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Fleur De Lis Ch. 7
🕑 Added 2023-05-10 17:40:04 +0000 UTCContent Warnings: Teasing.
Harry groaned internally at the sight of Fred and George bearing down on him from the opposite end of the hallway. He had spent the week successfully dodging his friends to avoid having to decline their increasingly ridiculous offers of help with the Tournament. While Ron was stuck between anger that he had been picked as a champion and disbelief that he wouldn’t take it (and the attached prize money of a thousand galleons) seriously, his older brothers had taken it upon themselves to get him out of the Tournament. And while he appreciated their enthusiasm in helping him out of his current predicament, he doubted lacing Barty Crouch Sr.'s firewhiskey with their patented ‘Explosive Diarrhea Potion’ would do him any good.
“No,” Harry said before they could even speak. Both of them sported identical grins on their faces, something which was never a good omen for the poor unsuspecting bastards in their immediate vicinity.
“We didn’t even say anything,” Fred pointed out.
“You’re either going to invite me to another party or suggest yet another insane way I can get my revenge on Bagman and Crouch for their stubborn refusal to let me bow out.”
“Our ideas are not insane!” George exclaimed, pretending to be insulted.
“They’re inspired.”
“Really? You suggested I give Bagman a caramel toffee that’ll turn him into a penguin. What good does that do me?” Harry challenged, his stern tone completely neutered by the smile on his face.
Fred waved his concerns away. “What’s wrong with our parties?”
“We’ve had one in the Common Room every night of the week? I haven’t gotten more than five hours of sleep a night the entire week. Even Professor McGonagall commented on how drowsy I was.” Harry jerked his thumb in the direction of the staircase he had just descended.
“We ensure that we end our parties at Midnight. And you can easily make it to your classes if you wake up at eight. So there’s no reason for you to only be getting only five hours of sleep unless you’ve also been doing something else,” George calculated, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “What’ve you been doing, ickle Harrykins?”
“More like who’ve you been doing,” Fred corrected his brother with a smirk. “Going to the kitchens are we?”
Although it was posed as a question, given the fact that they were in the basement and mere meters away from the portrait that covered the entrance to the kitchens, it was obvious to everyone present where Harry had been going.
“Uh… yeah.” Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, his cheeks warm. “Going to get some soup for Fleur,” he added under his breath.
Fred and George’s faces sported identical smirks.
“I must say, Harry, you’ve been taking our dear Headmaster’s calls for closer cooperation with other schools quite seriously,” George teased, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulder. “And how is our delightful friend from across the channel? We haven’t seen her attend McGonagall’s extra classes with you these last couple of days.”
Harry paused dead in his tracks, his face pale. Given the fact that half the school (egged on by Malfoy and his ilk in an impressive campaign to slander him) already thought him a traitor for his ‘relationship’ with Fleur and the fact that he wasn’t representing Hogwarts in the Tournament, they’d worked hard to keep their cooperation under wraps, just as Professor McGonagall had suggested.
“How…” Harry shook his head, abandoning the question. There was no secret in the castle that the Twins didn’t know, or couldn’t find out. “You can’t tell anyone. You’ve seen those stupid ‘Traitor Potter’ badges Malfoy came up with. If people find out Fleur and I are actively helping each other things will get much worse for both of us,” Harry said seriously.
Fred and George nodded, the smiles vanishing from their faces. Despite all their pranks and bluster, they truly cared about the man between them and considered him to be just as much their brother as Ron. There was no way they’d ever do anything that actually hurt him.
“We were hiding from Filch behind the tapestry of Twilda the Troll a few nights ago. We saw you and Fleur by the castle doors holding hands and discussing the Vanishing Spell McGonagall had just taught you.”
“Then you fixed her cloak and she left with a goodbye kiss to your cheek,” Fred added, his grin returning. “It was quite adorable. But don’t worry, we have no plans to tell anyone. In fact, we wanted to find you tonight for the express purpose of trying to protect you and Fleur,” Fred said, his tone uncharacteristically serious.
“What’s Malfoy planning now?” Harry asked, his hackles raised. When his pins and flyers hadn’t had the desired effect nor gained the popularity amongst students he had hoped they would, the Slytherin had resorted to slurs and taunts against Veelas. Hermione had done an impressive job of restraining Gabrielle from responding, but Harry knew if the idiotic blonde kept pressing his luck he’d soon be a small pile of ash on the stone floor of the castle courtyard.
