"I never thought I'd see the day," a careful, feminine voice said from behind him. It was distinct, even among the amorphous conversation that surrounded them.
The other members of the Wizengamot wandered into the massive cylindrical chamber, not one of them taking note of the marvelous glass ceiling that looked into the atrium above. Clouds and false sunlight hung below the glass, an effect that made Sirius nostalgic for Hogwarts.
He took great pains to look as bored as possible when he turned in his uncomfortable defendant's chair to find his cousin standing behind him, arms crossed with a light, dangerous smile curving red lips.
"You've just missed the part where I was giving out bribes, Narcissa," he said, meeting her lofty gaze with his most infuriating grin, though he suspected the effect was diminished by his too-gaunt features.
Yet another thing Azkaban had gotten its grubby fingers on that used to belong to him.
Her smile lingered and she let gloved hands fall to her side.
"I am not my late husband, Sirius," she said. "For your sake, I hope the retrial is a quick one. You appear as though your vagrancy will waste you away before we even begin."
"It might," he agreed, looking around to the milling mass of pompous dullards that made up the Wizengamot.
With the exception of Augusta Longbottom over there, who looked so dour that Sirius wondered if she had somehow heard his silent insult.
"They aren't exactly the liveliest of bunches," he said, turning back to his cousin. "I do have to say though, I'm not that sorry to hear about Lucius."
Her smile finally faded, and she glared at him…hurt?
"I know he was not a kind man, but he was once the love of my life, and was the father of my son. I am certain that you are happy he is gone but there is no need to rub my loss in any deeper. I tried to make a friendly jab, and this is what you give me in return? We used to have fun trading barbs."
"That was before…well, you know. He changed you, Cissy."
"He's not here anymore, is he?" she snarled.
She smoothed the front of her official black robe and took a deep breath.
"I do not think you have anything to worry about, Sirius. If my vote is needed, I will use it but I would prefer to remain in the good graces of the people Lucius used our money to buy. They did not come cheap and I would not like to squander such a resource."
He watched her go, awkwardly returning her quick goodbye nod. She took her seat next to a squat balding man, who immediately began chatting at her.
He wasn't given much opportunity to wonder about his cousin's motivations as a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.
"I am sorry it took so long," Dumbledore said, "and I am sorrier that I cannot officiate. I am, unfortunately, not impartial enough, and thus you are relegated to the capable hands of our Minister."
"I really might kick it before this is done with," Sirius said with a groan.
He glanced over to his right where Pettigrew huddled, trembling beneath the prisoner's ward. A dementor floated within the smaller secondary ward, its shadowed hood looming over its prey. A gray skeletal hand would occasionally reach out from the folds of the tattered robe, only to withdraw it when the powerful magical wall flared, separating the two.
"Well, ol' Wormtail might give up the ghost first, so I suppose that's fine with me," Sirius said with a faint laugh.
"Quite," said Dumbledore. "Fortunately, it would appear that your wait is at an end. Here comes Minister Fudge now."
The Minister strode through the large double doors, a not-entirely-fake smile on his round face. The sight of it almost made Sirius do a double-take.
"Dumbledore," the man said in greeting, nodding. "Mr. Black."
"Minister," Sirius said, echoing Dumbledore's greeting. "I didn't expect you to be in such…high spirits."
"Yes, well, I had a rather nice vacation, and it helped get my head on straight." Fudge focused on Sirius, his smile fading. "Presuming this retrial goes as you expect, I hope you understand that I was just doing as I would have done for any escaped prisoner. I doubt you'd complain if I had done the same should it have been Bellatrix who fled Azkaban."
"A proper hearing might have been nice."
"Reopening a case requires evidence," Fudge said, looking pointedly over to where Pettigrew whimpered on the stone floor.
The runes in a large circle around him flashed on the ground as a twitch of his foot activated the ward. Fudge sneered.
"Nasty creatures, those. Even warded like that they still give me the chills."
"I can only imagine."
"Ah, yes. My apologies. It appears as though everybody is here," Fudge said scanning the room. "Let's not waste any more time then."
Indeed, most of the seats that contained the Wizengamot were filled, as had the small spectator section off to Sirius's left, opposite Pettigrew. He caught sight of Harry sitting next to Sebastian Delacour. The man had been of incredible assistance in getting the retrial in front of the Wizengamot far faster than was standard. The less the ICW pressed into internal matters, the happier the governing body was. Though effective, the Confederation could be a little…overbearing and full of policy and red tape. Not an ideal situation when governmental freedom meant frequent policy changes for the betterment of the seat holders.
Sirius waved to Harry, earning himself a quick smile and wave back from his godson. An old spark fizzled to life inside him. After this…after all this time…he might finally be able to make good on his promise to James and Lily. He didn't know much of Petunia or whatever lump had been saddled with her but he suspected Harry would be much better off with him. Probably.
