AN: Trigger Warning for abuse in this and next chapter
Harry buttoned the front of his trousers, the occasional lingering tremor making his finger slip off the hard plastic. Once he had finally managed to fasten the stubborn things, he pulled his shirt over his head, careful not to smash his glasses down on his nose. He tugged at the front, wishing desperately that he had something to wear besides the somewhat ratty shirt he had chosen for the third task. He stepped out from behind the curtain, coming face to face with a small blue bottle.
"Last one," Madam Pomfrey said, placing the bottle in his hand. "It won't stop the last of the after-effects but it should reduce their frequency."
He nodded, turning to where the doors to the hospital wing were swinging open, allowing the Delacour family entry. Fleur led her mother and father inside, offering Harry a quick wave as she strode forward. She had changed from the outfit she had worn for the task, and judging by her now spotless silvery hair tied back with an orange ribbon, she had found the time to take a shower.
Standing in his torn clothes without so much as a spritz of water, he found himself a little jealous, but mostly embarrassed.
Harry suppressed the immediate tensing that preceded a twitch away from Mr. Delacour who approached, hand outstretched.
"It is good to meet you under less...extreme circumstances," he said. His light brown eyes wrinkled with a smile, almost hiding the deep dark circles that rested beneath. Stubble darkened his cheeks and chin, little dots of white standing out against the otherwise dark beard. He clasped Harry's hand in a firm grip, then let his hand fall. "Though I suppose that's not entirely true, is it?"
"No, Sir."
"Oh, please. After everything, feel free to call me Sebastian, or Mr. Delacour at the very least."
"We wanted to see how you were doing," Apolline said, stepping up beside her husband. Fleur stood to her other side, an awkward smile flitting across her lips. "Fleur has told us generally of your ordeal, and to be frank, I am surprised you are out of bed."
Madam Pomfrey let out an audible sniff from nearby.
"I got plenty of rest, Ma'am," Harry said, balking at the reproachful stare he received in return. "Er...Mrs. Delacour."
A single imperious eyebrow raised in answer to his statement that almost made him laugh aloud. He had seen as much from Fleur more than once when he said something she disagreed with.
"Be that as it may," she said, her gentle incredulity fading away. "Sebastian and I wanted to come to thank you again before saying our goodbyes. Please, take care of yourself this summer. Most people are bedridden for weeks following...that spell." She spat the final words like a particularly filthy swear. "But not you two."
"We are fine, Maman," Fleur interjected. Harry spotted the slight roll of her eyes. "Any lingering effects have gone away."
Harry nodded slowly, clasping his hands behind his back.
"As I said before," Mr. Delacour said, once again offering his hand. "We are in your debt. Let me know if there's anything I can ever do for you-" he paused, hiding a yawn beneath a hand. "If you can ever catch me outside of work, that is. There are busy days ahead."
"I didn't...it wasn't-" Harry tried but faltered when both Fleur and her mother drew their lips into a line.
Fleur relaxed first. "I wanted to say goodbye as well, 'Arry. I wish it had not been such a...challenging year, but I am glad we met."
"Me too."
He noted a certain pang in his chest. He wasn't unfamiliar with the woes of parting ways, though most often it was accompanied by the imminent dread of his relatives waiting for him outside King's Cross. He hadn't, however, expected to be feeling it so keenly upon first seeing her in the top box almost a year previous.
She produced two pieces of parchment from a pocket of her robes, along with a quill. She handed it over with a quick smile.
"My address. For the letters."
He nodded, scribbling the Dursley's address on the blank piece with the ever-inked quill. He stared at the words for a long moment before handing it back. It felt as though he were handing over an unlocked strongbox of his most prized possessions and asking her not to look inside.
She grinned as she accepted the parchment and quill back, folding it carefully before sliding it back in her pocket. "It will not be as enjoyable as meeting in person," she said. "But even so, I look forward to it."
Her mother's mouth quirked up in a small smile. "Gabrielle will be quite jealous. She's rather taken with her hero." She laughed lightly as Harry spluttered out a reply and apologized. "I do not mean to tease. But truly, we must leave. I hope you'll consider our invitation for Christmas."
"Yes, Ma'am," he answered, struggling to find purchase in the shifting conversation. "Mrs. Delacour."
"We look forward to it."
After a chorus of goodbyes and an irritated interjection by Madam Pomfrey, who stuffed the little blue potion vial into Fleur's hands, the Delacours departed with a final wave.
Harry sagged as the door to the infirmary swung closed.
"You had best get going," Madam Pomfrey said, shooing him towards the door. "There's not much time left before you need to be ready to leave for the train."
He nodded, offering her a quick smile. "Thanks...for everything this year. I know it was a bit more than usual."
She drew her mouth into a line, though the corners twitched up against her will. "Though I expect it will be futile to say, I would like to see you much less next year. I'm tempted to send you off to St. Mungos from now on."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Very good. Have a good summer, Mr. Potter."
He injected as much levity into his reply as he could, even as the thought of leaving on the Express dimmed the room around him. He had said goodbye to one friend already, he might as well get on with saying goodbye to the rest. Besides, with Voldemort returned, maybe living in the muggle world wouldn't be so bad.
XxX
Harry hefted his trunk up into the storage space above his seat, then dropped down to sit between Ron and the window. His friends had spent the entire time waiting for the train to arrive in Hogsmeade glancing at him, half-asked questions dying on their lips. They had put their trunks away first, their obvious nonchalance grating on his nerves.