“Not Malfoy.” George shook his head. “We’ve been trying to corner Bagman-”
“Why?” Harry asked, curious. Were they really that committed to having Bagman try their new Trick Toffees?
“Not important to this conversation,” George replied firmly. “Anyway, he was in the Courtyard an hour ago, welcoming Rita Skeeter.”
Harry stared blankly at the Twins, unsure what the information they were sharing had to do with him or Fleur. “Who is she?”
“You know that article in the Daily Prophet a couple of weeks ago about Amelia Bones? The one which ‘exposed’ her as a sex-crazed power-hungry maniac who’s keeping a giant as her lover?”
Harry nodded. He didn’t even have to know Amelia Bones personally to see that the article was ridiculous and filled with lies and inaccuracies. Anyone with half a brain could figure it out. “I had never seen a Hufflepuff lose their temper before that day. Susan went ballistic.”
“Yep,” Fred said grimly. “Did you see the name of the author?”
Harry shook his head. He didn’t generally pay close attention to the Daily Prophet preferring instead to skim the headlines to make sure Sirius was safe and hadn’t been captured.
“It was her. And now she’s here to cover the Tournament.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with Fleur and me, Fred.”
“The entire time she was with Bagman, she only talked about one thing. You, Fleur, and your relationship,” George explained grimly. “She’s a vulture, Harry. She’s going to twist everything you say to her and try to destroy your relationship with Fleur for the entertainment of her readers. My advice would be to chuck her off the tallest tower you can find but short of that, avoid her as much as you can. Both of you.”
Harry nodded, suddenly overcome by emotion. Between the stress of a life-threatening Tournament, the taunts of Slytherins, and Snape’s bullying… it had been a difficult week. The unwavering support of friends like the two redheads on either side of him was what had seen him through to the other end. “You two are-” he started, his voice choking.
“Your friends,” George said dismissively. “We’re always going to look out for you ickle Harrykins. Now, mind telling us what’s up with Fleur and why we haven’t seen her in the castle for a couple of days?”
“Fleur has a bad head cold. That’s why she hasn’t been attending the extra classes with me. She’s resting in her room and I was going to bring her some soup,” Harry replied, his cheeks turning pink.
“Careful Harry, or you’ll-” Fred’s amused teasing was cut short by the sound of wood tapping against stone. The tap tap tap rapidly got closer and the three turned slowly at the sharp voice of their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
“Potter! Weasley. Weasley!” Moody growled, his artificial electric blue eye resting on each of them for a few seconds before swiveling to the next person. “What’re you doing out here so late? It’s nearly curfew.”
“Detention with Professor McGonagall, sir,” Harry lied smoothly before either Twin could even respond. Their initial looks of shock changed to admiration and both Fred and George looked at Harry with a small, proud grin on their faces. “We thought we’d grab a cup of hot cocoa before turning in.”
“I doubt you have time to do that before curfew Potter,” Moody barked. “To your dorms, all three of you.”
Harry exchanged looks with both Fred and George before nodding. He knew they’d cover for him if required, and he could just double back to the kitchens using one of the many secret passageways dotting the castle.
The three slipped past their grizzled professor to make their way out of the basement, only to be stopped in their tracks by Moody’s low growl.
“Potter.”
“Yes, professor?” Harry asked, exchanging worried looks with the Twins.
“Straight to your dormitory. Don’t think about taking a detour. I’d hate to nip your burgeoning social life in the bud.”
Fuck. Can that eye of his read minds too?
“Yes, professor,” Harry said, rushing down the hallway with Fred and George before Moody could say anything else.
The three only spoke again once they were safely on a staircase carrying them up to the seventh floor and the warmth of their Common Room.
“You’re getting much better at lying,” Fred said, chuckling softly. “Keep this up and we might just have to drag you along as a lookout for our more… dangerous expeditions.”
“It was just what Professor McGonagall told me to say if I was ever stopped and questioned while going to or returning from our extra classes,” Harry mumbled, his cheeks warm. It wasn’t the only lie he’d pulled off successfully that week. His fake relationship with Fleur had been so convincing that nobody, not even Snape could find any reason to doubt it. “She’s officially given me detention five days a week for the next six months as a cover for our lessons.”
