A Promise Kept - Chapter 24 - Dragons and Pukwudgies

Dragons and Pukwudgies

“I don’t understand why it isn’t working as I want it too,” Harry grumbled irritably.

Professor McGonagall merely offered him a rare smile.

“What do you think the problem is?” she asked.

Harry frowned as he pondered it. His theory was correct, and even his casting and intent, but the magic simply would not weave the right way to create what he envisioned.

“It must be a limitation,” he realised. “The magic is not capable of the intent behind it, or it is unwilling to create what it is being directed to. It is a magical anomaly!”

The woman’s smile widened.

“One of many you will discover, Harry. You see, creating a functional clock or watch through magic sounds simple enough, and in theory, it is, but magic does not recognise time the same way that we do. The very concept of time is something we constructed, and magic does not follow such a law. It recognises intent, power, and not necessarily a set time. Now, you can enchant clocks in many ways, and even change them with Transfiguration, but creating one to specifications that magic does not recognise, is one of the anomalies.”

Harry could only shake his head, but felt an undeniable wave of satisfaction wash over him at learning something new.

“It makes sense,” he acknowledged. “A calendar would not follow the same rule because it is just a list of days and does not require a passing of time to be created. It is a human concept but not as intricate or precise as a passing second or minute.”

“Exactly,” Minerva confirmed. “You truly have the mind of a Transfiguration Master in the making, Harry. Now, there is one other thing I have for you.”

She removed a crystal phial from the drawer of her desk and placed it in front of him. Within, was a single leaf, and Harry groaned.

“You’re going to make me do it the traditional way, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” she replied with a grin.

Harry had hoped he would be able to manage the transformation without the rather arduous process, but Professor McGonagall had insisted upon it, much to his chagrin.

“The traditional way is something of a right of passage. It will teach you patience, dedication, and will give you a true appreciation of your achievement at the end.”

It had certainly tested his patience.

Keeping a Mandrake leaf in his mouth had been horribly inconvenient, had ruined the taste of everything he ate, and Harry had almost choked on the blasted thing on more than one occasion.

“Your thirty days are almost up, Mr Potter. How have you found the experience?”

“Bloody awful,” Harry huffed. “My breath stinks, I can barely sleep, and I don’t even want to eat!”

“Then it is working,” Minerva returned amusedly. “The process is designed to weaken you in some ways, make you more feral so that you can better connect with your inner animal. The Mandrake leaf will deprive you of rest, the routine of reciting the incantation awakens the animal, which will be ready to confront you when the moment comes.”

“Why the moth chrysalis?”

Minerva shrugged in response.

“I never figured that out. Maybe it is a sign of the birth of your creature within you. By the time I got to the stage of adding my hair, the chrysalis, and the untouched dew that had not seen sunlight, I was too tired to care.”

“I know that feeling,” Harry muttered, “and then I have to wait for a thunderstorm. That could take months.”

“It could,” Minerva agreed. “Patience, Harry.”

Harry shook his head.

“Will you be staying for the arrival of the foreign students?”

“No, I don’t want any part of that,” Harry snorted. “I tend to avoid everyone on Halloween.”

Minerva offered him a sad smile.

“I expect it is rather unpleasant knowing the country continues to celebrate the fall of the Dark Lord when it was such a tragic day for you.”

“Not so much,” Harry sighed. “It’s bittersweet for me, and tragic for my mother. My father died giving his life for us, and I understand that. I would do the same for my mother.”

“As you almost did,” Minerva reminded him tightly.

Harry nodded unashamedly and the woman deflated.

“I cannot tell you how proud of you he would be, Harry. James Potter, well, he was…”

“A massive pain in the arse with a heart of gold?”

Minerva nodded her agreement.

“I can think of no better way to describe him. I could’ve strangled him on many occasions, but through all the bluster, the pranking, and altercations he found himself in, he truly was a good man, and I do not say that lightly, Harry.”

“Reg says my grandfather was like that, until his own father was killed.”

“Your grandfather was a truly exceptional man, and Britain could certainly use more like him.”

