Krum was a decent enough guy, Harry supposed; he generally kept to himself, didn't wear one of those stupid badges Harry kept seeing, and (seeing as he already had a very professional life as a star Quidditch player outside his life as a student) seemed to be a very strictly business, no bullshit-drama kind of guy. To Harry, who had what seemed to be more than half the school out to get him, anybody that wasn't lay at least tentatively in his good book.

So when Krum apprehended Harry in-between a grueling double block with Snape and a Transfiguration exam a few days after the second task and asked if he could get some of Harry's gillyweed, Harry didn't think twice about it. After all, the gillyweed wasn't his—a plus—and it was also Snape's—another plus.

In fact, Harry figured he could get Krum more than just the gillyweed he had left. That night, before dinner, Harry called Dobby and asked him to steal more gillyweed from Snape's private stores and deliver it to Krum's room. With an uncountable amount head-nods but a single crack, the deed was done, and the whole ordeal was quickly shelved into the lesser accessed parts of Harry's memories. After all, he had gotten all what Krum had wanted, Harry figured, and didn't pay it another thought afterwards.

—

Somewhere in the Durmstrang ship that night:

'...Gillyweed must be much cheaper in the United Kingdom,' thought Viktor, holding a bulging sack, identical to the many that occupied a corner of his suite.

—

At least, until a very dignified looking owl with a small letter tied around its foot rapped at his dormitory window one night.

Tap tap tap, it went, but instead of light taps it was more of the impatient, window-rattling, bedframe-creaking pounds upon thick glass sort of variant.

'Blimey, what's it at this hour? Ss'that yours, Harry? Op'n the bloody window already!' groaned Ron, before turning over and falling right back asleep.

Harry hurriedly fell out of bed and let the owl in, who turned out to be not an owl, but a very regal and self important looking eagle, which was very reminiscent of the 'silent-but-strong' type that Krum was, which made sense, since it turned out to be Krum's owl—er, eagle. It impatiently tapped its talon on the windowsill as Harry undid the knot, before flying back into the night, perhaps to the Owlry—although Harry doubted something as proud as that eagle would be caught dead in a place like the Owlry, full of droppings and stray feathers as it is.

The 'letter' was nothing more than a small scrap of parchment, obviously torn off of a standard roll, complete with sloppy grammar and a spelling mistake: 'prefect bath aftre dinner- VK,' was all it read.

Obviously, it was from Viktor. Whom else did Harry know with those initials? Perhaps it was about the gillyweed that he had asked him for? Maybe Dobby hadn't delivered it to the right person, Harry thought. However, the moon was already passed the highest point in the sky, and Harry, too tired to further ponder the ramifications of the note, flopped back into bed and fell asleep after pulling his curtains tight to block the tremendous noise from Ron's bed.

Harry had some reservations to showing up to this mysterious meeting, but after dinner, he invariably found himself outside the Prefects' bath, hidden under his invisibility cloak.

The day had been interesting, to say the least. At breakfast, Harry had caught Fleur openly staring at him multiple times. And she had caught him catching her: at perhaps the second, maybe third time, she had given him a warm smile while he had his last strip of bacon hanging half out of his mouth. It was odd—he definitely wasn't affected the same way that Ron was by her whole Veela thing—but regardless, Fleur Delacour was undeniably one of the most attractive women he had ever seen.

Even when Harry had taken his Firebolt out for a spin (the lack of a regular quidditch season was getting to him) later that day during his free period, he couldn't quite shake the thought. Fleur—Fleur Delacour!—had smiled at him!

But that hardly compared to what had happened just an hour ago. As he had entered the Great Hall for dinner, Ron and Hermione in tow and bickering as usual, he unusually caught Fleur's eye—who then winked at him! She left the Hall early, so he didn't have any time to play the 'looking-not-looking game,' but the wink was enough to finish the job. The normally delicious steak and potatoes tasted bland, and his normally favorite treacle tart only served to dry his mouth.

To be entirely honest, Harry had considered a cold shower before going to see whatever Krum wanted with him at the Prefects' bath. However, the rather brief note had only specified 'after dinner,' and Harry supposed it was better to be earlier than late. The fact that the Marauder's map showed Cedric and Fleur (but mainly Fleur) in the Prefect's bathroom as well as Krum held absolutely zero sway over Harry's judgement.

