They say there are some places in the world where time passes too quickly.

They warn you not to spend too long in these places, they fear that if you dally, you might forget the world behind you.

She thinks, on the other hand, that the world is behind you for a reason. For that is, sometimes, where it belongs. When they warn her, rallying forlorn stories of lost lives and forgotten memories, she meets them with a fake smile and carries on.

“It’s only five minutes,” she says before she flees.

Her legs ache by the time she reaches the forest, they’re littered with scratches and dirt, little souvenirs of her journey. She wears them proudly, displaying them like an Emperor would his robes. They’re a receipt of her passion, the password to her secret grove.

When she stumbles across it on this familiar path, it looks no different to anywhere else in the forest. To her, however, it is of a different make entirely. Each leaf that crunches loudly under her feet feels like silk, the sap smells of saffron and the summer that surrounds her feels electric. It was a place like no other.

It was one such place where time passed too quickly.

Excitement fills her veins, aching like adrenaline. She jumps, in some unceremonious leap, and lands amongst the leaf litter, scattering the remnants of autumn around her form, outlining her like an angel.

The sky is blue and cloudless, a beacon of azure that shines, and shines, and shines. In the open sky, in all its nakedness, she finds the reason she loves her grove so much.

And, consequently, she'll miss it so dearly.

“School is coming,” she warns the trees as they whistle in the soft wind. “I won’t be here for a while… a long while.”

There isn’t an answer; trees don’t speak. She wonders what’d happen if they did, she bets you could find the answers to all the mysteries in the universe inside of trees.

“I’ll… I’ll be lonely,” she says, and the words sink into the silence of the forest like blood through a bandage.

How true it was, even now in such a place, she was lonely. Not because she lacked friends, mind you, but because she would lack a place such as this.

Part of her wondered how something could feel absent when it was right in front of you, how one could feel nostalgia for a time that hadn’t yet passed.

“Just let me stay,” she pleaded. “Despite, despite, despite…”

She couldn’t think of what her continued presence would be in spite of and how desperately she grappled with the words to find something.

The trees don’t give her words, but they’ve given her more than enough—they’ve given her peace. Even though parting seems so full of sorrow, the forest calms her, as it always had and always will.

Because even in the times where such mundane things as leaving for school seemed titanic, a weight that threatened to throw her to the ground and crush her, when it felt like this age of childhood was fading fast, it was here.

It was always here.

That, she thinks, is what makes her feel certain of her future. Even if she cannot find a school, even if all the jobs decide she isn’t enough, even if the world falls apart at its seams, her grove will be her, waiting to listen.

So she breathes, a deep exhale that lets the tension ease from her shoulders, bunched up in colossal knots.

So she closes her eyes and smells the saffron, frolics amongst the silk.

So she gives the grove something back.

“Spring will be here soon,” she promises. “You’ll have so many new friends, all the flowers will bloom. It’ll be beautiful, you won't even need me.”

If trees could smile, she thinks they would.

“And it’s July,” she whispers to the trees. “And I have hope.”

Hope in what? The trees finally whisper back to her.

“Hope in what I’m becoming,” she answers.

In that single, beautiful moment, where time holds her no longer, she blossoms in her own early, personal spring. Sometimes, that is the power of these places where time passes too quickly, the importance of quiet moments. The single, unparalleled strength of taking a breath and leaving the world behind you, even if just for a moment.

When she exits anew, fresh to the world, those five minutes have morphed into hours. That is how July finds her.

July finds her happy.

Once upon a time, in a land across the sea, nestled between mountains high, a rider on a beautiful white horse left the conifer forest, entering a sprawling field. The sun’s rays reflected off the rider’s silvery hair. The steed, strong, fiery, heads to a trail, its horseshoes ringing merrily.

The rider is alone.

And lo and behold, there is a cottage nearby.

“Ring! Ring” The sound of red hot metal hit by a hammer fills the air as the rider stops their steed at the cottage, jumping off the saddle.

“Rap rap!” The rider’s fist hits the door.

“Open the door for me, oy! I lost my way pursuing game. Bring me some water!” The rider’s voice, akin to a silver bell’s tinkling, interrupts the metal ringing.

The doors creak, and out comes a lad, strong as an oak, springy as a willow, a sheen of sweat covering his face and arms, hammer and tongs in hands. Never before had the rider seen such handsome face, nobility of bearing.

“What do you want?” The blacksmith speaks.

The rider is standing, unsure of what she wanted, words having fled her mind. Even her great thirst forgotten, the rider looks upon the lad’s arms and shoulders, and then at the anvil on which the lad had worked. She can’t take her eyes off the handsome blacksmith.

“Give me your hand, if it is yours to give!” The rider bursts out. “You must become my husband!”

She pulls him to her by his hips.

“Oh no, madam.” The blacksmith is reluctant. “I can not make a decision without my uncle.”

“And where is your uncle, lad?” The rider wants to know. “I see no one else in here.”

“Oh, my lady, he is taking care of me.” The blacksmith looks at his toes. “He is in the city with his son, they return tomorrow.”

Once again the beautiful rider on a fiery silver horse leaves the wood and enters the sprawling field. Oh how merrily the horseshoes sing! And straight to the cottage she rides.

Gracefully she jumps off the saddle and heads to the door. Rap rap!

“Good people,” her melodious voice rings, “open the door for me!” There is a great insistence in her voice, a thirst much greater than the day before driving her on. “Open the door so my eyes can find solace once again, allow me to see my only pleasure!”

The door creaks open and a man rotund and bloated, ruddy in the face, steps out. “Oh, what do you bring, oh noble guest?”

“I bring you good fortune, I will change your life.” The rider speaks fervently. “I want your boy for a husband. Your nephew, I mean.” “Oh my word,” the rotund man mutters. “Who would have thought, madam? We are not worthy, my good queen. We do not deserve anything more than your mercy.” He looks back inside the cottage. “But please, listen to my words. Take my son, not my nephew. Like peas in a pod, they are, so alike.” The uncle sweats and spreads his arms. “And his work, metal both delicate and strong!”

“That, old man, is horrible advice.” The rider, Queen Fleur, rebukes him. “Do as I say and that is enough. Tomorrow morning, bring your nephew to my castle!”

“Wake up, nephew!”

His uncle’s voice tore him away from sleep, dreams of silver hair reflecting golden light.

“Wake up, it’s time! The Queen awaits! The feast, wine!” His uncle sounded gleeful. “It was so unexpected, but I hope everything goes well for you in the castle!”

His cousin Dudley is dragging him from bed. “Get dressed, cousin, get dressed! Just think, the royal castle, oh the fun!” He lays a hand on his shoulders. “You’re aiming so high, you’ll go far, further than we can follow.” His cousin laughs. “Oh, I wish you good luck.”

At the break of dawn, the three of them are on their way, enjoying the crisp, fresh air and light breeze. They cross the sprawling field and enter the dark conifer forest.

“Come, Harry, step up,” his uncle speaks with cheer, “mustn’t leave your new wife waiting. Why, even before you reach the castle, you will have forgotten your old home. So hurry up!”

“Uncle, there is one thing I don’t understand,” Harry turns to his uncle, “why do you have the knife in your hand?”

“A knife can come in handy, nephew,” his uncle chides him, “to defend from bandits, and to jab the eyes of evil snakes. Now hurry up!”

“And cousin, why are you carrying the axe?”

His cousin smiles at him. “That axe will cut into any bandit trying to prey on us, and chop off the limbs of evil beasts. Come, hurry up!”

And so they hurry up, until they reach a quiet clearing. “Ha!” His cousin seizes Harry. “You are the foulest of beasts, a treacherous snake!”

The vale itself cries at the murder foul, flocks of birds flee the grisly sight, the violence perpetrated by two envious men.

“And now you shall take your pleasure with the queen, my handsome son, her supple body, whatever you want!” Vernon cries in glee. “Embrace her in bed, run your hands through her silver hair, my handsome blacksmith!”

“Dad, what will we do with those?” Dudley points to the chopped off limbs and gouged out eyes.

“Don’t leave them here, son.” Vernon chuckles. “We don’t want anyone to put him back together.”

Dudley laughs at his father’s macabre joke.

