Flowerpot

A small girl, no more than a child, picked her way down a street half destroyed. The city was empty, barren, an impossible silence hung over the place. The sky above was sanguine crimson and dominated by an enormous black moon hanging in the air. It seemed to bleed shadows into the atmosphere, they fell from its celestial form and coalesced into figures. Winged women who came to life and took flight toward the desolate streets and buildings below. The little girl smiled up at the moon, safe as long as she could see it, and she hummed a tuneless song to herself as she skipped over a body in the street.

Wait for me.

She thought up at the moon, and she knew he could hear. It was not time for them to meet, not yet, she closed her eyes and squeezed them, summoning the old images she'd seen since birth. They were still there, so she was still on the correct path. She scrambled up a pile of rock that may have once been a part of the bombed out building beside her. She scanned the area, looking for survivors, she felt one.

Two streets over, pain like a yellow haze in the air, and white hot fear. She smiled.

Just a little longer.

She reassured her moon in the sky and she danced down the rubble to go find her prey.

Inspired by This Artwork

It was pandemonium. The ruse had worked…until it didn’t. Instead of stopping, everyone jumped back into action the moment he rose from the dead. Spells were flying in every direction, none paying any attention to the battle taking place between destined foes.

It didn't shock him when none noticed Voldemort was dead.

None except Dolohov.

He dispatched his opponent, sending the diminutive Flitwick into a nearby pile of rubble, and began unleashing a hateful barrage of spells at Harry. Each one oozed with sinister design, each one a color Harry couldn't associate to a spell. Black. Gray. Purple. The lights came fast, all he could do was dodge, but his body was tiring.

A stray spell from an unknown assailant impacted with his right hand and a burning sensation spread quickly as he cried out and dropped his wand. A blasting hex knocked him down.

As Dolohov raised his wand to deliver the killing blow, a terrible shriek ran over the battlefield and he faltered as it sent the same chill through him as it did through Harry. Just as quickly, a bright glow appeared, illuminating the castle courtyard, and Harry covered his face to shield himself from it.

As the light died and he lowered his hand, his mouth dropped open.

Fleur stood before him, but never as he'd seen her before. Her hands were formed into talons and her face had taken on a sharp, avian form. Her hair pulsed with the same warm glow from before, rhythmically, as if dancing to some unheard war drum.

But it was the wings that made his eyes go wide.

They were gold and scaly, not made of feathers as the books had led him to believe they would be. They dwarfed her in size, both stretching far above her and into the sky. Each ended in a point that looked razor sharp, each one sporting an additional smaller hook at the tip. Faint scars marked the otherwise untouched leathery canvas.

His breath was taken away at the hauntingly beautiful sight.

"You will not have him!" she shrieked, and before he could react, Dolohov was cut down, her sharp talon stealing the life from his body.

Everything seemed to stop as Harry caught her eye, just a moment to glance her fury before she moved, faster than anything he'd seen before. She took down three before the rest realized that their end would be upon them. She took down one more before the remaining turned tail and ran.

An eerie calm descended upon the battlefield as Aurors and Order members chased after the remaining Death Eaters and werewolves, leaving just the Hogwarts defenders behind.

As he stood, Fleur had her back to him and he could see she was in pain. Her breathing was uneven and her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her black tunic. Slowly her hands returned, ten perfectly manicured digits replacing the talons that had been present. She tightened the golden fabric belt around her waist and shook her head as her face began to reform into the one he knew, sharp cheeks and pale blue eyes.

The face of an angel.

He approached slowly as she flexed her fingers and he couldn't help but be awed as long gray sleeves slid onto her arms, ending just past her elbows. Her wings were still on display, even as her hair ceased glowing.

"Fleur…" he said, reaching a hand out to touch her shoulder. She violently pulled away, and her wings nearly knocked him over as she turned in his direction.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled, but it wasn't anger that he saw.

She was scared.

He took a step towards her and she recoiled, placing her arms in front of her chest, never looking up.

"Don't look at me!"

He frowned. "What? Why?"

She looked down further, still unable to meet his gaze.

"I'm hideous," she whispered.

He smiled and shook his head. Before she could react he stepped towards her again, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. When she didn't move away he placed the other under her chin, lifting it up so that their eyes finally met.

“And yet I can’t stop staring at your beauty.”

Instantly the tension melted from her frame, her shoulders relaxed and the furrow in her brow shrank before fading completely. She bit her lip, brief uncertainty flashing in her eyes before she spoke.

“Do you trust me?”

He flashed back to their last conversation before he left for the forest, sure he would never return, and he smirked when her own words came forth.

“I trust you more than I trust myself.”

Without another word she wrapped her arms around him and, with two beats of her massive wings, they were off.

It was freedom made real.

A broom made his troubles melt, the thrill of the air cutting off all worries and concerns. It was a pale imitation in comparison to the sensation he felt soaring through the air, wrapped tightly and securely in Fleur’s arms. Never once was he afraid she would drop him, never once did he doubt her absolute mastery of her own abilities or strength. The warmth of her touch spread to him as the air hit his face and he briefly closed his eyes, letting the sensation wrap around him like a comforting blanket.

As they hovered above the Astronomy tower he placed a hand on the dark fabric covering her left thigh, her firm grip keeping him in her arms, unfettered by the noise and chaos of the world. Unburdened by the losses the night had brought, gaining a brief respite from it all.

“I almost lost you,” she said, and he looked at her, their faces inches apart.

“I’m sorry. Never again. I promise.”

As the sun crested above the horizon on a new day she placed her left hand on his chest and captured his lips in a kiss that said more than any words.

The sound of howling reached his ears far before he saw the monster. The daemon that stood before him was born of the nightmares of hapless kids, black fur shrouded in the dark, the yellow, sinister eyes were what Harry used to distinguish its position, before tracing his gaze around every outline in the monster's anatomy.

Another howl revealed venomous, tapered, sharp fangs, baleful yellow eyes promising pain and death.

The distance between them disappeared in a blink, claws charging straight at him, complimenting the projectile of the beast's lunge.

Harry drew his sword.

Blade silent as it left its sheath, he twirled it between fingers, eyes fixed on the abomination before him.

The beast completed its lunge, Harry sidestepped, slapping the paw away with the flat of his blade, there was a reverberating clang indicating the sound of two metals clashed against each other.

That was all the confirmation Harry had been looking for, only the paw bones of a fully grown hybrid were made of steel. He knew only of a way to kill the beast now and he knew he wasn't mistaken, how many times had he mastered the features of the hybrid alongside that of so many dark creatures at Perenelle's behest?

Slashing at the paws or hindlegs will do no good.

He moved aside once more to dodge a swipe, swiftness and fluidity inherent in his gait, the claws of the monster passing over his face at hair's breadth.

The dance had begun.

Fishing into the pockets of his pants to extricate a small paper bag filled with toxic powder, dousing all its content at the face of the monster.

Piercing, heart shuddering screams punctuated the night, acrid stench of poison hovering around the air, the wailing beast at the center of the malevolent atmosphere.

The dance with death.

Harry was already advancing, movement methodical and silent, attention focused on the trashing beast, he gripped his sword tightly, jaw set at the prospect of what must be done.

There would be no compromise, no negotiations, no quarter given.

He raised his sword, body angled sideways in a slight crouch, the sinister stygian blade glinting ominously in the glory of the full moon, the conviction of his actions had been unleashed even before his hands found the hilt of the sword.

The storm in his blood thundered unrestrained, up through his fingers, powering his muscles, fueling the last vestige of resolve to consummate the deadly thought.

A calm had settled in his middle, held firmly there by a terrible avalanche.(edited

In that instant, there was nothing that could deny Harry the monster's blood, for nothing less would stop him. Conviction burned away all reluctance.

His sword traveled its arc.

Nothing else mattered but purpose, and his singular purpose was to bring death raining down on this beast.

His vision tunneled his target, life narrowed down to that singular lethal commitment.

With all his power and might, he swung.

Time froze in that distinctive moment that signified the edge of life, blade whistling ominously as it descended its arc, landing upon that final vestige of the infinitesimal moment.

