Three days had passed since the public perception of Harry Potter did a classic 180, and he found himself busy perusing through a thick tome in the private room on third floor. It was evening, and Harry was waiting for Daphne and Regina to arrive from their classes.
The door opened quietly, and Daphne slipped inside first. Regina followed moments later, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. The wards came up immediately as Harry put the book aside.
"You look like you're planning someone's funeral," Regina said with a smirk as she planted her delicious rump on the desk to his left, gazing at him with mirth.
"Maybe I am," Harry replied, watching as Daphne pulled a chair that she placed beside him and sat down gracefully.
"You told us what happened, but you haven't told us what you're thinking of doing about it," she remarked.
"The bastard tried to cast the Cruciatus on Harry," Regina said darkly. "Not some lesser hex or jinx. A fucking Unforgivable. He crossed a line that can't be uncrossed."
Daphne nodded in agreement. "So what's the plan?"
Harry's lips quirked upward slightly. "I've been thinking about it. The problem is, anything direct leads back to me. I was the one who broke his bones. His silly little cronies would be eager to point fingers when the investigation begins. If something happens to him that looks like revenge, I'm the obvious suspect."
"So we need to be creative," Daphne said thoughtfully. "Something that looks natural. Or at least, something where his own actions are what doom him."
"Exactly." Harry leaned back and clasped his fingers behind his head. "Flint's problem isn't just that he's an arsehole. It's that he's stupid, impulsive, and thinks with his cock half the time. He's also got a temper that makes mine look restrained."
"Yours is more exciting though," Regina said with a smirk. "Especially when you take it out on me."
Both Harry and Daphne rolled their eyes fondly. Leave it to this girl to make everything sexual.
"Still, I like where this is going," Regina continued. "The plan is to use his own filthy nature against him."
"Yes," Harry replied. "But the question is how to do it. It needs to be something that can't be traced back to me, or you two. Which means no potions, no mind-influencing charms, nothing that could be detected later."
Daphne looked thoughtful for a moment, biting her lip gently as she gazed at the desk. "What if we didn't have to do anything magical at all? What if we just… created the right circumstances?"
"What do you mean?"
"We have to target his weakness," Daphne replied.
"Well, from what I've seen, he's a lecher. So his lust?" Regina asked.
"His weakness isn't lust. It's his need to prove he's better than everyone else."
"Pride," Harry murmured.
"Exactly," Daphne nodded. "The Triwizard Tournament also provides unique opportunities. Foreign delegations, heightened security, international attention. If something were to happen in front of witnesses from multiple schools..."
"The Ministry couldn't sweep it under the rug," Harry finished. "Good thinking."
Regina stretched like a cat, drawing both their attention to her alluring curves. "So what's the plan? Do you need me to seduce something out of someone? Because I'm very good at that."
"I'm sure you are," Daphne said dryly. "But I think this requires more subtlety than that little approach."
"Hey, I can be subtle."
"You can't be involved in any way, Regina," Harry told her. "Everyone knows about us. It'd be too obvious."
"Aw, can't see me trying to seduce someone, lover? Don't worry, you're the only one for me."
Harry gave her an unimpressed stare as she tapped his nose playfully.
"Flint's got a thing for Veela," Daphne remarked, making them turn to her. "Everyone knows it. He's spent half of the year bragging about what he'd do if he ever got his hands on one. Disgusting piece of shit."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting…?"
"Delacour," Daphne confirmed. "They announced the Yule Ball today, and half the school is falling over themselves to ask her out."
"And failing spectacularly," Regina observed. "She's turned down everyone so far. Rather coldly, from what I've heard."
"She's been dealing with idiots throwing themselves at her since she got here, but so far, everyone's been relatively harmless. Stupid, but harmless."
"But Flint won't be harmless," Regina said, understanding dawning in her voice.
"Not if he's pushed the right way," Daphne agreed. "He's already shown he's willing to use Unforgivables when he's angry enough. What happens when he's angry, drunk, and convinced he deserves something he can't have?"
"Daphne," Harry said gravely. "This is dangerous territory. Very risky. What if something happens to her?"
