Chapter 27
The Verdict
The murmurs settled an hour later when Madam Rosen banged her gavel on the podium in front of her. Harry sat between Fleur's legs with his back against her chest and her arms wrapped around him, and as she rested her chin on his head, she reflected that she enjoyed how much shorter he was than her. She hoped he wouldn't grow too much more.
They were both tired – it had been a very long day – but it was worth it. Severus Snape would hopefully soon be little more than a series of bad memories for Harry, which was as it should be. He would likely spend the rest of his life in prison, right where he belonged.
They sat in the front row, with a clear view of the greasy former Professor, who was staring stone-faced straight ahead. Only his slight sneer gave any indication of what he was thinking: the man was bitter and angry. From the stories Fleur had heard, he was, in many ways, much like Ron Weasley: he felt entitled to everything, and nobody but him deserved it.
In short, he was jealous of the carefree lives his students lived, and especially of Harry Potter.
Harry's memories had shown that the man believed him a spoilt child before he even met him. He railed against the fame that Harry himself despised. Had he been a decent human being, in fact, they might have been able to build a friendship based on that, and learned much from each other. It was truly sad that the man couldn't see that.
The reporters waited with baited breath, and for once they hadn't even tried to accost Harry and Fleur, so focused were they on perfecting their stories. This would be huge news in the Wizarding world: an entire generation of British Witches and Wizards had endured the man's hatred, and now they were going to get justice.
It would sell a lot of papers, that much was certain.
The room hushed completely as Madam Rosen rose gracefully to her feet. "This court will now pass judgement," she announced. "Severus Snape, please rise."
Snape stiffly pushed to his feet, a glimmer of anger showing that anyone would dare command him. Fleur was amazed at his appearance: he wore his usual billowing cloak, and his hair was as greasy as ever. Apparently he didn't think it necessary to dress up or wash prior to appearing before the court that would decide his fate.
Harry tensed and crossed his fingers in silent prayer, and Fleur drew him a little closer. This meant a great deal to him, for it was the first bit of justice he would have in his life. There was still a long way to go, but this was the first step on the path, and because of that, it was arguably the most important.
"We have seen the evidence, and listened to the arguments," Rosen began, "and I must complement the Chief Warlock on a powerful speech. However, I'm afraid the Chief Warlock missed two key points."
Snape stiffened visibly, his eyes narrowing in anger, and Dumbledore paled as he listened. Oh yes, he was going to lose his spy! Although, Fleur wondered whose side he was really on; he did not act the part of a Light Wizard.
"Firstly, while Pensieve evidence may or may not be biased emotionally, the facts of the memories remain. The evidence presented was, frankly, appalling in scope. Were it a small group of students then the argument might have merit, but there were hundreds, and each memory agreed with the last. No, I do not think there was bias present.
"And secondly, even if there was bias in the memories, there cannot be bias in Veritaserum-induced testimony. We have heard from twenty-seven students, including Harry Potter himself, as they willingly placed themselves at our mercy while we forced them to tell the truth. And the truth agrees with the evidence shown in the Pensieve.
"I agree with Madame Bones. A failure to convict would be a grave miscarriage of justice, and an abdication of our duty to the people of Magical Britain. To that end, on two hundred forty-six counts of child abuse, and one hundred sixteen counts of child endangerment, we find the defendant guilty of all charges."
A deafening cheer rose in the courtroom at the announcement, and Snape's hand twitched violently, drawing Fleur's attention. Beside him, Dumbledore deflated and suddenly looked much, much smaller. He hunched over and closed his eyes in apparent grief, though whether grief over Snape, or merely over his loss, she could not tell.
"SILENCE!" roared Madam Rosen, once again banging her gavel. It took a moment for the room to quiet, and then she spoke again. "Severus Septimus Snape," she intoned gravely, "you have been found guilty. Due to the heinous nature of your crimes against the children of this world, we hereby sentence you to one hundred thirty-seven years in Azkaban Prison, and may Merlin protect you.
"Aurors, remove this filth from my courtroom and deliver him to Azkaban without delay. This court is adjourned."
Her gavel rapped sharply on the podium, and even as the Aurors moved forward to collect Snape, most of the audience rose to their feet, including Fleur and Harry. Both were looking on the scene with no joy, but plenty of grim satisfaction. Never again would a student be subjected to Snape's brand of abuse. Harry had truly done something good for the world in pursuing this, and she was tremendously proud of him for it.
But, as they soon discovered, Madam Rosen had made a critical error.
Harry hugged Fleur soundly, and then bounded away to Sebastian's position several seats away to give him a hug of his own, which made her smile widely. There were, however, too many people on their feet, and Snape had not yet been removed from the courtroom. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Aurors approach him, and then time abruptly slowed to a crawl.
She saw murder in his eyes, and crystal clear intent.
He suddenly twisted in his seat, almost inhumanly fast, and reached into his sock, from where he produced a sleek black wand. The Aurors, so secure in their positions, were completely unprepared: not a single one had their own wand out. And then he surged from his seat, his eyes searching out the most fiercely hated student he had ever had.
Harry Potter.
Horrified, but too far away to act – and with too many innocent people in between – Fleur could only watch as Harry turned toward the commotion. He saw it as the wand flashed, and his eyes widened in alarm. And next thing she knew, Harry was doing what he did best.
Saving a life.
"SECTUMSEMPRA!" roared Snape.
Problem was, the man was so enraged, and in such a hurry, that his aim was off the mark. The sickly purple spell flashed out of his wand toward a young lady who appeared to be the court scribe, and Harry was moving before the incantation was even finished, already having identified the target. She had no idea how he did it – he was capable of so many amazing things – but his guess was perfectly accurate.
The spell sailed through the air, nearing the young lady as Harry barreled into her, throwing her against the wall behind her with considerable force. But even as he made contact, the spell reached him and seared into him as he twisted in midair, trying to escape. He cried out in pain and horror, and the sound stirred a feeling in Fleur that she had never felt before.
Complete, all-consuming, unadulterated rage.
It burned so blindingly hot that thought did not even enter into the equation. She knew the victim, and she knew the perpetrator, and she would not let this stand. Harry was her husband, and no pathetic bastard like Snape would take him from her, and especially not without a fight. And before she even realized what was happening, her entire body had changed.
Feathers sprouted from her arms, and her head elongated into a dangerous avian visage, her vision sharpening as she instinctively sought her prey. Fire burned through her veins as she acquired her target, already forming into deadly balls of white-hot flame in her hands. Wings sprouted on her back, and spread as she took flight.
She was barely off the ground when she unleashed the first volley, but Snape saw them coming and rolled to the side. The fireballs splashed harmlessly against the floor, winking out as they failed to find further fuel to consume. But two more were already forming, and these were deadly accurate.
They sailed from her palms and hit him in the legs and chest, setting his robes ablaze.