Eventually.
The bang of the Minister's gavel tamped down his self-doubt alongside the conversation in the echoing chamber. Dumbledore excused himself and took a seat next to Harry.
"I hereby call the retrial of Sirius Black to order."
XxX
Fleur paced in front of the fireplace, stubbornly refusing to tug on her hair. It had taken a lot of time to work her ribbon through her braid but if the supposed 'open and shut' case took any longer, she might just pull her hair out in frustration.
The thought made her miss a step, something deep inside her revolting at the thought.
Well. Burn something down then.
"Wearing a hole in the wood won't make them arrive any faster," her mother said over her book, idly turning a page.
Right. As though her foot wasn't bouncing in the air a hundred times a minute and no matter that was the first page she had turned in ten minutes.
"It might," she grumbled, ignoring the pointed look her mother leveled at her.
"You could go help Gabrielle with her schoolwork like you promised you would."
"She's up there reading a book and you know it," she said.
She had, in fact, tried to help her sister earlier in the day in an attempt to relieve some of her anxious tension. She had been rebuffed with a rather cool, "I've got it."
Gabrielle was thirteen, after all. She supposed she had probably been a bit of a brat at that age as well.
The fireplace flared green and disgorged Harry and her father, who wore a thunderous expression.
"Another sham of a trial," he said, waving a hand behind him at the fireplace. "Justice for one man, then they silenced another. They had Pettigrew kissed."
Her mother tutted and rose from her chair to place a calming hand on her husband's shoulder.
"That is…bad?" Fleur asked, looking to Harry for an answer. "You said he was the reason your parents…"
"He had vital information about Voldemort's return that we were banking on for Dumbledore's case," her father explained. "He's building the necessary evidence to have the Ministry declare war, including the ICW if need be. That's part of why I've been so busy lately."
"They let Sirius free though," Harry added, his voice subdued and his sense oddly melancholy.
"That is good though, is it not?"
He nodded, shrugging.
"I had better get started on dinner," her mother said, hooking her arm around Sebastian's elbow. "Let's leave these two to talk. Come on, I'll pour you some of that dreadful scotch you like so much."
Fleur led Harry over to one of the windows overlooking the grounds. The waning light cast long shadows off the westward trees, reaching nearly to the house. She glanced to where her parents had been standing, then back to Harry as he dropped into the chair opposite her.
"You do not feel as excited as I might have expected."
She pushed back the slight thrill that rose inside her from talking so freely of her abilities. Her excitement was not what he needed to focus on.
"I'm glad he's free," he said, a half-smile failing to take hold. "They said he has to go through some treatment and steps before he can retake his position as Head of House. Apparently, that means he can't take custody yet."
"What does that mean for you?"
He shrugged with an expression that tore at her heart in a way that was becoming too familiar of late. She had misunderstood just how deep Harry's troubles had burrowed in and with each day she grew more and more determined to pull them out by the root.
"I am sure you can stay here again next year, should you need to," she said.
"I don't want-"
She cut him off with a hand on his knee, which she promptly snatched back when she saw his eyes widen.
"If you were about to say you do not want to be a burden, I do not wish to hear it." She smiled to soften her rebuke. "I am sure Maman and Papa would be similarly unimpressed."
He didn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he studied her with those inscrutable bright green eyes of his. Fortunately for her, she no longer had to wonder how he was feeling behind his impassive facade. Relief painted her sense of him, quelling the nervous vibration that had rolled from him in waves.
He nodded and relaxed, leaning back against his chair and looking out the window. The sun dipped below the horizon, distant hills cutting a sinuous line through the light. A comfortable silence fell between them, fading with the last rays of the evening.
"It was strange," he said after a time. "Not going out there today."
"It was…not quite the same without you."
Prior to her attempt to help Gabrielle, she had gone to the one place that had always served to settle her in the past. It was where she had gone to deal with her fear after the first time her mother told her about being Veela, and where she had succumbed to her first transformation. It had done little to suppress the crawling anxiety she felt on Harry's behalf. She tried not to think about how she'd handle his custody hearing.
"There's not much time left," he said, so quiet that she wasn't sure if she was meant to hear. He turned that impenetrable gaze of his on her, his sense muddled. "I'll be going back to school soon."
"To a less...interesting year, I would hope," she said.
She wasn't sure if it was the half-hearted shrug or the wry smile that told her that he fully expected the worst.
Her mother appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, a half-apron tied around her waist. As was her habit, various dirty utensils stuck out of the two large pockets sewn in the front.
"Dinner is ready, you two," she said, an odd resigned note in her voice. "I have done my best to produce a passable blueberry pie for afterward but the pastry may have gotten away from me. I suppose we shall see once it is finished baking."
