In the days following the nightmarish revelations in Dumbledore's office, Fleur barely left Harry's side. Without the need to go to work, and her admittedly low interest in searching for a new job right away, she spent almost all her time at Grimmauld Place. It wasn't long before they had been summoned to France to endure a fierce hug from Apolline. Where once Harry knew he'd have balked at the sudden intense contact, the swell of warmth lingered long into the following days.
As the first weekend in May closed and his return to school loomed, a brand-new problem grew in the forefront of his mind. Mostly due to the fact that no matter how he tried to rationalize it away, the truth was apparent, even without Fleur's insistent comments whenever she thought he was dwelling on it.
"You need to tell them."
"I don't have to."
"You should tell them."
"They're just going to be upset."
"I know the truth, and I am upset."
He opened his mouth to retort but was stalled by a single finger on his lips. The kitchen echoed their conversation, as it had done often in the recent past.
"If you had not told me, I would be far more upset."
Arguing with her was pointless, he knew, especially when she was so right. But…it was a little fun to rile her up, and teasing her meant he could delay making the decision.
"So I have to tell you everything?"
Instead of rising to the bait, she frowned. "I would have been upset because you would not share the burden with me. I expect Ron and Hermione will feel the same."
He sighed into the mug of tea he had brewed for them. "I was joking."
"I know," she said, a faint smile on her lips as she took a long sip. "I thought it a good time to make my point."
"But…how do I tell them something like this?"
"Very simply, I should think. Tell them the truth. I expect the first thing Hermione will do will be to either dissect the prophecy or go see if she can find anything about Horcruxes. Though due to their nature, I suspect she'll find more luck with the prophecy."
"She thinks divination is rubbish."
"Unfortunately, true prophecy is as real a magical discipline as any other. There are thousands of books on divining the truth of prophecy. I am sure she will have her work cut out for her."
Harry finished his drink with a final long sip and set his cup next to the pair of letters from Dumbledore that had sparked their initial conversation.
"What about you?" he asked, nodding down to hers, which had been conspicuously turned upside down. "How are you going to find out more about what your fire can do?"
"I am most certainly not going to test it on you, as he suggested."
"You should."
She narrowed her eyes at him over the lip of her mug before setting it down.
"I will ask Maman first."
She stared down into her mug, over half the tea still resting inside. She had asked for some coffee, but they found none in the house, and Sirius was out at an appointment. Harry hadn't quite felt comfortable calling Kreacher to go get some.
"I have never been…interested in that side of our abilities. That thing is so…dangerous." She let a weak smile pass across her face. "I almost burned our house down during my first transformation."
Curiosity piqued in Harry, as it always did when discussing what she could do. Though, considering what had happened the last time she had changed…the questions could wait.
"All I know about Veela and what we can do is from her. The rest of it…the traditions and our heritage…I have never asked about it." She took another sip and grimaced. "It is even worse when cold."
"I'll ask Sirius to get some coffee."
She nodded absently, her fingers drumming on the ceramic mug.
"My grandmother would have known. I remember her telling me stories, though I was too young to remember what. I just remember that they made me so excited to finally grow up and have all of these amazing abilities."
She stared at her hands, stilling them.
"She died when I was still little. Before Gabrielle was born. She plucked two of her hairs for us before she passed so that we could have them as wand cores." She narrowed wet eyes in recollection. "She wanted it to be symbolic. That we were both Veela and witch."
She grimaced again and sat back in her chair, letting her hands fall into her lap.
"Except that the only time I am Veela is when people are goggling at me, or I am in such danger that I have no option other than to resort to that horrible thing that lives inside me."
Harry felt his mouth twist and hid the expression by drinking the bitter dregs of his tea.
"It was because you can change that you saved me," he said after a moment of thought. "And it's why Krum couldn't kill you in the maze."
She nodded, her head bobbing reluctantly in agreement.
Harry bit his tongue on his next point when the fireplace flared in the other room with the telltale burst of air that accompanied someone stepping through the floo. Most often, when Sirius returned from Jacobson's, he would come in the kitchen for a glass of water, then wander around the house, finding things to look through. When nobody stepped through the door, Harry rose and was halfway up when a gruff booming voice reverberated through the house.
"Potter! Delacour!"
Harry froze, his eyes going wide. Fleur similarly gaped, her blue eyes locked on the door to the living room.
"Professor Moody?"
The grizzled man stood in the middle of the living room, his magical eyes swirling to take in the mostly empty space. His ever-present staff was at his side, both hands resting on the top as he leaned on it for support.
An odd sense of relief flooded through Harry. Grimmauld Place had never made him feel unsafe, but even so, it was so much more secure with Moody there.
Unexpectedly.
His stomach dropped into a dark pit of dread and he saw Fleur shift to look at him, confused.
"I'm not a professor," Moody said. "Moody will do just fine. Mad-Eye, if you want."
Fleur made to speak, but Harry captured her hand in his and gave it a fierce squeeze.
"Prove it."
A silent beat rang through the room while Harry's heart thundered in his chest. If it wasn't Moody, would he be able to get his wand out of his pocket in time to put up a shield? Could Fleur fight with her wand that was still so new and volatile?
A rasping, boisterous laugh nearly made him leap out of his skin while a small noise of surprise from Fleur rang in his ear.
"Good!" Moody called out, grinning in the way that pinched the massive scar that ran between his mouth and his normal eye. "Smart man. Your shield was paper-thin when we practiced for the Triwizard Tournament the first time, but your first proper volley of stunners was near perfect."
He shifted his gaze over to Fleur, who stiffened beneath the intense scrutiny.
"Unfortunately, Miss Delacour, I don't know you well enough to prove my identity. You'll have to trust Mr. Potter." He turned back to Harry, eyes narrowing. "And yours?"
"Erm…" He searched for something that would be enough to satisfy the old Auror, especially considering the dangerous glint in his eye. "After one of our first classes…you gave me a book on magical creatures, as an excuse."
"Excellent choice. The only way anybody could have known that one, would be if Longbottom had given the info. I gather Miss Delacour is who she appears to be?"
Harry nodded, then frowned.
"What are you doing here, Sir?"
Moody thumped his way across the room towards them, his scarred features softening…or at least as much as they were able. His eye swiveled to focus on a point on the wall, then turned to Harry.
"I'll take some of that tea if you don't mind," he said, shouldering past them and into the kitchen. "As strong as you can manage it."
Harry nodded mechanically, his body moving for him while his mind whirled. He refilled the kettle from the sink and placed it on the burner while chairs scraped behind him at the table.
Fleur was first to break the growing uncomfortable silence.
