Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavor and context.
Thank you to my beta readers, Astro and LTCMDR Michal Drápalík, you were of great help. Similarly, thank you to the Harry/Fleur discord for being such a lovely, supportive community.
I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
Cheers.
Chapter 2: Muggle Relations
"Are you sure?"
"I am," Fleur replied, rolling her eyes at Harry's question.
"I just want you to enjoy tonight, is all," he pleaded.
"And I appreciate that," she assured, twining their fingers together as she stood before him in their bedroom. "But we have to make some sort of appearance in Skegness, or people will gossip about the family of hermits. We don't want to draw that sort of attention to ourselves, lest rumors spread."
"Oh? And the rumors of a former French model that I've already heard whispered in the schoolyard? What of that attention?" He teased, mischievously grinning down at his wife.
She shook her head resignedly, her long braid of silver hair swaying with the movement. "You would think families with children would have better things to do than gossip about newcomers."
"Uh-huh," Harry said, voice dripping with disbelief. "What of your monthly wine night with the Weasley women? Is it not the gossiping there that has caused Ginny to be unable to look me in the eyes for the last month? Not to mention, every time I see Angelina or Audrey they wiggle their eyebrows so hard I'm afraid they'll fall off."
Fleur had the decency to flush slightly, the tips of her ears tinged pink. Her abashed expression faded before a haughty demeanor replaced it. "What of it? Surely you aren't offended that I've gloated about you."
Harry chuckled, drawing her into his arms. "It's nice to be appreciated," he said, dropping a kiss onto the crown of her head.
His wife nuzzled his chest, sighing slightly. Harry lazily ran his finger up and down her back. "If you want to go out, we can make a night of it. I could pull some strings and get an international portkey to Paris or Italy for the night."
"No," she said resolutely, "I would much prefer a quiet night in and you cooking for me. I just think we should make an effort with the muggles, otherwise the rumors could escalate and affect Lili."
He chewed his lip, unable to deny the potential problems for his daughter. "Ok," he relented. "We'll have a nice time cavorting with muggles tonight. But next Friday, I'll wine and dine you as you deserve."
Fleur hummed her agreement into his chest as he continued stroking the plumage that had risen beneath his hand along her spine.
After a few minutes of quietly swaying together, Harry disengaged. "I'll run the chicklets over to the Burrow while you get ready," he said, bending down to brush his lips against Fleur's.
His wife gave him a confused look. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" she asked.
Truly nothing, he wanted to say. Her work attire, consisting of a pale blue blouse and a hip-hugging slate skirt, made his pulse pound. Instead he opted for cheek. "Well, you'll need to put in a little more effort tonight. A former French model must keep up appearances, after all."
Harry laughed as he closed the door on venomously muttered oaths.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he burst into the living room at a run, finding Fayette playing with her stuffed dragon Norbert on the floor while Lili read on the coach. Keeping his momentum, Harry rushed over, sweeping Fayette squealing into his arms. He pranced her about the room to the sound of her chirping squeaks, blowing raspberries against her belly and neck.
"Papa, is it time to go yet?" Lili questioned from her prone position upon the couch, not looking away from her book.
Stopping his rambunctious prancing with Fayette, who was still breathlessly giggling against his neck, he glanced over at Lili. "Indeed it is, ready?"
Liliana nodded enthusiastically, jumping up from her perch. "Rosie is gonna be there and we're reading the same book."
He smiled at his daughter. "It will be nice to have someone to talk to then, won't it?"
The little girl, so like her mother, nodded seriously. Undoubtedly, a long discussion would be had tonight over characters in a book only sixty pages long. Rose and Lili were two peas in a pod, both in age and interests. They were good for each other and Harry desperately hoped that their easy, friendly rivalry would stay that way through school. Gathering up the girls and their things, Harry took the floo powder from the mantlepiece for Lili's use. Speaking clearly, she twirled away. Stepping in after her with Fayette wiggling in his arms, Harry followed.
A wall of noise greeted him upon exiting the fireplace. The sound of children's voices and their parents melding together in a wall of welcome sound. A certain hectic energy permeated the rough and tumble home, perpetually cluttered despite Mrs Weasley's best attempts otherwise. The constant coming and going of her children and grandchildren left the already old, eclectic house in a state of well-loved but well-worn chaos.
Harry felt a fond, if slightly anxious, energy whenever he was there. The first familial home ever opened lovingly for him, offered up in friendship with no expectation or guile. He loved it, garden gnomes and all, even if he preferred the organized, clean state of his own home.
Rose must have spotted Lili as soon as she stepped out of the floo because she rushed over from her seat in Arthur's armchair, a book clutched tight to her chest. Immediately the two girls began chattering, Lili flipping through the pages of her own copy to press a finger excitedly to some particularly interesting passage.
He bent to let Fayette scamper away towards the kitchen, undoubtedly looking to claim some baked treats from Mrs Weasley. He surveyed the living room. Not much had changed since he had first stepped foot here all those years ago. The clock with many hands still pointed to the status of Molly's children. She had tried to add all of her grandchildren a year or so ago, only for the clock to be so overwrought with hands that it was nearly impossible to tell who was where.
Harry allowed his gaze to rest briefly but solemnly on the framed clock hand on the wall below. The name etched along the thin iron bar resonating with the same name etched into his soul. Loss mixed with memories of laughter swirled together in a melancholic rush before settling in his chest. Slightly chapped lips tugged upwards, thinking of fireworks, snackboxes, a Ford Anglia, and a young man who smiled as he died.
The noise that had faded to a barely noticeable buzz in the back of Harry's ears broke his introspection.
A dancing Rose jumped up on an ancient, lumpy couch older than Harry himself. Her face tinted red from excitement and exertion as she brandished a wooden spoon at Lili, who, true to form, scowled mightily before picking up Mrs Weasley's feather duster in opposition. A mighty battle began as the little witchlings acted out a daring scene of action and swordplay from their book.
A heavily mispronounced "en garde" ripped from the throat of Rose, whose 'blade' was swatted to the side by Lili's billowy 'rapier'. He smirked to himself as Lili took a quick timeout to help Rose with her pronunciation of the French term, making sure to show Rose how to roll the syllables just right. Upon satisfactory pronunciation, the truce was immediately dispelled as the young girls became fierce warrioresses once more.
No doubt hearing his daughter's shout of delight, Ron poked his head into the living room, a grin overtaking his face as his eyes found Harry watching their daughters do battle. "Mum was just telling me you were coming by to offload your girls on her for the night," the red-head teased, watching the battling youngsters affectionately.
Harry snorted. "Don't take the moral high ground with me. She has your two every other week and Hermione's parents have the interval."
