Harry didn't give anyone time to process. The stunner he cast hit Flint square in the chest, dropping him like a sack of potatoes, while thick ropes wound around his unconscious form.
"Merlin," the female prefect breathed, her face pale with shock.
Madame Maxime's enormous frame filled the doorway as she surveyed the scene, her expression thunderous. "Fleur! Are you 'urt?"
"Non, Madame," Fleur replied strongly, though her voice carried a slight tremor she couldn't quite suppress. She was still in the water, her arms crossed over her chest for modesty.
Harry picked up Fleur's wand from where it had landed and held it out to her, not looking directly at her state of undress.
"I was heading back from the library when I saw Flint walk by looking shady and force his way in here, so I followed under my cloak and sent you the Patronus. He disarmed her and was about to..." Harry's jaw clenched. "He cast the Imperius Curse."
"We all saw it," McGonagall said tightly.
"This is an outrage!" Madame Maxime declared, her voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. "An international incident! One of your students attempting to use an Unforgivable on one of mine!"
McGonagall's face had gone beyond stern into something approaching murderous. "I assure you, Madame Maxime, this will be dealt with to the full extent of wizarding law."
Fleur waved her wand and levitated her clothes from where she had hanged them. Harry conjured a privacy screen, earning a grateful nod from her.
"We need to secure the scene," McGonagall declared. "And contact the Ministry immediately. This goes far beyond school discipline."
"Oui," agreed Madame Maxime. "The French Ministry will also need to be informed at once."
In mere minutes, the aurors were summoned and they were quickly debriefed about the situation. Fleur had managed to dress herself behind the privacy screen. When she emerged, her expression was composed, but Harry could see the tension in her shoulders.
"Mr. Potter," one of the Aurors addressed him. "You will need to give full statement. What you witnessed, it is a very serious matter."
"I understand."
McGonagall levitated the still-unconscious Flint. "He'll be taken to the Ministry holding cells pending formal charges. The DMLE will want to question him once he's sobered up."
"If 'e is lucky, zat is all zey will do," Madame Maxime said darkly.
The group began filing out, discussing jurisdictions and procedures while Madame Maxime lingered for Fleur. Harry moved to follow, but Fleur's voice stopped him.
"'Arry." This was the first time she'd called him by his name, and her accent made his name sound different, softer somehow. "Could you... stay for a moment?"
The adults glanced back, but McGonagall nodded.
Madame Maxime exchanged a nod with her student before leaving. When they were alone, the bathroom felt strangely quiet after all the commotion. Fleur was standing by the window, her arms wrapped around herself.
"I read your letter," she said quietly, not looking at him.
Harry's stomach clenched. "Then you knew this might happen."
"Oui." She turned to face him, her blue eyes searching his face. "You warned me 'e might retaliate after I rejected 'im. That 'e was dangerous."
"I hoped I was wrong."
"Non, you were not." Fleur stepped closer, her gaze never leaving his. "But 'ow did you know? 'Ow did you know exactly what 'e would do?"
"I know his type. Entitled pricks who think they deserve whatever they want. When you humiliated him this morning..."
"Ah, oui, zis morning." Fleur's eyes narrowed slightly. "When 'e asked me to ze ball in front of everyone. Strange coincidence, non? That 'e would choose to do zat after weeks of just... 'ow you say... leering from afar."
Harry's pulse quickened. She was too smart for her own good. "People like Flint don't stay subtle forever. Eventually they show their true colors."
"True colors." Fleur repeated the phrase thoughtfully. "Oui, zey do surface. But sometimes... circumstances can also be arranged, non?"
Harry met her gaze steadily, knowing his next words were crucial. "What are you suggesting?"
"I am suggesting zat you are not telling me everything." Fleur moved closer still, close enough that Harry could smell her perfume, something light and floral that suited her perfectly. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he felt his runes prickling, responding to her.
Unaware of what was happening, she continued, "And I am suggesting zat I am not ze idiot you might think I am."
"I don't think you're an idiot at all," Harry said gruffly.
"Non? Then per'aps you will tell me ze truth. 'Ow did you know to warn me? 'Ow did you know to be 'ere tonight? And 'ow did you know exactly what spell 'e would try to cast?"
Harry was quiet for a long moment, weighing his options. Denying it outright would be insulting her intelligence. But admitting to orchestrating the whole thing...
"We took measures," he said finally. "To ensure nothing would actually happen to you."
"We?"
