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Laughter came from the speaker of his phone as Hermione threw her head back in humorous disbelief.
"You're not serious!" she said and Harry smirked.
"As a heart attack. Guy kissed her hand and called her M'lady and everything. I thought Daphne was going to die of embarrassment."
He had gotten an unexpected call from Hermione wanting to personally wish him a belated happy new year. She had been incredibly busy between Christmas and New Years, a fresh round of interviews accompanying the release date announcement for her book, so the two hadn't been able to catch up.
A knock at his door interrupted the laughter.
"Are you expecting someone?" she asked before a mischievous look passed across her face. "Are you expecting Fleeeeeur?"
"Hush you," he said as he made his way to the door. "I'm not expecting anyo-"
Opening the door he saw Ron standing there, an uncertain look on his face. Harry's smile fell, and his hands went down to his side, his phone now pointing towards the door, Hermione getting a view of the new arrival.
"Hiya Harry," Ron said. Looking down at the phone, he gave a tentative wave to the screen. "Hey Hermione."
"Ronald," she said, a scowl on her face. Harry picked up the phone and smiled at her.
"I'll call you back later."
She nodded before ending the call, his screen going dark.
"Can I come in?" Ron asked and for the briefest moment Harry contemplated turning him away.
The hurt was still fresh, weeks later, but it had dulled some, largely due to words from Fleur and Hermione. Both had reassured him that, despite what Ron said, Harry was good enough to be in school. It rang hollow at the time, but as he put more distance from the conversation, he started to think they were right. He wasn't failing, so even if the circumstances surrounding his entrance were not to his liking, he was proving that he belonged there.
He stepped aside.
"Sure," he mumbled, letting the red head into his room, closing the door behind him.
"I've got water. No tea," Harry said, not sure where to begin but knowing enough that he shouldn't be a bad host regardless. Ron shook his head.
"Nah, I'm good."
Silence hung in the air, neither knowing what to say. Or perhaps it was that neither wanted to be the first to say anything, Harry didn't know. Ron rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath, blowing it out in a long, drawn out exhale.
"I just came by to apologize. To say I'm sorry," he said, finally looking at Harry properly, "And I know I shouldn't expect you to just forgive and forget either."
Something had changed in Ron, Harry realized, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. There was something in his movements, the way he carried himself, like he knew something he didn't before. Some sort of understanding that wasn't present the night they had fought. Part of him wanted to ignore what he was seeing, to remain angry at Ron for the terribly hurtful things he'd said, and yet, he couldn't find it in himself to do so.
Ron was family, or as close to family as he could get, and sometimes families fought. He was tired of being mad at his brother and was old enough to swallow his pride to mend the divide that had opened between them.
"Yeah, well I reckon we both said some things we regret," Harry replied, grabbing the chair from his desk and sitting down. Ron made his way over to the loveseat and sat down with a forceful plop, a whine of protest escaping from the ancient piece of furniture. "How was your holiday?"
"It was kinda awful, actually. Mum and dad were furious over the arrest, as I knew they would be, but mum was particularly mad about what I'd said to you."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "She was?"
"Yeah, like a tiger protecting her youngest cub. She made me clean the entire time I was home. Made me do laundry. Made me go get the groceries. Said I had acted like a child so I would get treated like one."
"And your dad?"
Ron laughed.
"He gave me the silent disapproval treatment that's even worse than mum. At least she yelled at me. He just gave me that look. Like that one he gave us when we knocked down that old couple's fence because it cut our walk to school by five minutes."
Harry winced.
Arthur Weasley was a kind man, with a warm smile, and the wisdom of men twice his age. When you disappointed him though, and you got the look, you instantly felt bad and wanted to do anything to make up for it.
"Ouch. He fixed you up though, yeah?"
Ron nodded.
"Yeah, he called the school the day I got home. They put a note in my file and said I had to keep my nose clean for a year or they'd pull my scholarship and kick me off the team. Said they don't tolerate antics like that. Gives the school a bad name."
Harry nodded.
"He did want to give you a message though," Ron finished.
