Fleur and her mother were both keeping an eye on the young girl and took turns comforting her when she woke up from the nightmares. Fleur had not admitted that she had her own problems with sleeping and nightmares, though they were getting better.
Her mother had been supportive and let Fleur know that she was around if Fleur needed, but gave her daughter the respect to sort out her own feelings and thoughts.
However, it was more than the nightmares that bothered her. She had been utterly at the mercy of the Death Eaters who tortured her for sheer amusement. Fleur hated that fact. If not for the surprising intervention of the extremely powerful stranger, then Fleur was certain she and her sister would have been raped and left for dead.
Fleur huffed in irritation. Once more her thoughts had turned to the events of that night and the stranger with eyes of green fire. Focusing on him helped alleviate the fear and inadequacy that often boiled up within her when memories of that night began to overwhelm her. She couldn't get the sense of his magic out of her mind. Nor could she shake the feeling that whoever it was had been close by recently.
Fleur was pulled from her thoughts by the distinctive "crack" of an an apparition nearby. Her hyper-vigilant state had her pulling her waned into her hand and moving to the nearest bit of cover, which was a tree along the edge of the water and forest.
She searched for the sound and frowned as she saw the arrogant blond that she had encountered earlier in the day. He had appeared ahead in the forest and was looking side to side furtively before he moved toward the gate of Hogwarts.
Fleur frowned, wondering if he had snuck out of the grounds without permission. He certainly seemed to be in a hurry. Acting on her curiosity, Fleur followed him toward the school, she kept close to the edge of the forest and watched. She was puzzled as she saw him avoid the main gates to the Hogwart's grounds and instead move to the side of the castle wall. Her eyes widened as he cast a spell on the wall, and the stones seemed to separate from the wall, opening.
Fleur frowned, though she made no move to get closer. She continued to look around, and only chanced to look in the direction of the Forbidden Forest when, at the very edge of the ominous trees, she saw a burst of flames. Fleur's eyes widened in shock as she saw a dark haired figured stumble forward into a tree.
The dark haired figure braced himself against the tree before he began to stagger toward the same direction the blonde had taken. Fleur watched with wide eyes as the figure stumbled and staggered toward the wall where the blond had gone. Twice, Fleur was tempted to call out and ask if the figure needed helped. He was moving, and he seemed injured. He turned his head at one point and Fleur got a look at a profile of his face.
On one hand, seeing his face was a shock to Fleur and her jaw dropped even as she instinctively shrunk a bit into the shadows. On the other, after seeing the blond from earlier, she was slightly less surprised by his companion.
Fleur continued to watch with wide eyes as the arrogant blonde poked his head and half pulled Ares into the passage. Fleur shrank back behind a tree when Draco looked around the area before the passage shut and seemed to seal against the wall.
Fleur could only stand and stare at the now blank wall from her hiding space within the trees. She could do nothing but stare as her mind burst with a sudden cascade of understanding.
Ares Flamel. He had just appeared in a burst of flame. Something her father thought might be an illusion while a ministry charmed port-key whisked him away. But she had just seen him appear in fire.
She reviewed her memory deliberately as some of the pieces fell into place. She still didn't have the complete picture. But she knew one thing.
Somehow, Ares Flamel had been the one who saved her at the World Cup.
It was no wonder they hadn't been able to find him. They were looking for an older, experienced wizard. Her father had guessed that the wizard had to have been at least forty given his combination of spell control, power and obvious experience. Her father was splitting his time using any and all of his connections to scour the globe for any reports of anyone skilled enough to have been the one who had saved her and her sister. At the same time he was fighting an impossible battle to try and figure out the identities of all of the attackers that night.
He was meeting with no success in the search for the one who saved them, and middling success on suspects of people who might be involved. Not that the British Ministry was willing to touch them anyway.
Someone who was young enough to be in school hadn't even entered into any sort of consideration because there were almost no prodigies with the sort of power displayed, but absolutely none with the power, control and experience. And yet despite his youth, Fleur guessed he was possibly even a little younger than herself, Fleur was certain she had just discovered his identity.
He had saved her, and then had talked to her that very morning. She knew to have irrefutable proof she'd have to get close to him when he was using his magic again to be sure that his presence was the one she had felt at the world cup. But as she recalled that morning another thought struck her.
"Miss Delacour." That is what he had called her that morning. Her friend hadn't supplied her last name, but Fleur hadn't spared a thought for the young man knowing her last name. She had made an entrance the night before with her school and it was entirely possible that a student had heard her name or had asked around. No, it was the way he said her name. An odd combination of respect and concern. And as she tried to examine and reconcile the two memories, Fleur was relatively sure that the voices were the same. Confident, reassuring, caring and resolute all rolled into one. But even as she felt that some pieces were falling into place, in some ways it seemed to confuse the larger picture.
How did he already know her name at the Quidditch World Cup? The Flamels haven't been public figures in a social or political manner since before either of her parents were born. She was sure that this morning was the first time she had ever spoken to Ares Flamel. How did Ares even know who she was at the World Cup?
Her eyes narrowed slowly as she stared at the still blank wall. She had spoken to him that very morning. He had completely ignored the power of her allure. Something that still left her stunned. What was more is that he had spoken to her as he might any stranger or very mild acquaintance, almost as if the act of saving her life was nothing.
That it meant nothing.
Fleur scowled. She needed time to process her thoughts and see the whole picture, but she was certain of one thing. No one was allowed to dismiss her as nothing.
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