After a brisk walk, Harry found himself outside the door the the prefect's bath. He looked side to side before quickly stuffing his invisibility cloak in the pocket of his robes, mustered his courage, and knocked on the door.

Without delay, a slit on the door slid open, revealing two eyes. Brown. 'Definitely not Fleur's eyes' was all Harry had the chance to think before the door swung open, revealing Cedric.

Cedric Diggory was nice enough in Harry's opinion. They hadn't talked much when they had first met each other before the Quidditch World cup, but at the same time the two hadn't had much of a reason to talk then. Like Krum, he didn't wear those badges either, which was a nice gesture of him considering Harry had taken at least part of his spotlight as the sole Hogwarts champion and the fact that the rest of school (including the ever beautiful Cho Chang, as Harry remembered the pain in his heart) wore them.

'Hi,' Harry began, unsure. 'Is Krum here?'

'Yeah, Fleur too. Come on in, we're about to get started.'

'Huh, Fleur?' said Harry, with feigned surprise. 'And hold up—started on what exactly?' he asked, with real surprise.

Cedric paused halfway through closing the door. 'Aren't you the bloke that supplied it all? Least Krum says; said ya must've been a twice a day'er with the amount you gifted him.'

'Oh, right… yeah, forgot about that; it's been a while, you see,' replied Harry, not really caring about whatever Cedric was saying, or understanding it, to be entirely honest. After all, Fleur was here, and this was the Prefect's bathroom. Where people bathe. Perhaps she was even wearing that pretty one-piece again.

The two walked through a dimly-lit hallway. For a while, the only sound Harry could hear was the echoing step step step step of their feet against the white marble lit by the occasional torch, but as they progressed past what Harry presumed were changing rooms, two voices came into range. Obviously Krum… and Harry guessed the second was Fleur's? It was far from her usually heavily accented speech.

The Prefect bathroom was magical. Harry hadn't had the time to appreciate the architecture the last time he was here, but this time he wasn't under any life threatening pressure. The entire room was built of an immaculate white marble, and opposite Harry were tall stained glass windows that illuminated the room in a soft, multi hued light. The ceiling above was charmed in the same way as the Great Hall's; the last dying light of the day streaked across the sky, only just keeping the invasion of dark stormy clouds at bay. At the centre lay a magnificent tub, deep enough to swim in, composed of a gaudy gold and lined with an incredible number of eccentric taps.

'Hey! The man of the hour's here!' announced Cedric, entering a moment before Harry.

Krum and Fleur were sitting about a metre apart, underneath massive stained glass windows that let light in from outside. On Krum's lap sit what looked to be a potion-ingredient jar of gillyweed and a glass pipe. Harry disappointedly noted that Fleur was not, as he had hoped, wearing that pretty one piece.

'Ah—yes, but maybe,' Krum said, stoically, 'but maybe should call him 'man-in-an-hour.''

It took Cedric a moment to understand Krum's words, but it was obvious to Harry when it clicked: he doubled over, laughing. Fleur reddened, shooting Krum a dirty look, who fought to remain straight-faced; eventually, though, he gave way and cracked a small grin.

Was Krum making fun of him and Fleur?

Maybe.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Once he recovered, Cedric was back to business. 'So, let's get right to it, yeah?'

'Krum has been selling the whole act rather well,' agreed Fleur.

Harry watched as Krum levitated a small gob of gillyweed out of the bag that Dobby had presumably delivered, shredded it into tiny pieces, before dropping it all into the bowl of the pipe. He picked up his wand, presumably to light it, but paused and looked up at Harry.

'T'ank you, Harry. This,' he said, pulling out a rather hefty bag out of the inner breast pocket of his robes, 'me to you.'

Harry took the bag from him, and nearly dropped it. The nondescript brown bag was much heavier than it looked, and it also…. jingled?'

'Is this all gold?' Harry asked, confused, to which Krum only nodded.

