"If I'd known then how much my life would change, I'd have changed my name and moved to Burma to farm sheep. Since I didn't, I'm here talking to you. Still not sure I made the right choice."

Harry had been at Hogwarts all of a week and he knew it was going to be a bad year. Of course, if he was being honest with himself, he knew when Sirius had told him about some serious moving-and-shaking going on at the Ministry. By itself, the news was alarming. Coupled with the fact that the moving-and-shaking was directed at Hogwarts? Doomed. They were all doomed.

His leg hurt. He was tired. The sound of academic bickering- he refused to call what his fellow Ravenclaws did debating, it was far too irritating - was giving him a headache. And now this. This...horribly bad idea masquerading as an attempt at fostering international hospitality, cooperation, and all other kinds of right-on things. Harry looked at Dumbledore and wondered if he had finally gone completely mad. Would anyone have noticed?

"Harry!" Bertram Allen, his year mate and not-quite-friend, acquaintance fit him best, leaned across the table and hissed under Dumbledore's continued blathering. "Harry!"

Harry raised an eyebrow, evidently enough to qualify as a response for his excitable fellow seventh year, because he leaned further across the table – now in danger of getting custard stains all over his tie – with an almost frightening gleam in his eyes.

"Are you going to enter?" Bertram whispered. Harry shrugged. Up at the table Dumbledore concluded his speech and everyone started standing up and milling in the general direction of the doors. Why, he didn't know, he hadn't been paying attention, so he followed the leader and ended up with the rest of his house out in the winter cold, with the tantalizing warmth of Hogwarts behind him.

His leg ached considerably more now, so he palmed his wand and murmured a warming charm, almost but not quite stopping himself from sighing as the ache ceased. The anxiety and eagerness in the air was almost palpable, and Harry berated himself for letting Bertram distract him. Again.

Mental Note: smack Bertram.

"Miss Patil," Professor McGonagall's voice carried in the stuffiest of rooms, so on a clear night – which this was – he could hear each disapproving word as if he were three feet away. "Take that ridiculous thing out of your hair! Mister Weasley... fix yourself up!"

Harry had just about had enough with not knowing why they were making such an effort to look good and set about finding someone with some authority. He couldn't ask a prefect since he was one and the other was Alexis, his ex, and any conversation was to be avoided at all cost. So this left him, after a quick mental calculation, with exactly dick. All he knew was that there was a Triwizard Tournament happening here and they were outside.

And he was cold.

So he rubbed his fingers together and blew into them. He ignored the excited, utterly useless gossiping of his housemates, and he waited.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. Something interesting was happening down by the lake, and he was anxious to see what would come of it.

"Ben, that's Viktor Krum!"

Ben, called Benjamin Charlus by his godfather, The Boy Who Lived by pretty much everyone, and Harry's Little Brother by people who were annoying, rubbed his shoulder and shot Ron an arch look. "Thanks, Ron," he grumped, "I really needed to get punched in the shoulder to see that."

"I don't understand what the fuss is about," Hermione sniffed, looking disdainfully at the knot of giggling girls that had appeared not long after Krum himself. "I mean, he's only a Quidditch player."

Ben winced and glanced at Ron. Luckily for everyone's peace of mind, the tall ginger was more interested in watching his idol walk to the school than listening to people. "Hermione," he said, "don't let anyone hear you say that. You could be tarred, feathered, and run from the school."

She rolled her eyes. "You've been saying that could happen for four years."

"Because it could!" he insisted. Wizards were mad, everyone knew this. Hermione put her finger to her lips and nodded in Dumbledore's direction. Ben turned and saw that Durmstrang's headmaster had reached Hogwarts', and some sort of palaver was going on. He really wished he could hear what was being said, but the excited whispering of some fifty Gryffindors made it all but impossible.

"Why did you shush me?" he asked, turning back to Hermione. "No one can hear what's going on anyway."

"Because-"

Hermione was interrupted by him yelping in pain because yet again someone, who shall remain nameless(Ron), had punched his shoulder. He returned the punch and growled, "Would you stop that?!"

Ron was, yet again, no longer listening. Instead he was scrabbling through his pockets for a quill, which Ben thought was the least likely thing to happen in the history of ever. "Bugger," he said after his fruitless search. "Left my quills in my bag. Hermione! Lend us a quill?"

