Harry Potter :Diamond Heart

Harry watched her back recede into the crowd of students at the other end of the hall with a small, cold smile. He knew his former best friend well enough to be able to see when she was holding back tears.

He finished his pumpkin pastry with rather more gusto than ever before and sat back to think.

If he had to die, he wanted his sacrifice to be recognised and remembered, not for the fame or the glory, but just so he wouldn't disappear into nothing afterwards. He'd heard somewhere that a person died three times. He couldn't recall the first two specifically, though he assumed actual death was one of them, but he had never forgotten the last death. He didn't want the last saying of his name to come for some time, if at all.

There was some commotion at the far end of the hall and Harry, disturbed from his reverie, glanced over curiously.

'No,' he heard a cold, slightly french accented voice say in disgust. 'Not if you were the last male in this school.'

Ah, he realised. The charming Fleur Delacour.

She appeared to have as many problems as he had, but if she didn't he would be sorely tempted to add to them for her part in losing him Katie. As it was he suspected her attempt to steal him had had other, more stress based motives. It couldn't be easy for the french witch, balancing being a champion, a veela and more.

A crimson-faced, mortifed Ron Weasley slunk out of the crowd that surrounded Fleur. The pupils parted to let him go and amongst the slightly glazed expressions that were directed at Beauxbatons' champion were plenty of smiles at his former friends expense.

Harry shot the humiliated Weasley one of his own.

It turned out to be a mistake as he immediately turned on Harry.

'I don't know what you find funny, Potter,' he snarled. 'I'm just as successful as you are and you have to open the ceremony.'

Harry didn't reply. Ron was quite capable of making things worse for himself without his input.

'No wonder Katie dumped you,' he sneered, 'you don't have the courage to ask anyone. It explains why you can't bear to show your face around Gryffindor Tower. There's no room for cowards in the house of the brave.' That was a step too far for Harry to stomach.

'I don't care about the Yule Ball,' he replied icily. 'Since you're so obsessed with the limelight and being seen you can polyjuice as me and take Hermione.' He smiled a little cruelly, spying Dean across the Hall. 'You'll only have to deal with your little sister making eyes at you the entire time.'

Ron spluttered incoherently and Harry chose to press his advantage.

'Alternatively you could do something to try and make yourself known in your own right, why not try asking Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball?' he suggested with a deceptively straight face. 'I'm sure she wouldn't be too scathing in her response, not when there are so many people around to witness your humiliation.' 'As if I would ever lower myself to act like you,' Ron yelled loudly. 'You don't even have the courage to ask anyone to the ball, let alone Fleur Delacour.' The slightly dreamy way the red-head had said her name rather ruined the effect of his statement and Harry burst out laughing.

'I don't even want to go, let alone with Fleur Delacour,' he answered, unaware of the silence that fallen over the Great Hall in the quiet following Ron's yelling. 'Besides,' he added amusedly, 'she has so many fans, I wouldn't have time to finish my lunch if I wanted to join the queue and ask her.' The mocking lilt to his voice did nothing to contradict the sincerity of his statement. Harry really did not need the attention of going with the french veela, though he had to admit it would make a rathe spectacular form of revenge against Roger Davies. The Great Hall was very silent for a lunch time he realised suddenly. Harry had spent too much time in the quiet of the chamber and Room of Requirement and didn't notice how unnatural the hush was until too late.

A very familiar sinking feeling manifested itself, growing heavier with each distinct, clear step that rang out across the floor of the hall from his left.

'So,' a soft, french accented voice commented from just above his shoulder. 'You find this… funny.'

Something about the tone Fleur Delacour used reminded him very much of the eyes of the Hungarian Horntail and a very primitive instinct to remain still seized him. Harry searched frantically through his mind for a way out, but he was all too aware of the other Triwizard champion standing close enough for him to feel her breath against the side of his head. He glanced around the room in hope of finding an escape.

Most of the students were watching in fascination, but Ron's face was caught somewhere between horror and worship, gradually transitioning towards shades of purple Harry hadn't seen since Vernon had found the broken the television remote. Dudley had sat on it.

He tried not to laugh at the expression and memory it recalled to him. He really did. It just sort of slipped out anyway.

A very soft-skinned hand caught him by the chin and turned his head round.

Harry found himself staring into a pair of very blue eyes. There were all sort of emotions swimming there that he hadn't seen, or even expected to see, from Fleur Delacour before. Ones that he recognised well. Pride was dominant there, but it was hollow, superficial, and underneath there was so much more. Harry had never, would never, have guessed how similar they actually were if he had not been able to see all his thoughts in her eyes. It was shock enough to momentarily rob him of coherent thought.

'I think you will make a good date to the Yule Ball,' Fleur told him quietly and firmly. It wasn't a request. It wasn't even a question. There was not a shred of doubt in her tone as to whether he would want to go with her.

She is used to getting what she wants.

Harry was half-tempted to refuse, but he knew, somehow, that Fleur genuinely preferred the company of somebody who didn't want to go with her over that of any of the others who succumbed so easily to her allure and he couldn't find it in himself to refuse. It would be cruel to steal away what must be her last hope of finding a date who would be capable of higher brain function in her presence.

A very small part of him reminded him of what Salazar had said about his nobility being used by others to their own ends, but it was swiftly drowned out. He didn't have the heart not to help her.

Glimpsing Roger Davies in probably helped him decide too.

the

crowd

'I agree,' he smiled. It was his most charming, bright version of Tom Riddle's expression and it earned a small, polite, proud curving of Fleur's lips. Neither are real, he realised, and wondered briefly if Fleur knew that too.

he

'Good,' she patted his cheek, then retracted her hand to flick her long, silver hair back over her shoulder. 'Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,' she murmured, so only he could hear. 'I'll meet you at the Owlery as we met before, so we can take a day to get to know each other a little before the Yule Ball.'

There really wasn't anything Harry could do but nod. He had heard the unspoken promise of an explanation in her tone, as well as the expectation of one from him.

I'll have to apologise for laughing.

Fleur Delacour left in a swirl of silver hair, leaving only the lingering scent of burnt holly in her wake.

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