Sharp raps on the door dragged Harry slowly from the depths of sleep, to which he instantly longed to return. Fleur had shifted in the night, though she hadn't rolled so far as to remove her head from his arm. Her back was to him and his arm was draped across her middle, the soft fabric of her dress doing little to keep the heat of her at bay.
Another quick rap on the door made her stir, and the voice that floated through jolted them both to wakefulness.
"Wake up, you two," Apolline called, her voice still sharp through the thick door. "It's almost noon and Dumbledore will be here soon to go over what happened."
"Noon?" Harry wondered aloud, breathing deep as he stretched his legs. A thick swirl of cinnamon and earth filled his nostrils, pulling him further into consciousness than even Apolline's voice had done.
He patted Fleur on the shoulder and removed his arm to many grumbled complaints, then slid off the bed.
"I'm going to go shower before Dumbledore gets here," he said, shuffling through his drawers for some clean clothes. "Don't really fancy explaining everything that happened while looking like…"
The sight of Fleur pushing herself up into a stretch in his bed struck him speechless. The groggy smile she gave him when he finished made his heart thump hard enough to almost crack a rib.
"O-or if you want to shower instead…" he stammered out.
"This much hair means very long showers," she said, sliding her legs off the other side of the bed and standing. "I doubt I will have time. Instead, I will try to repair this dress and clean it up a bit before Dumbledore gets here."
Harry nodded and gathered his things to head for the shower. A hand on his arm caught him on his way out and drew him into a long, good-morning kiss that had him silently cursing the Headmaster's arrival, no matter its Importance.
Clean and dressed, he made his way down to the crowded living room and gratefully accepted a firm hug from Apolline before she diverted Fleur into the kitchen. He accepted a plate of late breakfast from Sirius and dropped down on the couch to settle his decidedly empty stomach.
"I trust you two have a good reason for being completely unreachable last night?" Sirius asked, settling down onto the couch. A shaved face and washed hair had Sirius looking less of a haggard mess than he had the night before.
Harry nodded through a mouthful of food and swallowed so he could explain. Before he could do so, Sirius held up a hand.
"No need to go through it twice. I trust you. We'll all be giving our retellings to Dumbledore here in a bit."
Sirius rose and stepped over to talk to Sebastian, who had both hands on Gabrielle's shoulders while she simply stood and listened, her gray-blue eyes tired and her hand stroking the top of Lenette's head.
Harry had just finished when Fleur stepped out of the kitchen, her expression a mixture of dazed and…thrilled? She dropped down next to him with enough force to jostle him in his seat.
"Is everything okay?" he asked.
"She…she is the one who burned down the house. It was the only way to handle the number of people that showed up to a-attack." She swallowed and paused before continuing. "She said she transformed for the first time in over twenty years because of me. Because I…inspired her."
The floo flared before Harry could reply and Dumbledore stepped through and greeted the group that awaited him. With a careful twist of his wand, he conjured a chair directly in front of the fading fire and sat down, staring at each person in turn.
"Allow me to say that I am unbelievably gratified to see you all safe and well. When I received the news, I had of course feared for the worst."
"We're okay," Sebastian said, removing one of his hands from Gabrielle's shoulder to wrap around his wife's waist. "It was just a house."
"Even so, I am sorry you have been displaced by such a horrific event. Now, unfortunately, my time is stretched thin, but I would like to hear any information you might have gleaned from things they said or did." He turned his gaze to Sirius before continuing. "Or people you might have recognized."
Harry and Fleur exchanged a look. After a moment, she nodded.
"Erm…Sir," he began. "We…had something happen that you should probably know."
Dumbledore turned to stare at Harry. "Something more important than this?"
"Is this about where you were?" Sirius asked.
"It might be difficult to believe," Fleur cut in, "but please believe us."
Dumbledore nodded and shifted in his seat, casting a not-insignificant glance over to Gabrielle. "Then I might deduce that this is in regards to what I tasked you with, Miss Delacour?"
Harry nodded, then turned to the Delacours, doing his best to ask silent permission. He received a slight shrug from Sebastian and a nod from Apolline.
"I don't mind if Gabrielle knows, Sir," Harry said. "It's because I was there that her house was burned down after all."
All heads in the room shot towards him and he jumped in a mixture of surprise and pain when Fleur pinched him on the thigh. Hard.
He caught sight of Apolline nodding in satisfaction, then mouthing the word 'later' to him.
"Very well," Dumbledore said, launching into an extremely abbreviated version of the prophecy and the barest of explanations about the Horcrux. By the time he'd finished, even without all the gritty details, Gabrielle's face had gone pale.
Then, everybody watched Harry as he launched into a quick version of what had happened, leaving out the most personal details and feelings of Fleur's dance. He barely managed to stumble through recounting his first-ever admission of love but found traction again once he described the veil and the strange, apparition-like pressure of that other world. At that, Fleur jumped in, adding her own far more pleasant experience to the telling. Their voices filled the otherwise silent room, every other occupant clutching tight to each word.
When Fleur got to her bargain, Harry felt a surprise squeeze on his heart. He'd been nearly blinded and in too much pain to react properly at the moment, but knowing both her ribbon and their notepaper were gone sent a painful spike into his chest.
"Did he say anything else?" Dumbledore asked, brows drawn together.
"No," Fleur said.
"I have a hunch as to his identity and it would lend significant weight to his words if I am correct. Would you two mind providing me with your memories of the event? I would like to examine them at my earliest opportunity before I make any more suppositions."
When they nodded, Sirius spoke up for the first time since they had begun speaking and called Kreacher to grab some memory vials. After a notably half-hearted complaint, the elf complied, returning with two crystal vials similar to the ones they had used for their memories about the graveyard.
