to her and squeezed her hand. " I know, Fleur, but I think these people are genuine. "

She frowned. Harry smiled placatingly, and she shook her head. “ I’ll be careful, ” he insisted.

" Alright. So, what’s this I hear about you joining a team? " she asked, relaxing into her blanket. He grinned before appropriating half her blanket for himself.

" So, I wanted to go for a fly... "

Chapter Text

Harry Potter loved Hogwarts. As cliché as it was to say, the only way to describe the castle was that it was magical. Come his second day, he found that he loved the classes he had taken thus far. Flitwick was a ball of excitement that never failed to enrapture his students, Sprout was an absolute treasure, Babbling was the funniest teacher he’d ever had, and he was certain he was winning over McGonagall. He had yet to experience Care of Magical Creatures, Defence against the Dark Arts, and Potions.

That last class was predestined to ruin his perfect Hogwarts experience so far. If there was one thing at Hogwarts that Harry didn’t love, it was Severus Snape. The Potions Professor seemed to hold for him a hatred so deep that if looks could kill, Harry was certain he would be a puddle on the floor. That was evident from the moment he entered the dungeons for his first class of the day: double potions.

In the classroom, Harry filled the seat between Ron and Dean. He had barely pulled his cauldron out of his bag and enlarged it when the door slammed shut. In swept a thin, sallow man wearing the darkest robes that matched his greasy black hair. He strode purposefully to the front, with a hooked nose and his mouth set in a distasteful sneer. His eyes never once strayed to survey his students. He picked up a piece of parchment and read through the list, crossing off his students’ names lazily.

“Harry… Potter,” the man’s sneer grew more pronounced, and Harry’s stomach dropped to his ankles. “Our newest celebrity.”

A wave of sniggers shuddered through the classroom, and Harry’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his cauldron so hard that he could feel the pewter strain under his fingers.

“Potter – tell me what I would get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry flushed. He ran through his potion knowledge. The ingredients were so familiar. Had he studied it for his potions exam last year? No, the year before?

“Draught of Living Death, sir,” Harry said, the relief palpable on his face. Snape only sneered.

With a dismissive nod, the potions professor continued. “Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

Harry blanked, feeling the flush creep further up his neck. He racked his brain for an answer.

“Well? We don’t have all day.” Snape prompted viciously, ringing in jeers and laughter from the green-trimmed students Harry knew were the Slytherins.

“I don’t know, sir,” Harry said between gritted teeth.

Snape tutted. “Clearly, fame isn’t everything. Well, one last try. What’s the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?”

Harry nearly laughed with relief. “Nothing. They are the same plant. Also called Aconite.”

“Congratulations, sixty-six per cent. You would have just barely passed a first-year exam. Perhaps I should recommend you for the second-year class.” Snape turned before Harry could respond, looking at the rest of the class. “Turn to page 127 and read the section on invariant potion ingredients. You have twelve minutes. Begin.”

Snape swept to his desk and sat down, glaring down at the red-and-gold section of students. He took extra care to save his dirtiest looks for the boy in powder blue robes.

At the bell, Harry stormed out of class, leaving Ron in the dust behind him. His teammate yelled after him, telling him to pay Snape no mind and that the professor was like that to everyone.

Harry wandered the halls aimlessly, letting the afternoon breeze cool his boiling anger. He rubbed at his scar, which hadn’t hurt this badly in a long time.

“All right there, Potter?” a gruff voice called from behind him. Harry turned around to see a grizzled, older man whose face was more scar than skin. He wore a leather coat covered in hastily patched tears. His brown eye was a dull colour, which only increased its contrast to his bulging, electric blue one. The blue eye was secured by a leather monocle, and it spun about erratically, even as his regular eye focused on Harry.

“Sorry, do I know you?” Harry asked politely, eyeing the man’s peg leg warily. The blue eye rested on Harry.

The man barked out a laugh like grating sandpaper. “Good, good. It pays to be paranoid, I’ll say. The name’s Moody; I’m teaching defence this year.”

Harry straightened, his face draining of colour. “Oh! My apologies, professor. I did not recognise you. By any chance, are you Alastor Moody? The famous auror?”