The blade caught the monster at the centre of the neck, exactly where Harry intended, spattering dark night with poisonous blood. Bone fragments and crimson droplets sprayed up, accompanied by the severed head of the blade's victim.

In that instant of shattering violence, the monster's life was gone. Harry's remorseless conviction shielded him from feeling the pain of any pity.

The severed head gathered speed in its descent, until it hit the ground with a heavy thud, bouncing and tumbling away through the night leaving a trail of gore to trace its crooked route.

Based on a quote

A ghost of a whisper caressed her skin and kissed her hair, a warmth palmed her belly and nudged her temple.

Your prayer received, your plight heard.

The dreams of motherhood, wished.

The horror of solitude, cursed.

The blessing of progeny, may haps.

The sacrifice offered, must.

The words were there like a vivid dream, they echoed around and through her. Her heart pounded to the muted hums of her forbearers. The voice of her grandmother possibly among them, instructing her, advising her, telling her, what to do. What she must do. But the thought alone shook her to the core, the breath in her lungs frozen solid in her panic.

"Anything, I would give. But not him. Without him, all is for naught. Doomed to a half-life, I will be. Ask something else of me, and I will give it."

Her new plea remained unanswered, given the cold disregard. The warmth on her belly left, the sweet caress receded from her skin, and the promises of the whisper abanoned her ears.

A sob escaped her. 'They have determined the price. But it is someone I cannot give away, for I will break myself in two.'

Another sob escaped her before her body grew tired and she curled into herself, until her face touched the cold of the ancient stone beneath her.

She thought she was alone, exiled to her own misery, but a gentle hand touched her by the shoulder and pulled her into a loving hug. Her face felt the roughness of a scratchy beard.

Her moist eyes opened to discover her visitor.

A smile responded to her searching glance. "I gather it didn't work?" He spoke softly, pushing an errant strand of her bright hair from her face before palming her cheek and wiping a lost tear from her reddened skin.

"Non," she confirmed, her eyes averting in shame. "They asked too much."

He lowered his head to hers and skin touched skin. It wasn't a sudden motion. Just an innocent reminder he was there with her.

"Then we'll adopt," he consoled her and rubbed her shoulder lovingly. "There is a child out there praying for a mother. One just like you."

“You’re leaving?” Fleur asked incredulously, her eyes narrowing as she watched her boyfriend scramble to get his auror gear together, “You got back two hours ago!”

Harry sighed, pushing his dark hair back as he tightened the leather harness he wore below his auror robes, his tone dripping with exasperation, “Fleur, I told you. Something came up.”

“So?” She hissed, “Can’t the rest of your squad handle it?”

“Probably,” he conceded, as he turned towards the door of their flat, “But they could need me.”

Fleur strode across the room, blocking his path to the door. She crossed her arms, leaning as she spoke, “Listen here, Harry. You swore to me you were going to take a break! This is our first actual vacation in god knows how long! And you just want to go running back?”

He glared at her, “Fleur, it could turn out to be a dangerous situation. I need to be there!”

“What about me, huh, Harry?” the silvery-blonde demanded, “What about what I need? We haven't had time for us in so long! I need you here Harry!”

“What do you mean?!” Harry asked angrily, “We’re doing fine.”

“No we’re not,” she shouted, eyes wet, “You’re barely ever home! All you do is mission after mission after mission, and I never know when or if you’re coming back, and I hate it! Would it kill you to be selfish sometimes?!”

“What do you want me to do, not go?!” He roared, green eyes wide with anger, “What if something goes wrong?”

“Then the others can handle it!” she shouted as she shoved him, sending him stumbling back, “You don't need to!”

“YES I DO!” he retorted, “PEOPLE COULD GET HURT, FLEUR! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO, LEAVE THEM BE?”

“YES!”

CRACK! [2:02 PM] . The room went silent. Fleur blinked back tears, her trembling hand coming up to clutch at her cheek. The cheek that Harry had just slapped. Harry panted, arm still extended, and she watched the anger drain from his eyes as they widened, a look of horror dawning on his face as realisation hit. “Fleur,” He gasped, his hand dropping to his side, the other hand coming up, reaching for her as tears began to spill down her cheeks. “I… I didn't… I’m so-”

She couldn't help it. She flinched.

Harry froze, hand outstretched, still trembling. His mouth worked silently for a moment, before he turned and fled for the door, barely stopping to grab his shoes as he apparated from the apartment with a heavy crack.

Fleur gasped, collapsing to the floor as her knees gave out, her sobs echoing in the quiet flat.

Harry couldn't help the nervousness that hit him when he left the castle to the grounds, to wait for the other school delegations.

His "guest" easily noticed.

"What bothers you, onwë?" Came the baritone voice in his mind, far softer than what it had once been.

Harry sighed, he should be used by now, after all these years, "Nothing, Cel, just that feeling I had this morning, that something important is going to happen today."

He heard a pleasant humn in his mind, before the voice comforted him "Have faith, young Harry, mayhaps the change will be positive."

His tenant telling him to have faith was incredibly rare, he normally was quite cynical, but Harry decided to just accept it, no reason to worry that much.

He had brought his dagger and bow, just to be safe.

"Well, at least you get to see more of the other magical schools, I am curious."

A snort, "As if you, Harry Laicatir, would ever be anything but."

Harry decided to ignore that and wait, using just a little bit of wandless magic, or curu as his teacher liked to call it, to keep himself warm.

Before he could dwell on his nervousness, a student shouted, pointing at the sky, and Harry turned to look where he was pointing.

Harry focused, and felt his vision improving, being able to see far into the distance, his eyes widened.

"Well now, that's not something you see everyday."

A massive flying carriage approached, being pulled by the large Abraxan horses, a splendid sight to see, it somewhat reminded Harry of the memories his guest had shown him of his people and their "distant cousins" from the sea.

The carriage landed, and the tallest woman Harry had ever seen came out, being greeted warmly by the Headmaster.

"Probably kin to the gamekeeper." Harry nodded, agreeing, but soon his attention was taken by the people coming after the tall woman, Maxime.

He liked the blue color of their uniform, and their hats were...pleasant, but they must have been freezing in this weather, some of them had shawls and scarves covering their faces, leaving only their eyes exposed.

However, he also felt a presence, it was just there, among them, a good presence, thankfully, but he couldn't pinpoint it.

Harry was taller than most in front of him, so he caught the eyes of several of the French students, one among them, had the brightest set of blue eyes he had ever seen, there was...something in them, and Harry felt his guest stir, but they broke contact and the feeling was muted.

The Beauxbatons students entered, and soon, Durmstrang arrived in a ship that sailed underwater, like a submarine, they were far more...martial than he expected.

His oldest friend grumbled about Men and posturing, but Harry chose to ignore him, the "faults" of their distant cousins were a common point of contention.

Dumbledore was courteous with Durmstrang's Headmaster but Harry could easily see the tension there, especially from the other man.

They entered back to the Great Hall, Durmstrang had, to the surprise of no one, sat down with Slytherin, Harry went to his own House table and wasn't that much surprised to find the Beauxbaton's students there.

He wondered if it was an alignment of values or of colors, maybe both.

He sat down in his usual place, Terry exchanged a look with him, and continued trying to speak with the brunette Beauxbatons' student with broken French, however, Harry, instantly felt the same presence close by.

"This, it feels much like our people, ettarendo, maybe another descendant, like you."

Harry felt excited by the prospect, while he had never met others of his 'kind', other than his 'cousin', the idea of meeting more family was always attractive to him.

He looked around, but found nothing, so he began to eat, he had foregone breakfast for some more time at the forge, and thus was famished, so much so, he did not notice a young woman in Beauxbatons' colours get up from the other extreme of the table, and go to him, she was eyeing the Bouillabaisse, before her blue eyes rested on him and widened.

"Excuse moi"

Harry turned to the person, getting ready to speak French, before his eyes connected with the young woman's and both froze.

A sharp, beautiful face looked back at him, slanted blue eyes, and blonde-silver hair, and some connection between them, something that was new but Harry felt had been missing all along.

"Le Suilon" he blurted out, a greeting he had seen and heard only in memories or in his own voice, and he feared she would think he was butchering her language.

