Flowerpot

…Again I saw him, in a dream.

A vast round head with two great and circled eyes, dark-scaled but manlike nose peeking from rust red fur, and a wide laughing maw filled with tangled fangs. Two long tongues which dance and with which he sings, and a three-antlered crown from the back-left and back-right and from the center of his forehead. His eyes are red amber, his pupils dark pits, and their dim glow is like fire in the light of the fraternal twin and pale red moons.

Broad bony shoulders rest atop his barrel trunk, and from them and about them hang seven long great arms each with nimble, seven-fingered hands. And in five each are staves with which the great drums are played, the thunderbeat to which the satyr flautists blow and the dryad harpists pluck their strings, and a chorus of beastial throats howl with him in joy and revelry, and savage ecstasies. Yet in two, the foremost, shortest, and most human in proportion of his limbs, are held goblet and scepter. Goblet skull, scepter bone tipped with eye in polished amber.

He has no tail, and he rests on great haunches like vast, fat dragon’s legs, but they are as furred as the rest of him, brown and rust and bloody red. And his belly hangs low before him and trembles with his laugh and his booming songs, for each tongue speaks with its own voice such that never does his singing cease, his song like fire and thunder and laughing storms. All about him is endless black darkness, his throne within a great hollow in the hills, yet from the gaps in the rocks and stones and thickets that dot the slope many eyes shine peeking, beasts and birds and mythic things half-seen. . Bloodwine spills and fire gleams, and sparks of flame and falling embers flutter through his twisting crown, and then down among the graceful limbs of his many dancers as they twist and sway to his mighty drums’ primordial tune, falling from on high as they burn and catching in their horns and wild hair, and reflecting in their many-coloured eyes.

And he welcomed me, this king of wild things, and invited me to sit beside him. To slake my thirst with his rich and dark and heady wine, and to sate my hunger on the flesh of the many roasting monsters that were raised on upright stakes before him, over his hearth which was the great pit at the center of the hollow before his rough-hewn and crumbling seat of megalith stones.

And his presence rolled like water over me, like the rush of the heady wine and the melting of the fragrant fatty flesh in my maw, and I smiled and partook of all I saw therein. And I thought in wonder why it was that I had ever been afraid, when in all his arms all there was was revelry, and let go the passing shadow of all that I had been.

For there was no fear in all these savage things...

It is well known that the Hogwarts Express, the famous red steam train which is traditionally used to transport students to and from Hogwarts at the beginning and end of term, is the only magically operated steam train in the world. The work required to get muggles to lay hundreds of miles of unnecessary track, and to then conceal it from them was an expensive undertaking indeed, but what is not so well known is that it was not the relative expense which caused it to be the first and last of its kind.

After completion of the Hogwarts Line, and the inaugural journey of the Express, carrying many of the great and the good of Wizarding high society, enthusiasm for muggle steam trains was at an all time high. The result was the planned 'Anglesey Flyer'.

With the sizeable wizarding population on the island of Anglesey, and at the encouragement of the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch Team, the Anglesey Flyer proposed a fixed wizarding transportation link between London and Holyhead on Anglesey. Work began on this new line just one year after the completion of the Hogwarts line and, initially at least, things seemed to be going very well indeed. The muggles who'd been duped into laying down the line did so with commendable speed, and the wizards in charge of concealing the newly laid tracks, with all their learned experiences from the Hogwarts Line, found it a much simpler endeavour.

The great setback of the project, and the thing which laid the foundations of its final failure, was the realisation that laying a direct line through Snowdonia was simply beyond the reasonable technical capabilities of the Muggles at the time. The project stalled for months as the project managers tried everything they could to convince the muggles leading the building teams that it was reasonable and practical.

In the end, a compromise was arrived at. The Anglesey Flyer would become a literal Flyer. Between Penybontfawr and Llanberis the train would take to the air and simply fly over Snowdonia. With the compromise accepted, construction on the line began anew, and soon it was completed. Just five years after the Hogwarts Express first ran, it was time for the inaugural journey of the Anglesey Flyer and once again the great and the good of Wizarding Society were present, including the entire Holyhead Harpies team, with the single exception of their keeper, who had sadly contracted Dragonpox just days before the great day.

The Disaster of Snowdonia is one of the less known events in the Wizarding History of Great Britain, as those who remained in power afterwards felt it to be a great embarrassment, and all mention of it was struck from official sources. As a result, we must instead rely on witness testimony, of which there is understandably little. What we do know, however, is that the train was attacked by more than a dozen territorial Welsh Greens during the airborne part of its journey, and crashed into the flank of Glyder Fawr, with the loss of all but a handful of the passengers.

That disaster effectively put paid to any other rail link projects before they could so much as commence, and ensured the Hogwarts Express' singular position in the history of the British Isles

Her cerulean eyes were crossed, breaths escaping from her soft, perfect lips in sharp, passionate gasps as she stared.

It loomed over her proudly, massive and thick, nearly ten inches from end to end.

“How is it?”, Harry asked, panting, as he looked down at her kneeling figure.

“Its...”, Fleur paused, as a multitude of descriptors popped into her head. Massive, Glorious, Magnificent, Hypnotic, Hers, “... perfect.”

She reached out for it, dainty fingers trembling. Her breath sharper, exiting in passionate gasps, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips in anticipation. Mere centimeters from it, she froze. She glanced up at her boyfriend, eyes hooded with excitement, her tone sultry as she spoke, “M… May I?”

“Go ahead”, Harry gasped, sweat visible on his brow. Barely biting back a squeal, she reached out. Harry sighed in relief as her fingers wrapped around it, helping bear it's surprisingly heavy weight.

Then he stumbled forward, unbalanced, as Fleur yanked the set of books right out of his hands.

“Gah!”, he staggered, catching himself on his palms as he fell onto the blanket fleur had spread out in their living room, his head barely missing one of the massive stacks of books haphazardly piled on it.

Fleur barely noticed, having slipped the first of the eight volumes of the set out of the box, holding it almost reverently, as she opened the cover.

And froze.

“‘Arry?”

“Hm?”, He replied, glancing up… straight into the blue eyes of his girlfriend, bare centimeters away.

“Fu- !”, He started, jerking backwards, barely missing another stack of books as he scrambled away, “Fleur! Dont do that!”

She didnt reply, rapidly invading his personal space once more. Her vivid, sharp gaze pinned him in place as she spoke, voice barely above a whisper, “ ‘Arry. Where and how did you get signed copies of all eight volumes of the Flowerpot collection?”

The raven haired young man chuckled nervously, one hand coming up to scratch at his cheek, “Lets just say I… called in a few favours, and leave it at that.”

Pain.

Fleur Delacour woke to an ungodly searing on her arm, a scream in the back of her throat, her mind still trapped in the nightmare that she had left behind, the sense of dread and hopelessness coming into the world with her consciousness.

She grabbed her pillow and bit down on it as the burning in her arm started to radiate to the rest of her. She felt like she was on fire, and for the first time that scared her.

The dread pressed down on her with such a force that her sight started to black out and she started to hyperventilate, and then, with the same suddenness it started, it all stopped.

She let herself fall down onto the mattress and huffed a sigh, the cool air from the half open window caressing her, the chill helping her forget the phantom pain.

This was not the first time she felt such pain, or such dark feeling took possession of her mind, but it had been by far the worst. She did not even tell her parents about it anymore, they would only take her to a healer again, only for him to come to the same conclusions.

She was perfectly fine.

Not even her grandmére Elena, who had four thousand years of expertise, had been able to tell her anything about it. Or that half-giant ‘Creature healer’ her mother had all but dragged her to. Her cheeks tinted in embarrassment at the memory; never had she been more mortified that under the enormous hands of the surprisingly gentle man as he picked and prodded at her with long tools, and peered at her from behind comically large augment glasses, as if she was a particularly stubborn piece of clockwork.

He was incredibly kind though, she had to give him. Her embarrassment stemmed only from the situation, and not the man himself.

She always had a suspicion that Elena knew more than she said, but knowing granny she would not speak if she was not sure. Nor would she say anything if she thought silence was worth more in the situation. That was a balm to her worries, as she knew that were it something truly critical grandmére would not have been so blase about it.

A knock on the door made her close her eyes and sigh. She had screamed in her sleep, surely.

“Come in.”

The door cracked open, the cone of warm light from it heralding the angelic figure of her mother. Apolline walked to the bed and sat on it, Fleur’s eyes scrunching further in response to the shift in the mattress.

Despite her discomfort, despite knowing she’d have to answer questions that she did not want to hear, despite that and much more, the touch of her mother’s fingers as they caressed her forehead was comforting to the point where she felt her body relax from the stiff and knotted bunch she had not even realized she had been in.

“You are drenched.”

“I know.”

She shivered and snuggled towards the warm body of her mother, curling into a ball, her head on Apollines leg, and relaxed under the combing of her hair.

Slowly, surely, her wet hair regained its unearthly glow and gossamer texture.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Apolline asked as her daughter's hair started to float around her preening fingers.

“Not really,” was the mumbled answer she got.

“It may help.”

“I’m not hurting anymore. It’s okay.”

They stayed like that for a while, just listening to the background noises of a mediterranean night, the monotonous and comforting noises. At some point, Apolline thought Fleur had fallen back asleep.

“It was all dark,” murmured Fleur.

“Oh?” Apolline encouraged.

“I was dreaming of something else, I can’t remember now, and then it changed. Like someone had flicked the dream off. Then I started to hurt. It was like I was burning inside out.”

“Like the shift?”

“Non. But yes. It felt almost the same, but the shift doesn't hurt like that.”

“I’ve never heard you scream before.” Apolline’s voice wavered.

“This time was far worse. But the worst part was not the pain,” She fiddled with a thread of her mother’s sleeping robe. “It was the… the fear. I thought I was going to die.”

Apolline’s fingers dug deeper into her scalp at that, her lips pursing, the tautest part of the plucked string that was her facade.

She had been afraid of that possibility since Fleur was four years old and she had started to scream, her chubby hands clasped on her forehead before fainting.

“I’m fine, maman. It was just-”

“We don’t know that, ma petite. Your father made an acquaintance at work last week. Some famous curse breaker from Spain that may-”

“No.” Fleur scrambled up, leaning on her arms to look into Apolline’s eyes. “I won’t subject myself to another pointless test.”

“But Fleur, we need to know why this keeps happening. It could be serious, it could-”

“If it were serious nana would have said something about it.”

Apolline’s caring expression hardened instantly at the mention of Elena and her opinions.

“I know that you and nana don’t see eye to eye but-”

“I will not have you risk your life believing the crazy, convoluted tales of someone who doesn’t understand what it is to live a human life.”

They locked eyes, mirroring expressions filled with steel and stubbornness. After a few moments both deflated, and Fleur let herself fall back down onto her mother’s lap, where she drank in the comfort of her presence.

“I know I’m fine, maman. I feel it. This,” and her tone lent a weight to the simple word that made it obvious what ‘this’ was, “Is not something that can be healed. I don’t know what it is, but I think it’s something I have to find out on my own.”

Apolline sighed, a sad smile pushing its way to her lips. “I may not see eye to eye with my mother, as you say, but I think I can sympathize with her having to deal with such a pig headed daughter.”

Fleur giggled and burrowed herself further into Apolline’s motherly embrace.

“Would it reassure you if I went to this curse breaker?” She said.

“Immensely. It would mean a lot to me, ma chérie.”

Fleur sighed. “Okay then. But only a quick check. And it must be here at home.”

They smile at each other, both calm and at peace, surrounded by the indelible warmth of family.

“I’ll set it up, ma Fleur.”

Two Years Later

Fleur’s hand trembled as she held a wand that seemed to weigh as much as the dragon in front of her.

She sang, her enamelled voice singing from behind keratined lips, features as sharp as her Intent focused on the equally predatory face of the magnificent beast that snored mere meters ahead, drooling liquid fire.

Her voice wavered slightly under the strain, and it echoed within the matching essence of beauty and charm within the rosewood, a ripple of feathers rushing up her chest towards her shoulders. She felt as if she was about to turn inside out, and her focus on the song was the only thing keeping her in this in-between state. She really hoped she did not slip into the shift.

Holding a wand with six inch clawed fingers was not quite so easy.