Fleur felt a surge of interest from Harry, a pointed focused feeling. He stood from his chair and made to follow her mother to the dining room.
"It took me ages to figure out pie crust, Mrs. Delacour," he said. "It's a bit tricky. I could help you if you want."
"You are a guest, Harry," she said, a phrase Fleur had heard at least a dozen times during his short stay. "But…I would probably benefit from some pointers. Do you want to help me with a wildberry pie tomorrow?"
He erupted in a veritable cacophony of sense, pure excitement buzzing over top of the rest. Surely her mother felt something of this. How could she not?
"Fleur?" her mother asked, turning around in front of the small dining room.
She started, suddenly aware that she had stopped walking. A sudden inhale told her she had stopped breathing as well.
"Sorry, Maman," she said, offering them a quick smile. "I was lost in thought. Let us eat, I am quite hungry."
Her father and Gabrielle were already seated, the latter missing some of her usual excitable energy. Fleur made a mental note to talk to her sister. Harry's recovery was important but Gabrielle couldn't fall by the wayside because of it. Not now of all times.
Conversation over dinner was light and meaningless. The avoided subjects crowded the room, cutting off each thought an awkward moment too soon. She glanced over to Harry, who was eating mechanically, his gaze focused at some unseen spot on the table just above his plate.
When they had finished and the empty plates were floating into the kitchen, Fleur rose, hoping to talk to Harry a bit further about his godfather's trial. She knew talking helped him, she just had to be…gentle.
"Harry," her father said, rising as well. "Would you mind joining me in my office? There are a few matters that unfortunately cannot wait until later."
Anxiety buzzed high in Harry's sense, and he cast a nervous glance at her before looking back to her father.
"Of course, Sir."
XxX
Harry stepped into the opulent room with wide eyes, closing the door behind him as instructed. Ornate dark wooden bookshelves lined the walls, each packed with volume after volume of various books which were interspersed with an occasional plaque or small award resting on the shelf as a bookend. He took the offered chair in front of Mr. Delacour's desk, while the older man rested against the edge, crossing his ankles.
"I know," Mr. Delacour said with a grimace, looking around the room. "I haven't read a tenth of them. There's a compulsive need to fill an empty bookshelf, even if the books will never be touched again."
Harry only nodded, moving his gaze to look up at the older man.
"I brought you in here to let you know we have the date for your hearing."
"I see…"
"Our parts will be taken care of beforehand. We will go to the Ministry that morning and get everything prepared before the hearing starts. I will provide the memories you have allowed me to use and you will have to make a statement."
"A statement, Sir?"
He saw the older man's mouth draw into a quick line before relaxing and he felt his pulse quicken.
"Er…Mr. Delacour, I mean."
"It is whatever you feel most comfortable with. I know we have not had much opportunity to spend time together due to me essentially living at the Ministry these days. You may call me whatever you want."
"I understand, Mr. Delacour."
"Excellent. As to your question, you will need to explain in your own words why we need to permanently remove you from their home. You may be as vague or as detailed as you would like, it mostly serves as your statement saying that you prefer to be removed from their custody."
He fished around behind him on the desk and produced a piece of white paper with blackened edges.
"With your permission, I would like to show them your letter as well."
Harry nodded, eying the paper.
"Er…why is it burnt, Mr. Delacour?"
His question earned him a smile in return.
"You will have to ask Fleur."
Mr. Delacour set the letter down and sobered, his brow furrowing above his intense brown eyes.
"I want you to know ahead of time; your relatives will be at the Ministry that day. They have been summoned as they would be to a muggle court and will be arrested if they don't show. Should our courts find sufficient evidence in your favor, they will be properly tried within their own court system with a Ministry liaison present to record the outcome for our records."
His explanation faded to a ringing noise in Harry's ears, the words losing their meaning. He thought he'd never have to see them again. He'd finally, truly believed it.
Now they were going to be forced into the Ministry of Magic because of him?
He'd never hear the end of it. They'd never even get the hearing started because of how much his uncle would-
"Harry?" Mr. Delacour's voice wormed its way into his runaway thoughts, dragging him back into the office.
"I'm sorry, Sir," he said quickly.
"It's okay. You don't need to apologize. I was just about to say that you don't have to be present for the hearing if you don't want to be. You can wait outside. It is also a closed hearing, so very few people will be allowed access, which means you will be able to control your privacy to an extent. You are, however, allowed to grant people access, should you choose. I am sure Sirius would come, if asked. Apolline as well, if you want."
Harry pondered for a moment, forcing his thoughts forward through the mental sludge the Dursley's always created in him.
"I expect Sirius will need to know why I need a place to stay."
"I'll get in touch with him then. If you think of anyone else, let me know. We still have a few days to prepare."
