Updated and Edited 6/15/2020

*Completely revamped Harry vs Fleur fight, as well as some minor consistency changes to the Harry and Apolline scene.

Three women marched through halls both pristine and glistening, their footsteps echoing loudly with their every stride forward. They held their chins high, and their backs stood straight; their clothes were threadbare, and their eyes sunk deep; yet despite their dishevelled appearances, they carried themselves proudly.

Two of them seemed as if they were twins, both sharing the same silvery-blonde hair. Closer inspection shattered the illusion, showing no relation to each other at all: one was taller than the other, and with green eyes rather than blue. The last of their party had hair the colour of the purest onyx, and eyes just as dark. Her role was not that of a fighter, and she lingered in the rear because of it.

Their long march ended, their path ahead, checked by an oaken door, and they settled themselves in front of it. They stared at it warily.

The black-haired woman was the first to speak. "This is where it'll all end, isn't it?"

A frown crossed the features of the tallest woman, "It will be. One way or another."

Not one for patience, their last member said, "Let's get on with it then, yeah?" She tried for confidence, but her shaky smile betrayed her.

They needed no conversation as they pushed on—the decision was unanimous, and they all knew it. The women had lost too much to turn back, and they would never allow the sacrifices of so many others to go to waste. At their approach, the door opened all on its own.

Inside, only evil was there to greet them from atop its throne.

I hadn't expected dodging spells, or taking cover behind statues, would have been in the cards for me after the Second Task. But there I was: taking cover. Sometimes I hated my life.

"Come out, Harry! No more hiding!"

I peeked my head out from the cover offered by the statue of a knight in armour, to better look at my quarry. Fleur Delacour of all people stood in the centre of the corridor, her silver hair still wet from the Lake and a frenzied look to her heart-shaped face.

Right after my name had come roaring out from the flames of the Goblet of Fire, I'd clocked her as pompous. She'd taken but a single look at me and dismissed me entirely. Scant little before now has provided me cause to reconsider my opinion of her. Now, I thought her a little mental.

Seeing me, she shot off another Stunner, the scarlet bolt of energy flying towards me with exacting precision. I ducked back down.

"Sod off! You're mad!"

Even amidst her psychotic break, she was stunningly beautiful. Her fury was such that it seemed to suck the very air from my lungs, and I wasn't keen to linger any much longer under her sights.

"Hiding away will only make things worse for you," Fleur said with only the smallest trace of her previously thick French accent. Her English, though weak at the start of the year, now seemed better than mine, "Come out. Now."

"What the bloody hell are you even on about? Huh!? You attacked me!" Pulling my wand from out of my robes, I prepared for the worst. "Is this the thanks I get for saving your sister?" I peeked my head back up, taking an inventory of my options—there weren't many—and to make sure she was still keeping her distance.

At the mention of Fleur's sister, she flinched, hunching in on herself, before drawing herself back up to her full, and not inconsiderable, height. "You do not know what you have done," Fleur muttered darkly, "You should not have rescued her."

Uncertain how to take Fleur's claim that I should have left her sister to die, I laughed disbelievingly. "And leave her at the bottom of the Black Lake? I remember it being a bit hard to breathe down there."

" You think this a joke!?" Fleur's nostrils dilated, and she bared her teeth at me. And suddenly, she gave a simple reminder of what she was. She changed. Her face elongated, feathers beginning to bud from all over, and long, scaly wings forced their way out from her shoulders. Her clothes gave way freely, not even ripping under the rapid growth of those extra limbs, and continuing against all the odds to provide cover for her modesty.

Her skin seemed to shine moon-bright, casting the hallways under an oppressive aura. Without fully realising it, I'd stood from the safety of my cover. The struggle to keep still and steady in the face of such a supernatural terror was herculean, and my knees trembled under the effort.

"I don't even know what this is!" What little wit I was still in possession of after such a drawn-out day was scrambling to figure out what Fleur was on about—cause there had to be some reason, no matter how contrived. It wasn't like her at all. "Tell me what I did!"

Fleur ignored my question entirely, and her voice, when she spoke up once more, was different. Inhuman and garbled, "I will take you to my mother. She will settle matters."

"No," I said, sounding far more confident than I had any right to be. "Not until I know what's going on."

"Come with me quietly. Now." Fleur demanded. In her palm—the one not already pointing a wand at me—a bright ball of red-orange flames ignited. It wasn't any more considerable than an apple, but the sudden show of wandless magic made me swallow nervously.

In defiance to Fleur's demands, and despite the uneasiness in my gut, I somehow raised my wand. The tension in the hall racketed up tenfold as we squared off. Neither side moved, and neither of us breathed.