He let out a pained shriek as the heat seared his skin, and collapsed to the ground, the Aurors already moving to subdue him. Fleur had a deep desire to end him then and there – and was more than capable of it – but her attention was already shifting now that the threat had been neutralized. Her eyes sought her husband, desperate to know what was happening.
And time resumed its normal pace.
It had all happened so quickly that Harry was still in flight, propelled by the force of the spell that hit him. He sailed a good ten feet, and crashed loudly into a group of chairs, shattering them into splinters. He landed on his injured side and slid along the floor, coming to a stop in a relatively open area, leaving a bright red streak across the floor in his wake.
Fleur had never before transformed into this form – while she could do it voluntarily, she thought it disgusting and had never done so – but she was surprised to find that she innately understood her abilities. As chaos raged around her, she spread her wings and took flight again, headed straight for her husband. One quick-thinking young wizard was already checking him over as her taloned feet clattered to the ground on either side of Harry's head.
The young man looked up at her, paled, and backed away.
Fleur ignored him and bent down to examine her husband with her eyes. He had lost consciousness, and there was a deep gash up his left side, ending just beneath his armpit. It had apparently crossed his arm as well, for another gash appeared across his bicep. Both were edged with sickly black, and were bleeding profusely.
Enraged, horrified, and terrified all at the same time, Fleur could only think of one thing that could provide immediate help, and she turned to her head to the sky and cried out "FAWKES!" But to her horror, it came out as a rage-filled avian shriek that echoed in the courtroom, instantly stilling the panicked crowd.
There was silence for a heartbeat, during which Fleur registered disgust at what she had become.
And then a bright flash of flame burst overhead, and Fawkes circled the hall and sang a brief song of comfort before diving at Harry. He landed with a clatter and titled his head to eye the wounds, and Fleur watched with trepidation. The area around them – or, more specifically, around her – remained clear of all but her father, who was quickly making his way over.
All around them, Witches and Wizards were picking themselves up off the floor or trying to avoid getting trampled. The Aurors had dowsed Snape with water and stunned him thoroughly, and were now dragging him through the crowd while simultaneously trying to avoid the mad desire of said crowd to have their revenge on the man. Fleur ignored it all and continued to watch Fawkes, who tilted his head over the largest gash and started to cry.
And then Dumbledore decided to get involved.
Her rage had slowly given way to her other swirling emotions, but when she saw him coming, it took over once again. That bastard was the cause of this! He was the reason the trial had been necessary in the first place, the reason Snape was teaching children! And he was the reason her husband was a battered, broken man when he should be a vibrant, happy boy!
People shied away from him as he strode toward Harry in full aura, but Fleur wasn't going to have that. There was no way she would let him anywhere near Harry when he was so vulnerable. Without a second thought, she moved to stand in his way, fireballs already forming in her palms, and only her considerable willpower preventing them from finding a target.
She shrieked angrily at him and raised her hands to show the swirling, burning masses, and Dumbledore stopped dead in his tracks.
Another hush fell over the crowd as they watched the confrontation, but Fleur ignored it, and Dumbledore – apparently smart enough to realize just how much danger he was in – raised his hands in supplication. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Amelia brushed by him and – ignoring Fleur completely, to everyone's shock – rushed toward Harry. Fleur did not so much as bat an eye at her.
"Miss Delacour–" he began, but she shrieked at him for the disrespect of not using her proper name, and the fireballs grew slightly in size, the energy sizzling in her palms.
"That's Madame Potter, Albus!" snapped Amelia loudly from somewhere behind her. "She considers you a threat and does not want you here, so I suggest you leave!"
"I must see to Harry, Amelia," he said, not taking his eyes off of Fleur. "His safety is–"
Tired of the old bastard's interference, Fleur let out another deafening shriek and threw her palm forward, unleashing one of the fireballs. Dumbledore never even had a chance to raise his wand before it splashed harmlessly on the ground at his feet, another already growing to replace it. He jumped back, having received the message clearly.
"She is in charge, Albus," spat Amelia. "What she says, goes, and she's made her wishes damn clear! Now leave!"
Dumbledore eyed her for a long moment, obviously contemplating forcing the issue. Fleur cocked her head at him and raised her hands palms-up, channeling more energy into them, and causing the fireballs to grow considerably in size. She was not above killing him if it came down to it, if that was what it took to protect her mate.
Finally realizing that, Dumbledore deflated again. "Very well," he said quietly, "I trust you will keep me informed?"
"It's up to her," snapped Amelia shortly. "Good bye, Albus!"
Thoroughly beaten, Dumbledore shrank back into the crowd, and Fleur watched him go for a long moment to be certain that he would not try anything underhanded. People shrank away from her gaze as it followed him, but again, she paid them no mind. And once she was satisfied, she turned to scan for any other threats.
Harry was still being tended by Fawkes, who had moved up a little on his side, but appeared to be having a very difficult time closing the wound. Amelia and her father had found or conjured rags and were holding them to the other bleeding areas, trying to keep him stable. A ring of people stood about ten feet out, but none appeared to have any intention of helping or harming.
Seeing that all was as well as it could be, she dropped her hands, allowing the fire to dissipate, and clattered back to stand protectively over his head. As she did so, however, she heard him emit a pained groan and saw his eyes flutter, which made her step away again. She did not want him to see her this way!
Panic consumed her as he continued swimming back toward consciousness. She was hideous, and she was terrifying! And in her panic, she could not change back! What would he think? Would he still love her knowing what she could become?
"Fleur?" whispered his pained voice.
Her gaze snapped back to him, and she froze, her entire body quivering in fright.
His eyes squinted up at her, no longer hidden behind the glasses that had gotten lost in the fray. Her only consolation was that he could not see her. He had described to her one morning what his vision was like when he woke up, and she was deeply relieved that she was little more than a white/silver blob to him at the moment.
"Fleur?" he called again.
She took another step backwards.
"She's transformed, Harry," said Amelia gently. "I don't think she wants you to see her that way."
His green orbs tracked to Amelia for a moment before returning to Fleur. "C'mere, Fleur," he whispered hoarsely. She hesitated, wanting to do what he asked, but terrified of it. And then he whispered, "Please."
Her heart broke at what was about to happen. Even in spite of the trials they faced, the last month with him had been a paradise, and now it was all over. But she could not deny him; he was injured, and he needed her, and she could not deny him.
She clattered tentatively closer, painfully aware of so many people watching her, and slowly lowered herself down so he could see her. Had she been able to cry in this form, she would have been bawling. Her entire body shook with so many emotions, but now grief was chief among them.
Harry watched her quietly for a moment; he was still dazed, and she could tell that he was thinking very slowly compared to usual. And then he shakily reached his good arm up to touch her face, but she instinctively shied away. For the first time, she understood how he felt about being touched, at least in some small part...
"It's okay," he whispered weakly. "C'mere."
Letting out a fearful whimper, she lowered herself closer to him, wishing desperately that she could settle herself enough to change back. He reached up and cautiously touched the feathers on her face, and then ran his fingers along her beak, which she was surprised she could even feel. And, to her utter shock, a small smile appeared on his face as he threaded them into the feathers just over her ear, much like he did with her hair when they made love.