She was mere steps from the egg now, already under the shadow of the dragon. But there was a problem, she could not lift the damned thing with a single hand.

What a ridiculous hurdle.

With a mental sigh she dropped her hand into her hip holster as quick as she could and jumped to grab the golden egg. The adrenaline, and the cut with the stabilizing feeling of the wand in her hand tipped her over, and in seconds her fingers shifted into long talons sharp enough to scratch the metal they snatched.

With a huff she started into the fastest trot she could manage back towards the entrance of the pit, and the dragon, starting to wake, snorted a tongue of flames that reached her legs. The screams of terror from the stands deafened her. She could also hear some cheers over the roar of the flames.

With a few quick pats of plumy hands she managed to put out her -ridiculous for the occasion- skirt. Almost her whole left leg was on display where the fabric was reduced to less than ashes.

She chirped mournfully; she loved that skirt.

The stadium silenced as she appeared to come out of a gust of dragon fire completely unscathed. The dragon started to shake awake, but she was already a few steps from the exit. After passing the doorway she stopped, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, letting it out and feeling it humm and resonate in her changed chest. The heat of the fire had almost made her change entirely.

The undulating sound calmed her, and lasted until she looked as she normally did again. Not a feather in sight.

She skipped to the medical bay and let the mediwitch check her over, her confused face as the diagnostics turned out odd results only answered by her beatific smile. The madame shook her head and gave her some ugly set of stretchy pants for her to change into before letting her go outside again.

Not even the terrible garment managed to get her of her heady high. The feel of the fire on her skin… It was curious how much it had affected her.

The judging passed quickly enough. She did well. It was no surprise, her charmwork had been more than a little impressive. She was, however, very tired, so it was with relief that she obeyed the command to sit with the rest of the delegation in the stands.

That boy was insane. Absolutely and utterly out of his rocker. Fleur followed the quick-moving figure as it zipped through the air, swerving and pirouetting around the dragon like an annoying red and black fly.

He had the audience eating from his hands though. The noise from the stands felt like a soundtrack to his flight, holding its collective breath when a difficult manoeuvre came, or gasping when a swerve was too close.

It was impressive, she had to begrudgingly admit, if mundane compared to her own attempt. And showed a complete disregard for personal safety. Not many people could fly like that.

The dragon was getting annoyed. The boy swept up close enough to reach and touch the beast’s snout, enraging it, and the dragon tried to follow up in a fit of pique. Fortunately, the chains held, and then quick as a fire bolt, he plummeted to the ground, faster than the dragon could register, faster almost than she could see.

He had gotten the egg. A blink, he was falling. Another blink, he had the shining price held in an arm.

The stadium exploded in cheers, even the competitors’ delegations joining in the raucous celebration. She had to give it to him, she thought with a smile, he knew how to put on a captivating show.

A blink, he was levelling after pulling from the head-spinning dive. Another blink, the dragon moved. If Potter’s speed was amazing, the dragon’s was unbelievable. A mountain moving at the speed of a train. The beast’s tail whipped, aimed smartly to his path, wicked bone spikes blurring.

He  was not going to make it.

A corkscrew down. The longest spike clipped his shoulder and pushed him down faster. The same arm pulled the steer up with all the strength it could muster, not regarding the awful pain it caused, adrenaline pumping through him as he tried to regain control.

He was not strong enough. His arm failed. The ground was too close.

Fleur gasped, her arm flying to her torso as she collapsed to the floor. She could hear the dragon tamers shooting spells and crying indiscernible commands over the roaring crowd. She was confused, she was having a hard time breathing, her sight doubled. She felt like a bludger hat hit her on the ribs.

Slowly, carefully, she rose, her hand patting until it found the railing to help her pull herself up. The pain had already diminished considerably, just a dull ache on the lower, left side of her ribcage.

Her wide, surprised eyes scanned the chaos down in the pit until he saw him. A mere black speckle next to the gargantuan mass of fire and death. He was outside of the competition area. The task was done.

She poked her aching side and the pain did not change. It did not spike in response to her touch. The crazy daredevil of a boy was standing with his back to the stadium's wall, the egg at his feet, his hand cradling the left side of his torso. She saw him there, breathing through the pain, and then she knew.

Her lip trembled. He crouched to grab the egg and his side protested. She felt that. She moaned, in despair, in joy, so many emotions raging through her that she could not identify them before they shifted again. She cried, but not in pain, no. She had long since learned to deal with that. She cries in relief.

She had found her answers

“I’m fine, Poppy.” She hears muffled behind the thick fabric of the medical tent as she marched towards it. Her feet don't stop even as she crosses the threshold, the flaps on the entrance flopping dramatically as she pushes past them with violence. Every face turned towards her, conversations trailing and fading under her intrusion.

“ ‘Es not fine.” She spats, her feet still moving mechanically, rhythmically. She reaches his side, rounding the gentle-faced mediwitch from before before anyone has a chance to react. She pokes him on the ribs fast, and she feels exactly what the problem is.

A flick of her wrist and a snapping sound that make him curse and her wince, and then the medic grabs her wand hand.

Fleur looks at her, “The boy ‘ad three broken ribs.”

She snatches her arm from Pomfreys’ grip and pokes Harry in the ribs with her wand, eliciting a complaint from both him and the nurse whose name she could not care less about. At the moment she had enough attention for only one person. A small and scrawny english boy who yelped again as his bones finished their accelerated knitting.

“You, monsieur, ‘ave a lot to explain.”

Eyes like a stormy sky pinned him with rage, with apprehension, with resentment, with hope.

And then he knew.

He knew because he felt it all in his own heart, in his own mind. Because he knew the fire in her eyes now burned in his own. Familiar foreignness, an intrusion that had become welcomed over the years, sometimes sparking rage, sometimes happiness. And he saw the roiling reflection of his feelings on the fair witch facing him.

“It was always you,” Spoke two voices in unison, unaware of the world that had started to move around them again.

(Part of the Mistress Red Death universe)

Bellatrix LeStrange was sitting in a tea house when she heard someone calling out her name. Turning in the voice's direction she saw a woman wearing a mask. Curious, she asked the newcomer, "What do you want?"

"To kill you."

With that statement, everyone in the tea house quickly left the premises. Bellatrix stood up and faced the newcomer who had settled into an Iaijutsu stance.

"What have I done to earn your ire," Bellatrix asked.

"House Potter."

Eyes widening, Bellatrix demanded, "Who are you?!"

"Your death."

Those were the last words Bellatrix LeStrange heard before her head was separated from its body with a single stroke. The onlookers were stunned when they saw the masked woman quietly leave the building. One patron took a peak inside and screamed when he saw the head of Bellatrix LeStrange on a pike.

On the outskirts of the town, Lily Potter tossed the mask she wore into a nearby stream. There will be more, she thought to herself, many more.

“I don't know about this, Fleur,” Harry muttered as she stared at the clothes her girlfriend has laid out for her on the bed, “I’ve… Never dressed like this before.”

Fleur smiled lovingly at the raven haired girl, “Aww, you would look so sexy in it though, ma cherie. We would be matching too!”

The silvery blonde girl leaned in close, her voice husky as she whispered in Harry’s ear, “It's a beautiful summer day though. Just imagine it. You and me, going for a walk in these, enjoying the day, and then… when we come home… It’ll be just you, me and the bed, for the rest of the day.”

Harry moaned softly, her green eyes darkened as she raked her eyes over Fleur’s svelte form, dressed in a pastel blue bikini top and jean shorts, hair done up in a messy bun, her eyes flickering to the similar, green bikini top and flowy, layered skirt laid out on the bed, her teeth worrying that pouty lower lip of hers in that way Fleur loved so much.

“Okay,” she acquiesced.

Fleur grinned, leaping forward, her arms wrapping around her girlfriend’s frame, “thank you thank you thank you! I swear, you won’t regret it.”

Harry giggled, pushing the other girl off, “Okay, if you say so. Now let me go get changed, darling.” Picking up the clothes, she slipped into their bathroom.

When Harry stepped out, Fleur’s jaw dropped. The pale green bikini top and the skirt fit Harry perfectly, emphasizing her beautiful figure, yet leaving just the right amount to the imagination to make it truly irresistible.

With her hair done up in a messy ponytail, a few long, loose bangs brushed behind her ear, just the right amount of makeup accenting her features, she looked a vision.

Harry gave the silvery blonde a salacious wink, twirling in place, “What do you think?”

It was enough to short Fleur’s brain.

“Uh huh,” the french girl drooled.

“What was that?” Harry asked, her voice teasing.

Fleur snapped from her funk, shaking her head as she pounced on the other girl, trappin her in her arms as she nipped at the delicate skin of the raven haired girl’s neck, “I think I’ve changed my mind, mon amour. Lets just stay in, so that I can -”

“Off, you horny veela,” Harry chuckled, pushing the other girl away as Fleur pouted, “We still have to go out, remember? It's a beautiful day.”

“Okay, okay,” Fleur grumbled, stealing glances at Harry as she checked herself in the mirror adorning the wall of their room.

The blonde girl’s eyes widened, as she grabbed her phone, sidling up to Harry in front of the mirror, phone held up, “One last thing before we go. Say sexy!”

Harry hid a smile, pouting as she leaned on the dresser below the mirror.

Click.

Green eyes peered over Fleur’s pale shoulder as the french girl uploaded the image, reading the caption with a smile.

Did someone say hot girl summer??

“‘Arryyyyy”, Fleur whined as she walked along, pawing at her boyfriend's hands as they stubbornly remained in place, covering her eyes. “Let me seeeeeee!”

“Just a bit further Fleur”, He replied, and she heard the mischief in his tone. “Trust me.”

She pouted, huffing as she crossed her arms, yet she relented, letting him lead her up a series of stairs. Harry abruptly stopped, and she stumbled as one of his hands moved to cover both her eyes, as the other slipped away, reaching into his pocket for his wand.

A swish and a flick, and Fleur heard a door click open.

“Uh… ‘Arry?”, she asked uncertainly as he turned her to the right, and led her a few steps forward.

He took away his hands as he spoke, “Well… here we are! Surprise!”

She blinked rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the light as she took in…. A living room. A fairly bare one at that. She stepped forward hesitantly, glancing around. Across from her, a large windows opened over the road below, bathing the room in the yellow light of the setting sun. Across the road, a magnificent, lush park stretched out, filling their view in a sea of green, beyond which the dreary London skyline loomed. To the left, two open doors led to what appeared to be an empty room and a washroom. To her right, the open kitchen split off, an island dividing it off from the living room proper. Beside it, another open door, this one leading to a second empty room.

Shocked to silence, her voice broke as she asked. “‘Arry… what is this? Why are we here?”

He chuckled nervously, ducking his head.”Well… You said you wanted to move in and I thought we could get a space of our own. You know… just for us?”

She whirled to face him, blue eyes wide with surprise, “So you bought us a flat?”

“Well”, he murmured, scratching the backing of his head, suddenly unsure. “I’m just renting it. Do.. do you not like it? I’m so sorry, I should have asked but I wanted to surprise you and it just seemed like the perfect place and its close to diagon as well and there was a wonderful park and -” He stopped as a pair of pale, soft arms wrapped around his tense figure, as Fleur smiled at him softly. “‘Arry”, She whispered, “It's perfect.”

He slumped, sighing with relief. His arms matched hers, wrapping around his girlfriend's body, pulling her closer as they stood there, the light of the sunset washing over their forms, bathing them in a medley of warm hues, in the middle of the bare flat, a flat that would soon be filled with joy, laughter, love and memories.

So many memories.

'I'll take care of you.'

'It's rotten work.'

'Not to me. Not if it's you.'

-- Excerpt from Euripides, translated by Anne Carson

He rubbed the purple colored salve onto the open wound, hissing as the cool paste made contact, an odd tingling sensation washing over his shoulder as he worked the substance in.

The fire roared, green flames spewing forth and for a brief moment, his eyes hazy from drink, he thought a blonde goddess had stepped through. As his mind focused back into reality he scowled, looking back down at his wound before speaking.

“Go away.”

She ignored him, walking the distance between them and snatching the jar of paste from his hand wordlessly. He sighed, too exhausted to fight and far too drunk to match her determination. He reached for the bottle but she swatted his hand, the brown container falling from the small table, its contents spilling onto the floor. He didn’t bother to look up.

