A Godfather's Promise

"Harry Potter" belongs to J.K. Rowling

I will probably get around to revising the previous chapters to fix some of the bad grammar, so don't be surprised if it shows that the story has been updated without any new chapter. I find it annoying that in order to make simple fixes, I have to update the chapter in .

I really wish that adopts a system like DA's that makes it easier for authors to make corrections on their stories without sending an update alert to the story's followers. Thus, if you see an update and there's not chapter, this is your warning. If anyone is volunteering as a beta, I'm all ears. Send me a PM.

I am well aware that my writing style has been a bit slow. Hopefully things will start speeding up in the next chapters.

Also, sorry for the late update. I've been playing Kingdom Come: Deliverance and Jesus titty-fucking Christ is it an amazing game. Bugs aside of course. I also wanted to wait a while after was fixed.

That, and classes have been a bitch ever since I started to do my social service. That shit really cuts down on your personal time.

Review if you have any more questions. Or send me a PM, I will answer them as soon as possible.

Now, on with the chapter:

"Dialogue"

'Thoughts'

"Foreign language"

Spells

A Godfather's Promise

Chapter V: The Dark Side of my Heart

After his normal morning exercise, Harry was once again in the Gryffindor Common Room, now getting ready for what he knew would be an important day. Despite his empty stomach calling out for food, his mind was occupied with the scheduled event that he knew he would need to attend today. Not as a Gryffindor fourth-year student, but as a Triwizard Champion.

Today, he would be attending the Wand Weighing Ceremony, and that meant that Fleur would also be attending.

It was a Triwizard Tournament Tradition. An experienced wandmaker would attend in order to inspect the Champions' wands for any deficiencies. In the back of his mind, Harry also knew that it would be a media moment, no doubt the Daily Prophet would be involved in order to take photographs and interviews.

That meant that in order to have a chance to finally talk to Fleur alone, he would need to arrive early and hope that she would be alone. While Cedric and Krum were also early risers, he knew that it was more than anything out of motivation, so if he arrived early, he might have a chance to spot Fleur before anyone else arrived.

That meant that he would need to complete the scheduled class as fast as possible, thus his problem: Potions.

'Of all the classes I need to take at that moment, it has to be Snape's.'

'Merlin's putrid ballsack!'

Harry had gotten a lot better at Potions ever since he started, however, it did not mean that he had to like the greasy-haired professor that seemed to do anything in his power to either belittle him or cause him to mix the potion badly. Sirius had often told him that Snape and his father had never gotten along. Apparently, Snape fancied his mother, Lily. But James eventually ended up with her, and Snape had always resented the fact that Lily chose James Potter over him.

The thought of Snape and his mother ever having contact made Harry involuntarily let out a small shudder.

Quickly getting changed, he started to look over his bag to see what he would be needing during the day. He grabbed his wand of course, several textbooks and a big parchment of paper that did not contain any homework that was assigned by his teachers. It was instead the product of a little project that Harry had been working on ever since he found that large tome two days ago.

It was a small scroll, one that he had written himself. Having read more deeply into the contracts that had been feature in the magazines, he ended up fashioning one for himself. It was a little thing he had done out of boredom, in the long nights where he had been unable to get some sleep.

It was either that or he wanted to avoid the nightmares that he had been avoiding recently. Thinking about how to write such a perverted agreement was certainly out of his depth, but he managed to do one anyway.

Harry knew Fleur had all the advantages. She was older, she was beautiful, he imagined that she was pretty smart if she was chosen by the Goblet to compete, and if what Sirius had told him was true the she came from a very influential family in French wizarding politics, unlike House Potter.

While House Potter was certainly notorious, it had little influence in terms of politics. Harry's family had always been known to be further apart from the rest of the Wizarding World, preferring to consort with the Muggle World as often as possible. It was this reason that prevented House Potter from being named in the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. Pureblood supremacists like the Malfoys and Notts would sneer at his family for making ties with muggles.

If the rumored monetary fortune of House Potter was true, not to mention their large manor, then Harry thought it was definitely worth the sneering.

Apparently the Delacour family was well known in France, and Dominique Delacour was a high ranking official in the French Ministry, that certainly put Fleur above himself in the importance list.

In other words, Harry needed to level the playing field. The thing he didn't know was how he would do it. Thinking about it deeply Harry realized that there was one additional thing that made it almost impossible for him to get on Fleur's level.

He had absolutely no experience with women.

True, he noticed women, growing up with Sirius made sure he had that particular experience on him since an early age. But he had never really been interested in a single girl before. Fleur had been different. A part of Harry had to admit that her unearthly beauty was a definite part of the package, but there was something else that he noticed when he spoke to Daphne Greengrass and Susan Bones previously.

He was interested in women that were not fawning over him or idolizing him. The only women that he seemed to be interested in from the whole female population were the ones that did not seem to be interested in him. The ones that did not stare dove-like at him because of some incident that happened when he was still an infant. Fangirls, he had heard Sirius call them.

One of the girls that was definitely not a fangirl was Hermione. He had been attracted to her initially, but there was one thing that she found completely turned him off from her: her bossiness. Molly Weasley had made it sure that that particular trait was not something he wanted in a partner.

Fleur was not like Hermione. She was haughty, she was arrogant, she acted like she was better than him. He wanted to prove her wrong, that's one of the reasons he was so attracted to her, that's the kind of woman that interested him

'They're the ones that pose a challenge,' Harry thought, remembering his first interaction with Fleur. She had belittled him, taunted him, and made him feel like all his accomplishment seem small. It had angered him, but it also made him want to prove himself. Make her realize that he was the best there was.

The way Harry saw it, Fleur Delacour was not a foolish, petty girl that would be impressed only by his Boy-Who-Lived status, and that is exactly what he wanted.

'Maybe Sirius could help me on this, he certainly knows his way around women.'

Grunting, Harry put the scroll at the very top of his school bag – he did not want other people to see it, he did not trust his trunk as much to hide something like this – and started to make his way outside the boys' dormitory and into the Common Room proper. He did not know why he did such a contract to be honest.

'I should probably just burn the thing before it gets me into trouble,'

When he arrived at the Common Room, he saw the brown-haired figure Hermione Granger, the girl that had at one point been his best friend. That relationship was certainly in question nowadays.

"Harry… I… how are you?" asked Hermione, Harry noticed her usually authoritarian, no-nonsense voice was quivering slightly.

"Pretty good," Harry said dryly, but not in an overly hostile manner. He may have felt a little betrayed by Hermione. But at least she was not Ronald.

"Ready for Potions?" Hermione asked uncertainly, her eyes now finding the wall besides Harry very interesting at the moment.