"Oh?"
"Yeah," said Ron, "he was gonna call you, but I told him not to. I told him it would only make things worse."
Harry gave him a thoughtful look before nodding, knowing that he was right. He had been angry at Ron, furious even, but he felt more hurt by Arthur than anything. The Weasley patriarch was the closest thing Harry had to a dad, and knowing he had gone behind Harry's back cut deep.
"He wanted to say he was sorry that he never said anything. That he should have said something to you first."
Harry nodded in understanding.
"I get it," he said and Ron's eyes shot up. "What? I do. You're his youngest son, Ron, and you wanted to go to school with your best mate. What was he going to do? Tell you no? Especially when he had the means to make sure it happened? Arthur loves you guys more than life itself, there was no way he was going to do anything else. Did it hurt? Yeah, it did. Do I understand why he did it? Yeah, I do."
Neither said anything, letting the air settle between them, the tension from before slowly seeping away to be replaced with a comfortable silence. Unable to stand the silence, Harry went to the fridge for a drink, taking several big gulps from a glass before running his hand through his hair.
"So, what was going on that night? Hell, what was going on before that night?" he asked Ron as he moved to sit back down. Ron rubbed the back of his neck again.
"Ah, yeah, I was having a rough go of it."
Harry laughed.
"That's one way to put it, sure," he said, but his voice held no malice or sharpness, just the playful banter of two friends. "C'mon Ron, we're best friends. At least let me know what was going on. I think you owe me that much."
"I don't know if I want to play sportsball anymore," Ron blurted out, and Harry paused, the gravity of the statement catching him off guard.
Since they'd met, Ron had held one dream above all others. He wanted to be known worldwide as the greatest to ever play sportsball, and he was going to do everything he could to realize that dream. When he hit his growth spurt, filling out into a body that seemed tailored for it, he got serious. Serious got him noticed and a scholarship.
Harry didn't immediately launch into a tirade of questions, however, because the look on Ron's face said it all. He was desperately looking for Harry's understanding, and Harry knew that it had been eating at his friend since their last hurtful exchange.
"Alright, so what do you want to do?" he asked. Ron shrugged.
"That's just it, I don't even know if I want to stop playing, it's just- ugh," he ground out in frustration, standing up to begin pacing in front of the loveseat. "It's like this. Whenever we're training, I love it. I love helping everyone else, showing them how to improve their technique or form, or how to slowly ramp up their gym time to maximize their effectiveness. It's all fantastic."
He paced, back and forth, back and forth.
"And then I get out there in front of the crowd and it's like that spark I felt as a kid isn't there anymore. Like I'm going through the motions. Does that make any sense?" he asked as he stopped pacing, looking back at Harry for confirmation.
"Yeah, I think it does," he confirmed. "It sounds like you want to teach sportsball, or coach it, not play it."
Ron nodded, but an uncertain look was on his face.
"Maybe, but then I get these moments where, ugh, what's the way to describe it?" Ron sighed in frustration.
"Just say what you think."
Ron shook his head.
"I don't know how to describe it."
"You're smart, just say what comes to mind," Harry reassured him.
"Harry, I've got a substandard GPA that's propped up by the fact that no professor on campus will fail me since we're within spitting distance of our first championship in the last 20 years. I hardly think that counts as smart."
Harry tapped his chin.
"No, you're probably right," he said, earning a protest from Ron. "So you get these moments where the game is fun again and it's making you doubt that you want to quit?"
Ron nodded.
"Yeah, that!"
"You told me this years ago," Harry said, remembering a conversation the two had before they had become university students. "You called it 'the lane.' You said it's where everything else falls away and it's just you and the game. I thought you were making it up to sound cool. Maybe you're not so self-centered after all."
"Rude, but fair," Ron said, plopping back down onto the loveseat, another whine of protest escaping from the furniture. He looked back up at Harry, uncertainty in his eyes. "What should I do?"
"Why ask me?"
Ron shrugged.
"Because you have all the answers and good ideas. All the fun shit we did as kids? It was all your ideas. Anytime I think back to the best times it's all things you thought up."