Hermione's eyebrow was somewhere near her hairline. The look on her face made skeptics look trusting. Ben was sure she was going to say something appropriate to that look, but disappointingly all she said was, "Are you serious?"

Ron blinked. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Ben looked at the two of them, then up at the heavens, wondering if Harry ever had problems like this over in Ravenclaw. They were supposed to be smarter and more mature than everyone else. Ron and Hermione started squabbling over what had led Ron to assume she would just have a quill handy.

"I am not a bookworm!"

Maturity and intelligence. Must be nice.

Viktor Krum didn't look like much. Not that Harry would ever say that out loud. He liked being alive. He still remembered the Gwenog Jones Incident from second year. People took their Quidditch seriously. So the fact that Krum looked like a particularly irate duck would just stay with him.

It still made him snicker.

"So that's Viktor Krum." said a voice to his left. Harry diverted his attention from the sports icon to the dark haired man who'd spoken to him; Roger Davies. Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Head Boy. UngodlySnorer. He also happened to be one of Harry's best friends. "I honestly thought he'd be shorter."

Harry's eyebrow rose. "Don't most people say taller?"

"I guess, but he's a Seeker." Roger said, as if that explained everything. Harry counted to ten in his head to stop himself adding a name to his list of People I Need to Hit with Something Possibly Sharp and Definitely Heavy.

"Pretend I don't know anything about Quidditch, Seeker-ism, or Viktor Krum." he said calmly. "And then please tell me what you're on about."

Roger's favorite thing to talk about was history. He devoured history; everything and anything he could get his hands on. History of Magic was his favorite subject and he had the best OWL score in fifty years. His second favorite discussion topic? Quidditch, as he proceeded to demonstrate.

"Seeker's job is to catch the Snitch before their opposite on the other team. The Snitch is fast, tiny, and incredibly maneuverable. What's more, the damn thing is enchanted to be annoying. Because of that, most Seekers tend to be like Ben; small, skinny gits with good eyes and better reflexes. They have to be, to keep up with the Snitch. Krum is none of those things. Well, I can't speak for his eyesight or reflexes, but look at him; he's an ox. So when you get someone like him with a record like his, it's surprising. People notice."

"So he's famous for not being like everyone else," Harry observed drily. "no wonder girls think he's the business."

As if to prove him smarter than he was, the previously and thankfully distant knot of giggling girls had contrived in their collective intelligence that maybe if they got closer to their object of worship he would fall in love with them and whisk them away to a life of romance and stupendous amounts of money. To that end Harry was shoved out of the way with an impressive amount of zeal and only remained standing by the grace of being caught by Roger.

"You may have a point." Roger conceded, helping him regain his footing. His leg protested the sudden wrenching loudly and with vigor. He clenched his jaw and tried to rub some of the pain away. It didn't work.

"Do you think he'd sign my bag with lipstick?"

He rolled his eyes and hoped no one from Beauxbatons would cause such a reaction. A hope that was dashed in seconds by Roger ever so helpfully piping in with, "So, apparently one of the students from Beauxbatons is a Veela."

"That," Harry said slowly, "is going to be a train wreck in very slow motion."

"Yeah, maybe." Roger mused, "Wonder if she'd throw a fireball at Flint if I asked."

"Why would she do that?"

Roger shrugged. "It's Flint. Why wouldn't she?"

Ben knew it was bad manners. He knew it was in poor taste. He knew that if he kept it up, there was a very good chance his best friend would never talk to him again. Despite this truly terrible knowledge, he could not stop laughing at Ron. "So," he managed to get out between bouts of chuckling. "what's it like, being Minister of Magic?"

"Shut up." Ron growled. "It wasn't my fault! I couldn't stop myself!"

"No, you couldn't." he agreed. "Consider yourself lucky, though. Could have been much worse. I heard Malfoy tell her that he could go for six hours without a break."

Ron asked, "Do you mean like in the bathroom?"

Ben shot him a look. "No."

Hermione shuddered. "Christ. That poor girl. Couldn't she just...I don't know, stop it somehow? Can that even happen?"

Ron shrugged. Ben shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, Sirius dated a Veela for a few months and it never really came up, but if I had to guess... I'd go with no, they can't."

Hermione wrinkled her brow. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugged and spooned himself some mashed potatoes. "Would you leave it going if you could stop it?"

