Daphne Greengrass adjusted her scarf as she and Regina stepped out of the stands after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. The air was crisp, the buzz of the crowd still humming around them as students trickled away from the dragon enclosure. Regina nudged Daphne with her elbow, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"He's getting real lucky tonight after that," she said, her tone cheeky. "Bloody hell, the way he dominated that Horntail? Morgana, I almost creamed at the sight alone."
Daphne shook her head at the usual crassness from the older girl, her mind drifting to the task. She couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for Harry. The way he'd faced that dragon—calm under pressure, quick on his feet—had been something else. She'd watched with glee as he immobilized the dragon, taking away every advantage the creature had, and with her heart in her throat, she'd gasped when the dragon tried to impale him. She couldn't me more thankful for the armor he'd gotten for himself. The way he had conducted himself in that task wasn't just skill; it was guts. She kept that to herself, though, giving Regina a sidelong glance instead.
"Yeah, not bad, was it?" Daphne said, her voice light but her eyes gleaming.
"Not bad? That's all you gotta say?"
Daphne shrugged, although a fond smile remained plastered on her lips. Regina glanced at her and grinned.
Both were surprised with how their relationship with each other had changed after what had happened between them. Regina had not expected Daphne to be that bold, and she didn't think she'd like it so much either. As surprising as it was, she welcomed it wholeheartedly. It was something new to explore, and she had always been the adventurous sort. Meanwhile, Daphne still barely tolerated Regina, finding her crass and frankly overenthusiastic nature sometimes a bit too much, but tolerate her she did.
The chatter of the other students filtered through as they walked, snippets of excited voices carrying on the wind. "Did you see the suit Potter wore?" one Hufflepuff lad was saying, all giddy. "Absolute legend!" a Gryffindor girl piped up nearby, her bubbly friends nodding along like they'd been Harry's biggest fans all along. Daphne's lip curled, and she caught Regina's eye—her friend's face was scrunched up in the same disgust.
"Here we go," she muttered, loud enough for Regina to hear. "Listen to this lot. Gushing over him now, are they? Same prats who were slagging him off all this time, calling him a cheat and a glory hog. Where was all this when Diggory was their precious Hogwarts champion? Now that he's gone and cocked it up, they're jumping ship faster than you can say Quidditch"
Regina snorted, kicking a stray pebble as they trudged along. "Too right. Bunch of two-faced tossers. Diggory cocks up trying to get past that big white, and suddenly Harry's their golden boy. Makes me sick, it does."
"Exactly," Daphne said, her voice sharp. "They were all 'Oh, poor Cedric, he's the real deal,' and now look at 'em. Can't get enough of Harry. No loyalty, no spine—just a load of bandwagon rubbish."
Regina nodded, her brunette hair bouncing as she picked up the pace to match Daphne's stride. "And don't get me started on that git Karkaroff. Giving Harry a zero? A bloody zero? After that performance? He's taking the piss."
Daphne's jaw tightened at the memory. "That was a disgrace. Harry was the best out there, hands down. Fully subdued the most dangerous dragon, didn't he? Took guts and brains, and Karkaroff scores him nothing? Should've been straight tens."
"Yeah, sod Karkaroff," Regina said, her voice rising. "He'd be top of the leaderboard, not stuck in second behind bloody Fleur Delacour. That greasy old sod's just bitter 'cause his precious Krum didn't shine as bright. Makes my blood boil."
Daphne opened her mouth to agree, but the mention of Delacour's name sent a sour twist through her gut. She didn't know why it got under her skin so much—maybe it was the way she had been dismissive and outright disrespectful towards Harry, or maybe how she floated through the castle with that smug little smile and her nose upturned as if she was better than everyone else.
Before she could say anything, her eyes caught a flash of silvery blonde hair up ahead. Fleur was walking towards the Beauxbatons carriage, her cloak billowing slightly as she moved with that annoyingly perfect grace.
Daphne muttered something incomprehensible under her breath. Without thinking, her legs started moving faster, carrying her towards Fleur. Regina clocked it a second later, letting out a long-suffering sigh.
"Greengrass, where the hell—oh, for fuck's sake," she groaned, spotting Fleur. She hurried after her anyway, muttering, "Here we go."
