The amphitheater carved itself from the mountainside like ambition made stone—tiers of seats descending toward multiple platforms that flickered between configurations. Harry's competitive instincts stirred at the sight, that familiar itch that preceded either triumph or spectacular embarrassment.
"Our dueling grounds," Fleur announced, gesturing with the casual pride of someone showing off a particularly impressive trophy collection. "More sophisticated zan your raised platform and 'ope-for-ze-best approach."
"Hogwarts has a dueling club," Harry protested, following her down worn stone steps that adjusted their height to match his stride.
"Oui, which meets when? Once a month? When a professor remembers?" She paused at a railing, overlooking where two students circled each other on a platform that kept shifting from marble to sand to shallow water. "We duel every day. Competition breeds excellence."
The platform suddenly sprouted trees. One student cursed creatively in French as his spell hit bark instead of opponent.
"Ze platforms read magical signatures," Fleur explained. "Zey create obstacles based on combatants' weaknesses. Antoine zere? Terrible with moving targets. So naturally..."
The trees started walking. Antoine's next curse went so wide it scorched a bench three rows up.
"You've won championships here?" Harry asked, though her casual confidence had already supplied the answer.
"Twice. Would 'ave been three times, but ze boy I liked asked me to let 'im win." Her expression darkened like storm clouds gathering. "I destroyed 'im so thoroughly zey 'ad to repair ze platform."
"Remind me never to ask you for favors."
"Oh, 'Arry." She turned, fixing him with a look that could have melted steel. "You would never be so stupid."
The certainty in her voice did peculiar things to Harry's pulse. He distracted himself watching the duel below conclude—the girl fighting Antoine finally trapped him in a sphere of water that followed him regardless of how he ran.
"She's practicing for ze European Junior Circuit," Fleur noted. "Camille 'as won three preliminary matches."
"And you?"
"I am too old for Junior, too young for Senior." She shrugged, but Harry caught the frustration beneath. "Next year, though? Ze Senior Circuit will learn why zey call me ze best witch of ze decade in Europe."
"Modest."
"Accurate. Come, ze gardens are more peaceful."
They left through an arch where the mountain stone gradually became living wood. The temperature shifted in pockets—tropical heat, then alpine chill, then something that felt like Scottish drizzle before Harry stepped through into perfect Mediterranean warmth.
"Climate bubbles," Fleur explained before he could ask. "Each section maintains different conditions. We grow everything—from Arctic starflowers to Saharan flame fruit."
She guided him past vegetation that belonged in textbooks, not reality. Vines that wove themselves into different patterns every few seconds, flowers that turned to track their movement like suspicious eyes, a tree that appeared to be growing backwards, its roots reaching skyward while leaves burrowed into earth.
Then the wind shifted, and music drifted through the air.
"Ze silver trees," Fleur said, leading him toward a grove that glinted like treasury contents. "Planted in 1823."
"The year we don't discuss?"
"Zey were meant to be gold. Ze student responsible for ze... color change... was expelled."
The trees were magnificent mistakes—trunks of actual silver. Standing beneath them felt like being inside a instrument.
"This way," Fleur said, taking his hand.
She pulled him up a hidden staircase that spiraled around the grove's edge, arriving at a balcony that jutted from the mountainside like a defiant chin. The valley spread below, vineyards and villages and the snake-curve of a river that glowed faintly blue with residual magic.
"My favorite place," she admitted, releasing his hand to lean against the railing. "When I need to think, or when other students become insufferable, I come 'ere."
"Must be nice, having a perfect escape spot."
"Everyone needs one." She glanced at him sideways. "Where's yours?"
"The Astronomy Tower, usually. Or the Chamber of Secrets, though that's less relaxing since the basilisk incident."
"You 'ide in ze place where you almost died?"
"British coping mechanisms are very advanced."
She laughed, and once again, her laughter was amazing to hear. "So, 'Arry Potter, what do you think of my school?"
"Fishing for compliments, Delacour?"
"Always. But also genuinely curious. You've been analyzing everything like you're planning to steal our secrets."
"Can't steal what's freely shown off," Harry countered. "Besides, you've been displaying everything like a merchant showing their finest wares."
"Perhaps I am. Perhaps you are exactly ze type of customer I'm trying to attract."
"I'm a terrible customer. I ask too many questions and never buy what I'm supposed to."
"Ah, but you're considering it." Her smile turned knowing. "I can see it in 'ow you touched ze workshop tables, 'ow your fingers twitched toward ze component shelves."
"My fingers don't twitch."
"Zey do. When you want something but won't admit it. Like now."
"You're enjoying this too much."
"Immensely. Your face when you saw ze Talisman room? Like a child discovering broomsticks can fly."
"I did not—"
"You did. Your eyes went all wide and green. Very attractive, if you want my opinion."
Heat crept up Harry's neck. "I didn't ask for your opinion."
"No, but you're getting it anyway. French generosity."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
"Would you prefer French superiority? I can demonstrate zat too."
Harry laughed.