As he had done before, he placed the wand to his temple, noting Fleur's obvious reticence to place her temperamental wand to hers. Once finished, Dumbledore levitated the vials across the room and into his hand.
"This is good news," he said with a slow nod. "I believe I am only a few steps away from locating a Horcrux and should we decipher this fairy's words, we may be a few steps closer to being rid of them. There are a number of things in your story that give me hope. However," he drew the word out, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers together, "I would be fascinated to learn why your wand reacted as it did, Miss Delacour. After I have viewed the memories, I may return with some questions."
Fleur nodded, rolling the wand in question between her fingers.
"Now, let us return to the unfortunate events last night. Tell me what you remember."
Harry listened with rapt attention and no small amount of guilt as they detailed the remainder of their evening, which had been suddenly punctuated by the sudden appearance of Kreacher, followed by a ferocious attempt to breach the wards. Of blocked floos and anti-apparition jinxes. Of Kreacher, in an odd valiant act, snatching Gabrielle at Sirius's half-formed request and bringing her to Grimmauld. He listened with the awe of someone with intimate knowledge of the inferno conjured by protective avian fury.
Some of Gabrielle's color returned as she stared up at her mother. Apolline described, a bit bashfully, the spur-of-the-moment decision to keep the many attackers at bay at the entrance with her fire, before being the last one rescued from the now blazing home.
By the time Dumbledore had asked more than a few questions about accents from Death Eater spell casting and had procured a memory from each of them, it was near dinner time. Though the resurrected images of a place Harry had loved burning in front of him left little appetite, he was glad when Dumbledore called an end to their meeting.
"There is one last thing though," Dumbledore said, rising from his chair. "I understand you have Mr. Malfoy with you?"
Sirius nodded.
"Still upstairs. Can't really blame him."
"I would like to go ask if he would be interested in returning to Hogwarts with me. Although I know you are his family, I doubt he will feel very comfortable here, and facing the loss of another parent…I would prefer it if he were somewhere more familiar while coming to terms with that."
"If that's what he wants," Sirius answered, guilt lingering in his words. "So long as he's safe, I'm sure Cissy would be happy."
So it was that Malfoy followed Dumbledore through the floo less than a half-hour later, offering little more than a mumbled goodbye before vanishing.
"Harry?" Apolline said into the resulting silence. "Would you mind if I helped you with dinner?" Her tone indicated it was not in any way a question, and that 'later' had finally come.
Fleur gave him a kiss on the cheek in reassurance, then took Gabrielle through the floo back to her apartment to bring clothes and her charmed blanket.
Sebastian and Sirius dropped down onto the couch in twin motions that exuded pure exhaustion, while Apolline crooked her finger for Harry to follow. Resigned to his fate, he followed her through the doorway, doing his best to prepare himself for the earful he was sure he was about to receive for his acceptance of responsibility.
Earful had been an understatement.
XxX
Fleur had been called to meet with Dumbledore only a few days after his first visit, though she returned only with a shrug, saying he had asked for details about Veela abilities.
August passed by in fitful bursts. Days where the war was a distant worry and Harry spent his time with Fleur passed in languid heartbeats, while the days where Death Eater raids attacked families and skirmishes erupted in Diagon Alley stretched from long, tense mornings into quiet, restless nights.
More than once, Fleur had snuck down from her room upstairs on one of those nights, seeking the comfort Harry was glad to both give and receive.
It was in those moments, filled with the warmth of her skin and the brush of her breath where the war finally faded from view. Infrequent and far too limited, they still found comfort in one another; in deepening their understanding of one another with slow, careful steps.
None too quick or too bold, but where simple affection and the caress of hands brought the peace both desired.
But in time, simple affection drew deep into the night when a steady thrum of need began to pulse through them, when hands and kisses drew near to boundaries yet to be crossed and they reveled in the exploration.
It wasn't until the second half of the month that they heard from him again. The aged man had summoned them both, along with Sirius, to Hogwarts.
"Please, sit," Dumbledore said by way of greeting, gesturing them to three chairs placed in front of his desk.
Harry obliged, noting with surprise that the once opulent office had been stripped of many of its ornamentations and strange magical devices. Even the perch upon which Fawkes often sat was absent, leaving the room with a sense of tidy precision, rather than the cluttered feeling he had gotten before.
"I shall get directly to the point, as time is my most valuable commodity at the moment," Dumbledore said. "Miss Delacour, have you made any progress with either your special fire, your other form, or the fairy's riddle?"
Fleur shook her head, chagrin clear on her features. "I can, at times, get little bursts of blue when I am myse-" she trailed off, glancing over at Harry, "-when I am in this form. I have not had the opportunity to change without fear of hurting someone in the household should I…lose control." She let out a long, defeated breath. "And I do not know what the fairy meant. At first, I thought he was after our names, but he also seemed satisfied by other aspects of who we are."
"I thought the same," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair. "I have viewed the memories countless times, and have come to a handful of conclusions. Most of which are related to our overall task of destroying the Horcruxes."
"Even while keeping 'Arry safe?" Fleur asked.
"I believe so."
Sirius shifted forward in his chair, his forearms resting on his legs while he peered intently at Dumbledore.
"Let's hear it then."
"It is somewhat complicated, so allow me to begin here."
As he spoke, Dumbledore reached down next to his chair and produced a thick book, setting it down on the desk with a thud.
"This is one of your books," he said, "and the basis for my idea: Theories on Transcendental Magical Connections.
"The first thing I needed to do was discern how you managed to open a portal to the realm of the fairies in the first place," he continued, looking over to Harry, then over to Fleur. "Miss Delacour. Based on a few comments from the fairy, would I be correct in assuming that the core of your new wand belonged to your sister?"
Fleur nodded, frowning.
"I am of the belief that one of the largest components for this sudden outburst of magic from the wand was due to the proximity to your sister's birthday. In the memory, you mentioned that it had been more volatile than usual. I would assume it has returned to normal?"