“Did she come up with a reason for such a long ‘punishment’?”
“Yeah. I caused Professor Snape severe emotional distress the night the Champions were announced. The trauma of seeing my name come out was so bad that he temporarily lost his senses,” Harry said, smiling internally at Professor McGonagall’s subtle dig at her colleague.
“You know something Gred?” George said as they hopped off the staircase and walked down to the portrait of the Fat Lady. She appeared to be fast asleep and would undoubtedly be displeased to be roused from her slumber. Harry wondered if she ever did anything other than sleep and visit her friend.
“What’s that Forge?”
“I’m beginning to think our Head of House is a certifiable badass.”
---
“Do you know how long they’ll take?” Hermione asked, staring at the shut door of the empty classroom temporarily commandeered by the Tournament’s organizers.
Harry shook his head. They were already late. Snape had taken his sweet time testing his potion, only to fail him. Harry had a feeling he’d have gotten the T no matter the actual quality of his potion and drawing out the torture instead of just handing him the grade like always seemed to be an act of petty vindictiveness on the Potions Master’s part. Something he had done specifically to ensure Harry would be late for the official beginning of the Tournament.
“It’ll be alright. They’re probably just checking your wand for signs of tampering and to make sure it’s working perfectly. Shouldn’t take too long,” Hermione said, chewing her lip worriedly. “If you finish early, I’ll be in the library working on our Potions homework. If it takes too long, I’ll go to the Great Hall with Gabrielle for dinner and you and Fleur can join us, alright?” Hermione suggested, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.
“Okay,” Harry murmured, staying in place until he saw her round the corner and disappear from sight. He took a deep breath, knocked on the door, and entered. The classroom was completely bare, with all of the desks and cupboards having been removed. The only exception was three tables arranged end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a bright green cloth.
He sighed in relief when he realized the ceremony hadn’t started. The room was mostly empty. Krum was standing by a small window all alone, moodily staring out at the lake and ignoring everyone else present in the room. Cedric leaned against the wall close to the tables, engrossed in conversation with a thickset man carrying a camera.
Harry turned back to the chairs arranged behind the desks, groaning internally at the sight of Ludo Bagman sitting in one located behind the right end of the tables. The other chairs were still empty.
Bagman lunged out of his chair the minute he spotted Harry, scrambling around the tables to greet him. Harry suspected that if his physique had allowed him to, he’d have jumped over the table.
Why is he so obsessed with me?
“Harry! Our prodigal champion arrives! Well, come on in Harry, don’t be shy!” He boomed, his belly jiggling slightly as he spread his arms in welcome. “No need to be worried, it’s only the Wand Weighing Ceremony. We are just waiting for the rest of the judges and the expert to arrive.”
“What about the champions?” Harry asked, looking around the cavernous room. There was no sign of Fleur. He quelled the rising panic in his chest, turning back to Bagman. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for her absence. Moody’s intervention and subsequent warning the night before had made it impossible for him to do what he’d done every other night she’d been sick. Bringing her soup, made sure she took her cold-relief potion, and read to her while she fell asleep swaddled in his cloak and half a dozen blankets.
“They’re all here.” Bagman blinked in confusion before grinning and winking conspiratorially. “Searching for the old ball and chain, eh? She’s already here. You’re actually the last one to arrive. I thought I’d have to send out a search party for you!”
Harry forced a laugh at the man’s lame attempt at a joke. “I can’t see Fleur anywhere.”
“Oh, Rita’s just pulled her aside for an interview,” Bagman said dismissively. “She’s doing a tiny piece on the tournament and thought it’d be nice to get the perspective of the foreign champions’ experiences in Hogwarts. Since we’re running late, I let her go ahead. It’ll be a nice opportunity for some good press for the school and the Ministry,” Bagman finished with a shrug.
Surely you can’t be this stupid, Harry thought to himself. Have you read what she writes?!
He had. After Fred and George’s warning he had dug up every edition of the Daily Prophet he could find in the Gryffindor Common Room and pored over the woman’s articles. They hadn’t been exaggerating when they had recommended he fling Rita Skeeter from the highest tower he could find. No good would ever come from speaking to that woman. “Where are they?” Harry asked, trying not to lose his temper.