Harry sighed and rubbed his chin for a moment in contemplation. He wasn't going to leave Ron to figure it out on his own, he knew that. His friend needed his help and he was going to give it to him, but this was a big decision. Perhaps he didn't need to make it yet?
"How about this? Win the championship and decide later, maybe even in a few years," Harry offered. Ron looked confused, so he continued. "Your mom wants you to finish school, right? So you've got a few years. You seem uncertain buddy, and Hermione would tell me that making decisions when you're uncertain is generally a bad idea. They should be planned out, with lists and diagrams and shit."
Ron raised an eyebrow.
"What? Hermione likes lists."
"You're right, as usual." He sighed again. "I just feel like I'm going to let people down if I decide I don't want to play."
Harry shook his head.
"It's your life Ron, not everyone else's. If what makes you happy is being a circus clown, then go out and be the best damn circus clown you can."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. It's my life," Ron said as he stood, nodding his head.
He was humming with positive energy, still nodding his head, as if Harry's words had lit a fuse. Harry knew that Ron's parents had told him all of this, probably multiple times, but he felt a swell of joy at the thought that his best friend had needed him to really make it set in.
Harry had missed Ron, and it felt good to have him back.
"You want hibachi?" Ron asked suddenly, a renewed vigor in his movements. "I'm supposed to eat soon and we should celebrate."
Harry nodded and stood up.
"Sure."
As they headed away from Harry's apartment, Ron draped his arm across Harry's shoulder.
"So, how are you and Fleur doing?"
Harry rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself.
"Met her dad," he said, and Ron's eyes got wide.
"Oh, meeting the parents, very nice. How'd that go?"
"Well I don't think I'll ever be invited over again, but I did meet a fan of yours who would very much like to meet you…"
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"Nah, I don't think that's right," Harry said, shaking his head. "The galaxy is massive with like, over 3 billion habitable worlds, how would there have been so few clones?"
Fleur sighed in frustration.
"Be that as it may, if there were that many clones, where did they all go after the end of the Clone Wars? Hmm? They couldn't have all just instantly vanished," she countered.
"I know, but-" Harry's phone rang, cutting him off. They were lounging in their corner of the library, both finished with their work, having somehow ended up in a debate regarding the number of clones made during the Clone Wars. Harry enjoyed it every time, the intensity in Fleur's eyes as she made her point, how she stubbornly refused to back down.
Most of all though, on those rare nights when he got one up on her, he enjoyed the small pout she gave when she realized she'd been bested.
Looking down at his phone, he frowned at the name on display.
Vernon Dursley
He swiped to answer and placed the phone to his ear.
"Hello?"
"About time you answered, boy," Vernon said, and Harry could picture the disgusted look on his face as he said it.
"What is it, uncle Vernon?"
"Your aunt Marge is getting married in ten days," he said gruffly. Harry sighed.
"I know uncle Vernon, she was engaged when I left."
"Don't get smart with me, boy. Now look here, against my advice, she wants everyone in the family there. Everyone."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
"No," he said.
"I'm not asking. Your ass is going to be at the venue even if I have to drag you there myself. This is my sister's big day. She's getting what she wants."
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and saw Fleur's concerned look from the corner of his eye. He should stand up to his uncle, tell him no again, but Harry knew that Vernon would make good on his threat. He'd show up at his place and cause a scene. The neighbors might call the police, and police meant his landlord might try to get him kicked out.
"Fine, I'll be there."
A low chuckle came through the phone.
"Knew you'd see it my way. Don't be late."
The phone went dead and Harry tossed it down onto the table in frustration as it chimed, likely Vernon sending him the address. He looked up at the ceiling and counted to ten, taking several deep breaths as he attempted to control his racing heart. If he were being honest, he had hoped to never see his family again, but that would have been too easy, apparently. He sighed again.
"Everything alright, Harry?"
He dropped his head and Fleur was standing in front of him, a concerned look still on her face. He smiled, a small, humorless smile, and nodded.
"Yeah, I'm good."
