Her father snorted in spite of himself, and motioned for her to continue. She remembered the incident clearly – but she had a very different perspective on it now. The things that had transpired in the interim painted a very different picture of the so-called Boy Who Lived...
"I think he was telling the truth, Papa," she said after a while. "He was not happy to be there, and he was quite vocal about it. He had no fear of Dumbledore or that awful Potions Professor, and I think he was greatly angered by them."
"Go on," he nodded.
Fleur sighed, her emotions settling as she focused on less troublesome memories. "I remember one boy passing out horrible badges," she frowned. "They were quite rude, but 'Arry said nothing. What I don't understand is why the Professors did not act. It was terrible."
Her father cocked his head to the side, listening as he often did to what she wasn't saying. "What were these badges?" he asked with a frown.
"They said 'Potter Stinks'," she scowled. "And alternately that Cedric was the 'real' 'ogwarts Champion."
His lips thinned as he listened to her explanation. "And this was a 'ogwarts boy that was passing them out?" he asked with an edge to his voice. "And the Professors did nothing?"
"Nothing," she confirmed.
A brief silence fell as Fleur remembered. Even though she was upset that Harry was present at the time, she had never held it against him, choosing instead to take him at his word after she'd had some time to think about it. Because of that, her sympathy for him was pronounced; he was being ridiculed by his own school in front of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and for what?
For the pleasure of a jealous little boy, near as she could tell. But that the Professors didn't stop him, that had truly incensed her! She herself had been the subject of much ridicule, and knew what it was to see one's enemies tacitly supported by the very people who were supposed to protect her! It was much the same.
"He was very nervous at the wand weighing," she recalled after a moment, "and I do not think he knew what to do when that reporter approached him. He was angry when he returned with her, and I remember thinking that she was not a nice person. Her name is Rita Skeeter."
Her father sucked in a sharp breath at the name. "They allowed that woman to interview a student without supervision?" he asked incredulously.
"You know of her?" she asked, curious despite herself.
"She is a piece of work," he scowled. "She twists and invents words, and never are her articles truthful. She should not have been anywhere near a school."
"Many things are happening that should not," grumbled Fleur.
He snorted in agreement with the sentiment. "Go on, Fleur," he urged. "Tell me more."
"There is not much more to tell, Papa," she frowned. "The rumors say that he is arrogant and prideful, but I have never heard him boast. He is very quiet, and always he is with his two friends, a boy and a girl." Snorting to herself, she added, "The boy is very obnoxious. He even tried to ask me to the Ball, but he left before I could answer. He is very immature."
Frowning in memory, she continued, "And I do not think 'Arry even wanted to be at the Ball. He looked terribly annoyed. It is as if he is being pushed from place to place, forced to do someone else's bidding."
"He did well in the First Task, did he not?" asked her father curiously.
"Yes," she nodded. "He should have been first, Papa, but that idiot Karkaroff will not score fairly."
He nodded his understanding, and silence fell as he pondered what he'd heard so far. Fleur, too, thought of her recollections of him; he was not what he appeared if her suspicions were correct, but nor was he what others wanted the public to believe. There were hidden depths in his eyes, eyes that had seen far too much. He was older than his years for some unfathomable reason.
She'd seen it enough in her father's Auror friends to know what to look for. He had the eyes of a battle-hardened veteran, but not the age for it, which was confusing! What could he possibly have been through in only fourteen years?
"And what do you think of him?" asked her father into the silence, interrupting her musings.
Fleur shrugged. "I do not know, Papa," she sighed sadly. "He is very quiet, as I have said, and I do not think he has a mean bone in his body. He is capable, and he is honorable. He is so very young, and yet so very old. I do not know what to make of him."
Slowly he nodded. "Then we will find out," he declared. "If he is as honorable as you say, then he will do the right thing, but I want to know more about him. Much more. Some of what you told me is worrisome."
Completely unsurprised by his decision, she simply nodded. "What do I do until then, Papa?" she asked quietly. "I do not know how to deal with this! What am I to say to him?"
He shook his head at her. "You will say nothing, Fleur," he told her. "Whether you are of age or not, I am still your father, and it is my place to handle this. I will speak with 'Arry when I am satisfied that I have enough information. Do not worry yourself over it."
A tear slithered down her cheek in silent relief. Telling Harry what was to become of him was the most frightening prospect of all! That her father would take it on, took an enormous burden from her shoulders! There was still more than enough to worry about, but one less thing was truly welcome.