“Well, I’m only a few years away from being on the Wizengamot,” Harry pointed out. “I’ll be sure to make sure he is remembered.”

Minerva’s nostrils flared slightly as he grinned.

“That, Harry Potter, I do not doubt. The day you walk into the chambers of the Wizengamot, I expect there will indeed be some changes. For now, I dread to think of what they may be, but I remain hopeful you will follow in the footsteps of the two Potters that came before you.”

Harry nodded as she stood.

“I hope so. Good Night, Professor.”

“And to you too, Mr Potter.”

He left via the fireplace and arrived back in his room at Ilvermorny after activating his portkey from the kitchen in Grimmauld Place.

Harry had come to treasure his lessons with Minerva McGonagall, just as he did those he shared with Flitwick, Reg, and Madame Alarie. Each of them worked him harder than he could’ve anticipated, but he would truly have it no other way.

Much yet lie ahead of him, and to be ready for any and all eventualities, he knew he needed to tread the most difficult of paths.

(Break)

He watched as Fudge shuffled the large stack of parchment he had arrived with before the man cleared his throat and tapped his gavel on the podium he was standing behind.

“Of course, you have my apologies for the delay in calling this meeting, and I assure you, I will keep my statement brief,” he began. “After a very lengthy investigation by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it is my duty to inform the gathered Lords, Ladies, and members of the media, that the incident that took place at the Quidditch World Cup has been deemed to be a singular act, not associated with any known former followers of the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. This investigation was conducted by Madam Amelia Bones, along with Senior Auror John Dawlish. I will not be answering any questions at this time, and the matter is officially closed.”

He tapped his gavel once more, and the sounds of murmuring from the displeased members of the Wizengamot could be heard, along with the scratching of quills.

Sirius had not expected anything less from Fudge, and he could only assume that Bones had been unable to find any solid evidence to the contrary of the Minister’s final say.

It was, of course, disappointing, but to him, it did not matter.

Sirius was certain he knew who had instigated the entire thing, and as he met the smug gaze of Lucius Malfoy, who was standing next to Cornelius Fudge, he saw just a flicker of discomfort.

That was more than enough for the Lord Black, and he acknowledged Malfoy with the slightest of inclinations of his head. It was a victory for the man, a small, unimportant victory in the grand scheme of things, and only one of so few he would taste.

Sirius would ensure he was suitably punished when the time was right, and until then, he would see Lucius Malfoy live with the shadow of discomfort each and every time the two of them locked eyes.

“Weasley, tuck your shirt in and straighten your tie!” Minerva snapped.

Ronald did so, muttering something under his breath, not loudly enough to be heard, but that did not stop Minerva glaring knowingly at him.

Truthfully, Sirius was amazed Albus was still allowing the tournament to go ahead.

After what had happened at the World Cup, the reputation of Britain amongst its peers on the ICW, and the continent in general had taken quite battering.

Although no one had fortunately been killed, news of the incident had reached every news outlet imaginable, and Fudge’s rather blasé towards it, had not helped.

Now, Hogwarts was to host students and members of staff from two other prestigious schools, who were here to take part in a tournament that had been discontinued because of how dangerous it was.

What could wrong?

That was a question Sirius did not wish to even consider right now.

As the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, it was partly his job to ensure it went smoothly. Even so, he could feel something going amiss and see much more should there be any outside interference in such trying tasks.

“Look, up there!”

He couldn’t help but think that Harry would quite like the enormous, winged horses that were pulling the Beauxbatons through the sky, but then again, the boy seemed to have a proclivity towards things considerably more dangerous.

Hagrid seemed to think they were impressive beasts, however, and quickly assured Madame Maxime that they would be well-taken care of as she disembarked the carriage.

The students followed, each garbed in silken robes that would not suffice in the harsher Scottish climate, and among them, was a girl he recognised well enough.

Of course, he should’ve expected Fleur would be here to submit her name for consideration, and he idly wondered how Sebastien had taken the news as the girl waved at him before entering the castle.

Not well, he suspected.

Sebastien Delacour was fiercely protective of his daughters and would not be pleased Fleur was purposely endangering herself for a rather measly sum.