"My friends and I. We knew Flint's nature would surface eventually after what he did to me. We just... made sure it happened where there would be witnesses. Where you'd be protected."
Fleur's expression shifted, surprise flickering across her features. "You orchestrated zis? All of it? Wiz zose two girls?"
"The confrontation was inevitable. We just controlled the circumstances." Harry's voice was steady, but there was steel underneath. "I wouldn't have let him hurt you. That was never going to happen."
"Even though you barely know me."
"Even though I barely know you."
They stared at each other for a moment. Fleur's expression was unreadable, but her eyes seemed to be cataloguing every detail of his face.
"You are... really not what I expected, 'Arry Potter."
"What did you expect?"
"A little boy playing at being a 'ero. Stumbling into danger through luck and ze 'elp of others." She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Ze first task showed you 'ad power, and I've realized I was wrong about underestimating you. But zis... zis was calculated. Deliberate. You set a trap for a dangerous man and made sure 'e fell into it."
"He tried to cast an Unforgivable at me first, as you well know. I just returned the favor. Made sure he got what he deserved."
"Oui, but you did it smartly. Carefully." Fleur smiled, but it wasn't entirely pleasant. There was something else in that smile, and Harry felt his pulse quicken at the sight of it. "It is... 'ow you say... ruthless."
Harry wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a condemnation. "He would have kept escalating. Eventually someone would have gotten hurt."
"So you made sure it was 'im instead."
"Yes."
"And you protected me in ze process."
"After putting you in danger," Harry corrected. "That was the least I could've done. Because in all fairness, you didn't deserve to be a part of this."
"But 'e would've targeted me anyway," Fleur corrected. "Do you really zink 'e would not 'ave come after me? Or I would 'ave reacted any different? Zis was going to 'appen today or tomorrow."
"That's one way of looking at it," Harry mused thoughtfully. "But as I said, I was the one behind this today, so it was my responsibility to ensure nothing happened. All I needed was for him to cast an Unforgivable. That was all."
Fleur was quiet for a moment, processing everything. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "You could 'ave let me 'andle it myself. I am not 'elpless."
"I know you're not. But I also know what men like Flint are capable of when they feel cornered." Harry's jaw tightened. "I've seen what happens when people don't intervene."
Something in his tone made Fleur study his face more carefully. There was pain there, old and buried but still present.
"You speak from experience."
It wasn't a question.
"Everyone has experiences that shape them," Harry replied evasively.
"Oui, zey do." Fleur moved to stand by the large window, looking out at the castle grounds. "I wondered, you know. About you. Ze Boy Who Lived, ze youngest Triwizard champion in 'istory. But you are nozzing like ze stories say."
"The stories are usually wrong."
"Zey make you sound... simple. Pure. A little boy who wins through luck and ze power of love." She glanced back at him. "I 'ad a feeling somezing like zis was going on, you know."
"Did you?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Oui," Fleur replied. "I 'ave come to realize what kind of man you are, 'Arry Potter. I believe I 'ave seen enough by now to understand."
"And?"
"I knew you would not let it go so easily, not after 'e tried to cast the Cruciatus on you," Fleur said knowingly. "You could not target 'im directly, but you 'ad to do somezing."
Harry's face gained an amused look as he gazed at her. Beauty and brains. She was a deadly combination.
Before he could say anyting, she continued, "You are not a bad person. But zere is somezing darker in you, non? Somezing more dangerous."
Harry joined her by the window, their arms brushing lightly. They both shivered at the touch, and perhaps for the same reason.
"Is that a problem?"
"Non." Fleur's response was immediate. "Dangerous men are often ze most interesting ones."
Harry glanced at her, only to find her staring out of the window with a peculiar look on her face. It was not quite a smile, but not a frown either. If he had to guess, it was a look of calculation. He didn't know what she was thinking or how her mind worked, and he didn't want to chance a guess either.
However, there was one thing for certain. There was something… not quite normal with her.
"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall's voice came through the doorway.
"Coming, Professor!" Harry called back. He turned to Fleur. "Are you going to be alright?"
"Oui. I will be fine." She paused, then added more quietly, "Thank you. For ze warning. For being 'ere. For... everyzing."
"I still don't get why you're thanking me after I dragged you into this."
"And I told you zat zis was going to 'appen anyway. Zis way, eet was controlled."
"And yet you're not calm," he remarked.
"Oh? I'm not?" She asked.