-Break-
The roar of the crowd still echoed in Harry's ears as he trudged away from the stadium, the buzz from outsmarting that bloody Hungarian Horntail finally starting to fade. There was not even a scratch on his person, and not on the basilisk scales either, but that was where the advantages ended. He sniffed, and he reckoned he stank like crap. Under the scales, he was sweating like hell, and it was as if he hadn't taken a bath in ages. Still, he'd pulled it off—snagged the golden egg without a single scratch.
Diggory, though—poor sod—hadn't been so lucky. Krum had been the one to tell him about how he'd fared, and Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for the bloke.
His left arm and leg might've gotten chewed up like a dog's old toy after the dragon had its fun. Nasty business, that. They'd subdued the beast after, but not before it turned the task into a right shambles.
Madam Pomfrey surely had her work cut out for her. Harry didn't know much about healing, but he believed she'd be able to fix him. After all, it wasn't as if any dark magic had been involved, and regrowing limbs was child's play for the magical folk. Still, the mental toll would be hard to ignore. He wouldn't be surprised if Diggory participated only for formalities' sake from now on.
As he walked, Harry couldn't help but once again think of the reaction he'd gotten from the crowd. He wasn't expecting cheers or anything daft like that. Up until an hour ago, half the school had been dead set he'd cheated his way into this tournament, muttering behind their hands like he'd nicked the Goblet of Fire's lunch money and forced it to cough up his name. The Hufflepuffs had been especially mardy, banging on about Diggory being their golden boy, their proper champion. Fat lot of good that did him today. Now, as he headed toward the castle, the mood was flipping—too quick for his liking.
"Oi, Harry!" a voice shouted, and he turned to see Dean Thomas jogging over, Seamus Finnigan right behind him. Both were grinning like they'd just nabbed a tenner off a scratch card. "Mate, that was mental! You absolutely smashed it out there!"
Harry raised an eyebrow, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Cheers, Dean. Didn't think you lot would be this impressed."
"Impressed? Blimey, mate, we couldn't look away!" Seamus said, his Irish lilt ramping up the excitement. "The glob you threw all over the dragon? Nicked it from the twins, did ya? Doesn't matter. Reckon you showed that dragon who's boss, didn't you?"
Harry smirked, but inside, he was rolling his eyes so hard they might've popped out. These two had been icing him out for weeks, whispering with the other Gryffindors about how he'd stolen Diggory's spotlight. Now they were acting like old pals? Typical.
"Yeah, well, someone had to sort it, didn't they?" he said, keeping his tone light but sharp enough to show he wasn't daft.
Dean clapped him on the shoulder, clueless as ever. "Proper legend, you are. Diggory—bless him—didn't stand a chance, did he? That dragon chomped him up like a Sunday roast."
"Bit grim, that," Harry replied, though a snort slipped out. Grim or not, it was bang on. Diggory had been a mess out there, flailing while the dragon tossed him about like a rag doll. Harry felt a twinge of pity—honestly—but it wasn't his fault the bloke had cocked it up.
Seamus nodded, still buzzing. "Yeah, but you, Harry—you're the real deal. Everyone's saying it now. Even the Hufflepuffs are coming round, and they've been proper gutted about Diggory."
That's when Harry clocked them: a gaggle of Hufflepuffs lingering nearby, looking sheepish. Hannah Abbott was at the front, twisting her scarf like she didn't know what to do with herself. Her friend Susan Bones was beside her, looking equally sheepish.
The former caught his eye and gave a wobbly little wave, their mates nudging them forward. Oh, this ought to be good, he thought.
"Er, Harry?" Susan said, her voice shaky. "Just wanted to say… well, you were brilliant out there. Really brilliant."
"Y-Yeah. We, erm, might've got it wrong about you. Sorry about that," Hannah echoed, a small smile plastered on her face.
Harry stared at them, and then at the others, all nodding like a pack of bobbleheads. His gut twisted, not with pride or any of that rubbish, but with a sour, bitter churn. This lot had been slagging him off for weeks, and if he hadn't done something about it, they'd be strutting about with those daft Support Cedric Diggory/Potter Stinks badges like they were bloody medals. Now their boy had crashed and burned—or rather, been chewed and spat out—they were scooting over to kiss his arse? Pathetic.