"We won't let it go that far," Daphne reassured him. "I don't like her, but that doesn't mean I want something bad to happen to her. Still, for this to work, we need her to be in real danger, or at least what should look like real danger. Real enough that when Flint acts on his worst impulses, there are witnesses. Lots of them."
"And real enough that what he does warrants getting sentenced to Azkaban," Regina finished gravely.
"Or worse," Harry said coldly.
Flint was exactly the type to take rejection as a personal insult, especially from someone he'd consider beneath him due to her being what she was. Still, orchestrating something like this…
Daphne knew exactly what Harry was thinking, and she reached out, taking his hand. As he looked at her, she said, "I think you should be the one to warn her."
"What?"
"We can't tell her what our plan is. That would put it all into jeopardy. But she deserves to know that she might be attacked so she would be ready for it. Me and Regina are not on… good terms with her, but she has no issues with you."
"Wouldn't sending a letter be enough?" Regina asked.
"She might not take an anonymous letter seriously," Daphne replied. "If Harry's the one to tell her, I believe she would."
Harry gave her hand a soft squeeze and nodded. It was not ideal, but it was the best they could do.
"Very well. So the plan is to arrange for Flint to be publicly rejected by Delacour? In front of a crowd?" Regina asked.
"He'd be humiliated," Harry said slowly, nodding. "But would that be enough to make him do something criminal?"
Regina laughed mirthlessly, her face contorted into a sneer. "You don't know Marcus Flint very well, do you? He once hexed a second-year Hufflepuff for accidentally bumping into him in the corridor. His ego is more fragile than spun glass."
"But we need more than a hex," Harry pointed out. "We need something that warrants Azkaban."
"What if the rejection wasn't the end goal?" Daphne wondered aloud, her fingers drumming on the desk. "What if it was just the catalyst?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"Flint gets rejected publicly. His pride is wounded. He drinks - we all know he has access to firewhisky. Then, in his drunken state, he encounters Delacour again, but this time privately. A beautiful girl who wounded his pride, alone and vulnerable..."
The implication of her words hung in the air.
Regina's expression hardened. "That's not just criminal. That's monstrous."
"Which is exactly what Flint is," Harry said grimly. "The question is, would he actually go that far?"
"Yes," both girls said simultaneously.
Daphne continued, "I've heard rumors about his behavior toward younger students. Nothing concrete enough to act on, but the pattern is there."
"So we create the opportunity," Regina said. "But how do we ensure there are witnesses? And how do we make sure Delacour is safe?"
"That's the tricky part," Harry admitted. "We need her to be in apparent danger without actually being in danger."
"A protection charm," Daphne suggested. "Something subtle that would prevent him from actually harming her but wouldn't stop him from trying. And I believe she's capable enough to at least defend herself."
She was more than capable, Harry thought. That was one of the reasons why he was even considering orchestrating this scheme. He had confidence in both her ability and Flint's lack thereof.
"And the witnesses?" Regina asked.
Harry smiled grimly. "The Triwizard Tournament has created a lot of international cooperation. There are joint patrols, mixed group activities. If Flint were to corner Delacour in a location where a patrol was due to arrive..."
"The timing would have to be perfect," Regina warned.
"It would. Which is why we need to control as many variables as possible."
Daphne stood and began pacing. "We'd need to orchestrate the public rejection, ensure Flint has access to alcohol, guide him to the right location at the right time, and make sure the patrol arrives at the crucial moment."
"Don't forget protecting Delacour," Regina added. "I may not like the French princess act, but I won't see any girl hurt, even to take down Flint."
"Agreed," Harry said firmly. "Her safety is paramount. This only works if she's never in real danger."
Regina shifted on the desk, looking all business-like. "Alright, let's break this down. I can handle getting Flint drunk. The older Slytherins have their little gatherings, and I know how to get invited."
"How?" Daphne asked suspiciously.
"Not the way you're thinking. Montague has had a crush on me since third year. A few fluttered eyelashes and I'll be in."
"And the public rejection?" Harry asked.
Daphne resumed her seat. "Leave that to me. I can arrange for Flint to ask Delacour to the ball in the Great Hall during dinner. Maximum audience, maximum humiliation when she turns him down."