A smirking Ron graced Harry with a superior, indulgent look, as though he was talking to a foolish child. "Well, us working folk have to find a way to de-stress. Not all of us lounge about all day."
Harry hoped the intensity of the evil look he shot Ron sufficiently communicated his outrage. "Lounge about. I ought to sock you for that. You wouldn't last a day dealing with Veela chicklet temper tantrums while trying to teach them number tables and the alphabet."
The frosty air between the two men dissolved as they both grinned at each other, stepping forwards and clasping their arms in greeting.
"Speaking of chicklet temper tantrums," his friend chuckled, reaching out to pluck a downy gray feather out of Harry's hair.
He sighed ruefully, "Fayette has been struggling now that her sissy is at school. I thought it was bad when I had to explain why Teddy was going to be gone this year at Hogwarts." A brief ripple of sadness undulated across the waters of Harry's happiness from seeing Ron. Teddy's first year at the Scottish castle had finally come. He missed his godson almost as much as Fayette missed her older brother in all but blood.
Ron nodded amicably. "Can't say I envy you that, mate. I'll take dealing with other people's children at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes any day. At least then I can tell them to sod off."
"A real customer service expert," was his dry reply. Harry's mood returned with Ron's humor and the thought that Teddy was having the time of his life learning magic, if the flurry of letters that he'd already sent home was any indication.
At that moment Fayette came gliding into the room, perched atop Molly Weasley's arms, her tiny mouth moving rapidly as she gabbed at Hugo, who was toddling along at his grandmother's feet.
"Ah, there you are dear," Molly said kindly, stopping to let Harry press a quick kiss to her cheek in greeting. "This one is getting awfully big," she murmured, gazing at Fayette, who beamed in response.
"Don't remind me," Harry said, sighing gustily. Molly gave him a compassionate look.
"What a sight, Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world, struggling with empty nest syndrome," Ron chortled.
"You just wait till Rosie goes off to Hogwarts," he snarked mutinously in reply.
Molly laughed softly at her son's pale face. "Nothing wrong with missing your children, you'll still do it even at my age."
Harry's spine stiffened as he watched the red-headed matron's eyes briefly rest on the framed clock hand. He buried the remorse and guilt back where they belonged, succeeding just as Mrs Weasley's warm brown eyes, shimmering ever so slightly, met his own. A silent understanding passed between them, an acknowledgment and acceptance on both their parts.
He reached out, pulling Mrs Weasley into his arms, the mood of the two adults a sharp contrast to the giggling Fayette smooshed between them.
"You look lovely," he said, his voice muffled in Mrs Weasley's mane. The lion red slowly fading as treasonous gray strands began to appear. Her frame shook in his arms as she laughed away his compliment.
"It is good to see you, dearie," she said, holding him out at arm's length while giving him a critical once over. Harry squirmed uncomfortably under her examination. She never failed to make him feel eleven again whenever it suited her. She clucked her tongue.
"We've missed you the last two brunches," Molly commented, daring him to give an insufficient excuse.
He quailed briefly. "Lili… school… you know," he coughed out, pointedly looking away from Ron's grinning face, gleefully observing over Mrs Weasley's shoulder.
"Hmm," was the Matriarch's reply, before she patted him on the side of the face. "Well I expect she'll be well settled by the end of this month, yes?"
"We'll be there, wouldn't miss it," Harry responded honestly.
"Treacle tart then, for good behavior." Molly smiled at him affectionately. "How does that sound to you, little miss?" She questioned in a jovial tone, jostling Fayette. The little blonde hiccupped from laughter as she buried her head against Mrs Weasley's shoulder with a squeak.
"Yes! Trickled Tart the best!"
"Well you two best be off then, don't keep your ladies waiting," Molly stated, shooing the two men with her free hand toward the fireplace.
A whooshing sound and a flare of flame accompanied Mr Weasley's form as he stepped out of the floo, effectively interrupting the younger men's departure.
Arthur's hair was receding, his glasses unfashionable and dusty, the coat he wore had more sewn patches than original fabric, and his shoes were so badly scuffed Harry was surprised he didn't see a toe poking through the end. The older man blinked at the sight of the assembled family before him as a gargantuan, brilliant smile broke forth, melting away years from his countenance. The purity of his excitement not dissimilar from a child's.
A few strides of long legs, and a hastily discarded briefcase, had him picking up a shrieking Liliana, still mid-battle with the horrible piratess, 'Rosalind of the High Seas.'
The bitter enemies became allies as Rose leapt to her friend's defense, latching on to her grandad's leg as he wobbled theatrically, still raising Lili up over his head.
"My beauteous flowers," Mr Weasley exclaimed, "what a soothing balm to my ragged, work-weary soul."
Fayette tittered in Molly's arms, straining to join the fun as she repeated, "worg-worry soul," in between giggles.
Molly let the girl down, who promptly raced with Hugo over to greet their grandfather. Harry smiled after them, watching Mr Weasley. The gentle wizard who had taught him how to be a father. How to be a good man.
Arthur had a way with the children that no one else could seem to match, although George was a close second. The wild young man was outrageously fun and never failed to get the kids riled. However, Arthur was always the one they went to with a bruised knee or scraped palms.
Ron snorted as his father playfully tottered under the combined assault of four grandchildren, landing slowly and carefully upon the cushioned furniture as the kids declared a prideful victory.
"How he finds the energy, I'll never know," the younger red-head said, a hint of admiration coloring his tone.
Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, watching the scene happily. Some things were simply worth finding the energy for, he thought, watching Lili help pull her little sister up onto the couch where Arthur had deposited himself. A soft swear followed by a swift rebuke came from Harry's left.
"Gotta get going mum," Ron said contritely, tapping his watch, "Hermione will have a litter if we don't leave precisely on schedule."
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing at his friend's complaint, uttered in such a sappy tone it beggared belief. He kissed Mrs Weasley's cheek in goodbye and expressed his gratitude for watching the girls before following Ron's departure.
"Thank you Mr Weasley," Harry called as he walked towards the fireplace.
Arthur opened one twinkling blue eye in response. "See you tomorrow, son. Have a good night with the missus," was the quick reply before his eye screwed back shut in his feigned repose of defeat. The children continued to chatter loudly as they tried to find ways to break their grandfather's possum act.
"Bye daddy," waved Fayette, causing Lili to turn and say her own farewell as Rose beamed at him.
"Have fun girls, be good," Harry tried to inject a stern inflection to his tone but the fond smile on his face likely made it seem rather foolish, if Ron's chortle was anything to go by.
A stray thought sparked in the black-haired man's mind.
