Harry Potter and the Champions Chapter 30 - 30 - Breaking Point

A/N: Sorry about yesterday, I was so busy with work that I forgot posting a chapter yesterday. I sincerely apologise. Enjoy reading.

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Harry was fortunate enough that they ran into Neville halfway down the hall outside of Gryffindor Tower, and after giving Hermione a solid hug and whispering reassuring words in her ear for a few minutes, he was able to pawn her off on him. He was in no fit state to comfort another, with his anger burning so brightly as it was. He wasn't even sure anymore exactly why he was angry.

One would think he would have been much better prepared for such an outcome given Ron's recent behavior, but he just... wasn't.

Not knowing where else to go, he made a beeline for the Beauxbatons carriage, but he couldn't decide if he wanted to see Fleur or not. A distant part of him quailed at Ron's accusations, insisting that they were partly true. Was he not living with his wife when it would never be allowed for any other student?

But as he neared the coach, the anger started to burn away, leaving other, far more potent emotions in its wake. Images flashed through his head of the times he and Ron spent together, starting from that very first meeting on the Hogwarts express. Ron was his very first friend. Where had everything gone so wrong? Had he misjudged Ron so badly as all that?

And how much more was he going to have to lose before Fate would be satisfied?

His hand shook as he reached up to open the door, and he stared at it in surprise for a long moment before finally pushing forward. Something inside him was thinning, and he didn't know if he would survive the experience when it snapped. How much more could he possibly endure?

For so long he'd secretly harboured dreams of the future while he was locked in that infernal cupboard, and with each passing day, they seemed further and further away. Yes, good things had happened to him, but did they really offset all the pain? Was it going to be like this for the rest of his life?

And why did everyone leave him? He distantly recognized the irrationality of that thought, but he couldn't stop himself from wondering.

His parents were gone before he even knew who they were, and he'd always deeply regretted that – and sometimes was even angry at them for it. He'd gone through his childhood dreaming of being reunited with them, even though he knew it was impossible. That dream was dead before it even formed, and there was nothing he could do to change it short of taking his own life. Even back then, when it all seemed so hopeless, he was unwilling to give up.

And then he made friends, and things were better for a while. Yes, there were bumps in the road, but life went on. He survived school, he survived the First Task of the Tournament, and then he ended up saving Fleur, which was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him even if he didn't realize it at the time. But then...

...then, the woman who was the closest thing to a mother he had, had shown her true colors.

Harry was not surprised that Molly was angry; in fact, he expected it. She didn't have the full story, and so could not completely understand. But her words were so incredibly harsh, and the things she implied so vile, that he could not prevent his opinion of her from changing. Gone were his rose colored glasses, and he wasn't sure that he liked what he saw.

And he wept for the loss of that dream. He'd somehow expected that he would someday be an actual part of that family, though he didn't know exactly how it would happen. They were all he had to base his dreams on, and so he did. They cared about him, and they thought highly of him, and he would spend the rest of his life enjoying their company.

But then the howler came, and he realized that Molly didn't think nearly so highly of him as he believed. Just as the Dursleys had done on occasion, she lulled him into a false sense of security so she could make it that much more painful when she shattered his illusions. Oh, he knew it wasn't the truth – Molly wasn't that cruel, at least intentionally – but that was the way it felt, and it had the same effect.

It was only thanks to Fleur that he managed to get past it so quickly. He would never again trust Molly the same way as before, but he imagined that they would be able to repair their relationship at some point. That was a good thing in his eyes, and he was able to move on.

The trials just continued, though, with Dumbledore doing his level best to control him and make his life more painful, which in and of itself was a terrible hit to his worldview. He'd trusted that old man, believed in him, and to learn the truth was to take away his innocence. Could he trust anyone? If such a great, powerful, and well-respected Wizard could turn on him so easily...

Snape's trial went just about as he expected, right up until the attack took place. In all honesty, it wasn't that big a deal to him, though he did finally get to see Fleur's other form, which almost made it worth it. But while the attack itself was a non-issue for Harry, for Ron it was apparently the straw that broke the camel's back.