"Okay," he said. "What do you want to know?"
Hermione gave a guilty start then glanced over to Ron.
"Everything, mate," he said, shrugging. "Nobody said anything."
"Oh. Well. I guess the short of it is that Voldemort's back."
Ron's eyes bulged and Hermione seemed as though she were about to choke on her tongue. "W-what? How did…and you-?" she stammered, eyes wide.
Harry sighed, letting his irritation seep away. It wasn't their fault he still ached and his feet and hands still gave an occasional twitch. There was no need to sour his last few hours of freedom away from his relatives, but no matter how he tried to focus on the present, thoughts of the Dursleys refused to leave his mind completely.
He started with finding the cup, opting to leave the details of Fleur's transformation from the story.
His friends sat in rapt attention, barely blinking as Harry glossed over their capture and Fleur's terror. At Hermione's prodding, he detailed the steps of the simplistic resurrection ritual. His hand went up to his face as he recounted Crouch and his dagger, and he found smooth, unbroken skin beneath his fingers. He had forgotten all about the wound after his torture.
A morose silence filled the cabin once he finished with falling asleep in the infirmary. Even Hermione was unable to come up with thoughtful questions for more information, instead just staring at some distant point ahead, while Ron just shook his head from time to time. Once he was sure they didn't have anything to ask, he leaned his head against the cabin wall, staring out to the horizon. A crackling storm front built ahead of the train, a gray sheet of rain visible even from their significant distance.
The engine let out a long whistle as it dove into the storm a short time later. Sunlight vanished behind the oppressive clouds and bursts of wind rattled the windows. Rain drummed against the roof in torrents, washing away the muffled sounds of nearby cabins. Harry peered unseeing through the rivers that streamed sideways across the glass window.
The palpable threat of Voldemort loomed behind, pale fingers manifest in the twitches rolling through his legs and the bone-deep ache prevalent at the edge of feeling. Drawing ever closer was the storm of his uncle, his rage as violent and unpredictable as the lightning above.
His uncle would have been furious to discover his missing; breakfast unmade, cupboard unlocked and empty, bedsheet messy. Before the attack, the World Cup had been an incredible experience. The golden coliseum had sparkled in the noonday sun while witches and wizards from across the globe streamed through massive gates to fill the stands. He had seen a perfect Wronski Feint and heinous blatching. And he'd very nearly been caught staring at Fleur, only to have her watch him with blatant curiosity as he left the top box.
The thrill of the match and the relief from his shortened time at Privet Drive seemed a distant memory with the consequence of his flight looming so near.
With a quiet sigh, he lifted his head from the wall. He only had to make it until either Sirius was cleared or until he was seventeen. He could make it through a few more years…even if this one might be particularly bad.
His leg twitched against the wall next to him and he had to suppress a snarl. If his body couldn't be bothered to keep up with all the things he needed to do, it'd be an even tougher summer than he expected.
A gust of rain-filled wind slammed against the window and made him jump. He forced out a breath.
Slow in. Slow out.
A twitch.
Slow in. Slow out.
A whistle blew and the cabin lurched. The breaks squealed outside and the lights of King's Cross began to wink into existence through the sheets of rain. Hermione and Ron stirred from their quiet contemplations with a start, both rising to pull their trunks from the overhead storage as the train slowed further, pulling into the station.
His trunk thudded down the metal stairs behind him as he stepped down onto the concrete platform.
"My parents are over there," Ron said. "I think yours are over there too, Hermione."
"My aunt and uncle will probably be outside as usu-" Harry cut off, years of practice spotting two furious eyes peering at him through a sea of witches and wizards. Feeling fled his body, leaving only a sensation of pressure on his chest that made it almost impossible to draw breath.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice was only a ringing in his ears.
Slow in. Slow out.
His aunt stood next to her husband, a look of mingled disgust and sadness playing across her face in duet.
Slow in.
"Are those your relatives?" Ron asked, following Harry's unblinking gaze.
Slow-
It wasn't working.
He couldn't breathe.
"Harry?" TGhe ringing came more insistent and a light touch on his elbow made him recoil.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Still hurts a bit from the graveyard. I've got to go."
He dragged his trunk behind him, bewildered well wishes for a happy summer floating over the din of the crowd, mocking him. Cool repressed anger met him in the shape of his uncle and the disconcerting wooden smile he had plastered on his face.
"Welcome back."
His aunt tugged on Vernon's sleeve, an umbrella clutched protectively against her chest. "Let's get going. I always hated this place."
"Get a move on," his uncle said, allowing Harry to lead them through the barrier back to the muggle side of King's Cross. He heard a muted swear from his uncle as they passed through the false stone. The back of his neck prickled as he walked, sure that they were watching every tiny movement he made.
Station patrons jostled his shoulders as he walked out of the busy front gate to where the car was parked by the road. Rain soaked through his clothes and plastered his hair to his head. Dudley sat inside the car, a new portable game console clutched in two meaty hands. His uncle popped the boot in agonizing silence, hefting Harry's trunk inside with a dismissive toss. Harry climbed in the back, the slam of the boot sounding uncomfortably like a guillotine sliding home.
Silent minutes later, save for the beeps of Dudley's game, they were driving through the busy London streets. Life and purpose thrived just outside his window, despite the dismal weather. It seemed a cruel joke that such vibrancy couldn't penetrate such thin panes of glass. A driver ahead of them cut across, forcing his uncle to slam the brakes.
