(Word Count: 1,522)
Harry watched them go, concerned. If she hadn't been splitting her focus between the duel and her allure, it never would have gone so poorly in the first place. She would have been able to get around Raskov's shields far more easily. She still won, but the way she had lost control over her allure made it seem like that was the only reason she was able to. It completely undermined everything Fleur was trying to prove.
It was no wonder she was so upset.
"Hmph. Veela," Arcturus spat. "It's a wonder she was even allowed to compete."
"Grandfather," Harry warned. "She just has a natural ability. She has as much right to compete as I do."
"Hmph! Their allure isn't exactly wanded magic, now is it, boy?" Arcturus said proudly.
"And I am a natural legilimens. That's not wanded either. Should I be banned as well?" Harry shot back.
Arcturus stammered, "That's different!"
Harry stood up and turned to Sirius and Flitwick. "I'm going to go talk to them."
Dora's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she smirked. "What's this? Could it be that article on Witch Weekly was right? Is there something going on between you and that veela girl?"
"He says there isn't, but they keep eyeing each other," Sirius laughed.
"It's not like that," Harry interjected, "It's just that most of these people are here to see me, so I can't help feeling a bit responsible. I just want to make sure she'll be able to give her all tomorrow."
Harry slipped out of the stands before anyone could say anything else, and silently applied a notice-me-not charm. He didn't want anyone from the crowd, least of all reporters, following him to his talk with Fleur. He exited the stadium into the back stage corridor, where the locker rooms connected, and the noise of the crowd dimmed to a muffled backdrop.
He paused once he was alone and closed his eyes, letting his Legilimency stretch outward. The inner thoughts and voices of everyone in the building rose from a breathless whisper to a torrential wave. He sorted through them, tossing aside all of the angry voices from the crowd behind him, until, ahead, he felt sharper emotions clustering together—anger, shame, and the distinct ache of wounded pride. That had to have been Fleur.
He followed the sensation down the corridor until he found a closed door tucked behind a row of dueling lockers. The door had a notice-me-not charm on it, but Harry was able to ignore the effects of the charm. He could hear muffled voices from inside.
"I should just quit," Fleur cried bitterly. "It would save everyone the trouble. They already think I don't belong here."
Appoline's voice was soft but steady. "Ma chérie, do not let their cruelty decide your worth. You earned your place here."
"But I ruined it, maman! I couldn't do it! Now everyone thinks I'm a cheat!"
Jean's voice came next, quiet and firm. "You've worked harder than anyone else, Fleur."
Harry knocked softly on the door.
The room fell silent.
After a few seconds, Appoline's composed voice called, "Entrez."
Harry stepped inside. "Excuse me," he said evenly, "I just wanted to check in."
All four Delacours turned. Fleur sat at the center of the room, still in her dueling robes, her wand gripped tightly in her lap. Her hair was slightly undone, and though she looked furious, her red eyes and wet cheeks betrayed the tears that had been wiped away. Jean Delacour stood behind her with arms crossed, his expression guarded. Appoline sat beside her eldest, offering a comforting hand, while Gabrielle hovered close with reddened eyes.
"Mr. Potter," Jean said curtly. "Is there something you need?"
Harry stepped forward. "No, I just… wanted to say I'm sorry. About what happened out there."
Fleur let out a harsh laugh. "Apologize? For the fact that every time you step on stage, the crowd cheers like you're Merlin reincarnated?"
Harry frowned slightly but didn't interrupt. It was better to let her get this off her chest.
She stood abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping the floor, and pointed an accusing finger at him. "You're probably loving all of this, aren't you? You're just a theatrical showpony, the way you always flick your cloak back to your godfather. You walk out onto the stage and the crowd cheers your name before you even raise your wand."
"Fleur," Appoline said softly, but Fleur pressed on, her words trembling with anger. All of her negative emotions had found a target to center on.
"Everytime you so much as breath, they sing your praises. Well, guess what? The world doesn't revolve around you, Potter! Every time they praise you, they curse me! They call me a whore, a dangerous creature, or a cheat! Do you have any idea how that feels?"
Harry looked into her eyes. "I hate the media. Most of the time, they only say vile, sensational things to sell papers. I gave some interviews at the request of Monsieur Lazard to help him get the sport popular again, but I don't try to pander to them. I never expected that things would turn out this way, or that so many witches and wizards from Britain would come. Magical Britain isn't as accepting of Veela as France is, and they brought that prejudice with them. You don't deserve the way they treated you, and I'm sorry for the part I played in it."
Fleur stared at him, stunned into silence for the first time. Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came out. The anger in her eyes wavered, replaced by uncertainty.
Jean's arms remained folded, though his expression softened slightly as he glanced between them. Appoline gave her husband a small, warning touch on the wrist before addressing Harry with calm poise.
"That was… gracious of you, Monsieur Potter," she said. "Thank you for saying that."
"It's only fair. If she wasn't holding herself back, your daughter could have handled Raskov easily," Harry said lightly, a bit relieved his sincerity had gotten through.
"You think fairness matters?" Fleur bit out, looking away, "Tomorrow, they'll only talk about how you fought the Veela who cheated her way to the finals."
"Then fight me without holding back," Harry said evenly.
Her head snapped back toward him. "You think that is so simple? When I beat you with my allure, they will only say I won because I am a Veela."
Harry met her gaze. "If you split your focus trying to hold it back, then you'll lose. And when that happens, they'll all take it as proof you can only win using it, no matter the fact that you've won most of your matches without it."
Fleur's nostrils flared, her pride bristling. She was about to say something, when Harry cut in again.
"You think you can beat me holding back half of yourself?" Harry asked, voice low. "Don't kid yourself. You'll need to give everything you've got if you want to stand a chance."
Her eyes widened, and she let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "You think you could resist me? A little boy like you? I could have you a drooling mess on the floor before you even raised your wand!"
Harry grinned cockily, "No you can't."
Jean's posture stiffened. "Fleur—"
Fleur's allure filled the room,
It was similar to a legilimantic probe, when it tried to force the thoughts from the target's mind. The allure took his own natural desires and thoughts of Fleur, the acknowledgment of how striking she was—the grace in the way she moved, the fight in her eyes, the silver hair, her soft looking skin, and, yes, her curves—and magnified them until it filled his awareness. That small, harmless recognition twisted into something heavier, admiration tipped toward reverence and worship.
'She's extraordinary,' his mind whispered, 'A woman like her deserves—'
Harry forced all thoughts away and emptied his mind.
Jean-Claude raised his wand at Harry, just in case he did anything, and Appoline held her breath, watching Harry for any sign of failing.
Seconds passed until, finally, Fleur pulled back the allure, with a disbelieving stare.
Jean lowered his wand. Appoline exhaled softly, tension leaving her shoulders.
"He resisted," Appoline murmured, astonished.
"You can really resist it?" Fleur said in shock.
Harry nodded once. "I'm a natural Occlumens. So, win or lose, you don't have to worry about anyone saying anything about me having a disadvantage. It will be just my skills against yours. Tomorrow, before the match, I plan on telling everyone the same thing."
Fleur's shoulders dropped slightly, the fight in her eyes changing into reluctant respect. "Even if you aren't affected, I'll still be able to win," she said, though her tone was no longer biting.
"Perhaps," Harry said with a faint smile. "We'll find out in the finals tomorrow."
Harry nodded respectfully to Appoline and Jean-Claude and turned to leave. Just before closing the door behind him, he heard Fleur's quiet voice, softer than before.
"Bonne chance, Potter."
He didn't look back, but he smiled all the same.