Moody waved him off. “It’s nothing, lad. Aye, I’m that Moody. Who’s been telling you stories about me?”

“My godfather, sir,” Harry said tentatively. “He said the two of you worked together during the war.”

Moody nodded casually. “Aye, your godfather and I fought together a couple of times. Good lad, he was. He’s well, I hope?”

Harry smiled weakly. “All right, sir. I will convey his wishes. If you do not mind, could you point me to the library? I am meeting a friend there, and I find myself a little lost.”

“Down that hall and the first door on the right,” Moody pointed behind Harry, who nodded gratefully.

“It seems I was going the right way,” Harry grinned. “Thank you, sir.”

“No problem,” Moody nodded, and Harry turned around. He marched down the hall, adding a little haste to his steps. “Oh, and Potter.”

Harry froze. He turned around mechanically. “Yes, sir?”

Moody looked Harry over, both of his eyes trained on Harry. Then, the calculating look disappeared, and he grinned wide, his gash of a mouth contorting painfully. “Remember, CONSTANT VIGILANCE.”

Harry jumped where he stood, and the professor chuckled before turning away. Harry had the sneaking suspicion that the magical eye was following him even as he turned the corner.

He turned the corner into the library. Moody had called his godfather a ‘good lad’ and asked if he was well. As far as the British ministry was concerned, his godfather was an escaped convict taking asylum in France.

Either Moody forgot who Harry’s godfather was, or he forgot he was a criminal. And from the war stories he’d grown up hearing, Harry was sure Moody wasn’t the type to forget a comrade, let alone a supposed traitor.

Harry had been so lost in thought that he walked until he stumbled upon a secluded nook in the back of the library. It was empty, save for a familiar bushy head of hair.

“Oh, hello,” Harry said with an easy grin as he approached. The girl at the table looked up sharply, glaring at him silently.

“Is this seat taken?” He gestured to the seat opposite her. The other two seats at the four-person table were piled sky-high with tomes that were probably older than Dumbledore. She looked for an excuse but, finding none, shook her head and mumbled a negative.

Harry sat down opposite her. He gazed up at the shelves surrounding them, then at the tomes piled up around her. He tapped the hardwood flooring with an irregular rhythm, humming lightly under his breath.

“Did I offend you?” He broke the silence, and she looked up at him, annoyance dripping from her features. “I mean – did I make you angry somehow?”

“Sorry?”

“What I mean is that you were quite rude in transfiguration, and you nearly ran away from me in the common room.” Harry shrugged, and the girl winced. “I was wondering if I did something to offend you.”

She shook her head primly before returning to her book.

“What are you reading there?” Harry craned his neck to get a good look. “Applications of Ancient Sanskrit-Latin runes? Wow, that’s a rare topic. Are you interested in Runes?”

Granger gave a noncommittal shrug.

“My godfather told me about Sanskrit-Latin runes, actually,” Harry said absently. “He told me how, because they were a product of trade culture between the Western and Eastern World, they’re especially versatile. Aren’t they perfect for nature magic?”

Granger nodded again. “Hortimancy,” she said in a clipped tone.

Harry snickered. “Sorry, what?”

Granger gave him a nonplussed look. “Hortimancy is magic that concerns itself with manipulating nature. Similar to ancient Irish Druidcraft, Hortimancy focuses on magical means of cultivating non-magical flora.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Fascinating. Why are you studying it? Do you learn Hortimancy at Hogwarts?”

She shook her head. Undeterred, Harry gestured to the stack of texts.

“May I?” He asked. She looked at him with narrowed eyes but nodded slowly. He smiled in gratitude before taking a book off the top of the stack.

He turned it over, thumbing the spine. Ten Obscure Runic Languages You NEED to Learn . Harry whistled under his breath before prying it open and reading the first page.

Fleur Delacour was not having a great time at Hogwarts.

She was having a hard time socialising. The boys watched her with lust, and the girls glared at her with envy. It was every bit as miserable as Beauxbatons, and that wasn’t counting the depressing weather and unfamiliar landscape.

Still, she tried to be positive for Harry. She knew how much this trip meant to him. As much as she hated to admit it, he was still Anglais at heart.