"I am not sure I ever got the opportunity to thank you for your part in rescuing us from that graveyard."
Moody grunted as Harry turned on the stove.
"Just glad I'm still able to help. One of these days this old body of mine is going to give out, then I won't be any good to anyone."
"Then we are fortunate that has not happened yet," she said, her eyes following Harry as he sat down next to her. "What brings you here today?"
Both of Moody's eyes scanned them, searching for what, Harry was unsure.
"The two of you put up one hell of a united front," he said, a gravelly chuckle resonating in his throat. "Calm down. I'm just here to talk to you, not ruin your day."
"What about?" Harry asked, frowning. Surely just about anything could have waited till their next training session.
"About what happened at the Ministry."
Fleur stiffened next to him and he felt his own back go rigid as well.
"What about it? We've talked to the investigators already. Sirius said they all know it was for self-defense. Why do we-?"
It wasn't until one of Moody's gnarled hands raised to stop him that he realized he had been rambling.
"I know most of those investigators. They're good people. Some of Amelia's best. The question isn't what they think or know. Do you know that what happened was done in self-defense?"
Fleur jerked as though she had been slapped and Harry felt the breath leave his lungs. The subject that had hung idle between them in the intervening days, both content to let it stand unmentioned, had been suddenly and violently broached.
"I'd thought as much," Moody said, rising to grab the kettle that had begun to whistle. "The first time for both of you, I gather?"
Trying to suppress the nervous somersaults of his stomach, Harry found his voice.
"Er…no, Sir."
Fleur turned to stare at him, redoubling the anxiety that coursed through his chest. A warm squeeze on his knee helped to settle his nerves, even if only slightly.
"Really?" Moody said, pausing in the act of reaching into one of the cupboards for a mug. His eyebrows drew together in concentration. "Would've been Quirrell, right? That was my last year in the department. I was out in Albania, following up on a lead when they had me come back to guard over the transport of the Philosopher's Stone from Hogwarts. I heard bits and pieces of what happened but I never put it together."
The clink of cup on saucer rang through the kitchen, punctuating the stillness that had settled over them. Fleur shifted in her seat, her normally flawless skin pallid and damp.
Moody levitated the cup over to the table and sat with a grunt. He studied them again, his gaze lingering on Fleur for an extra moment before he spoke. A prolonged sigh pushed at the steam rising from his cup and he shook his head.
"We're doing a piss-poor job if people as young as you two have been forced into this position already."
Temper rose in Fleur's eyes and Harry could see the heat creeping up her neck.
"We do not need to be coddled, we simply-"
"I know," Moody said, his soft interruption a rocky thunderclap. "Doesn't change the fact that in a perfect world, we'd be the ones doing the protecting. Wishing doesn't change what is."
He let out another sigh that deflated his imposing form into his chair, his back thudding against the backrest.
"I'm not here to debate whether you should defend yourselves. That's not in question. What I am here to tell you, is that what you're feeling is just the way normal people work."
The kitchen around Harry faded into a classroom. Neville nodded as he accepted a faded Herbology book, while Harry grasped a book on dark creatures.
"Just because you know in your head that it was self-defense," Moody continued, pulling Harry back into the present, "doesn't mean that your heart does. Just because you know in your head that it's supposed to be a bad thing to kill another person, doesn't mean that your heart doesn't feel relief when they can no longer hurt the people you care about."
Fleur's grip tightened on Harry's leg to a painful degree and he placed his over top of hers.
"So," Moody said, sitting back and taking a careful drink of his steaming cup of tea, "talk to me. And if you don't want to talk to me, I know good people who can help you out."
XxX
The final day of his horrible little vacation from school passed in a blink. Fleur stopped by for only a moment, though he managed to extract a promise from her that she would indeed test her fire on him, even if they had to start from opposite sides of the Room of Requirement, just to be safe.
Sirius stuck close to Harry, his face less skeletal after his visits to Jacobson. Though Harry caught the occasional long, unblinking stare in his direction, the glassy-eyed near-death expression Sirius had worn just days prior had not made a return.
The pair enjoyed small conversations about Hogwarts and their respective times attending the ancient school. Harry stuck to Quidditch matches, regaling his godfather with his favorite tales of planting Malfoy like a mandrake, and almost swallowing the snitch. In return, Sirius spoke of the simpler, quiet times of school. When the full moon was far off and Snape was hidden away. When his parents had first started dating and made non-stop "disgusting" displays of affection. Which, after some needling, Harry learned was only a handful of stolen kisses.
He let his godfather continue, despite the obvious embellishments or clear omissions. Even with the somewhat coarse language and laughing delivery, he painted a picture of a Hogwarts that Harry knew, could envision.
If he closed his eyes, he could see the courtyard Sirius described.
The corner where Sirius and Remus had charmed a snowdrift to interrupt a private moment, and the opposite corner, where his mother had cajoled a pair of gargoyles to restrain them.
When the evening wore into night and Harry climbed the stairs to his bedroom, he was almost sure he could hear the full, melodic laughter of his mother as she spent time with her husband-to-be.
XxX
Returning to classes had been a surreal experience, not the least of which for the crushing hug Hermione greeted him with upon his entrance to the Gryffindor common room that morning. Murmurs and whispers had followed her shrieked exclamation of his name and subsequent leap onto him, but he paid them no mind.
When Ron stepped up and joined in the embrace, he nearly fell to pieces, while Ginny's threats to the gawking onlookers provided them with whatever limited privacy could be had.
The welcome made it all the harder to explain to his friends about his two horrible ties to Voldemort later that night.
As predicted, Hermione launched into a tremulous plan about her plan for deciphering every possible meaning to the prophecy. Ron simply stared, his eyes wide as Hermione rambled into the empty space of the Room of Requirement, her rapid speech echoing off the walls.
"That's…I dunno, mate. Why's it always gotta be you?"
Hermione trailed off, her voluminous hair bobbing with her agreement.
Harry could only shrug and lean back into his chair. It was a question he'd asked most nights, even after Fleur had helped him to feel marginally less encumbered by the knowledge. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to continue to make it through the days without her reassuring presence and had considered carrying his notepaper to class.
Hermione had, probably rightly, vetoed his idea.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there."
Ron's muttered apology cut through his gloom and had him sitting up straight.
"Ron…" Hermione whispered.
"I'm not," Harry said after some thought. "You might've been killed."
"Hermione wasn't."
"No," she said, her voice suddenly muted and fragile. "But I had to watch. Had to see Fleur's neck…" Her hand traveled to her own, unblemished neck to brush her fingers against her skin.
