Everybody got up late on Boxing Day. The Gryffindor common room was much quieter than it had been lately, many yawns punctuating the lazy conversations. Hermione's hair was bushy again. She confessed to Harry that she had used liberal amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion on it for the ball, "but it's way too much bother to do every day," she said matter-of-factly, scratching a purring Crookshanks behind the ears.

Neville and Harry had wasted no time in telling Hermione about the conversation they had overheard between Madame Maxime and Hagrid, but Hermione didn't seem to find the news that Hagrid was a half-giant nearly as shocking as Neville did.

"Well, I thought he must be," she said, shrugging. "I knew he couldn't be pure giant, because they're about twenty feet tall. But honestly, all this hysteria about giants. They can't all be horrible... It's the same sort of prejudice that people have toward werewolves... It's just bigotry, isn't it?"

"Well said, Hermione. Well said," Harry said approvingly.

"Although most of them are actually horrible," Neville said. "It's in their nature. They have a different culture than ours, a survival of the fittest culture."

"Also very true," Harry said with a nod. "You both make good points, but I think we can all agree that in Hagrid's case, the human in him is bigger than the giant could ever be."

"Hear, hear," Neville said, nodding.

Strangely enough, February the twenty-fourth seemed a lot closer from this side of Christmas, and he still hadn't done anything about his golden egg. He therefore started taking the egg out of his trunk every time he went up to the dormitory, opening it and listening intently, hoping that this time it would make some sense. He strained to think what the sound reminded him of, apart from the musical saws that played in the orchestra at Sir Nicholas' Deathday Party...

Wait a minute!

Harry perked up. Music! It was music! What music sounded like that? His mind worked overtime recalling all the texts he had read so far. The list of creatures that made music like that was long, and then he narrowed it down to the creatures that weren't too dangerous, and then removed those that the Ministry wouldn't possibly import. That left two possibles, and the centaurs, whose music was only beautiful during a full moon, which didn't occur on February the twenty-fourth, was too proud a race to agree to being part of the Triwizard Tournament, leaving just one... Merfolk...

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed as he came rushing down into the common room, making Hermione and Neville, both sitting in front of the fire in their usual seats, jump in surprise.

"What?" Hermione asked, clutching at her chest, trying to calm her heart.

"What is the password to the prefects' bathroom?"

"Why?"

"My egg and I are taking a bath."

"Alright, so they've taken the thing you'll miss the most, you have an hour to look for it, and it's in the lake?" Neville recounted that night as they sat in the common room, alone.

"That's right."

"Well, if it's underwater you're going, I recommend Gillyweed."

Harry blinked, looking at his friend.

"What?"

"Gillyweed," Neville repeated. "It's a magical plant native to the Mediterranean Sea. When it is eaten by a witch or wizard, one grows gills and webbing between the fingers and toes. There is, of course, some debate among Herbologists as to the duration of the effects of Gillyweed on fresh water versus salt water, but the effects of Gillyweed in fresh water is said to last about an hour."

Harry straightened up in his chair.

"You didn't, perchance, get this information from the book our dear imposter gave you?"

Neville's eyes widened.

"So I did."

The next day, Harry was very surprised when he saw Rita Skeeter's latest article.

DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE

Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes

Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent.

In September of this year, he hired Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence.

Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures. Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.

An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being 'very frightening.' "My friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a seventh-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything."

Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed 'Blast-Ended Skrewts,' highly dangerous crosses between manti-cores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions.

"I was just having some fun," he says, before hastily changing the subject.

As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not, as he has always pretended, a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown. Bloodthirsty, and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror.

While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal nature.

In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who's fall from power, thereby driving Hagrid's own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who's supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about his large friend, but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants.

Harry finished reading the article out loud to Neville at the breakfast table. Neville's mouth was hanging open.

"How did she find out?" he whispered.

"Do you suppose she was there?" Harry suggested. "When he told Maxime, I mean?"

"It's entirely possible..." Neville mumbled, nodding. "Where do you think she was?"

"The question isn't where she was, but how she got in," Harry said, chewing on his pipe. "She has been banned from this school, after all..."

"Monsieur Potter?"