"Oh, she'll turn him down. The question is whether we can make her do it in a way that wounds his pride enough to set off his temper."
Harry frowned. "We can't use any kind of compulsion on her. That would implicate us if anyone investigated."
"We don't need to," Daphne said with a slight smile. "Flint's approach to women is about as subtle as a brick to the face. All we need to do is ensure he asks her when she's already in a bad mood."
"And how do we arrange that?"
"The French find this place a little too cold for their tastes. A little sabotage to their warming charms the night before, and I guarantee she'll be irritable the next day."
Regina grinned. "Devious. I like it."
"The location for the final confrontation is crucial," Harry continued. "It needs to be somewhere that explains why they're both there, but also somewhere a patrol would logically pass through."
"The prefect bathroom," Daphne suggested. "Perverts have made it well known that Delacour goes there routinely to relax. It's isolated enough that Flint would feel confident, but it's also on the patrol route for the fifth-floor corridor."
"Perfect. And the protection for Delacour?"
"A variation of the protean charm," Daphne said. "If we key it to respond to hostile intent, it could create a shield that activates automatically."
Regina looked thoughtful. "What if we used her hairpin? It's something she always wears, and modifying it would be nearly undetectable."
Harry nodded slowly. The plan was taking shape, but there were still risks. "The timing has to be perfect. If the patrol is even a minute off..."
"I can handle the patrol timing," Daphne said. "My father has contacts in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They're involved in the tournament security. I can get the patrol schedules."
"And if they change them?"
"They won't. Ministry bureaucracy is nothing if not predictable."
The three sat in comfortable silence as they considered the plan from all angles. Finally, Regina spoke up.
"There's one more thing we should consider. What happens after? Flint will know this wasn't a coincidence."
"Let him know," Harry said coldly. "He tried to cast an Unforgivable at me. As long as he can't prove anything..."
"He won't be able to," Daphne assured him. "Everything we're doing can be explained by coincidence. Bad luck, if you will."
"When do we start?" Regina asked.
Harry stood, his decision made. "Tomorrow. The sooner we deal with this, the better."
-Break-
The next evening found Regina in the Slytherin common room, artfully positioned near the fireplace where the older students typically gathered. She'd chosen her outfit carefully - attractive enough to draw attention, but not so obviously seductive as to raise suspicions.
Montague spotted her almost immediately, just as she'd known he would. The seventh-year had been trying to work up the courage to ask her out for months.
"Regina," he said, settling into the chair beside her with what he probably thought was casual confidence. "You look lovely tonight."
"Thank you, Graham." She smiled warmly, letting her fingers brush his arm briefly. "I was hoping I'd see you."
His eyes lit up. "Really? I thought… you know… you and Potter—"
"Oh please," Regina waved her hand dismissively, though her eyes tightened slightly at the way he'd taken Harry's name. "You lot know me well enough by now."
"Oh yeah, right," Montague grinned, his eyes dipping to her slightly exposed cleavage. Regina resisted the urge to smirk.
"You know," she began, jolting him from his little staring session. "I heard there might be a little gathering tonight? I've been so stressed with all the tournament excitement and speculation about me and Harry, I could really use some... relaxation."
"Oh, absolutely. Marcus organized something in the unused classroom on the third floor. Nothing too crazy, just some drinks and conversation."
Perfect.
"That sounds wonderful. Would it be terribly forward of me to ask if I could join?"
"Not at all! I'd love for you to come."
Within the hour, Regina found herself in a dimly lit classroom with a dozen older Slytherins, including Marcus Flint. The atmosphere was relaxed, fueled by several bottles of firewhisky that had been "liberated" from various sources.
Flint was already well into his cups, not even looking to see who was there as he went on regaling anyone who would listen with exaggerated tales of his Quidditch prowess. Regina positioned herself strategically, close enough to monitor his consumption but not so close as to draw his attention.
"Another round!" Flint declared, raising his bottle high. "To showing these foreign bastards how we do things at Hogwarts!"
The group cheered and drank. Regina surreptitiously gave her wand a flick and refilled Flint's glass whenever she could, playing the role of a normal party companion. She expertly rebuffed Montague's advances. The prick seemed happy with her smiles and coquettish looks, and that was all he was going to get from her.