“Ron says you went in without backup. Again.”

He nodded.

“Why?”

He stiffened as she rubbed more of the substance into his open wound, not bothering to look up and meet the withering glare he knew he’d find.

“It was a standard raid, nothing special,” he explained, “there wasn’t even anyone there. I got careless and a trap caught me on the shoulder. I’ll be fine.”

She gripped his chin and forcibly moved his head to look at her, icy blue eyes shooting daggers through him.

“Do you have a death wish?”

An unexpected wave of guilt welled in him. She knew. She always knew the moment he slipped on the mask, put on a happy face, and played the part that had been cast for him.

She knew because she’d been the one to find him on his quiet return to the tattered remnants of his godfather’s family home. He’d found comfort in the stores of firewhiskey hidden in the basement. The damn drink tasted like shite, and the burn as it went down never faded, but it dulled the pain. It kept the nightmares at bay. It helped him forget about all those he had failed to save.

She knew because she’d stubbornly refused to leave him to his own devices as he slowly pushed everyone away. Everyone had looked to him for guidance, to help heal the damage that had been done, yet he couldn’t heal his own wounds, so he’d retreated into himself. She refused to let that happen.

She knew because she’d done it herself a thousand times over and was far better at it than he. He’d learned that being a good actor was more than enough for most, but he could never fool her. That unrelenting desire to help him had been the one constant in his life that didn’t come in a bottle, and yet, he’d pushed her away every time.

“Does it matter?”

She let out a growl of frustration and threw the bottle of paste to the ground, the glass cracking slightly as it rolled.

“Every time, every single time, you put yourself in harm's way unnecessarily you hurt those who care for you. Do you care so little about those around you?”

Unexpected defiance burst forth and his eyes lit with determination, no longer hazy, as he stared back at her.

“Everyone’s got their own lives, their own problems, I don’t need to burden them with my own.” Idly, he realized that he hadn’t refuted her accusation that he was endangering himself and he felt his mask crack just a bit. “Don’t you have a husband to get back to?”

Hurt briefly flashed through her face and his mask cracked again, the guilt returning as he realized he’d cut her deep. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced by familiar determination.

“Bill and I split months ago. You’d know that if you came around the Burrow more often.”

Silence reigned as they both looked away from each other, her towards the fire, him looking at the spilled bottle of firewhiskey on the floor. Tension permeated the air, and yet, he felt emboldened. He didn’t know if it was the drink or the rush of his injury, but he felt brave.

“What is it you want from me, Fleur?” .

His words were soft, barely audible. He couldn’t trust himself to speak any louder. She turned back around and grabbed his hands, rubbing his scarred knuckles with the pads of her thumbs. The soft sensation soothed his mind and the tension in his body eased just a bit.

“I want you to live. Ron and Hermione have a kid, your goddaughter, and she barely sees you. Victorie hears stories about you but doesn’t really know your face. You’ve always been good to me, ‘Arry, and I will never forget that. Let me help you. Please.”

He looked up and his mask shattered, tears welling up in his eyes as he let her comforting warmth engulf him, the sensation of a summer breeze passing over him.

“I’m a bit broken,” he whispered and she cupped his cheek, a small smile on her face.

“I’ll take care of you.”

“It’s rotten work.”

She shook her head slowly. “Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

As she pulled him close and he wrapped his arms around her, the dam broke and he let out a wail of emotion. She rubbed his back as he sobbed, pent up anguish escaping all at once. He wasn’t right, they both knew that, and he would need a lot of help.

In that moment, wrapped in her arms, he caught a glimpse of what life could be like. As he breathed in the scent of cinnamon, he realized that perhaps everything would be okay if he allowed her to guide him.

Harry staggered as he felt his wounds catch up to him, unwilling taking a knee as the watched the battle before him, and he knew.

They were losing.

Even reinforcements from other countries hadn’t been enough, such was the size of Voldemort’s army, Harry momentarily despaired as giants, lesser vampires and other magical beings battered at the Wizard’s forces, inhuman strength and speed compensating for their lack of magic.

And the magicals on Voldemort’s side, so many of them, Harry had seen many of his friend’s fall today, too many that he knew thinking on it would drown him in despair, so he didn’t, he soldiered on, kept casting, screaming orders and encouragement as he saw the second line being broken by the giant’s charge and retreating.

But Harry refused to give up, no matter what, he was no longer fighting only by those that were at his side, like her, blonde hair and blue eyes came to his mind as he kept going, barely noticing the deep cuts on his body, he also thought of the future, of those that would come next, maybe not his children, but children, the next generation, it should grow up free and happy, and his country, his people, should too, even if he had to sacrifice himself for it, as he had already done in the forest.

So much was his determination, that he didn’t notice the rather large shift in the magic as his own dreams and hopes synchronized with those of many warriors, soldiers, and heroes throughout time and space, past, present, and future they shared the same goal of protecting those they love, their ideals, their country, their peoples.

So strong was his will he merely grunted as a particularly nasty curse cut at his leg, making him kneel again, his wand taken from his hands by another spell, as his allies close ranks around him.

Harry wished he could grab at this dream, this deepest of wishes, and wield against those who fought for evil.

As many gazes close and distant, gazed at the battle, Harry believed that he could.

Motes of golden light began rising from the ground itself, the tress, the plants, the people, coalescing in Harry’s hands, Hogwarts itself shuddered as it lent a considerable amount of magic to power what could only be called a miracle.

Said miracle began crystalizing in Harry’s hands, from a faraway time, what was broken, was repaired, and it chose a new wielder, removed not from stone, but from the very soul of Britain itself, again to protect the land and the people from tyranny.

Harry rose as a beautiful sword materialized in his hands with pure white light, many magical beings, more aligned with the esoteric, widened their eyes at seeing magic of older ages, of another planes manifest so clearly.

The Sword in the Stone finished materializing, now as solid and real as any weapon there, perhaps, even more so, being a concept giving form and substance, and Harry knew it’s name, and how to use it, as power coursed through veins, power beyond anything he had ever felt, he felt the strain on his body as he raised it, the motes of light still coalescing around the blade, having a single target in mind.

Said target was gazing at him in naked surprise, fear, and anger, and quicker than a snake cast a terrible, familiar curse at him, only for the curse to fizzle out before a golden, utopian light as yet another miracle crystallized at Harry’s hip, of it’s own volition, choosing to afford him it’s protection for this battle.

The Dark Wizard screamed in frustration, and ordered all his forces to converge on him, Harry’s own forces rose to oppose them, but Harry knew, somewhat, that their defense wouldn’t be enough for him to gather the necessary magic, his defense taking a lot of it.

”Oh, what is this, a True Hero, in this day and age? How fascinating.”

A somewhat arrogant, regal voice, said in his head, it sounded young, yet Harry knew it was old, very old.

The giants led the charge and crushed the haphazard constructs put in front of them, Harry desperately putting all his effort into gathering enough magic to attack.

”A noble hero, fighting for justice, with strong morals, and the love of a maiden, hmm, not much of a maiden anymore is she? Not as pure as others are you? But it’s the thought that counts, and you have all the rest in spades, young man.”

Harry saw his forces buckle at the desperate, overwhelming attack of Voldemort’s Army, they have collectively guessed that his attack wouldn’t be good for them.

”And yet the paltry magic of your world can’t power your heroism fast enough for even such miracle to matter, through no fault of your own, no, Harry Potter, you did everything right, but your people failed you, how familiar...”

Harry didn’t even have the energy to reply, all his focus on manipulating and gathering the magic the best he could, realizing he had been converting the magic of his world, to whatever the Sword used.

He managed to send a pleading thought, something he had rarely done.

A chuckle, and a sigh as if the speaker was being magnanimous by merely communicating.

“Ah, well, a good King always helps his subjects in their time of need, especially the competent and brave ones, and you Harry James Potter, is very much my subject.”

Harry felt an incredible amount of magic come to him, from where he wasn’t certain, but he was certainly, very, very grateful.

”Oh, would you look at that, and for this I shall give you a clear shot, rejoice, for your King has deemed you worthy enough, to help you in the apex of your Legend.”

A giant broke through, batting aside a group of German Aurors, he raised his club to strike at Harry, only for a large golden spear to impale him through the eye, and then another, a blue one, through the other.

A sword whistled past Harry and impaled a werewolf, who immediately caught on fire, and another sword, a dagger, an axe, and soon a veritable storm of weapons of all kind and make went past Harry, as if coming from behind him, avoiding his allies and striking his enemies with swift and brutal precision.

The path was clear, and Harry saw Voldemort, along with none other than Bellatrix Lestrange, the latter trying to release her Master from golden chains that wrapped around him.

Harry knew what to do, knew what name to call so that the miracle in his hand would manifest it’s power and erase Tom Riddle’s evil from the Earth.

He raised the sword higher, and a column of white light emanating from it and reaching the clouds, opening them and letting the ground be lit by moonlight.

Voldemort balked and with swift, frantic motions, raised shields upon shields, physical and magical between him and the devastating attack.

It was for naught.

Harry bellowed, his voice is joined by others past, present, and future, that had called upon this Sword to help them.

“CALI-”

He struck, and saw only white light.

“BURN!”

An inexorable column of pure white light struck down the almost clear path between Harry and Voldemort, vaporizing all of the latter’s army in it’s path, before doing to same to all the defenses the Dark Lord set up, including his most loyal follower and his familiar.

Pain was all the Dark Lord knew as his body was reduced to atoms, for even if he still had his soul anchors they wouldn’t be enough to shield his soul from being sent to the torment that awaited him by the purifying light of all the righteous fury of uncountable warriors.

When Harry came to, he was on the ground, Caliburn still at his side, but the scabbard he had felt on his hip was gone, it’s job done, for now.

Yet, he felt wondrous relief at seeing the beautiful blue eyes of the one he loved, looking down at him, only, they were crying, Harry raised his hand to brush away the tears, wincing at the terrible pain the simple movement brought him.

He could hear snippets of conversation, frantic and resigned.

“Too much Magic…”

“Burned himself out…”

“The weapons are gone…”

But his mind was only focused on her.

“Fleur” he rasped.

She shushed him, and kissed him with tender love and care.

“I love you.” he told her, with such certainty and strength that belied his current state.

Fleur sobbed, hugging and repeating his words back to him in both his and her native languages, before cradling his head.

“I love you, ‘Arry, We love you, and we will meet again.” she grabbed his hand and placed it over her stomach, and Harry’s eyes widened.

Yet, he somehow knew her promise would come through, was certain of it.

He felt it then, the familiar chill of when he used his Cloak for too long, it should make him uncomfortable, but the contrary was true, he felt said Cloak being drapped on his shoulders, felt a Wand slip in his hand, and Ring on his finger, and his vision was drawn to a young woman, of pale skin, and black hair, dressed like a rock star, standing out from the wizards around them wearing robes, the woman’s sympathetic eyes met his, there was a mischievous glint to them, conspirational even, as if they had played a great big prank, the woman smiled softly him, and winked.

Harry turned to Fleur, who seemed unaware of the whole exchange, even of the items he now had on him, Harry looked into her eyes, Green meeting Blue, smiled his lopsided grin that she huffed so much about.

“We will” and Harry’s last thought as he was engulfed by darkness was of a small girl, with silver hair and green eyes, running through a green meadow.

The Magic Circle glowed and from it, he emerged, dressed in armored robes, A Cloak that seemed to be made of starlight on his shoulders, Caliburn in one hand and a notched Wand on the other. Green met Blue again, and he smiled.

“Upon your summoning, I came forth, and I ask of you,” his smile turned lopsided, mischievous even, “Are you my Master?”

"Li Evans, my name is. " "Aye, you don't look Asian." "What?" "Li, it sounds Asian." "You mean Lee?" "No, Li, like the Spanish Si." "No, my father hated adverbs." "Was he German?" "What?" "Cuz, grammar na-" "No, he's English." "Then-" "My name's Lily." "Ah, why not say that?" "Because...ugh. Who're you?" "Me? I'm Jam." "Jam?" "Yeah." "Why call yourself after the food?" "What?" "Jam is food." "Yeah I know what jam is. I'm Jam, not jam." "Wait, is it James?" "Ssshhhh, don't say it." "What? Jame-" "Shush." "Why?" "Because my Dad can't pronounce the letter 'Z'." "But James isn't spelled with a z." "You'd think it. But everytime my dad tries to pronounce my name, he summons snails." "Ho-how is that even making any sense? Snails?" "Yeah, when he was a kid, his friends pulled a prank on him and since then everytime he makes the 'z' sound, he summons snails." "Why?" "They tried to make him a parselmouth." "The snake speech?" "Yes." "And now?" "He's a bug speaker."