"Ready as can be considering this is Snape we are talking about. You should be relieved, if you stick to Parvati and Lavender, he won't be on your ass the whole class," said Harry sarcastically. Hermione flinched slightly at the accusation but recovered and leveled a small glare at him.

"You were the one that stopped talking to us!" she half-whispered, her tone a mix between anger, frustration, and sadness.

"Why do you think I stopped talking to you? You were always going to be frustrated that you had a competitor for the first spot. Ron was always going to complain that I didn't spend more times in games. Please don't tell me otherwise, I know you too well," said Harry, getting increasingly annoyed at just how hostile they're formerly warm relationship was getting.

Hermione simply looked at her feet for a moment, her eyes closed for a few seconds before finally speaking in a low voice. "That's not true, we have always been your friends."

"Maybe, maybe not," and with that, Harry left her to stew while he left the Gryffindor Common Room in order to get ready for his day.

Deep down, Harry knew that Hermione did not deserve this, she had been his friend ever since his first year. She had been there when they needed to take down Professor Quirrell. She had helped him figure out that the monster in the Chamber of Secrets was a basilisk. Even when the cracks in their friendship began to show in their third year, she had helped him during Pettigrew's escape.

Harry had to admit to himself, in the last few months he had become to see Hermione as someone who could possibly be more than just a friend.

Yet, despite the role that Hermione had had in his life in the past three years, thoughts of her were lost on Harry in favor of Fleur.

If there was one thing that Remus Lupin had come to appreciate ever since James and Lily died, it was the quiet and peaceful moments. A far cry from his escapades with his group of friends back in Hogwarts. Back then, everything was an adventure, James and Sirius making sure that there was never any lack of mischief in the school and in their lives. For someone like Remus, going from those exciting days to the mostly droll times he faced now should have been the precedent for what muggle psychologists called a "mid-life crisis".

The war had changed all that.

In war the unexpected stops being exciting and alluring, and instead becomes foreboding and terrifying. The monotone of peaceful days is shattered only by quick moments of adrenaline or horror. For Remus, the pleasure that James and Sirius would bring to him when they would find another way to prank the student and faculty would forever be tainted by feelings of dread that another one of their friends was now dead, or that a particularly nasty group of Death Eaters decided to attack them while they were going on their daily lives.

Yes, Remus Lupin definitely had come to appreciate the quiet and peace, and he was pretty sure that Sirius felt that way as well despite his appearances.

Not many people may notice it. If they saw the same thing Remus was seeing at the moment then they would see Sirius once again being the center of attention, a bar wench was sitting on his lap as some of the inn's regulars were listening to his gaudy jokes. His face broke into a wide smile as he laughed at his own humor.

Yet Remus noticed that his jokes had a certain somber and realistic tone. His laugh was slightly forced, as if trying to hide some long-lost pain, and the smile as he looked at the woman in his lap did not really reach his eyes. The werewolf was the only person really knew Sirius long enough to know the differences in all the little things his last surviving friend did. It took a lot more to make the Black Lord truly smile nowadays, and those moments were reserved only for his closest people.

Unlike Remus, Sirius Black made the best attempts at hiding his pain. Maybe because he had to raise their best friend's son for fourteen years.

As the morning passed and breakfast was served, Remus watched as the customers made their way out of the Three Broomsticks Inn, each of them eager to start their day. Remus and Sirius stayed behind for a while, their business in Hogsmeade was not to work, but to teach their charge, something that would have to wait for some time. Time that the Marauder werewolf was planning to use to speak to his last remaining friend.

"So… another year then?" said Remus, watching as Sirius raised looked over at him with tired eyes. The faux euphoria that had been present not ten minutes ago now gone in favor of an exhausted look.

"Yeah, well, at least now we seem to be getting to know that he's going to be in trouble at the beginning of the year rather than waiting until the end of it to know that he killed a dangerous magical creature," responded Sirius, all the humor that he may have wanted to portray was lost thanks to his cynically downcast face and slight sneer.

"Didn't help us last year," reminded Remus, watching as Sirius' exhausted face took on an uncharacteristic glare.

"That rat got away again!" growled Sirius.

"He won't be running for long, we will get him eventually," consoled Remus.

It worked lightly, Sirius' face returned to the same spent look he had been sporting ever since they had arrived at Hogsmeade yesterday.

"What can I do Moony? How can I stop these events from happening around Harry? I promised James I would take care of him, but every time I take my eyes of him, he always gets in danger," sighed Sirius as he picked his mug filled to the brim with butterbeer and downed half of it.

"I don't know," admitted Remus, his hands also wandering to his own mug.

"What would Lily say?"

"She would understand… and so would James."

Sirius took a few seconds of silence his gaze pointed at the counter. Remus say a range of emotions that raged in his friend until finally he extended an arm and wrapped it around the Black Lord's shoulders.

"If we can't stop these things from happening around Harry… then the only thing we can do is make sure he is prepared," Sirius said finally.

"I think Dumbledore is also coming unto that realization. He always told us he wanted Harry to be ready for whatever challenges. What do you make of that?" asked Remus

"It means that he is finally being honest with us. Harry needs to get stronger… and fast," answered Sirius, his voice now determined.

Remus sighed heavily, slumping down on his chair. He thought of James and Lily then. Why did fate have to take both of them? Even he wasn't convinced about what he had told Sirius earlier.

'What would they think about their only son learning how to fight?'

Lily would probably scream at them. She would tell them that she did not wish for Harry to suffer this. James… he had changed so much after his son was born. While the younger James would have been adamant on teaching Harry the spells he would need to fight, the older James may have agreed with his wife.

Fatherhood truly does change your life in ways Remus believed he never would be able to experience.

"I always knew Harry would not be a normal child, I knew that the moment I picked him up that day," Sirius said softly, taking a small sip off the mug before continuing. A small, genuine smile forming on his lips as he started to talk.

"He was always special… driven. Even at a young age I could see it. He was different from the rest, always the leader, always the fearless one."

"He is a Potter," reminded Remus.

"I know, but he was special even for his family. James took some time to mature, to become truly great. I saw greatness in Harry's eyes before he started his first year," Sirius revealed.

"He always was an… intense child," said Remus, remembering his limited interactions with a younger Harry. The young Potter certainly had odd tastes in almost everything.

Sirius snorted and almost laughed.

"You should see his porn collection," he commented, his voice a sarcastic whisper, almost as he intended to say it to himself. The comment did cause Remus to cough out a bit of his beverage.

"What?!"