The muscles in her arm, hard to see beneath feathers that were as white as snow, twitched, and I took my chance.

"Tarantal—!"

"HOLD THERE!"

Startled, the leg-dancing jinx died on my lips, and the flames held in Fleur's hand dimmed just that bit. Fleur and I stared at each other confusedly—neither of us had been the ones to speak, and we were alone in the hallway.

"YOU DARE BRING BATTLE TO MY REALM!?" The male voice came from within the confines of a portrait to the right of me. Inside, stood a knight dressed in full plate, in the middle of a wide-open field, and he looked entirely displeased. "TRESPASSERS!"

"Be silent, portrait." Fleur's inhuman appearance had faded somewhat, back to some form of normality. She still held a down of feathers all along her body, but her large wings had withered away, wilting alongside her growing confusion. "This does not concern you."

The portrait did not like that, and he drew his sword. "Intruders!" He removed his helm, revealing the face of a man who took great pride in his moustache, "Know the name Sir Cadogan! Recognise today as the day he thwarted your dastardly schemes!"

"Right..." I said, "This is weird, and I'm really rather busy. I'll just..." I gestured down the hallway, just wanting this day over already. Fleur scowled at me, obviously not willing to let me go. I hadn't expected her to, but it couldn't have hurt to try.

Replacing his helm, the portrait of Sir Cadogan raised his sword high in the air. "TO ARMS! NOBLE KNIGHTS, TO ARMS!"

Statues all around us came to life, drawing swords and maces, or, in one case, not having a weapon, readied a shield for its use as a bludgeon. Their footfalls were heavy as they surrounded Fleur and me, and, our quarrel forgotten, we stood back to back, ready to face the oncoming storm of stone and steel.

"Is this honestly happening?" I didn't know the statues could move, and even if I did, that a painting could activate them at will was a concerning matter all on its own. This day just kept getting better and better.

"It appears so," Fleur said, "Hogwarts is an interesting place. I don't believe I like it."

Statues lined the hallway on either side, standing three abreast. They all took the form of a tall man, and their faces were generic and impossible to remember. They moved with stilted and jagged synchronicity.

One made a stab at me with its spear, and I jumped aside. A mistake; the shield-user was there, and it thrust its shield at me. It struck with extraordinary force—knocking the wind clear out of me, and I fell to the ground. As I lay heaving on the floor, it felt as if I would never breathe again.

Fleur spun her wand in a graceful arc, and, under her skilled choreography, a massive vine sprung from the ground, impaling a swordsman. Not fazed by the wound, it tried to keep slashing uselessly at the air. Fleur blew it apart with another twist of the wrist, its parts and masonry raining down in dense clumps.

Black was creeping in on my vision before I took in a trembling breath. I scrambled on only three limbs, away from the silent statues, trying to hold my wand steady. From my place on the ground, I pictured every piece of debris, anything not bolted to the ground or wall, and willed it all towards me in one last gambit. " Accio!" I shouted.

Nothing happened, and my stomach fell. The shieldman leaned over me, raising its shield high into the air, and I thought abruptly that this was how I would die. Not cut down by Voldemort, or by whoever had put my name into the Goblet of Fire. My fate was to die because a portrait had demanded it.

A portrait.

A piece of me broke at the realisation, and I knew I couldn't allow things to end this way. An unfamiliar clarity swept over me, fuelled by my anger at this complete disaster of a life—today, yesterday, and the miseries still yet to come. It didn't matter; I was sick of it all. I tried again, "ACCIO!"

Everything in the hallway—decorative items on the walls, the broken pieces of masonry on the floor—all trembled, vibrating and jiggling one by one. A dull rumbling echoed out, and as a whole, everything surged forwards.

By some miracle, not one bit of airborne junk struck me. The stone soldiers near me were not so fortunate, and the remains of their fallen compatriot slammed into them, shattering them totally and completely. Their remaining pieces collapsed, like a marionette with its strings cut.

I didn't know how long I sat on the floor, trying to catch my breath, but the light touch of Fleur's hand on my shoulder nudged me from my stupor. She offered her hand to me, and I hesitantly took it, and she hauled me up. She must have already handled her share of the statues.

"Are you okay?" She knitted her brows as she looked me up and down, scanning for injuries.

That statue had gotten me good, so I poked at my ribs experimentally. Nothing seemed broken. "Yeah. Fine. Might have a nasty bruise tomorrow, though. Did we get attacked by a portrait?" Idly, I placed my wand back in my robes.