The summer dining hall was amazing to behold, but Harry liked the Hogwarts one better, maybe that was just his heart speaking. Only forty tables instead of four hundred, sunlight streaming through windows that opened onto the singing grove. The food appeared without ceremony, but what food.
"Coq au vin," Fleur identified, though Harry hadn't asked. "Made with wine from our own vineyards."
The first bite rendered him temporarily speechless. The chicken dissolved on his tongue, sauce tasted amazing. Hogwarts' best efforts suddenly seemed like someone's practice attempts.
"Your face again," Fleur observed, delicately sectioning her own portion. "'Ave you been eating at all in Britain?"
"We have food. It's just... functional."
"Functional. What a depressing word for cuisine." She poured wine, actual wine, not pumpkin juice, into his glass without asking. "Food should be joy, not merely fuel."
Around them, summer students chatted in multiple languages. Harry caught fragments, discussions of advanced transfiguration theory, gossip about someone named Lucienne who'd apparently animated an entire hedge maze, complaints about tomorrow's Arithmancy examination.
"We 'ave exchange programs," Fleur mentioned casually, spearing a perfectly roasted potato. "Students from Cairo, Tokyo, Rio. Zey bring zeir magic, we share ours."
"Hogwarts has... visitors. Sometimes. If they get lost."
"And apprenticeships?" She swirled her wine, watching him over the rim. "Master craftsmen taking students for a year? Sponsored research projects?"
Harry thought about his desperate search for Liquid Diamond during his second year, how Fudge had bought every grain in Britain just to force Harry to purchase from the Ministry at five times the price. The memory still burned, not the money, but the pettiness.
"No," he admitted. "We have detentions and house points."
"But surely ze resources? Libraries of rare texts? Component supplies?"
He almost laughed. If the Basilisk hadn't been there, if that skin hadn't contained trace amounts of crystallized venom that could substitute for Liquid Diamond... He'd probably still be fighting the Ministry's bureaucracy.
"Hogwarts believes in character building through adversity," he said carefully.
"Ah. And 'ow is your character?"
"Thoroughly built. Possibly over-constructed."
She smiled, but it contained understanding now. "You know, resources should serve talent, not restrict it."
"Very philosophical for lunch conversation."
"I can discuss Quidditch if you prefer? Ze Cannons' latest tragedy?"
"They're rebuilding."
"Zey've been rebuilding since 1892."
The conversation drifted to safer topics. The differences between French and British Quidditch styles, whether Celestina Warbeck's latest album counted as music or magical assault, the rumor that someone had successfully bred a phoenix with a peacock ("Ze most arrogant bird in existence," Fleur declared).
Other students occasionally glanced their way, whispers of "Potter" and "best witch of ze decade" drifting like smoke. But mostly they were left alone, probably because Fleur's expression suggested hexes for anyone who interrupted.
"You're different 'ere," Harry observed as she laughed at his description of Tonks' latest metamorphic mishap. "Less... formal?"
"School is 'ome. I can be myself instead of ze French Ministry's decorative flower." Something sharp entered her tone. "Tomorrow, at ze ball, I must be perfect again. Tonight, I can just be Fleur."
"I like just-Fleur."
The words escaped before Harry could stop them. Fleur's eyes widened slightly, then warmed.
"Careful, 'Arry. Statements like zat might give a girl ideas."
"What kind of ideas?"
"Dangerous ones. Ze kind zat make proper British wizards run back to zeir safe, cold castles."
"Good thing I'm not proper."
"No," she agreed, studying him with an expression he couldn't decode. "You're something else entirely."
A bell chimed somewhere.
"I should return you," Fleur sighed. "Before your guardians think I've kidnapped you."
"Have you?"
"Only a little. Temporarily. With good intentions."
They rose, and Harry noticed how she moved differently here, less performance, more natural grace. Like she'd been wearing invisible armor in Paris and had finally set it aside.
"Thank you," he said as they walked toward the entrance. "For today. For showing me everything."
"Everything? Oh, 'Arry, I've barely shown you anything." Her smile promised secrets. "But perhaps, if you're very good at tomorrow's ball, I'll show you more."
"Define 'good.'"
"Don't embarrass your country, don't spill wine on anyone important, and dance with me at least twice."
"I can manage two of those."
"Which two?"
"I'll let you wonder."
Her laugh followed them out into afternoon sunshine, and Harry thought that maybe, just maybe, Beauxbatons wasn't the only thing trying to seduce him away from Britain.
⚯ ͛
⚯ ͛
The carriage rolled through the afternoon, and neither spoke for long minutes. Harry watched the French countryside blur past while Fleur examined her fingernails. The silence wasn't uncomfortable exactly. Harry enjoyed the silence sometimes; it gave him time to think.
"You're thinking very loudly," Fleur finally said, still studying her hands.
"Didn't know thoughts had volume."
"Yours do. Zey sound like gears grinding."
Harry shifted against cushions that seemed determined to memorize his spine. "Just processing."
"Ah. Processing." She drew the word out, tasting it. "Such a British way to say 'panicking.'"
"I don't panic."