"Never mind!" guffawed Sirius, a genuine smile on his lips, "You're right Remus. If we can't prevent Harry from getting into danger, then we must ensure that he is ready to face it. He's not going to be a child for much longer, he must become a man, and he will have to grow faster than James did."

"He is already more mature than James was," said Remus, remembering when he first met James. "Except when it comes to women. James was already interested in Lily from the moment he saw her."

"There's that French bird, I heard that she's the most beautiful girl that the school has seen. She is a Veela after all," mused Sirius.

Ah yes, the school had seen new arrivals, including delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. One of these was the famous Viktor Krum. The other person the school had been talking about was previously unknown French Champion, who happened to be a Veela. According to Dumbledore, Harry was interested in her, something that Remus thought was strange.

"I never thought Harry would be attracted by looks alone. I always thought that he would get more interested in someone like the Granger girl," said Remus.

"Maybe there's more to her pretty face. Being beautiful would simply be a bonus," voiced Sirius. "Lily turned out to be more than just a pretty girl."

"Still, a Veela?" questioned Remus.

"A French one at that!" exclaimed Sirius with a smile.

"Even if it does happen, I don't think the Ministry and the British traditionalists would approve," warned Remus.

"Since when does House Potter give a damn what the Ministry thinks? James certainly didn't when they warned him not to marry a Muggle-born. Franky, I don't care who Harry chooses to love, so long as she makes him happy, I'm good," announced Sirius.

"It's still a long shot, I guess," said Remus.

"Didn't you see how flustered he got when we told him? I think he's definitely interested," said Sirius.

"Maybe, that will have to wait. Right now, we need to focus on getting him ready for the first task," said Remus, changing the subject of conversation. "What should we be teaching him?"

"Let's start with some offensive spells," proposed Sirius, now taking a more formal and professional tone. "Once we find out more about what this first task entails, we will teach him something that will be able to help him win this."

"Win? I thought we only wanted him to survive," said Remus.

"I do. Sorry Remus, but you don't know Harry as much as I do. He may not have wanted to compete at first, but now this is no longer something that he will back down from. This is a chance to prove himself," said Sirius.

Remus furrowed his brow.

"What makes you say that?"

"You saw the champion's clothes he ordered? Red and black with the black dragon sigil. He's not representing Hogwarts or Gryffindor, or even Britain. He's representing his House now, and he will try and win under those circumstances," declared Sirius.

Remus only listened at Sirius' reasoning, making sense of what he was saying. It was true, the werewolf had not known Harry as much as the Black Lord had. After the war had ended, he distanced himself from Britain for a few years. He worked underground for Dumbledore in the werewolf communities, trying in vain to bring support over for the Dark Lord's inevitable return. He only visited Harry a few times every year, finally taking a more active role the previous year as his teacher.

He sighed, knowing that deep down, Sirius was telling the truth. What he saw in Harry was the combination of James and Lily at their best. Lily's intelligence and James' drive. Lily's determination with James' stubbornness.

An intense individual through and through.

If Harry intended to win this. Then they would help him throughout his struggles.

Harry did not hate Potions, despite what many people seemed to believe. He thought that it was one of the most interesting subjects in their curriculum. Sure, it did not involve using his wand, and was not necessarily an art that was limited for only wizards. Due to its nature, even muggles and squibs could probably be able to make use of it, and there were certainly plenty of uses to the plethora of magical potions that wizards brewed.

The reason people thought that he hated Potions class was probably because he hated the person that taught it.

How do you describe the clash between Harry Potter and Severus Snape? To say that they got along like water and oil would imply that they got along like a couple of good friends. It was more probably more accurate to say that they got along like matter and anti-matter, and even then, Harry Potter would say that that particular comparison lacked the vitriol to signify just how much he disliked the Potions Master.

Suffice to say, the less Harry Potter and Severus Snape saw each other, the better. Which is why Harry cursed whatever fate saw fit to give him a Potions class before the ceremony where he could have a chance to speak to Fleur alone.

Striding over to the greasy haired professor, he managed to say his practiced line.

"Professor, I must leave early in order to attend the Wand Weighing Ceremony, if there are any assignments, I would like to know before the class starts," Harry stated, watching as Snape glowered at him with his usual sneer. The Head of Slytherin had probably not forgotten his accusation at the choosing.

"If you finish your assignment early, you may leave, Potter. If not then I will not grade your work," and with that, Snape turned around and looked ready to prepare his class.

Glaring at him, Harry turned away to look at the arrivals. He had once again been early to class, thinking that that would give him a head start in whatever convoluted activity Snape would be assigning them at class. It was a fool's hope, but at nobody could say that he didn't try.

Ignoring the figures of the other Gryffindor students, his gaze was instead drawn once again to the trio of Slytherins that he had introduced himself to the previous day. Once again, they were the only Slytherin students that were in good enough conditions to attend classes.

That would be changing tomorrow, some of the less wounded people would be discharged and allowed to start with their classes once again. This meant that he potentially only had this class to get to socialize with what he considered to be the only three decent Slytherins in his year.

Looking at the other students he saw that Hermione had opted to seat with Lavender and Parvati once again, while Ron sat with Seamus and Dean. Neville stood by Harry's side. Ignoring the pleading looks of Hermione, he made his way to the Slytherin trio once again. This time the glares he received were minimal compared to the ones he got during McGonagall's class. Rather than hateful, they were disdainful.

The real hateful ones came from Ronald Weasley, his frown following him as he sat down in the same table besides Daphne, Neville finding his seat beside him as to avoid sitting directly next to the green and silver clad Slytherins.

Looking around, he saw that Seamus and Dean had joined Ron in sharing his disgusted look at the two rogue Gryffindors. Harry simply gave them a quick nonchalant gaze before looking over at Hermione.

She did not stare at him with the hate he saw in Ron, but he did see sadness in those brown eyes. In any of the previous years, that same look would be enough for him to want to go to her and reassure her. But he had other things to deal with at the moment.

Him choosing to sit down with the Slytherins was not just because he wanted to know Daphne, Blaise, and Tracey better, but also because he knew Snape would bother them less if he sat down next to his precious snakes. With Snape bothering him less than his usual self, it would make it easier for him to finish his potion as early as possible and leave his damn class early. Not to mention, he knew from past classes that Greengrass herself had quite the talent for brewing.

Therefore, he ignored Hermione. Much to his discomfort, he realized that any chance he had of seeing Fleur was taking precedence over the emotional well-being of his best friend. Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he instead payed attention to the midnight haired girl next to him.

"So, Potter, you and Longbottom don't seem to be disgusted at our mere presence," Daphne sneered, her violet eyes staring straight ahead as she started her usual belittling.