"Fair point," she conceded, before turning to look at the Ravenclaw table. "I wonder how she deals with it. Must be maddening."

"Or," Ben said, with a sideways look at Ron, "absolutely hysterical."

Ron sighed tiredly and took the platter of brisket as it was passed down the table. "Shut up, Ben."

In the moments leading up to her leaving the carriage that had brought them here, Fleur began to doubt; doubt that this was a good idea, doubt that she was worthy of being her school's champion. Doubt that she could handle the scrutiny of a entire country. Fleur doubted, and when she stepped and saw the castle looming above her and the bite of the cold Scotland October, she faltered.

"Are you okay?"

She looked to see the voice's owner, her friend Emilie, looking at her with concern. There was a brief moment where Fleur considered lying, to reassure her friend that her faith in her wasn't misplaced. It would be a wasted effort. She wasn't a very good liar. "Just nervous, Emmy."

Emilie nodded her understanding and looked out at the crowd of unfamiliar students. Fleur felt the weight of everyone's eyes on her and ignored them with the ease of long practice. There was a time when those looks – envy in the girls, lust in the boys – would have driven her to tears. That time was long gone, and now she barely noticed. She did hear her friend ask, "Why?"

"It's just all becoming real, I guess." Fleur looked through the Hogwarts students, briefly locking eyes with a handsome, green-eyed boy. "It's one thing to want to compete when I'm safe back home, but now I'm here and it's... it's sinking in."

"I understand." Emilie said, and of all the people who would tell her that, she knew that Emilie truly did. She understood Fleur in the way that only someone who had grown up with her could. "My advice? Don't freak out until you see Madame Maxime look worried."

Fleur smiled. "I'll do that."

"Good!" Emilie linked arms with her. "I hope they have something good at the feast. I'm starving!"

She laughed after her stomach grumbled. "So am I, it would seem. Lead the way!"

And so, drawing herself up and adopting a ridiculously aristocratic mien, Emilie did just that.

Harry watched the train wreck he'd predicted begin and wished that he'd been wrong. Not for his sake, or for his school's. Not even for her; the beautiful girl with ice blue eyes and white-blonde hair. Other than a slight furrow of her brows she showed no reaction to the sudden IQ plummet of the boys around her. No, he wished he was wrong because he'd wanted his last year at Hogwarts to be sane and quiet.

His eyes narrowed as he watched a group of boys rise from the Gryffindor table and start towards the Veela – he made a note to learn her name as soon as he could – with a glassy eyed expression that spelled trouble. He was halfway out of his seat when level(female) heads prevailed and dragged the boys back to their seats. He sat back down and checked his watch.

Less than an hour. Good God.

That desire for a quiet final year was dying and, when Headmaster Dumbledore rose with a welcoming smile, he felt it give a little gurgle and give up. He paid no attention to the muted whispers and listened to what the old wizard had to say.

"Before I begin," and Harry marveled at how the warm, pleasant baritone killed the chatter instantly. "I hope all of my students will join me in giving a warm welcome to our visiting schools; Beauxbatons Academy and the Durmstrang Institute!"

Harry dutifully clapped along with everyone else for a polite amount of time. Once it had died down, Dumbledore continued.

"And now, to business. You are by now all aware that this year our beloved school is playing host to the recently revived Triwizard Tournament. And, if you are anything like I was at your age, you have no doubt speculated to no end about every detail of this event." Sky blue eyes glittered with amusement. "Well, I fear that after tonight this particular strand of rumoring will be ended. After tonight, the Tournament will have well and truly begun!"

That, suffice to say, had everyone's undivided attention. Harry saw the caretaker; a grimy, hateful looking man called Filch, approaching the Head Table from the shadows, a large casket in his hands. He handed the casket over to Dumbledore and retreated to sulk somewhere near the Great Hall's doors.

Back at the Table, Dumbledore had opened the casket and removed a large, crudely carved goblet, inside of which flickered a merry handful of fire. He set it down with a showman's grace and his words echoed in the bone quiet Hall. "Some of you have wondered how the champions are to be chosen. Wonder no more. I present to you...the Goblet of Fire. Anyone wishing to enter their name for consideration should write it on a piece of paper and place it into the flames. In two weeks' time, the Goblet will choose."