As the evening wore on, the conversation inevitably turned to the Triwizard champions and their upcoming challenges.
"Potter's going to get himself killed in the next one," Flint slurred, swaying slightly in his chair. "Asshole's got no business being in that tournament."
"He held his own against us well enough," Montague pointed out, but immediately looked like he regretted saying it.
Flint's expression darkened. "That was a fluke. Five against one and we still didn't... it doesn't matter. Potter's not the real competition anyway."
"Who is then?" Another voice asked.
"Krum, obviously. Though I bet I could take him in a fair fight." Flint took another long pull from his bottle. "It's that French tart that's really getting on my nerves. Thinks she's so much better than everyone else. Walking around like she owns the place, turning down every bloke who asks her out." Flint's voice was getting louder, more belligerent. "Someone needs to show her she's not all that special."
"I'm sure you'd be happy to do it," Regina muttered loud enough for Montague to hear.
"Maybe you should ask her to the ball," Montague suggested with a snicker. "Show the bitch her place."
He turned to Regina with a grin, receiving an amused look in return. Too predictable.
Flint straightened, his alcohol-addled brain latching onto the idea. "Maybe I will. Show her what a real wizard looks like."
Regina stood to the side, her face one of disdain as she flicked her wand again, refilling Flint's glass.
"I'm sure she'd be... honored," Regina muttered under her breath.
"I'll ask her tomorrow. Right in front of everyone, so all these other losers can see how it's done."
Despite her disgust, Regina smiled to herself.
-Break-
While Regina was busy with her task, Daphne made her way to the Beauxbatons carriage. The massive powder-blue vehicle sat in the grounds, elegant but somehow out of place against the Scottish landscape.
She'd done her research carefully. The carriage was a typical model and it's heating system relied on a series of warming charms that were renewed weekly, probably by Madame Maxime herself. The charms were keyed to a central focusing crystal located in the carriage's main compartment.
Getting inside undetected required careful timing and a little help from the magnificent cloak Harry owned. The unlocking charm she used was subtle, designed to bypass the standard protective wards without triggering any alarms.
The interior of the carriage was even more opulent than she'd expected. Silk hangings in pale blue and silver decorated the walls, and the furniture looked like it belonged in a palace rather than a traveling conveyance.
She found the focusing crystal easily enough - a large sapphire mounted in an ornate silver setting at the center of the main compartment. The warming charms radiated out from it like spokes on a wheel, maintaining a comfortable temperature throughout the carriage.
Daphne didn't damage the crystal or attempt to break the charms entirely. That would be too obvious and might cause actual harm to the Beauxbatons students. Instead, she introduced a small instability into the charm matrix, something that would cause the temperature to fluctuate unpredictably for an hour or two before eventually failing entirely.
The modification took only a few minutes, and she was back outside before the first of the French students began arriving. By midnight, the carriage would be uncomfortably cold, and by morning, it would be nearly unbearable.
-Break-
Harry's role in the plan was perhaps the most delicate. He needed to modify Fleur's Beauxbatons badge with protective charms without her knowledge, and without leaving any trace of magical tampering that could be detected later.
He had planned to send the letter after Fleur rejected Flint. It was already written with his name on it and an enchantment that would burn it once Fleur read it.
The opportunity to modify the badge came during the morning meal. The Great Hall was buzzing with its usual breakfast chatter when Harry noticed Fleur enter the Great Hall out of the corner of his eye. He kept drinking his juice, feeling her eyes on him for a moment.
She was still staring at him when she thought he wasn't looking. Harry was very much interested to know her reasons, although he had a little idea already.
He timed his movement perfectly, rising from his seat just as she passed behind him. The collision was gentle but effective - his shoulder bumped her arm, causing her to stumble slightly.
"Oh, excuse me," Harry said softly, steadying her with a gentle hand on her elbow. He raised an eyebrow when he felt a tingle from where he touched her. "You okay?"
Fleur gazed at him inquisitively, a number of questions flashing through those blue eyes, and Harry stared back meaningfully. She didn't look irritable but she did look a bit tired, which worked just fine.