He didn't have personal issues with these two girls. They had not been verbal towards him like the others, but they had not come out to support him either. He couldn't be expected to be too forgiving.
"No worries," he said, forcing a grin that probably looked more like a sneer. "Water under the bridge, innit?"
Both Hannah and Susan lit up like he'd told them he'd shag them rotten, only with consent though. He wasn't a predator.
Hannah was the more exuberant one, saying, "Cheers, Harry. You're dead sound, you know that?"
"Hmm," he muttered, already turning away. Sound? Him? They could shove it. He wasn't here to play second fiddle turned savior just because Diggory was out. It was like watching rats ditch a sinking ship, and he was the only lifeboat left. It made him want to chuck up, if he was honest.
The scores didn't help his mood either. When they'd flashed up, he'd nearly laughed out loud. Five perfect tens from Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, and the three handlers—fair play, he'd earned those. Then Karkaroff, that slimy git, had slapped him with a zero. A sodding zero! Meanwhile, he'd given Krum a ten, even though the bloke had botched half his spells and nearly set the stands ablaze, sustaining third degree burns and multiple scratches to boot. Fleur got a measly four from him too, despite her being dead classy with that Veela charm—other judges gave her nines and tens. Karkaroff was taking the piss, and there were no two ways about it. Harry reckoned he'd have scored a troll higher if it'd waddled out and sat on the dragon. Biased prat.
He spat to the side as he walked, the crowd thinning out behind him. The whole thing was a farce. The students switching sides, Karkaroff's blatant favoritism—it was all so predictable it was almost funny. Almost. Mostly, it just left a rotten taste in his mouth, like he'd downed a dodgy Butterbeer. They didn't give a toss about him, not really. They just needed someone to root for, and with Diggory knackered, he was the only mug still standing. Brilliant.
It made his resolve even firmer. He was in this for himself, the judges, the press, the audience, all be damned.
He was nearing the castle, the cold nipping at his knuckles as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He grimaced when he felt the sweat. He'd have to take this thing off soon, or he'd melt, even in this cold weather. That'd be a sight.
The chatter from the stragglers was fading, most of them legging it inside to warm up or natter about the task. A couple of third-years yelled, "Harry, you're a bloody star!" as he passed, but he barely gave them a nod. Then came a voice he'd know anywhere—sharp, posh, and dripping with venom.
"Well, well, Potter," Draco Malfoy sneered, stepping out from behind a tree with Pansy alongside him. Crabbe and Goyle lumbered behind them, trying to look menacing. "Managed not to die, did you? Pity. I was hoping the dragon'd finish what the Dark Lord started."
Harry's lip curled. "Piss off, Malfoy. Not my fault your lot can't handle a real challenge."
Malfoy's jaw tightened, his wand twitching in his hand. "Watch yourself, scarhead. One fluke doesn't make you a champion. Diggory's down, but you're still a nobody playing dress-up."
"Least I'm not hiding behind Daddy's name," Harry shot back, stepping past him. "Enjoy the view from the cheap seats, yeah?"
"You're cheap!" Pansy hissed, and Harry stared at her. The girl's glare slowly morphed into a look of nervousness.
"That's the best you could come up with?" He asked. "Merlin, I really prefer the older one. Easier on the eyes, and with a brain that works."
The girl's face twisted, but Harry didn't stick around for the silly comeback that she was capable of. He could feel their glares boring into his back, and it only fueled the disgust already simmering in his chest. Malfoy and his cronies never changed—same old spite, same old rubbish. He'd let Regina deal with them, honestly. She was much better at it.
The path to the castle stretched ahead, and Harry was itching to get inside, both figuratively and literally. He pulled at the neck of his suit once again, grimacing as it slapped against his skin wetly. Yeah, disgusting. He was almost there when something caught his eye. He turned and furrowed his brows, and he quickly spotted some movement off to the side, near the edge of the grounds.
It was Fleur Delacour, standing tall and graceful as ever, her silvery hair glinting in the dying light. She was talking to two figures, and he sighed when he discovered who they were.