"You're beautiful," he whispered faintly. "So soft..."
And then his eyes closed, his hand fell away, and his head lolled to the side.
Shocked to the core by his words, Fleur fell back on her bum. And then, realizing what had just happened, her head shot up and she chirped sharply at Amelia. The woman was watching the scene with a remarkably tender expression.
"He's fine, Fleur," she soothed. "He lost a lot of blood, but if Fawkes can finish, he should be okay in a day or two."
Fleur examined her expression closely, and detected no lie. Feeling a small amount of relief, and a maelstrom of emotions over his most recent words, she nodded and looked back to him, feeling a desperate need to be close to him; to touch him. Without even thinking much about it, she scooted forward and cautiously lifted his head into her lap, careful not to scratch him with her talons.
She was frightened and confused, and she did not know which way was up.
Finally, her father looked up at her with deep compassion in his eyes. He knew how she felt about this – they had talked about it when she was a child, being teased in her first years at Beauxbatons – and he understood. "Can you transform back yet?" he asked her gently.
Fleur closed her eyes and tried to concentrate, but then shook her head in frustration. Her emotions were too raw, and she simply could not reach that place she would need to assert her normal form. The anger that continued to burn beneath the surface didn't help one bit, either.
He nodded, and then glanced at Fawkes, who had just lifted his head from over the wound on Harry's arm.
Fleur shuddered at the dark, mottled skin where the wound had closed. She did not mind his scars, but she hated that he had to endure yet more. He had been through far too much in his short life. Why was fate so cruel to him?
"We need to get him to St. Mungo's," sighed Amelia. "He at least needs blood replenisher, and he'll need to be checked over. That was a seriously Dark curse, and I've never seen it before, so who knows what else it did."
Sebastian turned his full attention to the phoenix. "Will you transport us, Fawkes?" he requested, reaching out to gently stroke the creature's beautiful head. Fleur actually felt a pang of jealousy that Harry wasn't awake to do that for her.
Fawkes chirped tiredly and stepped up onto Harry's chest before spreading his tail feathers and shaking them in invitation. Sebastian and Amelia immediately grabbed hold, but Fleur had no idea what to do. She did not have anything she could safely hold onto his tail with, and she would not injure the beautiful phoenix who had just saved her husband's life for a second time.
Fawkes chirped questioningly at her, and she lifted her talons and shrugged at him.
He studied her sidewise for a moment before finally lifting one of his own talons and flexing it at her, and at first she thought he was mocking her. But then she realized what he wanted, and cautiously reached forward so he could grab hold. His grip was surprisingly gentle.
And in a blazing inferno, they were gone, leaving the remaining spectators in the courtroom standing in utter silence.
Chapter 28
Healing
Severus Snape Attacks Boy-Who-Lived After Sentencing At Abuse Trial! Veela Wife Defends!
by Dawn Summers
In a shocking turn of events, after being sentenced to 137 years in Azkaban Prison, Severus Snape, 35, drew a concealed wand and attempted to cast a Dark Curse on Harry James Potter, 14. In a disturbing twist of fate, Snape mis-aimed his curse, endangering Court Scribe Janice O'Connor, 19. Potter pushed her to safety, but was unable to avoid the curse himself. His condition is unknown, but he is believed to be stable and recovering.
Mr. Potter's newlywed wife, Fleur Annalise Potter, 17, reacted immediately to the attack by transforming into her veela avian form. She cast several fireballs, two of which impacted and severely injured former Professor Snape. He is currently being treated in Azkaban for severe burns.
Mrs. Potter then stood guard over her husband while his injuries were being tended, going so far as to threaten Albus Dumbledore by casting another fireball at his feet when he attempted to assist. Mrs. Potter was unavailable for comment, but it is believed that she took exception because he was present in defense of Mr. Snape, who initiated the attack. She had no difficulty with Madam Amelia Bones, who helped treat the injured boy.
Mr. Potter was healed by a phoenix on scene, and it is believed that he was subsequently transported to St. Mungo's Hospital by that same phoenix. Prior to that, however, this reporter witnessed a remarkable moment between Mr. Potter and his wife. It is now eminently clear that they still have much to learn about each other.
Mr. Potter briefly regained consciousness and asked to see her while she stood guard, and she was initially unwilling to approach for fear of how her appearance would be received. In the end his pleas prevailed, however, and she was visibly stunned by his obvious appreciation of her avian form. It was a touching scene that could have been lifted straight from the pages of a romance novel.
While many have questioned the motives of Mrs. Potter and her family, what this reporter saw were two young people who love each other deeply. Even in such a frightening form, Mrs. Potter's love and concern for her husband could not be missed, and it was equally obvious that Mr. Potter cares just as deeply for his wife.
We are left with many questions raised by both the trial and the subsequent attack. Why did Albus Dumbledore allow the abuse to continue for so long at Hogwarts? Why was he willing to defend the man against such overwhelming evidence? That evidence was presented in stunning detail, showing a pattern of serious crimes against students that stretches back over a decade!
This reporter also wonders how Snape was able to pass security while in possession of a wand. And where were the Aurors during the attack? They were closer to the attacker than Mrs. Potter, and yet did not return spells in sufficient time to subdue the threat.
We at the Daily Prophet would like to offer our best wishes for Mr. Potter's recovery. We also thank Fleur Potter for her willingness to defend the innocent. It is unthinkable to consider what might have happened had Snape's rampage gone unchecked.
Harry smiled softly at the picture beside the article. It showed an avian Fleur holding his head in her lap, gazing worriedly down at him as Fawkes cried into his wounds, with Amelia and Sebastian assisting nearby. He raised a finger and ran it gently over the image of his wife, before turning his head to watch her as she slept soundly in the chair next to him, with her head resting on the edge of the bed, her silver hair splayed out around her.
The tear stains on her cheeks hurt him deeply. He knew that the reasons for them were twofold: one, she was worried about him, and two, she was frightened of his reaction to her. He of all people knew what it was to be shunned for an unusual ability – he needed only look at his revelation as a Parselmouth – and he intended to make her see that she was beautiful in any form. Especially since, in his opinion at least, she was.
He'd woken several hours ago to find Sebastian reading the paper by his bedside, and was informed that he was out for nearly seventy-two hours. Fleur had only just fallen asleep, not having done so since his arrival. Even when he reached over to gently stroke her beautiful head, she did not so much as stir. She was exhausted.
He only hoped that she didn't have to go through this many more times, but that hope was likely in vain given his tendency to end up in hospitals.
With a sad sigh, he turned to the next article in the paper, and almost choked on the headline:
Boy-Who-Lived Vs. Albus Dumbledore
Rumors Persist Indicating Newly-Formed Feud
By Alexander Harris
At Friday's trial of now-former Potions Professor Severus Snape, Harry Potter, 14, demanded that additional precautions be taken while he was questioned under Veritaserum. Potter reportedly feared that he would be taken advantage of while under the influence of the truth potion, and specifically by Albus Dumbledore.