“Best take them with us, and hide them. Make sure nobody finds them.”

They speak as they leave the evergreen forest. “You have nothing to worry about, son. You are exactly alike, as I said, two peas in a pod. Don’t you worry.”

The queen is eagerly looking out for them from the tallest tower, and sees them approach. She gathers her retinue, and goes to meet them on the road, her groom, and his uncle.

And so the lie passes undetected.

The wedding proceeds despite the crime that happened in the kingdom mere moments before, and the groom smiles and laughs all the time, stealing glances at his radiant bride. The feast goes on for three days, and there is music, dancing, every pleasure for the senses.

As the next day dawns, however, the queen approaches her husband, her retinue at her back. “Farewell, my lord, I must go, a greedy neighbour attacked our lands. I must punish the wicked villain. I am leaving now.” She looks resplendent in her armour, and her husband merely nods, captivated by the sight.

“If I return alive from this war, we shall renew our love.”

Her husband blushed at the pronouncement.

“So, remember me, husband, and stay true. Work diligently at the forge, make me a new crown!”

But what happened to the young lad, to Harry so gruesomely slain? From six open wounds he bled, deep in the woods, in that quiet clearing. Quite like a flood, his blood soaked into the green grass.

Cold falls the night and cold grows the corpse. Cursed was the moment the beautiful queen rode in from the forest, cursed, cursed, threefold cursed!

But then a curious song fills the clearing, and a bright light accompanies the appearance of fiery wings. A strange old man appears, his silver beard reaching his waist. Blue eyes twinkle over gold-rimmed glasses as he lifts the body lying in the grass onto his shoulder.

Into a cave, he walks and turns to his phoenix companion. “Take off, my friend, find Nicholas.” Then he turns to the other figure in the cave. “Do what you can, Poppy.”

“This is horrible, Albus! It’s beyond my ability to help.” The healer looks scandalized. “Who could have done it?”

“I have my suspicion, Poppy.” The old man scowls. “Make sure Harry does not deteriorate further.”

“What will you be doing?”

“I will get his eyes and limbs back.”

An old man with a cart approaches the royal castle, his silver beard tucked into his belt, and when people approach, he calls in a loud voice. “Behold, good folk, an anvil of pure silver, made by renowned alchemists! Treated with the finest tinctures!”

Up in the tower, Dudley turns towards his father. “Make haste, father. You would do well to get me this magic anvil. Whatever the price.”

Vernon approaches the old man. “How much for the anvil?”

“Oh, buy it, it is not expensive at all. My friend asked for a curious price, however. I can sell it for two legs”

“Legs?” Vernon exclaims. “Strange friends you have, old man. But I must have it. You can take the legs of our Harry, nobody needs them anymore.”

With those legs, Albus returns to the cave. “First part is done.”

“Good, Albus, I can use this. Now get me Živa’s Water.”

His friend Nicholas does Albus call. The old alchemist brings out his stone, a gem gleaming red, more precious than all the other stones in the world. Fawkes alights on his shoulders, and his tears fall on the stone.

Nicholas gives the transmuted liquid to Poppy, who smears it on the stumps of Harry’s legs, cleansing the body. The legs receive phoenix’s fire from the tears, and the body grows whole again, as if no chops had landed on the legs.

“Quick, Albus, hop to it!” Poppy shouts. “Get me also the hands and eyes!”

And so once again the old man arrives at the castle, pushing a cart. “Approach, good folk, and behold! The finest hammer you can ever see in this world! Made of the purest alchemically treated silver! It is so pure no work will get contaminated!” He holds out a gleaming pair of tongs. “And this silver tongs, treated by the best alchemists of the realm. It transfers no heat to you! Completely safe!”

“Father!” Dudley once again turns to Vernon. “See that hammer and tongs! But it, whatever the price! I must have those tools to make the crown for my wife!”

And so Vernon approaches the old man again. “How much for both the hammer and the tongs?”

“Oh, you will buy them for certain, dear sir. It is not expensive at all.” Albus smiles. “My friend told me to sell the hammer for two hands, and the tongs for two eyes.”

“Hands and eyes?” Vernon’s eyes bulged out. “Your alchemist friend is strange indeed. But I need to have those, so we have a deal! Take the hands and eyes of our Harry. Nobody needs them anymore, may they be of good use.”

Carrying those, Albus returns to the cave. “It is done, Poppy!

“Good, Albus, bring them here, and fetch me Živa’s Water again!”

Once again the beautiful phoenix sheds tears on the Philosophers’ Stone and old Nicholas hands the miraculous liquid to Poppy.

She touches each wound with the tears, allowing Fawkes’s fire to enter Harry’s hands and eyes, and before her eyes, the body grows whole again, as it had been before. Cleansed is the body, and fire is reignited in the sockets.

And so the lad looks around again, seeing none but himself.

The battle finished, the queen returns to her castle, triumphant, happily riding at the front of her army.

“And how are you, my dear husband?” She asks as she arrives. “Were you mindful of my request?”

“Oh, I have taken it to heart, for I love you.” Her husband smiled proudly. “See what I bought, my anvil, hammer, and tongs, made of purest silver, treated by the best alchemists, each one of a kind.”

The queen gestured towards the anvil. “Come, sit, my love. Go ahead, and for your love of me, forge our crowns. Show me how precious metal is by your hands wrought!”

He steps towards the anvil, grabs the heated metal with the tongs, and hits it with the hammer. As the hammer rings, it bursts into a song!

“Ring! Lie! Ring! Lie! He lies! Ring! You deceived the queen! Ring! Your cousin you killed! Ring! His eyes plucked out! Ring! Hacked off his limbs! Ring!”

“What a curious song this metal sings!” The queen exclaimed “But I don’t understand the words. The way it sounds is so strange. My husband, continue, carry on!”

“Ring! Lie! Ring! Lie! He lies! Ring! You deceived the queen! Ring! Her true groom you killed! Ring! His place you took! Ring!”

The queen looked at her husband. “Oh, how dreadful the song sounds! But you aren’t as you appear, husband. Continue, do go on, so I might hear more. Carry on!”

He has no choice, his arm rises as if guided by an invisible force.

“Ring! Lie! Ring! Lie! He lies! Ring! You deceived the queen! Ring! Your cousin in the forest you hid! Ring! Took his wife as your own! Ring!“

At those words, the queen mounts her horse and rides, gallops towards the forest, searching frantically, crying into the wind. “Where are you, my Harry, my beloved? Where are you?” A field sprawls around the wood, and from the wood, a queen and a young lad ride, on a fiery silver horse. Oh how merrily its horseshoes sing!

A second wedding is organized, a blushing groom a beautiful flower for his wife takes. Feasting for three days lasts, people dance to music, merrily seeking pleasure of the senses.

And what of the bloated uncle? And the treacherous snake, the cousin. Four wolves in the forest hunt, each carrying a leg they’ve foraged from two men’s bodies.

What they’d done to the young lad, eyes gouged out, limbs hacked off, they were condemned to suffer the same fate.

On wrath did queen Fleur lift her blade, and resolutely did her strikes fell, in a quiet clearing of the forest evergreen.

And what of the silver anvil, hammer, and tongs? What song shall they sing now? Thrice they sang, and no more. Without a trace they disappeared, and nobody ever saw or heard, of the silver anvil, hammer, and tongs.

“You talk to ‘er,” Fleur said as she continued searching the bookshelf for the tomb she needed.

“Me? Why me?” Harry asked, still in his auror robes, having only just arrived home.

“Because she’s mad at me, therefore, you are my only ‘ope,” she said, snapping her fingers as she found the large book, removing it from its place on the high shelf. Descending the ladder carefully she reached the floor and smiled up at Harry, a few strands of hair escaping the neat bun that she had tied the rest back in.

“You are so very good with ‘er,” Fleur said, cupping the side of Harry’s cheek as he sighed.

"Buttering me up?" he teased.

"Perhaps."

“Fine, I’ll talk to her,” he said, earning him a swift peck on the cheek and a hurried hug before she quickly moved to the other side of the library. Sighing, Harry made his way to the second floor to the door with the moving teddy bears and hippogriffs danced, knocking twice.