She was heartened to find that at least he was having a great time. He was rarely in the Beauxbatons' carriage, and from what she’d gathered, he spent most of his time with his new English friends in their common room. She hadn’t bothered to find the location of this common room, and she doubted she would be as welcome as the Boy-Who-Lived anyway.

At Beauxbatons, it had been the two of them against the world. The Veela and the Boy-Who-Lived. The two students coveted for what they couldn’t control; the blessed ones who would give it all away for but a shred of normalcy. She had found kinship in him for the first time outside her family. He was the little brother she had always wanted. And now she never saw him.

Perhaps part of the reason she hated Hogwarts was that she was afraid it would take Harry away from her.

It was All Hallows’ Eve, and Fleur was using every ounce of her self-control to keep herself from slumping over. She sat next to Harry in the Great Hall with the red-robed students. He made easy conversation with the group surrounding him. The tall, dark-skinned girl laughed riotously, flicking her ice cream at Harry. He ducked under and stuck his tongue out at her. The blonde girl that Harry kept flirting with made a comment that had him glaring playfully. The dark-haired girl sitting across from Fleur watched in silence, though she seemed content to be a spectator.

Not Fleur.

She wanted to be Harry so badly. She wanted to be the life of the party. But for who she was, not what she looked like. Somehow, Harry had found people who looked past his moniker and enjoyed the person he was.

Lucky him.

The burning Goblet of Fire remained on the edge of her vision.

There was her chance. Her only chance to be greater than her skin and her body. Her only opportunity to be a Fleur Delacour with a subtitle other than ‘Veela’.

Would her name come out? If it did, would she be enough? Was eternal glory worth the chance of death?

Stones churned in her stomach, and the slice of key lime pie on her plate taunted her. She stabbed it violently with her fork, drawing the attention of the dark-haired girl – the one who had been affected by her allure.

Fleur refused to meet her gaze, staring at a fixed point above the head table. She was aware of the reassuring smile she received from the girl, and even felt an iota of guilt for ignoring her.

She was broken out of her thoughts as the plates and the food upon them began to clear. Fleur didn’t so much as glance at the pie that she usually enjoyed, as it vanished into nothingness. Headmaster Dumbledore gave a speech, and the words missed her entirely. She was in something of a fugue state until she saw the headmaster step out from behind his lectern and gesture to the flaming goblet.

The flames sputtered for a moment, and then a scrap of parchment fluttered out. The headmaster caught it with a dexterity that belied his age.

“The champion for Beauxbatons!” Fleur tensed, her spine straightening out as her shoulders rolled back. “Fleur Delacour!”

Her confidence in herself was so little that a wave of disappointment tore through her before reality intersected, and she truly processed the words. Emotion as a whole receded as shock filled her being. Harry clapping her back and cheering in her ear ripped her back to the present.

Harry's Gryffindor friends were clapping. He himself was on his feet. She was still sitting. She stood up. Harry yelled something – probably congratulations – and gave her a tight hug. She just about remembered to return it. He shoved her lightly. She stepped away from the table and looked up at the front. Madame Maxime looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

The shock receded, and the mask settled. Fleur turned her nose up, schooling her expression into one of boredom, before marching to the front. Maxime gestured to a side room, and Fleur entered.

Fleur wrung her hands in the empty room. She alternated between pacing the floor and looking at the door for her to-be competitors.

Following her was the tall Bulgarian boy whom Fleur knew to be a Quidditch Superstar. Harry had mentioned him the first night they’d been at Hogwarts. She wasn’t surprised. She supposed that to be the best in the world at anything required some mettle, even if it was only Quidditch.

The next entrant wore Hogwarts robes trimmed in yellow. She supposed he was of the handsome sort, and he smiled cordially at the room’s other occupants. His eyes glazed over when they crossed her, though he shook it off after a moment and nodded at her. Fleur returned the gesture.

She turned her attention to the creak of the opening door, expecting to see the school heads or perhaps the two ministry representatives.

“‘Arry?”

The word left her lips before she could stop herself. Harry looked stunned; his eyes were wide, and his hands trembled. She approached him. “What is it? Do they want us back outside?”

