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Fleur Delacour
The celebration after Bulgaria's defeat was insufferably loud, even by Quidditch standards. Fleur Delacour navigated through the crowded pathways between tents, her hand firmly clasping that of her nine-year-old sister, Gabrielle. The Irish supporters were singing victory songs that made her ears ache, though she supposed their enthusiasm was at least understandable—they had won, after all.
What concerned her more were the clusters of Veela she could spot throughout the camp, their beautiful faces twisted, and quite a few of them already had bird features. Bulgaria's loss had not sat well with them.
"Gabriella, we should go ze ozzer way," she murmured to herself in French before catching herself and switching to English for Gabrielle's benefit. A group of three Veela stood ahead, their hair beginning to shimmer. Full-blooded Veela were unpredictable when angry—she knew this from her mother's warnings and her own quarter-blood instincts.
"But Fleur!" Gabrielle protested, tugging at her sister's hand. "They are Veela like us...maybe we can be friends!"
"Non, ma petite," Fleur said firmly, steering them down an alternate path. "Zose Veelas are not in a good mood right now. When Veela are angry, it is best to give zem space."
Gabrielle's attention was already elsewhere, her wide blue eyes drinking in every sight. "Oh! Look at zat tent! It 'as a garden on ze roof! And zat one—eet looks like a castle!"
Despite her general disdain for the entire World Cup affair, Fleur couldn't help but smile at her sister's enthusiasm. Gabrielle pointed at nearly everything they passed—floating lanterns that changed colors, a wizard juggling miniature dragons made of fire, a tent that appeared to be singing.
"Can we explore more before we go back?" Gabrielle pleaded, her English heavily accented but earnest. "Papa said we leave in ze morning, and I want to see everyzing!"
"Everything," Fleur corrected gently. "Ze 'th' sound, remember?"
"Every-zing," Gabrielle tried again, then shrugged with a grin that was pure mischief.
They wandered deeper into the camp, passing tents from dozens of nations. Fleur maintained her usual air of superiority—really, some of these displays were garish beyond belief—but she kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. Her father's words echoed in her mind about not dismissing the English too quickly, though she had yet to see anything that impressed her.
"Fleur!" Gabrielle suddenly gasped, practically bouncing on her feet. "Do you zink we could find 'Arry Potter? 'E must be 'ere somewhere!"
Fleur groaned audibly. Sometimes, she wished to slap her mother in the face; it was all her fault. "Gabrielle, non. We are not going to search ze entire camp for—"
"But 'e is ze Boy Who Lived!" Gabrielle interrupted, her eyes shining with hero worship. "Maman's books say 'e fought a dragon when 'e was only five! And 'e befriended giants when he was three! And 'e saved a mermaid when he was eight!"
"Zose are children's stories," Fleur said with exasperation. "I am certain zat 'alf of what zey say about 'im is exaggeration. 'E is probably just a normal English boy who 'appened to survive somezing terrible as an infant."
"But what if 'e really did fight a dragon?" Gabrielle persisted.
"Ma petite, no five-year-old could fight a dragon. Zey probably meant 'e saw a lizard in 'is garden," Fleur said dryly.
Gabrielle's face fell slightly, and Fleur felt a pang of guilt for dampening her sister's excitement. "Come," she said, trying to distract her. "I saw a vendor selling crêpes earlier. Your favorite, non?"
But Gabrielle's obsession was not so easily diverted. "Could we find 'Arry Potter first and then get crêpes? Maybe I could give him some...I am sure he would like it."
Fleur gasped with exaggerated drama, pressing a hand to her chest. "Gabrielle Delacour! Are you saying you would betray ze glory of French cuisine for an English boy you 'ave never met?"
Gabrielle bit her lip, clearly torn, then nodded eagerly with a massive grin. "Oui! I want to meet 'Arry Potter more zan anyzing!"
"Zat's it!" Fleur declared with mock outrage. "You are a traitor to France! A traitor to ze French people! Zere is only one punishment for such betrayal!"
She lunged at her sister, fingers finding Gabrielle's ticklish spots with practiced ease. Gabrielle shrieked with laughter, trying to squirm away as Fleur tickled her mercilessly.
"Non! Non!" Gabrielle gasped between giggles. "I am sorry! France is ze best!"