“Victorie? It’s Harry. I’m coming in,” he said, opening the door. Entering the room, he noticed the charmed animals on the wall were not moving, having been enchanted by Fleur to react to Victorie's mood. If they weren't moving it meant only one thing: the little girl was pouting. Walking over to the bed, he saw her small form facing away from the door, a stuffed bunny clutched tightly against her chest.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Your mama isn't here, so you can tell me."

"She's mean," said Victorie. Harry suppressed a sigh.

"Why's she mean?" The little girl sat up and turned around to face him, her face the definition of a pout.

It was adorable.

"She said no cake for dinner." Harry has faced dark lords and basilisks, dementors and death eaters, but nothing could compare to the effort it took to keep from laughing at the small blonde haired girl's explanation. He fought the laughter and smile with every ounce of self-control he had. He thought for a long moment before looking down at her.

"How about this?" he said, "What if we eat dinner and then make cookies after?" Victorie's eyes lit up with excitement, her entire demeanor changing in an instant.

"Really?!?" Harry nodded.

"Yep."

Before he could react, the little girl flung herself towards him and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him in a hug as hard as she could. He hugged her back before quickly scooping her up, a squeal of surprise escaping the room.

"Now, onward, to dinner and then…cookies!" said Harry, an enthusiastic "YEAH!" coming from Victorie as he carried her from the room. Idly, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the animals on the walls had started moving again.

It seemed cookies and hugs were all she needed. He would be smug with Fleur later. For now, he had a dinner and dessert date with a rambunctious child.

It's about Fleur cutting it off with Harry after they had a good time during Yule Ball. They are friends though but there is a good chance of something happening between them. Age gap and leaving for France dominates Fleur's thoughts so she makes the decision of stopping whatever they had together. Just so, she doesn't hurt after the year is done. She wants to deal with it now. And forget anything ever happened

You want me to do what now? (His eyes flared, an unknown madness danced in those fierce emerald orbs that she had never noticed before.) You want me to drop by here and now to exchange casual greetings just so that you can feel good about yourself?! Like what you just did had no impact on me. Like it didn't even happen. ( Releasing an angry frustrated growl, Harry went on.) But it did! It happened, Delacour! You made it happen and now you want me to be cordial with you?! Fuck that! How about you leave me some ounce of dignity, eh?

(Fleur was rooted to spot, a sense of alarm could be seen in her eyes.) I am not your toy, alright? I am not. I am a person with thoughts and feelings, sentiments! You can't just throw a person away like trash and expect them to be there whenever you feel like it. That's not how the world works! And I have experienced far too much shit like this to know better, that trusting someone with your heart, especially for a person like me, never ends well.

(Harry shook his head as if she was not even there to see it. It was as though he was talking to himself.) I can't believe this is happening again! And it doesn't even… it is not about you. You are just a name in a list now….. but that doesn't even….. fuck! Fucking pathetic! I fell for it again… merlin!

(Fleur hesitantly took a step towards him.)Harry….let's just forget this happened, alright? I don't know what….. came over me and I am sorry that I have hurt you. I….I think I was just scared, alright? This has never happened to me before, being with someone who I trust and put my faith in. I can't believe what I have done. And I am ashamed, I truly am! Believe me, please! It was just so complicated in my head and I made a huge error. I didn't think about how it would hurt you-

Yes, you did. You are Fleur Delacour afterall. -but we can make this right! We have time and I will do anything there is to make sure that things can go the way they used to be-

You can't. You can't do it. You made your decision. You made me feel like shit and you did it deliberately. (Harry’s voice had gone quiet now with a faraway look in his eyes.)You will have new toys Fleur. Don't worry about me. I'll take care of myself. I have done this before. You don't need to feel guilty over this. This was never meant to be anything. You saved us a lot of headache there-

No, please listen! I….. have done you wrong. I will take responsibility for it. I will make this right, I promise you!

Please, let me leave. This is just getting embarrassing now. Let me leave, you won't hear from me again. We'll go our separate ways and forget that whatever that we had, it neve happened. That's the only solution now.

Oh, please just….. listen! There are just too many things to consider. Too much pressure to deal with-

And you thought getting rid of me would make it better? I don't want to be someone's headache, Fleur! You just said you don't want me and I am reasonable enough to understand that I have overstayed my welcome.

I didn't want to hurt you, Harry. It was never my inten-

But you have!

Yes, I have. I have made quite a mess of things, haven't I? Between us.

Oh, hello Harry, ahh how about you fuck off now, eh? You have served your purpose and it has been good ,you know, but I would rather you fuck off, no offense. But do keep in contact though just so I don't feel guilt over hurting you, hmmm?

Fleur giggled but a scratching hoarse sound dominated her tinkling laugh.

This is not funny! What's wrong with you?

(Fleur laughed, the rough nasaling sound still prominent.) When you make it sound like that… .

(Harry stared at her for a little and then he shook his head but she could see his lips twitched.) I guess you could say that....

Harry's eyes opened. He still felt tired and... odd.

Maybe basilisk venom did that to you. He couldn't think of anyone who he had heard of who had survived basilisk venom in their blood, though.

"Hello."

Harry blinked and looked over. A small, blonde girl with wide blue eyes looked at him. "Er... hi?"

"You saved Ginny Weasley," she told him. She seemed to think this over, and looked around Harry's head like there were other things there. Then her eyes landed on his arm. "And you met a basilisk." Her head tilted and she smiled. "Thank you for saving my only friend, Harry Potter."

"Oh, err, you're welcome. You're a friend of Ginny's then?"

"We are neighbors. I spend time with the Weasley's, usually when father is out tracking animals or stories."

Her eyes wandered again. Harry was too tired still to do more than lay there while the girl talked to him. He wasn't bothered by her, but she seemed a bit more mystical than the average witch. "What's your name?"

She considered him. "Luna Lovegood." Her head turned away a bit. "The other Ravenclaws call me Loony Lovegood."

Harry frowned. He guessed she was odd in general then. It didn't make sense that she didn't have any friends, though. She didn't seem terrible. "You said Ginny's your only friend?" At her gentle shrug his friend deepened. "I doubt she was a good friend this year, given everything she went through..."

"The wrackspurts would agree with you," Luna confirmed, looking at him again. Harry didn't think too much about that. "I haven't made any friends in my year. They think me too silly."

Harry felt his chivalry rise up in him. "Well then, we should be friends." He didn't have many friends either, he realized with a start. Why was that? "I don't have many friends either, Luna."

Her eyes were as large as Dobby's. "Friends?" Before he realized it, the girl hugged him tight. He patted her back and heard her breath get a little ragged. "I would love to be friends with you, Harry Potter." [7:24 PM] She pulled away and Harry smiled awkwardly at her. "Err, Harry is fine, Luna. We're friends, after all."

She smiled at him and looked around his head. "The nargles are going away..." Her smile got brighter. "Who are your other friends?"

Harry smiled and eased back into the hospital bed. They talked for a while after that. Harry found that while she had odd phrases he didn't completely understand, she was nice. Talking to Luna was very easy.

"What will you be doing over the summer?" he finally asked after learning more about her mother and father and life in Ottery St Catchpole.

"We're going to track down rare animals, of course!" She swayed in her chair, a dreamy look coming over her. When she turned her attention back to Harry, she stilled. "Would you like to join us? You have experience with magical animals already, and father has never known a Parslemouth."

"Oh, err, sure Luna, that would be lovely."

The hospital doors opened and Hermione and Ron rushed in, followed by more Weasleys. The Weasleys looked questioningly at Harry but didn't ask about Luna's presence. "I packed your things, Harry," Hermione told him.

They caught him up with some of the gossip going around the castle about him. Luna looked at Harry. "If you're not doing better yet, Harry, you should ask to stay longer in the Hospital Wing. Unless your muggle family has access to magical medicine?"

Harry blinked again, then beamed at her. That was a great idea! "Thank you, Luna, I'm actually not feeling 100% yet. I might have to miss the ride back home."

As if on queue, Madam Pomfrey bustled into the infirmary. "Ever popular, Mr. Potter," she greeted.

Harry schooled his features and tried his best to look uncomfortable and tired, if not sickly and drained. He gave her a weak smile, squinting at her. "And how are you feeling? Ready to go to the leaving feast?"