"Your accent is all over the place," he replied, eyeing her. "It's a dead giveaway that you're anxious."
Fleur's look of surprise was both amusing and adorable.
"You've been paying close attention to how I speak, non?"
Harry smirked. "It's pretty obvious. In any case, don't thank me yet. This is going to get messy."
"How messy?"
"International incident messy. The kind that makes headlines and ruins careers."
Fleur nodded thoughtfully. "Good. He deserves whatever he gets."
As Harry moved toward the door, Fleur's voice stopped him one more time.
"'Arry?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time you decide to orchestrate somezing involving me... per'aps you could simply ask for my 'elp instead?"
Harry paused, his hand on the door handle. "Next time?"
"Oh, I think zere will be a next time." Fleur's smile was mysterious, almost predatory. "Men like you, zey attract trouble. And I find I am curious to see 'ow you 'andle it."
Harry glanced back at her, and as they gazed into each other's eyes, they both could feel it. Unspoken, but there.
With a parting smirk, Harry opened the door and walked out, nodding at Madame Maxime who made her way inside.
Something was seriously not right with that girl. But perhaps that's what made her so alluring beyond her looks.
-Break-
The next forty-eight hours were a whirlwind of investigations, interviews, and increasingly hysterical headlines in wizarding newspapers across Europe.
THE DAILY PROPHET - SPECIAL EDITION
HOGWARTS HORROR: STUDENT ATTEMPTS UNFORGIVABLE ON FOREIGN CHAMPION
Marcus Flint charged with attempted use of Imperius Curse
International tensions rise as French demand answers
LE SORCIER QUOTIDIEN
SCANDALE À POUDLARD: Agression Magique Contre Champion Français
Ministère exige justice complète
БЪЛГАРСКИ ВЪЛШЕБЕН ВСЕКИДНЕВНИК
СИГУРНОСТТА НА ТУРНИРА ПОД ВЪПРОС СЛЕД АТАКА
Дурмщранг обмисля оттегляне от състезанието
The Great Hall buzzed with whispered conversations and nervous energy. Students huddled together, discussing the incident in hushed tones. The Slytherin table was notably empty, with many students shooting uncomfortable glances at the empty seat where Flint usually sat.
Harry sat with Regina pressing against him as usual, picking at his breakfast as Daphne sat opposite them.
"The French Minister of Magic arrived this morning," Daphne murmured, leaning close enough that her words wouldn't carry. "Along with a delegation from their Department of International Magical Cooperation."
"And?" Harry asked quietly.
"They're not here to play nice," Regina added with a smirk. "I heard McGonagall talking to Dumbledore. They want Flint's head on a platter, and they want to know how security was so compromised that this could happen."
"What about Flint himself?"
"Still unconscious in Ministry custody," Daphne replied. "Apparently he was so drunk that the Sobering Draught isn't working properly. They're having to wait for his system to clear naturally."
Across the hall, the Beauxbatons students sat in a tight cluster around their own table, speaking in rapid French. Fleur was among them, looking composed but isolated. Every so often, her eyes would flick toward the Hogwarts students, and more than once, Harry caught her looking directly at him.
"She knows," Regina observed, following his gaze. "About our involvement, I mean."
"How much?" Daphne asked tensely.
"All of it." Harry pushed his eggs around his plate absently. "She figured out it wasn't all coincidence. After that, I didn't see any need to play dumb."
"Reckless," Regina said as she glanced around nervously. "Is she going to say anything?"
"I don't think so. But she's not stupid, and she's not going to forget. There's something off about her though."
"What exactly do you mean by 'something off'?" Daphne asked curiously. "Do you mean she's crazy? Because that's not news to either of us."
Harry shook his head, stifling a chuckle. "I'd say she's not what she appears to be. There's something calculating about her, something that goes deeper than just being clever."
"Most Veela are calculating," Regina pointed out with a shrug. "It's part of their nature. They're predators, even the part-Veela ones."
"This felt different," Harry mused, finally taking a bite of his toast. "When she figured out what we'd done, she wasn't angry or grateful. She was... intrigued. Almost impressed."
Daphne's brows furrowed. "Impressed by what, exactly?"
"By the fact that I'd orchestrated the whole thing. That I'd been willing to use her as bait to get what I wanted." Harry glanced up at Daphne, noting the way her jaw had tightened. "She called it ruthless."
"And that pleased her?" Daphne's voice was deceptively light, but Harry could see the storm brewing in her blue eyes.