Still, it was none of Sirius’s business, and his focus had already shifted towards the ship that had risen from the depths of the lake.

He remembered Igor Karkaroff well, well enough to feel his anger bubbling beneath his skin at the sight of him, but it was the young man accompanying the former Death Eater that had the students excited.

“That’s Viktor Krum!”

“What is Krum doing here?”

Sirius wondered the same thing.

Krum certainly did not need one thousand galleons and was the most famous Quidditch player in the world. Why he would be here to possibly compete in the tournament, Sirius did not know.

Perhaps he wished to prove he was more than just a Quidditch player.

Not that it mattered.

As far as Sirius was concerned, the quicker this year was over, the better, for everyone.

There were too many variables for his liking, too many things that could go wrong, and despite Albus’s very best efforts, he could not ignore the feeling that they just might.

The tournament was not a good idea, and little good could come from it.

(Break)

James Potter had proven to be a popular boy.

From his mischievousness to his brilliance on the Quidditch pitch, and undeniable talent in Transfiguration, he’d always had a lot going for him, and the worst part was that he knew it well.

He’d been a somewhat scrawny first year, but now in his fifth, he’d filled out considerably, and Lily would not deny that he was a handsome boy. She watched as he entered the common room, flanked by the usual trio he was not often seen without, his hair a mess and broom slung over his shoulder.

“Come on, James, Eliza Greengrass is hot, even if she is a snake. How could you say no to that?” Sirius asked.

James frowned at the question and shook his head.

“I’m not interested.”

Sirius huffed frustratedly and looked towards his companions for support.

“You know what he’s like,” Remus sighed. “He won’t hear it.”

Lily’s expression matched James’s own as she continued to listen, averting her gaze back towards her textbook.

She always studied hard for the grades she obtained and found it frustrating that the likes of Potter did not take their own so seriously yet managed to do exceptionally well.

How Sirius Black scored so highly, she did not know.

If he was not on the Quidditch pitch, or in class, he could likely be found canoodling with one of the female students in one of the many nooks and crannies of the castle.

He’d been caught doing it enough times.

Despite his own popularity, there were no rumours of such scandal surrounding James Potter. Oh, Lily had heard the admiring comments made about him, his looks and talent on a broom, but never of him being caught in situations that would make her blush.

“Just bugger off, you gits,” James huffed irritably. “I’m not going on a date with her.”

Eliza Greengrass was a year above them, a beautiful, dark-haired girl that often appeared to be displeased by everything and everyone around her but was a brilliant witch from a prominent family.

She was even kinder to muggleborns and half-bloods than most purebloods, which was rare at Hogwarts.

“Fine, but you’ll regret it,” Sirius warned.

“No, I don’t think I will,” James returned, his eyes flitting towards Lily, who rolled hers in response as he offered her that frustratingly endearing grin she had become accustomed to seeing. “I’ll be marrying Evans, and that’s that.”

“In your dreams, Potter,” Lily snorted.

“Every last one of them,” he quipped.

Lily’s nostrils flared, and she fought the urge to blush. The boy was too charming for his own good, but thankfully, he left with his friends before he could notice the warmth on her cheeks.

“Shut up, Marlene,” she grumbled.

“I didn’t say anything,” the other girl denied, but Lily did not miss the amused expression. “I don’t even need to.”

Lily deflated as she looked towards the staircase leading to the boys’ dormitories.

Slowly but surely, James Potter was winning her over.

It wasn’t the several years he had spent pursuing her, asking her out on dates, or even that he was brilliant in just about every way when he was being a prat.

It was in spite of all of those things.

Lily smiled sadly as she continued to stare at the spot the man had been laid to rest.

He’d only been twenty-one when he’d been killed, and she had lived more years since than she had known him, but not a day went by that she didn’t miss her husband.

If anything, and although she was ashamed to admit it, Lily was more in love with James Potter now than when he’d been alive.

It had taken her living her life without him to realise just how special he was among magicals, how devoted he’d been to her, and how his eyes had never wandered from her, not once, not even when she had rejected his advances so many times.