Harry pouted and closed his eyes. "I'm actually not feeling very well, Madam Pomfrey," he lied. Then he shivered. "I'm a bit hot, and tingly. Do you think it's from the basilisk venom?"

Her eyes squinted at him, as if trying to determine if this were a lie or not. "Perhaps... better be safe than sorry, at least. I'll talk to the Headmaster and figure out what we are to do with you. You all, say your goodbyes! There's a feast to attend!"

"Goodbye, mate," Ron said, hugging him. Harry was surprised by the affection. "Thanks for saving Ginny," he whispered.

Harry patted his back. "What's a best mate for?"

Hermione hugged him too, attempting to squeeze his lungs right out of him. "Please, Harry, do your best to get better. And listen to Madam Pomfrey!"

The twins and Percy also hugged him and thanked him. Harry was surprised by Percy's display of emotion. What an odd day.

As they left, he relaxed his head. He did feel a bit peckish. But, at least he wouldn't have to go home right away. Merlin knows Dudley was an ass after his last year at Smeltings. He had had lots more time to perfect his stick swinging. A thought struck him then- he couldn't swing around his wand at home, but that didn't mean he couldn't do any magic, right?

Saya looked through the binoculars at the warehouse doors where a pair of men stood guard before she put in the call to Regina. Aegon and Saeko crouched nearby waiting for the signal.

"Regina, we're at Jack's last known location right now," Saya said and within a few seconds Regina reponded with, "Good. Now remember, Jack works pretty closely with Scavs and he has a strong tendency to target women. Any women you find still alive, you'll get a bonus for each one. And if he sees you and Saeko, he'll be gunning for you both!" she warned.

"Understood, Regina. We'll be careful," Saya replied before hanging up. Looking at Saeko and Aegon, she nodded at them. Saeko drew her katana and Aegon drew his pistol. Keeping to the shadows, Saeko stealthily crept around to the corner of the Warehouse where the first guard couldn't see her. Aegon crept around to the other side, screwing on a silencer onto the barrel of his pistol. Aegon lined up the sights of his gun onto the head of the guard and squeezed the trigger. The jacketed hollow point bullet tore a gaping chunk out of the Scav's head killing him instantly and Saeko leapt out from behind the corner and her katana severed the head of the other Scav.

Saya walked out from her hiding spot and looked at the door and began to scan it for any security measures. After scanning it, Saya nodded at Saeko and Aegon; it was clean. Holstering his pistol, Aegon pulled out lockpick and inserted the end into the lock. After about a minute, the lock clicked open and Aegon slowly slid the door open.

Silent as a breeze.

Pulling Blackfyre out this time, Aegon and Saeko entered first with Saya bringing up the rear. It was a nightmare within the warehouse. Severed bodyparts, cyberware limbs and organs were stacked in boxes and containers. No doubt to be shipped off and sold to the highest bidders. Aegon gritted his teeth, feeling anger boil inside him as he walked through the aisles of the warehouse. Slowing down, Aegon peered around some shelving and found some Scavs drinking potent booze and in a cage nearby were some women who whimpered fearfully.

Aegon looked at Saeko and jerked his head. Saeko then pulled out a flashbang grenade from her belt, pulled the pin, cooking it in her hand for a moment before tossing it. The metal cylinder landed near the Scavs who noticed it before it exploded in a shower of bright white light and noise. Yells and screams broke out but Aegon and Saeko moved in, their blades gleaming in anticipation of bloodshed.

Slashing his sword through the chest of a Scav, Aegon spun around and beheaded another. Saeko moved like a wraith among the Scavs, her Dimeterium forged katana severing limbs and heads in sprays of crimson. A Scav who managed to recover tried to pull out a knife and stab Saeko from behind, but a bullet found itself lodged in the back of his knee, making him scream and fall to the floor clutching his wounded leg in agony.

Aegon wiped the blade of his sword clean before sheathing it and pulled his pistol and aimed at the Scav. "Where's Jack?" he asked the Scav tersely. "And speak English, we know you can," he advised.

"I'm not talking!" the Scav spat through clenched teeth. Aegon then aimed his gun at the Scav's other leg and fired a shot, making the man howl in pain.

"I know a great many points on the body that I can shoot and still keep you alive, so either tell us where Jack is or I start shooting some more!" Aegon threatened.

"Alright, alright!" the Scav said. "You go down to the local pharmacy, buy some viagra and it'll help you go fuck yourselves!" he taunted.

Saeko then took this moment to slam the heel of her boot into the Scav's groin, crushing his manhood. The Scav gave a silent open-mouthed scream of agony as he now clutched his wounded manhood.

"You know the definition of insanity?" Saeko asked the man in a chilling voice. "It's where you do the exact same thing every day, expecting shit to change," she informed him. "Which is why my friends and I have more than one tactic to get you talking," she added.

"You'd best listen to her, Scav," Aegon then said to the Scav. "You're only seeing her nice side so far," he added casually.

"Okay! I give up!" the Scav whined pathetically. "Jack's downstairs in his operating room," he said.

"Thanks, now was that so hard?" Aegon smiled before shooting the Scav in the head. Looking at Saya, Aegon said to her, "Call Regina. Tell her to get Trauma down here. These girls need some patching up."

"Got it," Saya responded. "What will you be doing?" she asked as she and Saeko moved to unlock the cages.

"I'm gonna go have a chat swith Jack 'The Ripper'," Aegon said casually as he then headed down the stairs to the lower levels.

...

As she took a puff and her eyes closed, lashes entwining like the teeth of a predator, embers lightening bright against a dark blackdrop, burning with the strength of decay and then decaying in her sigh of melancholy and death, and then again.

The twinkle of pain filled stars singing in chorus to the pain of a lonely girl, whose glimmer dies a bit more each time she sighs.

Mad-Eye Moody's wooden leg thumped against the classroom floor, and like a hammer broke through the tension that had followed the question.

Another thump followed, and another, as Moody walked to the unfortunate who had asked and bent forward. His one beady eye stared with such intensity that the rest of the class had to look away, but for the one who was caught helplessly, prey not daring to let out a breath lest it catch and betray a hint of weakness. The other eye, electric blue and oversized, swept across the room. Left to right, right to left, then back and behind, flashing white, before coming around again in a frenzied loop.

Moody nodded. "Brave one, are you? Or just stupid, no self-control."

Dark eye followed blue in looking over the classroom. The class shrank back, imperceptibly but to him, and he laughed.

"No harm in it, eh? That's what I'm here for, so you can learn from my mistakes." A stubby finger, a pinky chopped off at the tip, came up to point at the mistake he was referring to. His magical eye, spinning away to avoid the accusation.

The finger turned to point at the class, which didn't dare to do the same. "You think it was a great battle? Something you'd find in the kind of history books Binns should be having you read. Well you're all wrong. We were just hunting down a creature, nothing more, when I made a mistake.

"We'd been after it for a while. Chasing through its hovel of a home. It'd stopped throwing spells at us and just run, been running for minutes. Let me tell you, chasing down some cracked dark wannabe through piles of trash, bits of failed enchantments? It wears on you. I had my partner behind me holding up a shield, what was going to happen? A killing curse, hah! The rat wasn't enough of a wizard to tickle me with one -"

Mad-Eye paused to take a breath, and the class steeled their ears in preparation for his favorite phrase, but it didn't come. Instead he continued muttering more quietly, almost talking to himself.

"Fool I was, deserved it, really." Mad-Eye turned back, walking to his desk and leaning against it heavily. For a moment his age showed, then he snapped back up.

"The next thing I knew, the wards fell, and there was a crack behind us. Bastard could have run, but tried to kill us. Bloody minded savage, but that's what too much dark arts gets you. His first spell took my partner in the back, I looked instead of dodged, and turned to take the second spell right in the face." The scars around Moody's mouth pulled upwards. "Gouging curse, nasty stuff, but not made for killing, is it? Who can tell me what it does?"

One person raised their hand, looking around to make sure nobody else knew the answer.

"Anthony?" Moody called.

