Harry Potter :Diamond Heart

Fleur knew of several ways that this could be achieved. The most obvious, but also the most difficult was self-transfiguration. She was better than most at transfiguration, but averse to the idea. Veela already had two natural forms and a transformation they could undertake, if self-transfiguring went badly the attempts to return her to her original form might well not work. There were plenty of stories of failed veela animagi who had to live with feathers permanently because the magic used to reverse their transfiguration attempts could not distinguish between the human and creature forms of a veela.

She would be opting for a more simple, elegant approach. The bubble-head charm could be held for an hour with ease, but it left her vulnerable. If anything burst the bubble she would not be able to recast it underwater without an air source. Some adaptation of the charm or a contingency plan was needed as it seemed unlikely the Merpeople would just give back what they had once she found them.

Pulling the plug on the sink she retrieved the book on water creatures and her egg, shaking the worst of the water from it, then tucking it under her arm. There was nobody outside the bathroom when she undid her locking charm and exited, but the handle had been tried enough times for it be considerably loser than before. Fleur hoped that the girls who had come here had had the sense to give up and find another toilet before they wet themselves. There were plenty within a few minutes walk of here.

She began to make her way back towards Beauxbatons' carriage, following the corridor down to the stairs that led her to the Great Hall.

As she walked she considered what she knew of the bubble-head charm. It trapped a considerable amount of compressed air within a bubble around the nose and mouth of the caster and allowed breathing underwater or in areas of high altitude. Fleur knew that the more magic she put into the spell the larger the bubble and the more air she would have to breathe, but she knew of no way of protecting the bubble itself. If it was burst she would have to have a contingency plan. To recast the spell would require a considerable amount of air, something she was not willing to rely on being able to find once the task started.

Perhaps I can take the air with me.

A container of some sort, a bag, or a box or air that was large enough to contain enough air for an hour underwater could be shrunk, as long as it was airtight, and summoned to take with her once the task had started. Fleur would not be making the same mistake that Harry Potter had in forgetting he could simply summon what he needed to assist him and trying to take it in as well as his wand.

'Miss Delacour,' a smooth baritone voice came from behind her only moments after she had passed through the entrance to the Great Hall. She instantly knew from the tone what this would be about.

The Yule Ball. I should have disillusioned myself again.

Fleur turned slowly, taking in the slightly glazed eyes and hopeful faces of over fifty students, wishing very much she had not been so caught up in her solution to the second task that she forgotten to conceal herself.

I hate this, she cursed. Stupid, passive veela magic.

'Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?' The young wizard who asked was a lean, but unattractive young man. He would be only the first of many that Fleur would have to refuse if she couldn't quickly continue on her way.

'Sorry,' she answered, smiling politely as she knew should, 'but no.'

The hope blossomed afresh on the faces of all the boys around her. Fleur resisted the sudden urge to transform and burn them all to a crisp. Half of them were in their early teens and couldn't be more than first or second years.

'Miss Delacour, my name is Roger Davies, I was hoping you would let me accompany you to the Ball?' It was a far better phrased attempt to get her to be his date than most others she had heard. Fleur felt it at least deserved an answer rather than falling ignored as she walked away. Roger Davies was dark-haired, blue-eyed and a little taller than she was. A neat, earnest and kind appearing individual whose eyes were not glazed like those of the students around him. He was not unattractive. There was a noble, angular quality to his face, an impression given off by his brightly coloured eyes, high cheekbones and strong, confident jawline. It was a face of obvious pure-blood heritage.

The faces' hope dimmed, even the girls seemed upset, clearly they expected her to say yes to Roger Davies. Dismay rose in the eyes of every student in the hall save one.

Harry Potter entered the hall from the far side, hand in hand with the same girl who had passed her the Bouillabaisse when she had first arrived. He seemed utterly oblivious to Fleur and her dilemma. It was infuriating. She had earlier extended so far as to consider him a kindred spirit and future equal and here he was mocking her with his lack of notice again.

