Harry Potter:Diamond Heart.

The idea of winning, however, of beating Krum, Diggory and Harry was no longer quite as brilliant as before. Any victory over Harry would be tainted by the knowledge that he might only have lost because he chose to save Gabrielle, and she could not, in good conscience win because of that, but not could she ever hope that he had not saved her. How did things get so much more complicated?

Before Christmas there had only really been the Triwizard Tournament to consider, now there was Gabrielle, winning, Harry and more. She knew, of course, exactly the moment at which things had become more complex.

I wish I had never kissed him.

It wasn't true. Fleur still wanted to kiss the talented, empathetic wizard who had captured her interest, her attention, and then more, but Harry Potter had changed. The bright, false smile he vanished behind was half-real and a touch of cruelty had crept into his eyes.

She spared the young wizard a glance, only to flinch away immediately. His bright, cold green eyes were already fixed on her, his face twisted with a unidentifiable, tangled mass of emotions. Suddenly her mother was by her side, squeezing Fleur's hand and talking very fast. She couldn't seem to hear any of the words that she was saying.

Fleur blinked, shook her head free of thoughts of Harry and focused.

'You can still win,' her mother was assuring her. 'Four points is nothing, there will be ample opportunity to outdo them in the next task. You did well, Fleur, especially in such an adverse environment.'

'If it had been real, Gabrielle would be gone,' Fleur said woodenly. It had been Harry that saved her sister, not her; she had failed.

'Gabby was never in danger. When they asked us who you would be most determined to save your sister volunteered. We were assured that she would be in no danger.' Her mother gave her a reassuring smile, one she recognised from the years she had spent asking why she was different, the times she had failed to cast a spell successfully her first time, and when she had struggled to learn to control her allure. Her confidence swelled a little stronger at the sight of it.

'Only me,' Fleur smiled, relieved.

'You nearly drowned,' her mother whispered, squeezing her hand very tightly.

'The Triwizard Tournament is dangerous, maman,' Fleur told her tiredly, 'I knew that when I entered.'

'I do not think you really realised it,' she responded, 'not until now.'

'I'll still win,' Fleur declared. That was how she would do it. She'd do so well in the final task that it wouldn't matter Harry had lost points saving Gabrielle as she had pleaded him to. Fleur would beat him, Krum and Cedric by such a margin that it wouldn't matter. Her pride glowed at the thought of her holding the silver trophy, but the image in her mind showed Harry looking up at her and smiling proudly.

Fleur knew that that would not be the case. He would hate her for winning, hate even more than he already did for having to save her sister and costing him points.

It isn't fair.

His anger felt so petty, so unnecessary and unlike the young wizard she had seen. The Harry who had dismissed Katie Bell to keep her company would have never resented losing points in the tournament for saving the life of Gabrielle. He would have been angry at Crouch for taking them away when Harry had simply been doing the right thing, but he would have never hated her for it.

Katie Bell.

The girl had turned him against her. She must have. Sometime in the weeks since the Yule Ball, when Fleur had foolishly left him alone and exposed to the insidious advice of others, she had come to him and whispered her malice into his ear.

Fleur tugged herself free of her mother's hand and stepped forwards to face the youngest champion.

'She is lying to you,' Fleur hissed 'Whatever she has said is not true.'

angrily.

'Who is she, Miss Delacour,' Harry's tone was cold, but curious, 'are you, perhaps, referring to yourself in the third person?' Fleur's next words died somewhere on her tongue, frozen by Harry's voice.

'If you are,' Harry continued, icily polite, 'it would have been best to warn me before I believed you.'

'Katie,' the girl's name stuttered from Fleur's tongue, 'Katie Bell.'

'She has not said a word to me since the Yule Ball,' Harry responded. Some of the cold had thawed from his voice; he was confused.

'Then, then why?' Fleur asked in small voice. Her angry, prideful confidence suddenly seemed a very long way away and she felt exceedingly tiny in his eyes.

'I'm afraid I don't understand,' he smiled, with perfectly portrayed charm, but there was a faint flicker of something hopeful in his eyes that the expression couldn't conceal.

Why are you so cold to me? Why have you changed? How could a few weeks make so much difference? Why wouldn't you let me kiss you?

None of her questions made it out of her mind and over her lips, they simply froze in her throat, caught on the lump of emotion that stuck there.

The flicker faded from his eyes with painful slowness and Fleur could do nothing but watch as they hardened, freezing over as the smile extended its icy reach all the way across his face.

'Harry-' she began, but he cut her off.

'I wish you luck with the next task, Miss Delacour.' His hand twitched ever so slightly towards her, but he turned away, still smiling, to stride in the direction of the castle, and she was only able to stare after him. Her mother caught up to her, patting her on the shoulder in slight bemusement and then leading her away back towards the medical tent and Gabrielle. Fleur let herself be led, vaguely aware that Bagman and Crouch, the only person Harry seemed more angry with than her, were still arguing.

Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts' stern nurse, was ushering a rather cheerful Cedric Diggory and his date from the tent. They were followed by a beaming Katie Bell, who without sparing Fleur so much as a glance, took off towards Harry's retreating back.

You don't deserve him, she wanted to scream, and the tears almost returned.

Fleur Delacour does not cry.

The thought was filled with self loathing instead of pride. Perhaps, if Fleur Delacour cried and begged and betrayed like Katie Bell, she would have got what she now knew she wanted.

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