Champions

Shocking Revelations

Harry James Potter, otherwise known as The Boy Who Lived, was rather confused. Earlier in the day he had received an invitation to dinner from Sebastian Delacour, who he could only presume was Fleur's father. It stated that they had important matters to discuss, but for the life of him, he could not imagine what those matters might be!

The only thing that came to mind was his rescue of Fleur during the Second Task several days prior. She was attacked by Grindylows numbering in the hundreds, and he just happened to pass by and lend a hand. It wasn't a big deal as far as he was concerned.

But beyond that, there was nothing. Fleur was nice enough after the Task, and her sister apparently adored him, but nothing about that should have interested the man since they were little more than passing acquaintances. They had no other dealings beyond the Tournament.

That said, he also had no reason to decline the invitation. In fact, he jumped at the chance! Ron was telling tall tales about the Task at every opportunity, and Harry was getting sick of it; he needed to be away from his friend for a while, and here was a ready-made excuse!

While the letter said it would be a casual affair, Harry still did his best to dress nicely, wanting to make a good impression. He was well aware that his wardrobe left something to be desired, but there wasn't much he could do about it. They had only ever seen him in the rags his relatives made him wear, and he hoped that he could improve their opinion of him a bit.

It didn't hurt that Fleur was a truly beautiful girl, and was clearly unimpressed with him. Sure, he didn't stand a chance with someone like her – not even counting the fact that she was three years older – but it wouldn't hurt to have her think well of him. He was more or less unaffected by veela now that he understood what they were, but he was still a boy!

Suppressing a minor bout of nerves at the thought that she might be there, he straightened his robes and reached up to knock on the door to the Beauxbatons carriage.

It was only a moment before it opened to reveal a short, curvy brunette in Beauxbatons blue robes. She was probably Fleur's age, and quite pretty. But then her eyes flicked up to his scar and widened, and he lost all interest; he couldn't stand it when people did that, and it turned him off to her almost immediately.

"Er, hi," he said. "I'm looking for Sebastian Delacour."

The girl blinked and shook herself free of her momentary trance. "Droit, de cette façon," she said unintelligibly.

While he couldn't understand her words, she did motion him inside, so he took his cue from that. She only paused to close the door behind him, and he didn't even have a chance to take in the décor before she was leading him down a nearby corridor. The carriage was much like a Wizarding tent: much larger on the inside than on the outside.

There were doors at various intervals along the hall, rectangles of beige against a backdrop of light blue. Harry thought it quite calming, if a little odd. She led him to one marked with the number 42, and knocked; his nerves kicked up a notch, but he squelched them ruthlessly.

And then the door opened, and his guide scampered away before he could even offer his thanks.

Turning back, he found himself staring up at an older, well-built, very confident man. His gray-edged hair and intelligent eyes spoke of great wisdom, and his fine clothes spoke of wealth. Harry felt like little more than errant child in his presence, but did his best not to show it.

"Mr. Delacour?" he queried tentatively.

The man smiled a friendly smile and stepped aside. "Come in, Monsieur Potter," he offered. "It is a pleasure to meet you."