Harry Potter: outlier

The clearing was silent, but alive. A ring of bare-limbed trees surrounded them, their branches creaking softly in the winter air. Dry leaves crunched faintly underfoot, muffled by the containment wards Monsieur Delacour had cast around the perimeter. No sound or light would escape this place.

Fleur stood at the center, sleeves rolled to her elbows, wand loose between her fingers. She let out a slow, focused breath, her eyes locked on her opponent.

Lucas stood across from her, his wand already in hand but held low. The wind tugged at the hem of his dark robe, but he didn't move, his gaze steady.

Leaning against a tree just beyond the dueling circle, Monsieur Delacour watched in silence, arms folded. His expression was neutral, but his eyes followed every shift, especially Lucas's.

"Ready?" Fleur called.

Lucas gave a slight nod. "Always."

She didn't wait.

With a sharp flick of her wand, a tree branch behind her snapped to life, curling like a serpent and whipping toward Lucas's legs. He stepped aside, neat and quick, and slashed it apart. The severed wood dropped harmlessly to the ground.

Fleur followed up, but Lucas answered just as fast. The branch he had just split, shot back at her, their ends sharpening into a stake.

She froze them mid-air, then shattered them with a crackling burst.

The ice shards flew back towards Lucas just as fast, only to be twisted into a swarm of butterflies, harmlessly flying away.

It was the start of their confrontation.

One of many.

Neither of them gained ground.

Lucas parried a hail of bark shrapnel with a sharp gust of wind, redirecting the shards harmlessly past him. Fleur dove past a wall erupting from the ground and retaliated by reshaping a rotted log into thorned vines, only for Lucas to incinerate them with a single sweep.

Still, Monsieur Delacour remained silent, his arms folded, though his gaze narrowed slightly.

Lucas was holding back.

Fleur could feel it too. He moved smoothly, almost lazily, only dodging when he absolutely had to.

She tightened her stance, breath steadying. Her spells grew sharper, more layered. She transfigured a spray of dead leaves into spinning iron feathers, launching them at him. Lucas redirected them skyward, but Fleur caught them mid-fall and transfigured them again, collecting them into an iron rope that cracked forward

and struck true.

Lucas's wand flew from his hand and thunked into the bark of a tree behind him.

Fleur smiled, breathing hard.

Lucas didn't react. He just glanced briefly toward Monsieur Delacour as if he was inviting him.

The change came instantly.

Nothing moved. Nothing flashed. But something shifted. Fleur's instincts prickled. Whatever restraint he had been using was gone.

Yet his hands were still empty.

Then, from behind her, shards of an earlier spell, shot towards her without warning. No gesture. No spoken spell. No wand.

She barely got her shield up in time.

She didn't want to be outdone.

A moment later, she twisted a branch into a shrieking, winged ball of a projectile and hurled it. Before it reached him, it exploded mid-air. Lucas hadn't even looked at it.

Its feathers turned silver, reflecting the winter sun and menacingly began to spin while hovering mid air. At the same time, the ground beneath her feet softened, turning to thick, shifting sand.

Her stomach lurched. She jumped instinctively, barely escaping the pull of the sinking earth.

Lucas didn't pause.

A branch behind her snapped, twisting into a net that lunged. She slashed it apart mid-air, but stumbled, catching her footing just as the trees to her right groaned. Bark cracked and rained down in jagged shards, mid-flight hardening into spears.

It together with the metal feathers crashed into another shield, making her skidding back over the frost-hardened leaves. Her boots caught on gnarled roots that hadn't been there seconds ago.

He didn't let Fleur catch her breath.

Above her, another branch dropped, reshaping in the fall into a long and narrow javelin. She shifted her shield upwards, where they met with a high, strained screech. Her shield shortly afterwards exploded into thick mist.

Fleur's heart pounded.

But the mist, she thought would buy her some time, thickened more and more, turning denser and darker until all visibility vanished.

Then, something tapped her back.

She froze.

"It's over, Fleur."

His voice was close. Too close.

Before she could react, the mist around her solidified, freezing into smooth, seamless ice. They locked around her wrists and ankles, binding her in place. With the mist gone Lucas was revealed, standing behind her, one hand extended, his finger resting between her shoulder blades.

She gasped at the sudden coldness.

Lucas lowered his hand.

"You disarmed me," he said, voice low but even. "That was well done."

Fleur, still catching her breath, gave a slight nod. "Please. You let me."

Lucas gave a quiet laugh. "Heh. Got me."