Harry felt his stomach clench and he tried to focus on Ron's sudden melancholy.
"I'm not kidding. I know you'd have helped if you could, but if something had happened to you…happened to anyone…"
He trailed off, cutting off the thought before he could finish it out of habit. Fleur had made it a point to snuff out that particular thought any time Harry mentioned it.
Ron stared down at hands that gripped his robes, freckles standing out starkly against his white-knuckled grip.
"I was just standing in the Quidditch stands, yelling, while you were all about to be k-killed."
Harry sucked in a breath, pushing back the reactive denial that formed on his tongue. If he knew Ron, and he liked to think he did, empty platitudes would only push him deeper into his guilt. He searched frantically for an answer, some bit of subtle wisdom from Fleur or Moody, or even some sort of logical argument from Hermione.
He came up short, the silence stretching between them.
They had been in danger. Ron had been elsewhere.
Nothing was going to change that.
That didn't mean anything had to change.
"Did we at least win the match?"
A choked noise from Hermione made Harry grin. It grew wider when he saw the ghost of one flash across Ron's lips as he looked up at Harry.
"We clobbered 'em."
"You two," Hermione almost whined, her features stricken. "This is important. Don't joke it away."
Harry shrugged, sharing a glance with Ron.
"Not much we can do about it. If things are about to get rough, the least we can do is make sure Slytherin doesn't get the cup."
Ron's humor faded and he shook his head.
"Things are rough, mate. Dad's been promoted since they need so many people on hand to deal with all the explosions. He's barely home at all anymore. I think Percy transfigures his desk into a bed at night and just lives there now. I guess Crouch Sr. resigned when he found out his son had been the one impersonating the Minister. Supposed to be a madhouse in there now. Guess they've shut down the non-essential departments for now."
"Which is what Voldemort wanted," said Hermione, her lips drawn into a line. "If things are hectic, there's not going to be a strong response to his attack on Azkaban."
Harry nodded.
"That's what Moody said. I guess they asked him to come back on."
Ron let out a quick laugh.
"Well, that's something at least. Maybe they won't be as eager if Mad-Eye is ready to fight 'em."
Harry let his friends do most of the talking, letting the tense muscles of his back relax as the conversation slid away from the war, and back into the familiar territory of schoolwork and gossip. His ears perked up when he heard mention of Luna, and made a mental note to check on his odd friend before the week was out. His lessons with Moody might be over, but that didn't mean she couldn't still spend time with them.
When he finally made it to bed that evening, he found the welcome crawl of looping letters across the top of his notepaper.
Unfortunately, Maman knows frustratingly little about our abilities.
What are you going to do?
I am unsure. I do not know why I thought she held things back simply because I did not ask.
There's nobody else?
My grandmother would have known. She was in love with our history.
I wish I could've met her.
So do I.
If I think of anything, I'll let you know.
Thank you. And while I am thinking of it, remember to think about what to get Gabrielle as a birthday gift. You have a high standard of gift-giving to live up to.
Do you think she'd want a special ribbon too?
Perhaps, but that is my gift. You will get her something else.
Harry couldn't help the smile that pulled across his lips. He'd never known a certain type of handwriting to be…possessive.
Something musical maybe? She likes to play, right? Is there an instrument she wants?
Nothing that is practical. She has the piano in the ballroom and a number of woodwinds in her bedroom.
No violins or anything?
No, but any violin worth playing is rather expensive.
Maybe…a broom?
I doubt it. We tend to dislike assisted flight. It is not as intuitive.
I'll think of something.
You could always send her a letter and try to surreptitiously ask for ideas. I know she enjoyed exchanging letters with you.
That's a good idea. Good luck with your research. Let me know when you're ready to try it out.
I doubt I will ever be. Goodnight, Harry.
Goodnight, Fleur.
XxX
Harry climbed the stairs to the owlery, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. It seemed unfair that it was so warm at the tail end of May before summer had even begun, especially considering the sun had nearly set.
Muffled noises from above him and a quick glance at the Marauder's map told him he needed to step loudly up the last few stairs. Moments later, a red-faced Ravenclaw darted down the stairs, followed close behind by a Hufflepuff. Was it…Ernie Macmillan?
Harry shook his head. Maybe he should have been more upset that his friend group was so limited and he wasn't as familiar with others in his year, but considering a handful of years ago he'd never expected to have even one, he wasn't about to complain.
No sooner had he stepped into the Owlery than Hedwig swooped down from up above to alight on one of the makeshift branches near eye level. She hooted softly at him, closing her eyes in pleasure when Harry obliged and scratched the top of her head.
"Sorry this one took so long," he said, continuing the affection for a few extra seconds as penance. "This one is going to Gabrielle too. Go ahead and wait for a reply."
Her piercing yellow eyes opened and stared blankly at him.
"I know, I know. It's not my fault some of the owls I've had to use weren't as smart as you."
The compliment mollified the ruffled indignation at Harry admitting to using other owls.
In truth, part of the pleasure at writing Gabrielle again had been in giving his familiar something to do. Hedwig never got too angry at him when he didn't send letters for a while, but her enthusiasm always brought a smile to his face as he tied the letter to her outstretched leg.
Snowy wings beat at the air and she soared out the window, leaving Harry to watch as she vanished into the setting sun. He turned to begin the long trek back to Gryffindor Tower, not wanting to monopolize the relatively solitary space for too long.
Hopefully, his letter was obtuse enough to keep Gabrielle from figuring out his intention to decide on a birthday gift. He'd had little luck with the other two he'd sent that month, though the evenings of figuring out the translation with Fleur had been plenty enjoyable, even if it was only via notepaper. Hermione had suggested a complicated fourteen book series.
The…Chronos Circle?
He shook his head, making a mental note to ask Hermione to write it down. It'd be a good backup, but he wanted something a little more…personal. Even if it wasn't on the level of a special ribbon.
XxX
Harry,
As fun as it is, I have to admit that I know what you are doing. It is not all your fault though. Fleur is not very subtle, as I am sure you know, and keeps prodding at me about what I want for my birthday.
So let me turn it around on you. What do you want for your birthday? Ours are so close together that I should start thinking about what to get you as well.
Maybe I will buy you a new quill and stationery set so you can write more letters. Hedwig has been staring at me the entire time I have been writing. She likes to think she is intimidating, but she is really sweet.
Let me know if you think of anything you want and I will do the same.
Take care,
Gabrielle
Harry folded the letter, absently feeding one of his slices of bacon to Hedwig, who gulped it down before taking off.
An idea bloomed in his mind, growing along with a wide grin that had Hermione staring at him, perplexed. It wouldn't be easy and he would have to write a few letters, but it could work.