And now he'd lost his very first friend.

Ron Weasley, his first and supposedly best friend, had turned on him again. That much he might have been able to handle, except that he also made it clear that Harry had horribly misjudged what kind of person he was. Hitting Hermione was not something he ever would have expected Ron to be capable of.

Anyone else might think he was overreacting, but back then Harry had been completely and utterly alone in an exceedingly hostile world. Ron Weasley offered the first ray of sunshine he had ever encountered. The power of that offer to the abused and neglected orphan that was Harry Potter could not be underestimated.

Wary of others though he was, Harry hadn't been able to stop himself from grabbing on with both hands and holding on for dear life.

While he was aware of Ron's flaws — he even reminded Harry of Dudley on occasion, and never more so than when he sent Hermione Granger running for a certain bathroom in tears – the fact was that Ron was his friend. Having never had one before, that fact enabled him to overlook an awful lot. Though he could not have put it into words at the time, the simple truth was that he had been deathly afraid of losing that first friendship ever since it formed.

It felt like losing that friendship would cost him everything else he had achieved since, no matter how irrational that feeling was.

Ron's friendship had quickly beome one of the underpinnings of his life in the Wizarding world – and in many ways his life in general – but now it was suddenly and dramatically over, and he felt like the ground had fallen away beneath him. Unlike before, he had no hope of a reconciliation, and perhaps more frighteningly, nor did he think he wanted one. He had lost that friendship permanently, and with it, his entire perspective on his life here.

How many others had he misjudged? Were they all who he thought they were? Or was he so thoroughly sheltered that he couldn't recognize the truth when he saw it? Would they all turn on him eventually, maybe even his own wife? Did he have any clue at all how to determine the good from the bad?

The confidence he'd built in his own judgement shattered along with the friendship, and he no longer knew what to think. There were precious few people he trusted now, and Ron's actions made his trust that much harder to earn. How could he trust people when they so easily turned on him?

Would everyone turn on him?

"'Arry?"

Harry couldn't focus on the call. Images of a dark future flew at breakneck speeds through his head, and he couldn't stop them. Was his life even worth living anymore? Should he simply end it, get it over with so he could be with his parents?

Would they even like him?

Now there was a frightening thought! He had never met his parents, so who was to say that they would even like the person he'd become? Would they perhaps turn out to be like Molly Weasley, not trusting him in the slightest to make the right decisions? Or worse, the Dursleys?

How could he possibly know? How could he have any concept of what they were really like? Sure, people always told him they were wonderful, but he'd been lied to so many times, how could he possibly recognize the truth? They could be monsters for all he knew!

His vision clouded over as he tried to fight off the thought, and he sensed someone approaching. Terrified at his thoughts, unable to catch his breath, he instinctively took a step back. He no longer recognized the presence as Fleur; it was just a presence, and he had no idea if he could trust it or not. He wasn't going to take any chances.

But it was too quick for him, and he was suddenly wrapped in loving warmth, and it was such a stark contrast to his own feelings that he could no longer keep himself together. His pain burst out of him, and he lost himself in it, no longer caring what happened to him.

===[~]===

Alarmed by her husband's behavior, Fleur held him tightly to her breast, wondering what in Merlin's name had happened this time. This was worse than Molly Weasley's howler! But what was it? What had happened to cause him to break down in this fashion?

She soothed him as best she could, keeping him wrapped tightly in her arms, but it soon became apparent that it would not be enough. He was completely unresponsive, and that frightened her more than anything. He hadn't even responded to her embrace, and that was not like him!

After a few minutes of this, Fleur had had enough. She did not want to do it, but she needed to know what was wrong so she could help him. She was not a skilled Legilimens by any means – she was rather disturbed by the Art, actually – but her father had insisted on teaching her a small amount to help her understand Occlumency. It was the only solution she could think of.

And so, with deep hesitation, she lifted his head to stare into his unseeing eyes, and whispered the hated incantation.

The deluge of darkness that slammed into her was staggering.