Her eyes widening and the small gasp told him that maybe not.

"The old tongue, how do you know it?" she asked, her voice melodious and with an accent that was pleasant to his ears, though it had a similar lilt to his, she sat down on his other side while she spoke, getting closer so they could speak in a hush, he barely noticed Teddy's questioning look, or Lisa's raised eyebrows.

Such a simple question, such a complicated answer.

"Her face reminds of the Lady of Light, but her hair is silver..."Was the only 'help' offered, he must have been enjoying this.

"I...picked it up here and there." He could hear his mentor sighing, but he couldn't exactly tell his situation to a girl he had never met before, could he.

The girl snorted and managed to make it seem graceful, "I see, well, I am Fleur Delacour." (edited)

Harry smiled at her, though it was a somewhat nervous one, "Harry Potter", he expected the customary glance, but, while she was surprised, she kept looking at his eyes, before nodding.

"Le Suilon, Harry." Surprising him, she turned on the bench as if to eat there, and he noticed she had her plate in hand, then, she began putting Bouillabaisse in it, as if everything was normal.

She sampled the dish, shrugged and turned to look at him.

"Now can you tell me how you know and can pronounce the language of my ancestors as if you grew up with it?"

He heard a laugh in his mind, great, that old man loved to put him in these situations.

Harry James Potter sat in front of a huge mirror and found himself staring into it. He saw a variety of different scenes appear and then replaced by another. He saw his parents, he saw what appeared to be Potters from different generations, he saw himself older as a Quidditch captain, as an Auror.

He saw himself with children and he saw a woman. A woman with silver blonde hair and cerulean blue eyes that seemed to beckon to him. She kept on saying something, something that Harry couldn't quite make out yet. After learning that the object he had been staring at was called the Mirror of Erised, Harry finally understood what the woman had been saying.

"I WILL FIND YOU."

Tri-Wizard Tournament

Fleur Isabelle Delacour had been having dreams...dreams of a young man with messy black hair and an amazing pair of emerald green eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. Those eyes seemed to bore into her soul and found her wanting...wanting to know the young man who had been plaguing her dreams.

As the carriage from Beauxbatons neared the famed school of Hogwarts, Fleur began to feel a pull, something that seemed familiar and still so distant. As the carriage finally set down on the grounds of Hogwarts, the pull felt stronger as she left the carriage with her headmistress and her fellow students.

Then...she saw him, the boy, no, the young man from her dreams. She gracefully walked up to him as he stood with his fellow students alongside a tall, gangly red-headed boy and a bushy haired young girl. She looked into those emerald green eyes and pulled him into a searing kiss and she spoke the words that she had been wanting to say for a long time.

"I FOUND YOU."

“Miss Delacour, the Minister will see you now.” the pretty blonde secretary said, looking her up and down, with cold blue-green eyes, normally Fleur would ascribe such a thing to her figure, but she could see the young witch’s gaze was looking for deception and hidden charms.

Interesting.

Fleur thanked her and entered passing through an ante room with some paintings of a castle she recognized as Hogwarts.

The British Ministry of Magic’s office was more a display room than an office, a myriad of magical artifacts were strewn about its many shelves, some older than the English language, others, she noticed with amusement, looked to be someone’s first steps into enchantment.

But Fleur had a goal here, and so she turned to the Minister, who was watching her with interest.

“Miss Delacour, a pleasure to see you again.”

“Minister Dumbledore, thank you for receiving me.” Fleur let some warmth seep into her countenance, remembering simpler times, when the man behind the desk was the kind eccentric old man that came to her grandmother’s parties with-

“Of course, Lady Elena told me you bring a matter of great concern, to our whole community.”

Straight to the point then, as her grandmother had said.

“Yes, Minister, and we need your help to deal with it.” She placed her hand inside her purse and removed a folder, placing it in front of the man, who opened it and began reading, pursing his lips and his raising his eyebrows at some points.

“I see, it is as we feared, then…”

“You knew about this!?” She couldn’t contain her surprise.

Dumbledore smiled ruefully, “Most of it, yes, but these documents bring out more details, I take it, then, that you require the assistance of our chapter of the Wardens?”

Fleur nodded, this was the part she was unsure about.

“Yes, most specifically, we need you, Monsieur, regular Wizards, and Witches are simply no match-” she stopped as he raised his hand.

“I am perfectly aware of the kind of danger we are talking about, Miss Delacour, as you must know, alas, my duties to my country keep me bound, however,” he emphasized so she wouldn’t protest, “I can offer a...more than adequate replacement.

And suddenly another person was beside the desk, a high-level concealment spell being taken down. To hide from her senses, a show of skill, to assuage her, and the person…

Familiar bright green eyes looked at her, warmth, care and some embarrassment were there.

Of course, the old man put him up to it, what was it with old people and theatrics? Even her grandmother wasn’t above it.

But it was Harry, it had been eleven years since they had last seen each other, both children, she, tall and willowy, him with wobbly knees and bright smile, and an uncanny ability to get in trouble(and drag her with him), but he had changed.

He was taller than her now, and cut quite a dashing figure in the Silver Warden’s battle robes, blue and silver suited him, as did the sharp gaze of his eyes, no longer childish and open.

The roguish stubble didn’t help.

Fleur’s eyebrows rose, but she controlled herself, “Harry Potter.”

“Fleur Delacour,” her name came out of his lips with a much better accent than when they were children, often calling her Flower (or Flour), she hoped he had forgotten the nickname he had given her, one of the few French words he could pronounce with some skill at that age.

She got her focus back on the situation, they could reminisce later.

She turned to Dumbledore, who was smiling slightly, oh, she knew that smile…

“Minister, I am sure Harry is a skilled Warden, I have...heard of his exploits” guilt bubbled inside her, but she fought to bring it down, “but in this case, I must…” she bit her lip, realizing why her grandmother had that same smile when sending her here with such an absurd request, First Warden of France Elena was aware that the First Warden of Britain, who happened to be the Minister, wouldn’t leave his post to join her on her mission, instead...

“I can assure you, Warden Delacour, that Warden Potter is more than up to this task, I have trained him personally and he has some experience with the matter.”

“Some imps are not the same as…” But Harry spoke, now done with people speaking of him as if he wasn’t in the room.

“I know perfectly well the kind of Outsiders we are dealing with here, Warden Delacour, I have faced some, “Harry exchanged a glance with his mentor, before continuing, “while in school.”

Fleur’s eyebrows rose at that, they certainly hadn’t been informed of that.

“A full report shall be submitted, but the problem was dealt with, let’s just say some students of Hogwarts...what is the term…’ bit off more than they could chew’. Harry here, thankfully was able to contain the situation until the rest of us could get there, one of the many reasons he is so high in our organization at such a young age.”

Most young men would preen at the praise, but Harry just sighed lightly, and Fleur understood, him, she was perfectly aware of the kind of pressure people like them were under, for some, no matter how talented or skilled, they would always fall short. (edited)

Fleur looked Harry in the eyes, trying to focus on what she wanted to see, and not get lost in the emotions, she smiled lightly, the determination, strength, and care she saw there gave her hope, not only for their mission, but that he didn’t resent her from getting out of contact all those years ago, but still, it brought back all the what-ifs if they hadn’t, perhaps her teenage years wouldn’t have been so lonely then…

She nodded her head, both to accent and to clear her mind.

“Bon, the folder has all the information required, but we need to be in Cairo before the end of the week.”

“It is decided then, the age-old Alliance of our Chapters will be honored, Harry please help Miss Delacour with all that she requires from our installations here. I believe that is all?”

Fleur wondered if every First Warden was like that, or just Dumbledore and her grandmother.

“It is.”

“Good, Harry will escort you to the door.”

Fleur’s eyebrows rose a little, but she nodded as Harry went to her side and opened the door to the ante-room, closing it silently behind them.

“Fleur” there it was again, this voice saying her name.

She turned to look at him, and his eyes asked the same question he had vocalized so often a boy.

Her heart beat faster as she nodded.

She laughed(not giggled!) as he hugged her, marveling how he could engulf her with his body now.