"That didn't sound good," she said, pointing to the phone on the table. "Who was that?"
"My uncle Vernon," he said. She raised an eyebrow.
"What did he want?"
He sighed once more, running a hand through his hair.
"My aunt Marge is getting married in the next couple of weeks. Apparently, I have to be there."
She scrunched her nose up. "I thought you and your relatives didn't get along?"
He nodded, grabbing his bag as he began stuffing his things back into it.
"We don't, or didn't, I guess. I haven't seen them since I left for school."
She smiled at him. "What time is it?"
He stopped as he was slipping his laptop into his bag.
"I think he just texted me the time and address, but probably mid afternoon. Why?"
Her smile brightened. "I just need to know when to be ready."
He shook his head vigorously.
"Oh no. No, no, no. You are not coming with me."
Her smile remained and humor sparkled in her eyes. "Yes, I am."
He folded his arms across his chest.
"Fleur, you're not coming with me."
Smile.
"Yes, I am."
"Fleur, you don't know what my family is like. It's better if I go alone."
The smile remained. He wanted to tell her to stop, but it was so genuine and it made his heart beat faster.
"And you'll show up with the classiest date, letting them know you're doing fine on your own."
Petty, but fair.
"I–You–Fine," he said in frustration, not wanting to argue, but desperately feeling like he needed to be anywhere but the library. This was what he didn't want her to see, not yet, not when it could ruin whatever they were calling what was between them.
"Look, I gotta go. I need to-to, take care of something. I'll text you the details."
He hastily stuffed the rest of his things back into his bag and made a quick exit, grabbing his phone, not bothering to say goodbye. Fleur frowned as she sat back down, wondering what had spooked him so badly.
She pulled out her phone and chewed on her lip, idly rolling the phone over and over in her hands before making a quick decision. Unlocking the device, she quickly scrolled through her contacts and hit the one she needed. After a few rings, the video call connected and Hermione's face appeared.
"Fleur, I'm glad you called. It's been a while since we've talked. I- what's wrong?" Hermione asked, her voice shifting instantly when she saw the uncertain look on Fleur's face.
"I'm sorry to call out of the blue, but I didn't know if I should call you or go find Ron or what…" Fleur said, trailing off. Hermione nodded.
"It's no worry. You don't have to apologize for calling Fleur, we're friends," she said, and Fleur blushed, still unused to being friends with the Hermione Granger.
"Now, what has Harry done?"
"How'd you know this was about Harry?" Fleur asked curiously. Hermione rolled her eyes and gave a light chuckle.
"You mentioned Ronald," she explained, her lip turned up ever-so-slightly at the mention of Harry's best friend. "That meathead may mean well, but he's hardly an expert on anything that's not sportsball. If you were debating between the two of us, it must be about Harry."
Fleur nodded, feeling foolish for asking such an obvious question.
"Did Harry tell you his aunt was getting married?" she asked, and Hermione shook her head.
"No, I can't say that he did."
Fleur chewed her lip again, the uncertainty coming back before her concern for Harry overwhelmed it.
"His uncle Vernon just called him," she explained, and Hermione sat up straight, looking directly into the camera, no longer attempting to hold their conversation and finish what she was doing when Fleur had called. She was solely focused and the shift made Fleur uneasy.
"What did he say?" Hermione asked, though it sounded a bit like a demand.
"That Harry's aunt was getting married in the next couple of weeks and he expected Harry to be there."
Hermione gave a long sigh and rubbed her forehead. "Harry agreed, didn't he?"
Fleur nodded. "Of course he did, he's Harry."
"Right, stupid question," muttered Hermione. "You told him you were going with him?"
Fleur nodded.
"That's good." Hermione gave Fleur a long look before rubbing her forehead again. "How much has Harry told you about his family?"
Fleur shrugged.
"Not much. I know they weren't well-off and that they didn't get along. He said coming here was the best thing that happened to him, if only to get away from his family."
Hermione sighed, causing Fleur to frown.
"Hermione, what's got you and Harry so worried? He practically ran out of here."