In the near distance, suburbia cried out.

It was a low whine, the sort you’d only ever hear once or for an eternity. It was a sound that brought back the sort of bitter clarity she’d come to hate as she gazed sullenly into the smog-hued infinities of an early Chicago twilight. She spared the heavens but a glance, devoting herself from the safety of her swirling spoon in the cup of coffee she clutched for desperate warmth.

She lamented these days, but it was not as though anything existed beyond them. On the contrary, the world had existed under some terrible pressure for an age, as if they lived in some deep Atlantic cavern beneath the waves.

On nights such as these, however, she hoped to remember rather than lament. Of times when their future had been crowned in shades of gold, an ember wrapped in dry moss and bark to be passed on to those who came next.

The sort of hope that spurred generations on, that drove man to touch the stars and grasp all in between.

Until their spark had run out of tinder and the flame died a sudden death.

And the world choked in the cold.

Now the streets were under the dominion of a sickly neon glow that withered all it touched, painting life in a bright ink that had written few words about them—they had failed. They had come to live in some dreamless place, the sky upheaved by factory fog and the wonder the world had loved, the sort that made you dance, scream, cry and sing, had been snuffed in its infancy while it gasped for breath.

But the world needed wonder like we need sleep, and without it, the days droned on in perpetual, dreaded cognisance.

If you were lucky, perhaps there would be a sculptor on a street corner, imitating Michelangelo with a block of crude marble filled with a sullen crowd, or a speakeasy filled with the silent as the performer chose absence over expression. The world had given a few dying gasps, the last waning vestiges of art fighting a losing war until soon, street corners would be but street corners and speakeasies but old rooms.

She ached for a time where the world could find its flame again, perhaps hidden in alleyways, sequestered in that same moss and bark where the weight of the world couldn’t snuff it out, and nestled within the hearts of the new.

But dreams were dreams, and the idyllic seemed so very distant.

Suburbia cried out and, rather than heed its call, she returned back to her coffee.

We’ve seen our share of wonder, vast And small. More than most, have ever Our peace is made Death troubles us not For she too knows, Smoke and Mirrors haunt us From mistakes of century past

Enough. Our legacy awaits Through ashen flame, Veela are born Through ashen skies; Veela are forged Through ashen fume; Veela are tempered

Though the sun has fled And the moon hides Our ashen feathers spread wide Though our light grows faded And our hearts still None will cower, None will falter With naught but a sword in hand We enter the lions den We’re not waiting for a war We bring the war to them

Laid to rest atop our throne Forever will we drift alone Though fire and flame won’t send us off But somber murmurs and harrowed cries, Veela of young and old will regale The tales, Of the Flower and the Pot.

The one I had recently that I'm really thinking might make a good story is a Flowerpot friendship story starting in the 4th year and leads to the summer between 4th and 5th years where Harry is visiting Fleur in France.

The Voldemort stuff will be handled quickly by the adults so it's not an issue.

Basically the plot will be Fleur trying to set Harry up with (an age appropriate) Gabby.

Harry was terrible at Defense Against the Dark Arts. It wasn't any fault of his, not anything under his control, but it still irked him. He cursed under his breath as he tried, and once again failed, to legibly sign his name at the top of his essay for professor Moody. He glared at his hand which continued to tremble uncontrollably.

He didn't know what caused it, the Durseleys had refused to take him to any Doctors despite how it impacted his ability to do chores, but for as long as he could remember his body had not been fully under his control. It would shake and tremble at random, and he was physically weak beyond what was normal even for a sedentary teen. It was only when he was calm, focused, and moving with deliberate slowness that he could bring the trembling under control well enough to cast spells, and even then it took far more focus and mental control than was normal.

This wasn't a problem in most of his classes, the extra focus and deliberation meant that while it took longer to cast a spell the first time, he usually cast it to a better standard than his peers. It evened out, on the practical side, and his written work was good enough to ensure him full marks on most assignments. Except in potions, of course. Snape didn't bother him that much in class, likely due to the realization that any disruption to Harry's focus presented a legitimate danger to his classmates, but he was merciless in his grading of Harry’s written submissions.

Defense Against the Dark Arts though, that was the worst. His written work was the best in class, it had to be, since he failed so abysmally at the practical side. Calm deliberation was all well and good for charms and transfiguration, but the simple fact was that if he was attacked by a dark wizard or creature they wouldn't give him the time to carefully control the random movements of his body. The juxtaposition balanced out to him barely passing the class each year.

"-heard he has a deathwish."

Harry gritted his teeth, doing his best to ignore the whispers from two tables down. The school's response to him being entered into the tournament had been horrible. They hadn't ostracized him like in second year, but the pity was almost worse.

"Harry Potter."

Harry felt his stomach drop.

"Harry Potter?"

He heard the shifting of fabric and creaking of benches as people turned to stare at him. The whispers began to multiply, rising in volume far away even as all sound and motion ceased in his immediate vicinity. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione staring at him in undisguised horror while Ron looked shell shocked. He turned to face him, Ron looked back, plain denial the only expression he could muster.

"Harry, come on up."

Ron shook his head slowly, fear coming onto his face as Harry stood. Hermione let out a quiet, strangled sort of whimper as he rose to his feet, one hand reaching towards him. For a moment he stood there, trying to get the shaking under control. Then he clambered over the bench and began making his way up the hall.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking, nor his back. His legs remained loyal though, indifferent to his body's mutiny. They carried him steadily towards the goblet even as the rest of his body trembled beyond his control. The students to his left and right stared at him, some with horror, some with confusion, and some with pity. He reached Dumbledore, and the Headmaster wordlessly gestured him to the door off to the side where the champions had gone.

It hadn't gotten any better after that. No one had cheered for him like the other champions and, when he returned to Gryffindor tower, he had been met with fearful gazes and pitying stares, and the ever-present whispers.

"-Malfoy said-"

"Oh come off it, you know he hates Potter. You can't listen to a word he says."

He hunched down further over the library table, his face contorting into a scowl as he tried to ignore them. Malfoy and his cronies had been among the only one's not to pity him, and for a bizarre moment after he realized that he had been strangely grateful, at least until the ferret had opened his mouth.

"Honestly, Potter, if you wanted to commit suicide there are easier ways."

Harry froze, and the murmur of voices around them dimmed as people stopped to listen.

"I get that you don't want to stain your parents legacy, anymore than you already have, but cheating your way into the tournament just so you can kill yourself in a manner befitting your parents legacy is a bit far."

He smirked at Harry, all smugness and superiority. How Harry longed to hurt him, to hit him right in his arrogant face, to cast a spell on him that would ruin him forever.

"Of course, the simpler methods might not work for you. You might trip on your way up to the astronomy tower, fall down the stairs and break your back. Then you'd be even more of a cripple than you are already."

"Shut it Malfoy, just shut up!" said Ron heatedly. Harry glanced over at him to see he was purple in the face, wand in hand and ready to explode.

"What's the matter, Weasel? Are you upset that you can't add enough meaning to Potter's life to convince him not to snuff it?"

"Why yo-"

Harry walked away, he'd had enough. Ron and Malfoy both froze, on the back foot from the unexpected deviation from the script.

"Ha, so long Potter. I'll be taking bets on how long you last."

While Malfoy was scrambling to get in one last parting shot, Ron was hurrying to catch up with Harry. He didn't slow, didn't stop, didn't do anything but keep walking, trying desperately to control the shaking in his right hand.

The rumor had stuck, and it wasn't long before even the foreign students were staring at him and whispering. He found that he didn't mind it as much with them, it was easier to tune out when he couldn't understand what they were saying.

"-what about the dragon?"

His scowl morphed into a vicious smile. His performance against his dragon was the talk of the tournament even now, seeing as he'd been the only champion to kill one...

"The Hungarian Horntail…"

Bagman stared at him apologetically, and the other champions shifted uncomfortably in place. Fleur Delacour opened her mouth to say something, but it died when Harry looked at her.

"Right. I go last, then?"

"Yes, that's right. Er, excuse me, got to be off. Commentating."

Bagman hurriedly left the tent, and Harry smiled to himself bitterly. Of course he got the Horntail, Hagrid said it was the worst of the lot, after all. He didn't say a word to the other champions, just moved to sit in a corner, focusing on controlling his breath and limbs while he waited. The others shot him a variety of looks, visibly torn between wanting to do something and needing to prepare for their own encounter with a giant, fire breathing lizard. The Beauxbatons champion stood and came near, then faltered and began awkwardly pacing to try and cover it up.

A cannon blast rang through the air, and Cedric darted off to face the task. The crowd roared, louder than the dragon, and soon enough went quiet. A second blast rang out, and Fleur left too. Soon after Krum was called, and then Harry was alone. He stared down at the miniature dragon in his hand, a facade of angry defiance barely holding back his fear. His hand shook, the dragon tipped off it and onto the floor squawking, and Harry closed his eyes. The cannon rang out for a fourth time.

He stood, and then he was standing in front of the arena, the memory of getting there having fled. There were a pair of dragon handlers arguing with professor McGonagall off to the side, one of whom had a shock of red hair. Charlie met his gaze, and Harry turned away. He walked into the enclosure to a silent reception.

He saw the Horntail. Massive, jet black with burning orange eyes, covered in cruel spikes. It saw him. His wand trembled in his hand, and Harry darted behind a boulder right beside the entrance just in time to avoid a jet of flame. Any time he tried to move, the dragon's fire blocked his path. Soon enough he began to tire and he realized that he wouldn't be able to get back behind cover in time if he tried again. The audience was silent, Bagman's booming voice gone quiet and still.

Harry felt frustration and fear well up within him, the feeling so intense as to make him want to cry. His body shuddered, shaking and trembling as the dragon roared behind him. The fear gave way to fury, and in that moment Harry wanted nothing more than for the dragon to be dead. He glanced down at his wand in disgust, little more than a matchstick in his incapable hands. He froze, quivering in excitement as an idea popped into his head. He ran through the steps of the plan, uncaring of the suicidal risk at the end, and determined he could pull it off.

He began gathering lumps of stone and transfiguring them into a rough shaped pole, then shaped them into a smooth rod. He transfigured the stone into wood, and then began pouring his focus and strength into the first spell that professor McGonagall had ever taught him. He strained with the effort, sweat pouring down his face and body shuddering as he put all his focus into maintaining a steady grip on his wand. Slowly, the ten foot wooden stake silvered over into a giant steel needle. He shrunk the needle to half its original size, making the point even smaller and sharper in the process.

By now he was feeling slightly delirious from the effort, his peripheral vision fading away, but he didn't care. He charmed the steel javelin to be featherlight and then levitated it in front of him. The crowd was making sounds again, and Bagman's voice was echoing throughout the enclosure, though Harry didn't register the words. His face was set in determination, and his eyes were feverish and wide. He stepped out from behind the rock and shuffled forward, facing the dragon head on.

People were shouting, there was a rustling sound like people running behind him from the direction of the entrance, and someone that sounded like Hermione was calling his name. Harry didn't care. The dragon stared at him for an instant, then opened its mouth. Time seemed to slow. He could see a red glow building in the back of the dragon's throat, and Harry moved the floating spear to hover in front of him along his line of sight to the dragon's maw. He saw the flames about to come and he didn't care. At that moment, all he wanted was for the dragon to die.

He cast the banishing charm, quicker and with more power than he ever had before, and watched in fascination as he saw the spear sail through the air into the Horntail's mouth. The sound of flesh and bone crunching and tearing penetrated through the haze of his thoughts, and he watched with detachment as the Horntail reared back, its mouth wide open and gagging as it fought to expel the silver horn that was protruding from the back of its neck, obvious amid the black forest of spikes that were its own. It thrashed and cried, its roars reduced to strange snarls and whimpers, wet and muffled. It shook and writhed, fell to the earth, and then it died with a shuddering rattle like a distant hurricane. The crowd was silent as Harry lifted the golden egg high overhead, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

"Harry Potter?"