"I am known for my tendency to maintain only the best of company," Harry retorted, watching as Blaise looked over at Ron Weasley, before adopting an uncharacteristic playful expression he had not seen before.

"Evidently," mocked Blaise.

Harry ignored the jab at Ron as best he could. Deep down, he knew that Ron was not the brightest of individuals, or the most orderly, or the most couth. The reason why he had counted him among his friends initially was because he was loyal to him, something that the red-haired wizard had now been backing away from ever since he was chosen as a champion.

Still, it was a little hard to restrain himself from trying to defend Ron against Blaise's disdain. The Weasley had definitely shared adventures with him in the past, and these recent series of events was not enough for him to regard Ron with any amount of hate. Harry's estimation of him had simply gone down considerably.

"Just make sure Longbottom doesn't ruin it for the rest of us," sighed Daphne, making Neville slump down on his seat, his eyes looking downcast. Harry simply put a reassuring arm around him.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure he gets it right this time," assured Harry while giving a confident shake to Neville in the process.

The greasy, gravelly voice of Snape interrupted them as he gave out his instructions for the day.

"Antidotes!" he shouted, making the entire class stop their conversations and pay attention to the dark robed Potions Master.

"Potions that will save you from the many poisons you can contract from either a magical creature or a… nefarious individual," he drawled the last part while looking directly at Harry.

"On the board texts you will see the instructions for the particular antidote that can save you against the poison of an acromantula. Due to a recent ingredient shortage…" Snape scorned, once again looking at Harry, "…I expect you to work in groups. If any of you dunderheads manage to destroy your potion, then the rest of your team will also suffer," sneered Snape. At his side, he noticed the Slytherin trio glaring at poor Neville, causing him to cower in his seat.

"Now, begin. For next class I also will expect a six-parchment essay on the creation and uses of antidotes," and with that Snape left them to do their work.

It really was not a difficult potion, in fact – considering this was Snape – the potion was fairly easy. The main problem with potions of course, was that it took time to brew them. Time was something that Harry Potter did not have an abundance of at the moment.

Looking at the instruction he noticed that what was needed was really a combination between to different mixtures. Given that the brewing itself was meant to span the whole double class, he imagined that Snape intended for them to do the two mixtures individually, one after the other.

Good thing that he paired with someone who was also pretty good at potions.

"Hey Daphne, why don't you do the first mixture, while Neville and I do the second?" asked Harry, looking over at the violet eyed witch. Said witch looked at him with disdain.

"Don't address me so familiarly, Potter!" growled Daphne, her eyes narrowing. "And why would I want to help you do this quickly anyway?"

"Come on Daphne," the witch's eyes narrowed even more, "I really need to get going, I have to do some champion business and if I don't finish this quickly I'll lose the points."

"And how does that affect me exactly, Potter?" questioned Daphne.

"Look at it this way, the faster we finish this thing, the faster I will get out of your pretty hair and go my merry way," said Harry with a smirk. Daphne in response was now openly glaring at him, though he did notice that her cheeks seemed to be tainted a little pink.

"F-fine," spluttered Daphne. "But you better get Longbottom under control, or he might destroy the potion."

It took some time to get the mixture right, but there were little distractions. Teaming up with the Slytherins turned out to be a great idea. Daphne knew her stuff pretty well, soon she, Blaise, and Tracey were brewing the first part of the formula very professionally, and Harry had not doubt that their side of the potion would be more than adequate.

That left him and Neville to do the second portion… or more accurately, it left him to do the second portion. Yet, without a moment of hesitation he started to grab the ingredients necessary for the potion, all the while instructing Neville on their basic use. He did not go as profoundly as he would have preferred, but he needed to get done as quickly as possible if he was going to have any chance of leaving this class early.

What he did notice however, is that Neville seemed to be doing quite well in helping him mix the ingredients. That is until Snape came over to inspect their work. Immediately, Harry felt his fiend beside him start to tremble so much that he almost messed up the very specific stirring that needed to be made in order to get the best results.

'So that's the reason he's so bad at Potions. He gets so nervous around the greasy git that he screws up everything. It really says something about your skills as a professor when your presence makes students worsen their abilities.'

"Potter! Why are you separating your duties!" snarled Snape, noticing Harry's strategy.

"I just supposed that it would be easier and quicker to… divide and conquer," Harry explained.

"Don't give me your drivel Potter, you were supposed to go through the mixtures individually!" thundered Snape, his beak now just inches away from Harry. The Potter heir did not give in to his intimidation, merely looking at him coolly.

"The instructions did not say that, Professor. If you wish to take points from us, then be my guest. Of course, you also said that you would be failing all students in the team," responded Harry, while giving a mockingly pointing his head to the Slytherin trio.

Snape's sneer simply got more pronounced but didn't respond. The small explosion from Ron's team gave him enough excuse to leave Harry's table and instead focus on tormenting another group of Gryffindors.

'I knew teaming up with the Slytherins would be a good idea. Unless he wishes to see his precious snakes' points go down, he will have to accept these the potion.'

With no more distractions, Harry and Neville immediately started to finish the final parts of the mixture. It still took them the better part of an hour, and he needed to guide Neville so that he could do them correctly. Once Snape had left them alone, however, he saw that the Longbottom heir actually performed fairly competently in the making of the mixture.

He was not a great student, but he certainly did not have the same tendency for explosions that Seamus and Ron had once Neville was away from Snape's intimidating scrutiny.

"Finished!" Harry declared finally, seeing that his mixture's color fitted the description of the one in his textbook. Turning over, he saw that Daphne was only adding the finishing stirs to their mixture.

"Not bad Potter, you might not be such a useless waste of space after all," drawled Daphne snootily. Harry simply smiled at what he assumed was the best compliment he would be receiving from the dark haired Slytherin girl.

Placing a bigger cauldron, they carefully stirred both mixtures until there the correct color for the antidote was completed. Immediately they called on Snape, who grudgingly gave them a good score.

Looking at his wristwatch, Harry saw that there was still half an hour until the ceremony would officially start. Not waiting for Snape's approval, he simply took his bag and made his way to the classroom where the weighing would be realized.

Dumbledore had told him previously that the Headmasters of the schools would be arriving late to the ceremony, since they would be otherwise busy with their duties. That means Harry would not have to deal with them until much later.

He also knew there would be some sort of press involved. An event like the Triwizard Tournament would surely be the talk of the wizarding world not only of the United Kingdom and Ireland, but also of the magical communities of several other nations. France's and Bulgaria's would certainly be interested in the various interview and photographs of the champions. Harry knew however, that they would most certainly be only allowed to enter when the Ceremony officially began.