'What was this for?' Harry wondered. There was no way this was payment for the gillyweed, right..? Surely it couldn't have been that expensive.

Either way, though, Harry was in no dire need of gold. Although a large portion of the Potter vault had been consumed to fight Voldemort in the first war, and the Potter manor was burnt to the ground (with his grandparents inside, he would later learn), that was still in relative terms. Harry was sure he was still incredibly wealthy compared the common man, and certainly didn't need the gold.

However, neither did the Bulgarian Quidditch star. Or the Veela, daughter of a French politician. With a shrug, Harry tossed the bag to Cedric, and to credit his Quidditch skills, deftly caught it.

'Huh? Are you giving this to me?'

'Yeah, sure. I definitely don't need it, and seeing the daughter of a candidate for French minister, the star player of the Bulgarian national team, and the heir of one of the richest families in Britain, you're likely the poorest of us.'

A faint look of astonishment lay on Cedric's face.

'Wow. Thanks man, you cunt,' he said, eyeing the gold wondrously, and stowed the gold inside his robes.

With the transaction completed, Krum looked down at his lap again. He picked up the pipe, and silently offered it to Harry.

Who had no idea what to do. Harry was pretty sure everyone was planning to smoke the gillyweed, but the entire process was foreign to Harry, whose only experience was seeing Vernon smoking out of his tobacco pipe every now and then, and the glass pipe looked nothing like Vernon's old ones.

'Nah, you can take the first draw,' Harry responded, shaking his head.

With a shrug that said 'your call, then,' Krum brought the pipe to his lips, and then brought the tip of his wand to the end of the pipe. His brow furrowed in concentration, before the tip of his wand glowed red hot and lit the gillyweed.

It looked easy enough to Harry. Krum pulled a deep breath, and then handed the pipe to Fleur, on his left. After taking another small sip of air, Krum slowly let out his breath; a thick plume of vaguely green smoke escaped his chapped lips and wafted towards the ceiling.

Meanwhile, Fleur was repeating the process. She bravely drew in a deep breath, and slowly began to exhale, which was when she immediately dropped the pipe into her lap and began violently coughing.

It was a little worrisome to Harry; she seemed to be gasping for breath a little bit, but the incessant laughter and teasing of Cedric and Krum eased his concerns.

'Seems this delicate French bird here can't handle our fine British gillyweed here,' teased Cedric, seemingly voicing Krum's thoughts.

'Ah, poor Harry. Frenchie cannot hold breath long,' Krum said.

'Ferme la!' gasped Fleur, in between breathes. It was hard to say whether her face was red from embarrassment or embarrassment. With a little more caution, she took another draw of the pipe. This time, everything was fine. Like Krum, she blew out her own plume of smoke, albeit maybe less thick, and passed the pipe to Cedric, on her left.

Cedric had obviously done this before. Like a seasoned veteran, he took a draw without so much as a hiccup, and blew it towards the ceiling. Then, it was Harry's turn.

Harry still didn't quite understand why they were doing this. He was pretty sure that gillyweed wasn't just a wizarding name for tobacco—and it definitely didn't smell the same as what Vernon used to smoke—but if everyone else was, and they had invited him to join, he might as well. There must have been some mix up—Krum must have assumed that he had a lot of experience smoking gillyweed, but Harry was pretty certain that he didn't.

Regardless, he repeated the same process just as he had witnessed. With fake confidence, Harry placed the tip of the pipe to his lips, and inhaled deeply.

It burned Harry's throat, and he was pretty sure gillyweed was actually essence of skunk. He had plenty of vivid memories dealing with those white-tailed bastards while tending to Petunia's garden. It wasn't entirely pleasant, but like Krum, he held his breath, and passed the pipe back to Cedric, who reached over Fleur handed it back to Krum.

As Harry exhaled, he watched in amazement as his normally invisible breath was populated by thick smoke. And then he coughed. And coughed, and then coughed once or twice more. And then a lot more once or twice more.

Oh god, he couldn't stop coughing. In the presence of the other two veterans, Harry pretty much felt like a bitch. After an eternity, Harry finally felt okay to breath again.

Fleur giggled, and Harry's heart fell thirteen stories and imploded upon the ice cold concrete of Fleur Delacour's heart.