Harry blinked from his position on a rock on the sloping lawns, sitting crosslegged and looking over the lake, his warm winter coat wrapped around him. Looking back, he saw a cold and shivering Beauxbatons student.

"Yes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he tapped his pipe against the stone, unloading it and stepping on the glowing tobacco.

"I was wondering if you could 'elp me," the girl said with a pitiful look on her face. "My favorite gold ring is missing, and I zink someone 'as stolen it."

"I charge a Sickle a day," Harry said, immediately rising to his feet and hopping off the rock. "And I will need to see the place where it was stolen from."

"Certainly. My name is Claire."

"Nice to meet you, Claire, I'd introduce myself, but I'm sure you already know me," Harry said as Claire led him down the snowy lawns to the Beauxbatons carriage, opening the door and letting him inside. The inside was obviously enlarged, as big as a house though it was, it couldn't possibly hold two floors of rooms, six doors on each side on each floor, and each room, judging by the distance between the doors, was very large.

"Zis is my room," Claire said, gesturing for the door to Harry's immediate right, closest to the door. Harry nodded and stepped inside.

As he thought, the room was large, about as large as Dudley's room in Privet Drive. It was furnished rather beautifully with a golden four-posted bed with red silk sheets, a large wardrobe, a beautifully hand-carved desk, a full-body mirror, drawers on each side of the bed, candles...

Harry hummed as he took five steps inside the room and looked around.

"Have you had the ring for a long time?"

"Oui," Claire answered, nodding as he looked back at her. "I 'ave 'ad it for years."

"You always wear it?"

"Oui."

Harry hummed again, taking another look around the room. Slowly, he sat down and closed his eyes, his head slowly dropping, his chin on his chest.

"Monsieur Potter?" Claire asked, and Harry raised a finger for silence.

"Has anyone from the other schools entered this room?"

"Non, no one," Claire said. "But I found wet footprints over zere," she said, pointing to the window, which was facing the lawns. Harry chuckled and stood up, moving over to the window and taking out his magic lens, permitting him to see stains that had long since been dried or wiped off.

"Hum!" he said quite loudly. "That'll be a Sickle, Madame."

"Pardon?"

"A Sickle, my job is done, you will have your ring by tonight," Harry said simply. "Of course, I cannot say for certain who the culprit is without talking to them first, but you will have it by tonight, I promise."

Looking slightly confused, Claire handed Harry a Sickle, and he left, looking quite bored.

On his way up to the lawns, he met exactly the person he was going up to look for, Fleur Delacour.

"Ah, Madame Delacour, that was a very nice theft," he told her, stopping her. Fleur blink.

"Excuse me? Did you just accuse me of stealing somzzing?"

"I believe I did," Harry said. "From your schoolmate Claire, you stole a gold ring on the night of the Yule Ball. Of course, I have nothing to link you directly to the crime, but then again I've only done an elementary search of the crime scene."

He noticed how Fleur's body tensed up ever so slightly, and quick as a flash, he lashed out and grabbed her wrist, a smirk appearing on his face.

"Your pulse is increasing," he said happily. "Now, if that ring were to find its way back into Claire's room by tonight, I won't be doing any further investigation, but if you don't return it, I will find evidence to bring you down."

To his surprise, Fleur gave a soft laugh.

"You are every bit ze detective you 'ave been made out to be," she said with a smile. "But don't worry. Soon, I will give you a case even you cannot solve."

"A challenge?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A promise," Fleur said.

Harry smiled.

"I'm looking forward to it."

"What did you bring her for?" Neville asked, gesturing for the scared and confused miniature version of Fleur.

"Fleur didn't turn up, I couldn't just leave her," Harry panted, glaring at Neville. "In retrospect, I realize that they wouldn't just let people die. I panicked, alright?"

"Hah!" Neville laughed as the two swam toward the bank where the judges were waiting, twenty merpeople accompanying them like a guard of honor, singing their horrible screechy songs. "Finally, the great Harry Potter lost his cool!"

Harry could see Madam Pomfrey fussing over Hermione and Krum, all of whom were wrapped in thick blankets.

Dumbledore and Ludo Bagman stood beaming at Harry and Neville from the bank as they swam nearer. Meanwhile, Madame Maxime was trying to restrain Fleur, who was quite hysterical, fighting tooth and nail to return to the water.