His head snapped up, and he distantly registered that the whispering had ceased. He looked to see who had said his name and discovered it to be the Beauxbatons champion. She was standing up straight, looking somewhat awkward and uncomfortable.

"May I speak with you?"

He stared at her, thoroughly confused. She fidgeted, and Harry was reminded of his own shaking hand before realizing she didn't have that problem and was waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, go ahead."

She nodded gratefully and slid into the seat across from him, and for a moment he was taken by the simple grace of the movement, envious of it.

"I wanted to speak with you about the tournament."

Harry raised an eyebrow and Fleur soldiered on.

"You are at a disadvantage, both because of your age and because…"

"Because of my disability."

"Eugh, yes, that… In any case, I came, that is… I wanted to help you." The last words had been said in a rush, as if she was trying to get them out as quickly as possible.

He raised the other eyebrow.

"How?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, how will you be able to help me? Can you teach me anything that will not be limited by my condition, anything that will be any more useful than what I already know?"

Fleur was caught off guard, apparently not having thought of that, and she opened her mouth and closed it for several seconds without saying anything. Harry snorted derisively.

"Didn't think so."

He returned to his essay, trying his best to still his hand so that he could try and sign his name at the top once again, when she suddenly burst out and interrupted his concentration.

"Enchanting!"

He glared at her, and she hastened to elaborate.

"At Beauxbatons, we can take enchanting as an elective. I noticed how you dealt with the Horntail, and I thought that it might be of use to you. If you could animate and enchant proxies to do the tasks for you then…"

She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"Then I might survive."

She nodded uncomfortably. Harry nodded with her, a thoughtful expression covering the twitch in his face.

"It is taught at Beauxbatons, and I am one of the best students in the class. I had thought, since it is not taught here, that I could help you with it..."

Harry stared at nothing as she trailed off. He looked down at his hand, putting down the quill and raising it up in front of him. Letting go of his control and watching as the fingers danced in strange rhythms, never ceasing, never repeating, his mind wandering.

Dudley was bored. Uncle Vernon was making him watch the old film Jason and the Argonauts, "As a proper classic for men." His cousin couldn't care less about the old story, and his uncle was more focused on the violence than anything, but Harry, peeking from the kitchen where he was supposed to be scrubbing the floor, was enthralled.

Talos, the automaton of Hephaestus, towered over Jason, the claymation giant moving with a shuddering gait that both suited its mechanical origin and reminded Harry of himself.

"Forged by the crippled god," Harry whispered.

"What was that?" asked Fleur.

He looked up at her, tearing his gaze away from his trembling hand, and smiled. She smiled back tentatively, still uncertain.

"I would be incredibly grateful to you if you could teach me," said Harry, and with more reverence than he had ever spoken to her before, probably more than the offer alone warranted. But she didn't, couldn't, know just what she was offering him, the new road she just opened to him, a path he could have never walked on his own. She smiled beatifically, and Harry's spirit lifted, a stray thought resounding in his head; that if he was to be like Hephaestus, then surely his instructor in enchantment was like Aphrodite in turn.

“There are seventeen reasons why Harry loves Fleur,” said Fleur, slowly, in French. The two were sitting together on their bed.

“There are seventeen reasons why Harry loves Fleur,” repeated Harry.

She nodded, but noticed his eyes occasionally fall to the cleavage peaking through her top.

“None of them have to do with her boobs,” she added.

“Only one of them has to do with her boobs,” he responded.

Her eyes narrowed into a glare, but she couldn’t stop the small smile from escaping her lips. She leaned towards him a little further.

“Your French is improving,” she said in accented English, her voice laced with bemused sarcasm. “You have achieved the conversational aptitude of a hormonal teenager.”

“I consider that a significant improvement over last time, where my aptitude was that of a soggy sea sponge,” he said, his playful green eyes meeting hers.

She adjusted her hair, letting it fall over the front of her shoulders. “You must have a very good and exceptionally beautiful teacher.”

“She is both of those things,” he said, eyes darkening slightly. “So, what is my grade Professor Delacour?”

Fleur tapped her finger against her lips, shifting her body in such a way as to further enhance his view. “Acceptable. You have a good command of the vocabulary, but your accent still tramples over my language like a drunken Quidditch fan.”

“So what you’re saying,” he said, crawling towards her with a smile that melted her core, “is that I need to practice my…lingual dexterity.”

Her breath hitched as she allowed herself to fall back on the bed. Her skin tingled as his fingers ran along the smooth skin of her stomach before pulling her skirt down over the curves of her hips. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the pillow as he left a trail of kisses down below her waist.

Harry was already quite proficient in this area, but a little revision never hurt.

Fleur sat by the window, in the breakfast nook, it was her favorite place to be now she was off work. The winter scene outside was monochrome, blanketed in white, and the upholstery on the bench was gray.

White and gray. Bland. Like her life.

She did not know how long she sat there, wallowing, lamenting the passage of time even as she wasted it. The pit that had consumed her rolled and belched her back out with the click of the front door.

"Fleur?" Harry stuck his head in, still garbed in Auror red, and his face softened as his eyes befell her. She tried to pull her gaze off the window, but she couldn't, she tried to greet him, but the oppressive weight of her mood hung in the room and smothered her words. She just sighed.

"Okay, what's wrong?"

He crossed to her, and she resisted his efforts to pull her up. She did not relent, did not go quietly into his embrace, but she had no fight left in her.

"There's no purpose left-" She murmured weakly as he carried her down the hall, her pregnant swollen form no trouble at all to him.

"I know love," he murmured patiently.

"I seek the solace of a dark room my love," he chuckled as he moved through the threshold of one such room. "Thank you, now leave me to perish."

He kissed her forehead as she settled into the blankets.

"Have a good nap my love." He closed the door behind him, shaking his head at his wife's antics.

Breakfast Tacos

“Well if it ain’t Luc Bennet. How you been, buddy?” asked Harry, leaning out of the window of the truck to shake the other man’s hand.

“Been good, been good,” said Luc. “How’s the food truck business?” Harry shrugged.

“It keeps me moving, so I’d say alright. Been a while since I’ve been here, so I figured I’d stop by for a bit.” Luc gave him a flat look.

“It’s been years, Harry. You gotta come around more often!” Luc exclaimed with a large amount of mock hurt. “So, what’s on the menu today?” Harry draped the towel he had been wiping his hands on over his shoulder.

“Mostly breakfast. Haven’t had time to get out to the market to buy more stuff. Smoked some brisket overnight though,” said Harry, looking back into the truck. Luc’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, hit me with two brisket and egg tacos,” he said, already grabbing napkins from the small counter below the window. Finally, Harry turned to Fleur, giving her a warm smile.

“Apologies miss, how rude of me. Is this your first time stopping at my humble truck? I don’t remember seeing you the last time I was here. Harry Potter, at your service,” he said with an exaggerated drop of his head.

“Non, you would not ‘ave. It sounds like you ‘ave been away for several years, and I only purchased the land from Mister Dumbledore recently. Fleur Delacour.” Harry raised an eyebrow and rubbed a hand through his stubble.

“So the old man finally sold the farm, huh? About time. Hmmm…” said Harry, squinting his eyes and looking at Fleur as if trying to solve a mystery. She noted the intensity of his gaze, a small amount of heat forming in her cheeks. “You don’t seem like a brisket kind of gal, are you?” Fleur shook her head again.

“Non.”

“If I had to guess, you don’t eat breakfast tacos much,” Harry mused as he began preparing Luc’s tacos. “How about a potato, egg, and sausage taco? The sausage is homemade, by yours truly, and I source the potatoes and eggs locally wherever I go.” Fleur opened her mouth to protest, but Harry cut her off.

“French, right? Worried that the food will be too heavy? Don’t worry, you’re in good hands here. I promise you’ll love it and won’t feel terrible after.” Luc turned to Fleur and nodded.

“C’mon Fleur, time to live a little. We’re lucky it’s early. Harry’s food is so good, I guarantee you in an hour the line’s gonna be as long as a country mile!”

Seeing she wasn’t convinced, Harry went in for the kill. “Trust me, it’s better than British food. What do you say?” He swung his spatula back and forth, a childish smile on his face. Finally, Fleur nodded, her lips turning up into a smirk.

Breakfast Tacos

“Very well. Let’s see what you’ve got, Mr. Potter.” With an excited “YES!” Harry got to work, handing Luc his tacos and starting on Fleur’s. Luc bit into the flour tortilla and a soft moan of delight escaped him.

“Hot damn Harry! Still as good as ever,” he said as he took another bite, causing Harry to chuckle.

“I aim to please, Luc, I aim to please. If you wanna try something really wild, come back later,” Harry said as he leaned out of the truck, holding the fresh taco out for Fleur to grab. “Charlie Weasley is supposed to be bringing me some dragon meat.” Just as she grabbed the taco, Fleur froze at his words, curiosity creeping into her eyes.

“Only a small amount of dragon meat is allowed to be harvested each year, and your food truck gets some?” she asked, raising her eyebrow. Harry shrugged.

“Charlie Weasley works with them and he gets me a small bit every few years. I saw him at the rodeo in Houston a bit ago and he said he’d bring some by. I don’t question it. Now, try the taco, I wanna know what you think!” he said, resting his forearms on the window. Fleur bit into the soft tortilla and her eyes went wide as the flavor hit her mouth instantly. She chewed and a contented look spread across her features.

“Oh. Oh my,” she said, causing Harry to smile wider.

“Another satisfied customer,” he said, giving himself a mock pat on the back. “You want another one?” he offered in a teasing tone. As Fleur finished off the taco and wiped her hands on her faded jeans, a blush spread across her face as she looked away from him. Finally, succumbing to the savory smells emanating from the food truck, she gave a small nod and Harry got to work.

“So, what is it you do on your new land, Ms. Delacour?” asked Harry as he began scrambling another egg. “Old Dumbledore was odd so I can’t imagine you continued his brother's tradition of goat farming.” Fleur shook her head.

“Non, I have not, though there are still places on the property that smell of goats,” she said, a grimace on her face. “We’ve turned it into a unicorn sanctuary…”

Sanctuary

“They are amazing, non?” asked Fleur as they came to the next unicorn stall. Harry had, at Luc’s insistence, taken Fleur up on her offer to show him around the sanctuary, to get an inside look at her small slice of paradise in the state. Even as the summer heat beat down on them like a raging inferno, Harry had to admit that he was amazed. He’d seen magic before, of all kinds, but there was something special about this place.

“Amazing isn’t strong enough of a word,” he said as they entered the stall. “They’re breathtaking animals, even if they’re a bit different than most.” Fleur laughed, a sound that caused Harry to smile.

“Unicorns are very misunderstood creatures, that’s for sure,” she said, a brief flash of something passed across her features before she wiped it away, “Most think all unicorns are the same, but they’re not. They come in all different shapes, sizes, colors, and temperaments. This one ‘ere is Calli,” she said, gesturing to the large, dark colored unicorn before them. Harry’s mouth dropped at it’s beauty, the patterns running across it like a calico cat.

“She’s beautiful.” Fleur huffed.

“Only Luc deals with her,” she said, a look of indignation in her eyes.

“Why’s that?” asked Harry.

“Ol’ Calli here is particular,” said Luc as he rounded the corner and entered the stall, picking up a brush and approaching the beast. Running the brush across it’s fur, the unicorn made a noise that Harry thought sounded suspiciously like a purr. “Her and I took a likin’ to each other and she ain’t warmed up much to anyone else.”

“Just like the rest of the ‘erd,” muttered Fleur. Luc shook his head.

“Don’t be like that Fleur. You know how they can be. Unicorn’s take time to warm up to people, that’s all. You’ll see, give it a bit and all of em will forget about nasty ol’ Luc and be head over heels for Ms. Fleur,” the ranch hand said, patting Calli on the head as he continued to brush her.

“This one,” said Fleur, leading Harry to the other end of the stall, “Is the oldest and largest of our unicorns. ‘er name is Bonnie, and she doesn’t like people, so you might want to stand back a bit.” Harry stopped several feet from the massive creature, awed by it’s large stature and pure white fur. He saw the faint line of a large scar running down it’s entire left side and frowned. Who would do such a thing to such a beautiful creature?

Bonnie looked at Harry and gave a snort before taking several steps towards him.