"And what about 'Arry Potter?" Fleur demanded, not letting up.
"I still want to meet 'im!" Gabrielle managed to say, tears of laughter streaming down her face. "But... but crêpes first!"
"Zat is acceptable," Fleur said primly, releasing her sister and smoothing down her own robes as if nothing had happened. Several passing wizards were smiling at their display, and Fleur shot them a haughty look that sent them scurrying.
They found the crêpe vendor in a small cluster of French tents, the familiar scent of butter and sugar making even Fleur's sophisticated palate water. The vendor, an elderly French witch, beamed at them.
"Deux crêpes au sucre, s'il vous plaît," Fleur ordered, then added for Gabrielle, "One with extra strawberries."
"Merci, Fleur!" Gabrielle said happily, bouncing on her heels as they waited.
Other French witches and wizards had gathered around the small stand, discussing the match in rapid French. Fleur half-listened to their analysis of Ireland's Chasers while keeping an eye on Gabrielle, who had wandered a few steps away to watch a magical butterfly that left trails of golden dust.
The first sign that something was wrong was the sudden hush that fell over the nearby tents. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. The magical butterfly dissolved into smoke.
Fleur's hand went to her wand immediately, her Veela instincts screaming danger. She had just grabbed Gabrielle's hand when she saw them—figures in black robes and silver masks.
One of them raised his wand toward their group. Fleur reacted on pure instinct.
"Protego!" she shouted, her shield charm erupting just as a jet of sickly red light shot toward them. The spell crashed against her shield with a sound like breaking glass, and several French wizards behind her gasped.
"Gabrielle, stay close to me!" Fleur commanded, dropping all pretense of calm.
The Death Eater seemed surprised his spell had been blocked by someone so young. He raised his wand again, but Fleur was ready.
"Protego Reflectus!"The Death Eater's own stunning spell bounced back at him, sending him crashing into a tent post.
Screams erupted throughout the camp now. Smoke billowed from burning tents nearby, and Fleur could hear the cruel laughter of more attackers in the distance.
"Diffindo!" Fleur slashed her wand at the stunned Death Eater, and he let out a screech of pain as deep cuts appeared across his chest. She didn't stay to see if he got up.
Gabrielle let out a terrified scream, pressing close to her sister. "Fleur, what is 'appening?"
"Just stay close and never let go of my 'and," Fleur said tersely, already pulling her sister away from the chaos. "We need to find Maman and Papa and leave. Now."
They ran through paths that had been festive minutes ago but were now filled with panicking witches and wizards. Tents blazed around them, and she could almost taste the blood in the air. She heard shouting and screaming; she heard the voice of a little boy running away after his mother. One wearing black robes sends another wizard flying.
"Why are zey doing zis?" Gabrielle sobbed, tears streaming down her face. "What did we do?"
"Nothing, ma petite. Some people are just—" Fleur cut off as a horrific sight came into view.
Four Death Eaters had their wands pointed skyward, and floating above them was a Muggle family—a man, woman, and two small children. They were being twisted into grotesque positions, slammed against the ground, then yanked back up like broken marionettes. The woman's nightdress had fallen, and she was desperately trying to cover herself while sobbing. The children's screams pierced the night.
"We should 'elp zem!" Gabrielle cried, trying to pull toward the torture scene.
"Non!" Fleur yanked her back harshly. "We cannot fight zem all. We can only save ourselves."
Family is more important than strangers, she thought.
She heard a strange screeching sound in the distance, almost like metal being torn apart, but had no time to wonder what it was.
They ran faster, Fleur's heart pounding as she navigated through the maze of tents. Finally, she recognized the cluster where the French diplomatic tents had been arranged. Her relief died instantly.
The tents were ablaze, including theirs.
"MAMAN! PAPA!" Gabrielle screamed, trying to rush forward.
Fleur caught her, holding her back. "Zey are not zere," she said with more confidence than she felt. "Zey would 'ave gotten out. Zey are somewhere safe."
But even as she said it, five figures emerged from the smoke, surrounding them. These Dark Wizards moved differently, reminding Fleur of some of the talented students she had fought herself during duelling races.