“The broom closet next to this classroom, I think.”
Harry turned on his heel and strode out of the room before Bagman could stop him.
He walked over to the broom closet, coming face to face with a visibly uncomfortable Fleur the minute he pulled open its doors. She was seated on a wooden box, facing a blonde witch wearing the ugliest and most garish magenta robes he had ever laid his eyes on. In contrast to Fleur, Rita Skeeter, although sitting on a bumpy upturned bucket was all smiles and appeared to be at ease. Her smile didn’t reach her pale blue eyes, however. Those, Harry noted, were as sharp as daggers.
“And what would you-” Skeeter paused when she noticed the intrusion, her eyes lighting up with excitement at the sight of Harry. The Acid Green Quill floating next to her paused scribbling on the notepad, evidently awaiting instructions from its mistress. “Ah! Harry! What a pleasant surprise. Care to join us? We’ll make it a double feature.”
“No. Sorry. I need Fleur for something important.” Harry reached out and grabbed Fleur’s wrist, yanking her to her feet and pulling her out of the closet before Skeeter could react. He marched her down the hallway to the first empty closet he could find, pulling her inside and jamming the shut door with a broom handle to ensure the reporter had no way in.
“Harry-” Fleur was staring at him with wide eyes, her heart hammering in her chest. Although confused by his actions, the way he had effortlessly taken charge of the situation and of her left her cheeks warm and a strange feeling fluttering in the pit of her stomach. She wondered if that was how he was when he wasn’t being unfailingly polite and kind to foreign witches.
No. Bad Fleur. Get your mind out of the gutter, she chided herself, her cheeks blazing when his worried green eyes turned to her, roving over her anxiously.
“Sorry,” Harry muttered, his cheeks turning pink when he realized just how close they were. In his hurry, he had chosen a tiny closet, one much smaller than the one Fleur and Skeeter had originally occupied. They barely had room to stand, much less sit. His heart sped up. His chest was pressed against his friend’s curvaceous frame and Harry discreetly tilted his hips away from her to ensure she didn’t notice any unfortunate mishaps if they were to occur. Not all of his body parts were as cooperative as his eyes, which he firmly (and respectfully) kept fixed on her red nose. “I had to get you away from her.”
“She’ll write all about how we can’t keep our hands off each other ‘arry!” Fleur despaired, her French accent shining through in her worry. “How… how we…” Fleur blushed and waved her hands to gesture at the tiny space they were in, trying her best not to imagine Harry seizing some more initiative and closing the little space left between them to do what everyone surely thought they were doing.
“Trust me, if she prints that, it’ll be the nicest thing she says about us,” Harry said grimly. “She’s a vulture who has sadly taken interest in us and our ‘relationship’.” Harry framed the last word using air quotes. “Fred and George-”
“Your friends who tried to dye my hair blue?” Fleur asked dubiously.
Harry nodded. “Look, they love a good prank, but they’ve always been in my corner when it mattered. They overheard Skeeter and Bagman talking and they only had one piece of advice for us. Stay as far away from her as possible.”
Fleur sighed. Her dreams of a simple Tournament and a glorious return to France seemed to be vanishing into thin air with every passing day. Fate, it seemed, had other plans for her. “Then we shall stay here until the Weighing begins.” She marshaled her courage and thought of her sister, deciding to handle the matter as the more outgoing Delacour would have. “Let them think what they will,” she said, grinning despite the heavy blush coating her cheeks.
Harry nodded, his throat too dry for words. He pulled his hips further away from her. This, however, had the rather unfortunate and unintended consequence of pushing his chest into the softness of her bosom. Harry couldn’t help it, his eyes shifted downwards for a quick second before he forced them back up. “Sorry,” he coughed, shifting awkwardly in the limited space that was available. “Cramped.”
“It’s okay, Harry,” Fleur gave him a reassuring smile even as her cheeks darkened further.
“How’s the cold?” Harry asked. Still seemingly not in control of his own body, he involuntarily reached out to tuck a stray strand of her platinum blonde hair behind her ear. “You still sound congested. Did you take your medicine last night?” he asked sternly.