"Oui," she said softly. "Don't worry about it."
Harry nodded, his other hand brushing against the Beauxbatons badge pinned to her robes, right over her generous bust. The touch was fleeting enough to seem accidental, and the modification was instantaneous. The protective charm was keyed to activate in the presence of hostile magical intent, creating a shield that would prevent physical harm in case she was taken by surprise.
The letter would ensure she would remain on her guard, but the protective enchantment still gave them some peace of mind. They were effectively using her in a nefarious scheme while keeping her in the dark. It was the least they could do.
With a nod, she walked away, and Harry exchanged a meaningful glance with Daphne from across the hall. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Everything was proceeding according to plan.
Harry began walking toward the exit but he stopped in his tracks when he saw none other than a very drunk Marcus Flint stagger through the large double doors.
Just how late had he been drinking? Did he even sleep?
He turned to the Slytherin table where Regina sat, and all she did was wink at him. Harry resisted the urge to smirk. She had truly outdone herself.
One of Flint's cronies grabbed him by the arm and flicked his wand at him. Hangover charm. It would help, but not enough. Not nearly enough.
Flint's demeanor shifted slightly, and he looked more in control of his movements now. Even better.
Harry watched him make his way into the hall with the swagger of someone who'd never truly been rejected before, his cronies trailing behind him like loyal dogs. He caught Montague's eye and gave him a sneer. The older boy promptly averted his gaze, their previous encounter still fresh in his mind.
Flint's approach had not gone unnoticed, and the hall gradually quieted as students realized something was about to happen. Flint's destination was obvious, and his intentions equally clear.
"Delacour," he called out when he was still several feet away, his voice carrying easily in the suddenly hushed space.
Fleur looked up, her blue eyes flashing with barely contained annoyance. "Oui?"
"I've got a proposition for you." Flint's grin was predatory as he reached her table. "The Yule Ball's coming up, and I figure you could do worse than going with a real pureblood wizard."
Several students snickered at his crude approach, making Flint glare at a few nearby. Fleur's expression, however, was so chilling it could have frozen fire.
"I beg your pardon?" Her accent made the words sound even more cutting than they would have in standard English.
"The ball," Flint repeated, apparently mistaking her tone for confusion rather than outrage. "You, me, show you and these foreign visitors how we do things properly."
The hall was dead silent now. All conversations had stopped as everyone watched the unfolding drama.
Fleur rose from her seat slowly. "I have no interest in going with you," she said firmly.
"Come on now," Flint said, his voice taking on an ugly tone. "Don't be like that. You've been prancing around here for weeks, teasing every bloke in the school. Time you put your money where your mouth is."
Fleur glared, a look of sheer disgust on her face as she took in his drunk words and demeanor. When she spoke, her voice carried to every corner of the hall.
"Let me make somezing very clear. Your conduct is abhorrent, and what I 'ave seen is... 'ow do you say... pathétique. I would rather attend ze ball with zat Giant Squid in ze lake than spend one moment in your company."
Several students gasped, and even Flint's cronies took a step back.
Flint's face went through several interesting color changes - red, purple, and finally settling on a mottled combination of both. "You little bitch," he snarled. "You think you're too good for me?"
"I think a diseased flobberworm would be too good for you," Fleur replied coolly. "Now remove yourself from my sight before I do somezing we will both regret."
The threat was delivered with such calm certainty that several students nearby felt a chill. Fleur Delacour was clearly not someone to cross lightly.
Flint, however, was too drunk on alcohol and wounded pride to recognize the danger. "We'll see about that," he muttered, but he did retreat, his face a mask of humiliated rage.
As the normal conversations gradually resumed, Harry caught sight of Daphne and Regina. Both girls looked satisfied with how events had unfolded, but they all knew the main event was about to come.
-Break-
The tension among the Slytherins that evening was palpable. Flint had skipped dinner and had reportedly been steadily drinking in the Slytherin Common Room since the classes ended. Even his friends had given him a wide berth.
Regina had positioned herself strategically in the common room, close enough to monitor Flint's state without being obvious about it. She had keenly placed the bottle of firewhiskey in the Common Room and ensured he'd find it so he would remain drunk.