Harry looked up and down Ravenclaw table and felt a mix of relief and worry. There was a good amount of anxious, almost greedy looks, but thankfully that was most prevalent among the people he felt had a chance of entering – and surviving – this thing. More worrisome was that same look's presence on many other, younger faces. Faces like Ron and Seamus and Dean.

This could be very, very bad. If these people, no matter their ambition or determination, entered the Tournament, they would die. It was that simple. He looked up at Dumbledore and prayed that the man had a better grasp on sanity, on reality, than he was rumored to. There a long, indecipherable moment where nothing was said, and nothing happened. Then Dumbledore held up his hands, and Harry sagged in relief.

"While I'm sure many of you would like to win the grand prize, several thousand galleons and an Order of Merlin, Third Class, the nature of the Tournament's tasks have led us – the Triwizard Committee – to establish an age cutoff, so to speak: no one, and I do mean no one, under the age of seventeen may enter."

There was a brief, spirited uproar of outrage, which died on the Headmaster's next words.

"This was done for your safety and that of our eventual champions. Seventeen was chosen as the age where you have reached a level in your magical education and maturity that would lead to your surviving this Tournament. Maybe even winning. Seeking glory is dancing on a knife's edge, after all. But enough warnings and talks of gloom! The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall for those who wish to enter. And without further ado...dessert! Enjoy."

Harry looked around and saw that most people didn't quite know what to make of Dumbledore's words. He looked and saw satisfaction on the old wizard's lined face and suspected he would have it no other way. Devious old goat. Then dessert appeared, and Harry decided that there were more important things like life or death tournaments. Things like red velvet cake.

When Fleur couldn't sleep, which wasn't as much a habit that recent times would suggest, she went for walks. Something about the simple act helped her put whatever was keeping her mind awake to bed, with her following shortly. Not this time. This time she walked Hogwarts' halls with its Headmaster's words in her head until she found herself in a garden – a garden that from the looks of it hadn't been visited for some time.

The garden itself occupied a balcony on what she was fairly certain was the fourth floor. The balcony had a series of iron arches starting from just outside the door to the very end of the balcony wall. Ivy crawled up and across these arches, in some places reaching across the gaps to twine together in a leafy canopy. Planters of flowers and rosebushes were broken by stone benches and small statues. The only source of light was the stars.

She smiled and titled her head back, feeling the serenity of the place wrap warm blankets around her. Then she wrapped herself tighter in the thick coat she'd brought and stepped further into the garden. Serenity didn't do much for body warmth. She picked the bench with the best view of the forest and folded her arms.

If she were honest with her self – and she always tried to be – she knew why she couldn't sleep. Professor Dumbledore's words were bouncing around the inside of her skull and resonating louder than she'd like. Doubts and anxiety were making themselves known, but they weren't overpowering.

Fleur snorted. Weren't overpowering? She'd be sleeping if that were the case. Truth was that the confidence she had in herself was starting to wane. Three months ago, when Madame Maxime had announced that an international competition was taking place, she had believed that she was the best person for the job. Now she was starting to wonder who that person was, because it most certainly hadn't been her.

Then, she was brought out of her thoughts by a quiet, surprised, "Oh."

Harry was surprised to find someone else in his favorite thinking spot that sometimes doubled as his favorite hiding spot. One would think it had also been his favorite snogging spot, but he'd never brought Alexis here. He'd never brought anyone here. Even Ben didn't know it existed. The little garden on a fourth floor balcony was his and his alone. Or so he he'd thought.

Most of his surprise stemmed from the fact that of all the people who would find this place, the one who eventually did wasn't even a Hogwarts student. He had limped up the path, not noticing the blue clad figure until he had almost tripped over her feet. She really was beautiful – more than anyone he'd ever seen. He remembered the icy blue of her eyes clearly. Her hair, almost white, hung to just down around her ears and was layered in such a way to frame her elegant, almost regal beauty.

She didn't see or hear him coming, but her eyes snapped up when a surprised, "Oh." escaped him. This close he could see her reaction to his presence better. Her body was set in a tense wariness, preparing to fight him off should her allure prove to be too much for him. "I...I didn't think anyone else knew about this place. How- how did you find it?"

Smooth Harry. Real smooth.

He could still see the anxiety around her eyes and in her posture. "I didn't." she said, her voice low and melodious – throaty in an absolutely delicious way. "I was walking and it sort of...found me."