"Gabrielle! Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she 'urt?"

"She's fine!" Harry tried to tell her, but he was so exhausted he could hardly talk, let alone shout.

Dumbledore and Bagman pulled Harry and Neville upright when they reached the bank, and Fleur, breaking free from Madame Maxime, rushed over and hugged her sister.

"It was ze grindylows... zey attacked me... oh, Gabrielle, I zought... I zought..."

"Come here, you," Madam Pomfrey said. She seized Harry and pulled him over to Hermione and Krum, wrapped him so tightly in a blanket that he felt as if he were in a straitjacket, and forced a measure of very hot potion down his throat. Steam gushed out of his ears.

"Harry, well done!" Hermione cried. "You did it, you found out how all by yourself!"

"Actually," Harry said quietly, still panting slightly, for Karkaroff was sitting within earshot, "Neville gave me the tip about using Gillyweed."

"You haff a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny," Krum said. Harry had the impression that Krum was drawing her attention back onto himself, perhaps to remind her that he had just rescued her from the lake, but Hermione brushed away the beetle impatiently and said, "You're well outside the time limit, though, Harry... Did it take you ages to find us?"

"No... I found you okay..."

Harry's feeling of stupidity, something he hadn't felt for a long time, was growing. Why hadn't he just grabbed Neville and gone? He would have been first back... Krum hadn't wasted time worrying about anyone else. He hadn't taken the mersong seriously...

Dumbledore was crouching at the water's edge, deep in conversation with what seemed to be the chief merperson, a particularly wild and ferocious-looking female. He was making the same sort of screechy noises that the merpeople made when they were above water. Clearly, Dumbledore could speak Mermish. Finally, he straightened up, turned to his fellow judges, and said, "A conference before we give the marks, I think."

The judges went into a huddle as a blanket-wrapped, steamy-eared Neville was sat down at Harry's side.

"Well," he said, nodding to himself, "I'd say you're going to get the highest score."

Harry hummed.

"What, for sheer stupidity?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of being willing to lose just to see that all the hostages were returned safely," Neville said, laughing at Harry's expression, which Harry guessed must have looked amusing to Neville...

Then, Fleur and her sister arrived with Madam Pomfrey. Fleur had many cuts on her face and arms and her robes were torn, but she didn't seem to care, nor would she allow Madam Pomfrey to clean them.

"Look after Gabrielle," she told her, and then she turned to Harry. "You saved 'er," she said breathlessly. "Even though she was not your 'ostage."

"Yes, well..." Harry trailed off, looking away from Fleur, then felt Neville slap him hard on the back.

"Of course! He couldn't very well leave her there, could he? That's not how Harry works."

Fleur bent down, kissed Harry twice on each cheek (he felt his face burn and wouldn't have been surprised if steam was coming out of his ears again), then said to Neville, "And you too... you 'elped."

"I just swam," Neville said, raising his hands in defense. "Harry did the saving."

Just then, Bagman's magically magnified voice boomed out beside them, making them all jump, and causing the crowd in the stands to go very quiet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows...

"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

Applause from the stands.

"I deserved zero," Fleur said throatily, shaking her magnificent head.

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, and was first to return with his hostage. We award him forty points."

Karkaroff clapped particularly hard, looking very superior.

"Harry Potter used Gillyweed to great success," Bagman continued. "He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own."

Neville and Hermione both gave Harry half-exasperated, half-commiserating looks.

"Most of the judges," and here, Bagman gave Karkaroff a very nasty look, "feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However... Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points."

Harry's stomach leapt. He was in first place! Hermione, caught by surprise, while Neville looked smug, then laughed as they both started applauding hard with the rest of the crowd.

"What did I tell you?" Neville asked, thumping Harry on the back again. "You weren't being thick, just showing moral fiber!"

Fleur was clapping very hard, too, but Krum didn't look happy at all. He attempted to engage Hermione in conversation again, but she was too busy cheering Harry to listen.

"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June," Bagman continued. "The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."

"It's close, Neville."

Harry and Neville sat in the Great Hall. Harry was glancing up at the Head Table now and then, at the imposter Moody.