"Well, well," one of them said, his voice muffled by his mask. "A pretty little Veela and her chick."
"Stay behind me," Fleur whispered to Gabrielle, raising her wand.
"You're going to fight all five of us, little bird?" another mocked. "How delightful."
"We know what you are," a third said, and there was something vile in his tone. "Veela, aren't you? But still enough to be... entertaining."
Fleur's skin crawled at the implication. One of them gestured at Gabrielle. "The little one's probably the same. We could have such fun with both of them."
Pure rage flooded Fleur's veins. How dare they threaten Gabrielle?
"You will not touch 'er," she snarled.
They laughed. The first one raised his wand. "Crucio!"
Fleur dove aside, pulling Gabrielle with her. The Unforgivable Curse seared the ground where they'd stood. She retaliated instantly.
"Reducto!" The blasting curse caught one Death Eater in the shoulder, spinning him around, but the others were already casting.
Fleur fought like she'd never fought before, using every advanced spell she knew. She conjured a wall of fire that bought her seconds, transfigured debris into attacking birds, sent cutting curses that drew blood. But it wasn't enough. They were coordinating, boxing her in.
One of them finally broke through her defenses. "Constricto Torax!"
Fleur recognized the spell—a dark curse she'd only read about. She tried to dodge, but she was protecting Gabrielle, limiting her mobility.
The spell hit the Death Eater closest to her instead—she'd managed to redirect it at the last second. He gasped, eyes widening behind his mask as his own ribcage began to contract, crushing his organs from within. Blood frothed from his mouth as he collapsed, choking on air that wouldn't come, dying in seconds.
"You little bitch!" Another Death Eater snarled. "Sectumsempra!"
Pain exploded across Fleur's waist as the cutting curse found its mark. Blood immediately soaked through her robes. She stumbled, and in that moment of weakness, another Death Eater pointed at Gabrielle.
"Dolor!"
Gabrielle's scream of agony drove a spike through Fleur's heart. Her little sister collapsed, writhing in pain on the ground.
Something inside Fleur snapped.
The Veela blood that normally simmered beneath her skin erupted like a volcano. She felt the change ripping through her.
A wing burst from her right shoulder blade, but it wasn't made of feathers. It was crimson and metallic, composed of what looked like hundreds of sharp daggers fused together.
The Death Eaters stepped back in shock. Fleur didn't give them time to recover.
She spun, the wing following her movement like a massive blade. It caught the nearest Death Eater across the throat, the magically-sharp edges slicing through flesh like parchment. He fell, blood spraying as he struggled on the ground like a pig.
The remaining three raised their wands, but Fleur brought her wing forward like a shield. Their spells crashed against the metallic surface, and she winced in pain as her wing broke in several places.
That's when she heard it—the same screeching sound from before, but much louder. Much closer.
The ground shook.
Something massive slammed into the earth with such force that Fleur felt the impact through her bones.
The third Dark Wizard, who had been raising his wand to curse her simply ceased to exist. He was beneath whatever came crashing down, there was a pool of blood there, but Fleur quickly looked up at the thing that was here before them.
The dust and debris from the impact swirled like a small storm, obscuring Fleur's view. She pulled Gabrielle against her, her crimson wing curving protectively around them both. Her sister whimpered, burying her face in Fleur's robes.
"Do not look, ma petite," Fleur whispered, though she herself could not tear her gaze away as the dust began to settle.
What emerged from that haze made her Veela blood turn to ice.
It was wrong. The thing stood perhaps thirty-one feet tall, though it hunched forward. Its body was a grotesque tapestry of fur and exposed muscle, with ash-gray hair matted in thick, reeking clumps that hung like diseased moss. In places, the skin had split open entirely, revealing ribs that jutted outward like the broken bars of a cage. With each labored breath, Fleur could see those ribs flex and strain, as if something inside was trying to claw its way out.
From its skull sprouted antlers, but not the majestic crown of a stag. These were twisted, blackened things that looked as if they had been burnt and broken, then forced to keep growing. Strips of flesh and what might have been scalp hung from the tines like macabre decorations.
But it was the arms that made Fleur's stomach turn. The left was unnaturally thin, almost skeletal. The right was a monstrosity of bulging muscle and sinew, so overdeveloped it looked painful, ending in claws that scraped deep furrows in the earth. Each arm moved independently, as if they belonged to two different creatures forcibly fused together.