'I don't smoke very often,' Harry said, weakly. His statement, technically, wasn't a lie. Technically.

'It seems Monsieur Potter and I have more in common than I had thought,' Fleur teased. Okay, maybe things weren't so bad.

'Yeah, if you count both being feckin' bitches, maybe,' Cedric tossed back.

Fleur playfully shoved him in response.

They passed the pipe multiple times back and forth. Krum, Fleur, Cedric, Harry, it went. Harry, and Fleur it seemed, were a little more conservative after their first tries, as there nary more than a lone cough or two between the two of them.

After maybe the fifth or sixth pull (Krum had repacked the pipe somewhere in the midst of all this) Harry was beginning to wonder why they were doing this. Is this what wizards did in their free time? The ceiling of the Prefect's baths were vaguely white and green and hazy, and his eye was itchy. He rubbed his eye. Oh man, his eye was really itchy. Oh man, this sucked. Harry looked up in time to see Krum crack a silent smile.

'Oh my god, look at Harry's eyes,' Cedric said. 'Right blasted, he is.'

Fleur's eyes were on a similar path. They were on the verge of bloodshot, and Fleur must have realized as well, because she giggled.

Harry giggled too, because she did. And then they were a pair of idiots, giggling back at each other in a sort of perpetual motion machine, but only a little more brain dead.

Cedric offered the pipe again to Harry, but he refused. Really, Harry felt as if his entire body was vibrating, and he wasn't sure if he could even inhale properly at the moment anyways. He felt mentally handicapped, yet not. With a jolt, Harry realized that he was smart enough in the moment to realize that he was also, in the moment, incredibly dumb.

Seriously, Harry was really dumb. He was so dumb, he couldn't even properly speak; he tried to tell Cedric how dumb he felt, and he couldn't even do that. He couldn't find the words—

'Cedric—Cedric, I'm dumb.' Ah, here they were. Harry had found them.

'Right in one, right duffer you are.' Cedric replied, with a snicker.

Cedric smoked this stuff regularly? Krum too? Did they pay for this stuff? Pay just to feel stupid?

Harry tried to stand up. This turned out to be a very bad idea, because the trancelike unbalanced swaying resembled more of a terrible dance move than standing, and he could feel what seemed like his leg fat jiggling around his bones as he attempted to steady himself. (Was someone laughing?) Instead, Harry sat down again, and closed his eyes.

The stars in Harry's eyes were vibrant and swirling in time to the pleasurable and uncontrollable buzz in his body. Gosh, this was great. And he was thirsty.

Gosh, he was thirsty. Was anybody else thirsty? Harry was pretty sure he had never been thirstier in his life. Was anyone even still here? Of how much time had passed while his eyes had been closed, Harry was frighteningly unsure.

Speaking of, Harry figured he should probably open his eyes.

Legs were splayed out in front of him, and Harry followed them all the way up — past the hems of their blue skirt, and right up to the bottoms of black lace. Nice, thought Harry. And then he went past that, to see Fleur Delacour staring right at him. She winked. Damn, thought Harry.

A handful torches were now lit, and any of the dying light that previously filtered through the windows had dissipated for good. Above, a layer of foul, thick green smoke slightly obscured the ceiling that harkened back to the Great Halls. Stars twinkled overhead, and a bright full moon peeked from a stray cloud.

'Do you have any water?' asked Harry. Fleur's smile only widened, and she shook her head. Damn. So he turned to Cedric and Krum.

'Do you have any water?' asked Harry.

Krum only shook his head, and Cedric replied in a short and controlled, 'no,' which was slightly ruined when he began giggling uncontrollably.

So Harry staggered up to a sink faucet, and quickly cupped water into his mouth. And then more. And then more in an even more greedy and unrefined fashion. And then he was done.

With his thirst quenched, Harry moved up on his hierarchy of needs. Food, he thought.

'I'm starving,' said Harry, as an incredibly deep sense of despair pervaded through his being upon the realization that dinner had already passed. No more food was able to be had, yet Harry desired it, needed it. Clearly Krum had the same thought, as a deep frown combined with his bloodshot eyes marred his face. Fleur did too: her eyes were tearing up and a strange sort of escaped her throat.