"He is about to make his move," Harry continued, to which Neville raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you say that?"

"Please note, Neville, how his normal eye moves just as rapidly as the fake one. Note the increased wringing of his hands, the tapping of his foot, the barely concealed smile on his face... Oh yes, Neville, whatever he is planning will happen during the third task, I'm sure."

"Are you going to let it happen?" Neville asked, and Harry shook his head.

"Of course not. We will be taking him down." Harry looked around and leaned closer to Neville. "Today."

"We?" Neville asked with a gulp. He obviously wasn't too sure about this.

"You don't want to?"

Neville sighed. "Of course I do."

"Very well, then," Harry said, nodding. "When he gets up to leave, I shall paralyze his vocal cords. You will give him a solid strike to the kidney, then disarm him. I shall then proceed to break his nose and knock him out with a punch to the temple."

"If you say so," Neville said with a sigh.

As they sat in the far end of the Gryffindor table, they waited until they saw Moody rise from his seat and head off toward the doors. Harry and Neville rose from their seats as well, and made their way over to Moody.

"Professor, I think I've been cursed," Harry said lowly as they stopped Moody. Moody's eye narrowed.

"What are you talking about, Potter?"

"Look at my hand," Harry said and held up his left hand. Moody's fake eye was locked on Neville's, while his normal one stared into the palm of Harry's hand.

Like a flash, Harry's hand shot up, choke slamming Moody in the throat. Neville immediately moved in as the entire hall went silent, throwing a powerful hook that hit the man in his left kidney, while with his left hand he reached into Moody's coat and pulled out his wand. As Moody doubled over from the strike, his nose met with Harry's knee, throwing his head back. Then, Harry threw a left hook that connected with Moody's temple, knocking him unconscious.

Without a second's pause, Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at Moody.

"Stupefy!"

A bright red jet of light slammed into Moody, making sure he stayed unconscious until the time came to wake him up.

"It's just about on the hour," Harry said, taking Neville's walking stick and flipping the imposter over onto his back.

The entire hall stared in silent shock as Harry and Neville watched the impostor's unmoving form. Then, before their eyes, the face of the man on the floor began to change. The scars were disappearing, the skin was becoming smooth. The mangled nose became whole and started to shrink. The long mane of grizzled gray hair was withdrawing into the scalp and turning the color of straw. Suddenly, with a loud clunk, the wooden leg fell away as a normal leg regrew in its place. The next moment, the magical eyeball had popped out of the man's face as a real eye replaced it. It rolled away across the floor and continued to swivel in every direction. Harry saw a man lying before him, pale-skinned, slightly freckled, with a mop of fair hair.

"Bartemius Crouch," Harry said, kneeling next to the man, having read many case files in his early days at Hogwarts, "junior..."

"The blood of an enemy... Well, that could be anyone. I suspect he wanted my blood because of my mother's protection," Harry said as he watched the Aurors carrying a soulless Bartemius Crouch Jr. away from the castle.

"Good riddance," Neville said and spat on the ground in contempt. "One of my parents' attackers has gotten what he deserved."

Harry patted Neville on the shoulder. "You know, I wonder what name my map would have shown when it came to him..."

"What happened to your map, by the way?" Neville asked as the two turned and walked back into the entrance hall, through the crowd of students. Harry shrugged.

"I let Dumbledore borrow it. He had more use for it than I do. Especially now that Crouch is out of the way."

"Neville!"

Harry looked up sharply at the voice, and saw Neville heading over to meet Hannah Abbott, who greeted Neville with a kiss. He hummed as he approached them.

"So, I see you have actually managed to keep a secret from me, Neville," Harry said with a bright smile. "I see you two have been together long before the Yule Ball."

"You are as good as Neville says you are," Hannah said, holding hands with Neville. "How could you tell?"

"Well, the kiss of greeting was a bit too well-practiced," Harry said, winking at Neville. "Not to mention, you are holding hands, which are subconsciously having their own little thumb war, suggesting that you two have done this for a long time, in the Astronomy Tower, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Don't show him any bare skin save for your neck, head and hands, Hannah," Neville muttered, "or he'll be able to tell you how you were born..."

Hannah laughed.