“You’ve grown, ‘Arry” she felt his cheek warm as she said his name like that. (edited)

“You too, Fleur.” She regretted it, then, stopping their letters, they were children yes, and she had her studies and training and thought that she didn’t need something as childish as a friend, but after some time, she regretted it, thinking he must hate her for having abandoned him, she never tried again, never forgetting her first friend, but her life had so much going on, and now it seemed his had some of the same issues.

How she wished to go back to her ten year old self and demand she wrote back, but that wasn’t how things worked, so she sought to reconnect with him now.

“I missed you, mon ami.”

“And I you, so much.” his voice wavered a little, and she had to use a lot of her training to not let her emotions show, she had so much she wanted to tell him, and so much she wanted to ask.

“I am so, so, sorry, ‘Arry.”

“It’s okay, we are here now.”

She nodded and they pulled back from the other, she noticed his eyes were a bit shinier, and she imagine hers were too.

“We could talk more tomorrow, I know a place in Muggle London, if you are up for it.”

She had never seen this roguish smile on him, it suited him, and she found herself nodding, trying to fight down the blush in her face.

“Sure, where do we meet?”

“The Leaky Cauldron, at 11?”

“It’s settled then...it was, very nice seeing again, ‘Arry.”

She turned to leave, seeing his reaction at the way she said her name.

“The same for me, Mon Ange.”

Her eyes, widened, and she left quickly her face flushed.

He did remember.

She missed the soft smile on Harry’s face and the narrowed eyes of the "secretary".

Fleur wakes filled with the grogginess of first light and finds herself cold. Reaching behind her in an attempt to tell Harry to come cuddle her now, she finds nothing to nudge.

Rolling onto her back she speaks out, "Ugh. That man. Always waking at the crack of dawn." Her voice tinged with exasperated affection.

Throwing on her robe she pads out to the kitchen. She stops at the doorway and just watches her love.

Harry awoke abruptly. Looking left and right, he scavenged the room for what could possibly of woken him. When he sees nothing, he relaxes back down in to the warm comfort of the sheets covering him.

"Ow," he whispers. Fleur had just kicked her leg back into his shin!

"I'm awake, luv." But when he looks over, she's fast asleep.

Seeing her hair fanned across their pillow is the best feeling to wake up to. The joy, love, caring, protectiveness he feels is often overwhelming to experience first thing in the morning.

And so, Harry desperately looks for an outlet.

3 pans are strewn about on the counter, teeming with delicious scents and colors. As tempting as the desire is to taste these dishes, the opportunity to just watch Harry is one Fleur rarely receives. Fleur audibly sighs in the way only one in love can do.

Harry looks up surprised. "Fleur! Ah-uhm good morning!"

"Wait a minute. You're not supposed to be up yet." He says disappointedly. And pouts.

He pouts. And Fleur. Can't. Handle. It.

The smile that stretches across her face is radiant. She floats over to Harry as he puts down the knife. She raises her arms around his ahead and kisses him hard.

Harry confused but not at all opposed to this change of events wraps his arms around her hips and kisses her back. It's not a passionate kiss but it conveys a deep appreciation of one another that words sometimes fail to. Fleur's arms relax and she pulls away from Harry's lips only to tuck her head into the comfort of Harry's chest.

He lays his head over hers now a bit worried. "What is it Fleur? Is something wrong?"

"'Arry. I love you so much it hurts."

"Eloise," he called after her, the bright hair waving wildly behind her as she tried to escape his clutches without much of a fuss. She halted, knowing that it was an impossible task to outrun the inevitable. So she turned and met the wizened stare of the man who she called 'father'. No, she called him something else but for her own dignity's sake, she won't give him the satisfaction of telling anyone else about it.

"Yes?" she muttered with a groan, closing her eyes as she could hear and feel the words coming before he spoke them.

"Have a good day at school," he said, a knowing smile forming on his lips. "Be nice to Professor Granger, and don't set fire to the curtains again."

"Je sais," she rasped without much commitment. Who was he to tell her what to do? She was Veela, just like her Maman. Veela were above wizardly matters, what would a mere human wizard know of these things?

"And Eloise," he stopped her again before she turned to leave. She motioned her head back to look expectantly at him. "I love you, munchkin."

No sooner had he said it, she noted the snickers coming from the children entering the school gates around her. She wished she could sink into the earth beneath, or better, fly away and never return. But she couldn't dig like a mole, and neither could she form the wings, at least not yet. 'One day, father, I'll immolate you like Maman did when you splinched her new shoes.'

She barely nodded when she quickly turned to enter the school, but it was for naught.

"Don't you have anything for your dear old Papa," her father asked in faux-disappointment.

She huffed, knowing it had to be done. It was her better nature that won over her. As dignified as Veela were, they had to show charity whenever the need arose. So a reply was almost a mercy. Yes, her father was at her mercy, so she would be the bigger person and reply as her mother would, with kindness.

"Love you too," she offered quickly and dashed away before he could get another word in.

“Hmmmmmmm. Very interesting. You have the courage to face a dragon. Enough loyalty to die for your friends, if you had any.”

“True” Harry could only agree.

The Hat continued, “A hidden thirst for knowledge, and ambition to match. This is your chance away from your relatives and you will not waste it.” There was a short pause as the hat considered the mind of the young child under him. “I must confess I am not sure where to put you. You would adapt wherever you were put. Do you have a preference?”

Harry thought about his answer before thinking it “I wish to be in the same house as my parents, as a way to honor them.”

The hat seemed surprised and slowly replied, “That will be a slight problem for your parents come from two different houses, Gryffindor and Slytherin.”

Harry was, and would be puzzled by this for years to come. As far as he knew, both of his parents were Gryffindors, something Snape never really lets him forget as far as his father is concerned. “Oh, then I guess Gryffindor will work, I like the color red.”

"Better be Gryffindor!"

It wasn’t until years later, while he was strapped to a gravestone, that he finally understood. Voldemort rose from the cauldron stepping out as the shadows moved and robed him. He slowly stalked towards Harry before stopping and looking him in the eye. His eyes slowly worked over the rest of the boy’s face before coming to a stop on his scar. Pettigrew was whimpering in the back. With a negligent wave of his hand a flaming serpent latched onto the end of Pettigrew’s hand, cauterizing the wound.

“I’m glad you could join me again Harry. I was wondering if you had reconsidered my offer to join me.”

“You killed my parents, you bastard! Why would I join you?” Harry spat back, desperately trying to escape his bonds.

“No. I am your father.”

Lord Voldemort was expecting many different reactions from his son, but he was not expecting laughter.

“I’m sorry,” he finally wheezed out “but you just quoted one of the most famous lines from one of the most well known muggle movies.” After finally getting the last few laughs out, he continued, “You must excuse me if I don’t believe you.”

“Understandable, one of the weaker points is appearance. You bear a striking resemblance to me when I was your age, except for your eyes. When we met when you were eleven you were still too young for me to tell. Second, is parseltounge is an ability linked to blood and magic. If my blood did not flow through your veins, if my magic did not help shape your core, you would not speak it.”

Harry pondered this new information. “Why should I join you? I don’t know you.”

“Besides getting you away from Dumbledore? If you join me, I can complete your training. With our combined strength we can take over the government, get rid of the corruption. You can escape or even kill your relatives. Get any girl you desire.” At this Harry automatically thought of a certain french champion.

Riddle looked at his son and, trying to appeal to Harry’s nature, added, “Allow me to be the father I never had the chance to be.”

Harry thought about his experience in the Wizarding world, his friends, where he was currently headed, and came to a decision.

“I’ll join you but I have two requests.”

“Name them.” his tone amused.

“First, I want protection for my friends till I can convince them if possible.”

“Reasonable, I can not expect you to start a new life.”

“Secondly, I want to kill Pettigrew.” With this, his eyes flared red as he stared directly at Pettigrew.

A cruel smile spread on Riddle’s face, “Anything for my son, my heir.”

Fleur Delacour constantly discovered things that would turn out to be important in her life moving forward, be it a fact about herself or her heritage that she never knew, or an external factor that she never would have expected. It turned from happenstance to a regular occurrence in her mind, and she didn’t mind it all that much.