"Fleur," Hermione said tentatively, "it's- it's not my story to tell, unfortunately. It's Harry's. It's good that you're going with him, though. Don't let him linger there. Go, say your congratulations, and then go home, alright? Harry has a tendency to let himself get so caught up in being polite he doesn't think about himself."
Fleur nodded. "I can do that."
"Look out for him, that's all you need to do."
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Harry had just poured himself a mug of tea when the knock interrupted him. When he opened the door and saw her the mug nearly fell from his hands.
She looked stunning in her long, pale blue dress, hugging her curves as if it had been hand stitched specifically for her. Her hair was up again, though not in the bun he'd seen it at her family home, but in an intricate one, with not a single strand out of place. She laughed at him when he struggled to speak before hugging him tightly. Her heels made her taller than him, but he didn't care. He realized he'd never care. Ever.
"That's, that's-," he said, causing her to look herself up and down before smirking at him with a devilish glint in her eye.
"Angelina said I looked, 'So fuckable that I'm likely to turn straight women gay between your place and the end of the wedding, up to and potentially including, the bride.' I'm going to say you agree with that sentiment?"
"Wow," was all he'd managed to say. She patted his cheek and told him to finish getting ready.
He'd done as instructed, being given an 'Acceptable' as she had inspected his outfit, the best he could hope for. They left his place and hopped in the waiting car, Luc winking at him as he passed.
As the car drove through the city, he looked out the window, staring at the passing shops and homes with building disinterest. His mind wandered and nerves rose as they got further from the sanctuary of his room. Silence hung between them, not uncomfortably so, but enough to make his thoughts turn to more pressing matters.
"Can you just promise me something?" he asked, looking over to her. She nodded. "Just, promise me that whatever they say, you'll ignore it, okay?"
A frown crossed her face.
"What are you ta-"
"Promise me, Fleur. Please?" He didn't stop the pleading from entering his voice, or the shame that came along with it. He'd tell her, later, why it was so important, she deserved that, but for now, a promise. After a long moment, she nodded.
"Very well, I'll agree to that if you agree to one dance," she teased, a playful smile on her face. He laughed, the lighthearted nature of her voice pushing through his doubt and uncertainty until he just nodded.
As they exited the car in front of the large wedding venue, a massive structure that screamed expensive, Harry's hands got sweaty and his pulse began to race as his mood darkened slightly once more. The car pulled away and he hesitated for just a moment, long enough for her to notice.
"You alright?" she asked with concern. He nodded.
"Yeah, I will be," he said, taking a deep breath.
She linked their arms and smiled down at him. "C'mon, let's go show your family how awesome you are."
He smiled, he wasn't sure how, but he did, because that thought did make him feel better. His date for the wedding was an amazing woman who could get any date she wanted, yet she had chosen to come to this wedding with him. They walked for a few moments before he spotted his uncle under the wide, shaded arch leading into the building, his faded suit and misshadded socks greeting people as they walked in.
When Vernon eyed them the portly man scowled.
"About time, boy. You're almost late, can't you read the clock?" His uncle sneered at him. Harry scowled and felt Fleur tighten her grip on his forearm.
"I'm here exactly when you told me to be here, uncle Vernon," Harry ground out.
"Don't backtalk me," he said before looking at Fleur. His eyes went wide before rounding on Harry again. "Who the hell is this? Who told you that you could bring someone?"
"It's a wedding, a plus one is implied," Harry said, "This is-"
"I don't care who she is or where you picked her up," Vernon said before gesturing inside, "get inside and go sit next to your cousin. Keep her quiet."
With that dismissal Vernon turned to greet another couple coming in, much more warmly Harry noticed, a fake smile plastered across his face. As they made their way into the building, Fleur frowned.
"Why did they even invite you if they didn't like you?" she asked, receiving a shrug from Harry.
"Marge is a vain woman," he explained, "and she's marrying into money. This is a way for her to tell the family she's better than them. Or thinks she is."
Harry surveyed the seats before spotting his cousin, two empty spots beside him and making his way over. Sitting down next to him, Fleur on his left, Dudley turned and sneered in recognition.