Her mood flipped completely.

Roger would have proved passable company if he could at least resist a little of her allure, but his face bore a slight resemblance to Harry Potter's in its angular nature, though the fourteen year old had not yet fully lost the baby fat from his cheeks. The Potters were another old pure-blood family if she remembered correctly. Fleur was not in a good mood and felt like being cruel. She could not reach Harry without bringing trouble upon herself, but she could reach Roger Davies who bore enough of a passing resemblance to the source of her temper to make her feel vindicated in her viciousness.

'No,' Fleur repeated, still looking at Harry and the girl, 'I'm afraid you may not.'

In the silence that followed her refusal of the Hogwarts student came quiet, but obvious laughter. Harry Potter clearly found her predicament amusing.

Fleur's anger reach new, previously unknown heights at the reaction of her rival. He knew that they stared and had seen the lengths to which she went to avoid being noticed. Harry was a kindred spirit of sorts. He was supposed to be able to understand.

Harry Potter, of all people, should know better than to laugh.

It would not stand. Angry tears threatened to rise in her eyes at his betrayal of her hope, her envisioning crumbling away. The wizard, her comprehending equal, alongside her faded until Fleur stood alone once more. She blinked the tears stubbornly away, fixing her polite smile firmly upon her lips. Fleur Delacour did not cry, but she would happily seek vengeance for slighting her dream.

With no desire but to see him humiliate himself before the girl whose hand he held she unleashed a torrent of her allure in his direction. It was not everything she could control, but it would be enough to turn even the most resistant men Fleur had encountered into a drooling, doddering wreck.

As her charm travelled across the hall it captured every male in its path. They were left enthralled, staring at her with vacant, empty eyes, lost completely in the rapture of her allure. Roger Davies was no exception.

It was obvious what she had done, every girl in the hall was staring at her in anger or disbelief. Madame Maxime would be furious, but Fleur could not bring herself to care. All she wanted was for Harry to understand how wrong of him it was to laugh at her and how angry she was with him. It would be best if he did that by coming to beg her to be his date for the Yule Ball in front of the girl he seemed so close to. Then he'd understand how it felt to have the hope of a dream torn away. Fleur would feel they were even again after that.

He didn't notice. Harry's only reaction was to throw a puzzled glance around the room, shrug and smile before turning back to the girl at his side.

It cut the wind from the sails of Fleur's anger and for a second she just stared at the couple in shock.

He cannot possibly have not felt that. Yet Harry still seemed oblivious to what she had done. The girl he was with, however, was staring at her in apoplectic rage. The fingers of the hand that was not in Harry's had clenched into a fist so tight her knuckles had turned white and was inching towards her wand with deliberate malice.

It was then that Fleur realised she had just done what every Beauxbatons girl had accused her of. She had deliberately used her allure in an attempt to charm another girl's boyfriend. It did not matter that her intent had been to humiliate him rather than steal him, or why Fleur had tried it, she done it all the same and everyone would know.

The girl started towards her in clear, righteous anger, but Harry caught her arm and whispered something to her before she could cause a scene. The two of them began whispering to each other very quietly, with Harry gesturing confusedly at the hall and people around them.

Even now he does not notice, does not realise.

It was too much. Nothing would give him a glimpse of the realisation she had had. His potential to be her equal would fade as unnoticeable as she seemed to be to him.

Fleur took the opportunity to turn away and leave before things grew worse. Her guilt was not strong enough to force her to apologise, even if she knew she should, her pride was seriously smarting from validating the rumours she had believed herself above for so long, but the image that had somehow become dear to her slipping further out of reach hurt most. A weaker Fleur, a younger Fleur, would have cried, but she had grown stronger in the time she had spent alone.

As she strode, head held high, still smiling stiffly, from the hall, she glimpsed Harry and his girl locked in an argument of increasingly furious whispers.

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