He wasn't able to make any headway on his idea until later that night when he finally had the opportunity to write to Fleur.
I finally have an idea for Gabrielle's birthday present and I need your help.
What is it? I have not been able to choose one yet. If I like yours, I may steal it.
Then I'm not going to tell you, but you can still come with me to get it. I was planning on going looking for it once school is out. Maybe the first week of July. How's your research coming?
Fleur's answer was slow in coming.
Poorly. My search into Veela history and abilities has not borne any fruit. Even with Maman trying to remember my grandmother's stories, we have come across precious little. Our traditions derive from the forests of Scandinavia, but beyond that, I know almost nothing.
And no luck finding other Veela?
Not really, no. As far as I have been able to determine, we are the only ones in this region of Europe. It makes me feel oddly lonely.
Harry stared uselessly at her words. Loneliness was no stranger in his life, but he had never been the only one of his kind in an entire country, let alone multiple. A memory sparked in his mind and he felt incredibly thick for not having thought of it before.
Maybe you could reach out to the Veela that cheered for the Bulgarian team.
That is an incredible idea. In all the horror that followed the World Cup, I completely forgot. Now I just have to figure out how. I can always try sending an owl. Thank you for the idea. I am going to look into it a bit before I go to sleep. Goodnight, Harry.
Goodnight, Fleur.
He put away his quill and ink and rolled over in his bed, ignoring the sleepy jeers from Seamus who, as pleasantly as possible, told Harry where exactly he could stuff his nightly routine with his unbelievably beautiful girlfriend.
The feeling of being helpful sparked a comfortable wave of contentment rolling through his thoughts as he allowed himself to drift off to sleep. He'd somehow grown more impressed with her through the recent month. Though shaken, she'd weathered the storm of guilt surrounding their debacle at the Ministry, even if she was still reticent to take him up on his offers to help her test her fire.
Selfishly, he was glad of the fact that Fleur hadn't returned to work, even after the investigation had cleared. Their nightly chats, while perhaps annoying to his dorm-mates, were what carried him through most days. Without the extra lessons with Moody and Dumbledore, school had slipped back into a boring routine.
Well, nearly routine. Luna had taken to joining them for most meals, an addition which Harry was disappointed they hadn't made sooner. She was an expert at heading off arguments between Hermione and Ron with odd comments that often left the three of them scratching their heads. Though, more recently, her reasoning for their quarreling had been an increasing menagerie of supposed magical animals.
Mostly though, he missed the evenings after their study sessions. Since coming back to Hogwarts, there hadn't been any time for Fleur to stop by for them to spend time together in their little cottage scene. He'd grown to miss the dark wooden floor and crackling fire, even during the warmer months. Even the artificial moonlight that spilled through the window lent an air of comfort and serenity to their secret space.
Distantly, he noted his eyes fluttering closed and the sensation of warm blankets shifting to the inconsistent heat of a fire.
The memory of woodsmoke filled his nostrils, mixing with the distinct, mesmerizing scent of cinnamon.
Fleur was sitting next to him, one hand in his, the other tugging on a lock of her silvery hair. Oceanic eyes swam with the firelight, the tilt of a shy smile creasing the corners.
Her ribbon spilled over a bare shoulder, its silken length a deep crimson to match the blush climbing her neck. The ribbon was tied in a bow at the nape of her neck but her slow, needy kiss pulled him unresisting into the fiction of the dream.
XxX
The school year was winding to a close when Harry finally got the news that untied the anxious knot that had been doubling in size in his chest with each passing day.
Though he couldn't control it, he'd known he had been an absolute prat the closer they drew to the end of June. Even Hermione, who tended to skew to the side of polite when chastising him, had thrown up her hands after he'd snapped at her one too many times.
But in the middle of a Saturday, when he definitely hadn't been sulking out by the Black Lake, his worries were finally, utterly dissolved.
At first, he thought he'd sat in a spot of sun-warmed water when the side of his trousers grew warm. When it didn't cool and no dampness reached his skin, he fumbled in his pocket for the gift he had agreed to carry almost everywhere following the events of the Ministry.
The surface of his little tarnished mirror shimmered, his face distorting and reforming into the beaming features of his godfather.
Harry almost didn't recognize him at first.
His hair had been neatly trimmed to a length shorter than Harry had ever seen it, even in pictures. Where long dark strands had hung to frame Sirius's face, now both beard and hairline wrapped the edges of his features. Small speckles of gray flecked his chin and temples, but rather than out of place, they seemed to add a certain poise to the grinning childish laughter that occasionally still danced in his godfather's eyes.
"Sirius?" Harry asked, staring dumbfounded down at the mirror in his hands. "What's going on? What's the occasion?"
Sirius's grin grew wider and his face blurred as he moved the mirror around.
"Look at this!"
Flashes of the kitchen spun through Harry's small window into Grimmauld Place, and eventually, the table came into view, a stark white piece of paper resting on top. It grew larger in his vision as Sirius moved the mirror closer.
Harry squinted, then sighed.
"It's a reflection. I can't read backwards."
"Well that sort of ruins it, doesn't it," Sirius said with a quick laugh, his face coming back into view. "It's a bit long-winded. You know how formal documentation can be. I can read it to you if you want." He cleared his throat to begin.
"Sirius!"
"Okay! In short…it's done. This means I'm now officially Head of my house." His grin slipped into a more genuine, soft smile. "Head of our house."
The mirror clinked against the rocks at Harry's feet as it slipped from his fingers. Every muscle and nerve collapsed, dropping him onto his backside on the bank of the lake. Distantly he heard Sirius promise to talk later, but it was lost among the incredible silence in his head.
Subtle waves lapped at the shore, reaching to touch the soles of his shoes as he let his legs spread out in front of him. The rocks and twigs dug into his backside and thighs while the sun he had been lamenting for its harsh reflection on the water warmed his skin.
Idly, he thought he should be crying. Or maybe sprinting back to the castle to tell Ron and Hermione the good news…and apologize. He should be writing to Fleur, to share that it was all finally over.
That he was free.
Instead, he sat in the sun, trying to figure out how many hours it would be until he could go home.
XxX
The last week of June saw the end of another year of school and all the celebration and excitement that entailed. Doubly so, as the era of the legendary Weasley twins was finally coming to a close and they made sure the entire school would never forget the names Fred and George Weasley.
Miniature fireworks followed them through the halls, their cracks and sparkles growing to unbearable levels if a Prefect made any attempt to chastise them for their disruption. They handed out free candies to any who would ask, with the simple—and extremely fair, by their estimation—warning that one in every ten would net you a giant body part.