"Seemed to, yeah."
Regina let out a low whistle. "Dangerous territory, that. A Veela who's attracted to ruthlessness? That's not your average schoolgirl crush."
"She's not average anything," Harry replied, and immediately regretted his choice of words when he saw Daphne's expression darken further.
"Oh really?" Daphne set down her fork entirely now, her voice dropping to a dangerously sweet tone that was anything but. "And what exactly makes her so special?"
Harry knew he'd just stepped into deep waters, but something perverse in him decided to keep walking. Maybe it was the way Daphne got that particular flush in her cheeks when she was working herself up to be properly jealous. Maybe it was just that he enjoyed seeing her lose that perfect composure she wore like an armor. Whatever it was made him bolder in more than one manner.
"Well," he said casually, reaching for his juice, "she's certainly not boring."
Regina choked on her porridge as she glanced at Daphne's stormy expression. "Harry dear, you might want to think about your next words very carefully."
Alas, Harry was already committed to this particular course of destruction. Under the table, he stretched out his bare leg until his foot found Daphne's ankle. Her sharp intake of breath was barely audible, but he caught it easily.
"She figured out our entire plan," he continued conversationally, letting his foot trace a slow path up Daphne's soft calf. "Saw right through all the misdirection. That takes a particular kind of intelligence."
Daphne's cheeks were definitely pinker now, though whether from anger or the increasingly bold movement of his foot, Harry couldn't be sure. Probably both.
"Intelligence," Daphne repeated, her voice slightly strained as Harry's foot reached her knee and began tracing lazy circles there. "How fascinating."
"Mm-hmm." Harry took another bite of toast, the picture of innocence even as his foot slipped between her knees, pushing them slightly apart. "And she wasn't intimidated by what we'd done. Most people would have been scared, or angry, or grateful. She was none of those things."
Regina was watching this exchange with the fascinated horror of someone witnessing a particularly spectacular Quidditch crash. "This is either going to end very well or very badly," she murmured under her breath.
"What was she then?" Daphne asked, her knuckles white where she gripped her goblet. Harry's foot had found the sensitive spot just above her knee, rubbing her inner thigh, and he could see her fighting to keep her expression neutral.
"Excited," Harry said simply, letting the word hang in the air as his foot moved higher, tracing patterns on her inner thigh, achingly close to her sweltering core. "She wanted to know what I'd do next."
Daphne's breathing had definitely changed now, though she was doing her best to hide it. The flush had spread from her cheeks down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her robes. Her eyes were bright with something that was definitely no longer just anger.
"How... exciting for her," she managed, her voice breathier than she probably intended.
"I thought so too," Harry agreed, pressing just a little higher, just enough to make Daphne's thighs tense under his touch. His toe brushed against her knickers just over her pussy, and Harry's eyes gleamed with delight when he felt how wet she already was. He continued, "She's got this look in her eyes, you know? Like she's constantly evaluating everything, calculating angles. It's quite attractive, actually."
That last part was probably pushing it too far, but Harry found he didn't particularly care. Daphne was practically vibrating with tension now, caught between indignation and arousal in a way that made her absolutely breathtaking.
"Is it now?" Daphne's voice was barely above a whisper, and she leaned forward slightly, supposedly to reach for the jam but actually giving Harry better access to continue his increasingly bold exploration.
"Oh yes," Harry said with a smirk, his toe pressing firmly against her wet entrance now, pushing the thin fabric of her knickers between her lower lips and prodding her entrance gently, teasing her. He kept drawing circular patterns inside her with his toe, feeling her wetness coat his digit, and Daphne had to bite her lip to keep from making any sound. "There's something to be said for a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to go after it."
"Harry, you two need to get a room."
"Do we?" Harry asked innocently, even as Daphne suddenly grabbed his wrist, her nails digging in just hard enough to be a warning. Or maybe an encouragement. With Daphne, it was sometimes hard to tell.
"Yes," Daphne said firmly, though her voice shook slightly. Her eyes were hot with lust, and Harry felt his runes prickle at the sheer eroticism in her gaze. "We absolutely do."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Professor McGonagall, who appeared at Harry's shoulder with her usual stern expression.
"Mr. Potter, you're needed in the Headmaster's office. The investigators would like to speak with you again."
Harry nodded and stood, putting his sock and shoe on with a casual flick of his wrist. He glanced at Daphne to find her giving him the same look and he smirked. He knew it. The moment they were alone, it was coming, and he was more than ready for it. He was sure she was, too.