However, on the twenty-fourth of February she found comfort that she never knew she needed. On that day, she had her first Harry-hug.

“When I was a boy, you could toss a match in this river and it would catch fire.”

Powder sat on the dock beside Silco, feet kicking as they looked down into the murky depths. There was still a faint sheen on the crest of ripples, it caught the light and showed green and violet.

“You could die in it, just breathing the fumes it put off.”

She looked up at the man, at his frightening black eye. He returned her look blankly, so unreadable, she sighed and leaned against him. He stiffened, but did not push her away, and she returned to looking out over the dark waters.

“I almost died here, after the Enforcer’s crushed our uprising.”

It hurt.

Powder jumped at the low hiss in her ear, it was Mylo, she squeezed her eyes closed and hunched over slightly, willing the voice to go away.

When you killed me.

An image flashed in the blackness behind her eyelids, a rusted metal pipe stuck in brick, with Mylo’s skinny frame impaled through the chest. It only lasted a second before the ceiling collapsed.

An arm came around her back, a hand rested on her shoulder, and Mylo’s muttering grew quieter.

“What is happening to you Powder?” The name was strange in his voice, usually she was just ‘child’ or ‘girl’ if he was in a bad mood.

“How did you almost die?” She asked instead of answering his question, Mylo was gone now anyway. Her voice was a hoarse croak, and she cleared her throat as she resumed swinging her legs.

“Vander tried to drown me, because he didn’t like the way the battle for the bridge went.”

She turned wide eyes up at him and he was already looking down at her. She was afraid of his eye, but seated next to him the arm around her shoulders was comforting, and she wasn’t afraid of him.

“There’s a lot you don’t know Powder, about the world, about Vander.” She chewed the corner of her lip, she didn’t like when he talked about Vander.

You were never supposed to be there.

She closed her eyes, afraid that Silco’s face would change, become Vander’s and continue reminding her that she killed everyone she cared about.

“I think I died.”

She said it quietly, eyes still closed, and the voices fell silent.

“Everything was so dark, I could see things, way way up above me. You, and Sevika one time, but it was so far away.”

She hadn’t spoken so many words in weeks, Silco just stared at her, but she still had her eyes closed and couldn’t know that.

“My friends were there, only… they weren’t friends any more, they don’t like me now.”

She stopped there, her breathing accelerated, and Silco was uncertain what to do. It was a shockingly unfamiliar feeling, the unsurity. He was decisive to a fault some would say, but he was paralyzed with apprehension in the face of a sad little girl. For a few seconds, seconds that felt like hours, he dithered before tightening his half-embrace ever so slightly.

She took it as some form of invitation to cozy up, returning his hug with one arm around his back and the other his front. It was in some ways exactly what he feared when he initiated contact in the first place, but in more ways it was exactly the point of said contact. He simply sighed and let himself be hugged.

“If you died, then how can you be here?” He asked, trying to get her back on that train of thought, because he was genuinely curious what this little girl could possibly mean by that.

“I wanted to get away from them, Mylo and Clagger and Vander and … so I climbed out. Only… they followed me, and when I made it out of the well, I looked back down and I was still down there, alone.” Her voice broke on the last word, but it was followed up with an immediate fit of giggles, so discordant to her tone of voice that it almost made him laugh.

He didn’t though, not here, not in sight of the spot where he too had climbed to freedom and turned back to gaze upon the death of his former self.

“Who are you then?” He asked, tone low and serious, and it quelled her mirth. She blinked up at him with big blue eyes, confusion plain. “If Powder was too weak to make it out alive, then who are you?”

He watched the question wash over her, and oddly a smile began to grow on her face. It was not deranged, like her random fits of laughter, it was genuine. Odder still, Silco was sure he knew the reason for that smile, sure that this child was like him, and they both knew it.

“Jinx.”

Part 2

Silco leaned back in his chair, letting the motion spin him a quarter turn away from the door. Jinx was seated cross legged on his desk, tightening a screw on a bright pink canister with his letter opener clutched in a small fist.

He was relieved to see it. Relieved enough not to comment on the creases her boots left in the pages beneath her. Ever since their trip down to the river she'd begun tinkering, and he had to assume it was a good sign. Her gadgets never seemed to accomplish much, but it was amusing to watch her conceive of them, and he could usually deduce what they had been intended for by how she deployed them.

There was a short staccato knock at the door. He pivoted back to facing forward and Jinx hopped off the desk, unasked, with a giggle.

"Come," he called and the music from the bar swelled briefly as the door opened.

Sevika, Renni, Singed and Smeech filed in and the door shut behind them. Silco clipped the end off a fresh cigar and puffed it to life as his subordinates shuffled into a silent line before his desk. Jinx had slipped into the corner, he didn't turn to look after her but from the corner of his eye he could make out her figure in the shadows.

"How's production at the river plant?" He opened the meeting after a second pull of smoke. Renni straightened, her gaunt features tightening as almost every pair of eyes in the room flicked to her.

"We have the reagents you asked for, sulphur content has been much higher than projected in the past weeks, our filtration system needs updating-"

"You'll get your sulphur sinks," Silco interrupted in exasperation, he was well aware of the issue, she'd whinged about it at the last meeting too. "Ready the benzene and methyl acetate for transport tonight, Sevika, get a security detail together for it."

He turned to the doctor. "Three days?" He clarified and the scarred man nodded.

"I can begin distillation as soon as we finish here, I'll need the acetate no later than the fourth hour…" He droned on, placating and promising in equal measure as he laid out his schedule for Shimmer production.

Silco dragged on his cigar, letting Singed's words wash on deaf shores. Jinx was slinking along the back wall, two cylinders in hand. Everyone was pretending to listen to the doctor, himself included, but no one else was facing the right way to see the trap being laid.

"... forty gallons by the end of the week-"

"Alright," he interjected, cutting the scientist off. "Sevika, give me a report after you move the chemicals. Singed I want to see the first batch when it is done, that is all."

He would be lying if he said he wasn't eager to end the meeting. Jinx had positioned a canister at either side of the door, a bright red tendril of yarn connecting them. The trickster in question was now to the right of the room, humming to herself as she scratched crude stick figures onto the wall with blue chalk.

Renni tripped the wire.

It was not exactly an explosion, more an aggressive pop! Renni and Sevika stumbled back though, flailing wildly as paint splashed across their bodies. Their entire front sides were splattered, pink and blue respectively.

Jinx roared with laughter, she fell to the floor where she stood and clutched her sides in her glee. Sevika took an angry step toward the girl and Silco sat forward in his chair. Everyone in the room stilled, save the child, and the rest watched him apprehensively.

. The smoke from his neglected cigar drifted up between them, lit by the windows, it undulated in the air. The corner of his mouth twitched up in a smirk.

"Do be more careful next time," he advised, dismissing them and their grievances.

Renni went quickly. Sevika glanced at Jinx, who's laughter was dying enough that she could begin sitting up, and then turned and stalked out. The rest followed without issue and then it was just the two of them again.

"D'ya see that?" She asked, unable to contain her smile. "It worked!"

He gave a solitary chuckle, his lingering smirk shifted a hair toward a real smile.

"Yes I did, well done Jinx."

She giggled in self-satisfaction as she pushed up to her feet. He pulled on his Cigar again as she skipped over to return to her perch atop his desk, knocking a pen to the floor in the process.

"Next time I'm gonna put nails in it!"

Fleur hid behind her mothers legs, clutching her pants in tiny fists, afraid to look up at the other woman.

“Welcome child,” a raspy voice said. Appoline stepped forward and Fleur followed with a squeak, too afraid to lose her hiding spot.

“Grandmother,” her mother greeted softly, reverently, and Fleur could not understand why.

She regretted ever telling her mother about the dreams. Regretted ever telling anyone. Things had only gotten worse over the summer, everyone treated her differently, and the dreams hadn’t stopped anyway.

“Fleur honey,” her mother pulled her from her anxious thoughts with a soft voice and gentle hand on her head.