He flicked two fingers. The ice shattered cleanly and fell away in glittering fragments. His wand flew back to his hand with a sharp *snap*. Fleur staggered slightly, but Lucas caught her elbow to steady her, before letting go just as fast.

Across the clearing, Monsieur Delacour stepped forward. His arms were no longer folded. His expression was unreadable, but thoughtful. He glanced between them, then fixed his gaze on Lucas.

"You held back," he said quietly.

Lucas didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

Monsieur Delacour's eyes gleamed, not with disapproval, but with something closer to respect.

Consideration.

However, neither of the french guests knew how much Lucas was holding back. He estimated that he would be able to overpower her natural magical defences, even for just a moment, and at that point he could just bisect her without her being any wiser, just like he had done with Rita's wings.

Or he could have attacked her mind while slinging spells at her. He doubted she had any way to defend herself from a simultaneous assault.

Anyway, it was supposed to be a conventional duel, so he kept to it.

----

The clearing had quieted.

Lucas was gone. They had talked for a bit, but he couldn't stay for too long away from his supervision without causing suspicion.

Fleur stood in the middle of the clearing, shoulders tense. The air still felt charged, like a storm had passed but hadn't fully dispersed. Her heart was steady now, but she could still feel the echo of that duel, of him.

A few feet away, her father was silent.

She turned slowly, brushing ice dust from her sleeves. "You don't have to say anything," she said, without looking at him.

"I wasn't going to," Monsieur Delacour replied lightly, though his eyes were sharp as ever. "Not right away, at least."

Fleur exhaled, her arms folding. She didn't like the knowing look he gave her, it wasn't mocking, but it was… discerning.

He stepped toward her, slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "It's not just admiration," he said after a pause. "Is it?"

Fleur's eyes flicked to him, cautious. "What are you talking about?"

Her father's expression remained neutral. "You know what I mean."

A breeze stirred through the clearing, lifting loose frost from the forest floor. Fleur looked away.

"I'm not some schoolgirl with a crush," she muttered.

"No," he said gently, "but you are a Veela."

That stopped her.

She didn't respond, but the silence was answer enough. Her father gave a small nod, as if confirming something to himself.

"There's something about him," he said calmly.

Fleur said nothing.

"You felt it through your blood, didn't you?" he asked.

Her mouth tightened. "It wasn't like that."

Monsieur Delacour arched a brow.

Fleur sighed, defeated. "Fine. Maybe… a little."

He stepped beside her, not pushing. "It makes sense. Veela are drawn to strength. Real strength, not noise or arrogance, but magic. Discipline. Power that doesn't need to shout."

She stared at the spot where Lucas had stood. Her voice dropped. "It wasn't just power. It was… the way he moved. The way he knew every move I would make."

"Exactly."

She looked at her father, uncertain. "You're not angry?"

He gave her a sideways smile. "Fleur. I would be more concerned if you weren't drawn to him."

That surprised her.

"Men like that are rare," he said. "Dangerous, yes. But not recklessly so. He doesn't use his power to dominate. He uses it like a blade; precise, elegant, and quiet. Just like when he supposedly infiltrated the ministry to destroy his artefacts."

He paused, then added, the cheerful man she knew as her father finally returning, even when it was overshadowed almost immediately. "He didn't humiliate you, even when he could have. I think behind that cold facade is a nice boy that just wanted to have a normal life. Finish school, get a job, find a wife and maybe even have a few kids."

Fleur flushed slightly.

Her father studied her face for a long moment. "Do you want him?"

The question hit harder than she expected. She didn't answer right away.

"I don't know," she admitted. "He scares me, sometimes. But he also… calls to me."

"I think that's his way to protect not only him, but also the people around him," her father said. "Your magic responds to his. That's not something to ignore."

Fleur nodded, slowly.

They stood in silence for a while, the clearing calm again, the duel already fading into memory, but not what it stirred.

Finally, Monsieur Delacour spoke, voice softer now. "You don't need to chase him if you don't want to. But if he doesn't turn you down… maybe it's not just a thought."

Fleur gave him a look, before looking down. She has been in Scottland for a few months now and subsequently had learned what had happened surrounding Lucas. "I don't even know if he's allowed to choose something like that.... A family."

"Maybe not now," her father said. "But he looked at you, Fleur. He saw you. Maybe he even snooped around in some of your colleagues, out of curiosity for you. Wouldn't be surprised if he did."

Fleur's heartbeat quickened again, but she said nothing.

Her father smiled faintly and turned toward the forest path. "Come. We'll speak of it more another day. For now, let's go home."

Fleur lingered for a moment, watching the place where Lucas had disappeared.

Something had started.

And she wasn't sure it could be undone.