Cedric Diggory would be in class, much like he was supposed to be at the moment. Cedric did not have any urge to leave early, so he would most likely arrive until later.

That left only two factors, Fleur and Krum.

He did not know anything about Beauxbatons' and Durmstrang's schedule. Meaning that he needed two things to happen: Krum needed to arrive late and Fleur needed to be there earlier. Two very unlikely possibilities but ones that he desperately hoped would happen.

His quick pace quickly turned into a quick jog, only stopping at the moving stairways that he had to take all the way to the fourth floor. Finally, he arrived at the closed door the Headmaster had mentioned to him. Taking a small moment to compose himself he made himself ready for what may lay inside. Calming himself, he confidently opened the door.

Ever since he had first set foot in Hogwarts, Harry had become aware that if there was such a thing as fate or destiny, it was most definitely not on his side. Every event seemed to turn against him, constantly in danger of what the world decided to throw at him, he needed to be aware at all times that what Muggles called "Murphy's Law" very much applied to him.

Yet there were times that fate decided to reward Harry. When Fawkes came to his aid during his fight against the basilisk, when he conjured a full patronus that saved Sirius from the Dementors. Today, was another day that fate had decided to reward Harry, something he found out when entered the small classroom where the ceremony would take place.

Opening the large door, he was met with the lonely figure of Fleur Delacour.

She was sitting on one of the desks chairs that were strewn across the room, her attention was focused on her wand, which she was polishing with great care with a fine piece of cloth. Harry allowed himself a small moment of weakness and stared at her for a few moments, trying to drink as much detail as possible.

She was dressed in her usual form-fitting light blue uniform. She had abandoned the scarf she had worn yesterday. In fact, she currently did not have her usual hat, letting her silver hair cascade freely down her shoulders and below her waist. The sunlight pouring through the window making the pale strands glow ethereally.

Harry only had a few moments to compose himself before the sound of a new arrival made Fleur look away from her wand and to the source of the disturbance.

For a slight moment their eyes met once again. This time however, the connection was broken first by Harry. The emerald eyed wizard was desperately trying to remember all he could from Sirius' whisky influenced lectures on women.

'Don't make a fool out of yourself, don't give her a reason to run, pretend you are not interested in her. Just say something that is in no way suspicious at all.'

Deep down though, it was a herculean effort to stop his heartbeat from thumping any faster, almost as difficult as tearing his eyes away from those sapphire orbs.

"Hello, is this where the ceremony will be taking place?" asked Harry, silently congratulating himself for not stuttering. Not that the vision before him was not stuttering-worthy. Fleur simply returned her attention to her wand.

"Oui," Fleur said quickly, and after that she did not pay him further attention.

'Very good, now act natural. Find a place to sit.'

Harry eyes quickly found one of the seats. It was two chairs away from the one she was sitting in. He did not want to take the one closest to her in fear that she might leave. So, he picked one that was not too close but not too far either. Sitting down, he calmly took out his own polishing kit despite his rapidly beating heart and the butterflies in his stomach and began to inspect his own wand.

He remembered picking it up alone, while Sirius had stayed behind at Gringotts to discuss something with the goblins. Ollivander had given it to him after several failed tries. Finally, they had settled on an eleven-inch holly wand, with a phoenix feather core. Later, Ollivander hat told him that the same phoenix that had given the feather also gave another one.

That other feather was the core to a wand given to Tom Marvolo Riddle… later known as Lord Voldemort.

But that dark memory was lightened by the young woman beside him. Slightly he allowed himself a small glance with the corner of his eye, which later made him turn his head slightly and to his surprise their eyes met again. Fleur had also been glancing his way.

Before he even had a chance to react, Fleur turned her head the other direction in a snooty manner. A few days ago, Harry would have been annoyed at such a reaction, thinking it was just the French champion being insufferably arrogant. Now, he just thought it was charming, another one of her attractive features.

'Say something!'

'What do I say?!'

'Compliment her clothing!'

'That's too obvious… and that's her uniform!'

'Talk about the weather then!'

'Okay… I'll do both!'

"Aren't you cold?" Harry finally said, wincing internally but congratulating himself at the same time for not stuttering like he had seen many of the boys do.

Fleur simply looked straight ahead, not even looking at him as she responded.

"Eet is a leetle cold," she admitted, her voice almost monotone, yet it sounded beautiful to Harry.

"Don't you have warmer clothing?" asked Harry, his confidence soaring despite the fact that she did not seem to want to engage in conversation at all.

"We 'ave no need for zem back 'ome, we do not 'ave zis ghastly weazer zat you 'ave," responded Fleur, veiled disdain hidden in her voice. Harry thought that it was better than having no emotion at all. Hell, he even started to like her arrogant tone, finding it to be fairly attractive combined with her heavy French accent.

"You could always ask some tailors in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade to make you warmer clothing, we buy all our robes from Madam Malkin's," offered Harry, only to watch to his delight that Fleur turned her head quickly to glance over at him before another disdainful look marred her face before quickly turning it to the other side with a 'hmph'.

It was such a stereotypically pompous gesture that most of Harry's fellow countrymen would interpret as incredibly unbearable. Harry himself thought that it was unbelievably cute.

"If I 'ad to choose between freezing to deaz or wearing zose robes, I will save myself ze suffering and gladly jump out of ze tallest building in zis ugly castle," Fleur said snootily, her eyes closed in a display of disdain.

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. A real laugh, the times he had allowed himself to do so in the last two years were scarce, and sometimes practiced or planned. This time he laughed with little control. It was so strange to him how much one person can change your outlook, yet Fleur seemed to make him feel things that he could not explain, letting all his emotions show themselves finally in a way that neither Hermione or Ron managed to do so.

It just made him want to talk to her more. So, he did so, this time with less apprehension.

"Should have guessed that you wouldn't like our clothes, they are quite practical," said Harry teasingly.

"Zey are not practical. Practical suggests effectiveness. Ze only zing zey are effective at ees making you look uncouth, zey are ghastly," she responded, opening her eyes. Harry thought that her bright blue eyes were looking at him at the sides. Then again it may have just been his imagination.

Harry laughed again, the insecurities he had been feeling about approaching the object of his recent affections evaporating as he did so. But now it was time to change the conversation, make it more interesting for her.

"My godfather told me that my great-grandmother disliked most of Potter Manor's furniture that she immediately replaced it after she married into the family. She was French."

That statement made Fleur look over to him in surprise, their faces finally meeting without any extreme compulsion the way they had before. Harry was mentally cheering that he had gotten that bit of info into his family recently.