"Thanks, Mr. Delacour."
"Of course, Harry. Anytime."
He rose and left the office, walking down the short hallway towards the entry hall and the stairs. When he rounded the corner, Fleur rushed from the sitting room.
"Bad news?" she asked, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side as worried blue eyes scanned his face.
"Not really. My hearing is in a few days," he said, glancing up at her. "Why was the letter I sent you burned on the sides?"
Her burgeoning fury at the mention of the Dursleys melted away as a bright flush crept across her face and down her neck.
"I was…rather upset," she said primly, though the flush darkened further as she spoke. "Younger Veela have trouble controlling their inner flame and avian forms when they are angry."
He stared at her, shock pulling his eyes wide. "You were that upset about my letter?"
Her blush receded and she stared back at him, perplexed. "Of course I was."
Apolline stepped out of the sitting room, a flash of green behind her heralding some sort of floo activity.
"Fleur, if you wouldn't mind, could you lend me a hand up in my room? I need another pair of eyes and you are far more critical than your father." She turned to Harry and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, but us girls only. It shouldn't take too long." She looked over her shoulder to the sitting room. "Gabrielle is in there lounging around. If you know how to play chess or anything like that, I'm sure she would appreciate the company."
Harry nodded, following the not-so-subtle prod away from blissful solitude.
Well, maybe he'd last a few more moves against Gabrielle than he did with Ron. So long as she didn't get him with that blasted two-move checkmate, he'd be happy.
XxX
"What is it?" Fleur asked, shutting the door to her parent's room behind her. The closet door stood wide open and a few long somewhat elegant dresses were strewn across the bed.
"I've unfortunately received word via floo call that the semi-annual meetup for the Ambassador's Foundation is now happening tomorrow afternoon. I need your help with choosing what to wear. You know I'm terribly indecisive."
Fleur stopped her slow walk to the edge of her parent's bed and gaped at her mother. The prickly rise of anger in her chest made her want to shout, but she forced it to cool. "But you promised Harry that the two of you would bake pies together tomorrow!"
"I will still bake with him," her mother said, glancing over her shoulder from where she rummaged through some hangers in the closet. "It is not easy to get out of these obligations and the work the foundation does is important. You know this. The pie will be just as good the following day."
"But it means so much to him," she pressed, wincing internally at the near whine in her voice. "Isn't there something you can do?"
"I have responsibilities to the foundation, no matter how dull the events are. Harry is mature, especially for his age. He will understand."
Fleur ignored the obvious barb and dug in her heels. "You don't understand."
Her mother yanked a silver dress off a hanger and whirled to face her. "No. I suppose I don't. He seemed interested but not nearly to the level that you are insinuating. Why is this causing you such distress?"
Fleur could tell she wasn't suppressing the heat in her voice but something about the way her mother spoke always made her want to let it out.
"You didn't feel how excited he got. I doubt he's been that thrilled about anything since I've met him," she ground out, letting her anger tint her voice.
"Feel how excited…" her mother echoed, the hardness around her eyes vanishing in an instant. "Fleur?"
" Merde."
"Fleur!"
"Sorry," she said as unapologetically as she could manage. "Please, don't let him know I said anything. I don't think he'd mind you knowing but I should have asked him first."
"But how? When did it change? It didn't go away again?" her mother asked, the silver dress piled on the floor, forgotten.
"That doesn't matter. What matters is him. You said we need to focus on him to make sure he knows he's safe and wanted here. He needs to be someone's priority."
"He sounds like he's yours," her mother countered, though her voice was far calmer and more controlled than before.
"I…He's my friend," she said, frowning at the sudden shift. "He's someone I care about and he needs my help. I can do so little for him normally, so when I can do something…"
"I understand, sweetheart," her mother said, dropping onto the end of the bed and patting the spot next to her. "But don't discount what you have done already. Do you think he'd have reached out to just anyone?"
She hesitated and eventually shook her head. "No, I don't."
A part of her still marveled at that. One short year ago she had returned from the World Cup to more solitude-induced depression. Now she had a friend. One who seemed to accept everything about her; her allure, heritage, and her monstrous other form.
"And why do you think that is?"
She wanted to groan at the leading question but she suppressed the impulse. Her mother was being civil. She could be too.
"Our situations are far from the same," she said, considering as she spoke, "but he understands our struggle, to a degree. I think that has helped."
"I think you are right." Her mother laid a hand on her shoulder. "I am unaccountably happy that you've met someone who not only understands you but someone that can be themselves around you as well. I wish with all my heart that it were under better circumstances but I am glad you found each other."
"I am too."
His presence in her life had been surrounded by traumatic events, but he had still managed to bring a light along with him in his simple patience and understanding. It was the absolute least she could do to return the favor.
