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Harry was treading water at the center of the village, waiting. Krum had came and went, Cedric too, he was beginning to think that Fleur wasn’t and he was the last one. Well the last one but for Ron and the little black haired girl, blissfully sleeping while tied to a statue two hundred feet below the surface.
His watch had stopped shortly after he started the task, but his mind kept going back to the song. ‘ But past an hour — the prospect's black; Too late, it's gone, it won't come back .’ He didn’t really have a great intuitive grasp of time, even when above the water, but it had been a long wait. He wasn’t leaving anyone to stay down here.
Swimming over smoothly, gillyweed was incredible, he picked up the sharp rock he’d given Krum and set to work sawing Ron free. The bonds parted easily and he left Ron still partly in them so he wouldn’t drift away. Turning to the little girl he started cutting again. The merpeople looked agitated, but didn’t make a move to stop him. He looked between the two, the tiny girl and his increasingly lanky friend and tried to figure out a way to get them both to the surface and air.
As soon as the thought of air came to mind- the cold, freezing, and damp air of the Scottish winter- he felt his lungs start to burn. He looked at his fingers, he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination but the fins already seemed smaller. He didn’t want to find out how fast gillyweed stopped working while in the middle of the lake.
Harry’s mind was made up, he stuck his wand in his suit’s waistband and grabbed the girl and Ron by the necks of their shirts. He gave two strong kicks and surged upwards, even dragging them through the water he was moving fast.
Not fast enough to get past the mermen though, several holding tridents rose above him looking threatening and speaking their strange language. He let go of Ron, Harry was pretty sure he’d float, and drew his wand.
“Back off!” He shouted, or tried to in a sea of bubbles. His wand sparked a little, sending gleaming red flecks through the water and while they didn’t lower their weapons they at least moved out of his way. Seizing Ron again he started kicking for the shore, each stroke coming a little harder as the pain in his chest started to get worse. In the clarity he sometimes got on the quidditch pitch he realized that diving into an ice cold lake with only a plant he’d been given by Dobby might not have been the best idea. It had worked out so far, but now, desperately driving for an all too distant surface, it would have been nice to know how long it took to wear off.
Not too long it turned out. He only had sucked in one breath of ice cold water before he broke the surface gasping. He got the girl and Ron up when the cold of the water finally hit him. It was lucky the two of them seemed to wake as soon as the air touched them, the water had gone from incredibly cold to burning cold and he could barely keep a grip on them.
Actually only one hand was burning, the arm holding Ron was fine but the little girl was red and blistering where his hand brushed her. She gave him one confused look then seemed to realize what was happening and she screamed .
The merpeople had surrounded them and were pushing them to the shore but the girl was thrashing trying to escape his grasp, her flailing arm his his with a sickening crack and he lost his grip. She’d just broken his arm! A little waif of a child eight at the oldest had just hit his arm and it broke.
He had no more time to think on this as they reached the dock. Someone tried to pull him out by his injured right, but he managed to avoid them and got out under his own power. Madame Pomfrey was there, her wand sending a spell that numbed and fixed his arm instantly before she saw the burns on the girls back.
“Mr. Potter what happened?” She was already doing something as she spoke, instantly fixated on the new injury.
“I think that’s something we’d all like to know.” The new voice took everyone by surprise. It came from a tall man, Harry would forever judge people by Hagrid’s size so no one was truly big, but this man made a decent job of it.
The little girl was the only one not stunned by his arrival, tearing free of Ron’s grasp and burying her head against the man, as she sobbed and stammered out rapid French. Fleur was there too, stepping around the man who had one hand on the little girl even as his expression was turning incandescent. Fleur had her arms wrapped around the girl, brushing her dark hair and rocking her even as she glared at Harry.
There was tension in the air, a sense of imminent danger that the dark robed man seemed to exude. Worst of all he was staring at Harry with such rage that he was surprised the dock didn’t spontaneously burst into flames and collapse around him. “Well? What did you do?”
That got through to Harry, he had been accused of doing things his whole life that were never his fault and neither was this. He was about to step forward and shout, and probably cause an international incident, so it was something of a relief when Ron did it for him.
“He did nothing but drag her up from the bottom!” The redhead had surged forward, looking up at the far taller man. “Whatever happened Harry had nothing to do with it!”
He didn’t seem inclined to take Ron’s word for it, especially as the little girl seemed to contradict it between her sobs. He gestured to her livid burns that had only gotten worse since they’d left the lake. “Those are not nothing!” He paused after his shout, not to calm down but to grow even angrier. “This is the last time I’m asking. What did you do to my daughter?”