Thank you, Sirius!

"Really? How did he meet 'er?" asked Fleur, her previously arrogant tone gone in favor of actual curiosity.

"Richard Potter, my great-grandfather, fought in the Great War. That's where he met my great-grandmother, Victoire. They married after the war was over and she became Lady Potter," explained Harry.

"Wait. 'E fought in ze First War?" she asked, to which Harry nodded affirmatively. "But why? Ze Eenlgish wizards didn't take part in ze fighting."

"He didn't fight as a wizard, but as an officer in the first Expeditionary Force. It's a bit of a family tradition, joining the muggle forces despite being wizards," Harry explained. To his delight, he now had Fleur's undivided attention, her wand now forgotten.

"He fought at Mons, at the Marne, and at the Somme. Victoire was a witch, she worked as a field doctor, so she and Richard talked between skirmishes. They fell in love and married," finished Harry.

Fleur simply turned her gaze to the ceiling, as if in deep thought, before leveling her eyes to his own.

"My great-grandfazzer also fought. But 'e fought in Verdun. I nevair got to speak to 'im, but my family said that 'e was not ze same after zat. My 'istory teacher said zat ze battle was… horrible," Fleur told him, slipping into French pronunciation at the last word.

"What was his name?" Harry asked, so engrossed with the conversation he had almost forgotten that he was speaking to the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

"Maxence," she replied. "Maxence Delacour."

"May he watch over you during these tasks," he offered, to which Fleur offered him the ghost of a smile. It was enough to make his heart flutter.

"Merci," Fleur said genuinely.

'Okay, now it's time to bring out the big guns.'

"Fleur," Harry said, taking a chance by saying her first name, something that he managed to see made her tense a little bit. Still he prodded on. "I never said sorry."

"Sorry for what?" asked Fleur, but Harry noticed that her tone had become low, her eyes darting slightly.

"You know, sorry for yesterday at the lake, and for what happened at the Hall," explained Harry carefully, seeing the barely noticeable red hue that spread across her refined cheekbones. The dark-haired wizard immediately thought that he was an idiot for bringing such an issue at the forefront.

"Eet was nozzing, I was just surprised… you 'ave seen 'ow ze ozzer boys look at me, non?" she asked him.

"I have," admitted Harry. He could not really blame them for looking, but he did not like how they lost all control around her. It had been annoying at first, but now that he was actively rooting for a chance with her, it was quite infuriating.

"I zought zat you were someone zat was taking advantage of ze situation. I 'ave to zank you for 'elping me wiz ze blond boy. As for ze lake, I am the one 'oo should be sorry, I should 'ave seen where I was going. I was ze one zat ran into you."

"Anyone would have helped you in that situation," said Harry humbly.

"But zey 'ould not 'ave let me go like you did," responded Fleur.

Harry could not argue with that logic. He quickly looked at his watch and noticed that it would not be long before the others arrived. He quickly tried to remember Sirius' advice when it came to speaking with women. So far it had been very successful.

"Remember pup, when you have to end a conversation with a girl, always try to end it with a promise of a date, even if she doesn't know it's a date," his godfather had told him before he left for his first year. Back then he ignored it as another one of Sirius' useless lessons on relationships. Now it was all the advice he had.

"They sure are taking long, they must be lost through the hallways," said Harry, still looking at his watch.

"Zis castle ees quite confusing, zere is no sense of direction. I almost got lost when I tried to find ze classroom. Zankfully Madame allowed me to not take ze class, so I managed to find it after some time," admitted Fleur.

"You know… if you want a tour of the castle, why don't you ask anyone?" asked Harry.

"I don't trust anyone enough to take me to ze dark places of zis school," she responded.

"I could give you a tour, I don't think you need to be afraid of me, I'm only a fourth-year little boy after all," said Harry playfully.

"I will 'ave to zink on zat offer Meester Potter," said Fleur.

'Score!'

Was it really this easy? Just the previous night Harry had not been able to get any sleep on how he would be able to speak to the girl in front of him, and now he was finding out that the only thing he needed was a good preparation and enough confidence to not make himself look like a fool.

Just as his attention returned to polishing the wand, the door opened to allow entry to more people. They were five, two of them were his fellow champions, Cedric and Kurm, the other one was Ludo Bagman, the main organizer of the Tournament. The last two figures seemed to be the media presence that he expected would be covering for the Daily Prophet.

Upon entering, Cedric gave him and Fleur a look before giving him a knowing smirk. Krum simply took one of the seats, apparently back to his normal detached demeanor. Harry used the opportunity to stand up and take a seat next to Fleur.

"I know that reporter Bagman's talking to…" he whispered to the French champion. "… she's a scandal saleswoman, better stay away from her if you don't want to get defamed."

Fleur simply gave an understanding nod. Harry was just blissfully aware of how close he was to the pale-haired beauty. He did notice, however that the woman known as Rita Skeeter and Ludo Bagman sat down in a couple of ornate chairs and started to discuss with one another. The last person he had not noticed yet was a middle-aged man who was busy carrying equipment for what Harry believed would be a photograph shoot. The man was busy until he caught sight of Fleur and started to gaze at her openly.

He could almost feel how uncomfortable Fleur was getting at the staring, and quite frankly, he was getting tired of it himself. A slight anger emerged from him, causing him to discreetly stop running the fine piece of cloth through his wand and instead casting a silent tripping jinx. The next thing the hormonal male knew, he was sent face first to the arms of one of the chairs.

Looking slightly at his side, he could see Fleur turn over to give him a small look, and found appreciation in those blue eyes, quickly followed by a whisper only he managed to hear.

"Zank you."

In response he felt a warm tingling in his spine, along with the satisfaction that he managed to not only please Fleur, but also teach a small lesson to the photographer.

'You better keep your eyes off her if you know what's good for you.'

Another distraction rose when Ludo Bagman and Rita Skeeter stood up from their seats and addressed to the champions.

"Everyone, this is Rita Skeeter, she will be writing a small piece on the ceremony for the Daily Prophet!" announced Bagman loudly, all the while sporting one of the biggest grins Harry had ever seen.

"Thank you, Ludo. Now, I would like to start with a few interviews," came the reporter's sickeningly deceptive tone as she surveyed the area, her eyes finally resting on the spot where Harry sat next to Fleur.

"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman while she watched both champions with glee. "The youngest champion, you know… to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is – if Harry has no objection?"

Seeing the magenta clad reporter heading their direction, Harry contorted his face in the most intimidating glare he could give. Skeeter did not seem to notice, nor did she seem to have a healthy concept of personal space, considering she placed her pedicured hands on his shoulder, trying to make him stand up to leave to another location.