She released a deep breath and rested a hand atop the granite stone depicting his memorial. Next to it was another plot, her own when the time came for her to pass on.

“You’d be so proud of him, James,” she whispered. “Somehow, he got the very best of both of us, and the worst,” she added with a watery chuckle. “He carries your name with so much pride, and he looks just like you.”

She had never wanted to be the saddened widow found weeping by her husband’s grave, but it was only the second time she had been here, the first being when James had been buried.

There had been a time where she had fallen in love with Godric’s Hollow.

It was an idyllic mixture of muggle and magical cultures, a quiet corner that was its own thing, and meant a lot the family she had married into, though Lily had not come to understand that until after James was gone.

He’d spoken little of the Potters, of the death of his parents, or even those that came before them. Lily knew now that is was painful for him to do so, that he chose to focus on the family he now had than those that were no longer with them.

A part of her wished she could do the same, but even after so many years, she was not ready to move on from it.

Harry was still just a boy, despite him believing otherwise, and he needed her just as much now as he always had.

Truthfully, she needed him too.

Were it not for what happened that Halloween night, perhaps things would be different. Maybe James would still be here, but Britain would certainly not be what is what.

They had been on the very cusp of losing the war; a war that was not yet over, a conflict that, according to Albus and the damned prophecy, could very well hinge on her son defeating Voldemort.

Lily had spent many of the past years wondering just how such a possibility could come to be, but she had watched Harry grow, watched him tread the path he found himself on, and truly believed that if there was anyone out there capable that feat, it was him.

For all of the kindness he possessed and how caring he could be, Lily was not blind to the other traits; the ruthlessness, the vengefulness, and desire to right the wrongs done to him.

It was a dangerous, volatile mix that could see him tread a path she would see him avoid but could prove to be necessary if he was to survive the coming storm.

It had not escaped her or Sirius that at just fourteen-years-old, he had killed three men already that were trying to harm them, that he seemed so unaffected by such a burden.

No, her son was not evil, nor was he without the ability to love so fiercely, but he was undeniably a product of the trauma he’d experienced as a babe, a trauma that he remembered so vividly.

A part of her worried for her son, but the older he grew, the more that worry shifted for those he deemed to be his enemies.

For now, he was a boy, but soon enough, he would be a man, and a man that had more scores to settle than was decent for any.

“Watch over him, James,” Lily pleaded. “I will do my part.”

Placing a flower of her namesake on the grave, she left the cemetery feeling somewhat better for her visit.

Here, at the very least, she felt welcome.

The same, however, could not be said for the time she had spent with Petunia and her husband Vernon. The woman was as bitter she she’d been as a child, and Lily had left Privet Drive with no intention of returning.

They had not fought, and Petunia had even managed to feign politeness for the duration, but she’d not welcomed Lily, and her husband had made it clear that he despised her for no other reason than Lily being a witch.

Still, it wasn’t as though she was so alone.

She had Harry, Sirius, Remus, and even Filius had come back into her life.

Lily Potter was still that saddened widow she hadn’t wanted to become, but she wasn’t alone in the world.

(Break)

“And the champion representing Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour…”

She had submitted her name in the hope that she would be chosen, but she could still barely believe that it was real. She would be competing in the Triwizard Tournament, but as the excitement of her selection began to ebb away, the reality of what was to come set in.

Not that Fleur knew what the tasks would entail.

Of course, she had researched past tournaments, had even delved into the record of harrowing injuries and deaths that had occurred, though they were unlikely to reflect her own experiences.

According to Madame Maxime and the other judges, the tournament would be much safer than it had been in its previous iterations, but no less entertaining.

That meant that there would still be an element of danger and risk to the tasks, which wouldn’t begin for a few weeks yet.

Fleur had no idea what she should be studying, what preparations she should make, or how best to spend her time. She knew she should be studying for her NEWTs that she would be taking but could not focus on doing so.

Perhaps in a day or so, she would relax enough to do something productive with the time she had.

The first task was designed to test their resilience and creativity, and the champions were to be judged based on they reacted to finding themselves facing the unknown.