Another nod, slower this time. "I suppose that is possible," she said. "My grandmother died before I even got my first wand, so I would not have been able to experience a fluctuation."
Dumbledore inclined his head, then continued. "Secondly, as you briefly mentioned, you had been concerned that the fairy had been after your names. Your full names, I would suspect.?"
"I am not sure I follow."
Dumbledore's mustaches lifted in a smile as he scanned both Harry and Sirius.
"Yes, such is the nature of old, basic magic. I will endeavor to be plain in my explanation."
"The old magic?" Harry asked, glancing over to Fleur.
She had talked about it before and he hadn't really understood then, either.
"A misnomer, I'm afraid. Magic does not change, it simply is. We are what changes. Our methods and needs. Millennia ago, our ancestors did not need household charms for scrubbing pots or warding a school full of children. They needed to survive, to create community, and unfortunately, to battle with one another. They harnessed magic through feeling, as we discussed, rather than exacting words. The bond of trust created by sharing a true name, the silver Patronus to fight off the monsters in the night, and the barbaric need to kill, torture, and control."
"The Unforgivables?" Sirius cut in.
"Indeed. All three require a prerequisite amount of emotion to perform, just as the Patronus charm does."
"What does this have to do with her wand?" Harry asked into the following contemplative silence.
"I say all that to give background to my assumption," Dumbledore answered. "I would also like to mention that, as I expressed to you previously, I believe the power mentioned in the prophecy is the power of love."
Harry nodded, the slow edges of comprehension leaking into his thoughts.
"In order of events, Miss Delacour exercised an ability unique to her kind, you, Harry, allowed her to name you, and you professed your love while holding a wand empowered by another aspect of her people's heritage. With such confluent magics working together, I am unsurprised something incredible occurred."
He tapped a finger on the book on his desk.
"Connection."
Fleur drew in a breath.
"The fairy said the same thing."
"He did indeed, which brings me to my other supposition. Due to their ability to tether Voldemort to life, there is an undeniable link between Voldemort and his Horcruxes. Searching for every single one is something I would consider to be our very last option, as it would be next to impossible. As it is, we are in possession of two, and my goal is to use this connection to destroy them all at once."
Harry blinked, his mind engaging far slower than his mouth.
"Two?"
With deliberate care, Dumbledore again reached below the desk and drew out a familiar metallic box that had Fleur stiffening in sudden fear.
"I apologize again," Dumbledore said, glancing at her. "But it is a rather magically distasteful thing, and the profoundly non-magical properties of the iron helps to subdue its effects. Inside sits a ring that I am confident is one of Voldemort's Horcruxes."
"How'd you get it?" Sirius breathed out, his unblinking gaze locked on the box.
"A lot of research, and some help from Remus. Some of his connections yielded some invaluable information."
"That's…good to hear."
Harry glanced over at Fleur, whose neck muscles stood out in stark relief as she stared at the box. She started when he put his hand on her leg and squeezed.
"But how do we use these…connections?" he asked, turning back to Dumbledore. He racked his fuzzy memory of his time with the fairy. "Those…black threads?"
"I am of the belief that Miss Delacour's destructive ability, as the fairy put it, affected only your scar because it was attempting to burn away the piece of Voldemort inside you while leaving you intact."
"Who are you?" Fleur repeated, her eyes finally dropping from the box. "So…it would burn away everything that is not 'Arry?"
"Thus we return to names and identity. The fairy was not happy with Harry's answers of 'Harry' and 'Just Harry' nor your assertions of being Veela or simply 'Fleur'. He was more receptive when you began defining yourself coming closer to the entirety of your identity encapsulated within your name. Since your fire is within the same realm of magic as that, I believe that with enough power and distinction between names —identities— it can latch onto those threads and destroy them all."
"The same realm?" Fleur echoed.
"Emotion driven magic." Dumbledore let a grin spill across his face. "Is love not the most powerful and longest lasting passion of them all?"
Harry didn't miss the sudden glance in his direction from both Fleur and Dumbledore and despite the weighty, confusing discussion, his heart still gave an extra-hard thump in his chest.
Fleur's hands rested on her knees and she opened and closed them slowly while her gaze dropped back down to look at them.
"So I have to…love him…hard enough to destroy the Horcruxes?"
"In the barest, most minimum of explanations, yes. Is love not fickle and old as time? Could the natural fairy magic yours is descended from also fit such a description?"
She stared down at her hands for another moment before nodding and whispering, "I can do that."
Harry was fighting through a knot in his throat when Dumbledore spoke again.
"All of that to say, it is even more critical that you master your abilities. We have a Horcrux to practice on, but I do not want to make the final attempt until we are prepared."
"Prepared how?" Sirius asked.
"We must be sure that Voldemort does not have the opportunity to create another. Should we destroy these Horcruxes, we will not be able to get another to utilize the connection again and Voldemort will not make the same hubristic mistake twice. We must make a coordinated assault both in-person and upon his soul containers."
Sirius nodded, darting a glance over at Harry.
"I would like to help. I want to get Narcissa out if…if I can."
"We will be partnering with the ICW in this and there will be more than enough people to secure any hostages. I do not doubt they have more than Mrs. Malfoy held against their will."
Sirius considered, then nodded again.
"I'm sure Tonks will be there. Her abilities might make it a bit easier to locate anybody that's being held captive."
"My thoughts precisely. Alastor will be joining us as well, I am sure." He turned his attention back to Fleur. "If you need a safe place to work on your magic, please feel free to come to Hogwarts and use the Room of Requirement. I will let Minerva know to expect your floo call."
"Professor McGonagall, Sir?"
Dumbledore smiled at Harry, though it lacked its characteristic muted joviality.