Knots curled into angry fists in his chest as his uncle continued their quiet drive. Previous summers had been filled with derisive comments about his kind, Hogwarts, but mostly about Harry. He was usually given his chore-list for the coming weeks by way of complaint about his shoddy work on the very same jobs the year before. He had been expecting that list.
He spent some of his time while brooding thinking up ways to ensure his trembling appendages didn't cause him more trouble. He had expected an explosion of rage or of threats and commands the moment the car door had slammed shut.
Instead, he was given silence.
It wasn't until London had thinned to a trickle of large buildings and Dudley's batteries had died that his uncle finally broke his verbal moratorium.
"It seems to me as though you've had a pretty relaxing year."
His uncle's voice was almost calm, genial, but it held an underscored tension. The tight toothy smile of a man a heartbeat away from a brawl.
"Plenty of time to yourself, not a care in the world for anyone else."
This was one of the 'stay quiet' moments. He sensed no expectation of response in his uncle's words. That had been a lesson quickly learned.
"Imagine our surprise to find our nephew gone one morning. His things missing, bed unmade, no note."
Keep silent. Pay attention. Remember the words.
They stopped to make a turn, the blinker on the dash clicking away quiet seconds. His aunt stared ahead, her back ramrod straight in the stiff car seats.
"I work hard for this family," his uncle said over the hum of the engine as they accelerated up to speed. "I make sure there is a roof over our heads. I bring clients home to seal deals so that the roof is spacious, so our refrigerator is full, and so we can enjoy life."
Harry nodded compulsively, though his uncle was still focused on the rain-slicked road ahead.
"I do all of this without expectation of a thank you. I do all this, and we still let you go to that…that evil school of yours. We let you go and unlearn all the decency we've tried to teach you, forcing us to work twice as hard to try to keep you from being a worthless dreg on society."
Be sure to breathe. Listen. Pay attention to what he says. Stay quiet.
Nothing else came and Harry didn't notice the moment had slipped by until it was much too late.
"Well, boy?"
Different.
This was different; new.
He tripped over thoughts and words to find a response. Hands twitched. Breath came short and quick.
"I'm…sorry."
A hard grunt was his reply and he sagged against the seat, staring out the window as trees and illuminated street lamps sped by. He knew what came next.
Nobody spoke again until they had pulled into the driveway. Aunt Petunia hurried Dudley inside with the umbrella held aloft over their heads while Uncle Vernon popped the boot, letting Harry drag his trunk from inside. His thoughts strayed to Hedwig, who he had again sent to stay with Sirius. At least his familiar wouldn't suffer for the things he'd done.
He walked into the house, taking care to remove his shoes lest he track in rainwater that earned him both a reprimand and more chores. A near-growl from his uncle stopped him mid-step as he turned to go up the stairs.
"Not up there, boy. You've shown that you don't appreciate the privileges you're given. Maybe you can earn them back." His thick hand descended on Harry's shoulder and pulled him from the stairs. "Back to where you belong."
Harry stepped around the banister to the door of the cupboard.
It was smaller than he remembered.
Inside, he found a square case-less pillow resting atop a threadbare blanket. Dust had settled on them, unmoved from when he had placed them there years ago after being allowed Dudley's old room. He stuffed his trunk into the already cramped space and shut the door.
"You won't be sneaking out of there, will you?"
He spun to find his uncle glowering down at him, while his aunt and cousin were already comfortable in the living room. He shook his head, staring at the thick crease in his uncle's brow that appeared whenever the man was properly angry.
He stumbled back, his head rebounding against the cupboard door as his uncle's open hand made contact with his forehead.
"Decent folk say, 'Yes, Sir' and 'No, Sir'. Something we'll need to reteach you, isn't it?"
Harry forced himself to stand straight, struggling against the faint twitching of his hands.
"Yes, Sir."
His uncle turned and stomped away, giving Harry a brief moment to gather himself before a shouted command for dinner resonated through the house. He slipped into the kitchen, taking care not to look at the television which was tuned to one of Dudley's favorite shows.
He pulled the pans from one of the cupboards and let his body take over while his thoughts drifted into silence.
Normalcy settled over him, accompanied by a sense of perverse relief. Things were mostly as he expected them to be upon his return…
But the slight changes nagged at him.
He had spent years learning to predict his uncle, to the point he could occasionally go over a week without incident. The pan in his hand gave a shudder and he forced it still.
New rules meant uncertainty.
XxX
Fleur paced her room, warm sunlight streaming through the large window that sat behind her writing desk. Atop the desk lay an inkwell and an obnoxiously blank sheet of parchment. She plopped down into her seat, tossing her ponytail behind the backrest with a flick of her hand.
A week had passed since she had returned to France and it had been far tougher to re-acclimate to the calm life at home than she had thought. Her hands had stopped their irritating twitching after her first night at home, but she found herself unable to relax. Even Gabrielle had picked up on the heavy uncertain air around the house and the near-complete absence of their father due to an overwhelming workload.
She had waited the week, not wanting to seem strange by sending her friend a letter only a day after they had seen each other, but her dilemma swiftly became 'what' instead of 'when.' She made lists of things she wanted to talk about, and even longer lists of things she wanted to ask. No matter how hard she had tried, however, each draft of her first letter turned to Voldemort and the utter fury that had twisted the wizard's unnatural features while he tortured Harry.
She dropped her head into her hands, rubbing the heels of her palms into her eyes. She blinked away the spots and focused on the parchment in front of her, brushing away a few remnant ashes of her earlier letters. She just had to be careful. He didn't like to share and she didn't want to push too hard. He was a private person, but he'd opened up to her at least a little bit. He might even need to talk about their experience as much as she did.