The thing shifted, turning its head toward them, and Fleur bit back a scream. Its jaw unhinged with a wet crack that she could hear from twenty feet away, opening far wider than any living thing should be able to manage. Rows of teeth—too many teeth—gleamed in the firelight.
And then it roared.
The sound that erupted from that impossible mouth was not one voice but a thousand—men, women, children, all screaming in agony, all crying out at once. The force of it hit Fleur, rattling her ribs and making her ears ring. Her wing trembled, the metallic feathers chiming discordantly.
The stench followed immediately after—iron and rot and burning fat, thick enough to taste. Fleur gagged, her eyes watering. Beside her, Gabrielle was crying silently, too terrified to make a sound.
The creature's eyes found them—black voids that reflected nothing, gave nothing, promised nothing but consumption. In those depths, Fleur saw herself as the thing must see her: meat. Pretty meat that would scream nicely as it was torn apart.
Her pride, her accomplishments, her beauty—none of it mattered to this thing. She was prey, and it was so much more than predator. It was hunger given form.
The two remaining Dark Wizards, either brave or phenomenally stupid, chose that moment to attack.
"GABRIELLE, RUN!" Fleur screamed, grabbing her sister's hand and yanking her into motion. She did not wait to see what would happen; she heard the sound of screams, a name being called, then she heard the sound of something tearing, and there was silence behind her.
They fled between burning tents, Fleur's wing retracting painfully back into her shoulder as she focused everything on escape. Behind them, she could hear it following—the earth shaking with each step, that terrible breathing getting closer.
"Fleur, what ees zat zing?" Gabrielle sobbed as they ran.
"I don't know!" Fleur gasped, pulling her sister around a corner. "Just keep running!"
The creature let out another of those thousand-voice roars, and Fleur heard tent poles snapping like twigs as it simply walked through anything in its path. It wasn't even trying to catch them yet—it was enjoying the hunt.
"STUPEFY! STUPEFY! STUPEFY!"
Multiple voices shouted the stunning spell in unison. Fleur glanced back to see at least a dozen wizards in elegant robes bearing the French Ministry's crest, all with wands trained on the creature. Red light crashed into it from multiple angles.
The thing paused, tilting its malformed head as if confused by the pretty lights. Then it shook itself like a wet dog and continued forward, completely unaffected.
"Mon Dieu, what ees zat zing?" one of the French wizards shouted.
"Use fire!" another voice commanded—and Fleur's heart leapt as she recognized it. Her father. "Incendio Maxima!"
"Papa!" Gabrielle cried out.
Others joined in, including a voice Fleur knew was her mother's, and suddenly the air was filled with streams of flame, all converging on the thirty-one-foot monstrosity. The fire engulfed it completely, the creature's grotesque form disappearing behind a wall of magical flame. Its ash-gray fur caught immediately, burning like dried kindling. The thing stumbled backward, raising those mismatched arms as if to ward off the inferno consuming it.
"It's working!" someone shouted. "Keep going!"
The flames intensified, and the creature's form began to blacken and char. Pieces of burning flesh fell away, and for a beautiful moment, Fleur dared to believe they were watching it die.
Then the creature's jaw unhinged again, and it released a screech unlike its previous roars. The flames that had been consuming it simply blow out, like blowing out a candle. The charred flesh beneath was already healing.
"Impossible," Fleur breathed.
The creature lowered its arms, and from that too-wide mouth came a sound that made Fleur's blood freeze—something almost like laughter, wet and gurgling and wrong. It took a step toward the French Ministry wizards, who were hastily trying other spells with no effect.
And then, suddenly, it stopped.
The thing's head snapped up, those void-black eyes fixing on something in the dark sky that Fleur couldn't see. Its entire body went rigid, the almost-laughter dying in its throat. For the first time since it had appeared, Fleur saw what might have been fear in its posture.
It made a sound, not a roar or screech, but almost a whimper. Then, slowly, it began backing away, keeping its eyes locked on whatever it saw above. Each backward step was careful, cautious.
The French wizards stopped casting, as confused as Fleur. Her father lowered his wand slightly, exchanging bewildered glances with her mother.