"It - it's for maiming enemies," Anthony said hesitantly, waiting to see if he was on the right track. Moody nodded as encouragingly as he could be said to. "Right, because it doesn't heal," Anthony continued. "It gouges, uh, removes what it hits, and that can't be healed back. You need to, uh, excise the area around the curse and leave it to," he glanced at Moody's scars, "heal the skin back there."

"Correct, a point to Ravenclaw," Moody said.

He scratched at the skin around his blue eye while he continued, even quieter than before. "Got my partner in the back. He never walked again. I saw the curse fly at me and closed my eyes like some wet-behind-the-ears trainee. And do you know what I saw when I opened my eyes?"

Nobody raised their hand.(edited)

. "I saw that bastard about to cast another spell, so I stopped him." His wand mimed a horizontal slash, the movement for a cutting curse. Moody didn't so much smile as bare his teeth. "Don't need your legs in Azkaban.

"The gouging curse, ha! Stupid curse for a stupid dark wizard, it doesn't kill, only incapacitates if your aim is good. It just hurts. I looked around and saw my partner on the floor and my first thought was relief. Not that he was alive, no, I was relieved that I'd gotten lucky.

"The curse missed me."

Moody still smiled. "What do you see when you close your eyes?"

The class shifted uncomfortably and the silence grew louder until someone finally blurted out "nothing, sir."

"Wrong!" Moody snapped.

"You see darkness. You see the back of your eyelid, eh? But if you lose your eye - that's when you see nothing. I didn't notice a thing until I reached for my partner and missed, and then the pain came to me.

Moody leaned forward, his voice intent and quiet. "You don't think about what you can't see." His finger, again, pointed at his blue eye, which spun to look through the back of his head. "Through the back of your head, that's where you see nothing. That's why a worthless dark creature apparated behind you can still take your eye. And that's why," he whispered, and the class leaned forward as one to catch his words -

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Everyone jumped, chairs and desks rattled, at the back of the class one boy who'd been leaning back in his chair fell, and grabbed desperately for his neighbor to steady himself.

They settled, and again it was quiet. Then Moody said "not complaining about the time now, are you? Class dismissed," and the room was filled with frenzied packing and a rush of students out the door, all avoiding the brooding, scarred figure leaned against the teacher's desk.

Companion to Promises and their consequences:

Fleur Delacour was unsure of herself. It had been wonderful during the time that she had spent with Harry Potter but that closeness had terrified her. She did the one thing she could only think of...she fled. It was a mistake she knew, the first of many she would later realize. She traveled the world wherever Gringotts felt her services were necessary.

After she left Harry, there was an emptiness within her that she could not fill, so she tried a relationship with any man that caught her fancy at the time. However, none of them measured up to him, the one she loved, the one she longed for. She knew that she should have at least sent him a letter, letting him know how she was doing, but every time she picked up a quill, she couldn't bring herself to write. She realized that she was terrified of what he would think of her for abandoning him.

She began to wonder if Harry had moved on. Did he find someone else to love and who would love him in return. Did he have a family? Did he have children? Her heart ached at the thought but she realized it was her fault if he had.

As time went by, she began to feel lonely, missing the company of friends, of family...of him. It got so bad that she decided to return home after three years of being away. How would they react to her, she wondered. How would he react to her?

So, she returned to the one spot that she loved, that always comforted her. To her favourite tree, their tree, she realized. As Fleur continued on, with her head low and her eyes filling with tears, she found herself walking into someone.

Merde, she thought to herself as she stood up. She was startled when she heard an all-too familiar voice, one that she longed to hear and one she was terrified to hear.

"Fleur?!" That startled voice asked, with shock evident in that one spoken word.

Fearful, she looked up and found herself staring into the emerald eyes of the one she had longed for.

"'Arry?"

“Keep up, slowpoke,” Harry called to her from the doorway to their house, while Stella was switching between intently watching the door and turning her blue eyes towards her.

“I am almost done.” Fleur huffed and finished wrapping her scarf around herself. In her thick coat, scarf, mufflers and a white knitted hat with a pom pom, she knew she cut quite the figure. “You know I need to prepare for your winter. And you—” she turned to their canine companion, “—watch that cheek.”

If Stella took her admonishment to heart, she didn’t show it and gifted her with a guileless smile.

“All wrapped up, then?” Harry’s smile was, if possible, even cheekier than Stella’s.

“Watch it, mister.” She tried to point at him, but her efforts were very much thwarted by her thick mittens. “I still don’t understand how you are not a half-jötunn.”

“It’s just normal Scottish winter, love.” He moved to steal a kiss from her. “We aren’t going to visit the pole.”

“It certainly feels like the pole,” she muttered, and vapour rose through her scarf.

Harry, however, noticed the way her cheeks moved, and knew she was smiling. And how could she not some, when they both got o watch Stella gleefully run into the snow outside, barking at the falling snowflakes. Her coat was pristine white and she could easily blend into snow, something she quite enjoyed doing, so she could then surprise her humans.

“She loves winter,” he murmured to her as he took her into his arms.

“At least somebody does.”

“Now now, don’t pout, darling.” He swayed a little, making her move with him. “Why not have some fun? And we better keep up with Stella.”

“Hmph.”

They turned to watch their dog’s exuberant escapades. Both knew they would need to move soon. Stella required a lot of exercise.

And then, resembling a cloud running on four legs, Stella was off, barking her joy to the world.

“Come on.” Harry prodded her. “We better keep up.”

[1:53 PM]

They were back home from the eventful trip where Stella had led them on a merry chase. The fireplace now radiated heat and the gentle crackling of burning wood sounded through their living room. Fleur found herself half-lying on the sofa, leaning on Harry, while the happy ball of fluff that was Stella was sitting on her legs and giving her a beaming canine smile.

Her husband’s arms reached around her, offering her a warm embrace where he cupped her delicate, cold hands in his. Gentle. Warm. He brought her hands to his lips and gently blew on them to warm them up.

“I don’t know why I always allow you two to drag me into that infernal cold.”

Laughter rumbled in his chest, sending delicious shivers down her spine. “Because we always warm you up, and you love us.”

She turned and gave him a slow, languid kiss. They had all the time in the world.

“That you do. And I do.”

And so she sat there, in a cocoon of warmth and affection, while the fire merrily crackled away in the fireplace.

idk bro I’m discovery writing

The page sits before her, empty and vast. No matter how hard she tries to fill it, no matter how many crumpled pages decorate the wastebin like the newest seasonal fashion, all she can manage now is the pencil trailing invisible tracks across the margin.

She wonders if, perhaps, this is why some people said love should only exist in storybooks. If maybe some things are simply too big for a person to feel, too colossal and heavy to bear. That, she hopes, is why love collapses.

Why her love collapsed.

Not that it mattered, not anymore. There stood no reason, no search for clarity, that might dull this feeling. Instead, she hoped to take a crowbar to her chest and pry out the pieces of a broken heart and decorate the floor with the shards of failed passion.

This page was meant to be her release, a rush of emotions in one great wave of catharsis that’d leave her empty, so gloriously empty. Then, finally, she might be able to rest.

But her hand refuses to cooperate, grief has taken her by the throat, tight and relentless, and held her still. It forces her to relive the series of failed futures she had hoped for, shown her how her dreams have been slashed and torn. It lets her listen to her own sobs, loud and heaving, like eulogies for all she’s lost.

It’s not fair, she pleads with Grief. It should be different. So very, very different.

It should be, Grief says back. *But it isn’t. *

And it squeezes her tighter.

So she falls to the floor, battered and beaten, and wonders why people love at all. Why anyone would expose themselves to another, to let them take hold of their heart when the best, the absolute best, the world could do was just to crush it.

She wishes that he might’ve lingered at the door a moment longer before he made to leave, perhaps left a scarf behind to show her he had any intention of returning. He hadn’t.

Now, he was gone. In the haze of a rainy night, of a day no one would remember, he had vanished. His flight from her house had been quick, carried on the wings of harsh words tossed at one another like spears in their dimly-lit kitchen.

It had been swift and full of passion, mistakes had been made and now, he was dead.

That was the truth; as clean and clear as it could come out of her. It had been her fault.

Though she did not dwell on the thought for long, with the entertaining of such woes came nothing good.

She abandoned such a frivolous pursuit of reciting the horrible past and fled to the stairs like a sailor in unsteady seas. She takes from the top shelf a bottle of amber liquid, filled with forget-me-nots and bitterness, and she fashions a crowbar of her own.