And it'd be nice to know he was okay.
Harry,
Hello! I have spent the better part of the afternoon trying to figure out what to put in this letter, and I have managed very little. I did not want our first exchange to be about everything that happened to us, but I can think of little else.
I want to get to know you better. During our time together I, rather rudely, talked mostly of myself and did not ask after you and your interests. I am sorry for that.
I am excited for your reply, even though I realize I have not sent you anything of much substance.
-Fleur
She set her quill down and reread her short letter as the ink dried. It reeked of disingenuity. Her gaze wandered out to the green treetops that spanned her second-story view onto the manor grounds. Her first, blunt letter rose unbidden to her thoughts, taunting her. She knew what she wanted to ask. She just didn't know if she could.
What if he was afraid of her? He had been so thoughtful in the infirmary, but it was unfair to ask such a significant question so soon after waking from a Cruciatus induced sleep.
She blew a breath out from between her lips and stared over at her unfinished project, another small pile of parchment resting amidst some runes and inkwells. How could enchanting be so much easier than a simple letter?
She incinerated the short letter in front of her with a touch of her finger. The heat wards on her furniture glowed slightly to rebuff the damaging flames, shunting the excess power off to the tethered keystone she kept beneath her bed. She sighed again, brushing the ashes off into a small wastebasket to the side of her desk.
She knew she shouldn't push the warding, even for such a minor thing. In a house with Veela growing into their powers, such things were a necessity. Sure, she had a complete handle on her power now but it never hurt to have the backup. Besides, what if Gabrielle came to sleep in her bed and had a nightmare?
She frowned down at the now empty desktop, save for her quill and ink. She'd gone through every last piece of parchment she had set aside for letters, just trying to write the first. Maybe it had been a good thing she had never had someone to write to before. She plucked a spare piece from her project, making a mental note to grab another. It was finicky enough to make it work over any useful distance. No need to mess with the arithmancy of the thing.
She grabbed her quill, finally letting the words flow that she knew she needed to say. It felt wrong to be unauthentic with Harry who, despite being private and reserved, always treated her like a trusted friend. In return, she would trust her new friend with this little bit of herself. He had given her no reason not to.
With one foot absently rubbing at her ankle beneath the desk, she penned her letter.
Harry,
I've written half a dozen drafts of this letter, perhaps more, and each time I got so wrapped up in my own head that I had to start over.
I had wanted to write to you about being finally back in France, away from your dreadfully heavy English food. I wanted to tell you how nice it was to be home and how happy Gabrielle is to see me and how often she talks about you. I wanted to ask what you like to do for your summers and what you look forward to next year at Hogwarts.
But no matter what I wrote, or how I wrote it, it did not seem the right thing to say. I am sorry for starting our letters like this but I do not think I can do it any other way.
That night has been on my mind since the moment I woke up in the Hospital Wing. The whole ordeal seemed so…personal. I apologize for saying so but your story is well known, even here, but I would not have expected such violent animosity because of an accident when you were a baby.
Regardless of the confusing reasons that you had to be the one to bring him back, I wanted to ask you how you are feeling. Some nights when I awake from a nightmare it feels as though I still ache from the curse. I cannot imagine that I had it any worse than you. The hatred for you that I could see on his face likely paled in comparison to the minor inconvenience my presence caused him.
I also wanted to ask you what you thought when you saw my other form.
She paused her writing, setting her trembling quill back in the inkwell. Maybe it was some lingering Cruciatus effects. Effects she hadn't experienced in days.
She frowned at the uncooperative feather, twirling it around the stout inkwell with a finger. Setting her jaw, she pulled it out, tapping away the excess ink on the stained lip of the glass bottle. She could talk about the resurrection of the darkest wizard in generations and yet asking a friend about herself was what caused anxiety to sprout inside her chest?
I know you saw the transformations at the World Cup. I admit to noticing your reaction, or lack thereof, to the cheerleaders. I expect it is different watching from so high up, to seeing such a thing in front of you. I hope it did not scare or worry you. It can be somewhat single-minded in pursuing what it wants.
I look forward to your reply and will answer whatever questions I am able, especially considering the deluge I have given you.
All the best,
Fleur
XxX
Harry gathered the day's post from the floor beneath the mail slot, letting out an uneasy breath as he straightened. Weeks of fitful sleep beneath the stairs and the accumulation of extra bruises had done little to help him maintain any significant levels of energy for the day's tasks. Fortunately for him, his uncle had a large account to woo and had been coming home late. His aunt kept her distance most days, usually opting to treat him as hired help, to be summoned and dismissed as needed.
He dropped the mail on the corner of the table so his aunt could look through it as necessary when a lumpy envelope caught his eye. He pulled it from the pile and turned it over. Smooth handwriting covered the front, each letter with the telltale bleed of an inked quill.
He slid the letter into one of the oversized pockets of Dudley's old pants that he wore cinched tight with a belt. He glanced at the clock, noting that it was nearly time to begin thawing the chicken he had been instructed to prepare for dinner. If he did another pass of the living room while his aunt was still outside, he should be able to stash away some letter supplies.
He cooked dinner as best he could, trying not to dwell too much on the contraband resting heavily in his pocket. His uncle bragged between bites about his new account; a massive construction firm on track to build a new office block in downtown London. Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief. Good news at work always meant a day or two of general avoidance from his uncle, rather than the violent attention he had been given since returning to Privet Drive. He ate his sandwich as fast as he could and got to work cleaning the living room.