As he walked toward the exit, he caught sight of Fleur watching him go. Their eyes met and once again, Harry felt the same feeling, that fleeting spark between them.
He needed more information from her. Some sort of confirmation that they were indeed on the same page. He had seen what happened when he was reckless, and he didn't want to complicate things unnecessarily or somehow fuck them up with her.
The walk to Dumbledore's office felt longer than usual, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. When he arrived, he found the circular room more crowded than he'd ever seen it.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking older than his years. Cornelius Fudge was there, sweating profusely despite the cool morning air. A beautiful witch in Auror robes stood by the window, her arms crossed. Harry felt his runes react at the sight of her.
Two other officials—one Bulgarian, one French—were examining documents at a small conjured table.
"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "Please, have a seat."
The witch in Auror robes turned as Harry settled into the offered chair. She was perhaps in her thirties, with crimson hair pulled back in a severe bun and eyes that seemed to see everything.
"Mr. Potter, I am Amelia Bones, the Director of the DMLE," she said, to his surprise. "I have some questions about the incident two nights ago."
"I've already given my statement," Harry replied carefully, ignoring the flaring of his runes at her voice. He needed release, again.
"Indeed you did, and it was very... complete. But I have some additional concerns." Amelia pulled out a piece of parchment. "You say you were returning from the library?"
"That's right."
"And you happened to have your invisibility cloak with you?"
Harry kept his expression neutral. He'd expected this question. "I often carry it with me. It belonged to my father, and it helps me feel close to him. There's also the fact that it's convenient to keep it with me."
"Convenient indeed." Amelia made a note. "And you recognized the Imperius curse immediately?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I heard Flint say the incantation."
Amelia simply nodded. "And the protective charm on Miss Delacour's badge—you know nothing about it?"
Harry kept his voice steady, his brows furrowing. "What protective charm?"
"A very sophisticated piece of magic, designed to activate in the presence of hostile intent. It would have prevented physical harm if, let's say, the Imperius had succeeded and the attacker had tried to... follow through on his intentions."
"I don't know anything about that," Harry lied smoothly. "Sounds like something the school would put on their students' uniforms."
Amelia exchanged a glance with the French official. "Beauxbatons has no such policy. None of their students' badges have any such enchantments."
"Maybe Fleur applied it herself. I believe we've all seen her skills at enchanting."
"It is very advanced magic. Beyond what most students could achieve. In fact, the enchantment was keyed to activate against the type of spell young Flint was attempting, among others."
"Are you suggesting I had something to do with putting it there, Director?"
"I am suggesting that someone with considerable skill and specific knowledge of what was going to happen placed that charm. Someone who wanted to protect Miss Delacour from exactly the type of attack she almost suffered."
"That sounds like good planning on someone's part," Harry said with a shrug. "Whoever did it probably saved her from something horrible."
"Indeed." Amelia smiled. "However, it also suggests that someone knew this attack was coming. Which raises the question of why they did not simply prevent it entirely."
"No clue," Harry shrugged.
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "Madam Bones, while I understand your thoroughness, Mr. Potter has been nothing but helpful in this investigation. He quite literally saved Miss Delacour from a terrible fate."
"Of course, Headmaster. I simply wish to understand all the circumstances." Amelia turned back to Harry. "You had no interaction with Marcus Flint before this incident? No... disagreements?"
It was another dangerous question.
"We'd had some minor conflicts," Harry admitted. "Nothing serious."
"Minor conflicts?"
"He and some friends cornered me a few days ago. We exchanged some hexes. Typical schoolyard stuff."
"I see." Amelia made another note. "You broke his bones in the incident after he attempted to cast an Unforgivable at you as well?"
Shit. Someone had talked. Who though?
"Yes," Harry said after a pause. "The Cruciatus. But I interrupted him before he could complete it."
"And you did not report this to the authorities?"
"I interrupted him before he could complete it, so technically he did not cast it. I did not see the need to escalate the matter beyond what I did to him myself."
"Taking matters into your own hands," Amelia remarked. "That is not how things work, Mr. Potter."
"We're all adults here, Director," Harry said with a calm, assured smile. "I believe we all know how things truly work in the world."
His response seemed to take not only her but everyone else by surprise. They exchanged looks with each other while Harry sat nonchalantly.
"I believe we do," Amelia caught herself after a moment. "So he had already demonstrated a willingness to use such magic against you personally."