Her mother clicked her tongue, then nodded.
"You are right though. I will contact the event planner. They will survive without me."
"Thank you, Maman," Fleur said, rising.
"Please, Fleur," her mother said, her tone sending an uncomfortable chill up Fleur's spine. "Sit."
"What is it?" she asked, doing as requested.
"I am…concerned."
Rather than her usual direct abrasive speech, her mother was taking care with what she was saying. Her stomach did nervous flips in response.
"In what way?"
"I worry that you are…overly invested…in Harry," she said, her mouth drawing into a thin line.
Fleur stiffened.
"You just told me you were happy we met. Now you're concerned I'm 'overly invested?' What does that even mean?"
"I am happy, but I remember how important that first friend can be after coming into your power-"
"You keep saying that," she interrupted, the venom she'd been fighting to keep at bay breaking free. "But I somehow doubt you found yourself in a situation quite like this one."
"Fleur, just listen, and please stop arguing!" her mother snapped, the faint hitch in her voice suppressing the argument already rising in Fleur's throat. "I remember how important that first friend can be because I married mine."
Fleur opened her mouth to reply but it clicked shut of its own accord when her mother raised a hand.
"There isn't a day that goes by that I don't thank whatever magic brought us together. I am fortunate that he is an excellent partner and a wonderful father to you girls. I was not so blinded by my excitement that I would have overlooked cruelty or negligence, but I would have ignored things that would have shown me that we were incompatible in other ways."
"Why are you telling me this?" Fleur asked, finding herself unaccountably nervous with the turn their conversation had taken. "Harry and I…we're not…it's nothing like you and Papa. He's my friend and he needs me."
Her mother sighed and shifted on the bed to fully face Fleur.
"I have made a mess of this conversation and I apologize. To put it simply, I have seen you lose control of your powers at least twice this summer and both times were concerning Harry. I am happy that you two met and I am so unbelievably proud of you for doing what was necessary to ensure his safety."
She smiled at her, and Fleur could feel the rebuke form before it was spoken.
"But don't let just one friend blind you to all other opportunities. I know this is a special case, but with enough determination, he will get through this. There will come a time where there is nothing more we can do for him. Most people have more than one friend. He does, and I am worried that you will find yourself alone again should the two of you grow apart."
"I…understand," Fleur said, as she knew was expected.
"I only ask that you keep what I've said in mind. I am not trying to discourage your friendship in any way. I only ask that you manage yourself and your expectations appropriately."
"I will, Maman."
"Thank you. Now. I need to clean up and floo the foundation. I'll be down shortly."
Fleur excused herself and left her mother to pick up the fallen dresses on her own. She closed the bedroom door behind her with a soft click, her mind already made up.
To hell with all that.
Some of the only times Harry had volunteered his thoughts and feelings to her had been to express appreciation for her always believing in him. She wasn't about to withdraw some of herself 'just in case.'
She stomped down the stairs, modulating her steps a little better once she reached the bottom. She stepped into the sitting room to find Harry and Gabrielle deep in a game of chess, though even with a cursory glance she could see he was the clear victor.
"You are quite good," she said, pulling a chair of her own to the table they played upon. "Gabrielle often bests me when we play. She has always liked the game."
"It's one of Ron's favorites," Harry said.
She tried to ignore the stoking of her already simmering anger at the mention of his fairweather friend.
"Now Hermione and I just try to last as long as we can. We can never beat him anymore."
"How is Hermione?" she asked, a desperate attempt to divert away from her building fury.
"I'm not sure," he said, trapping Gabrielle's queen in a fork. "She'd probably be happy if you wrote to her. She seems like the letter-writing sort."
"I am the letter-writing sort, if you recall," she teased, watching Gabrielle sacrifice her rook. "You could write to her as well."
His hand froze above his knight, and his sense of concentrated fun diminished before the unheard buzz of anxious thought.
"I can't," he said, prodding his knight forward.
The man on horseback spurred the marble beast forward, smashing a mace through the top of the bishop's head, scattering stone pieces across the board.
"Why not?" Gabrielle asked.
Her words were still heavily accented but she had made great strides during the time Harry had been staying with them. Using Harry as an informal English tutor had become a small spot of contention between the two sisters but it was hard for Fleur to deny the results.
"It is a secret," Fleur said, jumping in when Harry's eyes widened in panic.
It had been difficult to keep Gabrielle in the dark but Harry hadn't quite yet been willing to share with her even the general facts of why he had come to stay with them.
Instead of being put out, as she had expected, Gabrielle smiled slyly.
"You 'ave a… engouement ?"
Harry's panic faded and he turned to Fleur for translation. She matched her sister's smile.
"A crush," she said, her mirth fading as she felt his sense change from confusion to outright shock.