This can only go wrong, he thought as he slowed his pace. The last few stragglers were too busy chattering to notice him, so he slipped off the path, sticking to the shadows. Whatever was happening over there, he wanted in on it. Hopefully he wouldn't need to intervene. He knew better than to interfere when two irate females were going at it.
-Break-
Daphne's strides ate up the distance, her heart thudding with something between irritation and determination. When she was close enough, she didn't hesitate. "Oi, Delacour!" she called out, her voice cutting through the evening air.
Fleur stopped dead, turning around with a look of surprise that quickly morphed into disdain when she saw who it was. Her blue eyes narrowed, her lips pursing as Daphne closed the gap, Regina trailing a few steps behind with a resigned expression.
"What do you want?" Fleur asked, her accent clipped but her tone icy. She folded her arms, standing tall like she owned the place.
Daphne didn't flinch. "Just thought I'd have a word," she said, her voice tight. "You're sitting pretty up there in first place, aren't you? Funny how that works."
Fleur raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I earned my score. Per'aps if you 'ad any real magical knowledge, not whatever mediocre things you are taught in zis backwater country, you would've known why. Good zing you're not a judge 'ere."
"For someone who complains about prejudice so much, you surely aren't any better," Daphne snapped, making Fleur glare at her. "Harry was miles better than anyone out there today, and you know it. Karkaroff took out his vendetta against him, couldn't bear being called out, that Death Eater bastard, and you're just happily lapping it up. Deserved first place, my arse."
Regina stepped up beside Daphne, her hands shoved in her pockets and her face set in an easy grin. "She's not wrong," she said with a casual shrug. "Harry got robbed, and you're the one who benefited. Bit convenient, innit?"
Fleur's gaze flicked between them, her expression hardening, although she agreed with them. Harry did indeed deserve first place. She was not about to undermine herself in front of this girl though, and with her nose upturned, she stared her down with a glare as fierce as hers.
"Eef you chose to see, you would 'ave remembered zat Karkaroff scored me unfairly as well. I do not control ze scores. Eef you've got a problem, go cry to someone 'oo cares. I'm not 'ere for your leetle tantrums."
Daphne took a step closer, her eyes blazing. "Tantrums, eh? You reckon this is a tantrum? Harry utterly dominated that task. Everyone saw it. You might think you've won, but the people will remember."
Fleur's lips twitched, like she was fighting a smirk. "And you zink I care what zey will remember and what zey will not? I am 'ere to win, not to please people. I do not care about zeir opinion, girl, much less what you zink I deserve or not."
Daphne's hands balled into fists, and Regina put a hand on her arm, muttering, "Easy, Greengrass, control your temper."
It didn't work. Daphne was ticked off at the mere sight of that smirk, and she shook her off, glaring at Fleur.
"You're a right piece of work, you know that?" she said, her voice low and furious. "Swanning about like you're untouchable. Thinking you're better than everyone else here."
Fleur didn't back down, meeting Daphne's glare with one of her own. "I wouldn've 'ave stepped foot in zis backwater country eef I could 'elp it. Eet ees my bad luck zat zis competition ees 'eld 'ere."
Regina snorted, stepping in before Daphne could lunge. "Oh, shove off, Delacour. You French aren't any better. And you can shove your prejudice where the sun doesn't shine. Speaking of the tournament, you're only up there in the first place 'cause the judging's a bloody farce. Everyone with eyes saw who really won today."
Fleur opened her mouth to retort, but then she just shrugged, turning back towards the carriage. "Believe what you want. I 'ave got better things to do zan argue wiz you two."
As she walked off, Daphne stood there fuming, her breath coming out in sharp puffs. Regina nudged her again, this time softer. "Come on, let's get out of here. She's not worth the aggro."
Daphne didn't move for a second, staring after Fleur. Then she huffed, turning on her heel. "Yeah, fine. But this isn't over."
Regina smirked as they started walking again. "Never is with you, is it?"
-Break-
Fuming, Fleur Delacour stormed away from Daphne and Regina, her heels clicking sharply against the cobbled path leading towards the Beauxbatons carriage. Her hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides, her breath coming a little too fast for her liking. She was angry—angrier than she had been in a long time. It was infuriating, the sheer nerve of that girl, Daphne Greengrass, she'd discovered her name was, acting as though she had any right to dictate what Fleur deserved.