The creature continued its retreat, faster now, still moving backward. At the edge of the burning campground, where the dark forest began, it finally turned. Then it ran—truly ran—crashing through trees, fleeing into the darkness.
Within seconds, it was gone, leaving only destruction, death, and traumatized witnesses in its wake.
Fleur stood there, holding Gabrielle's trembling form, trying to process what had just happened. The creature—whatever it was—had been unstoppable.Stunning spells, even fire that should have reduced it to ash had barely affected it. Yet something in the sky had made it flee in apparent terror.
"Fleur," Gabrielle whispered, her voice tiny and broken. "I don't want to meet 'Arry Potter anymore. I just want to go 'ome."
Fleur pulled her sister closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Moi aussi, ma petite," she murmured. "Me too."
Fleur heard her Papa's voice as he and Mama ran up to them, asking if they were wounded.
Hermione Granger
"Harry! HARRY!"
Hermione's voice cracked as she called out into the smoke-filled darkness. Her wand trembled in her hand, still raised from the Lumos charm that barely penetrated the chaos around them. Beside her, Ron was shouting himself hoarse, while the twins flanked them with their wands drawn, unusually serious expressions on their faces.
"Where the bloody hell could he have gone?" Ron demanded, coughing as acrid smoke from a burning tent drifted past them. "One minute he was right behind us, and then—"
"He ran off," Ginny said quietly, her face pale in the wandlight. "When those Death Eaters started torturing that family. I saw his face change. His eyes..."
"Went red," Fred finished grimly. "We saw it too."
"We need to find him," Hermione insisted, her mind racing through terrible possibilities. Harry with his enhanced strength, his partial transformation, in a camp full of panicking civilians and Death Eaters... "He could be hurt. Or worse, he could have—"
"There!" Ron suddenly shouted, pointing toward a cluster of trees at the edge of the campground. "Is that him?"
They rushed forward, wands raised, and Hermione's heart nearly stopped when she saw him. Harry was slumped against a thick oak tree, his head in his hands. He was wearing an ill-fitting Ministry worker's robes, far too large for his frame.
"Harry!" Hermione dropped to her knees beside him, checking frantically for injuries. "Are you hurt? What happened? Where did you—"
"I killed someone."
The words were so quiet she almost missed them. Harry raised his head, and Hermione gasped. His face was clean, but there was something in his eyes—a hollowness that hadn't been there before.
"What?" Ron asked, frozen in place. "Harry, what are you talking about?"
"I killed one of them," Harry repeated, his voice flat and distant. "A Death Eater. He was... he was going to hurt someone. A witch. And I just... I lost control."
Hermione felt her stomach drop. "Harry, how did you—"
"Does it matter?" Harry asked bitterly. "I'm a killer now. Just like them."
"Oi," Fred said sharply, moving closer. "None of that rubbish, Harry."
George nodded, crossing his arms. "Fred's right. You protected someone, yeah? This Death Eater, he was attacking an innocent person?"
Harry nodded mutely.
"Then you did what you had to do," Fred said firmly. "It was him or her. Him or you. That's not murder, mate—that's survival."
"Fred's right," George added. "You think any of us wouldn't have done the same if we could? These aren't misguided people having a laugh, Harry. They're killers. They torture families for entertainment."
"But I didn't use magic," Harry whispered, and Hermione understood the source of his horror. "I... it was with my hands. My claws. I tore—"
He cut himself off, turning away to retch against the tree. Hermione rubbed his back, trying to process this information while maintaining her composure. Harry had killed with his lycanthropic abilities. No wonder he was traumatized.
"Still self-defense," Fred said, though even he looked a bit green at the implications. "Doesn't matter if it was a spell or... or anything else. You protected someone."
A sudden gasping sound made them all look up. High above the forest, something vast and green was taking shape in the sky. It was a colossal skull, composed of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, a glittering green spectacle against the black night.
"Bloody hell," George breathed.
"What is that?" Hermione demanded, but the twins' faces had gone pale.
"The Dark Mark," Fred said, his usual joking manner completely absent. "You-Know-Who's sign. Death Eaters cast it when they've... when they've killed."
"But Voldemort's gone," Ron protested, his voice shaking slightly at saying the name.
