Fleur Delacour sat on her stool in the Champion's tent, listening as Cedric Diggory had his go at the Swedish Short-Snout. She felt hot and cold all at once, her palms and spine dripping a cold sweat.

She had wanted to spend this time helping Harry. She'd planned to ask him if he knew how to do a good shield charm, she'd planned to teach him a protego maxima if he didn't, and a dousing charm, as well as a fire repelling charm, and anything else she could think of.

Find a good place to hide and cast those spells and just don't come out until somebody comes to save you. You only have to participate, you don't have to win, and they'll rescue you out once you've fulfilled the Goblet's requirements. Just hold on, Harry, and you can make it through this.

But if she opened her mouth, she knew she would vomit. So she found herself staring at him, her heart pounding so hard she could feel her heart beat in her ears.

"Alright?" Harry asked numbly.

Tears sprang to Fleur's eyes - the boy was asking her if she was alright?

She nodded, and he gave her a weak sort of smile that was more than she ever could have mustered and she appreciated immensely.

An especially horrific shriek sounded from outside and all three of them looked at the door of the tent, certain Bagman was about to declare Cedric a goner, but he only said "that was a close one!" The three of them let out the breaths they'd held and turned back to what they'd been doing.

Krum's eyed moved from one to the other of them, his shoulders hunched in as he held both his elbows, almost hugging himself as he paced in a surly manner, a silver medallion hung around his neck bounced against his chest with each step. "This is torture, listening like this," he grumbled.

Harry glanced at Krum, then back to Fleur and nodded.

Fleur murmured, "Writing ze goodbye notes to my family was torture too." She looked at the other two, "Eet eez like writing a suicide note." Her voice trembled. "Did eizzer of you write such notes to your families?" She worried she'd been melodramatic about it.

Viktor muttered, "My father would think such a note was weak." He didn't make eye contact with either of them as he said it. Didn't stop pacing. But his fingers went to that medallion and he rubbed the face of it with his thumb.

Fleur looked at Harry.

"My parents are dead," Harry shrugged.

Fleur looked away, her heart aching.

Then the crowd was screaming out a deafening roar and all three of them looked to the door again. "HE'S GOT IT, HE'S GOT THE EGG! VERY GOOD INDEED!" Ludo Bagman was shouting. "CEDRIC DIGGORY HAS COMPLETED THE FIRST TASK! VERY GOOD INDEED!"

Fleur paled.

Krum nodded and glanced at the clock on the wall. "Twenty minutes," he murmured, then returned to pacing.

"ONE DOWN AND THREE TO GO!" Bagman shouted.

It took a few more moments, though, and they could hear Bagman calling for the scores, which were given silently, and a long pause while they prepared for the next champion. Fleur closed her eyes, willing the moment never come...

But then a loud roar filled the tent, different from the last dragon's sound - this one was higher, more melodic.

Fleur began to tremble.

"AND NOW, WE WILL WITNESS THE SKILL AND TALENTS OF OUR NEXT CHAMPION... SHE IS ONLY THE SECOND WITCH TO COMPETE IN THE HISTORY OF THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT! IT'S THE LOVELY MISS FLEUR DELACOUR!"

The whistle blasted, indicating her turn to go, and Fleur got up and walked to the tent door. She held her wand in her fist tight, and the yellow handkerchief in her other hand, pressing it to her mouth as she walked down a short path and into a tunnel of rock, certain she'd be sick again.

She was trembling.

The tunnel wasn't so long but it seemed miles to her eyes as she stepped into it, and she focused on the circle of light at the far end. There are lights, she thought, at the end of every dark time. There would be a light at the end of this, at the end of the games.

"You're nothing but a pretty face. Looks fade, Fleur."

She could still hear Jacques's voice. Her beau for two years, when their relationship ended, had turned mean and bitter.

"You charm your way through everything, there's no substance behind your little veela magic, no real talent, no real gumption. Your bravery is just an illusion. Thats's what you are: a beautiful illusion."

"I am not an illusion," she hissed, gritting her teeth.

"Top marks for the pretty girl from France," Bill's voice echoed in her head.

"I am more than just a pretty girl," she added, and she shoved the yellow handkerchief into her skirt pocket, doubled her grip on the wand, and marched with determination into the light of the enclosure.

Fleur was competing not just for herself but for witches of all the ages, every where and every when.

The Welsh Green was smaller in size than the Swedish Short-Snout had been, and she sat perched on the edge of her nest, her great claws clutching onto the wall of it, crouching low, her scales reflecting emerald in a bit of sun that was breaking through the clouds overhead. She stared at the gates of the enclosure that the trainers had just left through, her nostrils flared, the ground by the gates was still smoking, bushes having recently turned to ash stood like black charcoal fingers trying to escape.

