"What has happened to your broom, Mr. Potter?" The aghast voice squeaked in shock as the hands belonging to it turned the wooden object over and over, carefully touching the shattered pieces.
The bespectacled young man tensed his jaw, clearly conflicted about the response to the voiced question. With a soft sigh through the nose, he slumped his shoulders. "My...wife, we had an argument. The broom just happened to cross her field of vision."
The man across the counter raised his head to eye Harry sharply. With a shake of his head, he returned to studying the mangled broom. "I normally do not ask personal questions, and I never make it my business to make other people's business mine. However, Mr Potter, this is a rare vintage racing broom."
"I know-"
"That has a history worthy of respect," the man continued, talking over him without a glance. "I don't know in what scenario you found it appropriate to have it be used for a spousal tantrum."
Harry's eyes closed. His frustration grew with each word the man said.
"She knew what the broom meant." He made a point, albeit indirectly. "Can it be fixed?"
The man paused at his earlier comment but seemed to choose his words with care. His eyes travelled, twitching slightly. It was probably a good sign.
"Yes," he voiced tiredly. "Magic can do wonderous things, and same as with anything else, even famous racing brooms can be mended with a single swish and whoosh of a wand."
"Then I'd appreciate you're doing so."
The man nodded slowly and cast a unique reparo. The wand movement was different and slower, the incantation more elaborate than what he was used to. Perhaps it was family magic to broom makers. Anyway, the broom on the table wiggled briefly before the snapped parts slowly but surely moved back toward each other and the broken lines became smooth surfaces.
"Here you go," the broom maker announced. "One broom whole again. May it serve you well.
The words came off with implicit meaning and Harry had little need for imagination to decipher what they translated into.
"Knowing where I'm going, I don't think I will have to worry about it again." His words were perhaps meant more for himself than they'd ever mean to the maker of brooms. Alas, the man across the counter nodded appreciatively before guiding Harry to the door.
They said they're goodbyes and without another word, Harry apparated home, to where his wife was surely expecting him.
Fleur sat in the living room, her hands busy with themselves fiddling with her long platinum-blond strands of hair. 'Perhaps I should try a new look.' The thought just occured to her and maybe it was long overdue. She was no longer just a girl anymore.
A pop echoed from outside, signalling the arrival of the other occupant of the home's arrival. Her heartt quickened again and the thought of the previous conversation made her angry but also drew on the guilt she felt after he'd come back through the door the first time after.
The door opened somewhere behind the wall of books in their living room, and closed with a soft but confident thud. Moments later, Harry emerged with a whole broom under his arm.
"You fixed it?" she voiced flatly. She didn't know how else to put it.
"Just about," he muttered in reply. "Got a lecture too."
She frowned at that. "Lectured by whom?"
"The broom maker," he replied evenly again. He walked over to the fireplace and placed the precious broom over it. "Something about how I shouldn't be careless with my possessions."
Again, the guilt stabbed at her. But she couldn't admit to anything. "No matter, it's fixed. No need to dwell on it."
Harry eyed her in contemplation. Walking over to the sofa, he dropped himself on it and sighed quietly.
She in turn returned a thoughtful gaze as well.
"I didn't mean to break it," she began. "It was...it was a spur of the moment thing."
"It's fine," he said with a shake of his head. "It's just a thing. Things break. And can be fixed again. Evidently."
They sat in silence for a few more moments, their eyes drawing away from each other, staring at object around them. It was an odd sensation for them. Avoidance.
"If you don't want this," she began. "I'll understand. It's not for everyone."
The words were out before she could stop them from leaving. It wasn't what she meant to say. No, she didn't mean to say anything. It was the damn silence. It must have been.
Harry eyed her with a deep frown, his eyes accusing. His mouth opened to with a sneer but he halted and studied her eyes. Recognition crossed his and he relaxed again.
"I would never leave you," he spoke clearly.
"Then-"
"I was having a moment," he replied hastily. "Merely a moment. It wasn't a choice."
The words seemed to calm her as he noticed the lines on her face disappearing.
She swallowed before she stood up from the chair that she'd been sitting on since he arrived at their home and walked over to him to kneel in front him. When they were face to face, mere inches from kissing, Fleur leaned forward and touched her brow with his. She closed here eyes. His eyes were too striking for her to speak with an even tone. Hiding from them was the only option.
"I'm sorry I broke your broom," she whisper.
"There's nothing to forgive," he whispered back. "I'm not leaving you."
The words seemed to have the wanted effect and she slowly pulled back to finally gaze directly into his eyes.
"I pray they have your eyes," she muttered barely over a hoarse whisper.
He didn't offer a reply but instead moved his head forward and kissed her deeply.
She replied in kind, holding on to him. Keeping him.
They broke apart again, breathing.
"I'm sorry about what happened," he spoke so only she could hear. Not even the walls of their house were privy to his confession. "I was scared."
She shook her head at him and kissed him again. It was chaste.
"You'll be a wonderful father, Arry," she insisted.
"Only with you," he insisted in turn.
She touched her belly.
He lowered his hand over hers.
"If this is the price of happiness, then a few hundred broken brooms are a worth it."