“Remain still, Mr. Potter,” instructed Fleur. “She’s just testing you to ensure you’re not a threat.”

Bonnie lowered her head and began sniffing Harry’s face as if searching for something. Deceit? Ill intent? He didn’t know, but he knew he was uncomfortable.

“Give ‘er a moment and she’ll go ba…” started Fleur before trailing off as Bonnie began rubbing her face against Harry’s cheek. Slowly, Harry raised his hand and began stroking the unicorn's long face, eliciting an approving noise from the animal. On the other side of the stall, Luc whistled impressively.

“Looks like Harry’s fixin’ to take my job. He’s a natural!”

Harry looked over at Fleur and saw that she was uncomfortable, her eyes filled with irritation and…jealousy? Patting Bonnie one last time, he took a couple steps back. These animals were wonderful, and over the last few hours he’d gotten to see how much both Fleur and Luc cared for each and every one of them. Whether they were scarred like Bonnie or saved from hunters like Clyde, these animals had needed safety, and this little piece of land probably felt bigger than Dallas to all of them.

“This is a sanctuary, not a farm, right?” he asked, getting a nod from Fleur as they made their way out of the stall. “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you keep the place open?” Fleur tugged at her braided silver blonde hair as she wiped her free hand on her jeans.

“Tours and donations, mostly. Luc and I are the only ones who care for the animals full time, but we do ‘ave volunteers from the community who ‘elp out.”

“Got a group of kids that come round on the weekend to help clean the place up,” said Luc. “I give 'em rides on the ‘corns as payment.”

“Some of the locals make donations, and we’ve got a MACUSA grant that gives us a monthly stipend for what we do,” explained Fleur. “My sister visits as well, and she’s done some work to ‘elp us automate a lot of things.” Luc, Harry noticed, blushed furiously at the mention of Fleur’s sister. Must be a story there.

Looking out over the open fields, Betsy, the smallest and youngest unicorn trotting around in the distance, Harry felt something he hadn’t felt in, well, perhaps ever. He felt content. This place, with its wide, open fields and tranquil atmosphere, felt welcoming and refreshing. Like a cool drink of sweet tea on a summer day in Houston. He had been content to wander most of his life, never truly feeling fit to remain stationary, but perhaps he should try sticking in one place for a while?

Turning to Fleur, Harry smirked.

“Ms. Delacour, I’ve got a business proposition for you. It all starts with a food truck…”

Health Inspector

Luc dropped two slices of bacon onto each plate and divided half the eggs onto each just as two slices of wheat bread popped out of the toaster. Grabbing them, he took both plates to the table, placing one in front of Fleur, before sitting down opposite her. Flicking his wand, a jar of strawberry jam floated from within the kitchen and settled onto the table.

“Bone apple tea, Ms. Fleur,” he said with a cocky grin, spreading some jam onto his slice of toast.

“Honestly Luc, you don’t have to cook. I could have taken care of breakfast,” she said, though he waved his hand dismissively.

“Nah, it’s fine. Figured I could do with a bit more helpin’ you out, seeing as how you’re always the one gettin’ up whenever one of the ‘corns has a problem,” he said as he took a bite of his eggs. They sat in companionable silence, each eating their breakfast before Fleur spoke.

“So, how are things with Gabby?” she asked, causing Luc to choke on his bacon, his hand slapping his chest a few times as he reached for his glass of orange juice. Fleur laughed. “I’m going to take that as they’re going well.” Swallowing with great difficulty, Luc shot her a dirty look.

“So, how are things going with Harry?” he teased just as she bit into her eggs, though he was rewarded with a simple raised eyebrow. As she finished chewing, a slight frown formed on her face.

“It’s been a few months since I agreed to let him park his truck out front, and we’ve spent a lot of time together, but I’m not sure if he’s interested in me or…” before she could finish speaking the front door burst open and Harry came running into the kitchen, skidding to a stop, what appeared to be high-quality meat wrapped in his hands. Eyes wide, Harry looked directly at Luc.

“Luc, you gotta help me,” he said, striding quickly to the table, a look of panic in his eyes.

“What’s going on man? You lookin’ like you’ve seen the devil,” said Luc, wiping his mouth.

“Worse,” said Harry, craning his neck to look back out the front door. His truck, Fleur noticed, was closer to the house than normal. Luc raised an eyebrow.

“What’s worse than the devil?” Harry looked back.

“The health inspector,” he said, with such conviction that Luc and Fleur realized he was quite worried. Luc looked confused.

“What’s the big deal? You keep the truck spotless.” Harry shook his head and began pacing.

“That’s not the problem,” he started, tossing the meat between his hands as he paced. “You remember that dragon meat I got from Charlie Weasley?” Luc nodded and smiled.

“Yeah, I remember. That stuff was finger lickin’ good. And that sauce. Oh boy. I damn near died and went to heaven. Too bad you ran out.” Harry moved towards them and dropped the meat onto the table.

“I need to hide the rest of it, but he’s gonna be here any minute.” Luc frowned.

“Now hol’ on there. You said you ran out,” he said. “Where’d you get more?”

“I didn’t get more. I just…had leftovers,” Harry said.

“Then why’d you say you ran out?” asked Luc.

“I was saving it.” Luc raised his eyebrow again.

“Saving it? For what? You told your buddy Luc you ran out.” Harry paced again, shaking his head in frustration before abruptly stopping.

“IwasgonnaskFleurifshewouldletmecookdinnerforherandwasgonnausetherestofit.”

Luc and Fleur shared a confused glance before Luc looked back up at Harry.

“...wut?”

Harry sighed and looked up at the ceiling before nodding to himself and looking back at Luc. Determination in his eyes.

“I was gonna ask Fleur if she would let me cook dinner for her and was gonna use the rest of it, alright?” he said, blushing furiously. Luc nodded, his demeanor instantly changing to one of understanding.

“What do you need?” Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“Stall him. Charlie says he’ll be here any minute. I need to find a place to stash this.” Luc nodded again.

“I know this fella?” he asked. Harry shrugged.

“Don’t know. His name’s Bill Weasley.” Luc narrowed his eyes.

“That son of a bitch? Don’t you worry Harry, imma take care of this,” he said, standing up and heading out the front door determined to hold the line. When the screen door slammed shut, Harry finally looked at Fleur, his blush deepening.

“Good morning Fleur,” he said, “Can I hide some dragon meat in your house and then maybe cook some dinner for you next week?” Fleur gave a small, lighthearted laugh and nodded her head before standing up and giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“Sure ‘Arry, that sounds lovely,” she said fondly. “I know just the place to hide this.”

Having sufficiently hidden the “contraband,” as Harry had called it, they made their way around the side of the house just in time to hear Luc loudly exclaim, “Ya done yet? Ms. Fleur done told ya no five times now, and now you down here pickin’ on regular workin’ folk like Mr. Harry.”

Rounding the corner, they saw Bill Weasley in his slim fit muggle suit and long red hair standing in front of Luc, writing on a form attached to a clipboard, an annoyed scowl on his face.

“Everything in order, Mr. Inspector?” asked Harry, a smile forming on his lips as they reached the truck. “Apologizes for being late, one of the unicorns got loose and Fleur asked me for some assistance.” Bill passed him the clipboard, an unamused expression on his face.

“It’s fine, Mr. Potter. I assume you’ve got all the correct paperwork to operate this dining establishment on these premises?” Harry nodded, signing his name at the bottom of the page and passing the clipboard back.

“Sure do. Signed and filed with MACUSA.” Bill nodded.

“Very well. Your…truck passed inspection, though I vaguely detected something that smelled like dragon meat. Anything to add?” Bill asked. Harry looked confused.

“I don’t think I’d even know what dragon meat looks like, sir.”

“I’m sure. Here’s a list of approved meat products. Be sure you follow it,” Bill said, handing Harry a form. Looking over at Fleur, Bill gave a wide smile.

“Ms. Delacour. Always lovely to see you. Would you care to join me for lunch?” he asked. Fleur gave an apologetic look.

“Sorry, Mr. Weasley, but I’m going to be incredibly busy today. We’ve got to give the unicorns…”

“Enemas,” finished Luc with a serious nod of his head. “They got into some bad hay and they’re all stopped up. Nasty business. Gonna take all day.” Bill visibly bristled, but smiled and nodded his head.

“Very well. If you ever change your mind, just let me know,” he said, and with that he popped away. For a moment, nobody moved or spoke, until finally Luc broke the silence.

“I hate that guy.” Harry nodded, and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

“Me too, buddy, me too,” he said. “Now, you’ve earned unlimited breakfast for a month. Tell me what I can make for you.”

Dinner...Cajun?

Fleur heard the dull knock at the door and quickly made her way to the front of the house, opening it to see Harry holding what seemed to be an entire kitchen’s worth of cooking things.

“Evening, Fleur. May I come in?”

Smiling, she stepped aside, letting him in as he made his way to the kitchen. He had cleaned up, she noticed, having ditched the faded jeans and t-shirt for a pair of nice, dark jeans and a collared shirt. She looked over the spread that was now taking over her counter.

“So, what’s on the menu?” she asked. He smiled, as he tossed the small towel over his shoulder, a practiced motion she was sure he no longer even noticed.

“A family recipe. My momma used to make it when I was a kid. You’re about to experience rice pot jambalaya,” he said as he began cutting up the chicken. “With a bit of a magical twist, of course.”

“Naturally,” she said. “So, what’s the story here?”

“When I was a kid, I was real picky,” Harry said as he began placing the diced chicken into the pan. Washing his hands and wiping them on the towel, he poured two cups of rice into a bowl and began to wash it before draining and dumping the clean rice into the cooker. “She had to come up with all sorts of dishes I would eat. This is her version of a jambalaya that even I would eat as a kid.”

Looking up, he smiled.

“Though, she didn’t have dragon meat,” he added with a wink.

Unwrapping the dragon meat he began to form it into sausage shape. Satisfied, he began slicing it into thin pieces, mixing them with the chicken.

“I like to cook without much magic, especially things she taught me. There’s something about a meal made with your own hands that you just can’t beat.”

“You’ve never talk much about your family,” Fleur said as she hopped up onto the counter gracefully, settling into a seated position next to him. Harry shrugged.

“Not much to tell, really. Mom was from south Lou'sians. Dad was from some no name town here in Texas. Not even sure how they met, honestly. They died when I was young, and I got shipped off to jolly ol’ London to live with my aunt,” he said, the terrible British accent causing Fleur to laugh. He cut the heat on the stove to low and stirred the chicken and sausage a bit.

“The day I came of age I took everything I owned, bought an international portkey, and popped back over here.”

Harry looked out of the window above the counter as he briefly got lost in the memories.

“Traveled all over the country for several years, mostly working in muggle kitchens. My mom, she…she used to love cooking. Tried to get me to help out whenever she could. “Cooking is the best way to express ourselves, to show those we care about how much they mean to us,” she used to say. I guess I kinda took that to heart, ya know?”

“And then you bought a food truck and became a Texas sensation, non?” she teased.

Harry laughed, shaking his head.

“Not at first. Had to get some forms done through MACUSA, and that was hell. They didn’t understand the concept of a magical food truck. A place in the magical world that served food and moved? Unheard of to them, ya see. Once it was done though? Man, it was freedom, like coming up for air after being underwater for a long time. Traveled all around Texas, popping into random towns for a day or two, sometimes three or four if I wanted to learn something from the locals.”

He took the chicken and sausage off the heat and added it to the rice.

He added tomato paste, beef broth, melted butter, and water, stirring up the mixture. With a small nod of satisfaction he placed the lid back on the cooker and turned it on.

“‘Tea Time and a Taco Truck’ became what I was known for after a while, though I kept changing the name all the time. People just kind of stuck with that one,” he explained as he began washing his hands.

“Sounds like you enjoy the open roads, but you’ve stayed here for several months now. Why?” she asked, her heartbeat speeding up as her breath hitched in her throat awaiting the answer. Harry looked out the window, and from his profile she could see his eyes soften at whatever he was thinking about.

“I found that maybe I didn’t need to keep moving to find my slice of normal. Maybe staying in one place for a while was what I needed,” he said without looking at her.

As he finished wiping his hands, he turned to her, a smile on his face.