"What's so funny?" came Hermione's voice as she approached Harry from behind.

"Have you been down to the kitchens again?" Harry asked without looking back at her. "As for what's so funny, Neville cracked a little joke regarding my powers of deduction. Not funny, in my opinion."

The time passed in regular normality, something that left Harry feeling horrible. The only positive he had to look forward to was the intricate Arithmancy and Advanced Arithmancy homework that Professor Vector assigned. The calculations, the complex numerical problems were like candy for Harry's brain. As he had no clue to work on regarding the third task, this was all he had to look forward to. According to Holmes, a seven percent solution of cocaine was transcendentally stimulating and clarifying to the mind, but Harry didn't wish to try it. It was, as Watson said, a pathological and morbid process which involved increased tissue-change and may leave a permanent weakness. Unlike Holmes, Harry didn't want to risk it.

Finally, in the last week of May, something somewhat interesting happened. Professor McGonagall held him back in Transfiguration.

"You are to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine o'clock, Potter," she told him. "Mr. Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task."

So, at half past eight that night, Harry left Neville and Hermione in Gryffindor Tower and went downstairs. He headed down the stone steps out of the entrance hall, out into the cloudy nights.

He walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field, stopping dead.

The Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction.

"Hedges..." Harry muttered to himself, bending to examine the nearest one.

"Hello there!" a cheery voice called.

Bagman was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur. Harry made his way toward them, climbing over the hedges. Fleur beamed at Harry as he came nearer. Her attitude toward him had changed completely since he had saved her sister from the lake.

"Well, what d'you think?" Bagman asked happily as Harry climbed over the last hedge. "Growing nicely, aren't they? Give them a month and Hagrid'll have them twenty feet high. Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"

No one spoke for a moment. Then, both Harry and Krum said, "Maze," at the same time.

"That's right!" Bagman said happily. "A maze! The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks."

"We simply 'ave to get zrough ze maze?" Fleur asked.

"There will be obstacles," Bagman said happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hagrid is providing a number of creatures... then there will be spells that must be broken... all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champion who is leading on points, Mr. Potter, will get a head start into the maze." Bagman grinned at Harry. "Then Mr. Krum will enter... and finally, Miss Delacour. But you'll all be in with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?"

Harry, who knew only too well the kind of creatures that Hagrid was likely to provide for an event like this, thought it was likely to be very dangerous, but at the prospect of seeing various spells that needed to be broken, he nodded excitedly, while the others nodded politely.

"Very well... if you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly..."

Bagman hurried alongside Harry as they began to wind their way out of the growing maze. Harry had the feeling that Bagman was going to start offering to help him, but just then, Fleur tapped Harry on the shoulder.

"Could I 'ave a word wiz you?"

"Yeah, alright," Harry said, slightly surprised.

"Will you walk wiz me?"

Harry nodded, and Bagman looked slightly perturbed.

"I'll wait for you, Harry, shall I?"

"No, it's okay, Mr. Bagman," Harry said, suppressing a smile, "I think I can find the castle on my own, thanks."

Harry and Fleur left the stadium together, but Fleur walked passed Hagrid's cabin and the illuminated Beauxbatons carriage, toward the forest.

"Why are we going here?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't want anyone else to 'ear us," Fleur said.

When at last they had reached a quiet stretch of ground a short way from the Beauxbatons horses' paddock, Fleur stopped in the shade of the trees and turned to face Harry.

"You are a good man, 'Arry," she said, to which Harry just blinked.

"What?" he asked. "That's all?"

"Non, non, silly," Fleur said, laughing. "Zere's more. I like you," she said, making Harry's eyes widen. "I would like to get to know you better, and I was wondering if you would like to go to zis... 'Ogsmeade wiz me tomorrow?"

Harry gaped. "You're asking me out?" he asked, shocked. He never would've thought that someone like Fleur would ask someone like him out.

Fleur blushed.

"I don't know why, but I feel a great attraction to you," she said. After a few seconds of shocked silence, Fleur started to fidget slightly. "Well?"

This knocked Harry out of his shock.

"What? Oh, sure, I'd love to." To his amazement, Fleur actually breathed a sigh of relief.

"Zank God. I 'ave never been ze one to ask someone out on a date before. I was worried you would say no."