"Indeed," he said, waving a hand to encompass the office. "I cannot dedicate myself to Hogwarts in the manner that is necessary while simultaneously coordinating the potential end of this war. Even I need to practice for the upcoming battle. So I have stepped down, and come September, you will be learning under Headmistress McGonagall."
Sirius let out a low whistle at the news.
"We'd have been expelled for sure if she'd been Headmistress in our day."
Dumbledore laughed.
"I daresay you are correct. Now, I must return to the Ministry to speak with Amelia. The sooner we start planning, the better."
XxX
Their first attempt at practice came only a few days later when Harry had finally convinced her that he was not at all scared of the outcome. It had helped that she could sense his lack of fear and knew it was something that needed to be done.
Their first practice with her fire came the very next day, after a long conversation that stretched deep into the night about his complete lack of fear when it came to her abilities. As promised, Professor McGonagall had welcomed them through the floo with a simple greeting before returning to the myriad of duties she had to prepare for new students. The most pressing of which, according to her, was the interviews for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. It seemed Professor Polder had caught a rather serious case of Dragon Pox, which landed her squarely in St. Mungo's for the foreseeable future.
She had them wait for Dumbledore, who showed through the floo just a few minutes after they did, the iron box in hand. He led them out of the large wooden door, waiting to speak until it had fully shut.
"I shall be waiting here with Minerva, and assisting her in her many duties while you practice," he said, handing the box to Harry. "I do not need to tell you how cautious you should be with this. There was a compulsion charm on it unlike any I had seen before. Had Remus not volunteered his services, I am certain I would have fallen prey to the curse."
"Curse?" Fleur managed, her gaze following the box as Harry stuffed it away in a pocket.
"It had been broken, do not worry. But there is some unpleasantness due to the foul nature of Horcrux magic. If you must open the box, do so quickly and do not handle it for long."
Nodding their understanding, they left for the Room of Requirement.
They walked hand in hand through the empty halls of Hogwarts, Fleur's nerves manifesting by way of frequent squeezes of his hand and the occasional detour for lingering kisses in courtyards along the way. Eventually, they found their way to the seventh floor and into the little cottage room that had become their special place after their study sessions.
The dark wooden floors were just the same as he remembered them, along with the bookshelf in the corner and the window that looked out onto a facsimile of the forest in France. The only difference was that the fireplace was cold and dark, rather than the roaring fire they enjoyed during the colder months.
Fleur looked around in surprise when they stepped inside, a concerned frown drawing her lips down.
"What if I burn up the furniture?" she asked. "Or the books?"
He shrugged in response, looking around the small, wood covered room.
"I'm sure the room can make more. Dumbledore said it was all emotion-based, right? So I thought it might help if we were somewhere you were comfortable. I can change it if you want."
She thought for a moment, then shook her head.
"So…what first?" he asked.
She drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, her eyes closed.
"I want to see if my regular fire affects you, or it," she said, her eyes still closed. "Then…I will try to make it blue, and if that does not work, I will try transforming."
Harry nodded his understanding, then took a step back at her urging.
With another long inhale, she brought her hand up in front of her and held it out, palm up. A rolling ball of orange flame burst to life in her hand, suffusing Harry's skin with tingling warmth.
"How does it feel?" she asked, eyes focused on him over top of where the flames licked at the open air.
"Fine," he answered, taking a step closer which prompted her to take a step back. "I can barely feel it, to be honest."
"You might be too far away," she said, biting her lip and eying the few paces of wooden floor that sat between them.
"The first time I saw it with Hermione, I was sitting about this far from you and it felt like it was going to singe my eyebrows off," he said, taking another slow step forward.
Rather than back up again, Fleur just stared at the fireball in her hand as he drew closer.
Close enough to touch her. Close enough to touch it.
"It really does not hurt?" she whispered, her eyes roaming his body in search of burns.
Instead of answering, he waved a hand experimentally through the flames. Fleur jerked back, her eyes wide, and she let the fire vanish and snatched his hand out of the air.
" Tête brûlée. Imbécile ," she muttered, flipping his hand over to inspect the unmarred back.
"It would have taken us weeks before you'd have tried it on me," he said, pulling his hand back once she had finished. "It tickled."
A raised eyebrow was his answer, though the fear still lingered behind her eyes.
"Still…you must promise to let me go at my own speed when the-when I am…changed," she said. "Please."
He nodded, taking a step back while she prepared herself again, palm up.
"I will try to make it blue…I suppose."
The next fireball that she brought into existence was the same roiling orange as before, not a single blue streak flickering through the flames. Harry stayed put while she concentrated, her brow furrowing away from focus and into boiling anger. The shadows cast across her face highlighted her cheekbones, showing the subtle flex of her jaw as she gritted her teeth.
It wasn't until her face had passed from thunderous into frustration that she let the fireball vanish and dropped her arm.
"I do not know what does it," she grumbled. "I was furious when we were watching those horrible people, and I was worried for you after my wand went off. Neither of those two feelings fit together. I tried feeling those things, the same as I try to feel the Patronus spell, but nothing happened."
Harry could only nod, unsure how to help.
"I suppose…I suppose I will try changing," she said. "The fire is always blue when I am transformed. Perhaps I will gain some insight."
She stopped speaking, then Harry watched as her face gradually turned a shade of red he had never seen on her cheeks before. It crossed around to her ears and traveled down her neck as she dropped her eyes from his.
"Would you…turn around?" she asked in a small voice. "I do not want to destroy my shirt or my underthings, so…"
He stared, uncomprehending as her eyes went wide and she began to babble.
"It is just…you see…I would not mind, maybe. But this is not how I had imagined the first…" she trailed off, one hand going to tug on the end of her hair, tied by a simple black ribbon.
It took him an extra moment but when he realized, his eyes went wide and his pulse began to race.