Harry grabbed Ron's arm as it rose to take the floo powder. At his friend's inquisitive gaze, he spoke in a low, rushed voice, "Hermione's proposal before the Wizengamot was today, did she say how it went?"
Ron nodded, carefully prying Harry's too-tight fingers off of his wrist. "She said it went well enough. The pureblood and traditionalist factions put up a fuss, but they have few members and less power since the war." The lanky man cracked the knuckles of his left hand. "She was only there to offer up the proposal and answer questions, it will be up to the Progressive party members to get the vote through tonight."
"She has a count of the votes though, right? She's been negotiating for months now."
"We should be good," was Ron's response, a toothy smile overtaking his face upon seeing Harry's relieved expression.
"Thanks," Harry said, the words leaving his mouth lifted a weight off his shoulders.
"No problem. See ya soon, mate," Ron said, patting him on the arm before stepping into the floo.
A few moments later found Harry spinning home.
The living room that greeted him was a powerful departure from the one he had left. In contrast to The Burrow, the one he called home was arranged neatly but comforting.
Large, plush furniture filled the living room. Two large couches forming an L shape around a low-slung brown wood table. Two armchairs sat opposite of one couch, creating an intimate gathering spot that they used frequently when guests came calling.
Accents of their favorite colors were found all about the room. Bright sunshine yellows, Fleur's favorite, were seen in the art and upholstery. None more prominent than the pale yellow loveseat pushed against the huge window that dominated the southern wall. Fleur's preferred spot to sit and read as rain pattered against the paned glass to her side.
Deep blues, Harry's favorite collection of shades, mingled with the joyful yellow. A huge, fuzzy, navy blanket was thrown over the top of the yellow loveseat. Phantom touches ghosted over his body as the dark blue color swept over him in a tide of tactile memories.
Sunlight filtered in through the window, disgorging cheerful rays about the room, highlighting the home he and his wife had made.
Turning back towards the fireplace, he ran his hands along the stone mantle, cool to his touch. A grin hitched upon his face as he remembered the crudely painted sign he'd made with yellows and blues, the words 'Love Nest' emblazoned across it in his messy scrawl. Fleur had made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat upon first seeing it, and he had been teased mercilessly. But for some reason, it had stayed proudly displayed upon the mantle until Liliana had been born. Now it hung on the back of their bedroom door, he couldn't help but admit the token had found a more fitting resting place.
Now a collection of pictures stood proudly on the stone lip of the fireplace. Ron and Hermione with their children - Ron laughing with a newborn Hugo in his arms while Hermione attempted to untangle her curls from her own daughter's unruly head of copper hair. Percy and Audrey at their wedding - Audrey's belly ripe with their firstborn, Molly - while Percy smiled proudly, one hand on his beaming wife's back and another on her round stomach. A picture of George being yelled at by Angelina, their son Fred laughing maniacally as his first birthday cake dripped off his face and the walls from an experimental firework candle gone haywire.
Harry's fingers drifted up to trace his favorite, the picture of Hagrid cradling his goddaughter Fayette in his arms, the newborn girl looking extremely tiny in the tender but huge arms of the half-giant. Gabrielle, on a stepstool, peeking over Hagrid's elbow at her goddaughter, a soft smile on her face as she clutched onto the bushy-haired man's arm for support.
"They make quite a pair, don't they?" an amused, songlike voice floated from behind him.
"The aspiring French fashion designer and the wild groundskeeper?"
Fleur hummed as she stepped behind him, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "A fine friendship for them both. Gabby has worked extremely hard to make Hagrid's birthday cakes edible for our little girl," she said, "we have her to thank for Fayette's intact teeth."
Harry grinned, "Don't forget Hagrid helped your sister get over her fear of spiders." Still smiling, he turned to face his wife.
The words meant to continue their conversation derailed in his throat, crashing and dying forgotten as his focus was wiped away and replaced with blue and silver. Harry had always felt particularly bewitched by Fleur's eyes. The shifting deep blue hues of her irises were gravity-altering, pulling his attention with the shattering strength of an imploding star. Yet, that exquisite beauty was objective, shallow. To him alone, they were a siren's song. Not to lead him crashing into a cliff or a watery demise, but to harbor, to home. Those eyes beget safety. A comfort born and proven over the years he had known her.
The beauty of a good listener, priceless compassion, a robustness of character, a powerful realness and intellect that made all other women look thin and fragile as paper in comparison. That was his wife. That was who she was when her name was Fleur Delacour and it was her now that she was a Potter.
Yet, for all the honesty of her soul, Fleur Potter was still a stunningly gorgeous woman.
The river of silver that was her hair had been braided and wrapped into a bun at the back of her head. The elegant twists, eye-catching on their own, were heightened by the sunflower yellow hair clip nestled at the top of the braided bun, a splash of color in the shape of gently curving wings. It was a gift from her mother, given after Fleur's rite-of-passage when she turned eighteen.
The orange light of an autumn sun served it's only purpose as a spotlight, throwing the nearly invisible freckles under Fleur's eyes into view. Constellations only Harry had ever been close enough to map out fully. His eyes continued their descent. Delicious lips, at times both generous and demanding. A neck, sumptuous and slender, curving to meet the narrow bridge making up her collarbones.
A dress of burnt sienna wrapped about one shoulder before flowing downwards, resting at the middle of her calves. The dress accentuated as much as it hid, hinting at the lush lines of Fleur's figure, all delicate curves and cutting angles. An outfit whose modesty was made a mockery by the woman who wore it.
Through sheer force of will Harry reengaged his brain. He had to compliment her, let her know just how jaw droppingly magnificent she was, how his heart beat with his love for her. She smiled at him, watching, waiting, knowing. Poems formed and died on his tongue.
"Fuck," he said distractedly.
A delectably raised eyebrow, a twitch of her lips, a dance in her eyes, "Dinner first, I think," was her breathy, amused reply.
Harry shook his head, chiding himself. Caught flat-footed at his own wife's beauty, a ridiculous notion to be sure, if a fairly common one in his life. "No, damn it. Give me a redo," he muttered resolutely, glancing at her.
She nodded solemnly at him, a hint of glee quickly stifled.
He cleared his throat, scratched the back of his head, shuffled his feet a bit, and looked at her. He had always been bad with words. It had taken him months to feel decent about his wedding vows. His ineloquence was a source of anxiety at times. Fleur deserved good words, beautiful words, words that extolled her character and significance. Harry just could never seem to construct them correctly.
Fleur waited patiently for him, watching him silently.
"You are… a gorgeous autumn day given form," he said, gesturing to the yellow hairclip and reddish-orange dress. Blood suffused his cheeks, he could feel the burning of his face acutely. A sense of smallness and stupidity eroding him.