"Specifically, none of the fun ones," Fred liked to add with a slow, exaggerated wink.
Twice Ron came towing giant feet into the Great Hall for a meal. He only shrugged when Hermione asked why he kept going back, saying the odds were good and the candy was better.
Harry basked in the spectacle of the twins and the cheery, pleasant tension that coiled through the castle as the final days drained away. He closed textbooks after their final classes with a grin, rather than a sigh. Packing his trunk was a race that ended with Seamus jumping on a pile of clothes in an attempt to get his closed, though Neville won handily. The trek to the Great Hall for the goodbye feast was filled with laughter and meaningless chatter all the way until the announcement of the House Cup winners.
Ravenclaw won, by virtue of winning the Quidditch cup. Harry had managed to see the final game between the Puffs and the Claws, and Cho had clinched the match with a spiraling dive that screamed of Cedric's tutelage. For the first time since he'd come to Hogwarts, the Ravenclaw Table erupted into cheers as the banners in the hall twisted into their trademark blue. Luna clapped along with her house, though she still sat with them at Gryffindor Table.
The food was incredible, and his heart, just as much as his stomach, was fit to burst from overfilling by the time they'd finished. He listened with half an ear as Dumbledore bid them goodbye, the deep bags under his eyes visible even from Harry's distant seat from the Head Table.
The Hogwarts Express waited at the station to carry them away, and for the first time, the red of the engine didn't dull and the summer air didn't turn to a frigid breeze. He wasn't leaving his home to return to a nightmare of tension, anxiety, and ever-shifting rules.
He was going home. To his godfather and Andromeda. Hermione and Ron could come to visit and he'd finally be able to spend normal time alone with his girlfriend. He could make good on his promise for more dinner dates and learn to cook some French cuisine. Maybe he could convince Apolline to bake pies with him as a birthday gift.
The train carried his good spirits all the way to King's Cross, where even from the window, he
could spot the customary island of red that was the Weasleys, with an extra red head this year.
Sirius stood alongside Arthur, arms waving as he talked. From the way he grinned and gesticulated, Harry presumed it was a story of his time on the run.
Their cabin became a bustle of activity once the brakes had finished their squealing and the engine had sounded its final whistle. Trunks and bags were hefted from the overhead compartment and a bright orange sack tumbled onto Harry's head as he got his trunk down.
Luna smiled and thanked him for getting her last bag, her eyes bright.
Harry led the way out of the train, doing his best to avoid being bustled and bumped too hard, though, in the rush to get home for the summer, it was a near impossibility. As was standard, Luna veered off upon sighting her father. The willowy man wore a breezy robe of bright pink that clashed with his sunny hair and proved even more garish when Luna pressed up against him in her Ravenclaw blue shirt.
As they drew closer, broad shoulders and a tail of red hair marked the extra Weasley as Bill, who had taken over listening to Sirius's exuberant, possibly embellished stories.
"Alright, you lot?" he asked as Harry led everyone closer. "Been a while since I've seen you."
A chorus of various positive statements met his question before Hermione split off to join her parents. She beamed at Harry as she left, her shouted promise to see him often almost lost in the mess of life and chatter that surrounded them.
With other warm goodbyes, Sirius dropped a hand onto Harry's shoulder, and they apparated home.
When Harry was finally pushed from the cold dark tube of apparition, he found far more life and color greeting him than he had expected.
Gone was the mostly empty living room with two single chairs sitting in front of the fireplace with a table between them. Similarly vanished were the perfectly parallel portraits and paintings that lined the walls. A mess of landscapes and colorful sea paintings adorned the room and a massive window sat along the front wall. Early nighttime moonlight streamed across a massive couch that was reminiscent of the ones that dominated the Delacour's parlor.
"Pretty nice, isn't it," Sirius said, hands on hips. "I enlisted Andromeda's help. The seaside paintings were mandatory since, apparently, I wouldn't shut up about the Mediterraneans."
"How'd you even get a window?" Harry asked. "Isn't this the wrong side?" He let his trunk thud to the floor so he could peer out at mostly empty London street, the street lamps pouring their yellow light across the patchwork sidewalk and narrow road.
Sirius shrugged. "Magic window. I didn't even know it was something I could get until she brought it up."
Harry turned and scanned the room. Though it had been comfortable and huge before, he felt as though he could finally breathe in the space. A wave in one of the paintings shifted and rolled, the thick strokes of azure oil paint churning into blotches of chaotic white as water crashed against the shore. Fire-tinted sunsets became sunrises and wind blew through a trio of landscapes that depicted a woodland hill, leaves lifting onto the breeze to shift to the orange and gold of autumn.
"But why?" Harry blurted, shaking himself from his admiration.
Sirius frowned.
"You don't like it?"
"I do! It's just…a big change."
"You're not wrong about that. I thought for sure they were going overboard as they talked and worked and spent my money on furniture and decorations, but it turned out great." Sirius shrugged and tapped Harry's trunk with his wand and sent it out of the room and up to the second floor. "Jacobson pointed out in one of our last sessions that the old house was a bit depressing. All those grays and blacks can affect your mood, apparently."
Harry couldn't help but laugh and nod.
"I did like those chairs though. They were pretty comfortable."
Sirius's face melted into a grin by the time Harry had finished speaking.
"One of the things my lovely cousin was unflinching about was that those old things needed to go." He winked. "I bribed Kreacher to save them somewhere. We'll put them back after the party."
"After the…party?"
Sirius nodded, still smiling.
"I figured we should celebrate. I'm Head of House now. It's basically expected that I throw giant lavish parties for everyone to come to network and trade political favors."
Sirius laughed at the revulsion that Harry felt choking his features into a grimace.
"I figured I'd throw out most of it, and just keep the 'party' part."
"Who's coming?" Harry asked, moving around the large couch and dropping down into it. The brand-new cushions almost propelled him back onto his feet before relaxing and conforming to his body.
"Andy and Remus too, if I can get the reclusive prick to show. Apolline and Sebastian. Beyond that, whoever you want."
Harry nodded slowly, the list already forming in his mind. He'd need to ask Ron how well his Occlumency practice was going. At the very least, he'd be able to show up to say hi, even if he couldn't stay for very long.
"It's next weekend, so be sure to send out your invites soon. Let me know how many people are coming and I can figure out how much I'll need to bribe Kreacher with to get enough food for the party."
An exciting thought yanked Harry up to his feet.
"I'll cook."
"You don't have to-"
"I'm cooking!" he said, his mind racing as he all but sprinted up to his bedroom to pull some parchment and writing materials from his trunk.
