What A Veela Wants

III. Training and Confessions

"Why are we meeting here, Rhaegal?" The Boy Who Lived say to you, before he adjutsts his glasses.

"Harry, unless you want to be severely injured in the Tournament, we need to train you up, as per Dumbledore's request." You retort, as you walk past the taspestry of Barnabas the Barmy for the third time, and the tapestry splits open, revealing the Room of Requirement. You step inside, and by not hearing footsteps behind you, you know that Harry hasn't followed you.

"Come on Potter, stop gawking!" Satisfied by the shuffling and the loud thud you hear behind you, you continue on. 

"If you stand here," you direct Harry so that he's standing in front of the fire. "Perfect. Now, its highly likely that you will be pitted in a fight against your fellow champions. So, we need to brush up on your duelling skills. Hit me with what you've got." You suddenly feel a sharp pain in your jaw, and you see Harry nervously smiling.

"Firstly, I meant with your wand, and secondly, that was a pretty terrible punch, Hermione could do way better. Now, hit me with your best spell."

"Expelliarmus!" Harry sends you flying across the room, and you land on your feet, courtesy of your vampiric sixth sense.

"Well done Harry. Now, let's try the Leg-Locking Curse. Repeat after me, Locomotor Mortis."

"Locomotor Mortis." You hear from the Gryffindor, a steely look on his face.

"Good! Now, if you perform it correctly, I shouldn't be able to move my legs. Again."

"Locomotor Mortis!" You feel your legs stiffen up, and smile at Harry, who returns it gladly.

"Good job Harry. Reparo!" Your legs revert back to normal. "Now, lets try the Incarceration spell. Repeat after me: Incarcerous!"

"Incarcerous!" Thick ropes burst out from the end of Harry's wand, and wrap themselves tightly around you.

"Good...job...Harry! Reparo!" The ropes dissapear, and you fall over, desperately trying to get oxygen into your lungs. "I think that's us done for today, Harry." Understanding, Harry leaves the room, allowing you to recover your strength and repair the five broken ribs that you have. 

[...]

Fleur sits down on the wall of the fountain at the bottom of the clock tower, quill in hand, writing a letter to her parents.

A la mère et au père,
Poudlard est extrêmement agréable et j'ai été sélectionné pour représenter Beauxbâtons au championnat des trois sorciers. L'école est sympa, et j'ai aussi rencontré ce très beau garçon. Il joue du violon et est capable de voir au-delà de moi en tant que Vélane. En toute honnêteté, je veux vraiment qu'il soit mon petit ami, et j'essaierai de lui demander après la première tâche. Je t'écrirai dès que je pourrai, et je garderai un œil sur Gabrielle.
Votre fille aînée,
Fleur Delacour

She puts her quill back in its inkwell without looking, and hearing a clattering sound and a splash, she knows what she's done. "Oh, mon dieu!" She says, watching as the ink seeps over the top of the letter. "Oh, non!"

"Reparo!" She hears from behind her, and the ink dries straight off the paper and back into the inkwell. Standing behind her, you smile, and put your hand on her shoulder, knowing you would scare the life out of her.

"AH!" Her scream echoes across the courtyard. "Rhaegal, you scared me!"

"I guess you need more practice at staying alert. You wouldn't want that to happen in any of the tasks, would you?" She smiles at you, and reaches out her hand, which you gladly accept.

"I admit zat I have a few confessions to make. Is zere anywhere more private, let's say, an abandoned classroom?" Your mind immediately thinks of Professor Quirrell's old classroom.