"O-oh," he stammered, turning on leaden feet to face the wall opposite, locking every muscle in his back and neck against the severe temptation to turn once he heard the rustle of fabric.
There was a deep breath from behind him and a sudden burst of heat that sent the hair on the back of his head twirling and pressed his clothes to his back. All at once, it vanished.
" You can turn ," she said, the trill of her voice communicating her words somehow into his mind.
She towered over him as he spun. The tops of her expansive wings nearly touched the exposed beams of the vaulted ceiling above them as she flexed them behind her, opening them up to their complete, incredible width. The feathers across her torso shifted, a rippling wave that traveled slowly down to disappear beneath her trousers. Her glowing blue eyes fixed on him, scanning him with an intensity he rarely saw from her. It pinned him in place, leaving him stripped bare beneath her gaze.
"How do you feel?" he asked when she made no move to summon her fire.
"Good ," she answered simply, her hooked beak almost touching her chest as she scanned him again. " It did not hurt as badly this time."
"It usually hurts?"
"Yes."
"Oh...Why are you looking at me like that?"
Her head twitched up in a way that reminded him distinctly of Hedwig.
"I was deciding if you were far enough away for me to create the fire."
"It's not going to hurt me."
"I am not interested in taking chances. Step back against the far wall. "
Because he had no doubt she would lift him with her taloned hands and place him against the wall if he didn't do it himself, he stowed his argument and did as she asked. Once the cold wooden wall pressed against his back, she nodded once and blue flames sprang to life in her hands.
The tips of the fireballs reached almost as high as her wings, their light dancing across the room, sending waves of comfortable warmth pulsing around him.
"Does it hurt?" she asked, her avian voice sharp and quick.
"It's warm. Nice."
She stared at the fire for a moment, her feathers fluttering down from the top of her head and down her torso.
"There is no point to this. It is always blue."
"Do you feel any different?" he asked, pushing off from the wall and taking slow steps forward.
"No ." Her hands fell and the fireballs vanished. "I said I am not interested in taking chances. Why are you getting closer?"
"Because we are supposed to figure out how to use it to get rid of the Horcrux inside me, and we can't do that without you being able to use it on me."
"I may be able to use the ring as the start point, so I do not have to touch you with it at all."
"That's not how Dumbledore made it sound."
"Perhaps he is wrong."
"Do you think he is?"
Her wings sagged down and folded behind her, the outer edges just barely showing past her feathered shoulders.
"No."
The bird-like aspect of her voice had changed, but how, Harry couldn't say. Coupled with her slumped shoulders, he could tell the fight had left her.
"Did you feel anything different this time compared to before?" he asked, stepping up in front of her. Heat still pulsed off of her in consistent waves, though without the ferocity that had pushed against his clothes. He spotted her shoes and shirt tucked away in a small pile behind her.
"I could not say. It is difficult to think as I usually do when I am changed."
"I'm out of ideas," he said, shrugging. "Do you want to try the ring?"
"No ," she said, her eyes dropping to his pocket, " but I will."
He stepped away from her and over to the mantle of the fireplace before he even pulled the box from his pocket. It was almost cold in his fingers, made even more so by the ambient heat rolling through the air that it refused to absorb. The ring sat inside, a golden band set with a stone that he couldn't identify.
He stared at it for a moment, feeling somehow…cheated.
He had been expecting some sort of oozing blackness from something so sinister or maybe another shade as he had experienced with the diary, but it just sat in its box; an innocuous ring. At least until he picked it up.
The moment he lifted it from the box, a keening wail filled his head, a discordant ringing that threatened to split his skull apart at his scar. Painful pressure mounted, the sound resonating in his teeth, his eyes, deep in his chest.
He hadn't realized he'd fallen to the ground until Fleur had picked him up, her taloned hand closing around his.
"Give it to me !" she commanded, carrying him away from the mantel and the iron box.
Twisting his hand in hers, he pressed the ring into her scaly palm. The sound stopped the moment he lifted his fingers from her talon, leaving only painful echoes.
"Are you okay?" she asked, setting him down on his feet.
He wobbled on unsteady legs, reaching a hand out to catch himself on her arm, the silken feathers beneath his hand almost hot to the touch.
"I'm okay," he said after a moment. "That was really unpleasant."
She peered down at him, then over to her closed fist.
"It is cold ," she said, the trill of her voice subdued. " Stand back."
Knowing it was fruitless to argue, he took a few steps back, his eyes locked solidly on her hand. Rather than the air above her hand, as she had done earlier, the fire exploded into being around her fist. Shadows danced around them, deepening as the flames grew more intense, dazzling as the core around her fist drew close to white and made him squint against its near-unbearable light.
A headache formed behind his eyes, pulsing in time with the waves of heat that washed across him. He closed his eyes fully against the light, pressing them tightly shut as the dull thud became a barbed spike, lancing through his forehead. His eyes shot open reflexively as the realization hit, the same time that his knees tried to give out from a renewed burst of agony.
"Fleur!"
All at once, the heat and light vanished and her long legs brought her to his side in an instant.
"Where are you hurt ?" she asked, dropping the ring on the ground and checking him over. " Are you burned?"
"No," he managed through gritted teeth, the ache inside his skull throbbing with his rapid heartbeat.
"It felt like it did at the Ministry," he said when her glowing gaze didn't look away. "Just…not as intense. Maybe it was working?"
She looked down at the unblemished ring on the ground.
"Perhaps it was ," she said after a moment, the trill of her voice sedate. " It was…resisting. I could not overcome it."
She looked over at him.
"I do not like that it causes you so much pain."
He rubbed a hand across his scar and found its ridges their normal shape, not cracked or burned at all.
"Neither do I," he said, "but I like having this inside me even less. Who knows, maybe it won't hurt as bad when you try it on me."