Fleur giggled. “Who’s training to be the healer here?” she teased, tilting her head fondly. The way he had doted on her while she had been sick and miserable in bed had been endearing and she looked forward to returning the favor one day. Her sister’s voice wormed its way into her mind-
Shut up, Gabby, Fleur thought, already knowing what her sister would say about her fantasies.
“I think Hermione said it best when she reminded us all that healers make the worst patients. So, did you take your medicine?” Harry repeated, keeping up the stern tone.
Fleur nodded. “Oui. I missed you last night. I’d gotten used to falling asleep to the sound of you reading to me,” Fleur whispered, breathing heavily. Was she being too forward? Definitely not, she thought to herself. Friends read to each other, didn’t they? The only other person she could call a real friend was Gabrielle and she’d read to her sister since they were children.
Harry reading to her was no different than that, she decided.
“Gabrielle even got me some soup.”
Harry grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Did she now?”
“It was ice cold,” Fleur replied with a playful scowl. “She claimed she got lost.”
“That’s strange. I remember drawing her a very detailed map of Hermione’s pants.”
Both of them devolved into fits of laughter, leaning into each other for support and only pulling away when a gentle knock on the door shattered the playful atmosphere. Harry cautiously pulled the broom handle away and opened the closet door, breathing a sigh of relief when he came face to face with the electric blue eyes and long white beard of his Headmaster.
“My apologies, Harry. To you as well, Madame Delacour,” Dumbledore said with a courteous bow to Fleur. “I hate to interrupt but we do need all the Champions for the ceremony.”
Harry and Fleur nodded and practically ran back into the classroom, not bothering to look back or wait for Dumbledore or Skeeter (who was still standing in the hallway and looking at them with a hungry expression on her face) to join him. Cedric and Krum were now waiting in a line by the door and they quickly squeezed into the space between Cedric and the wall, before turning to look at the large table.
Harry watched Professor Dumbledore stride across the room to sit on the only remaining empty chair. All five of the judges were now seated; Professor Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Ludo Bagman, Mr. Crouch, and Karkaroff. Harry tried not to wince when his scar twinged as he looked at Karkaroff.
What the hell was that? He thought, trying not to panic.
He looked around the room to see if anything or anyone else would cause the same reaction. Rita Skeeter had slipped back into the room and settled into the corner opposite him. She was staring at him and he stared right back, wondering if his scar was some sort of universal detector for dangerous or evil people. She smiled, pulled out her pad and that blasted quill from her bag, and began to write.
His scar did not hurt.
Why did it hurt when I looked at Karkaroff then?
“May I introduce you all to Mr. Ollivander?” Harry turned to Professor Dumbledore when he realized the man was addressing the champions. “He will assess your wands to make sure they’re ready for the tasks.”
Harry watched the old wizard hobble to the lectern placed in the middle of the room for him, looking at all the champions with his large, pale gray eyes. Harry shuddered. He knew the wizard’s wand-making skills were second to none, but something about the man had always unsettled him.
“Miss Delacour?” He extended a shriveled hand. Fleur stepped forward, placing her wand in his palm.
He looked at the wand for a minute, running his finger along its length, “Nine and a half inches. Rosewood. Rather inflexible and temperamental. I presume that is because of its rather unique core…”
“Veela hair,” Fleur confirmed. “My grandmother’s. She gave a strand for the core of my wand, and my sister’s,” Fleur declared proudly.
Ollivander nodded, appearing pleased that his suspicions were correct. He summoned a bouquet of flowers, handing both the flowers and the wand back to Fleur.
“Mr. Diggory?”
Cedric grinned at Fleur on his way to the podium, only to receive a polite smile in response. Fleur slipped back into the space in front of Harry and handed him the flowers with a shy wink. “We are madly in love in front of Skeeter, oui?” she asked in a whisper.
Harry nodded. He turned to the reporter. She had lost interest in the ceremony and was rapidly dictating notes to her seemingly enchanted quill in a quiet voice.
Cedric handed his wand to Ollivander, awaiting judgment.
“Ah! One of mine!” Ollivander suddenly sounded much more animated. “Twelve inches. Ash. Unicorn core. Springy and well-tuned. It’s in fine condition.”