He worked Hedwig to the very tips of her snowy feathers and he had a hunch his familiar loved every last grueling second of it. All of his invites came back with a positive response, with the exception of Mr. Weasley, who promised to show up if he could find the time.
Sebastian similarly could not guarantee his presence, though he'd offered Harry a gentle squeeze on the shoulder when Harry went to Delacour Manor to make the invitation in person. He'd been unable to convince Apolline that he'd be able to take care of the entirety of the food on his own, and had to relinquish control of the deserts to his girlfriend's insistent mother.
Fleur had been eager to agree to come, citing an irritating lack of progress on her Veela search. Though she knew her family came from Scandinavia, the bulk of the Veela lived in the Balkans and had been unreachable via owl.
He and Sirius had spent most of that day in France, Sirius chatting with Apolline and engaging Gabrielle in a game of chess while Fleur had all but dragged Harry out to their clearing.
The stones were in their same perfect circle, a new one added to the collection standing out for its lack of moss. The grass was long and luxuriant and flowed along with the leaves as they rustled in the wind.
He was given only a moment to appreciate the warmth of the space before Fleur's lips on his generated their own incredible heat.
The party came all at once too fast, and with agonizing slowness. How it was he could spend hours upon hours cooking and still feel as though the time flashed by in a single blink, he wasn't sure.
What he was, though, was proud.
Meals at his relatives had been large, though rarely complex. Due to their dislike of anything that could be considered a mess, they preferred simpler recipes for most dinners. Those one-pot meals and pasta had been his saving grace for producing a frankly astounding amount of food in such a short amount of time.
Fleur had shown up two whole hours before the start time, carrying a bag that held her 'party clothes' and offered her limited services to Harry as he finished up. Despite her admitted lack of kitchen knowledge, the extra set of hands had made the complex schedule of finishing dishes a well-planned breeze. She stepped away a half-hour before the other guests were to arrive, offering him a sly smile and a wink as she disappeared from the kitchen.
When the last of the food had come out of the oven, and the numerous loaves of bread were almost cool enough to cut. Harry slipped out of the kitchen and headed upstairs to get changed.
The party wasn't going to be the incredibly formal event that Sirius had joked about, but it wasn't meant to be the lackadaisical affair that had been the New Year's party.
Sirius, as host, had dressed a little finer than his guests would be expected to. Harry had almost expected a tuxedo with tails and some ridiculous hat, but Sirius had come downstairs in an incredibly fitted suit, of similar style and cut to the ones Harry had seen Sebastian wear during his more important days at work the previous summer.
Hermione showed first, her hair fussed back into something approximating a bun with loose curls dangling down in front of her ears. A simple maroon blouse was tucked into fitted black trousers that stopped just shy of her ankle. To Harry's unending surprise, she had worn heels, and where she had been about the same height as him normally, she now towered above him.
She hesitated when she saw him after stepping out of the floo, a nervous smile flitting across her…glossy lips?
"You look…really nice, Harry," she said, stepping over to him and looking around the still empty living room, save for Sirius, who stood next to the floo with a glass of water in hand. "I'm the first one here?"
"Well…you are ten minutes early."
"I know," she groaned. "I just couldn't sit still at the Weasley's anymore. Ron hadn't even started dressing when I left."
He laughed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
"It just means you get the first crack at the food. Made it myself," he said, jerking a thumb toward the kitchen.
"Did you really?" she enthused, her eyes going wide. "Fleur has mentioned at least a hundred times in our letters that you're an incredible cook. I can't wait to try some!"
She disappeared into the kitchen just as the floo flared to disgorge a disgruntled Ron whose hair was slightly damp and bore the unmistakable grooves of a last-minute comb. He too hesitated when he saw Harry, then glanced down at his own, simple button-up.
"Maybe Hermione was right," he grumbled before casting a look over his shoulder at the floo. "Do ya' reckon I'll stand out too much?"
"Luna's coming…and who knows what she's going to be wearing."
"Yeah…" Ron eyed the floo again then shrugged. "Oh well. If I go back to get all fancy, Fred and George would never let me live it down."
Harry didn't answer for a moment and resisted the urge to shuffle his feet like a child.
"Um…" he tried, the collar of his shirt feeling suddenly restrictive. "Thanks, mate."
Ron quit moving altogether and stared at Harry, perplexed.
"What for?"
Harry jerked his head towards the upstairs where Fleur was getting ready, then felt like an idiot for not speaking instead.
"You know…the whole Occlumency thing. It means a lot to her."
Ron actually did shuffle his feet, then stuck his hands in his pockets.
"It was the right thing to do," he said, his ears turning a generous shade of pink.
"For Merlin's sake," Hermione cut in, the smile she wore evident in her tone. "You two are a mess."
"Stuff it," Ron grumbled, though there was no heat in his words. He brightened when he saw the plate of food Hermione was carrying. "I'm gonna grab some before Bill gets here. He eats like he's five times his size. He's supposed to be picking up some bird he's seeing and will stop in for a bit."
"You're not going to endear yourself to someone who could be your future sister-in-law if you call them 'bird,'" Hermione snapped as he brushed past her.
"Lucky thing no-one's going to tell her I said that then, huh?" Ron shot back smoothly, nabbing a piece of bread from Hermione's plate.
Andromeda arrived next, allowing Sirius to begin his duties as host in earnest. She wore a modest dress that flared at the waist that slimmed to a top that covered her shoulders with straps that were nearly sleeves.
Others trickled into the home once the hour slipped by. Apolline came all but dragging Gabrielle by the hand, four steaming pies floating behind her. The youngest Delacour's pout at presumably being shoved into a long dress vanished as Hermione drew near, already talking animatedly about her newest conquest of fiction books.
Harry made all the appropriate welcoming noises, along with a surprised hello when Remus stepped out of the Floo. His face was a little less scruffy and his clothes less torn. Which helped him to look every inch a professor, right down to his tweed jacket.
Harry caught himself glancing over to the doorway that led to the stairs more and more often as the minutes ticked by. While he hugged Apolline and tasted the fantastic pies she brought and welcomed a beaming Mrs. Weasley, his eyes never wandered far from where he'd catch his first glimpse of Fleur.
Eventually, either sensing his unease or wanting to sate her own curiosity, Harry suspected both, Hermione excused herself to go see if Fleur needed any help.
A few minutes later, movement in the doorway caught his eye and the rest of the party fell away.
The dress was, by his estimation, completely out of place compared to the rags worn by everyone else.