If the words haven’t come yet, she’ll tear them out. Root and stem.

The page won’t see anything, not tonight.

But it will, one day.

One day, she will realise that even if she had driven him to that cliff, the love between them was there.

It did not change a thing, history could not be unwritten. Too many forces worked against them, perhaps the world itself had vyed for them to be apart.

Their love didn’t change anything, no. But it mattered that it was there.

This is a night of nights, one amongst many, where she takes to the bottle and tries to find comfort in the bottom. It is not the first, nor the last, not yet.

But soon, in a not-so-distant future, she will raise that bottle for the last time. She’ll wonder if there is an inevitably in such things, whether or not all roads had led to where she was now, no matter what she had said or done.

Then she might ponder, on her final sip, if love truly did collapse, or whether something else happened entirely. Perhaps no love is ever truly gone, perhaps she was simply relegated to trading past stories and memories of better times like some foreign currency only she could understand. One she could use as an alibi from all the despair she felt.

Maybe grief and love were intertwined, some pact made on the happiest of days and the saddest of nights.

Maybe, the love lived on in her and it mattered that it was there.

When that realisation comes, only then will the bottle finally come back down and she shall take to the page again.

And she shall heal.

Fleur Delacour had a sickle. And with it, she threw her wish into the well

“So what’d you wish for?”

“Don’t ask me, ‘Arry,” she started. “I’ll never tell.”

She turned to the voice as the coin fell.

Fleur groaned. His pouting face, begging for her to spill, was just too cute.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I traded my soul for a wish. All I had to give was sickles and galleons for a kiss.”

Harry only smiled.

It took her breath away.

He had a really nice smile.

“I wasn’t looking for this,” she muttered. “But now you’re in my way.”

Harry’s soft stare was holding onto her own.

His ripped jeans made sure skin was showing. The night was hot, the wind was blowing.

As Harry slowly turned around to leave, Fleur suddenly grabbed his hand. Her voice huskily rang out as she asked him,

“Where do you zink you are going, bébé?”

Harry let out a gasp of surprise as a piece of paper was forced into his hand.

“I know I just met you, ‘Arry,” Fleur started, “and zis is crazy…”

“…but here eez my number…so call me maybe?” She asked hopefully.

Harry Potter stared at the French girl in front of him incredulously, causing Fleur to blush.

“Eet eez hard to look right at you, bébé… ” Fleur mumbled. “I know we just met…and eet really eez crazy, ‘Arry, but ‘ere eez my number…call me…maybe?

She quickly wrapped her hand over Harry’s, pushing him to take the slip of paper.

Harry just continued staring at her, not saying anything.

Fleur’s face got even redder, as frustration overtook her.

“All ze other boys try to chase me!” Fleur shouted angrily. “So…my number! Call me! Maybe…” she said the last word quietly.

“…”

“…”

“…sure…”

Fleur jumped up in excitement, not even paying attention that Harry had left.

“Magnifique! Magnifique!” She shouted. 1 month later

Fleur had made numerous wishes. She paid galleons upon galleons all in hopes that it would work.

And then, she met him again.

Just like last time, his stare was holding.

His jeans were ripped…and that chiseled skin was really showing.

The night was hot, and the wind kept on blowing.

Harry approached her this time, his hand reached out to grab her own.

“Where do you think you’re going, baby?” He asked huskily.

Fleur let out a wry smile. It worked! But he had to pay…she wouldn’t make it so easy for him.

“Oh…I think you have meestaken me,” Fleur pretended, “We ‘ave just met.”

Harry shook his head. “No. Even if we just met, even if it was crazy…here…”

He stuffed her hand with a slip of paper, then closed her hand with his own. [9:30 PM] “But here’s my number…” he whispered. “So…call me…maybe?”

Oh, how the turntables have turned.

Fleur didn’t respond. Instead, she chose to stare at him with an amused look in her eyes. She turned on her allure, making him sweat even harder. His eyes began to wander down her chest, causing her to raise an eyebrow. “My eyes are up ‘ere.”

Harry blinked, and embarrassingly rubbed the back of his head.

“I-i-it’s really hard to look right at you, baby.” Harry stammered. “B-b-but my number. Call me? Okay?”

Fleur chose to not respond. She instead chose to huff, and turn away from him.

“Hey!” Harry shouted. “All the other girls try to chase me, you know! And I gave you my number! MY NUMBER! SO CALL ME! CALL! ME!”

Fleur had started to walk away from him, causing Harry to sweat even more.

He rushed up grabbing her arm, stopping her from moving any further.

“Before you came into my life…” Harry whispered. “I…I miss you so bad… I missed you so, so bad. I…I think you should know that…”

“I missed you…so bad…”

Fleur let out a satisfied sigh. He’s paid enough already. She’ll start now. She’ll start working on that kiss.

“Eet is hard to look at you right now…bébé,” She started.

She slowly reached into her pocket and pulled out her own slip of paper, turning around to face him.

“But…here eez my number.”

“So call me…maybe?”

Fleur stretched out her arm desperately and with great effort, her fingertips mere centimeters from the object of her desire, the one thing that would make everything right. She stretched and strained, yet it remained just out of reach, as if taunting her in it's placement. She sighed deeply as the prize remained outside her grasp and began looking around for something, anything, that could aid in her quest.

"What are you doing?" asked Harry, stopping on his way through the room. Looking down, he grabbed her hair brush and handed it to her.

"It worked!" Fleur exclaimed, a look of smug satisfaction on her face.

"What did?" he asked.

"I was trying to wandlessly summon my hair brush. It worked." Harry rolled his eyes and continued on to the kitchen, shaking his head in amusement.

"I'm now attempting to wandlessly summon ice cream from the kitchen. Specifically, vanilla ice cream," she called to him. "Two scopes," she quickly added.

As he came back from the kitchen, Harry handed her a bowl of vanilla ice cream and a spoon. Two scopes, of course. Fleur blew a kiss up at him.

"Next time, try wandlessly summoning some energy to get off the couch," he teased, deftly side-stepping a swipe of the spoon before continuing out of the room.

So I was re-watching Batman Begins and this really stuck out to me. I changed only a few things and think it fits pretty well for Harry Potter. There are still some clunky sentences but the idea is there. The original is after if anyone is interested.

=Britain isn't beyond saving. Give me more time, there are good people here.

-You're defending a city so corrupt we have infiltrated every level of its infrastructure. . . When I found you in that cupboard, you were lost. But I believed in you. I took away your fear, and I showed you a path. You were my greatest student. It should be you standing by my side, saving the world.

-I'll be standing where I belong. Between you and the people of Britain.

-No one can save Magical Britain. When a forest grows too wild, a purging fire is inevitable and natural. Tomorrow the magical world will watch in horror as one of its greatest countries destroys itself. The movement back to harmony will be unstoppable this time.

-You attacked Britain before?

-Of course, over the ages our weapons have grown more sophisticated. With Britain we tried a new one. Politics. But we underestimated certain of Britain's citizens. . . such as your parents. Killed by one of the very people they were trying to help. Create enough pressure and everything will topple. Their deaths galvanized the country into saving itself, and Britain has limped on ever since. We are back to finish the job. And this time no misguided idealists will get in the way. Like Dumbledore, you lack the courage to do all that is necessary. If someone stands in the way of true justice . . . you simply walk up behind them and stab them in the heart.

Original: -Gotham isn't beyond saving. Give me more time. There are good people here.

-You're defending a city so corrupt we have infiltrated every level of its infrastructure. . . When I found you in that jail, you were lost. But I believed in you. I took away your fear, and I showed you a path. You were my greatest student. It should be you standing by my side, saving the world.

-I'll be standing where I belong. Between you and the people of Gotham.

-No one can save Gotham. When a forest grows too wild, a purging fire is inevitable and natural. Tomorrow the world will watch in horror as its greatest city destroys itself. The movement back to harmony will be unstoppable this time.

-You attacked Gotham before?