"No!" he said, waving his hands in front of himself and sparing one more glance to Fleur before turning back to Gabrielle. "It's not like that. She's one of my friends."
Fleur saw the doubt forming in her sister's eyes and decided to rescue Harry before the teasing became too much.
"I believe you," she said. "Gabrielle, you should hurry up and lose. It is late."
Gabrielle made a face but it was interrupted by a large yawn.
"You're right," she said with a shrug, then forced her king to bow to Harry.
"Good game," she said in English. "Good night."
"Er… Bonne Nuit ?" Harry tried, earning a smile and nod from Gabrielle. She wished Fleur a good night as well and headed up to her room.
"It is getting late," he said once she had left, leaning back and stretching.
"Do you mind if we talk for a moment?" Fleur asked, shifting in her seat.
She hadn't expected the simple request to make her so nervous. Had her mother's words burrowed so deep despite her decision to ignore her advice?
"I don't mind," he said simply, letting his arms drop to his side.
There were clatters from the chessboard as the pieces reassembled themselves, offering her a moment to collect her thoughts. Straightforward and honest. That was what he liked.
"I am sorry," she said once the last pawn had climbed into the drawer and pulled it shut. "I let it slip to my mother that I can sense you now. You and I have not discussed who you are comfortable knowing, and yet I was already unable to keep it a secret."
He didn't speak for a long moment, his sense thankfully contemplative, rather than angry. She found herself chewing her lip as she waited.
"I don't think I mind if you tell people you can sense me," he said, each word deliberate and thought out. "It's not really all that different from how you can sense just about everyone else. So long as you don't go telling people every little thing I'm feeling, it's fine with me."
He let out a short, mirthless laugh.
"It's not like it'll matter much anyway. I'll be back at Hogwarts and we won't be seeing much of each other, will we?"
"Not until Christmas," she said with an only partially forced grin. "Speaking of, I have been thinking about that."
"About Christmas?"
"Well, yes," she admitted. Sure it was many months away but it was her favorite holiday. "But that is not what I was talking about. I was thinking that perhaps when I have some free time during my upcoming internship at your Ministry, I could come to visit during some of your Hogsmeade weekends."
The nervousness she had felt voicing the idea vanished when she felt the sudden bloom of excitement in him.
"That'd be great."
"I am glad." She hesitated, unwilling to break the bright turn in their conversation, but it had been a big day for him. "I also wanted to see how you were doing overall."
"I'm good," he answered slowly. "There's not a lot I can do until the hearing and I like it here anyway, so I suppose that's okay. This has been the best summer I've ever had."
She felt the simple truth of his words echoed in the pure open solemnity of his sense and it broke her heart even further. Such a short time of walks through the words and heavy discussions becoming the best summer of his life seemed absurd. And yet…
Determination solidified in her chest as she returned Harry's shy smile. No matter what her mother said, she would help Harry down his path as best she could, or die trying.
Her righteous feelings stalled with the thought. Harry very well could 'die trying' if Voldemort tried to finish what he had started. So could she, for that matter, if her promises had been more than empty words.
"What about Voldemort?" she asked, the words leaping free ahead of conscious thought.
They had not spoken much of the graveyard. Though she knew she wanted to, how was she meant to convey the horror and fear that night had wrought in her. That wasn't even considering that such a conversation would inevitably lead to his near certainty that he wasn't going to survive, as well as his distressing lack of concern. He had seemed almost cavalier in the brief moments he had discussed in his letters.
"There's not much I can do about him. I can try a little harder in school but he's got years and years on me. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to stand up to a proper 'Dark Lord'. I'm just some fifth year. I don't exactly have reason to have…high hopes."
"You are not just some fifth year," she said, willing him to understand. "And you will never have to do it alone."
XxX
Fleur awoke in a cold sweat, her hair tangled and plastered across her face and chest. Her breath came ragged and fast as she swiped at the hair that had caught in her mouth.
That was new.
In the foggy void of half-sleep, her screams still echoed alongside the heavy thud of Harry's body as it dropped to the ground, lifeless. She shuddered, closing her eyes against the image. She never thought she'd long for the nights when her nightmares simply replayed their torture in the graveyard.
She untangled herself from sweat-drenched sheets and slid out of bed. She slung the robe she had draped over her desk chair over her shoulders and padded over to the door. When she pulled it open, she was met by the worried face and raised hand of her sister.
Gabrielle let her hand drop to her side and stared up at her.
"You were screaming again," she said in a near whisper. "It was worse than usual."
"I'm sorry for waking you," Fleur said, pulling her sister into a hug.
Warmth crept into the void that had been left as residue from her nightmare. The feeling of a solid person in her arms helped to ground her.