Harry opened his mouth, but he seemed at a loss for words. The door opened once more, and the school heads walked in, followed closely by the ministry officials. The Durmstrang headmaster seemed livid, and Madam Maxime seemed conflicted.

“Surely, ‘e can’t compete,” Madame Maxime argued. “He eez too young. Only a boy.”

“Compete?” the Hogwarts champion asked, astonishment colouring his voice. “Who? Him?” He pointed at Harry. Fleur looked between her friend and the professors. None contradicted him.

“How…” the words left Fleur’s mouth unwittingly.

Headmaster Dumbledore approached Harry briskly. “Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” he asked calmly.

Harry shook his head frenetically. “No, sir –”

“Did you ask another student to do it for you?”

“No, sir. I do not want any part of this tournament; I swear it. I have no idea how my name got inside.”

“Surely he is lying,” said the Durmstrang head. Fleur looked at Madame Maxime, who remained silent. Instead, it was the Hogwarts headmaster who came to Harry’s defence.

“Igor, please,” he spoke firmly yet not unkindly. “I do not believe young Harry is lying.”

“Why would you?” sneered the other man. “He is English, is he not? Is that what this is? A French-English plot? You invite Durmstrang here to conspire against and embarrass us? I am of half a mind to gather my students and leave at once!”

Madam Maxime made an angry noise, but Dumbledore placated her before she could retort.

“Igor, I must ask you to refrain from baseless accusations,” he said, a hint of steel in his voice. “I did not know of this, and Madam Maxime has my full confidence, as does Harry. Regardless, Mister Krum’s name has come out of the goblet – he must compete. I suggest we cease the accusations and make way for productive conversation.”

He gestured to the ministry officials, who stepped up and began speaking of the rules. The rest of the little meeting was uneventful. Or at least it felt that way because Fleur was still struggling to process that Harry was in the tournament.

A tournament designed for people three years older than him.

A tournament with a death toll.

Concern churned in her gut, mixed with a nauseating dose of anxiety, along with a third, ugly creature that clawed at her insides. It fed her thoughts that she knew were nonsensical, but she couldn’t block them out anyway.

She vaguely remembered the trek back to the carriage. It was conducted in silence. She was only just aware of Harry trailing slightly behind her, his gaze firmly at his feet.

The carriage was an explosion of noise and questions when they entered. Madam Maxime waved for silence, and she was obliged in an instant.

“ Harry Potter will compete in the tournament ,” she said in French, looking at her students sternly. “ He will have to compete under a neutral, fourth name. He may not be a Beauxbatons champion, but he is still one of your peers. I will not tolerate any mistreatment, understand? ”

The students nodded in unison. Even Fleur nodded, though she was standing behind the headmistress.

“ Perfect, then I will see you in the morning ,” she nodded before retreating to her quarters.

Fleur, still in an overstimulated daze, sought out the nearest armchair and collapsed into it. She saw Harry still standing by the door as if he wanted to run away.

“ How did you do it then, Potter ?” sneered a seventh-year boy from where he was sitting with his friends. “ How did you cheat the goblet ?”

“ I didn’t ,” Harry ground out. “ I didn’t put my name in the Goblet of Fire .”

The boy snorted. “ Bullshit. You need centre stage for everything, don’t you? You attention-seeking brat .”

Harry stiffened and remained silent. Fleur didn’t speak. She barely even breathed.

“ You couldn’t even let your only friend in the entire school have her moment, could you, Potter ?” The seventh year grinned viciously, and his little posse murmured their agreement. “ Only Harry Potter gets the fame. Only Harry Potter gets the glory, no ?”

“ That’s not true ,” Harry insisted. “ I-I didn’t want any of this. I swear it .”

“ I don’t believe you ,” sang the seventh year. “ And you don’t either, do you, Delacour ?”

He looked at Fleur, whose eyes went wide. Harry turned to her, his expression asking the most vital question.

A rebuke began to form in her chest. She trusted him. She believed him. He was her best friend. He was family.

No words left her lips. Harry’s face crumbled as his question was answered. He turned and fled the carriage.

Fleur watched, the sound of the slamming door ringing in her ears.