"MISS DELACOUR HAS ENTERED THE ENCLOSURE, SHE IS BUT A DELICATE FLOWER AGAINST A FIRE BREATHING BEAST. HER BEST TACTIC MAY BE TO LIE LOW AND SNEAK PAST WITHOUT IT NOTICING HER AT ALL IF SHE WAS SMART!" Bagman shouted. (He had a great deal of bets on Fleur Delacour. She and Harry were the least likely to win, according to their age and stature, so a win for the girl would be a big win for him. Though most of his money rode on the Potter boy, it wouldn't hurt to see a close second from the girl.)

"Not be noteesed!" muttered Fleur under her breath, "Eez eet because women are to be seen and not 'eard? See this, cochon chauviniste!"

Fleur stared at the beast before her, took a deep breath, and twisted her wrist about, spinning her wand, making it elongate and turn into what looked a sword. The crowd let out gasps of amazement - it was a great trick she had taught herself for the Joan of Arc festival the year before, when she had won a contest to dress as the heroine for the festival's parade. She had celebrated Joan with a "magic show" - Joan was a witch, after all. She had been marveled at by the muggles (who thought her a brilliant illusionist) and called "tasteful and impressive" by the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France. The audience here was no less impressed by the sound of their reactions, as a gasp and cheer came up from the crowd.

She marched forward to the front and center of the shelf of rock she stood upon and raised the wand-sword and the glint of the metal caught the dragon's attention. The horns at the top of her head glinted, too, and Fleur steadied herself.

"I AM NOT SO SURE THAT WAS A WISE MOVE!" Bagman's commentary echoed around the enclosure. "NOW SHE'S GOT THE BEAST'S ATTENTION!"

"En avant, hardiment!" she yelled, and the Beauxbaton's section of the audience screamed it back to her.

She hoped that the Daily Prophet was taking photographs now, hoped that moment would be entered into history books which her children would read, and their children after them, that never again would the Triwizard Tournament be a competition of men.

Having made her scene and gotten the dragon's attention, she spun her sword again, returning it to her wand's shape, and shot a stinging spell at the dragon's ankles, right where she clutched the edge of the nest. The dragon flared up, raising her wings up in a wide, menacing arch. Fleur used the dragon's reaction time to slide down onto the next level of stone shelf that led into the floor of the enclosure, and a good thing, too, for the dragon regained her composure and shot flame at the spot where Fleur had been but a moment before.

The audience gasped and then erupted in applause.

Fleur curtsied.

Ludo Bagman chuckled, "WELL, WELL! QUITE THE LITTLE PERFORMER WE HAVE GOT HERE, HAVEN'T WE?"

The dragon was quite annoyed and lowered her head, aiming her horns and took a stab at Fleur, but she twirled out of the way and the horns struck rock. The dragon's head tilted with shock from the ringing vibration through her horns with the collision, and in the pause of her reacting poorly to the hit, Fleur turned back, leveled her wand, and shot a spell directly between the eyes of the dragon.

The spell struck and the dragon's eyes crossed, the head pulling back from the stone and her neck slightly woozy acting as Fleur kept her wand steady.

"WHAT'S THIS? IS SHE -- SHE IS! SHE IS CHARMING THE DRAGON!"

She'd been afraid it wouldn't work. After all, the charm was technically intended for snakes. But dragons were sometimes called serpents, weren't they? And she'd been desperately searching for anything she could use to tame the dragon without hurting the creature. She didn't much like the idea of killing it, but one stunner certainly wasn't enough to fell a beast of that size... The charming spell however was seeming to do alright. She just didn't dare to lower her wand, to stop casting. Normally, the spell was a one-and-done; the serpent would stay charmed for quite some time under one cast. But given the size of the dragon...

Fleur held the cast, her wand arm bent up over her head, her other palm out to steady herself as she walked sidewise around the dragon, moving with a precision she'd learned taking dance lessons as a little girl. Graceful and sweet yet deadly, she thought.

"LOOK AT THAT - LOOK AT THAT!"

The entire audience seemed to hang on to the edge of their seats, breath held, eyes upon Fleur. The dragon's eyes followed her wand, a bit of pale blue light sparkling from the end of her wand, little stars falling, the dragon's pupils dilated as it watched her movement, her tongue lolling gently...

Fleur was coming up on the nest now, the dragon shifting her weight to keep Fleur in sight.

"OHHH! CAREFUL NOW!"

Fleur had reached the nest and looked up at it, then back at the dragon. She had no choice but to drop the spell to use both hands to scale to get into the nest itself. How long would the charm hold once she'd lowered her wand, though? She gauged the height of the nest and moved back a few steps away from it, giving herself room, and she looked up at the dragon, took a deep breath and --

Quickly she stowed her want into the holder in the side of her training top and ran forward toward the nest, throwing herself into a forward flip, the velocity growing as her legs swung down to the ground - just like on the gymnast's mat, she told herself - and she sprang up with all her might, soaring up into the air and --

She had under estimated, her run way not quite long enough and she hit the top edge of the nest full on, doubling over, her wind knocked out as she clutched the top edge, scrambling for footing and pulling her body up.