What that would be had plagued her since they’d been informed, and Fleur, despite her best efforts to extract the information from her Headmistresses, was no closer to discovering what that unknown was.

She shook her head as she flicked through the copious notes she had taken pertaining to the first tasks of the past.

“Cockatrice, dragons, kelpies, chimera…”

If they were intending to make the tournament safer, they would not use any of these, would they?

(Break)

They traded spells back and forth, not doing so in any sense of order, but were attacking and defending equally, until Filius decided to push the boy, overwhelming him with his speed until Harry was forced to block his offerings.

“Faster!” Filius urged, quickening his pace.

To any looking on, it would appear to be a blur, an onslaught that so few could hope to keep up with, and yet, Harry was doing so.

“Faster!”

Faster still.

Filius found himself beaming as Harry continued to fend off his attacks. Of course, there was little creativity in them, but the purpose of the exercise was not to be creative or catch him out. He merely wished to see just how much quicker the boy had become with his wand throughout their time working together.

“Impressive,” the diminutive man praised. “There are so few that can cast as quickly as me, and even less that can defend against it so well. Your training is coming along, Harry.”

The young man nodded and took a sip of water, neither smiling at the praise nor allowing any jubilation to show on his features.

Filius had noticed that about him since he’d returned in September.

Harry had always been focused, always given more than expected of him, but he was different now; his near-death experience having awoken something within him.

He had not said as much, but Filius was proud of what he’d done, of how he had stepped up when the life of those he cared for had been in the balance, and had Harry had done so quite spectacularly.

It had almost cost him his life because he had not quite accounted for the possibility of anything coming his way after the explosion, but he had defended himself well enough that he had not been killed by the curse that had caught him.

Of course, credit was due to Mrs Delacour for her timely intervention, but it had been Harry that had ensured she’d had the opportunity to save him. The shield he had cast had not blocked the curse because it had been the wrong defence to use, but it had taken the edge off the worst of it.

Still, the boy was lucky to be alive, but Filius was no less proud of him.

“Faster, Harry!”

It was like an odd light show being created between them as each fired random spells and defended the efforts of the other. Harry’s instincts and reflexes were like nothing Filius had ever seen, and given more time and practice, he would be an incredibly tricky wizard to face in a duel.

That coupled with the ruthlessness he possessed; he’d be downright dangerous to cross.

Such a thought brought a smile to his lips, and Filius stepped out of the path the next offering, halting the exercise.

Summoning a nearby cloth. He wiped the perspiration from his brow and noticed that his breathing was quite laboured. Harry was learning how to push back, to test him in return.

“Excellent,” he said sincerely.

“For you,” Harry chuckled.

His breathing was rapid, and he was sweating considerably more than Filius.

“Well, you’re not being used to buff the floor so often.”

“True,” Harry agreed. “That was getting tiring, but we both know you could do it at any given moment.”

“Maybe, but not as easily as I once did. No matter what kind of attack I adopt, you are able to adjust to it quickly now, and you’re less helpless than you were a year ago. You can find even the smallest gap to slip your own spells through.”

“Maybe I’ll be using you to wipe the floor.”

He was being self-deprecating, but Filius nodded.

“I expect nothing less from you one day, Harry.”

The boy frowned.

“But that isn’t today and is a long way off still. It might not even happen.”

It would.

By the time Filius had been as good as Harry was now, he’d already been duelling successfully in the lower leagues of the circuit, mind, he’d never had the kind of dedicated training.

What Filius had learned as a prospective duellist, he had taught himself and learned through trial and error until he’d found another to teach him before he’d pursued the hobby professionally.

He’d been closer to twenty-years-old then, a young man with all the potential in the world, and he had not squandered his opportunities. He had lived and breathed the art of combat as so few could, but Harry was following in his footsteps.

With his talent and the guidance he was receiving from those so willing to work with him, he could be truly great.

If the damned fool didn’t get himself killed before he could reach such heights.

No, Harry Potter was a proven survivor, a diligent young man who Filius would watch rise to more than what most could only hope to dream of.