Harry – reeling his anger as much as he could – shoved her arm off. That definitely caught her attention.

"Fuck off!" Harry growled, looking directly into her eyes with a gaze of pure contempt. The shocked reporter tried to compose herself as much as she could. Bagman on the other hand completely lost his grin, his eyes now looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Er… very well then, ladies first!" chirped Rita Skeeter, her predatory gaze now focused on Fleur.

Hearing the reporter's intentions, Harry immediately jumped from his seat, his glare still levelled at the blond slanderer. Without thinking, he placed a protective hand on Fleur's shoulder, making the Veela look over to him in shock.

"Why don't you take your lies somewhere else!" he growled.

Harry saw Bagman compose himself, he looked pathetically helpless. He did finally find the words to calm everyone down.

"L-look, you can just do a piece on the ceremony itself, Rita," he consoled.

Rita Skeeter however just looked elsewhere, as if the confrontation never took place. Her eyes settled on Cedric immediately, and walked over to him.

Cedric himself looked like a deer in the headlights. Harry felt really sorry for him, but he was more concerned with Fleur.

"Hello handsome, you must be the Hogwarts champion, how about we go somewhere more private for a small talk," she said as she took hold of his shoulder and marched him towards a small closet.

'Sorry Cedric, better you than Fleur. I'll make it up to you when I can.'

Harry felt said witch shift beside him.

"Um, Pardon," came the voice of the beautiful woman beside him. Looking down, he noticed that his hand was still on her shoulder, lightly touching the wisps of her silken silver tresses. Immediately, Harry removed his hand.

Thankfully, Fleur did not seem to be bothered too much by the physical contact, so he sat down and relaxed on the chair, content merely to be beside her. He once again grabbed his wand cleaning kit and started to treat the wand until it was polished to a mirror sheen.

Eventually, the doors opened once more to allow entry to heads of the three schools: Albus Dumbledore for Hogwarts, Madame Maxime for Beauxbatons, and Igor Karkaroff for Durmstrang. Behind them, the short figure of Garrick Ollivander, Britain's foremost wandmaker. It was as Harry suspected, they would need to bring Ollivander in order to judge the champions' wands.

Karkaroff immediately went to stand beside Krum, Madame Maxime on the other hand looked at Fleur, and then to him. She seemed unsure whether or not to interfere. Harry was thankful for this, that gave him even more time to be closer to Fleur.

Dumbledore on the other hand went to the cupboard where Rita Skeeter and Cedric Diggory disappeared to, eventually returning with the perturbed Hogwarts Champion in tow, a frustrated Rita Skeeter following closely behind. The door opened once again to allow entry to Mr. Crouch. All judges were now assembled inside the classroom.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, making his way to the judge's table. "He is the chief wandmaker in the British Isles and will be examining your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

Ollivander took a small smile to the champions and a bow to the judges, then started looked over at the Fleur. Harry noticed that his eyes did not glaze over when he gazed upon her.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have a look at your wand first, please?" asked Ollivander.

Fleur left the seat beside him and swept over to Ollivander and offered him her ornate wand.

"Hmmm…?" he said

He twirled the wand between his long fingers. As he did so, Harry began to notice just how decorated Fleur's wand was. Unlike his own wand, there were engravings, including a couple small Fleur-de-Lis on the handle. Said handle was also carved with a small arch. The wand proper was also decorated with what looked to some sort of flower. It was a beautiful wand, truly suited to its owner.

Ollivander kept inspecting it, emitting a number of pink and gold sparks, then held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully.

"Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing… dear me…"

"A single 'air for ze 'ead of a veela," declared Fleur proudly. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

'So, she's not a full Veela. Huh, I've never heard of a quarter-Veela before, they must be rare.'

"Yes," said Mr. Ollivander, "yes, I've never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands… however, to each his own, and if this suits you…"

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, checking for scratches or bumps; then muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.

"Ver well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handling them to Fleur with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you next."

Harry saw Fleur go back to her seat, happily noticing that she did not pick a seat further apart from him, though he did catch a slightly angry look in her face. Harry thought that maybe she had taken offence to Ollivander's appraisal of her wand, probably because of the side comment of her heritage.

"So, you have your grandmother's hair as a wand core. I've never heard of something like that before," he commented, grabbing Fleur's attention. "Though I have to say, it does sound quite beautiful," he added.

"Oui, my grandmuzzer gave offered 'er 'air after none of ze wand cores in ze store worked for me," she said, then a beautiful smile touched formed in her face. "Every time I use eet, I feel grand-mère ees wiz me."

"I didn't know you were only part-Veela, when I see the reactions you get from the male population I imagined you were a full Veela, your grandmother must be very powerful," said Harry.

Fleur's face contorted, first into confusion, the into realization, followed by a smile, and then… she let out the most beautiful laugh he had ever heard. Harry glanced over at the rest of the room and saw that the attention was turning on them, causing Fleur to control herself, but was still letting out quite giggles as she looked at him.

"What is it? I'm sorry if I offended you. I just don't know anything about male and female Veela," said Harry, waiting for Fleur to calm herself.

"'Arry," she whispered, making Harry ponder just how beautifully she butchered his name, "zere ees no such zing as part Veela, zere ees also no such zing as a male Veela. Veela are Veela. Eef a Veela 'as a daughter, zen she ees also Veela, eef she 'as a boy, zen the boy ees a wizard. Boys born from Veela are known to be vairy 'andsome. I am not part Veela, I am Veela," she revealed, her eyes still looking at him with amusement, making Harry give her a bashful smile.

"Sorry, I don't really know that much about the Wizarding World, I was raised by my godfather and he wanted to raise me away from the magical societies until I entered Hogwarts," said Harry.

Fleur gave him a questioning look.

"You mean you did know about 'ow famous you are? We know about you even in France, my seestair Gabrielle knows all about you" she said, prompting Harry to shake his head. Tucking away the knowledge of her sister for future use.

"Not really, it was a shock when I first arrived at Diagon Alley. My godfather raised me the Muggle way, with movies, elementary school, football, and Muggle music. I don't really like when people look at me because of my fame, fame I did not have control over. I want to earn my own fame. For myself and for my family name," he told Fleur. The silver-haired Veela's face nodding in understanding. Harry noticed a smile slowly form in her face, her cheeks slowly tinging pink.

Harry continued to be captivated until a voice called for his attention.

"Mr. Potter!" called Mr. Ollivander.

Harry looked around the classroom and saw that everyone was staring at him and Fleur. Dumbledore's face had a small smile. Madame Maxime looked concerned. Karkaroff simply glared at him.