"What's going on?" Gabrielle asked, her voice muffled as she buried her face in Fleur's robes. "You've been having nightmares ever since you got back from school. And then all of a sudden Harry is staying with us after you sent him all of your 'important letters?' Why won't anybody tell me anything?"
The last came as an angry sob, and her fists clenched at the back of Fleur's robe.
Fleur squeezed her sister, then held her out at arm's length to meet her frustrated gaze.
"I will talk with Maman and Papa tomorrow," she promised. "The cause of my nightmares is…a tremendous burden. I believe it should be up to you if you want to know but I think I should ask for their input first."
"That's not-"
"Gabrielle," she interrupted with a quick smile. "You know me. If I thought our parents were being patronizing about your age, I would tell you in a heartbeat. I need you to trust me when I say it's so important that I should ask them first."
Her sister nodded, though she could see the reluctance behind her agreement.
"As for Harry…well…it's his business. He may tell you someday but I can't say."
Gabrielle nodded again, dissatisfaction painted clear across her features. She stifled it and looked back up at Fleur, naked concern in her eyes.
"Are you okay though?" she asked. "You never did any of this before now."
"I will be, baby sister," Fleur said, pulling her into another tight hug.
"I'm not a baby," Gabrielle protested, her voice almost inaudible as she burrowed into Fleur's fluffy robe.
"I know. I promise I'll talk to our parents tomorrow."
"If you can ever find Papa, that is," Gabrielle grumbled, disentangling herself from Fleur's arms. "It seems like he's never home anymore."
"I'll figure something out."
"Okay," Gabrielle said, turning back towards her room. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get any sleep now," she grumbled as she plodded back down the carpeted hall.
Once Gabrielle shut herself away in her room, Fleur headed down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Early in the summer, she had discovered a secret love of midnight snacks to settle her stomach after a particularly bad nightmare. Maybe there were some leftover blueberries she could scavenge.
She padded across the cool hardwood floors at the bottom of the stairs, turning to the right and passing the dark dining room. No sooner had she stepped into the hallway where the main entrance to the kitchen sat than she heard a loud clang echo down the hall. She jumped, her thoughts zooming back to where her wand lay useless on her bedside table. She shook her head. The wards would protect against a simple intruder and even she didn't know where the keystone was to bring them down.
She crept around the corner to peer through the doorway.
In the far corner of the kitchen, hunched over a steaming bubbly sink, Harry was scrubbing vigorously at some unseen dish. He was hunched over, his perpetually messy hair plastered down at the front from the weight of the steam condensing on his face.
The horrible low thrum pulsed from him in waves, the sense keeping time with each furious motion of his arms. She stepped into the kitchen and swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth.
"'Arry?"
He started and spun to face her, shock momentarily written across his features. It barely registered in her sense of him, the low thrum creating a startling disharmony against a sudden flush of shame.
"Is…is everything okay?" she asked, taking a tentative step forward.
He spun away from her, snatching a towel from the counter next to the sink and rubbing at his arms with a slight wince. He turned back to her with an attempted smile on his face. Even without his sense screaming out desperation, she could see that it was as fragile as an angry soap bubble in a storm.
"I'm okay," he tried, his words directly counter to the turmoil emanating from him in waves. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd try to familiarize myself with the kitchen. For the pie tomorrow. I couldn't find everything I'm used to using but I think I can make do. We'll probably be fine. I was just doing some washing up. It's usually pretty quiet, and it helps me feel better."
She fought to keep her features open and understanding, denying the frown that threatened to form at his uncharacteristic babbling. His sense put the lie to each word, the low thrum of the angry undercurrent pulsing louder and more insistent with each spoken sentence. He tucked his arms behind himself and tried to smile again.
"'Arry," she said gently, taking another step forward, rounding the large island in the middle of the room so they stood on opposite corners on the same side.
She froze when he flinched back at her movement. He mastered himself with a grimace, the undercurrent swelling as he did so.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"It is okay," she said, trying another step.
She stopped again when she saw the muscles in his neck tighten and his jaw clench, panic rising in his sense before it was ruthlessly suppressed.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, glancing at the sink then down at the ground.
She struggled to breathe through the waves of emotion pouring from him in tempestuous bursts.
How could one person feel so much, so intensely, and all at once? How was she even supposed to help him?
But she had to help him.
She steeled herself and tried to calm down. If she was going to support him like she said she would, it was times like these that he needed her most. It couldn't all be pleasant walks through the forests and companionable silence in their clearing.
"I know everything is not okay," she said, her voice calm and gentle. "Remember?"
He flushed a deep crimson and shuffled in place, staring down at his feet.
"I want to help," she continued. "With whatever is going on. What can I do?"
Instead of answering, or even shrugging as she had expected, his sense whirled as he thought, spikes on indiscernible feeling peppering his emotions. After a moment, his shoulders sagged and he shook his head.