Red silken fabric fell in clinging waterfalls of cloth, split down the side by a sinuous streak of ivory skin that tapered away at her thigh. Her hair spilled over one shoulder, its incredible silver length teased and tamed into loose curling rings at the end, while two strands framed her perfect face. She wore no makeup, that he could see anyway, but the curve of her lips and the lidded, oceanic eyes that pinned him in place made it impossible to focus.
Where most of the other women wore dresses with straps and lace, Fleur's left her shoulders bare and a thick, taut stretch of fabric reached up from her chest to encircle her neck. On her wrist, tied in an intricate folding pattern that resembled a crimson rose, was her ribbon.
His eyes darted across her, unable to steady, to linger. They took in the curve of her waist and the way the slit brushed her leg, the way her fingers laced together, and the stretch of cloth across her stomach.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump and his heart stop. The noise of the party rushed back into the space she had so perfectly occupied in his mind, a deluge of compliments and a particularly loud call of 'show-off' from Gabrielle.
Fleur stumbled forward and shot a glance over her shoulder, revealing Hermione who rolled her eyes.
"What do you think?" Fleur asked as she strode up to Harry, a smattering of pink coloring her cheeks almost to match her lips.
Lips that tasted of cinnamon and heat and freedom.
"I know it is a bit over-the-top…"
"Er…what?"
He hadn't realized she'd stopped speaking.
The tint in her cheeks grew to a deeper shade of red and she smiled that shy, private smile.
"I always thought that 'staring open-mouthed' was simply an English idiom."
His mouth closed with a click but words still eluded him entirely.
She leaned in closer and grabbed his arm.
"You have provided exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Come on, it has been too long since I have been able to eat something you cooked for me."
"Just…last month," he managed, allowing himself to be dragged off to the kitchen.
"Far too long."
Once separated from the rest of the party, Fleur's posture relaxed and she twirled in place, the slit of her dress widening enough for his entire imagination to fall inside.
"So? I am waiting."
"Great," he managed, trying to work some moisture into his mouth while simultaneously restarting his brain. "A warning might have been nice."
"And spoil this?" she asked, tilting her head to the side as she studied him. "Your sense is…"
"I'm sure it's going crazy," he said, finally tearing his eyes away from his glimpse of her long, bare leg.
He let out a long, steadying breath and tried not to focus on how warm it was in the kitchen. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to meet her smiling gaze but the heat present in her cheeks made it a little easier.
She fiddled with her rose-ribbon and shrugged.
"I wanted to dress up. We have not had the opportunity since the Yule Ball to do so. A year and a half is much too long."
He almost stumbled in surprise, and likely would have, if he'd been in possession of all his wits.
How had so much time passed?
"You say 'we,'" he grumbled, though he let a smile steal the heat from his words, "but I look like I picked these up off the street compared to you."
A loud chorus of welcomes sounded from the other room as Fleur stepped close to fuss with his collar.
"You are very sweet but I think you look wonderful. I have become so used to seeing you in your school robes, that it was a shock to see you wearing something that fits you properly."
"I-"
"Fleur!" Apolline's excited shout from the doorway drew their attention, her face alight with barely contained excitement. "You need to come out here."
"We are busy," Fleur snapped, then mouthed the word 'later' when Harry stared at her, confused. "I will be out in a few minutes."
"Oh, come on." Apolline stepped forward and snagged Fleur's unadorned wrist in her hand and pulled her to the doorway.
The naked irritation that settled on Fleur's face vanished the moment she could see into the other room. Harry followed, peering over her shoulder to see what had stopped her significant temper in its tracks.
The source of her shock was readily apparent and was standing hand-in-hand with Bill. Where Sirius had dressed quite well, and Fleur had gone above and beyond, Bill wore the same style clothes Harry had always seen him in; some mix of fashionable and practical that fit him like a second skin. His date, however, wore a simple black dress that accented her luminescent skin and silver hair perfectly.
She looked so different.
The slightest touch of makeup adorned her features, a deep red lipstick and dark lines around her eyes.
Bill waved to Harry and drew closer, taking a moment to grin down at Ron and draw him into a side-armed hug. When they approached, Harry realized in a panic that he couldn't remember her name.
Though, if her attention was anything to go by, he'd have a moment while her light-blue eyes fixed on Fleur.
"I am Mariika," she said, offering Fleur a soft smile.
"Fleur…"
The muscles across her back tensed, sending the bare skin rippling beside him. He placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on her middle back, her skin hot against his hand.
She jumped slightly, then turned to flash him a small smile.
"I apologize," she said. "I have not met another Veela outside my family in person before."
Mariika's eyes widened.
"Truly?" she asked, her accent was subtle and less noticeable than Fleur's, though Harry had grown quite used to the French accent.
Fleur nodded.
"We are the only ones in this part of Europe."
Mariika frowned and cast a glance over her shoulder to where Gabrielle had recaptured Hermione's ear.
"I must admit," she said. "I did not know there were any of us this far away from the homeland."
It was Fleur's turn to frown.
"But…you do not sound Scandinavian."
The older woman peered at Fleur for a moment, then smiled.
"Fascinating."
Fleur drew in a quick breath, then turned to Harry, near-blinding excitement shining in her eyes.
"Please excuse me, 'Arry," she said. "Mariika, would you mind talking with me for a while?"
"Of course not," she said, patting Bill on the arm. "William, please start without me. I ate before coming."
Harry watched them veer off into a secluded corner of the living room, their movement tracked by both Apolline and Narcissa.
"It's always 'William' with her…" Bill complained into the sudden silence. "Only Mum ever calls me that."
Harry had to stifle a laugh. He supposed a nickname like Bill was a name all the same as William. It'd probably be best to let them talk about that in their own time.
"Did you two…right after the World Cup?" Harry found himself asking, curious.
Bill shook his head sending his ponytail swinging.
"No. I went with a few work buddies to one of the last games that Puddlemere played this season. They played Bulgaria and stomped 'em flat. They never quite recovered after Krum left."
"Krum left Quidditch?"
Bill nodded.
"He just didn't sign on after finishing up with that Tournament of yours. But, I can't complain too much. It's because the team was a bit bummed and moving slowly that I ran into them at all, and here we are." Bill straightened, then turned to Harry. "Mum doesn't know yet. She finds out I'm seeing a girl, and I'll be getting floo calls every day to bring her by the house. Keep it under your hat for now, would ya'?"
"Sure."
"Thanks. Now I've got to go corner Ron."
Harry watched Bill snake through the party to find Ron, standing and listening to Hermione and Gabrielle talk. After allowing himself another moment to watch Fleur gesture excitedly while talking with Mariika, he returned to his hosting duties, an inexplicable grin stubbornly refusing to leave his face.