Glimpses of his horrifying past flashed by, but twisted to include the people he knew today. She was forced to retreat almost immediately, lest she become trapped as well. But not before she had a glimpse of a way to get her information.

One image, one with much more clarity than the others, was prominent in his mind, and she was reasonably certain that it was a memory. It was the only image that had not involved Harry directly, near as she could tell. It was an image of Ron trying to slug Hermione.

Quickly deciding on a course of action, and not liking it one bit, she drew her wand and stunned him, knowing full well that he could not handle his current state. She hoped that he would wake in a calmer frame of mind, but it was debatable. She had only seen the barest edge of his torment, and had a feeling that it ran much deeper than she knew.

It took considerable effort to manhandle him into their bed, but somehow she managed it. After asking a distressed Fawkes to watch over him, she set out to find Hermione, feeling that the girl would almost certainly know the answer. Hermione was his best friend, and likely knew him even better than Fleur did, and she would be able to help.

It was not hard to locate her, but Fleur was startled to find her also in bad condition.

The library was her sanctuary, her place of peace, and so it was the first place that Fleur went. However, she was not alone; rather, she was wrapped in Neville's arms, and looked like she had been bawling. Fleur pitied the rather clueless boy, who looked like he had no idea at all what he should do.

Though she did not want to interrupt, she saw little choice, and approached them quickly. She gave Neville a nod in greeting and then knelt down so she could see Hermione. To get her attention, she reached out and brushed the girl's wild hair back off her face, and was disheartened by the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"'ermione?" she called quietly.

Hermione opened her bloodshot eyes and looked up at her. "Fleur?" she echoed back.

"Are you well?" asked Fleur worriedly.

Hermione shook her head and buried it in Neville again, and the latter spoke up. "She won't tell me what happened," he said, his voice thick with concern. "Harry asked me to look after her, but she won't talk about it."

Fleur nodded and gently took Hermione's chin in her hand, forcing her to look up again. "I am sorry, 'ermione, but I need to know," she said softly. "'Arry 'as 'ad a panic attack. I 'ad to stun 'im, and I cannot 'elp 'im unless you tell me what 'appened." Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, "Please."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Is he okay?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Non, 'e is not," sighed Fleur. "Please, tell me."

And slowly, haltingly, she did. Fleur listened with mounting horror as she described the argument and the events that followed. She had known that Ron was jealous of his friend, but this was completely ridiculous. And to try to hit Hermione?

Her anger stirred and began to burn. She had not liked Ron from the moment of their first meeting – he was even less controlled than most in her presence – but yet she had not complained. The reason for that was simple: he was Harry's first friend that he had ever made, and held a special place in his heart. And to have that ripped away?

Harry would be lucky to survive it. He was under so much pressure, enduring so much stress, that she had no idea how he was managing as it was. Lesser men would have broken long ago under the pressure that was being exerted upon him, and he was but fourteen years old.

She would have to figure out how to help him overcome this, but first, she had a problem to deal with.

Nodding her understanding as Hermione fell silent – and noting the horrified look on Neville's face – she gently squeezed the girl's shoulder. "Thank you," she said softly. "I will take care of it. You must 'eal as well, and 'Arry will need you whole when 'e returns."

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Neville.

"Do not waver as 'is friend," she said, turning her head to look the boy in the eye. "Too much is changing too fast, and 'e will need your support before zis is over."

Neville nodded solemnly, and Fleur studied his eyes long enough to know that he meant what he was silently promising. In many ways, Fleur felt that Neville was a far better friend than Harry had yet realized. He rarely spoke to or did things with Harry, but his silent support was ever-present, and near as she could tell, his belief in his friend had never so much as flickered.

Giving Hermione's shoulder another squeeze, she stood and made her way out of the library – and then finally let her anger loose to show on her face. She could not believe the nerve of that disgusting boy. Harry had given everything he had for that friendship and this was the way he was repaid? She would not stand for that.

Ronald Weasley was going down!