There was a sharp click of her beak that spoke of dissatisfaction, though she said nothing for a long moment.
"Leave the ring there. I will have trouble picking it up in this form, and I do not want you to suffer again. I will put it away after I change back."
She rose and stepped back over to her things before he could say anything about it.
Abruptly, her wings began to shrivel away, collapsing in on themselves while the feathers across her back shrank and disconnected from her spine, forming back into her flowing hair. The naked skin of her back was peeking through the now-tiny feathers when his brain finally engaged and he turned around as she had originally asked. He stayed facing the wall until a cool hand on his shoulder turned him around and he found her smiling bashfully at him.
"It is…I am rather less modest, it seems, when I am in that form."
She bent and lifted the ring from the floor, holding it between two fingers, examining it.
"How did it feel to you?"
"Just…noisy and painful."
"It is not the same for me," she muttered, her brow wrinkling. "It is just…repulsive."
At that, she crossed the small room over to the fireplace and carefully dropped the ring inside the box without touching any of the sides. He joined her and snapped the box shut with a finger, then stuck it back in one of his pockets.
"I am not sure we learned much," she said after a moment. "We simply caused you pain. Twice."
"We'll see what Dumbledore says. Besides, there's still all that stuff the fairy said. Maybe Dumbledore will know what 'who are you?' has to do with anything when we tell him what happened."
Dumbledore, unfortunately, had not had any further explanations when they returned the box to his care, though he was smiling by the time they finished relaying their experiment with the Horcrux. He had commandeered the Headmistress's office to more than a few grumbled complaints about deadlines, but quick promises of brevity and the suggestion of a break pacified McGonagall somewhat.
"It is a small step," he said, nodding to both Harry and Fleur, "but a significant one. It is proof that they are connected and that you can manipulate that connection, Miss Delacour."
"I could not affect it," she said, her shoulders slumped in the chair. "I burned through my reserves of energy and it just…pushed back."
Dumbledore didn't say anything right away, his eyes darting behind his spectacles as he thought.
"Perhaps…" he began, his eyes narrowing as he stared off to some point in the distance, "perhaps that is one interpretation of the fairy's hint? That Harry's distinct identity will give you the power you need to overcome the Horcrux."
"I do not like coordinating an attack around a perhaps," she said.
"Nor do I," Dumbledore agreed. "So we must do what we can to ensure our success. Your test has given me much to consider and I will do my best to reach out to you once I have a better plan in mind. As always, if you think of anything relevant, please reach out to me at any time. What we are doing here is the linchpin upon which everything rests. You will have my undivided attention."
Harry nodded alongside Fleur, his stomach giving an uneasy turn. Living with the knowledge that he was prophesied to be a part of Voldemort's downfall had been difficult, but manageable. Living it was another thing entirely.
The war.
Voldemort's attacks.
They had all seemed so distant, even after the minor push on the Burrow. He'd felt like an outsider, looking in and listening to the bits of conversation he overheard from Sirius and Sebastian. Then all of a sudden it was in his lap, and responsibility rested on his shoulders, no matter what Apolline had so kindly said. If he hadn't been there for his party, none of it would have happened.
The frequent guilt that bloomed in him whenever he thought of that night stuttered, caught on the dangling threads of an indistinct idea taking shape.
"Sir?" his voice asked for him, the question tentative as his thoughts coalesced in his mind. "If she can't do it right now…what about on her birthday?"
Dumbledore's eyebrows disappeared behind the edge of his near-white fringe while Fleur slowly began to nod beside him.
"When is your birthday, Miss Delacour?"
"October twenty-fifth."
At that, Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair. "And your powers are significantly stronger both the week before and the week after?"
She nodded.
"So close to our naming day, yes. If we were ever going to have a chance, it would be within that window, I am sure."
Dumbledore's head bobbed in agreement, his eyes wide and excited.
"It is as he said. Who are you?"
"Sir?" Harry asked.
"As it always is with fairy-kind, they enjoy speaking in riddles. The more confused you are, the more satisfied they will be. I have very little doubt that when he posed that question to both of you, he was speaking of many things. Forgive me, Miss Delacour, but he could have been speaking of your reticence to accept the entirety of who you are; all aspects of your heritage. Or perhaps, as you expected, he was asking about your name, a hint for the power you required."
He turned to Harry.
"And to you, he was asking of your own identity, separate and distinct from the sliver of soul you carry inside you. A soul imparted on the day the Boy-Who-Lived was born."
Harry was pushed back in his chair by Dumbledore's excited vehemence, the calm, kindly visage he'd grown used to replaced by an almost frantic energy.
"Will your abilities still be bolstered six days later, Miss Delacour?" Dumbledore asked suddenly.
"Yes," she answered slowly. "Why would we wai-" she trailed off, her eyes going wide.
"Indeed. There is magic to be found in symmetry. In closing things where they began." Dumbledore sat back in his chair, eyes wide and suddenly exhausted. "We will plan the attack for the thirty-first."
XxX
With the ever-present threat of Voldemort and the hushed plans and meeting for an upcoming offensive that would undoubtedly encompass a multitude of foreign Ministries and Aurors, the school year still managed to begin without any sort of respect for the unbearable tension in Harry's life.
Diagon Alley suffered its first major attack the week before school began, prompting a response the likes of which had never been seen before. The Prophet reported schoolchildren and parents fleeing for cover while Aurors responded in record time with overwhelming numbers.
Where they had fled before, the Death Eaters stood their ground, reducing the narrow alleys and main thoroughfare into a rubble-strewn warzone. Even Gringotts had been forced to raise their considerable defenses when renegade Killing Curses blasted through one of the marble pillars on the front of the massive building.