While this alone may not be enough to indicate a running feud, recent interviews with various Hogwarts students paint a startling picture. There have been several unusual public conversations between the two, and one between the Headmaster and Mrs. Potter, while her husband looked on.
Numerous students reported that Fawkes, the Headmaster's former phoenix companion, appears to have switched allegiance to Mr. Potter and his wife. The phoenix has been seen in their company almost constantly for the past two weeks. When Mr. Potter was asked to return Fawkes to the Headmaster's office, he was seen to query the phoenix directly and agree to its wish to stay where it was.
But more telling was the altercation with Mrs. Potter. Having approached Mr. Potter for an unsolicited meeting regarding the legality of his marriage, Dumbledore was surprised by Mrs. Potter, who understandably demanded to be present. He was then seen to use Legilimency on Mrs. Potter, whereupon she ejected him from her mind and verbally berated him for his disturbing actions.
The confrontation with Mrs. Potter ended with Fawkes the phoenix transporting Sebastian Delacour directly into the Great Hall at Hogwarts. It is not known what was discussed in the meeting, but several students have claimed that Mr. Potter was in a towering rage directly afterward.
Furthermore, Mr. Potter is now living with his wife among the Beauxbatons students. He is rumored to have applied for a transfer to the French academy, though that claim cannot be verified at this time.
What is happening with Albus Dumbledore? He has long enjoyed a cordial relationship with The-Boy-Who-Lived, but in the weeks since the article announcing their marriage, the Potters appear to have broken ranks with him. This was never more apparent than when Mrs. Potter threatened Dumbledore with violence while guarding her injured husband at the trial of Severus Snape.
Furthermore, this reporter must question the Headmaster's judgement in allowing Snape to interact with children, and that causes one to wonder what else is rotten at Hogwarts, and in the other powerful positions he holds. Dumbledore is nearly one hundred fifty years old; is he finally losing his edge? Is he still fit to lead?
Only time will tell, and we at the Daily Prophet will work diligently to discover the truth. In the mean time, we can only hope that the Potters know what they are doing in making an enemy of one of the most powerful Wizards of our time.
Harry snorted in choked laughter as he read the shockingly accurate article. This was turning out better than he thought, and it was almost worth getting injured to see it happen. By pure chance, Dumbledore had opened the floodgates to bad press for himself, and – so far at least – Harry and Fleur were coming out smelling like roses.
His laughter startled Fleur, who bolted upright, her eyes wide as she stared at him, and next thing he knew he was engulfed in a tight hug. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, and was somewhat startled to feel hot tears dripping onto his shirt.
"Shhhh," he whispered. "It's okay, love, I'm just fine thanks to you."
"I was so worried!" she breathed. "You 'ave been asleep for days!"
Harry smiled slightly and kissed the top of her head. "It happens," he whispered sadly. "I have a bad habit of ending up in places like this, but they haven't killed me yet, and I'm not about to let them now I've got you."
She squeezed him even harder, and then picked her head up off his chest to give him a searing kiss. His side might be aching, and he might still be tired, but that kiss made his toes curl! He could feel the chaotic emotions pouring out of her, and wanted nothing more than to take her someplace much more private.
Finally, she pulled away and stared into his eyes. She seemed partly to be afraid that he would disappear if she looked away, and partly relieved that he was almost well again. But there was a shadow there, and he knew what it was about. It made his heart ache.
"I love you, Fleur," he whispered to her, causing her eyes to widen. "I don't care what form you take. You're beautiful, and I love you."
Shock shone in her eyes as she froze and stared back at him. "You– you really meant zat? You saw what I am, 'Arry, zat 'orrible creature..."
Harry shook his head and threaded his hands into her hair. "That creature was beautiful, Fleur," he whispered. "I wish I could become one. I love to fly."
Her tears started anew, and he hauled her onto the bed with him and held her close, allowing her to get it out of her system. He never would have guessed from meeting her originally, but she was not all that confident in herself. She lived behind a mask, and had only recently begun to step out from behind it and show the world who she really was.
And now she had to come to terms with it herself.
It was going to take time, he realized. She was not fragile by any means, but she did harbour a lot of pent up fears, and understandably so. Few people understood who and what she was, and she was terrified of how they would react, because they had universally reacted badly in the past. If there was one thing he would do for her, it was spend the rest of his life making her feel wanted and loved.
He only hoped that they could get through the near future. Unless he really had gone senile, Dumbledore was sure to launch a counterattack in the press, and they needed to figure out what to do. Should they ignore the opportunity? Should they build on it? Or should they take advantage of both his and the public's shock and launch their main assault early?
It was a lot to think about.
"Here, you should read this," he offered when she had finally settled down. "You need to see what people are saying, but it's really pretty good. Dumbledore screwed up worse than we thought."
"'E did?" she asked curiously.
"Yup," he nodded. "Snape essentially set him up for a fall. People are thinking he's pretty stupid right now."
"An accurate assessment," came Arienne's gentle voice. "Defending Snape was a poor decision on 'is part. It 'as cost 'im greatly."
Surprised, Harry looked up to see his mother-in-law standing in the doorway, looking as beautiful as ever. She entered the room and made a beeline to his bedside, and then reached up to brush her hand through his hair, to his surprise. Her other found its way to Fleur's back.
"Hi, Arienne," he greeted shyly. He hadn't had much contact with the woman yet.
"It is good to see you awake," she smiled. "We were becoming concerned."
Harry shrugged. "I'm used to this, ma'am," he admitted quietly. "I'm always fine in the end."
Fleur shuddered in his arms. "It must stop," she whispered. "You should not think it normal to be 'ere so often!"
Arienne directed an understanding smile at her daughter. "Fleur is right, 'Arry," she said sagely. "We must find a way to stop zis madness. You should be enjoying your life, not fighting for eet."
Harry could not help but agree.
Chapter 29
Ron's End
When the Potters returned to school they received a standing ovation, much to their chagrin. Every non-Slytherin student had, at one time or another, wanted to lay into Snape, and while they were disappointed that it wasn't even a Hogwarts student who'd done it, they were thrilled that someone finally had. As far as they were concerned, the git deserved far worse than he got.
Their embattled Headmaster was another story entirely. The latest series of articles took him to task both for the resurrection of the Triwizard Tournament, and for the selection of its Tasks. Across the nation, people were wondering if Dumbledore was finally going senile. It was sad, really, but it fit perfectly into their plans, and Sebastian was working overtime to get their theft case ready, among other things.
Soon the man would be dealt with, and Harry could get on with his life, such as it was.
The attention they received as a result of their actions was not comfortable, however – especially for Harry – and was made worse by an article that appeared mid-week. Someone discovered that he was responsible for bringing the case against Snape in the first place, and that led to a complete breakdown of how it came about. It was also clear that Madam Bones had been interviewed for the article, as the writer knew of the upcoming obstruction case against the Headmaster.