“Now, I believe you said you would take care of the dessert. Care to share the surprise?” he asked, and the smallest hint of a blush formed on her cheeks, matching the pale red sundress she wore.

Quickly, she reached for the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, her lips meeting his, momentarily stunning him before he kissed her back. As they broke away, a smile tugged at her lips.

“How was that for sweet?”

Ice Queen

The brutal Texas sun beat down on Fleur as she ran water on Callie to cool off the mare. It had gotten unbearably hot in the last week, even for the summer in Texas, with record highs being hit every day. Harry had helped her do some charms work around the house to keep things cooler, a fact both her and her visiting sister were eternally grateful for. Though Fleur was now regretting giving Luc the day off to spend with Gabby. She could really use a hand.

Finally finished cooling off the last of the unicorns, Fleur picked up all of her equipment and stored it back in the barn, making her way around towards the front of the property. They’d closed the sanctuary for tours today, but Harry was still open, so she figured she might as well spend some time with him and get some lunch.

As she rounded the corner, she halted immediately. There, sitting in front of his truck under a large umbrella, was Harry, lounging in a foldable chair. The truck was completely closed, with a large “Closed for Lunch Today - Sorry, come back tomorrow” hanging on it. She walked towards him and stopped as she reached the umbrella. Looking up, Harry smiled and reached behind him, producing another chair. With a swift motion he unfolded it and plopped it down next to him.

“Take a seat. I made some sweet tea,” he said. “Though I’ve been told I make a mean Arnold Palmer, if you’d like something different.”

Sitting down, she took the offered glass and sipped it. As the cool drink hit her lips she sighed with content. That was refreshing.

“Why’s the truck closed?” she asked.

“Ran out of ice,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, fingers interlocked behind his head. Fleur frowned.

“Excusez-moi?”

Harry opened one eye.

“I ran out of ice so I had to close the truck. Used the last of it to make this tea.”

“‘Arry, you are a wizard. Why don’t you just make more?” Harry sat up, a serious look on his face.

“I am offended.”

Fleur rolled her eyes.

“What’s the big deal? Just make more ice?”

"Anyone who knows anything about running a good establishment knows muggle ice is better." Fleur laughed at the absurdity of his statement, but stopped when she saw he wasn't smiling.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "As a heart attack."

She took another sip of her tea before placing it in the cup holder.

"Explain."

Harry shrugged.

"It's just something about magic that makes the ice…different. It’s hard to explain. Making ice the muggle way is just better. When I get more ice I'll demonstrate,” Harry said, leaning back in his seat once more.

"So, when will you get more?"

"When it arrives."

Fleur raised an eyebrow. "You purchased ice and are having it delivered?"

He nodded. “Yep," he said, popping the "p" at the end.

"From who?" Fleur said, a mixture of amusement and wonder at the whole thing.

"The Ice Queen."

"And who is th…" Fleur started when a large refrigerated truck turned onto the path leading towards them. As it got closer, she could see, in big red letters on the side "THE ICE QUEEN" with a rather detailed drawing of a woman holding a bag of ice over her shoulder next to it. Reaching them, the truck turned around so it was facing the road before its engine died. A blonde haired woman hopped out of the driver's seat and came up to them.

"Ran out again, huh?" she asked, looking at Harry. He nodded before standing up.

"Fleur Delacour, I introduce to you Daphne Greengrass, aka The Ice Queen. Daphne here makes the best ice in Texas." Daphne rolled her eyes before shaking Fleur's hand, a smile on her face.

"What this idiot means is that I'm the only person who can get him ice no matter where he is. And I'm the only witch he knows in the ice business." Fleur laughed, amused at the mock hurt on Harry's face.

"Bags are in the back, Harry."

Giving a salute, Harry turned and opened the back of the truck to retrieve his ice.

"Would you like some tea?" Fleur asked, gesturing to the pitcher next to Harry's chair.

"Sure, I'll take a glass," said Daphne, giving Fleur an appraising look. "So, you’re the one Harry’s taken roots for, huh?"

Harry's head shot up. "Daphne, be nice."

She waved him off.

"Oh calm down. I’m just making sure my little brother’s taste in women has improved with time."

"You're barely older than me and we're not siblings. I would rather sit in Houston traffic all day than be related to you."

Giggling, Daphne took a drink of her tea and turned back towards Fleur.

"Harry doesn’t always make the best decisions," she explained, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Has he told you about the time he lost his truck in Brownsville?”

Fleur shook her head, a smile forming on her face as she leaned in closer. She decided that she liked this Ice Queen that Harry seemed so fond of, and embarrassing stories were always fun. Especially when they involved Harry.

“No, he hasn’t.”

Harry shot Daphne a pitiful look, to which she simply stuck her tongue out.

“I would like to point out that I didn’t lose the truck,” he corrected, “It was stolen. By a minor. Who couldn’t see over the steering wheel, but I did not, in fact, lose it.”

Daphne ignored him. “So, there he was, down in Brownsville in the middle of summer…”

Trouble

"Alright, I'm ready for the lunch rush," Harry said to himself as he looked around the truck. Everything was where it needed to be and he had all the ingredients for the day's menu. After much asking, and an unfair amount of adorable pouting, Fleur had convinced him to try a more French lunch as a test.

He didn't see the point, there was nothing better than a 48 hour cooked brisket, but she quickly exploited his weakness to her doe eyes.

He heard a noise behind him and turned, intent on telling the person he wasn't quite open for lunch yet, but froze.

Sitting on the counter, head cocked to the side, was a small black kitten.

He studied the small thing, clearly the runt of its litter, its shaggy fur an indication that the poor animal had been living outside. Its green eyes studied him, no fear in the wide orbs, clearly having been around people before.

He frowned. Seemed it had been dumped in the wild. Deciding to check its bravery, he grabbed his plate, still egg yoke on it, and placed it in front of the cat.

With just two brief sniffs it started lapping up the yoke, no care to its surroundings, making Harry wonder when it had last eaten. Finishing, the cat looked up, licking its chops as he extended a hand to let the cat smell him.

He was rewarded with a furious round of headbutts to his hand. Smiling, he scratched the cat under the chin and immediately its soft motor started.

Cats loved scritches.

They stayed that way for several moments before the cat looked up at him, pupils going wider.

"Meow"

Harry laughed and nodded. "Fine, you can stay."

The small kitten seemed to give him a nod before making a tight circle and settling in for a nap on the counter.

As the lunch rush started the cat got plenty of head scritches and snoot boops, but it continued its nap, content with its place on Harry's counter. As the crowd died down, Luc approached and looked at the menu.

"What in the world is this travesty?" he asked, never taking his eyes off the menu.

Harry shrugged. "Fleur wanted me to try my hand at something French. It's temporary."

Luc raised an eyebrow.

"Temporary as in gone tomorrow? Or temporary as in you're gonna start saying 'we we' and 'that's not a real bag-ett' like the Frenchies do?"

Finally Luc looked up and his eyes fell to the cat, a small smile playing at his lips.

"New friend?"

Harry nodded.

"New friend. He hasn't left since before lunch. Got no tag, but he looks like he's been living outside. I think someone dumped him."

Luc laughed as he began to walk away.

"Have fun with that."

"What's that mean?" Harry asked, confused.

"You'll find out when Fleur shows up. I'm gonna find some real food."

Harry looked down at the cat, its small form curled into a ball that looked reminiscent of the croissants he'd sold that morning.

"Now what am I gonna call you? Hm? What do you think?"

Quickly, the kitty raised its head and cocked back its ears, looking out towards the barn. Following its gaze he smiled as he saw Fleur approach, her eyes softening as she saw his new furry friend. He tossed a small amount of chicken down onto the counter and the kitty began to eat it.

"Oh my, it's so cute. Who is your new friend?" Fleur asked as she made it to the counter, her arm raising towards the cat. It hissed, tail fluffing up before scrambling up and onto Harry's shoulder, looking down at Fleur with a wary eye.

Fleur's eyes dropped just as her arm and shoulders did.

"You alright there, Fleur?"

She nodded but her face still held a frown.

"Then why the frown?"

She looked at the kitten with a longing eye.

"Cats don't like me," she said, attempting to raise her hand again, only to stop. "Their fluffy bellies and soft fur are adorable, but they don't want me. What is its name?"

He looked at the kitten, its wise eyes looking up at him, a silent chat playing between the new friends. Finally, he nodded and looked back at Fleur.

"Trouble. Its name is Trouble."

Moonlight

Harry looked up at the sky, the stars twinkling above as the crescent moon painted the yard in just a hint of light. He rocked back and forth in the porch swing, a glass of sweet tea in hand, humming a tune he couldn’t quite place. He was pretty sure he’d picked it up from Fleur.

He glanced back as the screen door opened, the tall blonde strolling through, a smile on her face. She sat down next to him and hugged his arm, reaching for his glass.

“Ah ah,” he chided, moving the glass away, a smile on his face as he looked down at her. “Last I checked this was my glass.”

“Oui, but I poured it for you. Now give me some,” she said, poking him in the ribs as he complied. She took a long sip of the drink and he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as a smile spread across his face.

“What’s got you smiling over there?” Fleur asked.

“Nothing much, just taking it all in.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Taking what in?”

Harry gestured out to the wide, expansive yard that spread before them, stalls dotting the landscape that stretched beyond the horizon. The night air was warm, but not uncomfortably so, a gentle breeze making the Texas heat bearable for once.

"You ever imagine what your life would be like if things were different?" he asked.

She tilted her head slightly to the side.

"Different? Like if I was a broom maker or something?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, like what your life would be like if you weren't running the sanctuary."

Fleur shook her head before resting it on his shoulder.

"Non. I've always loved these animals and I couldn't imagine my life turning out any other way. Maman and papa said I was destined to work with unicorns, though I don’t think anyone anticipated here of all places. What about you?"

"I used to imagine," he started before looking down at her, "but I don't think I'd have ended up here if things had gone differently. I don't think I'd have...stopped wandering."

"You know," she said, lifting her head and looking at him, "our agreement is coming to an end."

Harry raised an eyebrow before recognition passed over his face.

"Ah, right. I had forgotten about that. The deal for food truck real estate."

"I was thinking we could make a new arrangement?" she asked, suddenly sounding unsure. He looked at her with a questioning gaze.

"Move in with me," Fleur said softly and he could see the hesitation in her eyes. It was an unfamiliar sight. Fleur Delacour didn't do uncertain. She knew what she wanted and went for it without hesitation.

As she launched into an explanation of the benefits, he simply smiled and cut her off by capturing her lips in a kiss. As they broke apart, she smiled back at him.

"If you can stand me I'd love to move in," he whispered. She bit her lip and something new entered her eyes as she looked at him.

"Perhaps I should show you around?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Fleur, I’ve already seen the place. I eat dinner here at least three times a week. I even know where you hide the good chocolate from Gabby.”

She stood and looked down at him, the glow of the moonlight making her look otherworldly. Fleur was beautiful, but in that moment his breath caught in his throat and he'd been rendered speechless.

“You haven’t seen the bedroom,” she purred.

She was still giggling as she pulled him up and led him, dumbstruck look on his face and all, into the house.

Halloween Hijinks

“Trick or treat!”

The group of kids held out their bags as Fleur dropped a handful of candy into each. Harry passed a slice of pumpkin pie to the man waiting at the counter, watching her give a dramatic story to the kids about the undead horses awaiting them further down the lane. They took off with a quick thank you as Fleur laughed lightly.

Fleur had said there was no choice in the matter, they’d be opening the ranch to any muggle or magical children who wished to stop by. Luc had simply shrugged and said he’d take care of the charms on the unicorns, though Harry hadn’t known what that meant until he’d seen Cinder with no horn and what would appear to the untrained eye to be a painting of its skeleton along her body.

Fleur had explained to every parent that it was simple water-based paint that would wash out that night. It was a very clever bit of magic.

She was in a long gown, her hair having been spelled black, just one strip of her natural silver-blonde hair remaining, falling down to her waist. She’d placed caps on two of her upper teeth, completing the look of a vampire countess. She’d made some suggestive comments the first time he’d seen her and his cheeks flushed at the memory.

He turned around and looked in the small fridge, letting a breath escape as he saw the cookie dough was still there.

“It’s not going away.”