His wife smiled, reaching up to pull him by his collared shirt downwards so that her lips could reach his. They were hungry, possessive. Harry deepened the kiss, his hands clutching at the small of her back, right above the delectable swell of flesh below. His mouth seeking, claiming… worshipful. A low, feminine moan vibrated against his tongue.
Harry felt drunk, victorious, in love. The taste of pomegranates he associated with his wife overtaking his senses as he tried to show her without clumsy words what she meant to him.
Yes, words had never been his strong suit. He preferred action.
XXXXXXXX
Harry opened the door of San Rufo's, allowing Fleur to breeze ahead of him. He couldn't be sure if it was his own hearing falling away at the striking figure she made upon entering or if the riotous noise of the restaurant actually choked into silence at her appearance. The Italian restaurant had an intimate feel and was stylishly decorated. He stepped next to his wife, an arm wrapping around her waist as she leaned against him.
A nervous tingle ran up and down Harry's back like spider legs. The hair on the nape of his neck standing to attention like soldiers. He felt on display. The attention of the formal eatery unerringly focused on the new arrivals. A tightening of his fingers upon Fleur's waist stopped him from running the digits nervously through his hair.
A gawking waiter, a man no older than nineteen, stared dumbly at them for awhile before stammering out a partly intelligible sentence that included words that could be vaguely construed as 'table' and 'two.' Nodding, Harry asked for seating in a corner, which the waiter blinked at and, with only a slight stumble, led them towards. The citizens of Skegness followed their passage with stares and muted conversation. Fleur held her head proud and high, her back straight. A Fleur he recognized, even though he was happy to know her confidence and security of self were no longer feigned behind a haughty shield as it had been his fourth year.
Purposefully dim lighting at the table for two lent a private veneer to an otherwise crowded restaurant. Harry pulled the chair out for his wife before taking his seat, back towards the wall in the corner, his eyes scouring the restaurant and entrance that was fully visible from his choice of seat.
Harry looked up curiously at the waiter that was still standing next to them. Grinning, he rolled his eyes at Fleur who responded in kind before politely asking the young man for the menus. As the blushing employee briskly walked away to retrieve the forgotten items back at the front, his wife sighed.
"The place seems nice, at least," she said, leaning towards Harry.
His eyes snapped up, caught by the mirthful face of Fleur.
He coughed, turning his face away slightly from the predatory gleam in his wife's eyes. "Yes, the… atmosphere is quite lovely." He pinched the skin of his thigh viciously beneath the table. Married for around a decade and he still managed to make a wreck of himself. She was definitely seeking her retribution for his earlier impudent model comment, her posture was too deliberately tempting otherwise.
A throaty chuckle bubbled from Fleur's lovely neck. "Mmm, indeed. Atmosphere is a most important aspect of any restaurant." Harry found himself fascinated with the way her mouth formed words, captivated as he was, the menus flopping to the table jolted him. A smirking Fleur watched as he flushed and hastily put his wand back up his sleeve and out of sight while the waiter walked away.
Chiding himself, he picked up the menu, glad to have an excuse to avoid embarrassing himself by making bumbling small talk with the mother of his children.
A demure hand crept along the white tablecloth before grasping his. He smiled, his face hidden by the menu in front of him. Her wedding band catching the low lighting, sending a shower of rainbowed brilliance outwards. Fondness welled up, his own band of platinum warming on his ring finger, thrumming with a magic inherent to the union it represented.
"Is there a reason you seem to enjoy taking me to Italian restaurants?"
Harry smiled, remembering his first date with the witch across from him. He had been an anxious mess. He wondered idly if Fleur would ever stop having that effect around him. It seemed unlikely… and unwanted.
"Something about Italian food seems fancy, I suppose," he mused, eyeing her from over his menu. "Have to impress the affluent French girl with my good taste."
An unladylike snort was the only response he got before the waiter returned, asking for their choice of food and drink. Fleur's response was said in lilting Italian, her accent nearly perfect from long childhood summers spent in the country with her family. Harry thought his own butchered request was moderately understandable.
Fleur curved a delicate eyebrow as she turned to him once the waiter left, her lips tugging upwards. "Consider me impressed, I've never heard such a confident massacre of a language in a simple food order before."
"Clearly you've forgotten your struggles teaching me French."
A bell-like laugh chimed out, turning heads around them, "I was besotted enough to find it endearing." She smiled at him, simultaneously teasing and tender.
"I'm quite sure the figure of speech mentions love being blind, not deaf."
"Perhaps," Fleur admitted, "but mine is neither. After all, I've both watched you attempt sewing and heard you sing."
"Ah, but you love me still, even after witnessing the abomination of a teddy bear I made for Lili."
"I love you in spite of it," she mocked, her chin resting on the hand not intertwined with his over the table. "The deficiencies were not overlooked."
"A bargain could be made," Harry began thoughtfully, tapping a finger to his chin. "Perhaps, you could agree to disregard my mastery of the Italian language, if I take no notice of your snoring or inability to cook."
Fleur's eyes glinted dangerously. "It is unfortunate that neither of those… character traits are true in my case, no?"
Harry gulped, making a show of stretching his collared shirt away from his neck nervously. "Yes, dear. Of course, dear," he mumbled contritely.
Peals of laughter rang out once again. He couldn't help but join in. They stifled their mirth, not wanting to draw further attention to themselves. His heart felt light, as though he was a teenager again, learning how to partake in Fleur's delight of witty banter. An economic use of words far more worthy to her than flirtation.
"I see my lessons have finally sunk in," Fleur said, slightly breathless still as she squeezed his hand.
Harry attempted a pout only to have her laugh at him before she spoke. "It is an unlucky thing that our daughters didn't inherit their sulky expressions from their father. They certainly would have been spoiled less."
He smiled ruefully, if a bit affectionately. "Yes, unfortunate indeed that they learned how to extort their father by watching their mother."
His wife peered down her nose at him in faux condescension, "I doubt you would have presented them a challenge otherwise."
"No," Harry admitted, "no, I don't think I could have."
His dining companion beamed at him. "They couldn't have a better father," Fleur's voice was soft, laden with care. Her heavily-lidded eyes darkened.
The sudden staccato of his heartbeat thumped against the confines of it's cage in his chest. Fatherhood, the ghoulish fear of inadequacy so potent it had once threatened to obliterate him licked at the corner of his mind before dissipating. His lips split into a brilliant smile of gratitude. "Or mother," he whispered with conviction, his gaze locked to hers.
The moment was interrupted by movement in the corner of Harry's eye. A few seconds later, the food was being served and Fleur and Harry had to lean away from one another to make room.