“I polish it every night,” Cedric replied proudly. Harry was suddenly glad Professor McGonagall and Fleur had made him clean his wand before the ceremony.
This time Ollivander conjured up a jet of water, handing the wand back to Cedric with an approving nod.
“Mr. Krum?” Viktor Krum stalked over to the wandmaker, silently pushing his wand into the awaiting palm.
“Ahh. I recognize this style. This is a Gregorovitch wand. Never quite agreed with him on anything but…” Ollivander mumbled, studying the wand. It was thicker than theirs, with symbols etched into the hilt. “Rigid. Too rigid. A curious combination, hornbeam, and dragon heartstring,” he mumbled. “Avis!” The wand let out a bang as a group of twittering birds shot out of it, and Ollivander handed it back, satisfied.
“That leaves… Mr. Potter.”
Harry sighed and pushed himself away from the wall. He walked over to the old wandmaker, reluctantly surrendering his wand.
“Oh yes. Oh yes. This one, I remember. How could I ever forget?” Ollivander mumbled, caressing the wand, his eyes gleaming with suppressed excitement. “Eleven inches. Holly. A feather from the tail of a rather remarkable phoenix.”
Harry crossed his fingers, praying that the man had enough sense not to share all the details about his wand, especially the connection between it and Voldemort’s wand in front of everyone.
That would make the front page of tomorrow’s paper for sure.
“But… this shouldn’t be possible. It has changed since I last saw it… There is a sliver of… brightness to it. Barely perceptible and a lesser wandmaker would surely miss it. A very subtle thing, but unmistakable just the same. Something has changed… this is not the wand it once was,” Ollivander mumbled, spending the next few minutes studying the wand in deep concentration. “Curious. Most curious.”
After what seemed like forever, Ollivander conjured up rings of smoke from the tip of his wand, reluctantly handing it back to him. Harry had a feeling that he would have happily spent all night studying his wand if given the chance.
“They’re all in perfect working condition,” he announced to the judges.
“Thank you,” Dumbledore stood, smiling at the champions. “Now, for the First Task itself.”
Every single champion’s ears perked. Even Krum appeared somewhat animated.
“It shall be a test of your bravery. A challenge of your intelligence under immense pressure. As such, you will not be told anything about it until the morning of the Task itself. You may not carry anything to the Task except for your wand.”
All the Champions nodded, committing the details (scarce as they were) to memory.
“It is getting to be rather late, so I suggest we all leave for dinner,” Dumbledore finished, bowing graciously.
Harry and Fleur were halfway to the door before Bagman stopped them all with a demand for photos.
“We need a photo of all the champions and the judges together Dumbledore! For posterity’s sake!” Bagman declared, beckoning the photographer over with a wave of his hand.
“And the papers,” Skeeter said, finally looking up from her pad. She tucked it and the quill back into her handbag and ambled over to stand by Harry’s side.
“And the papers,” Bagman agreed.
Harry reluctantly turned, hoping they would be done quickly. He was famished.
The photos took a long time. Skeeter demanded individual shots of all the champions. Bagman wanted one of just the judges.
When the time came for the group photo, a fight nearly broke out between Skeeter and the photographer. The man wanted Fleur front and center, while Skeeter was determined it be Harry and Fleur in an embrace, something both of them refused to do for the camera. In the end, they compromised, with both he and Fleur standing in the middle with their hands clasped together and fingers intertwined. At last, after the final shot of the champions and judges together, they were free to go.
Harry and Fleur rushed out of the classroom hand-in-hand, neither of them eager to stick around and give the vapid reporter another chance to corner them.
“How do you feel about dinner in the kitchens?” Harry asked once they reached the Atrium of the castle. The Great Hall was packed and Harry was in no mood to face the strange mixture of adoration and disgust he seemed to garner from his fellow students ever since his name had popped out of the blasted Goblet.
Fleur happily nodded and squeezed his hand. “Lead the way.”
Notes:
The chapter is a couple hours later than I intended because I added a few details. But I am pretty pleased with the end result, and I hope you like it too! This idea of a somewhat unorthodox Flowerpot seems to be turning out well. As always, here's a reminder to you to join my Discord Server if you want to see Art (we even have a cover and Fleur art for this story on there), and if you want to talk about the story with me!