A preternatural calm descended upon her as she stalked the halls, the power of her purpose forcing people out of her way before she even reached them. They took one look at her angry visage, and they moved aside. Perhaps there was some good to come of that infernal paper after all; she no more liked the press than Harry did, but right now she would use it to her advantage.

She soon reached the Great Hall, where she was sure she would find him, for food was perhaps the only thing he actually cared about. His gluttony was legendary among the Gryffindors, and it was a miracle that he did not have the same appearance as Dudley Dursley. She was tempted to fix that for him, but she had something else in mind, instead.

The doors slammed open, and everyone turned to stare at her as she stalked toward her target, ignoring them completely. Her anger was blazing, but it was a calculating anger; her stunner would not last forever, and Harry would need her soon, so she could not afford to get carried away. It was difficult to keep control as her gaze landed on the obnoxious redhead, but somehow she managed it.

The twins caught sight of her as she rounded the corner to stalk up the aisle, and upon seeing where her angry gaze was resting, they quickly moved away from their brother. The fear that shone on their faces would have been comical under other circumstances. It was good to know she could intimidate even the most carefree of students.

And then Ron turned to see what they were looking at, and jumped to his feet in shock.

A cruel, humorless smile crossed her face as he backed into the center of the aisle, preparing himself to run. At the table, Fred and George exchanged worried glances with Susan, but remained silent. They obviously weren't fool enough to try to defuse the situation.

Somehow, Ron managed to stand his ground as she approached, even though he was almost literally shaking in his boots. But his fear soon turned to anger – predictably – and his face flushed. She had a feeling this was going to be good. And sure enough, his mouth ran away with him before his brain registered the true nature of the threat that stood against him.

"What, come to defend his honor?" he asked, spitting the last word like a curse.

Silence radiated outward as his words sounded, punctuated only by the briefest wave of murmurs as they were repeated for those who missed them the first time. It looked like she was going to have an audience. Oh well; so much the better, at least for her...

"'onor?" she asked softly, her voice tight with mounting anger. "And just what would a jaloux petit bébé like you know about 'onor?"

As softly as she spoke, her voice nevertheless carried throughout the hall, and upon hearing it, Dumbledore rose to his feet, his wand coming out. She ignored him too, however; there were too many people present for him to get away with anything, and she would burn him to the ground if he tried. He would just be giving her an excuse.

Ron's eyes narrowed as her question registered. He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand and cut him off. "Non!" she spat viciously. "Your words 'ave no value, and I do not need to 'ear them! But you, Ronald Wealsey, will listen to me, for I will only say this once!"

Fleur took a step closer to him, and saw his complexion lighten a good few degrees. He was still angry, but now he was realizing what he was truly dealing with, and how angry she was. The rest of the students waited with baited breath.

"You are pathetic," she said in a harsh but quiet tone. "'Arry would 'ave given you anything as 'is friend, but you are too obsessed wiz yourself to recognize ze value in zat. To recognize ze sacrifices 'e 'as made, and would 'ave continued to make for you! But zat is not even ze worst thing you 'ave done.

"No, you struck out at someone who would never 'ave 'armed you. And as surely as 'Arry is my 'usband, 'ermione is my friend. And I do not tolerate 'arm coming to my friends. You are very, very lucky zat 'Arry was zere to stop you."

She stepped within his personal space, and lowered her voice so only those closest could hear. "Be warned Ronald Weasley," she whispered. "You are no longer welcome among us. And now I shall demonstrate what will 'appen to you should you ever attempt to 'arm any of us, evair again."

Ron's eyes widened, but Fleur ignored it in favor of something that she never would have even thought of doing a few short weeks ago: she deliberately released the handle she had on her transformation. In the blink of an eye Fleur was no longer standing before him; he was facing instead a deadly predator. And with a deep breath, she opened her maw and shrieked right in his face.

He stumbled backward, white as a sheet, and a dark stain spread down the front of his pants. Disgusted by his lacking constitution, she surged forward a pace and slammed her foot down, and he rabbeted. She watched in satisfaction as he rushed from the hall in abject terror, and reasserted her normal form as he went, feathers disappearing back into skin.