While Harry didn't care about that – the man would likely be fined and that was it – the attention it brought him was significant. The press speculated on the connection between that and the lack of trust between Harry and Dumbledore that had been highlighted in the trial, and everyone wanted to know more. Harry had taken to staying with Fawkes or Fleur at all times; the former could get him away in an instant, and the latter–
Well, nobody wanted to make her mad.
That was the other effect of the attack. Everyone now understood that Fleur was a deadly opponent even without a wand, and people were rather intimidated by her. Even the Beauxbatons students, once they were made aware of the situation, left her well alone for a change. Nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of Fleur Potter, and it showed.
Even the Headmaster was nervous in her presence. He watched her whenever she was in the room, and while it was with a calculating expression that Harry didn't like in the slightest, it was also easy to see that the man was wary. He suspected that Dumbledore was trying to figure out a way to separate them, as together they were a force to be reckoned with, at least to hear the papers tell it.
Nobody wanted a tool that thought for itself, after all, and she'd enabled Harry to do just that.
And making their week even less normal than usual, the Ministry had written to inform them that they'd been selected as recipients of the Order of Merlin, thanks to their actions at the trial. It should probably have been a Third Class, but their young ages bumped them up a rank, and the publicity yet another. The Ministry was offering them First Class awards.
Harry was not thrilled, especially given previous recipients of said award. Lockhart, Pettigrew, and Dumbledore? Why would he want to be associated with the likes of them? The only thing that prevented him declining was Fleur's calm explanation of why it was useful in their efforts to free him from Dumbledore: an Order of Merlin winner was seen as having credibility.
He scoffed, but still gave in, as deep down he knew she was right. Fleur herself didn't care either way about the award; they weren't her thing, but she didn't have quite the same dislike of attention that he harboured. And so they agreed to accept them, and the ceremony would take place just after the Easter holidays.
At the moment, however, such thoughts were far from Harry's mind, and he was instead considering his relationship with Fleur. Her patience was astounding as the intense attention caused his moods to swing without warning, and she somehow always knew how to bring him back down to earth. He'd done nothing for her in return, and that bothered him.
He was not to know that she was quite happy with his mere presence.
He wanted to do something to thank her properly, but didn't know what. The next Hogsmeade weekend was over Easter, when they would be at Chateau Delacour with her family, so a date wouldn't work. He thought of doing something on campus with her, maybe dinner in the astronomy tower, but that felt cheesy and cheap. He wanted something good, perhaps a gift that she would appreciate.
But what to get? His only real option was to sneak out on a weekend and look through Hogsmeade. He had to imagine that he could find something for her there, at least a token of his appreciation, but he had never been gift-shopping for her before. And someone would have to keep her busy so she didn't know where he'd gone, or she might send Fawkes after him.
The makings of a plan forming in his mind, Harry redirected his steps to Gryffindor Tower. It would be simple: he could ask Hermione to keep her busy tomorrow – he would have to thank her as well – and talk Ron into sneaking off campus with him, which wouldn't be hard. It'd been a while since he'd spent any time alone with his best male friend anyway, and perhaps it would make Ron feel better.
Unfortunately, the trip would never materialize.
Harry moved through the common room with efficiency borne of long practice, dodging students as he went. Classes were over for the day, so it was likely that Hermione was studying, and since she wasn't with Fleur as she so often was these days, he figured he'd find her here. And sure enough, there she was in front of the fire – but she wasn't studying.
It would appear that Ron had interrupted her efforts and hacked her off in the process. They stood toe-to-toe in front of the fireplace, sniping viciously at each other. Harry frowned; Ron was in a rather dark mood lately, and it was getting annoying. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all?
And then–
"INSENSITIVE GIT!" she shouted at him, too angry to realize that she had a growing audience. "HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT?"
"IT'S TRUE AND YOU KNOW IT!" Ron roared back, his face red with anger. "GIT GETS EVERYTHING HANDED TO HIM!"
Harry's stomach clenched as he realized that he was the subject of their latest argument.
"Oh yes, handed to him!" she snarled sarcastically. "Tell me, Ronald, what does he have that he hasn't paid dearly for? Go on, tell me!"
"What doesn't he have?" countered Ron rhetorically, throwing his hands in the air. "Let's see, he's got fame, he's got money... Oh, and the git doesn't even have to ask a girl out! Noooo, not Harry Potter! Harry Potter wins a girl in a bloody tournament!" His expression turned ugly as he added, "And let's not forget the special treatment, Hermione. They even get their own room so they can shag whenever they want! Not even you can defend that!"
The blood drained from Harry's face as he listened, and he was dimly aware of several heads turning his direction. He was frozen in place, unable to move. He did not want to listen to this, but he couldn't force himself to walk away. And it did not help that the entire common room was now listening as well...
Hermione scoffed openly. "Oh, is that what this is about?" she asked dangerously. "You're jealous because he got trapped into marrying the girl you can't stop drooling over?"
"Bollocks!" snarled Ron. "He didn't get trapped into anything! Have you even seen them? They're so lovey-dovey it's disgusting!"
Hermione closed her eyes for a long moment as though praying for patience, and then–
"Let me remind of you of a few things, Ronald," she growled. "Fame? Money? Hah! He paid for those with his parents' lives! He doesn't have even the smallest thing you take for granted! Instead he had to live with people who hate him! And yes, Ron, he wastrapped, and so was she. He didn't even like Fleur because she was a bitch to everyone! And you're part of the reason she was acting like that! Do you have any idea how obnoxious it is to be stared at like a piece of meat?"
"He likes her well enough now!" countered Ron hotly. "And it's not my fault she's got some bloody power that makes her look pretty!"
"I don't see Neville doing it, or Fred, or George!" she returned without missing a beat. "They can control themselves, so why can't you? Hell, my father, a Muggle, can control himself around her! So what's your excuse, Ronald?"
Harry thought she had a good point, but wondered when this had become about Fleur. His stomach churned uncomfortably at the knowledge that his so-called best friend was so blind to the situation. Did he really think the special treatment Harry most often received was a good thing?
"Whatever," said Ron dismissively, ignoring her point. "So he didn't like her! He does now, and they bloody moved in together! How is that fair, Hermione? How is that bloody fair to the rest of us?"
"When you save a veela's life," she scowled, "with absolutely no intention of ever asking for a reward, when you earn that life debt, then you too can be trapped into a marriage you don't want, Ronald. Or did you forget that he gave up his future for her? He's not lucky for having her, he's just lucky she turned out to be a decent human being when she isn't dealing with gits like you!"
"Right, because I'm sure that's what happened," retorted Ron. "Nobody knows what went on down there! They probably told everyone that so they could get together!"
Hermione's went soft, but with a deadly undertone. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?" she hissed. "I didn't like her either, and I wasn't about to let my best friend be trapped so someone could get his money!" And the she suddenly roared: "I VERIFIED THE DEBT MYSELF, YOU BLOODY GIT!"