'There's no way I'm feckin' sober enough to be seen in public, and and and—' Cedric paused, steadying himself—'and I'm not really even sure how to get to the kitchens.'

And then Harry had an idea.

—

'You have a feckin' cloak of invisibility?!' babbled Cedric. 'Wait, you're a feckin' Potter, of course, of course you'd have a feckin' cloak of invisibility, you're bloody rich, of course the feckin' Potter's would have a feckin' cloak of—'

'Cedric?'

'Yeah?'

'While other people can't see us, they can still hear us,' said Harry, blandly.

'Right. Sorry.'

The pair continued along, Harry's footsteps leading Cedric's, walking along a path well traveled by Harry and Ron—Ron, because he was hungry, and Harry, because he wasn't letting his cloak out of his sight.

'Harry?'

'Yeah?'

'Is there a reason we're standing some fifty metres from the entrance to my common room? Wait, bollocks—'

'The Hufflepuff common room is here?'

'—I wasn't supposed to tell you that.'

Harry mentally filed that information for later. Or at least, attempted to. He could only remember that Cedric had just told him something that he wanted to remember, but couldn't actually remember what Cedric had said.

The two of them, under the cloak, were in front of the portrait of the fruit basket that marked the secret entrance to the kitchens. Which was all fine and dandy, except Harry could barely remember the walk here, despite—despite being followed by Mrs. Norris the entire way here? How long was that blasted cat sitting there?

'Shite, Cedric, when the fuck—Cedric, you berk, tickle the pear!'

'Tickle the what?!'

'Tickle the goddamn pear!'

'What?'

'Oh fer fucks—' was the last thing that Mrs. Norris heard, as after a scuffle, a hole opened up on the wall, and promptly closed back up. Weird, thought the cat, and went to resume its prior course of action before it was rudely interrupted by the ghosts. Mrs. Norris hopped up on the nearest broom cabinet, hunched over itself, and resumed licking her butthole.

—

'Holy—'

'Did you see—'

'Was Filch—'

'How long was it—'

'That feckin' cat better—'

And then the two looked at eachother, and after a small pause, burst out laughing. And laughing. Harry and Cedric laughed until the cried, until their stomachs ached with each heave, until they were both fetal on the floor of the kitchens, until only silent shakes came from their bodies.
'Shite, that was a close call,' said Harry, and then they were back to business. Harry had no idea how much time had passed while laughing, let alone while journeying down to the kitchens, and thinking back to Fleur's tearful eyes—

'That was a dirty trick,' said Krum, with a frowning mouth but mirthful eyes.

'I have no idea what you are talking about,' said Fleur, with a not so innocent smirk plastered across her face.

—time was of the essence.

'Dobby!'

The only covered head quickly peered over the sea of elves, and immediately scampered over to where the two students stood, nay, sat; they were both still on the floor.

'The great Harry Potter greets Dobby, calls Dobby by name, oh Dobby is so—'

'Whatever, thanks Dobby; can you get us some food? And enough for two more as well?

Dobby replied by shooting back into the crowd, and together like a well oiled machine, the crowd of elves set to work. In no time at all, delicious smells began wafting up from the various pots, pans, and skillets employed by the house elves. In the meantime, Cedric and Harry played games of stone, parchment, and knife.

'Feck. Feck.'

'Shite.'

'Feck.'

'Shite. Ah, shite.'

—

This time, as Harry peered at a picnic basket that was definitely charmed to be bottomless, he knew exactly how much time had passed. Exactly enough games of stone, parchment, and knife had passed that Harry was winning twenty nine to twenty four.

Though the thought of carrying that deliciously-smelling basket all the way up to the Prefect's bath was absolutely dreadful to Harry, and clearly it was to Cedric as well, who had his finger on his nose.

'Shite,' mumbled Harry. And then he had an idea. 'Dobby!'

'The great Harry Potter greets Dobby, calls Dobby by—'

'Can you deliver this to the Prefect's bath?'

Dobby nodded enthusiastically, and then grabbed hold of the basket and with a crack, disapparated.