He spun around to see Fleur was standing at the window, a wide smile on her face, fake fangs glistening in the moonlight. Her hair seemed to glow, and he wasn’t sure if it was the color-changing charm or her own magic that was causing it. In a word, she looked stunning.

“I know what I heard,” he replied, folding his arm across his chest as she laughed at him.

“Really, Harry? A ghost? Aren’t you a bit old to believe in scary stories?”

“There were noises coming from the truck the last two nights and when I came out to investigate the fridge was open and the cookie dough was gone,” he shot back, gesturing towards the small fridge. “Explain that!”

Fleur shrugged.

“Did Trouble get into it?”

Harry looked over at the small cat, curled up in its usual spot on the counter, though it had a brown lion mane hat on, much to everyone’s amusement.

“I locked it with magic last night. Unless I’ve made friends with an unregistered animagus then there’s no way a cat could have gotten into it.”

Fleur reached up and pulled on his shirt, forcing him to lean over. She kissed him lightly, patting him on the cheek as she broke away.

“Then I guess we’ll just have to stay up and wait for the ghost to return. How’s that sound?”

Harry nodded and winked at her.

“Yes mistress.”

It was late, hours had passed since the last of the kids and parents had gone. Long since they’ve removed the spells on the unicorns and everything pointing to a quiet night. That’s when they heard the noises in the truck.

“See?” Harry whispered as they crept out of the house and towards the truck. “I told you there was something!”

“It’s probably just a wild animal,” Fleur whispered back, rolling her eyes and they crept closer towards the truck. She jumped slightly as an unusual roar was heard and the truck shook violently. They both stopped, neither wanting to go closer until the usual noise returned.

“It sounds like eating,” she whispered as they made it to the back door of the truck.

“I locked the door and the fridge when I closed up tonight. Something is in my truck and it’s about to be in a world of hurt,” Harry whispered with determination. Fleur patted him on the shoulder.

“Get em tiger.”

Harry glared at her before flicking his wand to unlock the back door of the truck. He placed his hand on the handle and nodded to her. With a wordless count from three he pulled the door open quickly, the light at the top of the interior coming to life as soon as the metal moved. Both of them froze at the sight before them.

There, on the floor of the truck, was Luc sitting in front of the open fridge eating cookie dough with his bare hands.

And he was asleep.

Fleur laughed loudly and a pout formed on Harry’s face as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Of all the things it could have been…

“It’s not that funny,” he ground out, sending a stinging hex at Luc.

“I assure you, it is,” Fleur said as she continued to laugh.

Luc opened his eyes wide and jumped up, startled at the sensation of the hex. He looked down at Harry who was glaring up at him.

“What…What’s going on?” he said groggily.

“You’ve been sleep apparating into my truck and eating my cookie dough. Get the hell out and go take your potions!” Harry said, pulling the taller man from the truck and tossing him towards the house. As Luc stumbled towards the house, still half asleep, Harry sat on the back of the truck and chuckled. Fleur dropped next to him and elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

“Alright,” Harry admitted, “It was pretty funny.”

She interlocked her arm with his as they both looked up at the moon.

“At least it wasn’t a ghost.” She looked up at him with a smile. “Happy Halloween, Harry.”

Harry had never been more grateful for his father's Cloak than now, as he sneaked his way to the Beauxbaton's Carriage, he tried to focus his mind, but knew it was a failed endeavour, it was only the years of practice sneaking after curfew that allowed him to dodge Filch, Snape and even two prefects, well that and the Map. It was exhilirating, Hermione had once said he was an adrenaline junkie and he was starting to agree with her.

He soon reached the castle grounds and saw the round form of the Beauxbaton's Carriage being illuminated by the moonlight and the few windows that were lit up, his heart rate increased, the hand holding his broom started to sweat, but he steeled himself with a deep breath, he had recently faced a Dragon, he could do this.

Approaching, he counted the windows, hoping he got the right one, he mounted his broom and rose softly, still covered with the cloak, he should only be seen if someone was under him, which he doubted would be the case.

He reached the window, barely large enough for him to fly through while laying flat on his Firebolt. The room was dark, and only the moonlight illuminated it's interior, he landed softly, and removed the hood from the cloak, looking around.

"Fleur?"

The lights were suddenly turned on, making him close his eyes, before he heard her voice with fake fear and something else that made him blush.

"Oh, non, a terrible voleur 'as come to steal my virtue!"

He blushed even more, especially when he found her, sitting on her bed, the silky covers being held with one arm while the other was on her cheek, to help with her expression of mock horror.

Harry did his best to resist staring at her too much, her dishevelled hair, wide blue eyes and her almost bare shoulders, with only the straps of her nightgown covering them.

He grinned at her, being pleased by her blush at his stare. He remembered kisses of passion on a broom closet, both still smelling of ash, and said the phase.

"Can't really steal what is freely given."

“Get up.” Harry shot up as if shocked, careful not to hit his head on the bottom of the stairs. The voice that woke him was unfamiliar to him. It wasn’t Petunia and it definitely wasn't Vernon. As Harry slowly moved out of his cupboard, he was only glad that the voice had woken him up before either of his… relatives had gotten up.

“Get up!” The voice sounded urgent this time as Harry’s eyes shot open and he saw his defense professor lunging at him. Even with the warning, he barely managed to get his hands up in time to defend himself.

“Get up!” Everything hurt, couldn’t that voice let him rest just this once? His body hurt all over. Did anyone get the number of that lorry? Oh wait, it was just the tail of a 1,000 year old basilisk smacking him into a stone wall. And the cherry on top would have to be his arm which was steadily growing hotter and hotter. The heat and pain seeming to spread with every beat of his heart. Yup, basilisk venom is a bitch, but he did what the voice said. He had a job to finish after all. He slowly got to his feet, using the sword for leverage, and moved to the journal, dragging the sword behind him. With an all-mighty yell, he stabbed the sword down into the journal, wiping the smug look off of Riddle's face.

“GET UP!” The voice was desperate this time as Harry tried to block it out. He felt cold and he just wanted to try to find warmth in sleep. “Get up!” the voice came again, but it sounded farther away, almost like it was underwater. The cold began to hurt, burn even, and he opened his eyes to the night sky blocked by a horde of dementors. A few periodically branched off and would swoop down to feed on either Sirius or himself. He pushed the dying screams of his mother to the back of his mind as adrenaline, fear, and anger flooded his veins as he stood tall and called out to the sky above “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

“Get up!” Harry’s eyes opened as he heard the voice once again. Above him, he saw the spiked tail of the [4:55 PM] Hungarian Horntail racing towards him. As he rolled out of the way, coming up into a crouch, his eyes shot towards the stands. Because this time the voice was different, it wasn’t in his head, he had actually heard it. As his eyes scanned the stands, he came across stunning blue eyes.

(AN: As I got to the end I started questioning what he actually heard. I actually changed the last sentence from what I origianly wrote so it was more open. It can be taken multiple ways I guess. You got magic subtly guiding him by imitating Fleur’s voice, some weird veela soul bond thing, or Fleur is simply a member of the crowd and is a guardian angel of sorts who is restricted in her involvement. Heck, the ending is open enough that it doesn’t even have to be Fleur. Heresy I contemplated having a different voice tell him to get up everytime; James, Lily, Cedric, Sirius, finally Fleur. At first he is confused by the choice of voices, but as Cedric and Sirius die for him the connection becomes clear and he does everything possible to keep it from happeneing.)

Continued from: The Scarred Outcast

The boy cocked his head in her direction, almost as if he knew she were there. Fleur Isabelle Delacour involuntary gasped as she closed the door.

"It's alright", the boy said, "you can come through."

Fleur slowly made her way towards the boy and she saw that he had a slight build in addition to the mop of messy black hair and those green eyes. He looked at her with amusement before he asked quietly, "I'm a nobody. Are you a nobody, too?"

"My name is Fleur, Fleur Delacour," Fleur quietly said. "What's yours, if I may ask?

The boy smiled, "A lovely name for a flower."

The boy's compliment caused Fleur to blush and made her heart flutter.

"You're the first person who's ever asked my name," the boy said quietly. "I was always called either a 'freak' or the 'outcast'. But my name is," as the boy hesitated, "Harry. Harry James Potter. Would you, would you like to be my friend?" The boy asked with hope in his eyes.

Fleur nodded and Harry responded with one of the most brilliant smiles she had ever seen. From that day, Fleur Isabelle Delacour would make sure that he never thought of himself as a nobody ever again.

Part 2

Yule Ball, 4th Year

As the students and Champions gathered at the entrance of the Great Hall, many were wondering who Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons Champion would bring. Many of the male students, and even a few of the girls, tried to ask the beautiful young witch as their date. Some even going to extravagant proposals; however, they were all soundly rejected.

Professor McGonagall smirked at the gathering of students and led the Champions in first and, then, the rest of the students were allowed in. As the students and Champions sat down, the lights began to dim and music began to play.

As soon as everyone was settled in, the doors opened, and Fleur Delacour slowly walked in and began to sing:

"In sleep he sang to me In dreams he came That voice that calls to me and speaks my name And do I dream again for now I find The Phantom of the Opera is there Inside my mind"

Fleur reached the middle of the dance floor and everyone was surprised when a boy they had all but ridiculed and ignored, followed the beautiful young witch and he, too, sang:

"Sing once again with me Our strange duet My power over you grows stronger yet And though you turn from me to glance behind The Phantom of the Opera is there Inside your mind"

The pair continued to sing and drew in their audience with their haunting vocals and words until Fleur ended the song with a stunning crescendo.

After their song, Harry looked deep into Fleur's eyes and kissed her before he asked her, "Am I a nobody?"

Fleur took Harry's face into her hands placed her forehead to his. "Non, you are not a nobody. You are 'arry James Potter. Zhe man I love whiz all my 'eart." Then, Fleur returned the kiss.

Close Your Eyes

Harry looked into Fleur's eyes and took her around the dance floor whilst he sang:

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation Darkness stirs and wakes imagination Silently the senses abandon the defenses

Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor Grasp it, sense it - tremulous and tender Turn your face away from the garish light of day Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light And listen to the music of the night

Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams Purge all thoughts of the life you knew before Close your eyes let your spirit start to soar And you'll live as you've never lived before"

Harry and Fleur moved with a grace that left many in the Hall wondering how the boy learned to dance like that. Many more wondered how this scarred boy with a mask was able to befriend the most beautiful young woman in the school without anyone noticing. They all wondered what Fleur had seen in the boy and wondered what they had missed.

Some in the audience weren't surprised at all by the boy's talents. They knew that if those who had ridiculed Harry had only looked, they would have seen what they had seen.

As Harry and Fleur made their way back to the center of the dance floor, Harry took Fleur into his arms and slowly dipped her before he ended the song:

"You alone can make my song take flight Help me make the music of the night."

Love Me, That's All I Ask

As Harry and Fleur stared into each other's eyes, they began to sing together, ignoring their audience.

As Harry sang, "No more talk of darkness, Forget these wide-eyed fears; I'm here, nothing can harm you, My words will warm and calm you.

Let me be your freedom, Let daylight dry your tears; I'm here, with you, beside you, To guard you and to guide you."

Fleur followed with, "Say you love me every waking moment, Turn my head with talk of summertime. Say you need me with you now and always; Promise me that all you say is true, That's all I ask of you."

As Fleur's hand touched the side of Harry's face with the mask, a glowing light slowly began to spread from the palm of Fleur's hand and spread across Harry's mask as the magic of love erased the scars born of hatred.

As the glow subsided, Fleur asked Harry softly, "Do you trust me?"

"Always."

Fleur nodded and slowly reached up and removed his mask as the crowd gasped.

"It's awful, isn't it?"

Fleur conjured a mirror and beckoned Harry to look into it. Terrified of what he would see, Harry nevertheless looked into the mirror and was stunned.

"That's -- that's me?" Harry asked with tears in his eyes as he saw the handsome face of a young man with emerald green eyes staring back at him in the mirror.

Fleur nodded and kissed Harry again. "Zhat has always been you."

Tearfully, Harry sang," Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime; Let me lead you from your solitude. Say you need me with you, here beside you, Anywhere you go, let me go too, That's all I ask of you"

And; again Fleur responded in kind, "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime; Say the word and I will follow you.

Share each day with me, Each night, each morning."

And they both sang with joy, "Love me, that's all I ask of you."