Better still, he was not arrogant. Oh, he was confident, self-assured, and more than a little mischievous, but in truth, it pleased Filius to see that what had happened to him and his mother had not entirely deprived him of some of his father’s characteristics.

“Are you looking forward to the tournament?”

The question pulled him from his thought and Filius nodded.

“I must admit, it is rather exciting, even if I do have my reservations. The Triwizard Tournament should not be taken lightly. Albus has done his best to cut back on the danger, but from what I have seen of what is to come, it seems to be just as dangerous as ever. The first task…”

He broke off and shook his head.

“Well, anyone who knows the tournament knows it will involve a creature of sorts.”

Filius eyed the boy, wondering if Harry knew more than he was letting on. It wouldn’t surprise him.

Harry seemed to have a knack for knowing things he should not.

“Kelpies.”

Harry snorted and offered him a grin.

“For all of your talents with your wand, you’re a terrible liar, Professor.”

“I’m lying?”

He nodded confidently.

“You do not have to share what you know. Honestly, I don’t have much interest in it.”

He didn’t, and Filius chuckled.

“I’m surprised Sirius has not shared it with you.”

“I’ve not seen him much. Once or twice whilst working with Professor McGonagall. He seems stressed.”

“I think we all are,” Filius sighed. “The sooner the tournament is over, the better.”

Harry nodded as he stood, pausing as his gaze shifted towards the bookshelf by Filius’s desk. Almost imperceptibly, his eyes widened.

“Until next time, Professor,” he said in farewell before leaving the classroom.

Filius frowned as he inspected the bookshelf and deflated as he realised that Harry was not looking at the books at all, but out of the window and towards the forest in the distance.

From here, it was not easy to see, but the dragons had indeed arrived, as displayed by the bursts of fire that could be seen in the darkness of the trees.

“Perceptive boy,” he chuckled, scoffing as he realised that Harry had not left through the floo but exited into the castle.

Filius shook his head.

He did not doubt that Harry would now be on his way into the forest.

That was his father’s personality rearing its head again. Lily would never have been so damned foolish, but as he was being reminded once more. Harry truly was James’s son in many ways.

(Break)

Albus stroked the plumage of his familiar, discomforted by the presence of the dragons on the school grounds, but reassured by the confidence of Charlie Weasley that all would be well when the creatures were settled for their stay.

Nonetheless, he did not like the idea of using them for the first task of the tournament, and had protested such, but Igor had agreed with both Barty and Ludo that it would be safe enough.

Albus was not convinced.

No matter what measures were put in place when it came to such dangerous creatures, there would always be considerable risk.

“Three nesting mothers,” he sighed.

Fortunately, the breeds selected for the champions were among the most docile, but how calm were dragons?

Albus had seen them arrive in their crates. They had been irritable, aggressive, and fiercely protective of the clutches of eggs, the very same the champions would be expected to find a way to reach.

It was not an enviable task, and although Albus remained wary of it, he could not deny that the spirit of the tournament had been reignited with the Goblet of Fire.

He idly wondered how each of the champions would tackle it.

Fleur Delacour was quite exemplary when it came to Charms, according to Olympe, and Igor had been as tight-lipped as ever when it came to his own students and their strengths.

What Albus didn’t doubt was that both would begin the task knowing exactly what they were to face.

Cedric Diggory was rather gifted when it came to Transfiguration, so Albus expected him to adopt it in some fashion.

It would certainly be an interesting competition, and each task would play into the strengths and weaknesses of all the champions throughout.

Although he was indeed feeling cautious, Albus remained hopeful all would go off without a hitch.

(Break)

If anything, he felt a sense of disappointment as he’d found the makeshift paddocks that dragons were being kept in, and rather sorry for the creatures.

In their own way, they were terrifying but having seen Norbert grow to be considerably bigger than those that had likely been raised in captivity, they did not frighten Harry as they probably should.

For those that had never come face to face with or even seen a dragon, they would undoubtedly be intimidated. Harry, however, had fought the urge not to pet him as he did his own companion.

It was a stupid idea, of course.

Only a damned idiot would wish to do so, and certainly to a nesting mother that would incinerate any that got close enough to be burned.