'I really don't want to walk all the feckin' way back,' groaned Cedric.

'Shite,' mumbled Harry. And then he had an idea. 'Dobby!'

pop

'The great Harry Pot—'

'Can you take us to the Prefect's bath?'

Dobby nodded enthusiastically, and then grabbed hold of the two of them. The last thing Harry heard was Cedric, who mumbled, 'why didn't we just feckin' use Dobby from the start?' before the two were sucked into a suffocating void.

—

'I think I'm gonna be sick,' groaned Cedric, and he promptly conjured himself a pillow. He curled up against the base of the bath, and closed his eyes.

Harry found himself agreeing. Apparition definitely was a rather disagreeable method of travel, if Harry said so himself.

'Mon héros!' said Fleur, who was peering into the basket. She promptly stood up and strode over to Harry, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

'Uh, th—thanks?' stammered Harry, who was quite certain his face had taken on a violent red.

'Thank you,' replied Fleur, attaching herself to Harry's arm.

'Err… Cedric helped a lot too.'

'I'm sure he did,' said Fleur.

'Um, you're still holding my arm,' said Harry.

'Yes,' replied Fleur, smiling.

'I'm not feckin' high enough for this,' muttered Cedric, from the floor.

'Shut up,' replied Fleur. Her arms were both clasped around his arm, which did wonderful things to her ample chest, squeezing them together. Speaking of her chest, Harry's arm was currently between it.

Something tapped at the windows, and the champions turned, startled. Harry and Fleur jumped apart, and even Cedric poked his head up.

After a tense pause, the tapping resumed, with renewed ferocity. Finally, Harry looked skyward, and the moon and stars were nowhere to be seen, instead replaced with violent clouds. It was raining.

'Holy shite,' said Harry, voicing all their thoughts. His heart beat like mad, and his knees felt incredibly weak. He wasn't sure what the punishment for drug use was at Hogwarts, but Harry was sure it couldn't be pleasant. If several first years were subject to the Forbidden Forest at night just for breaking curfew, Harry shuddered at the idea of the punishment he just dodged. Maybe Filch would have chained them up and subjected them to inhumane torture. Or worse, they'd be expelled.

'The food will… will more tasty with more gillyweed,' said Krum, finally speaking up for the first time since Harry had returned, breaking the silence.

'I've always wanted to hotbox this place, but no other Prefects smoke,' suggested Cedric, helpfully.

Krum visibly thought the idea over. Then, he shrugged, apparently in agreement, as he turned towards the bag, raised his wand, and enunciated: 'Incendio!'

Thick and green smoke quickly began spreading throughout the room, as the champions huddled around the picnic basket, grabbing food with impunity. The feast so thoughtfully prepared by the elves held everything from peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fried chicken and chips and biscuits and treacle tart to even fried peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which Cedric grabbed more than one of. The green smoke's tendrils wrapped around their feet, and quickly and wholly filled the room.

'Blimey, I can't see my own knobend from up here,' said Cedric.

Harry stood, alternating between bites of chicken and gulps from a goblet of cold water, which he was incredibly glad that Dobby had packed. Honestly, Harry didn't understand how wizards could stomach drinking so much pumpkin juice. Pumpkin juice. In Harry's mind, those two words should never have been found in the same sentence.

Seriously—Harry had tried some with an open mind before, only to reaffirm his belief: pumpkins weren't fit to eat, except in pie form, and their juices definitely weren't fit to drink. The juice tasted exactly like the raw innards of a pumpkin with some added sugar, which is to say, he had projectile vomited onto the table at breakfast one day. Never again, he had told himself that day, and Harry certainly didn't plan on breaking that vow tonight. The ice cold water was a delicacy in comparison to that garbage.

Honestly, pumpkin juice. Disgusting. The cold water tasted delicious, his head felt really tight, and his legs were shaking, and his eyes felt really freaking dry. 'Ah, shite,' thought Harry. He was high as a kite. Were the others?

Harry looked up from his chicken and water, to see Cedric's brief covered arse, and nobody else.