"Oh," he said, and really wished he'd think of something better. Then, because he had no other idea on what to say in this situation, he stuck out his hand and ignored the way she flinched. "I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Potter."

She watched his hand as if it were a rearing snake. Where was the confidence she'd shown in the Great Hall? The easy ignorance that she'd shown? It took him a shamefully long to twig to why. She was alone. With him. Far, far away from anyone who might help her should she need it.

Harry lowered his hand and took a step back. Her eyebrows raised. "I don't know how you do it," he said, turning to rest against the waist high wall that ran around the balcony's perimeter.

"Do what?" she asked, sounding reluctantly curious, almost despite herself. He shrugged and watched the castle's lights twinkle like land bound stars.

"Deal with guys turning into witless mongrels around you." he shot her a glance and saw her brows raising farther. "I couldn't handle it."

She rose gracefully and took a cautious step forward. "Isn't that every boy's dream? To have girls falling over themselves to please them?"

Harry snorted. "Please. It's bad enough just being Ben's brother. If I had a weird, magical sexy aura on top of that? I think I'd live in a cave." He saw her lips twitch upwards – just a fraction of an inch.

"I don't think I've ever heard it called that before," she said, amusement warming her voice.

"I've got a gift." he smiled briefly at her and she seemed to relax. "Oh, um...if you're worried about me becoming one of those mongrels, don't. So far as I know, it doesn't bother me. Or Ben, for that matter."

"How do you know?"

Harry shrugged artlessly. "My godfather dated a Veela over the summer. Her name was Etienne." She snorted, somehow making the sound elegant. "I take it you know her."

"My mother's cousin." she explained. "Your godfather must be incorrigible in just about every way."

"Yep," he nodded. "that sounds like Sirius." Then he figured, what the hell, he'd try again. Once more he held out his hand and said, "I didn't catch your name. Mine's Harry."

There was a single, drawn-out second before she took his hand. Her skin was smooth – damn near silky – and chilled from the October night. "Fleur," she said, shaking his hand. "Fleur Delacour."

When Harry Potter, the owner of those handsome green eyes she'd seen earlier, had limped up to her(why did he limp, anyway?), she'd been so shocked at his seeming resistance to her allure that her brain had taken a few moments to re-engage. After having spent so many years dealing with, as he'd put it, drooling mongrels, an actual conversation with an actual, living boy was just...weird.

For all of a few seconds, anyway. Then she'd remembered how to be a human and actually looked at the person who shared her little corner of Hogwarts. He was slender, and were it not for the fact he were dressed in muggle clothing and she could see the wiry definition in his muscles she'd call him skinny. He had a shaggy head of night black hair that in the starlight had a silvery sheen. Under that hair were those green eyes of his, wit and intellect in their depths.

His eyebrow raised and oh, she'd been staring, hadn't she? Her blush heated her skin and she looked down after offering an apologetic smile. "So," she said, after a moment. "what is this place?"

Harry broke eye contact with her and she felt a odd drop in her stomach. He looked up at the tangled ivy and blew out an expressive breath. "Don't know, really." his lips twisted sheepishly. "Found it in my fourth year when I was looking for a place to...get away. Three years and it hasn't changed a bit."

"It's beautiful," she agreed, seeing the peace the garden had steal over him. Until it was gone she hadn't noticed the tension in the lines of his face. "I can see why you come here."

He hummed an affirmation before asking, "What made you find it, if you don't mind my prying?"

Fleur smiled. "I could ask you the same."

"I'll swap you," he offered, "story for story."

Part of her rebelled at the idea of talking about her worries or insecurities with a boy she barely knew. It made the rational argument that she had no idea what kind of person he was. Then there was another part, the part that couldn't stop thinking about how beautiful he was. The starving idealist in her that asked, what could it hurt? Make a leap of faith.

"You don't have to if you don't want," he said, giving her a way out and in that moment, she decided.

"No, it's fine," she decided. "but you have to go first."

He smiled then; a true, amused smile, and she felt that same part of her stomach do a funny turn. "Fair enough." he said. "But don't blame me if you don't understand. Some of these are old worries."

She watched as Harry braced himself on the wall and looked out over the school. He had the look of someone gathering their thoughts and she gave him the silence he seemed to need. While he did she wondered what would make someone like Harry Potter stressed enough to forgo sleep. Was it for similar reasons to her? He didn't look like the sort to enjoy the furor of attention being a Triwizard champion would bring.

