Harry Potter: Dragon Eyes

One of her year-mates had told her that Madame Maxime wanted to see her.

'I swear to Morgana, if she tells me to stop seeing Harry again, I might just throw a fireball at her,' Fleur thought darkly, the mental image making her smile.

Needless to say, Maxime's previous concerns about improper fraternisation and distracting boyfriends had fallen on deaf ears.

The very thought of being told whom she could or couldn't date made Fleur's Veela blood sing with fire.

'Even father, the bastard, doesn't dare tell me whom to date.'

Sebastian Delacour was a powerful politician in France who barely showed any affection towards his daughters.

Fleur's beauty and brains could be valuable assets to him, but so far, he knew better than to sink so low and use her as a political pawn.

Not even her mother, who had more influence over her life than him, would attempt to control her love life.

'The nerve of that woman is astounding. Wasn't it enough to blackmail me into this tournament? And now she wants to control my personal life as well?'

Fleur took a moment to gather herself in the quiet corridor, smoothing down the front of her uniform.

The sight of her own calm reflection in the polished marble floor almost made her laugh—inside, she was anything but calm.

Veela fire roiled just beneath her smooth skin—she couldn't quite shake off the anger at Madame Maxime.

The Headmistress was crossing into dangerous territory…

The tall doors of Madame Maxime's office were carved with elaborate designs of roses and doves—a decorative attempt at gentleness that, to Fleur's mind, did nothing to hide the Headmistress's overbearing nature.

Taking a deep breath, Fleur raised her hand and knocked.

"Enter," came the commanding voice from within.

Fleur pushed open the doors to find Madame Maxime seated behind a wide wooden desk laden with letters, official parchments, and a few half-eaten biscuits on a porcelain plate.

The Headmistress looked up, her dark eyes settling on Fleur with that same penetrating gaze that had unsettled countless students over the years.

But Fleur was no child; she wasn't about to be intimidated by stern looks or sweeping threats of expulsion.

Not anymore.

"Ah, Fleur," Madame Maxime said, folding her hands over a piece of parchment. "Please, sit."

Fleur slid into the chair opposite the Headmistress but kept her back straight and her chin held high.

She wouldn't give Madame Maxime the satisfaction of seeing the slightest hint of weakness.

"Madame," she acknowledged and carefully kept her tone neutral.

Madame Maxime studied her for a long moment, her massive frame almost dwarfing the desk.

'Is she really trying to intimidate me?' Fleur thought with scorn.

"I have been meaning to speak with you again regarding your commitment to the Tournament."

The pause was deliberate, and Fleur felt her nerves tighten. "You understand that you must remain entirely focused if you are to succeed, yes?"

"That is what I am doing," Fleur said, her voice cool. "I have not missed any practices. I've studied the official guidelines you gave me for each task. I've been present for every one of your briefings. My focus is on the Tournament."

"Good," Madame Maxime replied, and yet her expression hinted that she wasn't satisfied.

The Headmistress cleared her throat. "I'm sure I do not need to remind you that your performance reflects on Beauxbatons. Our reputation—my reputation—demands the best from our champion."

Fleur inclined her head. "Of course, Madame."

Maxime exhaled, her eyes flicking down to the parchment beneath her hands.

She tapped it once, letting the silence stretch. "I am aware you have been spending an… inordinate amount of time with Mr. Potter."

Fleur's jaw clenched.

She'd expected this.

With her anger threatening to smoulder through her calm facade, she fixed Madame Maxime with a level stare. "Yes, Madame, I have. And I see no reason why that should be any of your business."

Madame Maxime sat back, the chair creaking under her weight.

"It might not affect your performance now, but you must understand appearances, my girl. People talk. They question your priorities." She looked pointedly at Fleur. "I do not wish for these distractions to take away from your responsibilities."

Fleur bristled.

She'd been ready for the usual words—distractions, priorities, focus.

"I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, it is unnecessary. My tasks and my preparations—they are all in order."

"As long as it stays that way," said Madame Maxime, steepling her fingers. "I would hate to see you compromised."

A hot retort burned on Fleur's tongue—compromised?

She remembered, all too well, the humiliating threat of expulsion at the start of the year if she didn't put her name into the Goblet.

Fleur couldn't do anything back then, but now…

She forced herself to remain calm. "Is that all, Madame?"

The older witch didn't know how close she was to getting seriously burned.

Madame Maxime's eyebrows rose slightly, but she didn't miss a beat.

"Not quite. There is a banquet next week in honour of the Tournament's recent progress. It will be a chance for the champions to mingle with visiting dignitaries. I expect you to represent Beauxbatons with the utmost decorum—"

"Of course," Fleur interrupted, making sure to keep her tone polite, though her heart was pounding with anger.

She didn't trust herself enough to let the Headmistress continue talking about behaviour expectations without finally snapping. "I shall be there."

"Good," Madame Maxime said, leaning forward slightly.

Her massive presence cast a long shadow over the desk.

"I would advise discretion. It would not look well for a champion of Beauxbatons to be seen dallying excessively with a student from another school."

Fleur's temper flared, but her upbringing—and the knowledge that Harry wouldn't want her to start a public scandal—kept her from retorting with a scathing remark.

Slowly, she rose from the chair, letting the silent protest of the legs scraping against the floor fill the room.

"I understand, Madame," she said, her voice still neutral.

Madame Maxime gave a single nod. "Then you may go."

Without another word, Fleur swept toward the door, reminding herself with each graceful step that she had to keep her composure.

She could practically feel the heat of her Veela magic simmering beneath her skin, begging for release.

But she refused to grant Madame Maxime the satisfaction of a tantrum.

No—there were lines she wouldn't cross, not for the Headmistress's sake.

Only when she was alone in the corridor again did she let out a shuddering breath.

The anger still raged, but she inhaled deeply, allowing the taste of fresh air to calm her.

If Madame Maxime wanted a flawless champion, she would get one.

Fleur would make certain that no one could possibly question her dedication.

'It's very funny how becoming a champion shields me from further threats. Maxime can't very well expel me now—not without causing a scandal that would tarnish Beauxbatons' and her own reputation,' she thought with vindictive glee.

The irony wasn't lost on her—that the very thing her Headmistress had forced upon her now served as her protection.

Still, she wouldn't let her guard down—she knew better than to underestimate Maxime's influence.

That's why she'd heed the woman's words.

Discretion, the Headmistress had said.

Well, Fleur could be discreet.

She had learned from her father that sometimes you bide your time, smile, and do exactly as you please anyway.

A small smile found its way to her lips at the thought of Harry waiting for her in Hogwarts' Great Hall.

They had been together for four months—four months of gentle kisses, shared secrets, nights spent studying charms side by side, and stolen moments beneath the star-filled sky.

She wouldn't give that up for anything in the world, least of all for the sake of Madame Maxime's public image.

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Chapter 73: Dangers of the job

Chapter 74: Ladybug

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Chapter 81: Friendly duelling