"Yes."
"And yet you risked your safety to protect someone you barely know from the same type of attack."
"It was the right thing to do."
"Indeed it was." Amelia closed her notebook, a calculating gleam in her eyes. "I think that will be all for now, Mr. Potter. You may go."
As Harry stood to leave, Dumbledore's voice stopped him. "Harry, please remain available should we need to speak with you again."
"Of course, Headmaster."
As he left, he could feel the woman's eyes following him on his way out.
-Break-
The trial, when it finally came three days later, was unlike anything the wizarding world had seen in years. The courtroom in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had been expanded to accommodate representatives from multiple magical governments, international press, and a gallery full of observers.
Marcus Flint sat in the defendant's chair, looking pale and haggard. The few days in Azkaban's holding cells had not been kind to him. His magical signature had been thoroughly analyzed, confirming his attempt to cast the Imperius curse. Memories had been extracted from him and verified by the Unspeakables. The evidence was overwhelming. It was an open-and-shut case.
Harry sat in the witness section, having given his testimony the day before. Beside him, Fleur looked composed in her formal Beauxbatons robes, though he could see the tension in her posture.
"The defendant will rise," declared the DMLE Director Amelia Bones, her voice carrying easily through the packed courtroom.
Flint struggled to his feet, swaying slightly. The Dementors' proximity had taken its toll.
"Marcus Aurelius Flint, you have been charged with the use of the Imperius Curse upon Fleur Isabelle Delacour, with intent to commit grievous bodily harm. You have also been charged with possession of an illegal wand modification designed to enhance the power of Unforgivable curses."
That last charge was news to Harry. He glanced at Fleur, who looked equally surprised.
"The Wizengamot has reviewed all evidence, testimony, and magical analysis. The defendant's guilt has been established beyond any reasonable doubt."
Flint's solicitor, a thin, nervous man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, stood shakily. "Director, my client was heavily intoxicated at the time of the alleged incident. His judgment was severely impaired, and he has no clear memory of—"
"Sit down," Bones said coldly. "Intoxication is not a defense for attempted use of an Unforgivable curse. If anything, it demonstrates a dangerous lack of control that makes the defendant even more of a threat to society."
The solicitor sank back into his chair, defeated.
"Marcus Aurelius Flint," Bones continued, "this court finds you guilty on all charges. The sentence is life imprisonment in Azkaban, with no possibility of parole."
The gavel came down with a sound like breaking bones.
Gasps and murmurs filled the courtroom. Even though it was the lawful sentence for an Unforgivable, life in Azkaban was considered an unusually harsh sentence for a pureblood heir. But the international attention, the tournament setting, and the premeditated nature of the attack had clearly influenced the court's decision.
Flint himself seemed barely to register the sentence. The Dementors had already begun their work on his mind and soul.
As the defendant was led away, Harry caught sight of Flint's eyes. For just a moment, clarity returned to them, and they fixed on Harry with unmistakable hatred and understanding.
He knew. Even through the Dementor's influence, Marcus Flint knew exactly who had orchestrated his downfall.
Then he was gone, and Harry felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and unease. Justice had been served, and the bastard had got what he deserved. Furthermore, he knew who was behind it all, and that made it all the more satisfactory.
As the courtroom began to empty, Fleur walked at Harry's side.
"It is over," she said quietly.
"Yes, it is."
"Are you satisfied with ze outcome?"
Harry considered the question carefully. "He got what he deserved. Maybe more than he deserved, but certainly what he earned."
"Oui." Fleur was quiet for a moment, watching the last of the court officials filing out. "I 'ave been thinking about what you said."
"And?"
"I think I would like to discuss zat with you. Over dinner, perhaps?"
Harry turned to look at her, surprised. "Dinner?"
"Unless you 'ave other plans?" Fleur's smile was enigmatic. "I find I am still curious about ze real 'Arry Potter. Ze one be'ind ze careful plans and ze protective instincts."
"That could be dangerous," Harry warned. "Getting to know me, I mean. People who get close to me tend to end up in trouble."
"I noticed." Fleur's smile widened. "As I said before, dangerous men are often ze most interesting ones."
As they walked out of the courtroom together, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that his life had just become considerably more complicated. But looking at the beautiful, intelligent, and clearly dangerous young woman beside him, he found he didn't entirely mind the prospect.
After all, some complications were worth the risk.
TBC.
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