"I'm worried about Ben." he said at length. "Well...I'm always worried about Ben, but after this year I won't be around to keep an eye on him. The way things have gone, there's a good chance that this year'll...go...weird – which I can deal with, because I'm here and I can help, you know? But after this year he'll be on his own and – and I won't be there to save him when he gets in trouble. The idea of him being here alone, without me to help him? It terrifies me."

Fleur drew her brows together. "Has his time here been that...weird?" This was a school, after all. Surely it was safer than the impression she was getting. The impression that was shaken when he snorted.

"You've no idea." some of her curiosity must have shown through, because that same tension returned and he said, "I'd...I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind." it was with a morbid sort of interest that she watched him reach down to his leg before stopping himself halfway. "Mostly bad memories."

For a moment her surprise ruled her. He'd told her more than she had expected him to. More than she had planned to tell him. Now, to hold back would not only be rude but she just didn't want to. Maybe...maybe telling someone, even – no, especially – a stranger would help. So Fleur took a deep breath and confessed, "I don't think I should be here."

Harry's brows furrowed. "In what way?"

"I wanted to be my school's champion when the Tournament was announced months ago. It seemed like such a good idea; I mean, how could it not? Excitement, adventure, travel, it had everything. That is, it did back then. Now..." she trailed off and shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I'm not sure I'm the right person for this."

He was still and she waited for his disbelief that her paltry self-doubt was all that kept her awake. She was expecting him to say that in the face of his rightfully bigger problems, she should just grit her teeth and bear it. What she was not expecting was for him to take her shoulders in his hands and look into her eyes.

"My advice," he said, and she shivered at the look in his eyes. "totally unasked for and free to be ignored, is that you shouldn't let your fear prevent you from truly living."

"Have you?" she whispered, her breath misting the small gap between them. "Have you followed your own advice?"

Harry seemed to realize just how close they were and stepped back, rubbing his palms awkwardly and not meeting her gaze. "I uh, I try to, I think. But...it's always easier saying something than doing it, isn't it? I mean, I can say that I do, but there are things that scare me that I don't have the courage to face. But if I can, I will."

Even though he didn't say it, and her respect for him rose when he didn't, she could see the question on his face. And what about you? Are you going to face the thing that makes you afraid?

"Then I shall as well," she declared, her words ringing in the crisp night air. "I'll enter my name tomorrow."

He smiled at her. "Good for you." he said warmly. "Now can we go inside? I can't feel my nose."

Fleur laughed. "Yes, let's. I think a cup of hot cocoa in the carriage will be perfect before bed."

"Why did you have to put that idea in my head? Now I want one."

"I don't see how this is a problem."

Harry held the door open for her and she preceded him inside with a grateful smile. "True enough," he conceded. She looked up, then down the unfamiliar hall and remembered that she was very much lost. "Lost?" She nodded and he grinned. "The castle toys with us, I think. Um...best way back is to head that way," he pointed down the hall. "until you reach a statue of a troll in a tutu – don't ask, I don't know – and turn left. Follow that to the stairs and they'll take you all the way down to the Entrance Hall."

"Thank you," she said, and started away before a hand on her elbow stopped her. She turned to see Harry looking into her with those green eyes. "What is it?" she asked. "Is there a trick stair, or something?"

"No. Well, yes, it's the fifth one down on every flight, but that's -" he stopped, visibly wrestling with something. "it's – never mind. Just...good night, Fleur. And...and good luck."

And before she could begin to sort out what he'd said, he was gone; ducking behind a tapestry and vanishing before the cloth stopped rustling against the wall. She followed his directions and reached the stairs shortly. As she headed down she turned Harry's words over, chewing on them. He'd made a great deal of sense, right up until the end. It was only until later, when she was curled in an armchair with a steaming mug of cocoa that she realized he was probably about to ask her out before stopping himself.

It was truly remarkable how divided that made her feel. Part of her – a very large part, in fact – reveled in the true, earnest attentions of a boy. Another wanted to focus entirely on the Tournament, on surviving and bringing glory to herself and her school. A further third part of her; the wary, cautious protector she'd created, didn't want him anywhere near her. The clock tick-tick-ticked its way toward two in the morning and the dregs of her cocoa were congealing in the bottom of her mug.