"No, the statues were the ones to attack us," Fleur said through pinched lips, "The portrait was a mere cheerleader."

"Where'd that portrait go? Sir Cadogan, right?"

"Around." She made a gesture encompassing everywhere, and suddenly, I noticed the sheer amount of detritus and debris in the hallway. Pieces of stone, in chunks both big and small, lay sprinkled about haphazardly. Not even the portraits were safe, getting torn from their places on the walls, and flung around casually. Sir Cadogan's was missing.

We dug around for his portrait for a while. I wasn't sure why—curiosity, or perhaps out of some need for finality, or maybe something else. I didn't know.

It didn't take long to find him. His portrait was intact, noteworthy considering that it lay embedded in the broken chest of a statue. Fleur and I pulled him off with a great tug, and we turned him around to face us.

The grass in his portraiture was windswept, and so was the man himself. With his home now righted, he lifted himself from the ground and dusted himself down. Sir Cadogan was still wearing his suit of armour, so his efforts were mostly useless—a puff of grass still clung to his helm.

"I must admit, you are more worthy foes than I had expected." He puffed his chest up, and I imagined the knight wearing a crown of feathers, much as a peacock would, "Sir Cadogan, honourable Knight of the Round Table , is more than up to the challe—"

Fleur lit his portrait on fire, silencing Sir Cadogan forever.

The ashes of his portrait drifted to the ground, and I wasn't sorry to see him go. "Why did you do that? Not that I disagree or anything."

"No witnesses,"

"No witnesses?" I turned to face her—I'd been looking at the pile that was once a knight—only to find Fleur's wand in my face. "Oh. Right." We were in the middle of a thing before Sir Cadogan had so kindly interrupted.

I just stood there. What else could I do? I'd already put my wand away, and Fleur would hardly need any time at all to do what she wanted. All I could hope for was that whatever it was, it was benign.

It was only now that Fleur was so close to me that her pale face and bloodshot eyes became obvious. Even with a wand pointed at me, that was what I couldn't help but to notice.

"—I am sorry, Harry," Fleur said, " Stupefy. "

My world went black.

"—believe you kidnapped the boy—"

It was the feeling of ropes tightly binding my hands, and the sharp aroma of incense invading my nostrils that dragged me back to the land of the living.

"—have expected such brash—your sister—"

I tried to move my arms but could manage little more movement than a twist of the wrists. I pulled the ropes again and again, over and over, my teeth gnashing as I struggled in place.

"—When I asked you to—"

"Mum— stop! He's awake!"

All the noise surrounding me came to an abrupt halt, and I quit my squirming.

Memories came flooding back to me—scaly wings and feathers, and a statue poised for a killing blow, and a knight, and the ashes of a portrait. Then—

Fleur had Stunned me. She must have.

I didn't know how to feel about that. Fleur had taken me somewhere—I didn't know where—but I was mostly just confused. A little angry, yes, that went without saying—but why had she done what she did? It made not a whit of sense.

It was with a heavy sigh that a woman said, "Fleur. Gabrielle. Give me the room." Her French accent was strong and pronounced, though she had no trouble enunciating her words in English.

She was older, but only middle-aged, with only an occasional wrinkle marring her beautiful features. Her hair was the same silvery-blonde colour that I'd seen many times on Fleur, and I recognised Gabrielle from the Lake, standing across from the woman, with her gaze focused squarely on me. I fidgetted a bit.

Fleur was already out the door.

The sound of Gabrielle's feet treading on a hollow floor was clear, and she hesitated at the door, "Can I…"

" No, Gabrielle."

" But—"

"Not now."

Gabrielle sniffed, but sure enough, her footsteps receded into the distance. Silence greeted her absence.

The unknown woman eventually broke the quiet, "You have my sincerest apologies, Harry Potter. I had not expected my daughter to panic as she did."

Setting aside my confusion for later, I summoned up some anger. It didn't take much, "I don't know what you expected, then. Apologies or not, I'm still sitting here trussed up like a pig. Let me go. Then we can talk about how many sorries will be enough." I glared at the woman, but she remained entirely unfazed by my ire.

"Then it will be so. We do not need such ghastly restraints anymore, no?"

With a wave of her wand, the rope around my wrists unravelled from their complicated knot. Rather than fall to the floor, they disappeared, dissolving into the aether as they hit the ground. Letting out a low groan, I rubbed at the sore spots where they had dug into my skin.

I finally got a decent look at my surroundings, and I found myself in a comfy-looking sitting room. "Where am I?" I asked, curious about my surroundings despite my anger. The room looked homey, decorated in varying shades of blue and white, and the couch I was on was one of the most comfortable pieces of furniture I'd ever had the pleasure of sitting in.