Even so, Harry was surprised that dragons of all things were being used. They were unpredictable, grumpy, and capable of killing dozens if not hundreds before they could be subdued.

Norbert certainly could.

Harry had seen the remains of sharks and even whales scattered by the cave he lived in from where he would venture much further than the ranch to look for bigger meals.

Regardless, coming up against any dragon under any circumstances was a particularly dangerous undertaking, and Harry needed to decide what he would do with the information.

Allowing the stream of hot water to continue running down his back, he released a deep breath before turning the shower off after only another moment of bliss after an arduous training session with the rest of the Quodpot team.

Fortunately, the trials had gone as well as he could’ve hoped for. The places of those that had graduated had been filled, and Harry was confident the team would perform well.

If he was to place a bet, he would expect another trophy for them; the first time in history that Wampus had won three in a row.

Before the season would get underway however, he had a visit to make.

He could not keep what he had discovered to himself.

Maybe Fleur would discover it for herself, and given the kind of man Karkaroff was, Krum would undoubtedly be told long before the first task.

Harry knew nothing of Cedric Diggory, but maybe the Hogwarts champion had his own way of knowing what was to come. What he did know was that Fleur was someone he knew and was rooting for in the tournament, and he simply could not keep what he knew to himself.

Drying himself with a wave of his wand before dressing in some fresh clothes, he left the changing room, levelling his wand towards someone concealed within the shadows of the building.

“Do you always greet people with your wand out?” Sabine asked amusedly as she took a step towards him.

“It depends on who it is.”

“And there was me thinking I was special.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at the girl.

He would not deny that Sabine Van Droombeeld was growing into a beautiful young woman. She was almost as tall as him, athletically built, though he wasn’t sure what physical activities she pursued.

Already, she filled out her robes in all the right places, and her long, blonde hair was always immaculately kept. Now, it fell in loose waves around her face, and much unlike her father, her dark brown eyes were full of warmth.

Evidently, he’d been staring a little too long, and she laughed.

“Do you see something you like, Harry Potter?”

He didn’t know how to answer that question, so he shrugged.

“I might. Were you waiting for me?”

“Not necessarily, but when I saw you going into the changing room, I didn’t think it would hurt to be here. You’re quite lucky I waited. It is quite cold out here. I almost came in.”

“I’m pretty sure that would get us both into trouble,” Harry snorted as he began walking towards the castle, only to be turned back towards the girl as she pulled on his arm.

Now, she was even closer and Harry could feel her breath on his lips.

“I have no intention of getting you into trouble, Harry,” she whispered.

She sounded confident, but he could see the apprehension in her eyes at being so close to him.

It was as though they were locked in a stalemate of sorts, each waiting for the other to make the next move, and the more time that passed between them, the more the tension grew.

“Are you going to make me do it?” Sabine asked.

“Do what?”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“I don’t know,” she huffed. “I’ve never…”

“You think I have?”

“You haven’t?”

Harry shook his head and Sabine seemed to relax.

“I just thought, well, you know. You’re you.”

“And you’re you,” Harry returned.

Sabine laughed.

“So, neither of us know what we are doing.”

“It seems that way.”

Both recoiled as a sudden brightness illuminated the area they were standing, and Harry looked down towards the source and the small, shadowy figure holding the lantern.

“It is past curfew!” Sid snapped irritably. “No students out of their common rooms.”

He pointed towards the castle, and the two of them began the walk, both fighting the urge to laugh as Sid continued to chastise them.

“Maybe next time?” Sabine asked nervously as they reached the entrance hall.

“Maybe,” Harry replied with a grin.

She shot him a challenging look before heading in the opposite direction to him, and Harry turned towards the glaring Sid.

“Maybe if you had a girl interested in you, you wouldn’t be such a miserable git.”

The Pukwudgie bared his teeth and Harry took that as his cue to leave.

He had momentarily forgotten about what he needed to do in the face of his rendezvous with Sabine, but it quickly began weighing on him once more.

He could only guess at how badly Gabrielle would react when she received his note, but Harry suspected the Veela would not take it well.