The shadow on the stone wall across the nest told her precisely the moment the charm had worn off for the dragon stood up to full height on her back haunches and took flight, soaring over to the nest. She blew fire down from the sky - bright flames that scorched the sticks and brush that made up the nest.

"AH! BUT THE WELSH GREEN IS NOT AS CONCERNED WITH HEATING HER EGGS AS THE SHORT SNOUT IT SEEMS," Ludo Bagman was crying out, "LOOK AT THAT FLAME! WHERE IS MISS DELCOUR???? DOUSERS WHERE ARE THE DOUSERS?!?"

But Fleur had managed to throw herself over the edge, into the nest and was protected by the wall of the nest as the fire blew down, and only her skirt had caught on fire.

"OH! OH THERE SHE IS! GOOD LORD, I THOUGHT SHE'D HAD IT THEN!"

Fleur let herself roll down the wall of the nest, and when she landed she cast a dousing charm of her own - she needed no help from the bloody dousing team! - and sprang up to her feet as the dragon descended, snapping at the nest, shrieking. Fleur tripped three times as she sprinted across the floor of the nest and the dragon snapped at her, only just missing her each time. She slid into the space between the eggs, crouching down and grabbing hold of the golden one, hugging onto it, taking shelter for a moment among the eggs. The dragon snorted and stamped, but didn't dare to make a move, afraid of breaking her eggs.

"SHE HAS HANDS ON THE EGG NOW, SHE ONLY HAS TO GET IT OUT OF THE NEST!"

The dragon hissed and snorted flames in a ring all around the nest, the sticks igniting, surrounding Fleur and the eggs with fire. Fleur was choking on the smoke. The eggs would not be harmed by fire, but she certainly would, and she knew she couldn't stay there. She had to move.

She took a deep breath, hugged the egg under one arm, and said a prayer.

Joan of Arc was set on fire too, she told herself.

Fleur launched herself into the flame. She couldn't miss a step or the heat and smoke would over power her. She had seconds to scale that nest wall and get out the other side.

She could feel her lungs burning as she held her breath and climbed with one arm, her legs propelling her forward, muscles screaming with the exertion... up, up... and, finally, over!

She slid on her bottom down the outside of the nest, dropping the golden egg on the descent. It rolled violently to the bottom and she screamed, afraid it would break, but it landed in a clutch of stones, perfectly fine.

The smoke was clearing and the dragon shrieked when she saw Fleur had escaped from the burning nest with the egg. She lunged toward Fleur,jaw wide opened, and Fleur dove for the egg, grabbing it as she threw her body over the clutch of stones just as the dragon's mouth snapped around them, tearing them and a good bit of the ground right up in her massive jaw.

"THAT IS IT! THAT IS IT!!! SHE HAS THE EGG! SHE HAS THE GOLDEN EGG!"

The crowd erupted in applause as the dragon keepers rushed past Fleur, who sat on her bum, legs sprawled, panting and hugging the egg, her heart racing and sweat pouring over her brow. She sat a moment, dazed, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the yellow handkerchief once again, wiping her forehead from the sweat, smoke, and ash.

"AND NOW LET'S GET THOSE JUDGES MARKS!"

Fleur looked up from the ground where she sat.

Ludo Bagman's wand cast a seven.

Madame Maxime also cast a nine.

Dumbledore cast a seven.

Mr. Crouch, a six.

And Karkaroff?

A great deal of booing ensued as he cast a four.

33 out of fifty?

Fleur felt her face flush. She wondered what Cedric had gotten - they hadn't announced the score so the other Champions didn't know what he'd made, but she was willing to bet it was more than 33, and she felt anger burn her up. She'd risked her life, she'd done it all without harming the dragon, and sure her skirt was burned up and the nest was -- well, barely existent as the tamers were dousing it down -- but... She dragged herself to her feet and found her ankle hurt and her palms were skinned raw with tiny pebbles and dirt in the pores and -- Let any one of those bloody judges come down to fight the dragon themselves - especially Mr. Crouch! She'd give him a bloody one!

A medic ran across the enclosure, reaching her, breathless. "Don't be upset about all that," he said waving carelessly at the judges, "They're biased, most of them, and you did brilliantly, really!"

She looked at the medic, "I know I did," she answered.

"Karkaroff and Crouch are mad giving such low marks," he stammered, continuing on.

"Zey are intimidated by ze strong woman," Fleur replied, and she refused the medic's helping hand and limped with her chin high out of the enclosure. She paused to glance back as they reached the edge by the gate and looked up at the crowd. "En avant, hardiment!" she shouted again, and she held her golden egg over her head defiantly, the yellow handkerchief billowing like a flag from between her fingers.

The Beauxbatons crowd echoed the cry back yet again and broke into whistles and cheers, stamping their feet and waving their arms.

Then Fleur caught sight of him - the man whose handkerchief she still clutched, Bill. He was standing up, too, fingers between his lips, letting out a shrill whistle. When he lowered his hand, she saw he was grinning with pride, and he turned, said something to the brother beside him, and then clapped heartily, raising his arms to her in a cheers.