Harry blinked. Either Hermione was lying, or she was sneakier than he gave her credit for. He didn't remember her ever even questioning it, but apparently she had. Even if she hadn't trusted him, it still brought a small amount of warmth to his soul to know that she cared so much. It was much needed at the moment in the face of Ron's opinions...
"I did it when they weren't looking," she said quietly, turning her back on the room to stare into the fire. "Harry doesn't know. I borrowed his Invisibility Cloak and snuck into the Beauxbatons dorms and tested her myself. The debt was real."
"Oh, because that makes it so much better," snorted Ron. "So what if it was real! He's still got her! And now he gets away with anything he wants, Hermione! He stole the Headmaster's phoenix and he didn't even get punished, for Merlin's sake! And now they're giving him an Order of Merlin? It's not fair!"
Hermione's eyes narrowed in tightly controlled rage. "You know what, Ron?" she said dangerously. "It's not fair. It's not fair that Harry lost everything when he was a baby. It's not fair that he had to live with those awful people. It's not fair that he's had to save so many people's lives, including your sister's! It's not fair that he got entered against his will into a Tournament so dangerous that it shouldn't even be allowed! It's not fair that he doesn't get to choose who he falls in love with and marries! And no, Ron, it's not fair that he was attacked by that bastard, saved another life, and spent three days in the bloody hospital recovering, to earn that Order of Merlin!"
Ron just got angrier as her tirade went on, but she wasn't finished. "But you know what really isn't fair, Ronald?" she whispered angrily. "What really isn't fair is how many chances he's given a complete git like you. You're a childish, immature, self-centered, egotistical, dim-witted, jealous, lazy slob, and he still forgives you every time you screw up!"
The truth was apparently too much for Ron to handle. As Hermione went through her litany of attributes – ones that, unfortunately, Harry could not disagree with – his expression grew darker and darker, his growing rage apparent. The look in his eyes was murderous, and Harry knew somehow that this would not end well. He was moving before she even finished speaking, some sixth sense screaming danger in his ear.
And as she finished, Ron wound his arm back, his hand closing into a fist, his jealous, hateful stare meeting Hermione's angry and disgusted one. And then, to Harry's absolute horror, he let fly. His fist swung, aiming squarely for Hermione's exposed jaw, and Harry could not believe that he would actually hit her.
And then–
SMACK!
If the common room was silent before, you could have heard a pin drop now. Few had realized his presence, let alone Ron and Hermione, but there he stood, gritting his teeth against the pain in his hand where he'd caught Ron's fist before it could make contact. He would later decide that it must have been accidental magic; the impact was fierce, but his hand didn't even budge, and he could swear he heard several of Ron's bones pop.
Ron howled in pain, even as Hermione stood there in stunned silence, not having seen it coming in the slightest. A verbal argument was one thing – they'd had enough of them over the years – but for Ron to try to hit her? It was something she could not fathom, and it shone clearly in the shock on her face.
And Harry... Harry was angrier than he could ever recall having been before. He stared at a terrified Ron as the boy nursed his broken hand, doing his best to restrain his rage so he didn't curse the boy. There were so many things he felt he should say, but he was having a hard time forcing the words through the red haze that had descended.
"We're through!" he finally snarled. "If this is how you treat your friends, then I want nothing to do with you! Tired of being in my shadow, are you? Fine, you're on your own now! I hope you enjoy it, because no simple half-arsed apology is going to fix it this time, you jealous son of a bitch!"
Ron's face lost considerable color at the expression Harry was wearing. The look in his eyes was one he never would have thought to turn on his supposed best friend before today. It was the look that told of how he felt about disgusting creatures like Snape and Voldemort! But he couldn't help it.
Shaking his head in disgust, he turned to Hermione, who was staring at Ron like she'd never truly seen him before. In light of what had just taken place, Harry couldn't blame her: he wasn't sure that he had ever truly seen Ron before. No, he had no idea at all who Ron Weasley was.
But there were more important things to consider at the moment. "Come on, Hermione," he grunted, gently gripping her shoulder and forcibly turning her away from the obnoxious redhead. "Let's get out of here."
Chapter 30
Breaking Point
Harry was fortunate enough that they ran into Neville halfway down the hall outside of Gryffindor Tower, and after giving Hermione a solid hug and whispering reassuring words in her ear for a few minutes, he was able to pawn her off on him. He was in no fit state to comfort another, with his anger burning so brightly as it was. He wasn't even sure anymore exactly why he was angry.
One would think he would have been much better prepared for such an outcome given Ron's recent behavior, but he just... wasn't.
Not knowing where else to go, he made a beeline for the Beauxbatons carriage, but he couldn't decide if he wanted to see Fleur or not. A distant part of him quailed at Ron's accusations, insisting that they were partly true. Was he not living with his wife when it would never be allowed for any other student?
But as he neared the coach, the anger started to burn away, leaving other, far more potent emotions in its wake. Images flashed through his head of the times he and Ron spent together, starting from that very first meeting on the Hogwarts express. Ron was his very first friend. Where had everything gone so wrong? Had he misjudged Ron so badly as all that?
And how much more was he going to have to lose before Fate would be satisfied?
His hand shook as he reached up to open the door, and he stared at it in surprise for a long moment before finally pushing forward. Something inside him was thinning, and he didn't know if he would survive the experience when it snapped. How much more could he possibly endure?
For so long he'd secretly harboured dreams of the future while he was locked in that infernal cupboard, and with each passing day, they seemed further and further away. Yes, good things had happened to him, but did they really offset all the pain? Was it going to be like this for the rest of his life?
And why did everyone leave him? He distantly recognized the irrationality of that thought, but he couldn't stop himself from wondering.
His parents were gone before he even knew who they were, and he'd always deeply regretted that – and sometimes was even angry at them for it. He'd gone through his childhood dreaming of being reunited with them, even though he knew it was impossible. That dream was dead before it even formed, and there was nothing he could do to change it short of taking his own life. Even back then, when it all seemed so hopeless, he was unwilling to give up.
And then he made friends, and things were better for a while. Yes, there were bumps in the road, but life went on. He survived school, he survived the First Task of the Tournament, and then he ended up saving Fleur, which was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him even if he didn't realize it at the time. But then...
...then, the woman who was the closest thing to a mother he had, had shown her true colors.
Harry was not surprised that Molly was angry; in fact, he expected it. She didn't have the full story, and so could not completely understand. But her words were so incredibly harsh, and the things she implied so vile, that he could not prevent his opinion of her from changing. Gone were his rose colored glasses, and he wasn't sure that he liked what he saw.
And he wept for the loss of that dream. He'd somehow expected that he would someday be an actual part of that family, though he didn't know exactly how it would happen. They were all he had to base his dreams on, and so he did. They cared about him, and they thought highly of him, and he would spend the rest of his life enjoying their company.
But then the howler came, and he realized that Molly didn't think nearly so highly of him as he believed. Just as the Dursleys had done on occasion, she lulled him into a false sense of security so she could make it that much more painful when she shattered his illusions. Oh, he knew it wasn't the truth – Molly wasn't that cruel, at least intentionally – but that was the way it felt, and it had the same effect.