She could still hear Daphne's voice echoing in her ears, sharp and biting, full of English arrogance.
"You're a right piece of work, you know that?"
Fleur exhaled forcefully through her nose, trying to shake the words off. She had no need to justify herself to a girl like that. But even so, irritation burned in her chest, making it difficult to push the encounter from her mind.
She was halfway to the carriage when something made her pause.
Under a large tree a few paces away, standing in the dim glow of the castle's lanterns, was Harry Potter. He leaned against the trunk, hands tucked into the pockets of his robes, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky above. His face glowed with the flickering light, his expression unreadable.
Fleur took a slow breath, forcing her anger to the back of her mind. She squared her shoulders and adjusted her posture, slipping back into the grace and poise she always carried herself with. Then, with deliberate steps, she walked towards him.
He must have heard her approaching, because his head tilted slightly, and then he turned his gaze to meet hers. There was something oddly relaxed about him, and Fleur realized he was a stark contrast to the fire still simmering in her veins.
"Good job today," he said simply. His voice was casual, almost lazy, as though they were discussing the weather rather than a high-stakes, life-threatening tournament task.
Fleur blinked at him before responding. "You as well."
Harry hummed in slight amusement, as though he wasn't entirely sure he agreed with that assessment. "Thanks."
There was a brief silence between them, neither particularly awkward nor comfortable. Fleur studied him for a moment before finally speaking again. "Your strategy was... interesting."
At that, Harry let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "You mean ridiculous?"
Fleur lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Eet was unorthodox," she admitted. "But eet worked. You completely immobilized ze dragon. I do not zink anyone expected zat."
Harry grinned at that. "Yeah, well... I figured if I didn't want to fight it head-on, I'd just stop it from moving altogether."
Fleur tilted her head. "Enchanted silly putty?"
He nodded. "Yep. The dragon's instincts made it struggle harder, but that just got it more tangled. I figured it'd be better than outright dodging fire for ten minutes straight."
She let out a small laugh despite herself, shaking her head. "Clever."
Harry leaned back against the tree again, watching her. "What about you? You put the dragon to sleep, right?"
Something in her chest tightened slightly. Fleur hesitated for a moment before she recalled his words from before, and she nodded. "Oui. I used my magic to soothe eet. To make eet relax, until eet fell asleep."
Harry's lips quirked upward in a genuine smile, his green eyes bright with something that looked like admiration. "That's brilliant."
Fleur felt warmth creep up her neck at the sincerity in his voice, and she cursed herself internally for it. She had always prided herself on her composure, on not letting people fluster her, and yet here she was, feeling foolish over a simple compliment.
Harry didn't seem to notice. He just continued, "A lot of people would be afraid to rely on something like that. It's nice to see you embracing it."
Fleur straightened slightly, something inside her settling at those words. It was true—she had spent years being wary of her veela heritage, of how people reacted to it, of how it made her different. But this time, she had used it without hesitation. And she had succeeded.
She was proud of that.
Before she could say anything, though, Harry tilted his head slightly. "By the way... I overheard your little chat just now… with Daphne and Regina."
Just like that, Fleur's mood soured again. She huffed, folding her arms. "Eet was not a chat. Eet was a waste of my time."
Harry let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Seemed pretty heated for something that was a waste of time."
Fleur shot him a sharp look, but he only grinned in response, his expression far too amused for her liking.
"She just—" Fleur cut herself off with a frustrated sigh. "She ees insufferable."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You two have history?" He asked, knowing the answer already.
Fleur scoffed. "If you call 'er sticking 'er nose where eet does not belong eestory, zen oui. Ze girl 'as an opinion on everyzing."
Harry chuckled fondly. "Yeah, I've noticed that."
Fleur huffed. "She thinks she knows everyzing. She 'as zis—zis ridiculous arrogance, as eef she understands everyzing about 'ow ze world works. I know she ees your friend and I will give eet to 'er. She ees loyal. But she 'as no right to question what I deserve or not."