“Mr. Potter is innocent of any wrongdoing.” Dumbledore’s arrival was a relief as the other wizard swirled to face him, still holding the girl in his arms. “Monsieur Delacour whatever happened to your daughter, I assure you that Mr. Potter had no hand in it.”
The wizard, Fleur’s father Harry belatedly realized, fixed the full force of his gaze on the professor who looked remarkably unruffled even as Bagman and Percy quailed. “Your assurances mean little Dumbledore. Especially after your previous one was violated so surely.”
“Nonetheless Mr. Potter had nothing to do with it. If you continue to press the matter I will have to ask you to leave.” Despite the headmaster’s politeness the threat was clearly audible. The wizard looked down at Dumbledore and the pressure in the air intensified. There was a long moment where violence seemed imminent, before the Frenchman huffed out a breath and stepped back.
“I expect a full investigation of your student’s actions and a complete explanation. Do not test me on this.”
“Of course. Now if you’ll return to the stands for the scores?” The wizard still looked furious but he apparently wasn’t willing to argue further with the greatest wizard in the world while his daughter was in his arms. Fleur followed him as they left, the vitriol in their voices carrying as they marched back to the spectators.
“Who was that?” Hermione had towed Krum over as the confrontation ended, despite her wet hair she looked warm in her towel and Harry couldn’t help but be jealous of it. “Why did he accuse you of hurting her?”
Dumbledore answered before either Ron or he could. “Harry Delacour is a powerful wizard who has done much good for the world. One thing he is not though, is even tempered. Rapidly leaping to conclusions is his default state of motion.”
Krum seemed to recognize the name, and after a second’s thought so did Hermione. “Fleur’s father is Harry Delacour ?” The shock in her voice was mixed with surprise and a small amount of awe.
Dumbledore nodded but glanced back at the stands and dignitaries. “Indeed, but further discussion can wait until after the scores are announced. If you’ll wait over by Mr. Diggory and Miss Chang?” He turned before they could answer, his long strides eating up the distance back to the other judges.
Ron took the initiative again and asked the question Harry wanted the answer to. “So why is Fleur’s dad a big deal?”
Krum answered, his accented voice rumbling over Hermione’s indignant sputters at their ignorance. “He’s the master of wandless magic. Working with the French Aurors he locked the goblins below the Alps in eighty-five.”
Well, Harry reflected, it could be worse. He already had at least one powerful wizard working against him if Moody was to be believed. Another one irritated at him was only a difference of scale.
“You shouldn’t worry about him, Mr. Potter. Dumbledore will soon set him straight.” Madame Pomfrey’s return to the conversation was accompanied by thick towels that Harry and Ron gratefully accepted. She hit both of them with a few other charms and clucked her tongue at the apparent results. “He isn’t the only fool around here, I don’t know what the judges were thinking sending you all into a half frozen lake.” Harry tuned out her muttering with the ease of long practice, he saw Dumbledore standing to announce the scores. He, Krum and Diggory turned to look, Fleur was nowhere to be be found.
He half expected a speech, or a description of the their deeds, the spectators had been watching a still lake for an hour after all, but Dumbledore simply read them. Cedric- forty seven, Krum- forty, Harry thirty five and Fleur twenty five. Hermione was busy congratulating Krum, similarly to Cho who was kissing Cedric a jealous part of Harry noticed, so Ron was left to commiserate with him.
“You should have just left her down there.” Harry was almost offended at his friend’s words, he wouldn’t leave anyone to be lost at the bottom of the lake, even if it had turned out so badly. Ron saw his expression and looked incredulous. “Harry, you don’t think they’d actually let anyone get injured down there? They’d have brought us all right up.”
“But the song..” Harry trailed off, irritated at himself. Of course they wouldn’t let anyone die, they’d just added the line for drama and a rhyme. He’d just rushed in and made an enemy by burning a little girl with his bare hands- just like Quirrel.
But that was impossible. First off, he’d have seen a head poking through her hair and second, she was eight. Dark Lords didn’t possess eight year olds. Still though, he remembered the professor’s screams, the scent of burning flesh. He didn’t know what had happened, but he knew what it felt like.
“Ron what do you think-” His friend wasn’t listening, staring slackjawed over his shoulder. He turned and it took all he had not to follow Ron’s example.