"No? What do you call zat thing your left eye does when you're overwhelmed?"
"A twitch. Very dignified. Very controlled."
She hummed. The carriage banked around something invisible, and Harry's stomach reminded him that magical transportation and rich French food formed an alliance against his dignity.
"Tomorrow," Fleur said suddenly, as if continuing a conversation they hadn't started. "Ze ball begins at eight, but arrive at seven-thirty. Flamel 'ates tardiness more zan 'e 'ates death."
"Comforting."
"'E's six 'undred years old. Common courtesy is all 'e 'as left." She reached into her robes, extracting something small that caught light like trapped stars. "For you."
The pin was elegant in its simplicity. Beauxbatons' coat of arms rendered in silver and blue enamel, two wands crossed over a trio of stars. It weighed more than its size suggested.
"A souvenir," Fleur said carefully. "Nothing more."
"Right. Just a casual gift between tour guide and tourist."
"Exactly."
"Absolutely no hidden meaning."
"None whatsoever."
They looked at each other, and Harry saw his own awareness reflected in her eyes. Both recognizing the game, both choosing to play anyway.
The palace appeared, and too soon they were descending into the courtyard where they'd started hours ago.
"Thank you," Harry said as they climbed out. "For everything."
"Until tomorrow, 'Arry. Try not to overthink yourself into knots."
"That's literally all I do."
"I know. It's endearing and frustrating."
She disappeared into the palace with a swirl of robes that belonged in a painting, leaving Harry standing in the courtyard clutching a pin that felt heavier than his entire future.
The suite erupted the moment he entered. Tonks had apparently been pacing grooves into the carpet, her hair cycling through colors like an anxious rainbow.
"Finally! We thought you'd defected!"
"Considered it," Harry admitted, collapsing onto the nearest chair. "They have better food."
"Traitor!" But Tonks was grinning. "Tell us everything. Every pretentious French detail."
So Harry did, describing the impossible architecture, the seasonal gardens, the workshop that made Hogwarts look like someone's shed. Ted whistled at appropriate moments while Newt took notes, but Andromeda watched him with the expression of someone reading between spoken lines.
"The pin's nice," she observed when Harry unconsciously pulled it from his pocket for the third time.
"It's just—"
"A souvenir, yes. Very casual. Not at all loaded with implications."
"Can everyone please stop psychoanalyzing my day?"
"No," Tonks said cheerfully. "It's the best entertainment we've had. Harry Potter, seduced by superior education and pretty witches."
"I'm not seduced."
"You've been fondling that pin for twenty minutes."
Harry forced his hand away from the enamel surface. "I'm appreciating craftsmanship."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
"Ted," Andromeda interrupted, "perhaps some tea? Harry looks ready to combust."
As Ted bustled toward the kitchen, Andromeda sat beside Harry.
"You're actually considering it," she said quietly. Not a question.
"They have resources I need. Professors who understand what I'm trying to create. A workshop that doesn't require fighting bureaucrats for basic supplies."
"And Fleur?"
Heat climbed Harry's neck. "Is irrelevant to educational decisions."
"Of course." Andromeda's tone suggested she was humoring him. "Though I notice you didn't deny considering it."
Harry pulled out the pin again, running his thumb over the crossed wands. "It would mean leaving everyone. Sebastian and Anna, his sister still needs help and I promised Sebastian that I would find it one day. Daphne's trying to protect Astoria from their father's marriage contracts. Hermione would combust from betrayal. Neville, well he needs friends, and Susan..." He trailed off.
"You'd be abandoning your support network," Andromeda summarized.
"I'd be abandoning my friends." The word tasted bitter. "For what? Better resources? A prettier school?"
"For opportunity," she corrected gently. "No one would blame you for choosing your future."
"I would."
"Think about it later," Andromeda advised, standing. "Tomorrow's challenges are sufficient without borrowing more."
Harry nodded, pocketing the pin with finality he didn't feel. Through the window, afternoon was surrendering to evening, and somewhere beneath France's magical surface, another friend was preparing for her own momentous journey.
Newt's knock came exactly as Harry remembered Crystal-Harmony. "Harry? She's arriving within the hour. The French Ministry just confirmed her request."
The Princess, his friend who'd never breathed natural air, never felt rain, never walked on legs she didn't possess, was about to experience the surface world for the first time.
Harry stood, Beauxbatons temporarily forgotten. "What do we need to prepare?"
"Salt water bath, temperature regulation charms, and..." Newt hesitated. "Emotional support. This will be overwhelming for her."
"Right." Harry moved toward his room, already planning. "I'll get my talismans. The calming ones might help."
As he gathered supplies, the Beauxbatons pin fell from his pocket, landing beside his Hogwarts texts.
Later, he promised himself, scooping up the pin and shoving it deep into his trunk. Right now, a friend needed him.
The surface world was about to gain something extraordinary, and Harry intended to ensure Crystal-Harmony's first glimpse of sky was everything she'd dreamed.
Even if his own sky had suddenly filled with complications he wasn't ready to navigate.