His trunk creaked as he turned over while his sore side and split lip vigorously protested the motion. His uncle had not, in fact, been any more lenient in his discipline that evening. He had made sure to remind Harry that he hadn't yet finished his tasks for the day, and how back in his day, teachers at boarding schools taught worthless children how to listen, not how to disobey.
A chill swept over Harry, distinct from the nighttime cool his paltry blanket did little to shield against. He had been off-step since stepping through the front door. Rules and chores changed around him, a nebulous set of expectations he couldn't understand.
The stairs groaned above him as Dudley returned to his room after his midnight snack. Dust fell like rain with each plodding step. He tried cleaning his glasses on his shirt, ending up with an only slightly less of a streaky mess than he'd started with. He pulled the torch he'd stashed away from its hiding spot and pulled Fleur's letter from his pocket.
He found himself reading the letter over and over, trying to recapture the spark of warmth it brought to him upon his first read-through. He was surprised to find that he had expected a more mundane letter, rather than a jump to what had happened to them, but even so, it was a tether to the world he belonged in.
He pulled a pen, paper, and envelope from beside his trunk where he had hidden them. He used the wall as a writing surface and began his reply, torch held in his mouth.
Fleur,
It was nice to get your letter, sorry mine won't be very interesting. It's been a bit of a boring summer so far, so it was nice to get something in the post. And I can't really blame you for wanting to talk about what happened. I would like to hear what your house in France is like and how your family is doing. They were all really nice.
As to your question, I'm feeling fine. The twitching is gone but I still dream about it sometimes too.
He twirled the pen through his fingers in absent thought. He shook his head and stopped. She didn't need to know his Cruciatus wasn't the only one featured in his frequent nightmares.
I meant what I said in the Hospital Wing. It was cool to see you change. I'm a little jealous that you have another form, it's almost like being an animagus.
The blue fire was pretty neat too.
What are you going to be doing now that you're done with school? Your father is an ambassador, right? Will you be doing something like that?
-Harry
He pulled the torch from an aching jaw and gave his letter a quick once-over. Satisfied, he stuffed it into an envelope and wrote her address on the front. He tucked it back between the trunk and the wall and turned off the light. He had been given some outdoor chores for the following day and could do them first thing in the morning, giving him the opportunity to slip his letter into the post without anyone noticing. He had certainly been paying for his disappearance the year before, but even so, it still somehow felt good to defy the Dursleys, even in such a minor way.
XxX
Fleur rushed down the stairs, taking care not to slip on the hardwood of the landing. She pivoted and took the lower section two at a time, grinning. Her mother stood at the door, arm extended, a letter held in her hand. Fleur chose to ignore the inquisitive smile on her mother's face, opting for a simple thank you when taking the letter.
"I'm glad you two are still talking. If you can, please try to get an answer about Christmas. You know how it is. We may need to…alter our plans a little.
"I'll try, Maman," she promised, also choosing to ignore her mother's admonition not to run up the stairs.
She grabbed hold of the cap at the top of the banister and spun herself to the left where the door to her room sat open, right next to one of the guest rooms she used for storage of her old things that she couldn't quite bring herself to get rid of.
She shut the door behind her and flopped down onto her bed, grunting as she hit the firm mattress. She tore open the letter with her finger and found herself hesitating, hand on the edge of the folded paper inside.
If he had been willing to divulge his thoughts on her horrendous other form, they likely rested inside the torn envelope. He had been kind, but then again…he had always been polite. It was much harder to be blunt to someone sitting in front of you, after all.
She pulled the letter free from its envelope and unfolded it. Worrying would get her nowhere, and was especially pointless when the answers were in her hand. A slow smile grew as she read his untidy scrawl and friendly words. Relief washed through her as she finished, the sudden absence of her fears leaving her drained.
She quietly berated herself. He wasn't one of the students at Beauxbatons who had fled in terror when she'd had some of her early uncontrolled transformations.
Her desk needed clearing, as her enchantment experiment had grown in requirement. When she'd had the idea, she hadn't thought it'd be so complicated but as yet, the distance issue remained a stubborn mystery. She hefted the messy pile onto the end of her bed and sat down to write her reply.
Harry,
First things first, I promised my mother I would ask you to Christmas again. I know they asked you when we were saying goodbye, but I cannot blame you for being unable to answer considering the circumstance. We would be happy to have you, though we understand if you have other plans. What sort of gifts do you like? I will be getting you one whether you can make it or not.
I aim to begin working at your Ministry as an intern. I cannot work in the same department as my father to prevent a conflict of interest, but he has told me there are positions available in other areas. I would like to become an enforcement officer for the ICW, and working for a Ministry outside of my home country is a good start. Their members are often requested during times of need across the globe, and I expect they will be in rather short supply soon. As grand as that sounds, I expect I will be filing a lot of paperwork and running errands between departments at first. It is not glamorous, but it is a necessary first step.
What do you want to do when you are finished at Hogwarts?
What you said about my other form was kind, and I appreciate it. It is that aspect of us that causes some to consider us less-than-human. You have given me no cause to believe you would think this way but it is nice to hear otherwise even so.
When I first noticed your resistance at the World Cup, I did not expect to be teaching you of Veela, and I certainly did not plan to show you the transformation. What bizarre circumstances we find ourselves in.
Was there anything else you had questions about? I will answer if I can.
