CH 37

For once the fourth year had not simply walked into a classroom, or around a corner into a corridor only to inexplicably disappear from view. He had walked confidently, albeit with an air of illicit activity, along the first floor corridor.

Fleur, who had been following him since catching a glimpse of his untidy hair and glasses on her way back from owling a letter to Gabrielle, had seized her chance.

It was not between classes, so there were few students in the corridors and she had not rouble following him all the way along the perfectly straight corridor. He paused to take one furtive look back down where he had come and, seeing nothing, then slipped through the door at its end.

When she grew close enough to see where he had snuck off to she almost spluttered with rage and shock.

A girl's bathroom, she seethed. What kind of fourteen year old is he?

As she approached the door, now rather more hesitantly than before, she heard voices, a girl's and Harry's. Their words didn't carry, but their tone did. Whomever Harry Potter was speaking into in the first floor girl's bathroom was rather taken with him.

Fleur checked her charm and slowly crept closer. The door was ajar, so she carefully squeezed through, anticipating catching the boy in the midst of whatever he was always disappearing to do. Fleur was half-afraid she would regret it and never manage to rid herself of the memory of what she might see.

The bathroom was empty. There was no girl. There was no Harry Potter. There was nobody but her, a row of empty cubicles, a large central sink and a sizeable puddle on the floor. Somehow he had given her the slip and vanished, just as he had every other time before. She had a careful look around, but it wasn't a large bathroom and she was quite clearly alone.

Fleur swore under her breath.

She would not waste another moment trying to follow this boy. This was clearly a mystery she would have to solve from afar. It might be easier to just watch him in the tasks. If there was anything to be seen about his character that was different it would become obvious then.

Fortunately for her the first floor was not so far from where she had originally been that she could not easily make her way back, providing the very unhelpful staircases allowed her.

She was only halfway down the corridor when she overheard the boy's name.

'Honestly, Ron,' the bushy-haired girl she had seen nearby Harry Potter on occasion cried with some exasperation. 'This spat with Harry is getting well out of hand.'

'I'm not the one who lied to his friends, Hermione,' the red-head, Ron, retorted angrily.

'We both know Harry's promise isn't what this is about. He's either telling the truth, or he lied to spare your feelings, neither of which you can really blame him for.' The expression Ron was wearing did suggest otherwise.

Fleur edged a little closer. She was not normally one for gossip, having spent the majority of her life not the receiving end of it, but curiosity, the word obsession might have been more apt, but she was damned if she would ever use it, got the better of her.

'Then what's it about?' Ron demanded.

'It's about you, and half of Gryffindor House by the appearance of it, taking out your dissatisfaction at being in Harry's shadow out on Harry. He can't control his fame, Ron. You know that.'

The girl, Hermione, paused, checked through the door of a nearby class, and then dragged the boy in by the arm. Fleur followed quietly, interested in what she might learn.

'Harry isn't taking this well,' Hermione warned. 'He's been different since the World Cup. You've seen how distant he's become. You and Angelina are driving him further and further away. I know you're angry now, but you'll regret losing your friend.'

'I won't lose him,' Ron grunted. 'This sort of thing happens between us sometimes. He'll apologise for lying, I'll apologise for overreacting, the air will clear and things will go back to the way they were. It's how we work.'

'That's how you and the old Harry worked,' the girl snapped. 'The new Harry is as good as me at half the subjects I take, successfully practicing sixth year spells and seriously considering ending his friendships with all of you for good.'

'You aren't serious,' Ron had gone purple. A mix of shock, fury and mortification mottled his face. 'He'd never say that. We argue, yeah, and this time has been bad, but he would never walk away from us, he can't. He's Harry and even if I can't stand him at the moment, we're still friends.'

'I'm not even sure I want them back, those were his exact words on you and everyone else he feels has turned their back on him. For pity's sake, Ron, swallow your pride, drag Seamus, Dean and anyone you can with you, apologise, and hope the old Harry resurfaces to forgive you, because I am afraid that he might not.' The bushy-haired girl seemed very insistent he be forgiven before it was too late.

Part of Fleur rather hoped that Harry did not accept their apologies. The apparent actions of his Gryffindor friends, despite their possible repentance, came a little too close to how her former friends had been to her for her to sympathise.

'Maybe I will,' the red-head's voice was a little shaky. 'I didn't realise he'd taken it so badly. Do you think something happened to him, over the summer, or at the World Cup?'

'I don't know,' she confessed helplessly. 'He says he wants to improve himself, to get stronger, and I only know what Harry told us about the World Cup. He was knocked unconscious and got carried out of the camp by one of the Bulgarian Veela.'

That piqued Fleur's interest. This was not the first time Harry had come across those with abilities like her, maybe her answer to his indifference lay there.

'You think he got cursed while he was out of it?'

'He was very vague about his story, Ron, and he's been secretive since then. Maybe he wasn't unconscious at all?' The bushy-haired girl had adopted a distant-eyed expression of contemplation.

'He was pretty out of it in the hospital wing, Hermione,' the boy declared skeptically. 'You can't exactly fake magical exhaustion and a coma.'

'He said he doesn't remember casting any spells, so how had he drained his magical core?' Hermione shook her head. 'Some things don't really add up about that.' The red-head seemed unconvinced and gave her sort of half-pitying, half-amused stare.

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