"Well if it isn't Potter," he said, his face turning up as if he smelled something foul. "Didn't think you'd actually show up. Guess I owe Piers some money."
"Such a shame," Harry said dryly, keeping his eyes forward, unwilling to look at his cousin. Fleur squeezed his arm again, a reassuring gesture that he focused all his energy on. The warmth of her touch, the way it eased his tension ever so slightly, his shoulders relaxing as he let the sensation wash over him.
Dudley leered at Fleur before looking back down at Harry, a wide, predatory grin on his face.
"How much did you pay for her, hmm? Think I could have a go when you're done, Potter?" Harry tensed, but Fleur put a hand on his arm, locking eyes with him.
"Let it go," she whispered.
She held his gaze for a moment as he contemplated the pros and cons of letting loose on his cousin. He gave the barest nod of his head, knowing that it would be amusing, but ultimately a waste of energy to respond. She sent him a small smile and turned back around.
He looked up at his cousin and smiled. "Don't think you could count that high, Dudders."
He heard a faint snort from Fleur, deepening his smile as the words finally registered with Dudley. The large, predatory smile turned to anger as he made to stand up, only to be grabbed by the collar and forcibly pushed down. Looking up, Harry saw the long, slender frame of his aunt standing over them, a scowl on her face as she released Dudley's collar.
"Watch your tongue, boy," she spat quietly, contempt in her glare. "When the ceremony is over, pay your congratulations to your aunt and then get the hell out of here, are we clear?"
He nodded.
"Crystal."
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The ceremony ended and Marge looked hideous, Fleur had whispered, a sentiment Harry wasn't inclined to disagree with. As they were waiting to give their congratulations before leaving, he realized it had been a dull but enlightening affair. He'd never seen any of Vernon's family before, and they all appeared to be moderately successful. At the very least, none of them struggled as Vernon and Petunia Dursley did. Harry wondered just what had made Vernon the angry man he'd been his entire life, reflecting on the fact that most of the family seemed so normal.
They approached Marge and she instantly sneered.
"The Potter boy finally dragged himself out of the gutter, did he?" she said with disgust, her caked-on makeup cracking around the corners of her eyes as she made the face. He felt Fleur stiffen again and grip his linked arm tighter.
"Hello aunt Marge. Congratulations," he said politely. She laughed. Harry shook her husband's hand, Mike or Mark or something, he didn't remember. It wouldn't be important after today.
"Teach you some manners at that school, boy?" The disgust in her voice was oozing as she spat the words out. "About time, though I'm sure you're still wasting taxpayer money like you've always been. A waste."
Fleur stiffened again, and her grip was becoming almost hot to the touch, the fire he knew was coursing within her transferring to him. He smiled back at Marge.
"Congratulations again, aunt Marge," he said and turned away.
"And who's this whore you picked up?"
He froze briefly before slowly turning back around, his friendly, fake smile gone, replaced with fury. Rage gripped him like a vice, squeezing every pleasant, cordial response from his vocabulary.
"Apologize," he hissed.
Marge lifted an eyebrow.
"What was that, boy?"
"I said apologize. Now!" he demanded.
Marge narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at him.
"I'll do no such thing you filthy little boy. You should be lucky you were invited, it's more than you deserve. The nerve of you, telling me to apologize. You're just as worthless as that tramp of a mother-"
Slap
In his rage, he hadn't felt Fleur let go of his arm, or her slip beside him. The world slowed down as the sound of Fleur's hand impacting against Marge's cheek reverberated around the room, silencing everything. His ears filled with the sound of his heartbeat as voices faded, heat radiating from his ears as his blood pressure soared.
The next thing he knew, a fist slammed into the side of his face and he was tossed to the ground, his head impacting hard. The ringing in his ears was all he heard as movement increased around him. He stared at Fleur as she was pulled away from Marge by two other female guests and he felt himself being picked up by the front of his shirt.
By the time he was shoved roughly out of the door he had regained his senses enough to realize it had been his uncle hauling him out, a shout of 'get the fuck out of my sight boy' the last thing that was said. Fleur helped him off the ground and she touched the side of his face. He could feel the swell where he'd been hit.