She squeezed her eyes shut, buried her face more fully into her mother’s leg, and shook her head. Appoline sighed, and then Fleur felt herself being lifted off her feet. The sudden action, and the inability to resist it, finally freed the tears she’d been holding back valiantly.

She managed to contain the breaking of the dam to a few stifled sobs as she was plopped down on a cushion. She cracked her eyes open, silent tears leaking out, to peer through her fingers under the guise of wiping her face.

The woman across from her was scary.

She had creased reddish-brown skin, and familiar bright silver hair, but she was wrinkled with age and stooped over the table. She had feathers in her hair, poking out from the strands at odd places, and her fingers were capped in curved talons.

Fleur shrank back as one of those clawed hands reached toward her, but it was not aimed at her. The ancient Veela woman hovered over a ball of cloudy crystal in the center of the table and spoke in her raspy voice: “Look, little chick, and tell me what you see.”

She didn’t want to, but her mother was standing behind her and she felt soft fingers tease and brush at her hair. It comforted her enough to pull her eyes up from the tablecloth and look at the crystal ball. At first nothing happened, but the longer she stared the more it seemed as if the woman’s hand above the device was stirring the misty fog inside. Seconds or minutes passed, Fleur could not say, before the contents shifted.

A hole opened, like the eye of a storm, and widened until the ball was perfectly clear.

Inside was Fleur’s mother. She walked toward Fleur, but without surroundings in the image it was hard to tell if she were getting any closer. The longer she looked the less certain she was that it was her mother she was seeing. The woman was Veela to be sure, and very similar in appearance to her mother or older cousins, but not quite the same.

Fleur did not know how long she watched the figure walk through an empty landscape within the orb, but she jumped when her captivation was interrupted.

“What do you see, little chick?” the old Veela asked.

“Nothing,” Fleur lied, unsure why, but afraid to admit to anything abnormal.

“Hmm,” the crone hummed, “Appoline, leave us.”

“No!” Fleur wanted to run, she wanted to leave or beg her mother not to, but she was silenced by a hand smoothing out her hair.

“It’s okay baby,” she twisted on her cushion to send a pleading look to her mother but Appoline just smiled and brushed a hand along her cheek.

Then she was gone.

Fleur watched her retreat until the door clicked shut behind her and turned back with a whole new well of fear inside her. The older woman was up from her cushion, and the ball was once again opaque and inert. The fortune teller returned from a chest of drawers with a small leather pouch in her hand and struggled back into a seated position across from her. . “There is no need to be afraid,” she said, and if Fleur wasn’t so afraid the words might’ve even been kind. “The Sight is nothing to fear, it is a gift.”

She dumped the contents of the bag into her hand and Fleur saw a pile of small white bones, etched with symbols she had never seen before.

“Both hands now, like this,” she demonstrated, and Fleur cupped her hands and held them out reluctantly. The bones were placed there gently, barely contained in her small palms, and she closed her fingers over them as instructed. “Good, now throw them.”

Fleur did so, without much vigor, and they landed on the table in a jumble. The withered old vulture leaned forward with a sigh and studied the pile intently for several long minutes.

Fleur became aware that something was wrong almost immediately. The woman’s tufty white brows pinched together, she made small noises of contemplation, surprise, and confusion, but still she did not speak. The longer it took, the more Fleur sank into herself, and she was terrified again by the time the woman stood.

She said nothing to Fleur, just retrieved a cane from its spot leaning against the table, and tottered over to the door Fleur’s mother had exited.

“What is it madam?” Her mother’s voice calmed her, if only a bit, and she pivoted to send her a look that begged to be taken home.

“Curious,” was the Veela’s only response.

The two women joined her and the bones were recollected by their owner. Old hands shook them once with a rattle and dropped them on the table, where they fell into a similar pile.

“The runes and their placement tell a story,” she said, “it takes much study to learn the language of fate, but the process is simple enough, now you child.”

Fleur looked to her mother, wanting to be relieved of the responsibility, but Appoline simply smiled at her and nodded. Reluctantly she picked up the bones again, scooping them together and collecting them in her hands with some difficulty.

She cast them down onto the table, and her mother gasped. Fleur flinched, hating every second of it. “What does it mean?”

Fleur looked down at the bones as well, something she’d been avoiding, and after a moment she saw what it was that the adults were shocked by.

The bones had collected into two piles, connected by a single bone resting under the others. The more she stared the more she thought that was certainly too many bones. The two piles on the table each seemed to be about the size of the bones she’d cupped in her hands, there was no way she could hold so many in her hands.

The fortune teller scooped them up, and the dual pile almost exceeded the capacity of her own taloned hands. She shook them once again and dropped them, and the pile that resulted was back to the original size, surely half as many as had been picked up.

"I don't know..."

Without a second thought your eyes flick to her date—he’s handsome, tall, his dress robes are likely better than yours too. If you flattered yourself, you’d say in a few years you’d be just as handsome, just as tall and well-dressed. But you aren’t at the moment though and the spike of self-consciousness makes you arch your back, trying to seem bigger than you are.

“I’m sorry about him,” you apologise. “You deserve better.”

“Thank you,” her lips turn into the barest of smiles. “I am a champion, and I should think fondly of this night for years yet to come. I don’t think I will.”

It’s the first time you’ve seen anything but her being cocksure, you find this side is endearing, you just wish it wasn’t for these reasons.

“Would you like another?”

Now, it’s her turn to blink, she offers a moment of confusion before she draws you an inch closer to her body.

“I’d like that.”

You dance with her still. Because she said things you didn’t know, felt things you can’t feel.

And she looks lonely, quickly you decide that no one deserves to be lonely, not in this world, even if it earns you the ire of your date. She deserves those happy memories.

Somewhere, along the way, you realised being with her banished the crowd from your mind and when you separate, you smile thankfully at her, she looks confused, but smiles back.

The situation in Britain was growing ever darker. Despite Dumbledore’s and the Order’s best efforts, Voldemort was gaining ever more power. His ranks swelled and his key followers demonstrated powers never seen before, obviously being taught by their dark master. Harry and his friends, aside from studying, were doing their best to prepare for the coming tide of Darkness.

Among said friends was also the enigmatic Fleur Delacour. Ever since the harrowing Tri-Wizard Tournament they have been friends. Tentative at first, their friendship quickly blossomed. Many in the castle cast envious glances at Harry and Fleur, asked him how he snatched the beautiful part-veela. And then they looked unbelievingly at him when told that there was only friendship between them. It was true that sometimes, there was a shade of longing in her gaze, an odd tone in her voice.

However, despite spending much time either together or communicating through mail, despite getting to know each other well, they remained as “just” friends. And Harry valued her steadfast friendship, especially when she returned to Britain the next year to join the Order of the Phoenix.

His friend worried him the last few days, seemingly nervous, casting furtive glances all around. And when he caught up tor in an abandoned classroom, the odd situation continued. She asked him whether he truly trusted her. At his firm confirmation she seemed to steel herself and asked him to meet her at the castle gates after dark.

Bathed in the light of the crescent moon, Fleur led him to the Forbidden Forest, all the way hurriedly instructing him.

“You will get on a strange path. Keep going, do not let yourself get distracted, Harry.” She squeezed his hand beseechingly. “You will be tested, challenged, you must never stray from the path. And when you get to the end…” She swallowed nervously, “Just be yourself. Be who I know you to be.”

She led him to a small, curiously shaped lake in the forest. It was narrow and seemed bent like a bow. Before he could ask any questions, she gave him a sudden push. Instead of finding himself wet, he passed through the water. There was a flash of light and a twisting sensation. Suddenly, he found himself lying face-first on a cobbled path. Although he was still surrounded by trees, there could be no doubt. This was a different forest.

The sounds were different, the trees more vibrant, the undergrowth deeper. And he felt observed. There were many eyes among the trees. Following his instincts and his friend’s instructions, he went on.

Many challenges he faced, but he continued on, undeterred. Whispers, voices, shriek, all that tried to rattle him. Mist descended and tried to lead him astray. A pack of snarling wolves appeared to threaten him. Yet he had his trusty wand with him and so, be it with wits, courage or humility, he passed through unmolested.