As for the more "normal" things. Gabrielle is doing well. She is still a little upset that she didn't get to meet you like Maman did. She's still ecstatic to be away from school as I am sure you are as well. Learning magic can be quite fun, but there is little better than being able to relax at home.
Our house is, to be honest, rather large. I know that sounds conceited but it has been in my family for years and serves us well for the government functions my father hosts from time to time for his work. Most often to relax during the summer, I like to walk the grounds. Most of it is wooded, and I have always enjoyed spending time wandering through the trees.
The views are stunning year-round, with autumn being especially beautiful. Winter would be pretty in its own right, were it not so cold.
There is a small lake for swimming down a small hill out front, though I have been unable to bring myself to go down there.
I hope you are having a wonderful summer!
Best,
Fleur
XxX
Harry clung to his letter, his anchor to the magical world. A place that he belonged, or at least was tolerated, if not always welcomed. The days following his letter had been torturous in their deceptive length. Speculation had been the only thing to carry him through, though it had almost as often been his undoing.
His attempts to find equilibrium with his relatives had been unsuccessful, often earning him a relatively gentle thump aside the head for his lack of understanding. Stars were better than blackness, after all.
He winced as he sat up to pull the torch from its hiding place, an angry purple bruise on his left side a constant reminder of the cost of his distracted state of mind. He was thankful the welts on his back had subsided. It would be difficult enough to write without the brush of his shirt sending infrequent jolts of pain. He took in an involuntary sharp breath as he reached for the letter materials and shifted so he could write.
Fleur,
I'd be happy to come over for Christmas. I normally stay at the castle, so it shouldn't be an issue. You don't have to get me anything. You're the one inviting me into your home, after all. Which means I should be the one getting you and your family something. Any ideas?
Since you asked, I was wondering one other thing. I know you've told me so much already, so I understand if you don't want to answer. That sphinx called you 'little fey'. It seemed weird, but you also didn't seem that surprised. I guess I was wondering why.
I don't know what I'll be doing after Hogwarts, if anything. Voldemort seemed set on proving he was better than me and given my track record, I'll probably be dealing with him again next year.
Working for the ICW seems like a tough career. Any special reason you want to join?
-Harry
XxX
Fleur read and reread Harry's letter, a disturbed frown pulling at her mouth.
"If anything…" she muttered, trying to reconcile his odd words with the normality of the rest of his letter.
Perhaps she had misunderstood. She vaguely remembered hearing the Potters were somewhat well-to-do. Maybe he didn't want to get a job right away. There was a certain appeal to that.
Despite her rationalizations, her heart raced as she sat at her desk, a sense of sudden import settling on her shoulders. They had been tortured by a madman in a graveyard, and yet he was cavalier about running into Voldemort yet again.
Harry-shaped puzzle pieces bounced around in her mind, refusing to set themselves into any coherent image.
Scratching filled her room as she began to write.
Harry,
I will let my parents know to expect you for Christmas. I will be looking forward to it! You will need to get used to the idea of getting a gift.
They have already begun speculating on what to get you. I expect they would like anything you offered them. Papa enjoys practical gifts, while Maman enjoys sentimental ones. At this point, Gabrielle would probably prefer your autograph to anything else.
I am joking, of course. I know you would hate that. She has a sweet tooth, much like myself. I am sure she would enjoy some chocolates. As for me, you truly do not have to get me anything. You saved my life, Harry. I cannot ask for more from you.
As for your questions. I was the victim of an attempted kidnapping once, and the person who rescued me was a member of the ICW. Ever since then, I have wanted to join so I could help others as I was helped.
The sphinx did say 'little fey' and I expect it was because I had just left my other form. Veela are descended from fairies. When we transform, we call on our old blood to change us into that creature.
She bit her lip as she paused, quill hovering above the parchment. A dark, selfish part of her mind fought desperately to keep her hand from continuing. What if she pushed too hard? What if he pulled away because of her incessant need to know more. But…
She steeled herself and resumed writing.
T here was something about your letter I was concerned about. I would like to ask for some clarification.
She winced at the too-formal tone and pressed on.
You said that you were not sure if you would be able to do 'anything at all' after Hogwarts.
I am unsure how to phrase this, so I apologize in advance for my bluntness.
Are you saying that you do not expect to survive to finish Hogwarts? You are more capable than most of your peers and are in a school watched over by Albus Dumbledore. The thought of Voldemort seeking you again is upsetting. Should that happen, I will endeavor to be more useful the next time.
Take care,
Fleur
XxX
His knees ached from a day filled with scrubbing faded linoleum and his nose burned at the painful smell of the harsh chemicals that had chewed through the callouses on his fingers. The sudden mandate of a house-wide deep clean had been rough on his hands, but the bleach he had to use on the floor had taken a more significant toll.
He would have been done sooner but he had begun to bleed on the already clean floors. Those bloodstains, in turn, had been cause for another instructive 'lesson' that he had to clean up as well.
He smiled as a drop of blood fell from his split lip to splash into the bleach-infused water. He wasn't sure why he felt such satisfaction to bleed on the Dursley's things, but it somehow made everything a little more bearable. He let the smile vanish, and he scrubbed away the red speck the same as he had done countless times before.
He did his best to stuff away the pain of his injuries as he put the cleaning supplies back in the hall closet. The Dursleys had long since gone to bed with the requirement of completion for the following morning. The moon outside had risen well past its height and shone in through the windows as he struggled into his cupboard. Once inside, he fumbled for the torch and carefully opened Fleur's letter, taking care to get as little blood as possible on the parchment.