Standing there was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She had dark hair, glossy and curled, the highlights almost blue in the weak sun. Her flawless body and perfect face should have been captivating but her eyes were what seized Harry’s focus. They were gleaming silver, harsh, cold, and somehow predatory. She swept her gaze across all of them and Harry barely managed to control his warring instincts. Half of him, his lower half he’d snark later in the boys’ dormitory, wanted to drop to his knees and worship her, and the other wanted to run as fast as he could and never look back. Ron’s faint whimpers to his side made him set his shoulders though.
“This area is for champions and friends only.” It wasn’t the wittiest repartee ever but Harry was somewhat proud he’d managed to avoid drooling. Whatever this woman was, maybe there was some truth to the ridiculous ‘dark veela’ rumors Fleur had spawned, her very presence felt like Moody’s imperius. “Maybe you should go back to the stands.”
She smiled and it felt like the dawn. “Of course. I just wanted to ask a question of you.” She took a half step closer and her silver eyes seemed to fill the entirety of Harry’s vision. “Did you do anything at all in the lake to my daughter?”
He racked his mind, scrambling to find an answer for her. “I brought her back to the surface and got my arm broken?”
“And I helped!” Ron leapt forward, the words tumbling over themselves as he stared adoringly at her. She raised an elegant eyebrow at the interruption and her presence receded.
“Well then you have my thanks and my husband’s apologies. He is ever so sensitive about our daughters’ well being.” She turned and walked back to the stands, every male’ head there turned to watch her hypnotically swaying hips, at least until Hermione elbowed Krum hard in the ribs and snorted.
“Honestly, I can’t take you anywhere.” Krum tried to recover by picking a bug from her still soaked hair but even his attempt at gallantry didn’t break through her reserve. Harry didn’t especially want to watch either of the couples argue, nor deal with Ron’s apparent jealousy so it was something of a relief when he remembered how cold he was and started shivering. Madame Pomfrey noticed and shepherded them back up to the castle, catching up to the crowd from the emptying stands. She led them all, save Krum who had been spirited away by Karkaroff, up to the Hospital wing for a regime of potions and a final check over.
Dumbledore was there, as was Moody, the two of them conferring in hushed voices. The headmaster looked up as they trooped in. “Ah, our champions and and friends. I was hoping to ensure you were all in good health.”
“Of course, sir. But can you tell us more about the Delacours?”
“The Delacours, Harry? You encountered more than Harry?”
Hermione, perhaps frustrated by not being as completely informed as usual answered. “His wife sir. What is she? There’s no such thing as dark veela and she wasn’t remotely avian.”
His eyes went bright as he looked up briefly, “Oh, Lara, she even makes me wish I was a younger man. As to what she is? I have no idea.”
“What?” Hermione wasn’t the only one astonished by Dumbledore’s ignorance, everyone in the hospital wing was staring at him in awe.
“Oh don’t look so surprised.” He looked around the room, almost entertained by their gobsmacked faced. “I am not all-knowing, there are mysteries that I have not explored and secrets kept from me. The Delacours came to my attention in nineteen seventy five when they quite literally appeared out of nowhere. I was a little too busy to investigate, but they made waves that not even the war was able to overshadow. Monsieur Delacour is a master of a strange school of magic and has led several crusade against the most random causes over the years, from obliviations to the research practices of unspeakables.”
Moody spoke then, his voice almost gleeful in contrast to Dumbledore’s airy remarks. “They’re fighters though. He and his wife sent back some Death Eaters in pieces when they fled to France. They were blank shells when they got shipped back, if I didn’t know better I’d think they were Kissed.”
“Yes they do have a vicious side, particularly Lara. The ‘female of the species’ and all that.” Perhaps sensing a Hermione rant on gender equality he clapped his hands briskly. “Now all of you should return to your friends. I’m sure they have some fun prepared for all of you.”
Harry hung back as the rest of them left, when Hermione paused looking anxious he gave her a wave to continue. “Sir? What did happen?”
Dumbledore hummed noncommittally. “Like I told Monsieur Delacour I have no idea. Gabrielle was burned when you touched her?”
The welts his hands had raised sprung to mind, as well as the girl’s screams. “Yes. Like Quirrell?”
“I very much doubt like Quirrell. Voldemort’s shade will not enter these grounds again and from what I know of that family they would never allow any such thing to happen to their daughter. Whatever caused your mother’s protection to activate is something new. I suggest avoiding any of them until we know more.”
Dumbledore ushered him out into the hallway, clearly indicating the conversation was over before they parted ways. Harry was left by himself as he walked back to Gryffindor tower, wondering why his mother’s love had burned a random little girl.