At some unspoken hour, the formality of the party vanished with the majority of the guests. Narcissa was the first to leave, followed closely by Sebastian, who offered an apology through a yawn that he couldn't have stayed for longer. Bill and Mariika left next, something that a quiet, selfish part of Harry was glad for. Though Fleur's excitement had been palpable, he hadn't been able to fully quash the little prick of jealousy at their severely limited time together.
She lingered with him until only Andy and Remus remained of the guests before brushing a kiss goodnight across his lips and vanishing through the floo. With her comfortable presence gone, he found he could barely keep his eyes open and his feet ached from wandering the room all night. He wished Sirius, Andromeda, and Remus a quick goodnight and trudged up to his bedroom, pulled onward by the call of his bed.
XxX
I was wondering if you'd be free to come with me to pick up Gabrielle's birthday gift.
That depends…I actually needed to talk to you about something.
Best to put me out of my misery.
Relax, it is nothing so serious. I was finally able to get a letter through to Mariika. She has invited me to come to visit her family in Bulgaria. Her mother and grandmother are willing to talk with me about where their family came from, though she is sure they have been in the Balkans since…well, since Veela came to be.
That's…a strange thought. All the way back to the beginning of your people?
I know. It is…strangely unsettling. I am glad for some answers though, even if they will lead to more questions. I am not sure how my family came from Scandinavia and they from the Balkan region.
Maybe someone in your family got confused?
I suppose it is possible. I never would have thought that trying to glean more information about us would be so difficult. Maman always made it sound like there was this whole world of Veela culture that we just did not want to participate in. Now I find out that the largest concentration of us is mostly relegated to a single, relatively small region.
I wish I had remembered her sooner. Maybe you would have been further along by now if you could have sent her an owl.
Do not worry, even if you had, it would have been fruitless. Due to her occupation, she only allows owls from certain people. The rest are turned away. When you entrance people for a living, some are bound to overreach.
I can only imagine.
We are trying to work out a time to meet. Who knows, maybe I will get answers about both our past and my fire, as Dumbledore has asked of me.
A memory tickled at Harry's mind. A memory of leprechauns and fearsome winged women.
At the World Cup, their fire wasn't blue…was it?
Fleur's reply was a long time in coming. So long that Harry began to wonder if something had happened to their notepaper.
Shit.
Harry laughed aloud at the simple, elegantly written swear.
Sorry.
No need to be sorry. You are correct. I am just frustrated.
There was a pause in her writing, then it vanished and a new line began scrawling across the page.
And here I remember that you were one of the few who were not gawking at the Veela. What a shame.
Are you teasing me to relax?
Perhaps. I do it to Gabrielle too, but with you…it started because you used to be so stoic around me. But now, yes. It is fun.
We'll have to find some other way to help you relax. And no, I wasn't gawking at the cheerleaders.
No?
I was gawking at a different Veela.
Good answer, Darling.
The words vanished as he read them, then the parchment remained stubbornly empty.
Darling?
I was hoping you had not seen that.
But…what? You've never called me that before.
I know! I wanted to try it at the party. After you stared at me for so long, I wanted to try. But I lost my nerve.
Oh. You can do it if you want to. I've just not had very good experiences with nicknames. It was strange to hear you call me something else.
I will not do it if you do not want me to.
It's up to you, I suppose.
It most certainly is not. Think about it, and let me know how you feel. I am not about to call you anything you do not wholeheartedly embrace.
I'll think about it. I promise.
Good. Now, when were you wanting to go pick out Gabrielle's gift?
This weekend, hopefully. Sirius said Diagon Alley is a lot less busy after the first few days after school lets out.
Harry, I will not be able to wander Diagon Alley unaccosted.
This time it was Harry's turn to swear. He'd grown so used to being around people who could resist her allure that he'd forgotten of the larger public problem.
There's always the invisibility cloak.
If you think you need my help that badly, that would be fine. However, I have terms.
Terms?
Afterward, you come to my apartment and cook me dinner. I barely got any at the party because I was so distracted and I didn't feel like I got to show off nearly as much as I should have.
Harry swallowed down the thought of her enticing red dress and the stretch of silken skin that peeked out through the slit.
I'll have to brush up on my French recipes.
I look forward to it. I will try to schedule my visit to Bulgaria for the beginning of the week after our date. I do not want to put it off for too long.
Let me know if you have anything specific you'd like to eat and I'll try to figure it out.
I look forward to being surprised. Goodnight, Harry.
Goodnight, Fleur.
Harry set his quill down on his nightstand and placed his glasses alongside it. It'd probably be pretty easy to coax Fleur's favorite meal out of her mother or her sister. Though it could be fun to try to do some research and guess.
With musings on French cuisine, he fell easily into sleep.
He awoke with a start, sunlight streaming around the edges of his curtains. His hand skittered across the nightstand for his glasses and he pressed them onto his face. Rested muscles answered his stretch and he blinked as he let his arms fall back to the bed. What time was it?
How long had it been since he'd risen before dawn?
Pushing away thoughts of what he'd thought were die-hard habits, he slid out of bed and slipped into some pajamas. Maybe if he put together a full breakfast for Sirius, he could wheedle some extra time to stay at Fleur's apartment after their dinner date.
His plan, however, backfired immensely.
The eggs were perfect, the sausage; crisp, and he managed to steep the tea for just the right amount of time.
Sirius made all the appropriate appreciative noises and Harry helped himself to a smaller version of the same meal.
They were halfway through when he found the perfect lull in their easy conversation for him to casually insert his plans to go to Diagon Alley then have a dinner date with Fleur in the coming weekend.
Instead of nodding absently, as he'd hoped, or asking a few questions, as he'd expected, Sirius froze mid-bite, eyes wide. He set his fork down with deliberate precision and blew out a long, unsteady breath. His grey eyes wandered the room before he dragged a hand across his face and rubbed at his eyes with his fingers.
"Merlin's balls, here we go."
"Sirius?"
Harry felt his pulse quicken but he knew what Sirius's 'bad news' face looked like. This wasn't anything too serious, just…uncomfortable?
His godfather took a long drink of his tea and set it down next to his plate, shifting it absently back and forth with his fingers as he studied Harry.
"I doubt that great ruddy bastard Dursley had the good sense to talk to you about certain things, so…we need to have a little talk."
Heat flushed Harry's face as dread hollowed out his stomach. He'd heard various whispered chatter of what this entailed in the dorms…
"About?" he tried, hoping it was something else. Anything else.
"About you and your girlfriend."
Harry choked.
They spent the rest of the day avoiding each other.