The dinner was pleasant and the food satisfactory. Unfortunately, the stares of patrons made him increasingly uncomfortable. Judging by the way Fleur had begun to tap her fingers against his hand, he knew she was similarly affected.
He felt a familiar surge of protective irritation. Regardless of the couple's natural predilection towards introversion, they should still have the option of enjoying a night out without being the subject matter of gossip, he thought to himself. Muggle and magical alike offered no respite.
Muggles were especially frustrating for Harry. They had no excuse, as far as he was concerned, for such discourtesy. They could only be affected by an allure if the Veela focused, unlike wizarding folk.
The 'allure,' as it is known, was actually a subtle hum to a Veela's magic. An inaudible frequency existing like a chimeric amalgamation somewhere between magic and sound. Closing your ears blocked it out, to some extent, if you were a distance away. Muggles were less affected because the allure acted as a tuning fork, causing the magic of wizarding folk to shiver in response.
Unlike the popular characterization of it, the allure didn't necessarily cause attraction. Rather, it amplified whatever feeling a person had when looking at a Veela. An insecure man may espouse his grand deeds or become crushed under his inadequacy. A woman envious of beauty may turn spiteful or wistful. And someone who despised anything but pure blood would turn hateful and vicious.
Fleur's father had once told him of the difficulties Veela faced, but being with Fleur had shown him the true cruelty of it.
Those with magic seemed just as bigoted as their mundane counterparts. They had systematically oppressed and discriminated against non-human beings for a millenia. Fleur had told him of the registrations 'half-breeds' were forced to go through, the scant job opportunities, and lack of legal protections. Such things weren't taught in a History of Magic, a collective shame willing to be forgotten by society. Her tales had also turned Harry's remembered comprehension of Remus's struggles in life into harsh understanding.
It was no wonder so many chose to hide their true nature or live in denial. It was why many decided to live far away from magical communities. Harry couldn't help but understand why it had been so easy for Voldemort to find allies.
A soft nudge of a high-heeled foot brought Harry back to the present. His thoughts and mood stopping their downward spiral. He weakly smiled at Fleur, acknowledging her silent rebuke. Tonight was for them, not dark thoughts.
Harry felt the iron band around his chest burst upon in relief as they left the watchful eyes behind in the restaurant. Hand-in-hand, the Potters walked down the sidewalk towards the pier. The sun had dipped below the horizon while they ate, starlight warred with the glow of streetlamps as night took over the town of Skegness.
Dark water sloshed beneath their feet as they strolled along old wooden planks. Other couples were around but he forced himself to pay them no heed. A toasty, delicate hand pulled him tight against Fleur's side before it slipped away from his grasp, only to wind around his waist before being stuffed in his coat pocket.
The air had a bite of autumnal chill, causing a shiver to travel from his companion's form to his own. Harry fingered his wand in his sleeve, casting a warming charm over them both. A smile both bright and soft shined up at him.
Reaching the end of the pier, the two stood silently as they watched the sea. The wind caused them to sway slightly in unison.
"We seem to have a fondness for dark waters," Fleur remarked, humor coloring her tone just as the Veela colored the night around them.
Harry looked down at her as his witch continued to stare out at the lapping waves. Remembering a day of tentative wonderment near a black lake.
"The schoolboy and the Veela," He ventured, "a title to rival any of the bodice-ripper Veela bond romance novels."
Fleur's surprised laugh at his joke turned into a small coughing fit. She tweaked his nose. "The amount of incorrect information they stuff into those… books," the word an obvious chore for her to use, "is astounding."
Harry glanced at her, "wait, you mean a wizard can't bind a Veela to him, making her amenable to his every whim?" He affected a look of affronted confusion. "I can't believe Madam Vivelda lied to me."
Fleur rolled her eyes, "her books aren't even the worst, you should see what I catch some of my own co-workers reading sometimes."
"No," He gasped appalled. "They can't honestly read that tripe in front of you."
His wife sighed, "some of them have the decency to blush or hide it. Others… seem almost delighted to show it off."
"Damn them and damn all the airheads printing that rubbish," he muttered bitingly.
"Don't be angry, it should be the cause of hilarity not irritation. We are misunderstood and mischaracterized, but the notions of fools have never bothered us. Nor should they you." Fleur's tone was soothing, a caress to Harry's bruised mood.
"Angèle still sends me ones with particularly good titles," she mentioned with resigned amusement, her attempt at levity evident.
"Your cousin must have extra time on her hands since she can't work while pregnant," Harry said, glad of the opportunity to change the topic.
"Mmm," she vocalized. "I imagine so. Last I saw her she already looked more belly than woman. We'll get news in the next month or two."
"She'll be relieved to no longer fear rolling down the hills around her home."
"I'm going to tell her you said that," Fleur declared, cackling when Harry paled.
"You wouldn't dare," he said.
"I think you'll find me most daring indeed," was her taunting reply. A joyful gleam shone in her eyes, her mood buoyed by the turn in conversation.
Smirking impishly at his witch, Harry spoke, "it certainly was daring to wear such a… provocative outfit tonight. The town already had trouble believing you a mother of two without flaunting such an unfair figure."
Fleur snorted, arching a delicate brow at him. "My aim was only to provoke you, a task too easily accomplished considering the location of your gaze through dinner."
He mumbled in a disgruntled, if good-natured manner. "I was simply worried you'd strain your back, leaning forward so often."
A feminine snicker was her only riposte as they reached the end of the pier.
Harry peered down at his wife, a soft smile was on her lips, her eyes calm as she stood nestled at his side. How little her face had changed since he had met her, yet how much she had grown in his estimation. Wisps of memory floated about him, carried by the same wind that caused Fleur to press herself tighter to his side.
"I'll never forget the surprised look on your face the first time I kissed you," The words left his throat of their own accord but he wouldn't take them back regardless.
Fleur flushed charmingly. "You're lucky you didn't get burned," she muttered somewhat shyly. "Surprising a young Veela like that."
"Very lucky," he agreed, the timbre of his words leaving no doubt as to their larger meaning.
She glanced up at him bashfully, a vulnerability she rarely showed in public. A pink tongue darted out, wetting her lips.
Upon a pier jutting out like a sword into the inky belly of the sea, Fleur rose up on tiptoes to kiss Harry. It was not tentative, but it was full of wonder.
XXXXXXXX
A large tawny owl pecked the window pane in the kitchen where Harry was cooking breakfast. With a lazy wave of his wand he let in the familiar bird, who dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet on the counter before flying back out, not taking even a moment to relax. Harry shook his head. Hermione's owl had the same ridiculous work ethic she did.