-Of course. Over the ages our weapons have grown more sophisticated. With Gotham we tried a new one. Economics. But we underestimated certain of Gotham's citizens. . . such as your parents. Gunned down by one of the very people they were trying to help. Create enough hunger and everyone becomes a criminal. Their deaths galvanized the city into saving itself, and Gotham has limped on ever since. We are back to finish the job. And this time no misguided idealists will get in the way. Like your father, you lack the courage to do all that is necessary. If someone stands in the way of true justice. . . you simply walk up behind them and stab them in the heart.

In which Harry James Potter has a younger brother, Anthony James Potter. No Horcrux. Just plain Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts.

Daphne Greengrass was minding her business when Anthony James Potter, the youngest Potter grabbed her from the Great Hall and dragged her across Hogwarts.

Anthony James Potter, better known as the other Potter, was the only Potter in history to have been born sorted into Hufflepuff. But that didn’t stop him from making his mark into the world. Well, her world today.

“Today’s the day! Move faster before we miss him!” she heard Anthony say as he practically dragged her while she struggled to keep pace with her books in her arms.

“Huh?! What do you mean…?” Daphne Greengrass was not fond of surprises. She preferred being calculated and that meant not taking leaps of faith. She couldn’t see the end game of those scenarios. She had to think about it.

“What do you mean, ‘What do you mean?’ I told you yesterday. Today’s the day you talk to my brother. Or you can just go straight to spilling the beans to him.”

“What? C-confess? What?! No, no, no I can’t do that. I need a plan. I need more – “

“Come onnnnnnnnnn, Greengrass! My brother’s not that scary you know.”

Daphne Greengrass immediately felt like she was going to be sick. She had a long crush on one Harry Potter. Anthony’s older brother, the Golden Boy and the only person she wished she could show her true feelings.

(1)

Harry James Potter was the Head Boy, the best Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts student since Dumbledore himself and poised to possibly give England it’s first ever Quidditch World Cup. And he had the dreamiest green eyes. Of course, he was scary. Not in that way. It scared her, just thinking of talking to him. Everybody wanted to talk to Harry. Everybody wanted to be the person Harry would tell his secrets and problems to. Somehow, everybody has managed to spill their deepest desires and secrets to him the minute he smiles. She was scared he’d see her as another fan girl, another girl that only liked him because he was good looking and a damn good wizard. She liked him far beyond that.

How did she even end up in this situation? His brother, Anthony, must have been the least scary Potter. The Potters were wildly famous and rightly so as they were perhaps the most brilliant family in the modern century. She hadn’t meant to be friends with Anthony Potter but he had caught her staring at Harry while he took care of a lost first year Slytherin just when she thought no one else was there. He had since established some sort of friendship with her without any regard for her cold personality. As another brilliant Potter, he probably saw right through it.

“I…I know that! I just…can’t tell Harry yet. I can’t…” “Oh, don’t give me that look. You’re the Ice Princess, you’ll be fine!” “Tell Harry…what?” “Oh, Harry?!” “Well, now you guys look obviously suspicious. What did you do, Anthony?” They froze. Oh no. She did not just hear that voice. *Please tell me that it is anyone but Potter. *

(2)

“Me? What are you even doing out so early?” Anthony quipped. Clearly Anthony was not anticipating this event. Daphne felt like she was going to faint. This can’t be happening. Why did she have to be dragged into this?

“Oh…er…well McGonagall let us out early and now I’m just taking a walk. Don’t always get free time.”

Daphne Greengrass could not muster to look at Gryffindor’s golden boy but she realized he must have noticed Anthony still holding on to her hand as she stiffened when she heard him say “Oh.”

“Er...congratulations?” she heard him say as her eyes grew large. She struggled to keep herself from hitting Anthony and from blushing at the embarrassment. Harry thought they were dating. She wished that the grounds would open up to swallow her. Maybe Anthony first, then her. Anthony’s eyes must’ve nearly popped when he heard him say that.

“What?! Dear brother!” he said, sounding very much aghast, “don’t be ridiculous, you know who I like. Daphne’s just a friend I picked up. We’re nothing like that!”

Daphne had more than half the mind to hex Anthony. Picked up? What was she a pet animal? An abandoned snake? Oh bugger.

“Oh? I suppose not then. My bad. Err…just kidding then! Aha, I was actually just playing with you guys. Sorry. Bad joke.”

(3)

“You have horrible jokes, Harry. It always seems too serious.”

Harry Potter just scratched his head with his signature grin. Daphne could not help but look any more lost. How was she supposed to manage being in his presence?

“Well anyway, what is it then that you guys can’t tell me? Do you need help with a project? Is it Snape? Because if it is, I can’t be caught doing that again because he almost –”

“You know what, Harry. Daphne DOES need help with a project. I have to run…Hagrid needs me for his …uh Skrewts. See ya later!” He bowed towards Daphne in a mocking manner. Just like that, Anthony disappeared leaving her, Daphne Greengrass, the Ice Queen of Slytherin with the Golden Boy of Gryffindor.

She heard Harry clear his throat, “So, Daphne. Er, I am allowed to call you that right? Not just Greengrass?” he asked.

It must have taken forever for her to break her frozen stance. She wanted to breathe heavily but she was frozen to the core. How was she supposed to face him? He probably already thinks she’s another girl that his brother is setting him up with. Great. Thanks, Anthony.

“Daphne?” His voice sounded nearer. She turned so fast that she didn’t realize he was right behind her. She had lost control and fell into him. Luckily, he wasn’t as much of a clutz as she is, catching her into his arms. Of course she just had to look right into his beautiful eyes.

“You alright there, Daphne?” he said, looking straight into her eyes. She would have melted into his arms if she hadn’t been thinking. If she hadn’t been raised to be an Heiress, she would’ve melted into his arms and let him take her away. But she couldn’t. She needed more time.

(4)

“Oh yes, sorry Potter,” she said, quickly moving away from him. She had to get away from here. Students would come out in a few minutes and she’d rather not be caught in the arms of Hogwarts’ Head Boy, Golden Boy, Mr. Dreamy eyes, whatever they’re calling him these days.

“Potter? Did I offend you, Daphne?”

“No. Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Er...well you called my brother Anthony and I’m just...Potter? Sorry, I’m a bit jealous.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” he said with a smile so sincere she would have believed it. Why would he even say that?

“Listen,” he continued before she could say something. “I actually have to go but I’d love to talk to you about your project later. Meet me in the lake later in the afternoon?

Fleur let out a shriek of frustration as a skirt was ejected violently from the closet. Harry, sitting on their bed, winced. Another moment passed before a sundress–one of Fleur’s favorites–was also forcefully discarded onto the floor of their bedroom.

A few minutes later, when several dresses–all still on their hangers–were thrown out of the closet and onto the bedroom floor, he finally decided to speak up. He took a moment and–in as considerate of a voice as he could muster–spoke.

“Is there anything I can do to help my love,” he asked in French.

His wife appeared in the doorway to their closet in naught but her underwear. Her eyes blazed with the frustration of a woman teetering on the edge of violence.

“You have done quite enough.”

She turned and his eyes drifted quickly to her abdomen. In the past few weeks, it had begun protruding in a very recognizable fashion. It had apparently reached a tipping point.

He debated for a moment telling her how beautiful he found her. However, he thought better of it when, only a moment later, a pair of slacks came rocketing out of the closet and splashed against the wall.

“I’ll tell her later,” he thought, turning his attention back to his book

“Harry?!”

The hand over his mouth tightened, its owner biting down laughter. In the dark broom shed, with her body flush against his, it was hard to form thought let alone speak. The searchers called his name again, but it was fainter as they moved away. The slender fingers clamped over his chin loosened then fell away.

“This is ridiculous!” He hissed quietly, trying to speak his piece before she closed in and wiped it all away with another kiss. She was thinking about it too, the dim light through the cracks in the shed revealed her blue eyes just enough to see their focus on his lips. “We have to tell them.”

A hand, the hand that had silenced him before, slid up from his chest to cup the back of his neck, he resisted being pulled down but it did not deter her. She swelled up to meet him, pressing against him more than ought to be possible and making his head fuzzy.

The kiss obliterated any resistance left in him.

“Harry?!” Bill’s voice, loud and nearby shocked him out of his stupor. His shirt was off and his heart pounding, he was not entirely sure how she’d managed that, but she’d returned to pinning him to the shed wall with a hand over his mouth and the whispers of snickers on her lips.