The spark of warm remembrance of the magical world faded early as he read through her reply. He hadn't meant to worry her. It just seemed like Voldemort was something he would be unable to avoid. How would he be able to get so lucky twice? He'd nearly been done in by a mere shade of the dark wizard.
He wrapped his bleeding hand in his blanket and began to write.
Fleur,
I'm sorry if I worried you. I haven't thought much about life outside of Hogwarts. With Voldemort out there it just seems even further away. If he came back from the dead before, what's to stop him from doing it again? I doubt we'd get so lucky that another Avada Kedavra would backfire on him.
He paused, turning over various iterations of what he wanted to say in his mind. It was difficult to manage through his numb exhaustion. He didn't want to embarrass himself, but he hadn't meant to worry her.
It means a lot that you'd want to help me. Not many would. Hermione and Ron would but I wouldn't want any of you hurt on my account. I'm happy to be the one who protects my friends. I'd be happy so long as you're all okay.
He smiled, then wiped at his lip when he felt the split reopen. It wasn't often he was able to express himself so clearly.
It's even cooler that you're part fairy. Is that where your other abilities come from too?
I'm sorry this letter is a bit late. I was a little busy this last week.
-Harry
He carefully folded the letter and placed it in the envelope. Once finished, he stared at his hands for a long minute. He wouldn't be allowed outside in such a state, though they would begin to lay off once the yard work began to pile up. He stuffed the letter down where he kept the paper and rolled onto his unbruised side, hoping the bare few hours left to sleep would be enough to let him keep up with the demands of the next day.
XxX
Fleur sat on her bed, unopened letter in hand. Days without response had stretched into weeks. The first few extra days could be explained away by slow muggle post, or perhaps a vacation, though she suspected he would have said something if that were the case. Once an extra week had passed by, gnawing fear had settled in her stomach in earnest. He'd shut her out. She had pushed too hard and he'd closed off.
When she had finally begun to accept the reality of it, his letter had arrived. It was somewhat creased and worse for wear, but it came.
She broke the seal with a finger, pausing as she noticed a bit of discoloration along the adhesive. She felt a pang of sympathy for him. A small smear of dried blood lay across the glue, turned brown with time. The very thought of a papercut on her tongue made her shudder.
Her eyes darted across the page, relief swelling as she read. He hadn't shut her out and had even seemed to open up a little more, but…
The feeling floundered as she finished, letting the letter fall with a frown. Even his effortless reassurance of her heritage left faded satisfaction ahead of the disconcerting feeling of something being wrong.
She dropped backward onto her bed, arms splayed while she tried to think up an appropriate response. She sunk into the thick duvet, then held the letter in front of her face to read again. Maybe she had misunderstood.
Two rereads later, she was left wondering how to address her growing concerns. His odd protective streak certainly fit with what she knew of him, though something deep inside her rebelled at the notion. The way he had so casually detailed his sacrificial triumph over the Basilisk had been impressive, and now…worrisome.
And yet he still attributed it all to luck.
She shoved aside the remnants of her project, the messy pile another reminder of her consistent failures with it. She made a promise to try again once she had finished her letter. The long wait on Harry's message helped to steel her resolve to finish sooner, rather than later.
She pulled a piece of parchment and began to write.
Harry,
It makes me happy to hear that my heritage does not bother you.
I wish I had more to talk about but there is something I need to say. I apologize if it comes off as blunt or rude. Please know that is not my intention.
It would seem that you expect Voldemort to come for you. Not only that, but it appears as though you think you might not survive your school years. You talk of standing in danger to protect everyone, as you did in the Chamber, but none of us want you hurt either.
The idea of my friend dying sits poorly with me, as does his apparent lack of concern for himself.
To end on a lighter note, in thinking of gifts, I realized that I do not know what day is your birthday and I would like to get you something. Mine is on the 25th of October.
Again, please take care of yourself.
Your friend,
Fleur
XxX
Harry stared down at the floor. A small pile of letters rested beneath the slot, one, in particular, standing out. He needed to pick them up, hide it, and drop the letters on the table. Breakfast was still cooking and he had precious little time before the food began to burn.
He stared at them. At Fleur's letter. It felt as though he were looking through a spyglass. He should want to pick it up, to see what the letter said. He'd get in trouble if he didn't get moving.
He should care about that.
"Boy!" His uncle's voice shook the house, though it only resonated dully through his body.
A distant thought noted how strange that was. Hadn't he been terrified to come home?
"I thought we'd finally gotten rid of that lazy attitude of yours!"
He bent to grab the mail, careful not to exacerbate his broken arm more than he had to. He wasn't entirely sure he'd be allowed another trip to the hospital. The doctor had been suspicious of his half-hearted 'falling down the stairs' excuse, and he'd had to be far more vehement once he'd been separated from the Dursleys.
That had cost him dearly.
He just wasn't sure how to please them anymore. Before, if he worked hard and stayed out of the way, he'd be left alone. Save for the times a nasty fancy took his uncle, which was something he had learned to deal with over the years. Even Dudley would tire of tormenting him every now and again.
It was all different now.
Not only had his uncle been more attentive, but his aunt had joined in with her penchant for hot pans and her own, thinner belts.
He slid Fleur's letter under the door to the hall closet, resigning himself to the trouble he had gotten himself into. What'd he expect if he just stood around at the front door? He knew better.
At least they'd probably avoid the arm.