The front page displayed a photo of an impassioned Hermione Granger-Weasley before the Wizengamot, the title above his crusading best friend hitting Harry hard: " Sentient Being Act Passes - Progressive or Dangerous? " A bittersweet feeling rose like bile in his throat. A victory, yes. But social opinion would be the harder test still.
A test made more obvious by the article directly following the Wizengamot vote. Azerbaijan was apparently passing increasingly and intolerably oppressive laws against Werewolf communities in their nation. His blood ran thick and hot as the journalist detailed the camps and enchanted collars. He was incensed not only by the inhuman cruelty but the reporter's un-antagonistic view of the whole sordid affair.
Harry sat on the pale yellow loveseat as he ate, reading the paper in front of him while he waited for Fleur to return from the Burrow with the girls. They only had about an hour before Jasmine and her grandmother came calling on their Skegness home.
Finishing his food and snarling in disgust at the paper, he rose just as the fireplace flared, ejecting his womenfolk into the living room.
Harry called out a greeting as Lili and Fayette rushed to hug him about the legs. Depositing a kiss on both their heads, he listened to them describe in breathless detail the adventures they'd had at the Burrow. Harry looked up to see Fleur watching them earnestly as she munched an apple.
"Ready?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow.
The girls yelled their agreement, and Fleur rose up as she finished swallowing the apple core. Harry had never understood this particular Veela picadillo but Angèle had only made a joke about birds and seeds when he'd asked. He had long since stopped going to her for insight.
Harry stooped to pick up the bags of toys and food he had packed to fill the muggle house so it appeared reasonably lived-in, while Fleur gathered up the girls for another floo trip.
A short while later found Harry frantically packing food items into the kitchen while the kettle heated. Fleur was busy attempting to make the muggle home less immaculate, while Fayette and Lili giggled. They were in their element, the children's natural ability to be messy finally coming to use.
A vibrating wand signaled their guest's arrival before the doorbell did. With a loud whoop, Lili rushed to the door, wrenching it open before Harry could chastise her.
Harry strolled around the kitchen corner to greet the two visitors. Prisha was a lovely older woman, her beautiful, colorful sari worn with poise. Her face was lined with wrinkles but laugh lines were the most evident. Her eyes shone beneath hair remarkably black for her age.
Jasmine was a reserved girl who stood next to her grandmother, dressed in a simple pleated skirt and top. Her long dark hair pulled up in a braided crown. She grinned timidly at Lili, the two girls stopping momentarily, gauging the reaction of the other. Obviously deciding that their friendship was not just relegated to school grounds, Lili grabbed Jasmine's hand, pulling her inside just as Harry greeted Prisha.
"A good home," the older woman complimented, shuffling her feet on the welcome mat and looking around politely.
"It's been pleasant to us," Harry responded carefully, just as Fleur breezed in from her task of mussing up the girl's bedrooms.
Prisha's eyes widened as Fleur's radiance permeated the room with her smile. The aged woman glanced up at Harry before saying. "Two beautiful girls and a beautiful wife, a man cursed with luck indeed."
Harry barked out a laugh. "I did tell you it's all her doing," he said while gesturing behind him with his thumb at Fleur as she floated up alongside them.
"What is he blaming me for now?" she questioned cheerfully, wrapping an arm around his waist.
Prisha looked at him askance before speaking. "Only for gifting your looks to your daughters, as to the rest, I could not know."
Fleur grinned indulgently at him before extending her hand in welcome. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lili has talked of little besides Jasmine since Monday."
Prisha nodded in agreement, a soft smile overtaking her face as she watched Lili introduce Jasmine to an equally sheepish Fayette.
"Jasmine has struggled to make friends," Prisha confided. "She's been just as ecstatic about befriending Lili."
"Come into the kitchen, we've put the kettle on for tea," Fleur invited, "unless you'd prefer something else."
"Tea will be just fine, thank you."
Settling at the kitchen island on high stools where the adults could keep an eye on the playing children in the adjacent room, Harry realized he had no idea how to make Muggle small talk.
Luckily, Fleur was a far more capable conversationalist, drawing their visitor into an easy dialogue about the town and how long Prisha had lived there.
He chimed in appropriately but was content to mostly watch the platinum-haired witch at work.
Something that did not go unnoticed. "I've never seen a man so besotted with his own wife before," Prisha remarked drily, an hour or so into the visit. Fleur threw her head back to let out a tinkling laugh. As the sound of windchimes faded away, she tossed Harry a sweet look.
"He's just on his best behavior today," the witch said saucily with a wink. "Have to impress the guest and all."
"Somehow I doubt that," was the older woman's reply. "He seemed equally smitten when we first met and you weren't even there."
Harry spluttered, "I was certainly not." His attempt to regain honor was laughed away by the women.
"Didn't even notice the heavily interested single mothers," Prisha mentioned conspiratorially to Fleur who grinned evilly at him.
"Oh," she said archly, "been attracting wandering gazes have you?"
Both ladies snickered at Harry's lost expression.
"He doesn't even realize," Prisha commented in amazement.
"No," Fleur answered fondly, "and I love him all the more for it."
The playdate went exceedingly well, all things considered. Harry had only needed to run intervention a few times with Jasmine and Prisha while Fleur rushed a thrilled, feathered Veela chicklet into another room to calm down.
Harry's steps were lively as he walked Prisha and Jasmine to the end of the driveway after a few hours had passed. He hummed a ditty exuberantly as he waved them goodbye, thanking them once again for coming to call.
Lili waved from the window as her first friend strolled down the street with her grandmother in tow. A brilliant, toothy grin adorning her face.
XXXXXXXX
That night, Fleur and Harry lay in bed quietly reflecting on the week behind them. The girls had been exhausted and gone to sleep with little fuss. Fayette had barely made it through a single Veela lullaby before succumbing to dreams. Harry had taken extra care with Fleur's preening tonight, stroking her hair with the brush and plucking frazzled and frayed feathers from her shoulders and arms.
Summoning his courage, Harry ventured into the silence.
"The Act passed."
The quiet lengthened as Harry stroked the pale skin of his wife in the darkness.
"Full employment benefits and equal protection-"
"Nothing will change, 'Arry," came Fleur's velvet rebuke.
He shifted, searching the night for the blue flames of her eyes.
"They might," he urged.
One cerulean orb opened lazily.
"Even if they don't right away, this is a big step. Even a small difference can change things," the black-haired wizard argued.
"Mon cœur, you did not grow up in this wizard's world," came her soothing reply. "You did not grow up a 'creature.'"
"Don't call yourself that."
The pile of platinum against his ribs shifted as Fleur rose onto her side, looking down at him. Her face shone like the moon as her silver hair fell about their entwined bodies. "It is what they have always called me, what they will continue to call me. Regardless of an act or two."