Grimmauld Place had been a den of activity following that attack, filled with ranking members of numerous Ministries and various high-level Aurors, Tonks included. She and Moody had struck up a reminiscent conversation in the kitchen while Dumbledore schemed with those he deemed trustworthy enough to know of their attack plan.
And yet with all that, he'd still had to return to school.
He wanted to say most of his irritation had been because of the battle on the horizon he was inexorably tied to, or because it wasn't the same taking the floo to Hogwarts to avoid a potential attack on King's cross. He wanted to say it was because it was so strange to see McGonagall sitting where Dumbledore used to, or because the Sorting was especially boring.
Though it made him feel like a petulant child, he knew it was because it had been so damn difficult to leave Fleur back at Grimmauld Place after having grown so used to her wonderful, comforting presence. Whether it was cooking for her, an activity she never grew tired of, or the infrequent moments they could steal away in his room filled with slow kisses and long talks about what lay before them, and sometimes with far more frantic, wandering kisses that even now set his blood on fire when he imagined her blazing lips against his neck or the feel of her skin beneath his hands.
His irritation must have been showing on his face by the end of the night because both Ron and Hermione stopped him at different points to check on him.
They had both stopped by a few days before term started and he and Fleur had explained everything that had happened since they had last seen them at his birthday party. Hermione had given him a watery smile when Fleur recounted his declaration of love and even Ron had grinned broadly at him, keeping any snide remarks to himself.
Now that they were back at school, the two of them had acted as though nothing at all was coming, which he knew he should be trying to do as well. It wasn't until he was getting ready for bed that first night, after having dodged a number of probing questions from Seamus and Dean about his love life, that he determined the source of his lingering foul mood.
He had been in his pajamas and sitting down on the edge of his bed when his hand made the automatic grab for his nightstand drawer, pulling it open to reveal an inkwell and quill.
It had taken him a moment to realize why he was disappointed in a drawer, then he'd nearly been crushed by a profound sense of loneliness. No matter that he was sitting in a room with friends, one of which was one of his best friends, the unmoored feeling of being so detached from something, and someone, that had given him the strength to power through such anguish left him shaken.
As he slid beneath the covers of a bed that seemed too small and too cold, he promised himself that he'd send a letter in the morning and test their sneaking skills against Headmistress McGonagall at their first opportunity.
XxX
Harry,
Not only would I need to sneak out of the house that my family and your godfather live in with me, but I would then need to sneak into Hogwarts when Death Eater attacks are happening around the country almost every other day. Please do not misunderstand, there is nothing I want more than to be next to you, especially after having so much time together, but I am not sure if this is a good idea.
I have been practicing with my wand in an effort to learn better control. I miss our notepaper, but cannot recreate it without precision. For now, Hedwig will have to do. Something I expect she will be thrilled about.
Even if we cannot see one another, you had better not stop writing to me. It is terribly boring here without you. I keep walking past your room and getting the urge to sneak inside and kiss you senseless, but then I remember.
I will talk to you soon, Darling.
Love,
Fleur
A mixture of annoyance and awe swirled in him at her ability to tease him so efficiently in a letter. She had managed it when they had still had their notepaper, and her skill had not lessened with the slower, more traditional mail.
She was right, of course, though it chafed him to admit it.
"Bad news?" Ron asked through a mouthful of breakfast, peeking over Harry's shoulder to inspect the letter.
Harry hastily folded it away into a pocket of his robes and did his best to appear unconcerned. "Not really."
The grin that spread across his friend's face told him he'd been unsuccessful. "From Fleur, was it?"
"How is she?" Luna interjected from her spot next to Hermione. She had sat down with them at Gryffindor Table prior to the Opening Feast, and to Harry's knowledge, hadn't returned to Ravenclaw table yet.
"Bored," Harry said honestly. "She and I used to have a special paper to talk, but it got destroyed in the uh…the fire."
Luna nodded.
"Can't she make another?" Hermione asked, leaning forward, her breakfast already finished. "Maybe she'll let me watch."
"She might let you help. Her new wand is giving her a bit of trouble."
"Maybe I could get her to make one for me too…"
Ron scoffed, turning his weaponized grin on Hermione.
"Oh? Do you have some beautiful foreign person you're not telling us about that you need to talk to?"
"No!" Hermione shot back, flushing a spotty red. "I was going to give one to Gabrielle. So we can have a book club."
"What sorts of books?" Luna asked, her dreamy voice slightly sharper; intrigued.
"Gabrielle tends to like fantasy, which I don't mind, though my preference is for either non-fiction or historical fiction…"
Harry let his thoughts drift back to his letter as the simple drone of his friends around him filled him with a sense of calm.
He missed Fleur so bad it ached sometimes, but being at Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione, Luna too, now, was something special in its own way. And maybe there was a way to get Fleur to Hogwarts without resorting to deception.
XxX
"You are tricky."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I am sure you do not."
"I didn't lie."
"No…"
"And we're really going to work on your fire."
"Yes…"
"So no tricks."
"I suppose not."
Harry couldn't help but smile as he drew Fleur into the Room of Requirement, transformed as always into their little cottage scene with its wooden walls and dark hardwood floors, the small couch and ovular rug that sat in front of a small fire. The bookshelf sat, as it always did, filled with assorted books alongside the same wall as a window that looked out over a forest that stretched as far as he could see.
"Before we get started," Fleur said, stepping forward and pulling him towards the couch. "Sit with me. I grew spoiled over the summer and the weeks without you have been driving me insane. Though my mother has had something to do with my lack of sanity as well," she added, somewhat under her breath.
"She hasn't calmed down any after calling you an inspiration?" he asked, holding back his smile.
"No," she grumbled, though her cheeks flushed a light pink. "No, she has just had an awful lot to say about us."
That made Harry sit up straighter.
"A-about us?"
The blush on her cheeks intensified and she nodded.