Harry observed her for a moment, particularly how much affected she seemed, and he smirked slightly. "You know, it's kind of funny."
Fleur narrowed her eyes. "What ees?"
He shrugged. "How much she gets under your skin. And how much you get under hers."
Fleur frowned, not liking that implication one bit. "I do not care about what she zinks."
Harry gave her a knowing look. "Sure."
Fleur exhaled sharply, turning her gaze away. She refused to entertain the idea that Daphne Greengrass, of all people, could affect her in any way. It was ridiculous.
"Still," Harry mused, watching her carefully, "it's interesting. The way you two argued—it's like you're both so determined to get the last word, neither of you can let anything go."
Fleur clenched her jaw. "She does not deserve ze last word."
Harry laughed. "And you do?"
Fleur looked at him, her irritation flaring again, but there was no mockery in his expression—just amusement. He wasn't goading her, not really. He was just observing, as if she were a puzzle he was trying to figure out.
Fleur huffed, shaking her head. "You are a strange boy, 'Arry Potter."
Harry grinned. "I've been told."
Despite herself, Fleur felt her lips twitch slightly. He was infuriating, in a different way than Daphne, but not unpleasantly so. And there was something else about him… something she couldn't put a finger on.
A breeze drifted through the grounds, rustling the leaves above them. Harry pushed himself off the tree and stretched lazily. Fleur hesitated for a moment before speaking, glancing away as if wondering whether or not to say what was on her mind. But then she exhaled softly and lifted her chin.
"Eet was wrong, what Karkaroff did," she said, her voice quieter but firm. "'E should not be allowed to judge when 'e clearly cannot put aside 'is personal biases."
Harry looked at her, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face, but then he simply shrugged. "Yeah, well. It's Karkaroff. Not like we didn't all see it coming."
Fleur frowned. "Eet does not bozer you?"
"Nah," he said easily, leaning back and shifting his weight against the tree. "I expected it, honestly. He has every reason to hate me. At least now everyone else sees what a joke he is."
Fleur's lips pressed together. That was not the response she had been expecting. She had thought that Harry, of all people, would be furious, would demand something to be done about it. Instead, he spoke like it did not even matter—like it was just another inconvenience rather than a direct attempt to rob him of something he had rightfully earned.
She folded her arms. "So zat ees eet? You just accept eet?"
Harry arched a brow at her, clearly amused by the challenge in her tone. "What do you want me to do? Throw a fit? Demand a rematch?" He chuckled. "Come on. You and I both know this tournament isn't exactly a shining example of fairness."
Fleur stiffened slightly at that. Because, while she did not want to admit it, she knew there was truth to his words.
Still, something about the way he said it made her bristle.
She had spent years believing in the prestige of the Triwizard Tournament. It was supposed to be a test of skill, of intelligence, of magical ability. To win it meant something. And yet, here was Harry Potter—who had just been blatantly cheated out of his rightful score—treating it like it was nothing more than a farce.
She wanted to say something, to argue that it did matter, that his loss meant her win was tainted. But before she could, he grinned and gestured vaguely toward the castle.
"Honestly, if this is how prestigious tournaments are run, I think I've overestimated it," he said dryly. "What's next? Are we gonna have the judges flipping a coin to decide who wins the next task? Or maybe we'll just let Karkaroff pick names out of a hat."
Fleur blinked at him, caught off guard by the sheer mockery in his tone.
He had completely dismissed the importance of the tournament.
And for once, she had nothing to say.
Because what could she say? That he was wrong? That the competition was still worth something even when the judging was rigged? That winning first place meant anything when someone else had been deliberately denied it?
She could not argue against him.
Because, in this moment, she did not fully believe it herself.
Harry smirked, clearly noticing her lack of response. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
Fleur narrowed her eyes at him, but there was no real bite behind it. He was infuriating, yes, but also... irritatingly difficult to argue against when he had a point.
She huffed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You are insufferable, 'Arry Potter."
He grinned. "Takes one to know one, Delacour."
She rolled her eyes and turned toward the Beauxbatons carriage. Harry didn't stop her, only watching as she walked away.
And though she would never admit it, his words lingered in her mind far longer than they should have.
TBC.
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