It was only thanks to Fleur that he managed to get past it so quickly. He would never again trust Molly the same way as before, but he imagined that they would be able to repair their relationship at some point. That was a good thing in his eyes, and he was able to move on.
The trials just continued, though, with Dumbledore doing his level best to control him and make his life more painful, which in and of itself was a terrible hit to his worldview. He'd trusted that old man, believed in him, and to learn the truth was to take away his innocence. Could he trust anyone? If such a great, powerful, and well-respected Wizard could turn on him so easily...
Snape's trial went just about as he expected, right up until the attack took place. In all honesty, it wasn't that big a deal to him, though he did finally get to see Fleur's other form, which almost made it worth it. But while the attack itself was a non-issue for Harry, for Ron it was apparently the straw that broke the camel's back.
And now he'd lost his very first friend.
Ron Weasley, his first and supposedly best friend, had turned on him again. That much he might have been able to handle, except that he also made it clear that Harry had horribly misjudged what kind of person he was. Hitting Hermione was not something he ever would have expected Ron to be capable of.
Anyone else might think he was overreacting, but back then Harry had been completely and utterly alone in an exceedingly hostile world. Ron Weasley offered the first ray of sunshine he had ever encountered. The power of that offer to the abused and neglected orphan that was Harry Potter could not be underestimated.
Wary of others though he was, Harry hadn't been able to stop himself from grabbing on with both hands and holding on for dear life.
While he was aware of Ron's flaws — he even reminded Harry of Dudley on occasion, and never more so than when he sent Hermione Granger running for a certain bathroom in tears – the fact was that Ron was his friend. Having never had one before, that fact enabled him to overlook an awful lot. Though he could not have put it into words at the time, the simple truth was that he had been deathly afraid of losing that first friendship ever since it formed.
It felt like losing that friendship would cost him everything else he had achieved since, no matter how irrational that feeling was.
Ron's friendship had quickly beome one of the underpinnings of his life in the Wizarding world – and in many ways his life in general – but now it was suddenly and dramatically over, and he felt like the ground had fallen away beneath him. Unlike before, he had no hope of a reconciliation, and perhaps more frighteningly, nor did he think he wanted one. He had lost that friendship permanently, and with it, his entire perspective on his life here.
How many others had he misjudged? Were they all who he thought they were? Or was he so thoroughly sheltered that he couldn't recognize the truth when he saw it? Would they all turn on him eventually, maybe even his own wife? Did he have any clue at all how to determine the good from the bad?
The confidence he'd built in his own judgement shattered along with the friendship, and he no longer knew what to think. There were precious few people he trusted now, and Ron's actions made his trust that much harder to earn. How could he trust people when they so easily turned on him?
Would everyone turn on him?
"'Arry?"
Harry couldn't focus on the call. Images of a dark future flew at breakneck speeds through his head, and he couldn't stop them. Was his life even worth living anymore? Should he simply end it, get it over with so he could be with his parents?
Would they even like him?
Now there was a frightening thought! He had never met his parents, so who was to say that they would even like the person he'd become? Would they perhaps turn out to be like Molly Weasley, not trusting him in the slightest to make the right decisions? Or worse, the Dursleys?
How could he possibly know? How could he have any concept of what they were really like? Sure, people always told him they were wonderful, but he'd been lied to so many times, how could he possibly recognize the truth? They could be monsters for all he knew!
His vision clouded over as he tried to fight off the thought, and he sensed someone approaching. Terrified at his thoughts, unable to catch his breath, he instinctively took a step back. He no longer recognized the presence as Fleur; it was just a presence, and he had no idea if he could trust it or not. He wasn't going to take any chances.
But it was too quick for him, and he was suddenly wrapped in loving warmth, and it was such a stark contrast to his own feelings that he could no longer keep himself together. His pain burst out of him, and he lost himself in it, no longer caring what happened to him.
===[~]===
Alarmed by her husband's behavior, Fleur held him tightly to her breast, wondering what in Merlin's name had happened this time. This was worse than Molly Weasley's howler! But what was it? What had happened to cause him to break down in this fashion?
She soothed him as best she could, keeping him wrapped tightly in her arms, but it soon became apparent that it would not be enough. He was completely unresponsive, and that frightened her more than anything. He hadn't even responded to her embrace, and that was not like him!
After a few minutes of this, Fleur had had enough. She did not want to do it, but she needed to know what was wrong so she could help him. She was not a skilled Legilimens by any means – she was rather disturbed by the Art, actually – but her father had insisted on teaching her a small amount to help her understand Occlumency. It was the only solution she could think of.
And so, with deep hesitation, she lifted his head to stare into his unseeing eyes, and whispered the hated incantation.
The deluge of darkness that slammed into her was staggering.
Glimpses of his horrifying past flashed by, but twisted to include the people he knew today. She was forced to retreat almost immediately, lest she become trapped as well. But not before she had a glimpse of a way to get her information.
One image, one with much more clarity than the others, was prominent in his mind, and she was reasonably certain that it was a memory. It was the only image that had not involved Harry directly, near as she could tell. It was an image of Ron trying to slug Hermione.
Quickly deciding on a course of action, and not liking it one bit, she drew her wand and stunned him, knowing full well that he could not handle his current state. She hoped that he would wake in a calmer frame of mind, but it was debatable. She had only seen the barest edge of his torment, and had a feeling that it ran much deeper than she knew.
It took considerable effort to manhandle him into their bed, but somehow she managed it. After asking a distressed Fawkes to watch over him, she set out to find Hermione, feeling that the girl would almost certainly know the answer. Hermione was his best friend, and likely knew him even better than Fleur did, and she would be able to help.
It was not hard to locate her, but Fleur was startled to find her also in bad condition.
The library was her sanctuary, her place of peace, and so it was the first place that Fleur went. However, she was not alone; rather, she was wrapped in Neville's arms, and looked like she had been bawling. Fleur pitied the rather clueless boy, who looked like he had no idea at all what he should do.
Though she did not want to interrupt, she saw little choice, and approached them quickly. She gave Neville a nod in greeting and then knelt down so she could see Hermione. To get her attention, she reached out and brushed the girl's wild hair back off her face, and was disheartened by the tear tracks on her cheeks.
"'ermione?" she called quietly.
Hermione opened her bloodshot eyes and looked up at her. "Fleur?" she echoed back.
"Are you well?" asked Fleur worriedly.
Hermione shook her head and buried it in Neville again, and the latter spoke up. "She won't tell me what happened," he said, his voice thick with concern. "Harry asked me to look after her, but she won't talk about it."
Fleur nodded and gently took Hermione's chin in her hand, forcing her to look up again. "I am sorry, 'ermione, but I need to know," she said softly. "'Arry 'as 'ad a panic attack. I 'ad to stun 'im, and I cannot 'elp 'im unless you tell me what 'appened." Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, "Please."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Is he okay?" she whispered hoarsely.