Confidently, Harry stood from his seat and approached Ollivander, handing him his trusty wand.

Unfortunately for him, he did not notice that when he stood up from his seat, a piece of parchment fell from the bag slung across his shoulder. Nor did he notice that Fleur picked it up. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she began to read the contents.

"Aaaah, yes," said Ollivander, his pale eyes gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember this wand. One of the best I have ever made. Holly, eleven inches, quite supple. No doubt it has served you well this past few years… in perfect condition, you have taken very good care of it," Ollivander praised, his bony fingers tracing over the wand, before giving it back to Harry.

Bagman suddenly stood up and looked over at the Dumbledore.

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"

"Of course, and then some individual shots… maybe some with only two champions," said Rita Skeeter, looking over at Harry and Fleur particularly.

The photographs took a long time. It was almost impossible for Madame Maxime to get her gigantic frame into the shot. To Harry's annoyance, the photographer was still looking at Fleur, telling her to position herself so that she gained more prominence. Rita Skeeter encouraged him, but also made it so Harry was next to her. While appreciative of being closer her, the emerald-eyed wizard could not shake over the feeling that it was being done for nefarious reasons.

After an extensive number of photographs, the Ceremony was officially over.

Mr. Crouch, Ludo Bagman, Rita Skeeter, and the photographer were the first to leave, followed by Karkaroff and Krum. Dumbledore and Cedric left after that. Madame Maxime gave one last look to Fleur, after that she left hurriedly, leaving the silver-haired beauty and Harry alone in the room. The raven-haired wizard took a quick glance at his watch and saw that there was still half an hour before lunch.

'I still have some time to talk to her,' thought Harry as he looked over at Fleur, her back turned to him.

He made his way over to her, intent on continuing their previous conversation, only to suddenly see her turn around to him, her waist long her trailing behind her. Her face, which had previously been smiling when he had spoken to her before the photograph session, was now contorted into a full glare.

Harry immediately stopped at seeing her like this, wondering what was it that had made her so mad. He thought that maybe she had been angry at the way the photographer had looked at her. Maybe she was still mad at Ollivander for the perceived insult to her Veela heritage.

Unfortunately, it seemed that she was angry because of him.

"t'es un salaud!" she screamed at him. Harry did not understand what she had told him but was pretty sure that it was in no way flattering.

"Did you zink I was a fool?! Zat I would not notice?!" she continued, her blue eyes now devoid of all warmth and replaced with an icy coldness.

"What is it Fleur, I don't understa-"

"Do not call me by my name!" she hissed. Her hand shot up to his face, and then he finally saw the reason for her anger. Clenched between her fingers was a fine piece of parchment.

At first Harry did not know what it was, but suddenly, upon closer inspection he began to realize. His eyes widened as he recognized the parchment.

"I zought you might be different, zat you were not like ze rest of zem. How wrong I was, I should 'ave known zat you were ze same!" she cried. Harry noticed that her voice was cracking emotionally, her eyes seemed to be getting glassier with liquid.

"You don't understand Fleur, I was going to get rid of it. I-"

"Shut up, shut up!" she continued, "I do not want to 'ear your lies. I nevair want to see you again. Nevair speak to me again. Ze next time zere is an explosion, just leave me alone. Even eef it leaves me scarred and ugly. Maybe zen, you and ze ozzer men will no longer be interested!"

With that, she started to storm away from the classroom. Harry made a final desperate attempt to catch her. He gently grabbed her hands before she managed to reach the door.

"Wait I'm sorry, I did not mean to-"

The he saw it. He saw the twin raw red marks that circled around both of her wrists. It did not look like a cut, rather it looked like something been placed on the base of both her hands tightly for a long time. It almost looked like they had been tied together for a few hours.

It can't be.

His eyes wandered to her own, and he saw something other than anger. In those blue orbs, he perceived what he thought was plainly fear, followed by humiliation and embarrassment. Her face went a violent red as she snatched back her hands from his grasp. Harry made no attempt to stop her. Nor did he attempt to stop her again as she quickly left the room.

He could not believe what had happened. Everything was going far better than he expected, she was finally opening up to him, they had a potential date. She had even started calling him by his name.

And his desires had destroyed that.

"I have majorly fucked this up," his voice echoed in the lonely classroom.

AN: There it is, the fifth chapter, *whistles quietly as the audience pick up their torches and pitchforks*

I told you it would go a lot differently than you thought. Don't worry, they'll get back on good terms soon.

Let me tell you some advice if you ever want to write, the challenge is not the descriptions as I initially thought, the real challenge of writing comes in making up the dialogue and character interactions. This was probably the reason why this chapter took a lot longer to write than the previous ones. You end up rewriting a lot. If you read "The Half-Blood Romantic" by Sophprosyne and compare it to this, you'll know what I mean, his prose makes mine read like ass. It's a lot harder than it looks at first glance.

I hope it becomes clear that Harry is in no way a ladies' man, he is an inexperienced teen who is just having his first real love. One that he fantasizes about often, but it is still a brand-new experience for him. It was pretty fun to write actually. Also, I really needed to get Fleur's accent down in this one. Reading HP/FD stories, there seems to be two camps writers fall into: the pro and anti French accent. I am very much a pro Fleur accent guy, in my opinion it is not only adds quite a bit of flair to the dialogue, but also makes Fleur even sexier to read.

This is the chapter that finally has Harry and Fleur engaging in dialogue. Not that it ended well for Harry, he let his desires blind him and now the woman he has wanted to engage in a relationship with will no longer look at him in the same light. What circumstances will drive them together you may ask? Hopefully it will be answered in the next chapters. Again, no promises.

Also, some Remus and Sirius interactions.

I really want to speed up the writing, it took me over 40k words to get the main character's love interest to engage in dialogue. I hope to cut down on the minutiae from now on.

Song recommendation for the chapter is "The Dark Side of my Heart" by German metal legends Accept from their 2014 album "Blind Rage". One of my favorite bands of all time, especially their "Restless and Wild" and "Balls to the Wall" albums. Their new material is amazing though, even without Udo Dirkschneider.

Don't forget to leave your review. Give me your criticisms, or PM me. Also, I have begun to answer questions through PM, so if you are a Guest reviewer, I can't really do it. I will try and answer in a single AN paragraph, but at the same time, I don't want to have a wall of blacktext to answer all the questions, sorry.

I don't really know when I'll be able to update next, it has been pretty hectic these days with my social service. Hopefully I do not take more than three weeks to write the next chapter.

Until next time

The Metal Sage