"Are you okay, Harry?" she asked, pure concern in her voice. He smiled and nodded as they started walking away from the building. They could call the car, but the fresh air would do him some good. He'd checked for the nearest train station on the way in and luckily it was only a few blocks away. Fleur, it seemed, was happy to take his lead and walked with him without question.
"Are you sure?" she asked, clearly unconvinced. "Your cousin hit you pretty hard."
Harry nodded, though that made his head hurt a bit.
"Ah, so that's who hit me. I didn't see," he admitted. "I kinda lost focus after you slapped the shit out of Marge."
Fleur scowled, clenching and unclenching her fists.
"That bitch deserved more than a slap. I should have beaten the crap out of her."
He laughed, even though that too hurt his head, not because it was funny, but because, in that moment, she looked amazing. Her hair was partially free of its bun, and her dress was wrinkled where she had been grabbed to be led away, but it just enhanced her features. The protective anger in her face and the wild, untamed passion for violence against his aunt was touching.
And oddly sexy.
"What did you say to her, anyway?" he asked as they made it to the train station, sitting down to wait for their ride. "I couldn't hear."
"I told her that if she ever spoke or even looked in your direction again that I would make it my life's mission to ensure her miserable existence is nothing short of a violation of the Geneva Conventions."
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then laughed, a full, hearty laugh, the stress of the day instantly melting away. She joined in and they laughed like two crazy people, neither caring in the slightest. As they calmed down and boarded the train, Fleur slid up next to him and grabbed his hand, interlocking her fingers with his.
It was a small gesture, one done absentmindedly out of support and affection, but it struck Harry as important as he memorized the feel of her hand, rubbing his thumb lightly against the back of hers. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the glass window as he basked in the thought that her hand felt right holding his.
They rode in silence for a while, enjoying each other's company, neither needing to fill the air with unnecessary words or background noise. Eventually, Harry sighed, understanding that he needed to give her the explanation he had promised himself he'd give her. She was looking out the window, a small, contented smile on her face. She deserved it, after all.
"Little boy Potter, his parents they were squatters. Little boy Potter, what a little snotter. Little boy Potter, they should have had a daughter."
He spoke the words from his childhood softly, the memories floating back to the forefront, reaching from the depths of his mind, from the place he had pushed them long ago.
Running away.
Hiding.
Crying.
A single tear escaped his eyes, and before he could wipe it, she was there, her thumb brushing the salty tear from his face.
"That was the rhyme Dudley and his friends came up with. We were so, so young, and children can be so, so cruel. The adults thought it was funny, so everyone started calling me little boy Potter. Eventually, it was just shortened to boy. Boy, get this. Boy, make breakfast. Boy, get out of my sight."
And then, the words were their own, the slow drip turning into a tsunami of emotion as he told the one person in his life who's opinion truly mattered to him just what had shaped him. His entire life, the details he had held back or avoided, all of it laid bare before her.
And he prayed she wouldn't reject him, realize he wasn't worth her time, and move on.
Because he didn't know if he could take it.
Because he was pretty sure he was in love with Fleur Delacour and he didn't know what to do about it.
As the words faded, the sad story of his broken childhood finished, he looked back at her, and she had tears in her own eyes, though not out of pity, of that he was certain. She didn't say anything, and he wondered if she knew how much that meant to him at that moment, how the silence spoke volumes. She didn't try to normalize it, to find common ground or some sort of similarities between their upbringing.
Because there weren't any, and that was okay.
Her hand never left his as she stroked the back of his thumb, a gentle squeeze ever so often to remind him she was still there as the train continued along to the city and his story came to a close. Eventually, she stood.
"Dance with me, Harry," she said softly as she slipped out of her heels, bare feet impacting the cold steel of the train car. Once again, he didn't protest, he simply let himself be helped up as she pressed herself to him, resting her head against his chest, their hands never separating.
And they swayed there in silence, hands intertwined, as the music only they could hear played.