'What the—Cedric, you wanker, what in the—'

Through the haze, Harry caught sight of a lot of foam, and multicolored bubbles in all shapes and sizes fighting through the smoke, drifting up from—right, a bath.

Harry didn't bring any trunks, and Cedric clearly didn't either—which meant, that somewhere in the haze, Fleur was somewhere in that bath dressed in only that black lace. No more encouragement was needed; Harry quickly stripped down. The stones of the floor were heated and comfortable against Harry's bare feet, and so was the water against his bare skin as he followed Cedric into the bath. Cedric went off into the smoke, wading through the bath, and was soon obscured by the thick green and milky clouds.

Harry leaned against his edge of the bath, which was large enough that he couldn't even see the other champions, let alone the other side of the bath. The bubbles tickled his chin, and Harry finally closed his eyes, which welcomed the moisture.

'I can't see shite,' complained Cedric

The stars were back, and Harry's body, suspended in the warm water, felt as if it were tumbling along some muggle roller coaster; his centre of gravity felt all sorts of whack. It felt great, as far as Harry was concerned. He wanted more chicken. And water. He opened his eyes. Ah, he'd left it on the rim of the bath next to him. Harry quietly thanked the thoughtfulness of his past self. He closed his eyes, and took a bite and a sip.

The gillyweed crackled in some far off corner of the room, still leaking smoke quite profusely, bubbles rose and popped, and in an orchestrated chaos, the rain pattered against the roof and rapped on the windows. In some far off corner, a deep snore emanated from someone; no, it was undoubtedly Krum.

The stars, the swirling, the lights on his eyelids swirled in time to the symphony of the cacophony, to his varying sense of gravity, to the vibrations that started in the edges of his toes and the tips of his ears, and migrated to his centre, from where it would return and repeat.

And somewhere out there, someone was swimming. Harry could hear the rush of water, feel the movement of it, and vaguely realized it was coming towards him. Harry opened his eyes.

First it was just the ripples of water, and then a vague shadow in the smoke, and then finally, Fleur was snuggling up to Harry's side.

'Fleur—what?'

'Pardon?' Fleur's eyes slid down over her body, before coming back up to meet Harry's. 'Us French are famous for our nude beachgoing.'

'Really,' was all Harry could manage. His throat had suddenly dried, and the remnants of the crispy bits of the chicken felt like sand in his mouth.

'This smoke is too bloody thick!' complained Cedric, from somewhere to Harry's left.

Not that Harry could see much more than Cedric, with the thick smoke clouding the room and the ample amounts of various types of bubbles and foam did well to cover Fleur's modesty. Still, though, it was the implication more than anything else that drained the blood from Harry's face.

And then Fleur leaned on Harry, the contact making him jump. He looked into her eyes; they were quite pink, and the moderate swelling around her eyes almost appeared to function as a natural eye shadow.

Not that Harry felt any better. His eyelids were heavier than ever, and similar to Fleur, his neck could barely support his own head. In swaying, the two accidentally leaned closer to each other, and—

Fleur kissed Harry on the forehead. 'You are just, so, so—tres adorable,' she said, slipping into French; not that it made it any more difficult for Harry to understand. 'Je veux to 'ug you and mother you pour toujours.' And with that, she hugged Harry, and promptly fell asleep.

Well, it wasn't quite the ending that Harry had hoped for, but he figured teenaged boys rarely do get the ending they hope for. Besides, the gillyweed had him lightheaded as hell, and he really did just want to sleep, and there were worse places to sleep than in a warm and comfortable bath, with a naked Veela snuggled against him making cute snores.

He looked into the ceiling, rain still pattering overhead in a steady rhythm, and smiled to himself. Krum's snores still emanated from somewhere across the baths, and Cedric was playing with the water, if the small splashes and waves were anything to go by. Harry hugged Fleur closer to himself, and closed his eyes. Although the stars above were not visible due to the rain, the stars and patterns of his mind more than made it up to Harry. He'd have to try this whole gillyweed thing again some time, he thought to himself, but his thoughts quickly wandered and petered out. The combined comfort of his predicament and the strengthening effects of the gillyweed quickly overcame Harry, and he too fell asleep, with a wide smile strewn across his face.