The stillness of the room was broken by Harry's bitter rejoinder, "I can't accept that. I won't."
She gave him a sad, soft smile. A hand cradled his cheek as she comforted him with her understanding. "Our daughters have a huge family that loves them, that will be enough."
"Hermione wants to make the proposal go international," he said, shifting the topic slightly. The idea of Lili or Fayette being persecuted causing a jagged wound that Harry naturally shied away from.
"The ICW?" Fleur asked, a hint of surprise curling from her tongue.
"Yes, they have a September term this year."
Blue eyes narrowed dangerously, "England doesn't have the political impetus to get such an unpopular resolution passed."
"No," he agreed lightly, "they do not."
Her suspicions confirmed, Fleur pressed on, "so why would Hermione believe she could push it forward?"
Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, looking away from the accusing oceans above him. "She asked for our help." The admission shuddered its way out of him, fluttering away into the now hushed room.
"And you agreed?" Quiet, controlled.
"No, not without asking you. As I am now."
A French oath spun dizzily into the night.
"Fleur, please. Think of what it could mean for the girls-," Harry pleaded.
"You will put our family into a spotlight they are not ready for, 'Arry," she responded sharply.
"They won't be there, it will just be you and I. And we will always be in the spotlight, by our choice or not."
"You don't know what I mean. This will make us the poster family of the act internationally. It lives and dies by us and we by it." The words exploded from Fleur's breast, tearing their way up and out, ransacking the tranquility of the bedroom.
Harry stilled.
Minutes passed as they lay unmoving.
His hand began its sweep down her back once again.
"I didn't think of it like that." A confession, an apology.
"I know what you thought," Fleur whispered contritely, reaching up to trace his lips. "I shouldn't have gotten angry."
"No, I should have considered what this meant more thoroughly."
Fleur touched her forehead to his, their eyelashes caressing one another. "You do not understand how I can be so resigned," she commented gingerly.
Harry looked at the Veela he had given himself to. "Not really," he admitted. "But you are right. I don't have the experiences you do."
Fleur's eyes turned searching, drifting over his face. "I don't want you to change what is best of yourself, 'Arry." A declaration, a wish flaring like a lighthouse. "Never."
After some lengthy, silent rumination on her part Fleur locked her gaze onto Harry's face. "Perhaps," she murmured, "if other notable families are gathered it won't fall onto us alone."
"I doubt it would make a difference," he grimaced.
She smiled at him, "But a small difference can change things, no?"
A genuine, hopeful grin tugged at his lips. "One already has," Harry whispered, leaning up to capture his wife's lips just as they did nearly ten years ago.
XXXXXXXX
His wand vibrated in its holster. Harry frowned as he pulled it out, unsure of the cause. With a swish, the wand halted its movement as a red orb began blinking periodically in front of him. The brief moment of forgetful confusion burst like confetti as he rushed into motion nearly tripping over the child's harpsichord at his feet. He stopped near one of the plump armchairs in the living room to ensure Fayette remained in her nap before heading towards the fireplace.
A short spin later found him stepping into his muggle home, the sound of a ringing telephone blaring through the house. Harry moved towards it, glad that the muggle technology worked. He had been careful to use only non-intrusive warding spells, placed on the perimeter of the home, far enough away to not cause magical interference.
Picking up the device, he spoke, "Hello, Evans residence?"
"Ah, Mr Evans, thank you for picking up," said a cheerful, unfamiliar voice. "I'm Jana, the receptionist for Hogsthorpe Academy, we've had an incident today with Liliana that requires your presence."
Harry's blood ran cold as thoughts galloped about his head. "What sort of incident, is she alright?" He knew she had to be, the magical protections and artifacts she took to school everyday would tell him otherwise. But the worry of a father overrode logic.
"Yes, she is fine. Just got in a bit of a tiff with another student. Are you or your wife available now?"
Harry rubbed his forehead in agitation at the blasé tone of the woman. "Yes, I'll be there shortly," he stated before hanging up. Turning, he made his way back to the fireplace. Throwing in a pinch of floo powder, he bent down to thrust his head into the flames.
The living room of Andromeda Tonks came into wavering view. The older woman stepped into sight before he finished calling out her name. She was a beautiful, regal witch. Graying, brown hair was cut short about her high cheekbones. The marring of old age only evident by slight creases near the eyes on her aristocratic face. But for all the cold nobleness her lineage afforded her, it could not withstand the undiluted charm of her kindhearted smile.
"Is something wrong, Harry?" Andromeda asked, kneeling on the hearth rug.
"Something happened at Lili's school, I'm going over to meet with the headmistress," he replied hurriedly. "Fayette is having her afternoon snooze, would you mind-"
"I'll pop right over," Mrs Tonks interrupted firmly but considerately. "You get going." A twinkle in her eye preceded her humor. "Looks like Lili takes after her father more than just the eyes."
He grinned, still a tad anxious. "Please, I at least waited until Hogwarts to become a troublemaker."
After a quick expression of gratitude, Harry pulled his head out of the fire. He moved towards the door while casting a siphoning charm on himself to get the soot off.
The skies were overcast, pregnant gray clouds laden with rain yet to fall. Skegness was quiet, the townsfolk still busily going about the day with their work and lives.
His brisk pace cut the leisurely morning walk to school in half. Upon arriving, he slid his wand forwards until the tip rested against his hand. The contact of his palm to the wood enough to invoke the wards, checking their security and status.
The front door was opened and shut behind him in short order. The receptionist, Jana, beamed robotically at his entrance. Her eyes comically widening as they traced the motley collection of scars on Harry's exposed arms. He cursed inwardly. Forgetting to put on a coat in his haste and leaving home in his short-sleeve shirt was bound to cause curiosity about the damaged stay-at-home-father.
Stopping in front of her desk, Harry attempted to ignore the middle-aged woman's roving eyes. "Mr Evans, here to see Headmistress McKinney," his tone clipped and business-like.
Bobbing her head absently, the woman muttered the location of her boss's office.
Skirting the desk, he made his way past the brightly colored welcome room, heading towards the indicated door.
A pull of the handle revealed an extremely tidy office. The only hint of character besides fastidious organization were the finger-painted pictures that covered nearly every available inch of the room. Pieces of art from students were proudly displayed next to college degrees, awards, and certificates.
Ms. McKinney sat composed across her large desk. Hair in a neat slate-colored bun, not a strand of hair out of place. Her jowls sagged slightly with age but her brown eyes were alight and intent.