"Why would anyone say no to you?" Harry asked. "You're beautiful, you come from an upper class family, you have a lot of money, although you prefer to earn it for yourself. I would comment on your stuck-up personality, but I would be a pot calling a kettle black if I did."

"Stuck-up?" Fleur asked, affronted. "I am not stuck-up. I 'ave standards."

"Forgive me," Harry said, giving a small bow. "When I analyze, I view things as abstract problems, forgetting how personal or insulting I may be. It's a bit of a flaw of mine that I hope you can understand."

Fleur raised her head and tossed her hair. "Well, at least you are polite."

"And I sense a bit of insecurity in you," Harry said, smiling.

"I 'ave 'eard of your deductive powers," Fleur said, tilting her head to the side. "What can you tell me about myself?"

"Like I said, you're from an upper class family, a rich one that you love very much, but you want to earn money yourself, to show that you're not just a pretty face, but sometimes, you are afraid that you might fail, and so you try to flaunt your beauty as much as possible at those times."

Fleur blinked. "'Ow did you come to zat conclusion?" she asked, to which Harry merely gave a smirk.

"Come now, Fleur, if a conjurer reveals his methods, his tricks become less extraordinary."

So, that Hogsmeade weekend, at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, Harry was telling Fleur the tale of how he uncovered the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets. Needless to say, Fleur was gaping.

"Well, I was wrong about you all along," she said once Harry was done. "I zought you were just a smart man, but you are actually a reckless, foolishly brave and strong smart man."

"I wouldn't call myself strong, just accurate," Harry said modestly. He didn't know why he behaved like this around Fleur. Usually, he would have no problem proclaiming that he was, in fact, strong.

"Non, non, you are strong. You battled a Basilisk!"

"A blind Basilisk."

"Which is also a great feat," Fleur said. "Now, please, tell me 'ow you know so much about me."

Harry stared at Fleur for a few moments, then nodded.

"I deduced that you come from an upper class family because you wear specially made tailored robes in acromantula silk, and that you don't want to use your family's money from the lack of jewelry that you so desire. I know that you love your family, however, and that they love you, by the single ring you wear on your finger, which you received on your seventeenth birthday, a common gift for women when they come of age.

"I know that you have some feelings of insecurity, for whenever you gain a look of doubt, you cover it up and toss your hair, bringing everyone's attention to your beauty."

"C'est magnifique!"

"Elementary."

And so, Harry won the Triwizard Tournament, and another of Lord Voldemort's plans to regain his powers was thwarted by my dearest friend. Looking over my notes between '91 and '97, I still have a hard time understanding just how Harry made the deductions he did. To him, everything was so simple, so easy to see, whereas to a normal man, it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

That the imposter Moody was in actuality Bartemius Crouch Junior, I suspect to this day that Harry already knew, but never told me. Then again, he might not have. His poker face is something to be desired, as he can keep his cool in almost any situation. Even faced with a dragon, he managed to remain calm, whereas I am ashamed to admit that I would have turned and run the other way.

As you know, the Minister of Magic was called in, and Crouch was interrogated with Veritasserum. It turned out that Harry was supposed to be taken to a place where the Dark Lord Voldemort was to be resurrected. For thwarting this plan, Minister Fudge gave both Harry and myself an Order of Merlin, First Class. Mine looks pretty good over the fireplace.

Naturally, Harry won the Triwizard Cup, and I'm sure that the reason Fleur decided to stay in England after her graduation was because of him, despite the fact that she said she took the job at Gringotts to improve her English.

With the NEWTs done, and us graduated, I started drifting apart from Harry, I'm sorry to say. It took Sirius a long time to find a good apartment, so I'm glad Harry had at least someone to talk to, being that I was training full time to be a Healer and Hermione off to see the world for some reason. We still met from time to time, and we talked and talked, but it was not at all like old times. At least, not yet. When I finish my Healer training, however, I am going to move into 221B Diagon Alley, and I think things will once more get interesting...

A/N: Hello, readers! As you can see, The Chronicles of Harry Holmes is finished, but I have released the first chapter of the sequel, Harry Holmes and the Web of Conspiracy! Check it out if you want!