That night saw Harry sitting hunched in his cupboard, unable to lay down for the furious welts crossing his back. The letter sat in front of him, though he couldn't see it in the darkness. He knew he should want to open it. He had been waiting desperately for his tenuous link back to the happier parts of his life.
He found he could only stare.
Maybe tomorrow.
XxX
Fleur sat, legs stretched across the sill of her favorite window in the downstairs sitting room. Her new book lay open on her lap while a summer rain drummed on the glass beside her. Her eyes scanned the page, reading the first paragraph for what was likely the hundredth time. She snapped the book shut with a flick of her hand, admitting defeat.
It had been much longer between letters than before and she could barely get a moment alone with her thoughts where she wasn't wondering what was taking him so damn long. If he was upset about her rebuke, he could at least let her know. The silent treatment was immature, and she had expected better.
Her mother's voice rang out from the other room, snapping her from her worsening mood.
"Fleur! Letter!"
She slid out of the window and tried not to sprint to the entryway. Her mother stood by the door, a smug smile planted on her face.
"I told you he would write back. There was no need to get yourself all worked up."
She snatched the damp white envelope and turned to go upstairs.
"Dinner will be ready soon," her mother called after her. "And don't run up the stairs!"
She pulled the letter from its confines the moment she was in her room, purposefully disallowing her trepidations about his response time to form. She sat on the edge of her bed and began to read, caught short for a moment for the unfamiliar handwriting that crossed the page.
Fleur,
Sorry about the handwriting. I broke my arm. Good thing I have decent off-hand writing, huh? Lots of practice.
My birthday is on July 31st. Just passed. You don't have to get me anything. It's not important.
Fleur cursed under her breath, resolving to either finish her project in time or send him something else before his school year started.
Sorry this letter is late. We do a lot of work around the house this time of year and I've got some extra things to do.
For the other stuff you said, Hermione would probably say so too, but I don't think we can agree. You're all so important to me that I can't stand the idea of something happening if I can prevent it.
Besides, even if Voldemort does catch up to me, I really should have died when I was a baby, so I guess it's like borrowed time. Can't complain about that. Might finally put an end to all that Boy-Who-Lived rubbish. Either way, it doesn't matter.
I appreciate what you said but I just couldn't put my life over yours like that.
-Harry
She set the letter next to her on the bed, staring down at some point beyond her knees.
There was something…off.
In their limited time together he had been pensive, shy, and occasionally awkward, but he'd never been macabre.
She reread the letter, trying to place what unsettled her so deeply about what he had written.
Something was wrong, but what?
"Fleur? Dinner!" Her mother's call jerked her from her thoughts, bringing with it the realization that she had been called multiple times.
"Coming!" She called back, forcing her voice light and happy.
She had, after all, just received her long-awaited letter from her friend, and she didn't want to have to answer questions about something she didn't quite understand.
She hurried down the stairs to the informal dining room off to the right. She joined the rest of her family, giving her father a sidelong hug in greeting for his rare opportunity to eat at home. She pulled out a chair and sat in her customary spot across from Gabrielle.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, peering at her over his cup as he took a drink.
She nodded, offering a quick smile. "Everything is fine, Papa."
"Sweetheart," her mother cut in gently. "You know you're a terrible liar. You've been upset for weeks, and now that you've gotten your letter, it seems as though something is still bothering you."
Gabrielle let out a quiet giggle, earning a weak glare in return. She stuck her tongue out in reply.
"I'm not even sure what the problem is," Fleur said.
"Is it about Harry?" her mother asked, the picture of mildly interested nonchalance. Her father just took another drink from his cup.
Rather than be annoyed at her parent's prodding, she could only nod, her nagging frustration far outweighing any irritation.
"We will help if we can," her father said after a moment. "Is there anything you can tell us that hasn't been shared in confidence? Is it…what happened?" he asked, his eyes flitting over to Gabrielle. "You two went through quite the ordeal together."
Fleur sighed, pushing her food around on her plate as the thought. "He didn't tell me anything. Something just seems…wrong. I can't put my finger on it. The way he talks is different than when we were at Hogwarts, though it's not as though he's not the same person anymore." She frowned, her thoughts jumping around, disconnected. "This letter was different, but in strange ways. He hurt his arm and had to write with his left…" she trailed off, the puzzle still indistinct.
"Yes?" her mother prodded. Her nonchalant tone had withered to one of worry. She glanced up to meet her husband's gaze before looking back at Fleur.
"He said…he's got lots of practice writing with his off-hand. And that the letter was late because he had a lot of work to do around the house." Her brow furrowed as the frustration bubbled inside her. "None of that seems like a big problem. So then why does it bother me?"
The only sound in the relatively small room was that of Gabrielle's silverware on her plate, which slowed as she realized she was the only one eating.
"How did he hurt his arm?" her mother asked.
Fleur shrugged.
"It seems to me, that the only thing you can do is keep talking to him. If he has some sort of problem, make sure he knows he's safe to tell you. Your friendship has been far from normal since the very beginning and I don't doubt you've grown closer than most would have in your limited time together."
Fleur nodded absently and stood, thanking her mother for the uneaten meal.
"Gabrielle," Apolline said once Fleur had gone upstairs. "Why don't you see if she can help you with that charms summer work you were having trouble with. She'd probably be glad for the distraction. Your father and I will clean up in here."
Gabrielle nodded and padded after her older sister.
Apolline's mask of motherly calm slipped the moment her youngest daughter vanished up the stairs.
"Sebastian..."