He was muttering to himself, his words barely coherent but the tone unmistakably vengeful.
"Thinks she's so special," he slurred to no one in particular. "Show her... teach her some respect..."
The other students gradually made excuses to leave as Flint's mood darkened. Regina lingered as long as she dared, but she made her own exit when it became clear that Flint was working himself up to some kind of action.
She found Daphne waiting in their predetermined meeting spot - an alcove on the fourth floor that provided a clear view of the corridor leading to the prefect bathroom.
"He's ready to explode," Regina reported quietly. "It won't be long now."
Daphne nodded, checking her watch. "The patrol will be here in twenty minutes. Right on schedule."
"And Delacour?"
"She went to the prefect bathroom about ten minutes ago. Probably trying to relax after the day she's had."
They settled in to wait, both tense with anticipation. Everything now depended on Flint's predictable nature asserting itself.
They didn't have to wait long. Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor as Flint stumbled into view, still muttering angrily to himself. He looked every inch the drunken predator - dangerous, unpredictable, and completely focused on his target.
He paused outside the prefect bathroom, pressing his ear to the door. Whatever he heard inside seemed to confirm what he was looking for, because his expression shifted into something truly ugly.
Regina gripped Daphne's arm as Flint slowly pushed open the door and disappeared inside.
"This is it," Daphne whispered. "No going back now."
-Break-
Inside the prefect bathroom, Fleur Delacour was indeed trying to relax. The massive bathtub was filled with hot, soapy water, and she was soaking away the stress of the day. Her wand lay within easy reach on the tub's edge - she wasn't foolish enough to be completely defenseless, even in what should have been a safe space and especially after receiving that cryptic letter from none other than Harry Potter.
Fleur's first thought had been to dismiss it until she'd seen the name. That was what made her take it seriously. She'd spent the entire evening pondering on the letter and the implications of it, and she had several theories in her head.
One of those theories seemed the most plausible from what she'd learned about Harry Potter so far, and it was for that very reason that she had not left the castle after dinner even though all rationality argued that she should. It was a risk, but she had confidence in her abilities to defend herself.
The sound of the door opening made her look up sharply. Her eyes widened as she saw Marcus Flint stumbling into the bathroom, his intentions written clearly across his face.
"What are you doing 'ere?" she demanded, reaching for her wand. She had a good enough idea though.
"Having a little conversation," Flint slurred, pulling out his own wand. "About respect. And knowing your place."
Fleur's hand closed around her wand, but Flint was faster than his intoxicated state suggested. "Expelliarmus!"
Her wand flew across the room, clattering against the far wall. Fleur's heart began to race, but she forced herself to remain calm. Panic would only make things worse.
"You think you're so much better than me," Flint continued, advancing slowly toward the tub. "Think you can humiliate me in front of the whole school, you whore?"
"I think you are a pathetic little man who cannot 'andle rejection," Fleur replied coolly, though her mind was racing. The bathroom door was behind Flint, her wand was across the room, and she was trapped in the tub, naked, with nowhere to run.
"We'll see how pathetic I am," Flint snarled, raising his wand. "Maybe after I'm done with you, you'll learn some manners."
The threat was explicit enough that there was no mistaking his intentions.
Fleur's eyes widened as she heard the first syllable of the spell, but even in that state, she caught the slight movement against the light by the doorway.
Flint snarled, "Imperio!"
Fleur felt the unfamiliar brush of blissfulness for barely a second before it was forcefully wrenched away from her.
The bathroom door slammed open with a loud BANG! and as Flint whirled around, Fleur saw none other than Harry Potter rush in, his wand raised and his face grim. Accompanying him were three official looking wizards and two Hogwarts prefects in varying states of shock.
The moment the group entered, another pair arrived in Professor McGonagall and Madame Maxime.
"What in Merlin's name—" McGonagall began, but her words died as she took in the scene.
Flint stood with his wand raised and a mad look on his face. The fading remnants of an Unforgivable curse crackled in the air, and a naked Fleur remained underwater, trapped in the tub.
"Potter!" Flint snarled, moving to raise his wand, but before he could, a crimson bold collided with him and his world went black.
TBC.
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