A unicorn joined him after some time and escorted him until he arrived at a gate of wrought silver. He spent a moment admiring the ornate leaves and decorations before his equine escort nudged him to open the gate.

Inside he found a clear meadow with a familiar looking lake in the shape of a crescent moon. It seemed to shine with its own silvery light, the water was clear and the bottom was of solid white marble. It was the wondrous figure standing on the shore, however, that caught his attention. Tall and graceful, she, for it was undeniably a she, wore a flowing bright white dress, her skin radiant. Her flowing locks resembled nothing more than moonbeams given substance, a silvery circlet rested on her head, putting the crest of the crescent moon in the middle of her forehead.

She was familiar. This was Fleur. Fleur as he dreamed of her sometimes, but somehow more. Much like with Fleur, conversation between them started easily. She had the same speech pattern, the same mannerisms. And under the magical light of the unusually bright moon, they talked.

She revealed her reasons for bringing him here, her story. It began when the world was much younger when hen her mother, the Faerie Queen and the future first Queen of Summer had her. It was not with her husband, though. For her sister, the jealoufuture s Queen of Winter had played a cunning, twisted trick, beguiling and enchanting a young faerie knight to assume the form of the Faerie King and leading him to the Queen of Summer. It was at this lake where she was conceived.

When the Faerie King found out, he was furious and cursed her to forever stay at the lake where she was conceived. The Queen’s sister was driven to exile with many of her followers going with her. The Faerie Court of Stars was sundered, forming the Summer and Winter Courts.

Yet when the now Summer King’s rage cooled down, compassion took hold of his heart. Though unable to lift his curse, he amended it, she would be free when she could freely give her heart to a suitor worthy of her hand.

Though imprisoned here, her mother taught her much and her powers were not to be denied. When she was scrying to experience the world at least in such a limited way, she found the Delacours, Apolline was a descendant of a Summer courtier. She and her husband were good people and had been trying for a child for years. Finally, Apolline had been with child, but she could see it would have been born stillborn. And so, utilizing all her mother had taught her, she sent a sliver of herself into the baby. And so Fleur was born, alive and well, carrying her in her head and heart. Through Fleur, she got to experience the love of a family, the joys and grief of a mortal life. And she had met Harry.

In this lengthy conversation, another revelation shook Harry. The secret of Voldemort’s newfound power and prowess was a deal he struck with the Winter Court and various beings of the Nether Realms. By doing this, he became her bitter enemy too, for she harboured deep enmity for the Winter Court. And so, she offered him a pact. She would lend him her favour, a sliver of her non-negligible power. And he would go and defeat his foe. In doing so, he would undeniably prove himself worthy in the eyes of the ancient curse.

Should he succeed, she vowed to him, she would join him, bind herself to him in good and bad. Fleur, he was assured, would go on with her life, still his friend, and live long and prosper.

At her gesture, the luminous water rippled until it seethed and boiled. A pearlescent hilt with a coin shaped pommel bearing the crescent crest, rose slowly from the water, followed by a gleaming, milky white blade, keener than any weapon of mortal make. “So? Will you take up the sword?”

Though the skies blazed with liquid fire, and our lungs with lead, our hearts slept soundly. We made them bleed for their victory- a phyric one if anything. Warmongers at heart, they would never be satisfied with a mere victory. Cities, people, resources. They wanted it all. To them, we were but ants in their way- a path to a purer world. They called it a cleansing, but no one was fooled by its innocuous name. Night by night they took- common peasant folk snatched from their beds to fuel the enemy’s war machine, silos plundered for their grain, even water was taken with impunity. Rules? They took it by the neck, struck a match and watched it burn. Their so called rules were more like guidelines- even then, they treated them like suggestions. No one seemed capable of stopping them, not even us.

Then came our holy weapon. Fire. Mythical dragons of lore spoke of a fiendish beast that breathed fire and was armoured to be nigh impenetrable. Oh, we weren’t armoured, but our fire burned brighter than the stars, brighter than Sol. And it was with that same fire that we sank the titanic, insurmountable mountain in our way. We were prepared to be martyrs, for our people, our lands and our cause. None of us were lost that night,perhaps for the worse.

Our motto had been simple, “For the Greater Good”. Justification is perhaps the greatest distinction we had from the enemy. They were tyrannical, we argued. Monsters of the highest degree! They killed to oppress. We killed to “liberate”. What a fool I was then, believing in this holy crusade.

Harry ran as fast as his feet could carry him, the darkness making it hard for him to see what was in front of him as branches, twigs, and bushes left welts and cuts as he barreled through them.

But the thing after him seemed to glide over those, not even being delayed by the thick foliage of the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid was nowhere to be seen, nor was anyone else save for Harry and the man running after him.

His scar flared in pain and Harry tripped over a thick root, pain ran up his leg and he knew he had twisted his ankle.

He got up in but a moment, his eyes teared up and his vision blurred as he limped as fast as he could, ignoring the pain that lanced from his ankle every time he touched the ground.

But Harry was somewhat used to pain, and he would not give up.

A terrible laugh followed him.

Harry limped through thick bushes and his face fell as he saw he had reached a small clearing, the few trees in it with a lot of space between them and almost no bushes.

“Don’t give up, Harry.” he tried to encourage himself as he kept limping forward, minor cuts burning in the chilly night air as held back tears of pain and desperation began to take hold.

He saw a thick tree on his path with a lot of broken branches around it, and Harry refused to let himself be caught without a fight.

He had lost his Wand a few minutes ago when he pointed it at the man-thing chasing after him and it flew out of his hand when it gestured, the mocking laugh that followed brought a chill down his spine.

Harry fell down again almost at the foot of the big tree, his ankle hurt so much he saw stars, he was out of breath, sweat glued his shirt to his body as he turned to look at the tree line.

The man, thing, the monster, walked out of it, as if it knew Harry couldn’t run anymore. A long cloak with a hood covered his features, but Harry thought he looked human enough.

“Potter…” a cold, double voice spoke, one was sibilant, wispy, and the other…

“P-Professor Quirrel?” Harry said between breaths as his fist closed around a particularly thick branch, the action probably hidden by the tall grass.

A terrible laugh was his answer, one that made his scar flare up in pain and some terrible feeling of dread grip him, as if that sound was familiar, if long forgotten.

“I am sorry, Professor Quirell is not available right now, he wasn’t very agreeable with what I wanted to do tonight, so I told him to…take a nap.”

The thing spoke, the sibilant, mocking voice overtaking Professor Quirrell’s the more it spoke.

“It’s just you and me here…Harry, as it was in that night, some ten years ago.”

Harry’s blood ran cold, his suspicion confirmed.

“V-Voldermort.”

“Yes, Harry, and it was very foolish of that old man to let you come into the forest like this, with only that oaf for protection.” Another laugh, a delighted one that promised dark deeds.

“And now you are here, alone, so I can finally show that Lord Voldemort can’t be defeated.”

Harry tried to control his breathing, and did his best not to panic as Voldemort or Quirrell or whatever kind of combination that was began walking towards him, almost a spring in its step.

“Now, I do think it would be proper if we could look each other in the eyes for this, I am sure Quirinus will understand.”

A terrible cracking noise filled the clearing as the thing under the cloak began shifting, Harry gasped as he saw the head under it spin on the neck, and soon two glowing red eyes were fixing him on the spot. Long nailed hands rose to the hood to remove it as the thing, because whatever that was, it couldn’t be human anymore, began speaking and Harry swore he saw a big mouth full of teeth moving inside the dark.

“It’s anti-climatic I admit, they will think you accidentally wandered into Spider territory like the foolish boy you are, and, oh, I hope that stupid oaf blames himself for this, along with that fool Dumbledore.”

It removed the hood and Harry had to hold himself back to not scream, his hand gripped the branch in a white-knuckled hold as he looked in horror at what Voldemort had become.

A wide, inhuman mouth stretched almost literally from ear to ear, full of teeth the size of his small finger and projecting forward like some deformed lizard, a large, forked tongue danced between those teeth.

It was all made worse by the terrible slitted eyes that glowed red in the night, his gaze unwavering and cruel. “I wish my snake was here, she would love to…partake in this meal.”