Fleur stared at the embers in the fireplace and felt her fatigue catch up with her. It put her worries aside and wrapped her sharp anxieties in blankets so their edges wouldn't cut her and keep her awake. It dragged her weary body up to her room and into her pajamas. She slid into bed and closed her eyes and just before she fell asleep, a fraction of image darted through her thoughts; an image of bright green eyes smiling at her from the dark.

Harry sat in his chair – and yes, it was his, even though it was in the common room – and did his best to figure out what he had just done. Or rather, what he had almost done. Because what he had almost done was ask out Fleur Delacour. A Veela, though that wasn't the bothersome part. Where she was a girl he barely knew and yet was immensely attracted to, there was the bother. He didn't do that, not as a rule. It just wasn't something he was good at, or capable of.

To put it bluntly, he was shy. Anyone who knew about his upbringing would understand. But nobody did. It was his closest kept secret. He was just the shy brother of the Boy Who Lived and he liked it that way. It was easier to do things when nobody was looking at you. But he was getting away from the point; what was keeping him awake. He barely knew Fleur, the first conversation he'd ever had with her was still drying in his mind. Their history was hours long, maybe.

But there was a part of him, the part that the Dursley's their best to destroy with neglect bordering on abuse, that reached out to her. That was more comfortable with her than he'd ever been with Alexis. It was more than a little unnerving, and he had no idea what to do. Hence the sleeplessness. At least he was alone to think. With the night owl-ish-ness of Ravenclaw in general it wasn't odd to see people up until two charting the stars or something. Tonight was a rarity, and he was all the more appreciative of it.

"Can't sleep?" asked a familiar, feminine voice. He turned to see the devil herself standing by his chair, firelight reflecting off the honey brown curls that hung to her shoulder blades. Alexis' hair matched her eyes, and they focused on his with something approaching affection. Which was more unnerving than his blooming attraction to Fleur, but it was at least from an area he could deal with.

"I wasn't aware we were speaking again." he said instead of answer, returning to his original position before the fire. He felt her come to rest on the arm of his chair and then felt her fingers card through his hair like she used to and what the hell was going on? Where had all this come from? "Last time I saw you," he continued, leaning away from her. "you told me never to talk to you again. So...what are you doing?"

She sighed and came around to sit on the footstool in front of him, a silhouette lined in glowing orange light. He watched her without saying another word. Whatever she was doing, he wasn't going to help her in any way. After a long minute she said, "I...I wanted to apologize."

He did a mental double take. "What?"

"You and me are done," she looked down at her lap and then back up at him. "and I get that, really. But...when we broke up, the things I said, they weren't fair. Or nice. And I really wish I could take them back, but I can't. So...I'm sorry."

Harry stared at Alexis for a long minute before blinking slowly. He watched agitation grow in her.

"Well? Aren't you going to say something?" she asked, and jolted him back into conscious thought.

"Sorry, I'm just in shock that this conversation is actually happening." he smiled a little, enough to calm her down, because he still liked her, even though there was pain between them. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and let out a long, slow breath. "I don't know what you want me to say. Do I forgive you? No, not yet."

"But-"

"You told me that I'd have been better off dying with my parents than living second rate to Ben." he said flatly.

"Okay," her voice was soft. "I get that. But, maybe one day, we could be friends again?"

He looked through her to the fire beyond, through it out into the air without really seeing any of it. He chewed on his lip and the idea and in the back of his mind wondered if this day could get any weirder before he finally said, "I don't miss dating you, Lex, but... I miss my friend."

Alexis grinned widely before rising and squeezing his shoulder. Harry didn't watch her leave, but he was keenly aware of her absence just as much as he had been aware of her presence. Not long after she left, he went to bed before Dumbledore could swoop in and turn him into a credenza.

As he made his way up the stairs he put what had just happened away until he could think it through. Right then he was tired and tense and confused and none of it was helping. His ever-present worries for Ben were running deep, content to remain underneath having been aired. His confusion about what had just happened had mixed with with earlier, stronger confusion about his conversation with Fleur and it was all of it subservient to a strong, slow-burning attraction to her that he didn't know what to do with.

He was conflicted as he fell asleep, but one thing was clear in his mind. It was the image of a elegant face in a white-blonde frame illuminated by starlight, and it was the last thing he thought of before he fell asleep.