"His followers aren't," George replied grimly. "Someone's sent a message tonight."
Before anyone could respond, the sound of multiple cracks filled the air. Twenty wizards apparated into the clearing, wands drawn and pointed directly at them.
"DUCK!" Harry yelled, pulling Hermione down as jets of red light flew over their heads.
"STOP!" Arthur Weasley's voice rang out. "STOP! Those are my children!"
The stunning spells ceased, and Hermione looked up to see Mr. Weasley running toward them, looking more frightened than she'd ever seen him. Behind him, other Ministry officials were spreading out, including a man she recognized as Barty Crouch.
"Out of the way, Arthur," Crouch said coldly, his wand still raised. "Which of you conjured it?"
"What?" Harry asked, confused.
"The Dark Mark," Crouch snapped. "Which of you cast it?"
"We didn't cast anything!" Hermione protested. "We're students! We can't even legally do magic outside of school!"
"Do not lie to me!" Crouch barked. Then his eyes narrowed. "Where's your wand, Potter?"
Harry reached for his pocket, then froze. "It's... it's gone."
"How convenient," Crouch said with a sneer.
"Sir!" A small voice squeaked from behind them. They all turned to see the same elf Harry had greeted at the stadium, the one who belonged to Mister Crouch, her name was...Winky, emerging from the bushes. In her tiny hand, she clutched a familiar wand. "I is finding this, sir! On the ground, sir!"
"That's mine!" Harry said, reaching for it, but Crouch snatched it from Winky first.
"Prior Incantato!" Crouch commanded, pointing his own wand at Harry's.
A ghostly image of the Dark Mark erupted from Harry's wand tip. Hermione gasped.
"So," Crouch said triumphantly. "The evidence is clear—"
"That's ridiculous!" Hermione burst out. "Someone else must have used Harry's wand! Winky just said she found it on the ground!"
"SILENCE!" Crouch roared, then turned his fury on Winky. "You were supposed to stay in the Top Box! I told you specifically to remain there!"
"Winky is sorry, Master!" the elf sobbed, throwing herself at his feet. "Winky was frightened by the bad wizards! Winky only wanted to help Master Crouch!!"
"You were supposed to STAY WHERE I PUT YOU!" Crouch's face was purple with rage. "And now you're found with a wand that cast the Dark Mark?"
"I is finding it, sir!" Winky wailed. "Only finding it!"
"Barty, surely you can see the elf is telling the truth," Arthur said carefully. "And these are children. Harry Potter, of all people, would never—"
"The evidence speaks for itself," Crouch said coldly, though he looked slightly less certain. "The wand was used to cast the Mark."
"By someone else," Hermione insisted. "Harry was with us when the Mark appeared. We all saw it together. He couldn't have cast it."
Crouch glared at them all, then finally thrust Harry's wand back at him. "This matter isn't finished," he said coldly. He turned to Winky. "As for you—"
"Barty," Mr. Weasley interrupted gently. "Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more private? The children have been through enough tonight."
Crouch's jaw clenched, but he nodded sharply. "Come, Winky," he commanded, and the sobbing elf followed him away from the group. Crouch told Arthur that the wand will be inspected by Madam Bones, and then, only then, it will be given back to Mister Potter if they don't find anything that makes him guilty of casting the Dark Mark.
Arthur quickly ushered them all away from the scene, back toward what remained of their campsite.
"That poor elf," Hermione said aloud, redirecting her thoughts. "Mr. Crouch treated her abominably! She was terrified, anyone could see that!"
"It's his House Elf, Miss Granger, is not our job or place to tell him how he should treat her." Arthur said, looking uncomfortable.
"It's not right," Hermione continued, her anger building. "She was obviously innocent! She found the wand, she didn't use it! And the way he screamed at her for not staying put during an attack—what was she supposed to do, sit there while Death Eaters destroyed everything?"
"Hermione's right," Ginny said. "It was cruel."
Harry remained silent throughout the discussion, walking slightly apart from the group. Hermione wanted to talk to him about what had happened, about the Death Eater he'd killed. But not now, not with everyone around.
Later, she promised herself. When they were safe and alone, she'd help him process this trauma. For now, she'd just stay close.
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