The thing lunged at him and Harry swung the branch with all he could, the dry staccato of the impact reverberated across the clearing as Voldemort was swung to the side by it.

Harry scrambled back, branch still in hand, as Voldemort stayed in that position for a few moments.

Before he began laughing, and then cackling, he straightened himself and threw his head back and laughed more, and Harry realized with horror and disgust how wide that mouth could open as he did so.

“The-Boy-Who-Lived,” he began, “and the best he can do is hit me with a stick.”

He looked at Harry again and Harry saw a small cut on his forehead, bleeding a dark red substance.

“I think even your foolish mudblood mother would be ashamed of what a weak wizard you are, Potter.”

Harry barely registered the comment as he threw the branch at Voldemort, who just slapped it away, he then picked up anything he could find and threw it, desperately trying to do something.

Small rocks and branches flew at Voldemort as he ran at Harry and picked him up by his shirt, before throwing him to the ground and holding his small arms to the side, Harry fighting him with all the strength he had left.

But Voldemort seemed unconcerned, his painful grip unwavering as he loomed over Harry, his red eyes narrowed in glee.

“I must admit, you have spirit, Potter, an admirable quality, but it won’t save you.”

But Harry wasn’t hearing him, instead, he was paying attention to the three red dots that had appeared on Voldemort’s forehead, shaped as if they were the three points of a triangle.

And, for some strange, weird reason, Harry felt hope.

Voldemort barely had time to raise his head as a blue blast of energy vaporized it in a shower of red mist.

And as a loud clicking sound filled that dark clearing, Harry learned that not only magical creatures, foolish boys, and Dark Lords inhabited that forest.

The tinkling of a bell resounded through the air as the young man pushed open the door to the bakery. He sighed in delight as he breathed in, the heavenly scent of freshly baked bread pervading his senses as he closed the door behind him, shutting the shilly autumn wind out of the warmth of the store.

The pitter patter of tiny feet reached his ears, as an adorable little blond girl barreled towards him, flour stains adoring her hands and clothes. “Daddy!” He chuckled, bending down to scoop the little girl up into the air, holding her and twirling around as she giggled and clapped.

“So”, He asked, as he brought her down to hold her in his arms, “What did my little girl do today?”

“Me an mama made cake!”, The little blond declared proudly, wide green eyes locked on his own.

His smile widened, as he brought her close to nuzzle her nose, grinning as he watched it scrunch up cutely as she batted a his face, her giggles filling the air.

“There you are!”, a melodious voice called out from behind them, the man turning carefully, the little blond still held in his arms, to behold the wonderful visage of his wife, bond hair tied up in a bun, flour smudges on her cheeks as she smiled at them both, cerulean eyes willed with warmth.

The man stepped closer, hooking his hand around her waist and pulling her into an embrace, ducking his head down to kiss her as her hands found their way up into his raven locks, staining them in a powdery white.

“I missed you”, He whispered as they separated, his emerald eyes finding her blues, a soft smile playing across his lips.

“I missed you too love”, she replied, snuggling in close, one arm wrapping around the little girl still on his waist as she tucked her head into the crook of his neck, “Even though it was merely a day.”

Harry Potter smiled as he held Fleur and Fae close, revelling in the warmth of their bakery. He had no need for fancy titles or piles of gold.

He was content.

Abruptly, he spoke, “So…. I heard there was cake?”

The city lights in the distance painted a second sunset across the night’s sky.

Sounds of suburbia beat a staccato in his chest, echoing his heartbeat with the roar of engines and bustle of the nightlife. He lays the picnic blanket across the cold rooftop, plaid meets concrete and quenches the chill in an instant. Perching himself atop it, he stares at the stars and drinks in the air; it tastes of the moon.

Part of him wants to reach up and grab them, hold the dancing infinities in his hand even if they burn, just to know what the world feels like before it all slips away.

That is what he fears most, he thinks. That if the city was to pause, for just a moment, he might be able to hear his own body creak under the weight of the many lives he was supposed to be living, all the places he was meant to be experiencing that weren’t here, that weren’t right now.

If it were all to stop, the echo might replace itself. He might hear the eulogies for the person he should’ve been, the one everyone wanted: the one that got away.

But then he hears her shoes, those non-descript, worn flats that work fractures into his chest with each distant step. He can imagine them, pink and flecked with the day’s dirt she refuses to clean, wearing it as a trophy of a day well-spent.

Her hair is contained, though only barely, strands of red flicker free like the waning gasps of a wildfire. A smile met him, the sort that was born from days of hoping for nothing else but the person you so desperately wanted to see and finally, at long last, striking the treasure you yearned.

And, as he’d realised for months, she was his treasure.

The anxiety that had run free was quenched in an instance, the oxygen stolen by that same wildfire she wielded with a shy smile. To the others, for what little their opinion mattered, he supposed she might have looked plain. But to him?

To him, he looked as though a sculptor had ached a lifetime for a masterpiece and made it, in none of the ways he expected.

Words came to his lips but were stopped there, caught in his throat under lock and key.

“You’re late,” he finally gasps, though nothing of what he originally intended.

“You’re early,” she rebukes. “You’re always early.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she conceded. “I just had further to walk.”

“Too far,” he says.

“Too far,” she agrees. “But I’m here now. Shall we rattle the stars?”

He leaps to his feet faster than he thinks is possible and takes his hands in her own. It’s a practised feat, almost a tradition of lazy Saturday nights on random rooftops.

It was something that made no sense, it defied all reality. But that, he supposed, was what love was; when something seems to defiant of reality, of normalcy, but makes sense to only two.

A hand found her hip and a hum found her lips, singing the tune of an old song and it was like that, they danced, swaying in the coolness of a weekend night.

“You couldn’t choose something different?” He asks with a smile at the song choice—it’s an old question.

She giggles hard enough, at nothing in particular, as she leans her forehead against his. “It’s my favourite,” she says. “You wouldn’t deprive me of that, would you?”

“Never,” he says, and he’s not sure he’s ever meant something so much in his life. “But you’re lucky I didn’t have to wait any longer, I would’ve drank your wine to survive.”

“You wouldn’t have,” she scoffs, using the hand resting on his shoulder to slap his chest.

“I wouldn’t,” he agrees. “I would have waited forever.”

Her hand returns and they continue to sway, “I’d have never made you wait that long.”

“Aren’t you kind?”

“Shut up and tell me about your day,” she laughs.

“Long, but alright. You?”

“Boring,” she says, brushing her nose against his. “But better now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He peers into her eyes as she continues giving his nose feather kisses with her own, there’s fire in them. This distant passion that roars like the ocean in his ears. [2:32 PM] He wonders if this is how people drown.

“You have no idea what I feel for you,” he breathes gently and she pauses, meeting his eyes in a perfect, solitary moment.

“Oh yeah?” She whispers back. “Describe it, the little words always mean so much to me.”

“I can’t,” he says. “Not everything feels like it could be something else.”

Blinking, he wonders if it is to hide some sort of unbridled emotion in her eyes.

“Well, do you know how you feel?”

“Of course,” he says. “It just doesn’t have a name.”

“Well, I think it’s the best feeling without a name in the world.”

“I agree,” he smiles and feels that magnetism in his heart that floods to his lips.

It draws them together, closer than they already are until there is no gap between them. A promise of passion is formed between them, aching through their veins.

When her lips meet his, that fracture in his chest threats to tear him apart.

She tastes not of foreign fruits and exotic scents. She tastes of the day she has lived, of the laughter that’s passed her lips and the lives she’s enriched on this day alone. She tastes like no one ever would and, even in the heat of the moment, he mourns the fact that they must separate and he must live without such a taste constantly on his lips.

The hunger for the taste consumes him until they’re forced to gasp for breath, leaning his forehead against hers as the swaying begins anew.

Is this who I’m meant to be? He asks himself.

It doesn’t matter, he hears her say. It is who you are, and that is enough.

He doesn’t even have to ask her, he knows what she’ll say. In her arms, he knows wherever he stands, that is where he needs to be.

There are two atop the roof, now maybe one. This is one such night that defies reality, a night only they understand.