"She has always been nosy. It is nothing to worry about. I have long since learned how to avoid answering her questions."
Rather than let him answer, she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. When he leaned in for more, she giggled, then obliged, her warm hand caressing his face and sliding down to his neck.
"If this was your plan all along," she murmured between breaths as he planted light kisses along her jaw, "then you really are tricky."
"Just part of it," he admitted against her skin.
Her hands combed through his hair as he trailed back to her ear, then slowly down the side of her neck.
She sucked in a breath and gently pushed him backwards when he kissed the spot along the curve of her neck. The one he had learned during a secret evening at home that made her shiver and press herself to him.
"If we are to get anything done," she said, fixing oceanic eyes on his, "then we stop here."
He tried not to groan. He really did.
She smiled in response. The slow, intimate smile that he had first seen almost a year ago.
"But after…"
The promise lingered in his thoughts as they rose, only settling when the sobering truth of what they were about to attempt pushed through. If it worked, he might be forced to feel the same boiling agony he'd felt in the Ministry when he had wanted to plead for his head to split and be done with it.
Fleur had apparently been thinking along the same lines because when she turned, the flush in her cheeks had fled, leaving her pale, even in the slight firelight.
"I do not like this."
"I know."
"Tell me if it starts to hurt."
"I will."
Somewhat mollified, Fleur took a step back and raised her hand, a fireball springing to life between them. His hair fluttered in the warm waves that pulsed across him, a heat akin to stepping into the sunlight from the shade.
"Is that okay?" she asked, her eyes fixed on him.
He nodded and slowly lifted his hand, waiting for her reluctant nod before passing it through the flame. It coiled around his fingers as he passed through, auburn tongues of flame spinning in his wake.
As she had done with the Horcrux, the fireball settled down and around her hand and she captured his as it passed through again. With a tentative smile, she laced her fingers through his, holding their hands in the heart of the flame.
"It's so warm," he breathed. "This is your temperature all the time?"
She shrugged.
"I suppose. Almost everything else feels cold to me by comparison."
Harry glanced over to the fireplace, comparative tongues of ice flickering inside.
"Now blue?" he asked, turning back to face her.
In response, she bit her lip and nodded. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated, her grip on his becoming painfully tight.
The flames shifted and churned, the bright orange core shimmering and spinning in a blazing dance. The bones of his hand groaned from the pressure before she finally settled, the flame winking out of existence.
"I do not understand," she sighed, letting their conjoined hands fall between them. "No matter how hard I focus on those moments from before, nothing happens."
Harry searched for an answer, sifting through every fascinating word she had uttered throughout their time together. From the nature of the Allure to a teasing explanation of names in Hogsmeade, the Louvre, and rings in Christmas snow, of hair, and birthdays.
And a fairy in the woods, giving maddening answers that weren't answers at all. Just more questions. Or answers that meant so much more.
Old magic. Emotional magic.
"Fleur," he said, slowly focusing back on her worried face. "What are you thinking about when you're trying?"
She blinked at him.
"I have told you. Of the nights we saw blue in my normal fire."
"I know, but what specifically?"
That time she frowned.
"I think about how furious I was that we were watching them get away. And I think about how afraid I was when the wand exploded into light in your hands and I thought my strange Veela magic had hurt you again."
He squeezed her hand at that, earning himself a weak smile in return.
"But I don't think that's right. What was it the fairy said about your anger, fear, and love? When we were asking him about the fire?"
Her mouth worked silently as she stared straight through him, her sky-blue eyes darting before they went wide.
"Passion," she breathed. "The anger and fear were a result of my passion, not the genesis of it."
He tried to put on an affronted face. It was easy to see the appeal of teasing, now that he was used to it.
"Just those two?"
Both eyebrows raised momentarily before a smile lifted her lips, a perfect mix of her intimate smile and the shaky vulnerable one that had accompanied the first utterance of her name.
She squeezed his hand and captured his gaze with hers, eyes shifting from clear to storm-filled, thick with flashing blue lightning.
Before he could do more than marvel at the sudden light in her eyes, they were closed and she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his.
A gentle brush at first, no more substantial than her quick breath.
She pulled back for a moment, her free hand coming up to cup his cheek before she pulled him back to her and into a kiss that scorched its way through his blood.
The rush of warmth and cinnamon that spun in the air around them muted the world, leaving only the heat and thrum of his heart and the dancing trail of fire that were her frantic kisses across his jaw. She clutched his hand in hers and let the other roam across his chest, fisting the neck of his shirt to draw him back in after a nip at his ear.
Sensation and need pulsed through him and he floundered in both, her teeth against his lip a crashing wave that drove him ever deeper. His hand found her waist and slid around to her back, pressing her tight against him. She let out a soft moan against his mouth that burned its way into his memory.
With a final caress of her tongue across his lip, she drew back, her tempestuous eyes pulsing with a steady beat.
Blue light twisted into brilliant life in their clasped hands and she pinned him with glowing eyes.
"They were a result of my love…my darling."
She filled his vision and he lost himself, relaxing what had become a tenuous grip on his rigid control. Shifting shapes and colors in his periphery were indistinct against the soft curve of her body against his, the heat that radiated from her, and the pure, brilliant smile that enthralled him so long ago.
She pushed against him until he took a step back, her free hand snaking around his back to tangle in his hair. Each touch of her lips against his neck sent electricity racing through him, alighting every nerve to drink in the feel of her against him. His hand wandered in return, down her side, and around her waist, further down to grab and press her closer.
The blue fire winked out when they toppled back into silken threads, her hair falling about his head as she hovered above him, features shadowed from the light save for radiant irises.
There was a shared breath between them, mingled dreams and fears let loose by the release of those final strands of desperate, unnecessary control.
He squeezed her hand and she was upon him.