Ben had a secret. It was a secret of such magnitude that, if anyone were to find it out, he would have to change his name, face, hair, eyes, personality. Gender, even. Then he would have to flee the country or maybe the planet. It was that big a secret. In fact, it wasn't a secret. It was a Secret, and he kept it very deep inside where no one stood a chance of finding it.

That being said, when Hermione came up to him in the common room with uncertainty in her eyes and murmured, "Can I talk to you?", he felt his heart skip a beat. A clammy sweat broke out on his palms. He nodded dumbly and let her lead him to a pair of armchairs furthest from the fire.

He was barely aware of himself sitting down and was frankly stunned at the levelness of his voice. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

Hermione wrung her hands and looked down. She worried her lip and he felt a strange surge of warmth in his stomach at the sight. Then she looked up and said, "I'm worried about Ron." and sent a chunk of ice into the warmth. The sweat on his palms dried instantly and he was calm. A bit disgruntled, but calm.

"Why? What's he done this time?"

It was no secret that Ron and Hermione had a...well, he didn't know what to call it. Passionate implied romance, and there wasn't any – or so Ben hoped – and vitriolic hinted at a dislike that wasn't present. Truth was that the two of them argued all the time and enjoyed it. He didn't have a word for that. To Ben's dismay the worry spread from her lip to her face. "Nothing. Yet. Though I think that it's only a matter of time before she makes him do something stupid."

"She in this case being..."

"The Veela. And...I know it's not her fault, and I don't blame her, really! But...I think if we sort of ran interference between her and Ron, then maybe – then maybe he won't stare at her all the time." There was a mix of envy and anger and hurt on Hermione's face, and the Secret he kept buried so deep wiggled a few layers up. He forced it back down, hard.

"Why- why would that bother you?"

She snorted in disgust. "Dumb. Boys are dumb."

"What?"

Hermione threw up her hands. "I give up! Never mind, Ben. I'm going to bed, I'll see you in the morning."

She stood and left, climbing the staircase to the girl's dorm and leaving Ben sitting there wondering what in the hell had just happened. Since he wasn't stupid – and was aware of this – he set about trying to figure it out. He approached it like the detectives in the mystery books Harry liked so much: lay out the facts and draw conclusions.

Fact: Hermione was worried about Ron acting stupid around the Veela.

Fact: She wanted his help in keeping Ron from doing that.

Fact: When he'd asked her why, she'd gotten annoyed at his boy-ness. Something she only did when she was frustrated or embarrassed. Or hurt.

Now, add it all up, and what did he get?

His stomach sank. There was really only one possible conclusion with the facts he had and with what he knew of Hermione, Ron, and himself. The knowledge put a chunk of lead in his stomach and he headed up to bed, changing into his pajamas and doing all the things people who weren't in love with their best friend – who apparently had a crush on their other best friend – did before bed.

Ben looked up at the canopy above his bed. His roommates were, in complete defiance of his inner turmoil, having a spirited discussion on the various merits and drawbacks of the girls from each of their visiting schools.

"No, mate!" Ron gesticulated wildly, nearly knocking Dean off his bed. "I'm telling you, there's no topping a Veela. They...there just isn't!"

"I dunno." Neville's disagreement was tentative, quiet, like the boy himself. "I think Durmstrang might surprise you." he squirmed uncomfortably as everyone's eyes rested on him. "Well, think about it! We never really saw what any of them looked like under their robes. For all we know there could be a girl better looking than the Veela."

"Does anyone actually know her name?" Dean asked.

Ron shrugged. "Nope." Then, to Neville, he said, "You might be onto something, but I doubt it. I mean, there's pretty, and then there's a Veela." He sighed wistfully. "It's a shame none of us can get near her without turning into morons."

Ben had a quiet smile at that. He was of half a mind to sit up and add his opinion(that they should either go away or go to sleep) when Seamus Finnegan the Chronically Ill – his unofficial title – stuck his head out of his curtains. The Irish boy's yearly cold had hit him hard; his nose was red and his eyes had bags underneath them. There was, however, nothing wrong with his voice, as he proceeded to demonstrate.

"SHUT THE FECK UP!"

And that, as they say, was that.

Note: Hi! I'm back. I'd give you the outline I set up for the three years we skipped but honestly, I can't be bothered. You'll just have to trust that I know what I'm doing and enjoy the ride. Which is what you should be doing anyway. So...do it, already.