"Non, 'e is not," sighed Fleur. "Please, tell me."
And slowly, haltingly, she did. Fleur listened with mounting horror as she described the argument and the events that followed. She had known that Ron was jealous of his friend, but this was completely ridiculous. And to try to hit Hermione?
Her anger stirred and began to burn. She had not liked Ron from the moment of their first meeting – he was even less controlled than most in her presence – but yet she had not complained. The reason for that was simple: he was Harry's first friend that he had ever made, and held a special place in his heart. And to have that ripped away?
Harry would be lucky to survive it. He was under so much pressure, enduring so much stress, that she had no idea how he was managing as it was. Lesser men would have broken long ago under the pressure that was being exerted upon him, and he was but fourteen years old.
She would have to figure out how to help him overcome this, but first, she had a problem to deal with.
Nodding her understanding as Hermione fell silent – and noting the horrified look on Neville's face – she gently squeezed the girl's shoulder. "Thank you," she said softly. "I will take care of it. You must 'eal as well, and 'Arry will need you whole when 'e returns."
"Is there anything I can do?" asked Neville.
"Do not waver as 'is friend," she said, turning her head to look the boy in the eye. "Too much is changing too fast, and 'e will need your support before zis is over."
Neville nodded solemnly, and Fleur studied his eyes long enough to know that he meant what he was silently promising. In many ways, Fleur felt that Neville was a far better friend than Harry had yet realized. He rarely spoke to or did things with Harry, but his silent support was ever-present, and near as she could tell, his belief in his friend had never so much as flickered.
Giving Hermione's shoulder another squeeze, she stood and made her way out of the library – and then finally let her anger loose to show on her face. She could not believe the nerve of that disgusting boy. Harry had given everything he had for that friendship and this was the way he was repaid? She would not stand for that.
Ronald Weasley was going down!
A preternatural calm descended upon her as she stalked the halls, the power of her purpose forcing people out of her way before she even reached them. They took one look at her angry visage, and they moved aside. Perhaps there was some good to come of that infernal paper after all; she no more liked the press than Harry did, but right now she would use it to her advantage.
She soon reached the Great Hall, where she was sure she would find him, for food was perhaps the only thing he actually cared about. His gluttony was legendary among the Gryffindors, and it was a miracle that he did not have the same appearance as Dudley Dursley. She was tempted to fix that for him, but she had something else in mind, instead.
The doors slammed open, and everyone turned to stare at her as she stalked toward her target, ignoring them completely. Her anger was blazing, but it was a calculating anger; her stunner would not last forever, and Harry would need her soon, so she could not afford to get carried away. It was difficult to keep control as her gaze landed on the obnoxious redhead, but somehow she managed it.
The twins caught sight of her as she rounded the corner to stalk up the aisle, and upon seeing where her angry gaze was resting, they quickly moved away from their brother. The fear that shone on their faces would have been comical under other circumstances. It was good to know she could intimidate even the most carefree of students.
And then Ron turned to see what they were looking at, and jumped to his feet in shock.
A cruel, humorless smile crossed her face as he backed into the center of the aisle, preparing himself to run. At the table, Fred and George exchanged worried glances with Susan, but remained silent. They obviously weren't fool enough to try to defuse the situation.
Somehow, Ron managed to stand his ground as she approached, even though he was almost literally shaking in his boots. But his fear soon turned to anger – predictably – and his face flushed. She had a feeling this was going to be good. And sure enough, his mouth ran away with him before his brain registered the true nature of the threat that stood against him.
"What, come to defend his honor?" he asked, spitting the last word like a curse.
Silence radiated outward as his words sounded, punctuated only by the briefest wave of murmurs as they were repeated for those who missed them the first time. It looked like she was going to have an audience. Oh well; so much the better, at least for her...
"'onor?" she asked softly, her voice tight with mounting anger. "And just what would a jaloux petit bébé like you know about 'onor?"
As softly as she spoke, her voice nevertheless carried throughout the hall, and upon hearing it, Dumbledore rose to his feet, his wand coming out. She ignored him too, however; there were too many people present for him to get away with anything, and she would burn him to the ground if he tried. He would just be giving her an excuse.
Ron's eyes narrowed as her question registered. He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand and cut him off. "Non!" she spat viciously. "Your words 'ave no value, and I do not need to 'ear them! But you, Ronald Wealsey, will listen to me, for I will only say this once!"
Fleur took a step closer to him, and saw his complexion lighten a good few degrees. He was still angry, but now he was realizing what he was truly dealing with, and how angry she was. The rest of the students waited with baited breath.
"You are pathetic," she said in a harsh but quiet tone. "'Arry would 'ave given you anything as 'is friend, but you are too obsessed wiz yourself to recognize ze value in zat. To recognize ze sacrifices 'e 'as made, and would 'ave continued to make for you! But zat is not even ze worst thing you 'ave done.
"No, you struck out at someone who would never 'ave 'armed you. And as surely as 'Arry is my 'usband, 'ermione is my friend. And I do not tolerate 'arm coming to my friends. You are very, very lucky zat 'Arry was zere to stop you."
She stepped within his personal space, and lowered her voice so only those closest could hear. "Be warned Ronald Weasley," she whispered. "You are no longer welcome among us. And now I shall demonstrate what will 'appen to you should you ever attempt to 'arm any of us, evair again."
Ron's eyes widened, but Fleur ignored it in favor of something that she never would have even thought of doing a few short weeks ago: she deliberately released the handle she had on her transformation. In the blink of an eye Fleur was no longer standing before him; he was facing instead a deadly predator. And with a deep breath, she opened her maw and shrieked right in his face.
He stumbled backward, white as a sheet, and a dark stain spread down the front of his pants. Disgusted by his lacking constitution, she surged forward a pace and slammed her foot down, and he rabbeted. She watched in satisfaction as he rushed from the hall in abject terror, and reasserted her normal form as he went, feathers disappearing back into skin.
Then she rolled her eyes, shook her head in disgust at his cowardice, and headed for the door.
"Miss Delacour!" called the Headmaster sternly, "Explain yourself!"
Fleur stopped dead in her tracks and turned slowly around to stare at the man. He was even more obnoxious than the redhead. Oh how she wished she could use similar tactics on him! Unfortunately, short of violence, she had nothing in her arsenal that would not get her in significant trouble. But she could talk...
"Wiz as many times 'as I 'ave told you to call me by my proper name," her voice rang out, "One can only conclude zat you are an obnoxious and disrespectful old man who is not worthy of my time! It is not my problem zat you do not know what goes on in your own school,you excuse pathétique pour un sorcier, so figure it out for yourself! I do not answer to you!"
And with that, she whirled and stalked out of the Great Hall, leaving a stunned and murmuring student body behind her.
Madame Maxime smiled widely at her red-faced counterpart.
It wasn't every day someone called Dumbledore a pathetic excuse for a Wizard to his face!