"The Beauxbatons' carriage," She answered plainly. "Fleur slinked you inside, while underneath a Disillusionment Charm."

"Well then," I said, digesting the fact that she'd transported me halfway across the school grounds, sneaking me past who-knew-how-many people. My mind latched onto something, "You say you didn't mean for Fleur to panic—that means you asked her to bring me to you. Why?" Another thought occurred to me, "Who are you, anyway?"

She blinked, and wrinkles drew themselves across her forehead. "My apologies, Mr Potter, I thought I had already introduced myself at the Lake. My name is Apolline Delacour, and I am Fleur and Gabrielle's mother.

"And as for what is going on," The woman, Apolline, continued, "That is what I hope to find out. You are here now, even as brutish as the means of it were, so we may as well check."

"Check what?" I squinted at her, all the while standing and edging closer towards the door. Apologies or not, I still wasn't there by any choice that I had made. "What are you checking? What's so important that Fleur would risk an abduction over it?"

Her eyes tracked me as I progressed towards the only exit. She spoke up as I reached for the doorknob, "I believe you to be under the influence of a curse, Mr Potter."

I stopped. "A curse?"

"A curse," Apolline repeated. "Of the most obscure sort. I fear that you contracted it while underneath the Black Lake." She brandished her wand, and I tensed in response. "With your permission, I would check."

I stared at her wand, distrustful of her intentions. She'd let me out of the ropes, but she'd also been the one to send Fleur after me in the first place—there wasn't a lot of trust in that. But, a curse. Could I take the chance that she was malicious?

"I need your permission, Harry Potter."

"And why is that?" I asked, still torn on my decision, and playing for time. I felt like a broken record asking all these questions, but if someone I didn't know would cast magic on me, I wanted to know what they were doing.

"It will grant me the power to take but a glance at your soul," Apolline said. "The soul is sacred, to take even the most fleeting of glimpses demands consent freely given—to do otherwise is anathema, and amongst the vilest of the Black Arts."

My soul. A stranger was asking me to bare my soul to her—in a sense that was quite literal, too . I felt violated, even just thinking about it.

"I don't trust you," I told her.

"I know," Apolline nodded sadly. Her silver hair rippled with the movement, much like the waves would at a beach.

I'd always been a good judge of character—it was something that my Aunt and Uncle had taught me despite all their best efforts, and I was finding absolutely nothing in Apolline's demeanour that seemed even a little off.

"Fine," I eventually gritted out. All I wanted was to be out of this complete mess of a situation, and the fastest way seemed to be through grudging cooperation. That didn't mean I had to be polite about any of it, though. "Do your bloody spell, and then I'm leaving."

Apolline wasted no time as she pointed her wand right at me, her face scrunched up in the deepest of concentration. At last, she spoke, "Vispecto!"

I'd expected lights and sparks, something showy or flashy. The magic that would involve the soul even sounded grand, but—in this case, at least—I was mistaken. There was nothing magnificent, and nothing noble or sublime. From one instant to the next, an insignificant piece of me lit up.

For a moment, it was as if I'd gained feeling over some extra limb—a third arm or a leg. I was now aware of some unknown piece of me I'd never felt before, never having even fathomed it's now far too strange and terrifying presence. It was unique and striking, and it was powerful .

It was me.

But it was wrong. There was an inkling of something—a shadow of a thing—at the very edge of my awareness. It was a twist, an aberration, and it was growing.

As abruptly as the realisation had come, everything ended. Ordinary perception returned to me with all the subtlety of a Hungarian Horntail, and I gasped with the shock of it all.

Finally, my vision settled, and I scraped together the last few scraps of wit I still possessed. After such a long day, it was a wonder I had anything left at all to give, but I managed. Somehow, I did it.

By the time I regained my bearings, Apolline was already up and about and pacing. Back and forth she went, burning a path in the carpet, muttering to herself the whole while.

"What..." I gulped thickly, swallowing down the lump in my throat before trying again, "What was that? " I asked, deeply disturbed by everything I'd just felt and witnessed.

Apolline startled, only now remembering she wasn't alone in the room. She halted and turned back to face me. "I am truly, deeply sorry, Mr Pot..." She stopped herself, before continuing, "Harry, you have my sincerest apologies. We have realised my worst fears.

"There are plans to make," She said, cutting off any more questions. "People to contact—favours to call in—there is much that needs doing and not enough time with which to do them. Time..." Apolline muttered, "Some time is what we all need."

She didn't allow me to ask what she meant—all I saw was a blindingly bright flash of light.