Bill called for him again, but again he had moved away from the broom closet.

“I’m serious, I’m telling them.” He said, yet again possessed of sudden determination.

“Harry, do you like being with me?” She trailed a hand up his abdomen, where was his shirt?

“Obviously, but-” he said, knowing it was pointless.

“Do you want me to keep touching you?” Her hand stopped its ascent at the bottom of his ribs and moved across his torso to the ticklish skin of his side. He shivered.

“Do I really need to answer?”

“Well,” she carried on, unconcerned by his participation in the conversation. “I like the sneaking around. It adds to the fun.” He sighed.

“For you maybe.”

She smiled brightly at him, and to his eye it really did seem to lift the ambient light in the room, if only for just a second.

“Get dressed lover boy, they’ll be calling in your coworkers soon to find us.”

“You’re evil.” He told her as she stepped away from him with only a grazing of her nails across his ribs in goodbye. He found his shirt as she slipped out of the shed.

“I found him!” He swore under his breath and redoubled his efforts to get his shirt back over his head and out of Bill and Fleur’s broom shed. She was smirking at him as they rounded the corner and saw him exiting the shed.

“‘Ow did we not zhink to check zhe broom shed?” Fleur asked her husband, her English still so much worse than her sisters. Not that anyone was dumb enough to go around saying that.

“Just checking out the selection.” He offered lamely, trying to sneak glares at Gabby when the others wouldn't notice.

“It will ‘ave to wait, dinner is almost ready.” Fleur said briskly, and she turned on her heel and marched off with every expectation that the party would follow. Bill, ever the dutiful husband, did just that and promptly. Harry was glad, because it gave him the chance to fall into step beside Gabrielle.

“I’ll get you back for that,” he warned her.

“Looking forward to it.”

Harry Potter is a fighter.

Born to a war and struck down from the cradle, his spirit is a fist and "saviour" is his label. He's fought the war and won and now he's hunting down the stragglers, like an avenging angel righting wrongs he plunges into the darkest corners of a human made hell to bring the devil back in chains.

And all the while, Fleur Potter sat at home alone.

Harry Potter didn't have a loving family. He was taught to live his life on a transactional basis, "I spend every minute I'm awake working to please you, and you give me the leftovers once dinner is finished." Once he got to Hogwarts things changed, he got friends and they did things differently. They gave without expecting anything in return, and they never demanded anything of him. But then Voldemort came back and while Harry had learned how to recieve and give, he never learned how to live.

"Business is like a battle", Vernon would say as he narrated his masterstroke of getting an up and coming progressive coworker fired before he could threaten Vernon's position with new ideas and technologies. Business was a transaction, and business was a battle. Harry had been fighting since he could remember, in one way or another. First for, "little things," before Hogwarts, then for survival, and now he fought to make sure no one would ever have to fight again. But he was running out of people to chase.

The Dark Wizards got better at hiding, and Harry had to spend more and more time hunting them. He passed up on promotions out of the field and on dinner at home in equal measure.

Peace is a foreign concept to the orphans of war. He was a fighter, the savior, a messiah for fools. He knew how to give, to give and give and give until there was nothing left of him at all. And the world knew how to take. It knew how to take and take and take until you had nothing left, and how to ask for still more.

When Harry ran out of himself, he started giving his wife. His marriage was sacrificed on the altar of the greater good, and day by day the woman he'd married became a silent, cold stranger.

A beauty austere.

He'd spent the last three days and nights in the auror office. It was all hands on deck, the biggest case of the past ten years. There was pressure from the public, from the minister, from the wizengamot, everyone was clamoring for this case to be solved. Augustus Rookwood, the last Death Eater, had finally made a mistake. They caught him, the people celebrated, and Harry breathed a sigh of mind numbing relief as he stumbled onto the Knight Bus, too exhausted to apparate home. He arrived on the threshold to find the door hanging open. The wind was cold, and the night breathed its chill through the cold halls of his home.

He found his wife in the parlour, dressed in a sheer gown with a goblet of bloody red in a lofty hand. She was pale, uncaring of the cold that had turned her skin to ice. Uncaring, or accepting from long familiarity.

He stared at her, mouth open in shock and something that felt like grief, and as the universe whirled to bring here eyes in line with his, he found that knew not what to say.

"Who am I, Harry?"

Names and memories from years ago, all failed.

"Who are you?"

A lifetime lived for others, not a second for himself.

"Who are we?"

"Husband and wife," he croaked, voice returned at last.

She frowned, mulling over the words as the crystal goblet swirled, slowly sipping from the bitter cup.

"If that's true, then why don't I know who you are?"

A lifetime lived for others, all except the one that mattered most. The look in her eyes not grief, not despair, but a detached clarity brought on by the wine that stripped away her power of self deception. The look of one seeing the mirror and contemplating a stranger, a monument to his sins.

"Because I've left you to live our life together alone," he whispered, remorse untainted carrying forth the words.

Her eyes focused suddenly, and she blinked in the realization of truth.

"You have, haven't you," she murmured, "you've left me all alone."

Her brows knit together and shoulders shuddered, tears gathering as her breathing faltered and heaved in time with the rhythm of the spasms of a dying thing.

"I- You-"

The bitter cup slipped, to the very tips of her fingers as they slackened, the bloody red about to spill when Harry took her pale hand in his. He set the cup aside, all too heavy and unforgotten as he knelt before her with tears of anguish streaming down his cheeks as he comforted the sobbing stranger, both grieving for the loss of someone that it now felt like they had never known.

She clutched at him tightly, right hand wrapped in both of his and the left seizing upon them both with a desperate strength, the ring upon her finger digging painfully into his skin. They stayed like that until the cold had numbed him to the bone and her hand no longer felt like ice in his. Their tears had long since dried before she spoke, voice hollow.

"This is it, I suppose."

The whisper was a javelin, struck down from Olympus to punish him for his crimes and all too willing to drag her into his demise. It rang with an inescapable truth, and he felt in his bones that acceptance was the only way. But Harry Potter was a fighter, and he didn't have the faintest idea how to give up.

He smiled up at her, bittersweet and tainted with memories, but filled with an unearned hope as well. He turned the stranger's hand in his, clasping it in a sign of greeting.

"It is. Hi, my name is Harry," he said, voice on the verge of shattering, "and I'd like to get to know you."

She stared at him in confusion, his heart pounding so hard he was sure she could hear it as he waited for her response. Then her eyes grew wide, she let out a quavering, strangled laugh, as she shook it.

"Hello Harry, my name is Fleur P-Potter, and I'd like to get to know you as well."

She smiled, hope unfamiliar shining forth, and it was beautiful even through the tears. He had lost her, and the bond they once had was gone forever, but new bonds can always be made.

------

On April 13th, 2009, one day after the capture of Augustus Rookwood, last of the Death Eaters, Head Auror Harry James Potter resigned. His wife, Fleur Potter, met him in the lobby of the ministry of magic and they were seen an hour later in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, holding hands and telling stories as the befuddled proprietor looked on at the pair of them acting like teenagers out on their first date, but glad all the same to see them looking happier than they had in years.

Bruises upon bruises He left me black and blue A single mistake shattered my dream The sound of steel still echoes through the darkenss Empty eyes staring up at the sky, the smoking car, and the stench of wine. My childhood stolen, slipping away from my fingers like loose sand A deal made A bride sold A man has his rights And so begin the solemn hours A decade passed, smiles turning false and brittle Society moved faster, knowledge behind their eyes None dared rise against the demon They trembled under his gaze As I tremble under his touch Then you came in like a blazing ball igniting a spark I long thought extinguished Hope flickering in the darkness Your gentle touch a sharp contrast against the harshness You noticed that everyone had But you did not turn away as others had You stood against the demon like a knight But I am no damsel in distress From porcelain to ivory to steel With your silent courage Your presence in the shadows I took the knife Flesh parting as butter His skin had never felt so sweet With Gasping breaths, and disbelief the demon turned to boy A broken shell, he was no real man For men don't take they earn And those who take they fall You looked at my blood-soaked gown At the madness dancing in my eye, At the body still warm And you smiled