"I don't know," he whispered, pulling one of his arms from behind his back to run through his messy hair.
She barely stopped the gasp that attempted to escape when she saw the bright red skin on his arms. The slight burn reached just up to his elbows and ran all the way down to his fingertips.
She tried to breathe. It wasn't mottled. It wouldn't scar.
Breathe.
It wasn't charred and torn with sinew and tendons visible beneath the cracked skin.
"Are you hurt?" she forced out, proud of how steady she managed to keep her voice.
He started again, guilt flashing through his sense.
"The water was too hot," he mumbled, glancing at the steaming sink.
She winced, guilt of her own building inside.
"Our water gets hotter than it might in other places. With a fire-affinity, it takes much hotter water for us to have a warm bath or shower. I should have thought to warn you. I am so sorry."
He nodded, a sense of intense relief spreading through his jumbled feelings.
If he didn't want to address what had happened, she wouldn't push him, no matter how much his sense told her there was far more to what happened. Her hands twitched, desperate to cling to her hair, to something in this unsteady atmosphere that surrounded them. He seemed so lost and somehow…diminished. She wanted to comfort him but the only thing-
"Do you want a hug?" she found her mouth asking without her permission. "That usually helps me, when something is wrong."
He stared at her in total surprise, a fraction of the tension fading from his shoulders.
"You've never hugged me before," he said. "Or even asked for one."
She nodded, heart in her throat.
Progress.
"You did not seem to be the type who liked to be touched," she said. "Whenever I saw you, I noticed that you went out of your way to avoid contact with others."
He again flushed and embarrassment crawled through the air around him.
She left it unsaid that she now understood why.
"I am…" she began, "I am a tactile person. I can get it genuinely from so few places that it has become very important to me."
He stared at her from his end of the island, mouth working across abandoned replies.
"I want to be," he said finally, his voice near to inaudible. "It's just so hard to relax." He ran another hand through his hair. "Mrs. Weasley and Hermione…they're great, but…"
"What if…what if I promised that I will never hold on longer than you want me to? You can let go whenever you want, and I will always ask beforehand, regardless of how badly I may want one."
He nodded, though he made no move to step forward.
"I am also likely very warm," she found herself saying. Now she was babbling, but couldn't stop. "My body temperature is quite a lot higher than yours. It is part of why I am so cold all the time."
A small nervous smile floated across his face and he took a jerky step forward, nervous energy clashing with embarrassment inside him. He took another step and she raised her arms.
She had lost count of the number of times she had needed to suppress the impulse to embrace her friend for fear of pushing him away.
He stepped into her arms and laid his head on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her middle. His jerky movements betrayed his nerves yet she still felt him relax slightly as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
She stood still, warmth rushing past the ruins of another wall that had been between them. After a few short moments, he trembled slightly in her arms and she heard him swallow. He pulled away and she let her arms fall, letting him step back as promised.
"Thank you," he mumbled, his gaze only briefly darting up to meet hers before dropping back down to his feet. "I'm going to try to get some more sleep. Goodnight, Fleur."
"Goodnight, 'Arry," she said, a comfortable thrill pulsing through her as he said her name.
He didn't say it often and when he did, it sounded different from the way everyone else said it. His English accent somehow made it more personal, like a nickname.
The moment he was out of sight, the tension fled her body, her arms and legs feeling like the limbs of a marionette whose strings had been snipped. She moved over to the sink and pulled the stopper to allow the water to drain. She dipped a finger in the slightly cooled water, her eyes widening as she felt water still hot enough to be drawn for her bath.
She frowned at the spot he had vacated, an uncomfortable and undefinable pit forming deep in her stomach.
XxX
Harry lay in bed, his skin still oddly cold, even beneath the heavy duvet. His mind stumbled through the midnight events, and their unexpected turn.
Why had it been so difficult to take those few steps into Fleur's embrace?
Sure, he had always wanted to hug people like everyone else did; normally and without his extreme anxiety. But his experience with Hermione's tackles or Mrs. Weasley's tremendous bear-hugs had left him worried that such a thing wasn't for him.
And yet he'd still been drawn to his friend; the person who knew the most about his deepest darks. He had been near to running when she'd caught him elbow-deep in the scalding water.
The Dursleys had never minded when he filled the sink with too-hot water, only caring if the job got done. Yet somehow, despite the Delacours' incredible kindness, it was sometimes hard to remember that he didn't live in the wretched place anymore.
Her hug had helped to drive that point home, a comfort that peeled away at his wound-tight nerves. All his tension unwound in her arms and a lump had begun to form in his throat. He had pulled away and all but sprinted from the kitchen, unwilling to let Fleur see a complete and total breakdown.
It was nice...but could be dangerous.
He rolled over.
But…she had been very warm.