"Ah, Mr Evans," she declared, "thank you for joining us, please be seated." The headmistress gestured to the array of chairs in front of her, three of which were filled. His daughter, Liliana, looked behind her shoulder at him, green eyes full of worry.
The other two seats were filled by Olivia Ansley and her son, Elijah. Harry's brow furrowed. A prickly feeling working its way up his spine.
Olivia was dressed expensively and formally, as though she had just been called from a dinner party. Jewelry dripped from her neck and wrists, her makeup was artfully done, and a pearly white smile sat upon her youthful face.
Elijah looked bored.
"Hello, Mr Evans, good to see you again. I wish it was for a better reason of course," she tittered. Her voice was as well manicured as she was.
Harry nodded in greeting as he pulled out the chair and sat.
"Whoa, how'd you get those?" An excited voice rang out. He looked over to see Elijah at the edge of his seat pointing at Harry's arms.
A scowl was quickly smothered, replaced with what he hoped was a calm, paternal expression. "I used to handle dogs for a living," unfortunately his sarcastic tone betrayed the mature disposition he had attempted.
The boy shook his head vigorously, "no way, those look like knife-," the kid was cut off by his mother who gave him a reprimanding look.
"I'm sure Mr Evan's doesn't want to talk about his… dog-walking business," Olivia said, shooting a conspiratorial glance his way. "Especially with how little he must have enjoyed it."
Harry grinned at her attempt at levity, "I liked the dogs just fine," he said. "They just didn't like me."
Olivia giggled. Elijah still stared open-mouthed at the myriad of scarred flesh that ran up and down Harry's arms, uncowed by his mother's rebuke.
Looking down at Lili, he watched as she twisted her hands together nervously in her lap, eyes darting up at him and downwards. He reached over and gently grasped one of her hands in his. She stilled before placing her free hand atop his knuckles, her shoulders sagging as the tension rushed out of her. Harry frowned.
"We asked you both here today because of an incident that happened earlier," Ms. McKinney began, her tone clipped. "Liliana and Elijah got into a verbal argument that resulted in his bag being ripped apart." The headmistress held up the boy's red school bag. A large seam had been torn down the middle, in a nearly perfect line.
Harry nodded as he considered his next move. Judging by Lili's anxiety and the state of the bag, accidental magic had occurred. The why was slightly less important than the who. He needed to know if any Muggle had seen the bag seemingly ripping of its own accord.
"Did anyone see what happened?" He asked concernedly, hopeful that his tone would be construed as typical for a worried parent.
"Apparently, no one saw the bag rip until it's contents fell to the floor," Ms. McKinney said, her eyes piercing.
Harry cocked his head to the side, "so what happened, exactly?"
"Their classmates reported that Elijah was taunting one of the students, Liliana stepped in and an altercation broke out. Neither of them will admit to what happened regarding the destroyed property." At this, Ms. McKinney looked at the two children in turn. "We do not allow violence or disrespectful words at this academy. Do you both understand?"
The children nodded their heads. Only Lili seemed genuinely contrite. Elijah, once again, appeared uninterested.
Olivia voiced her displeasure, "I'm sure my Elijah wouldn't be rude on purpose. Perhaps it was just childish ribbing gone too far?" She looked at Harry. "Kids can be a tad willful, you know, rambunctious," her tone beseeching.
He scratched the side of his head uncomfortably, unsure why she seemed to want him to understand. "Right," he mumbled, his eyes darting towards the headmistress. He could have sworn he saw a tiny smile before her face was a cool mask once again.
Leaning over to Lili, Harry whispered in her ear. "Everything alright?"
At her jerky nod, Harry continued in French, "did anyone see?"
"No," the word rushed out squeakily.
He smiled at her, ruffling her hair briefly. "Good. Don't fret; we will sort this out, little dove."
Olivia seemed to be watching them closely, mouth hanging open at their use of another language, or so he assumed.
"We ask that you take your children home for the rest of the day," Ms. McKinney stated, "give them a stern talking to about proper conduct while at school."
"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied.
Olivia voiced her agreement, seeming subdued.
"You may go," the headmistress said, dismissing them.
Olivia and her son quickly got up, scurrying to leave. As Harry stood with his daughter, Ms. McKinney cleared her throat. He turned to look at her.
"Mr Evans, I want you to know that if it wasn't for the destroyed property, Lili would not be punished for her behavior today."
He nodded. "I appreciate that," he replied, understanding what she was communicating to him.
"Come along, Lili," he said, holding out his hand.
Upon exiting the room, and leading his daughter past the receptionist, Harry breathed out a sigh of relief.
Only to inhale it back. Olivia stood next to her car, keys jangling in her hands. Her son already in the backseat. She moved toward him, causing Harry to subconsciously position himself in front of Lili.
"Terribly sorry about the nastiness in there," Olivia said, brushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm sure it was a misunderstanding."
He made a noncommittal grunt.
The young mother paused briefly, a slight wariness entering her tone as she continued, "schools sometimes make a fuss over kids being kids, you know?"
Harry blinked and Olivia's face returned to its pleasant roundness, rather than the horse-like image that had briefly been superimposed upon it.
He shook his head. "I'm sure," he acquiesced with some difficulty. His stomach knotting in a strange fashion.
Olivia looked at him askance, "I heard you and the missus dined out Friday, did you enjoy San Rufo's?"
Harry's eyes widened, his brow raising in question, at the odd change of topic. Seeing his apprehensive expression, Olivia's voice rushed out, "the town talks you know." She let out a nervous laugh. "It was the first time anyone had seen Mrs Evans out and about besides the start of term, is all."
He nodded slowly, feeling uncomfortable. Chancing it, he peeked down at Lili who was watching the conversation quietly behind his legs. She seemed similarly uncertain.
Placing his hand reassuring on her head, Harry attempted a game smile at Olivia. "We liked it just fine, and the pier was lovely as well."
Highlighted blonde curls bounced as the young woman nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I've always enjoyed the pier too. Water is good for the soul, they say."
A silence filled the lull in the conversation. Harry scratched the stubble along his chin, wondering not for the first time what the cause of this conversation was.
Deciding to extend an olive beach in an attempt to figure out the woman's motives, he spoke, "do you have any other places you enjoy in Skegness? Places I can take the family?"
Olivia seemed to dim a bit as he finished his sentence. His confusion deepened as she rattled off a few places mechanically.
Harry thanked her and she nodded in acknowledgement before glancing back at her car. Her son stared at them through the window.
"I should go," she trailed off tentatively.
"Yes, we should be off too."
"I hope we can meet under superior terms next time."
"That would be…nice," Harry said, for lack of a better thing to say.
Tossing one last bright smile at him, a mask that he now recognized, she turned on her heel and made her way to her car.
"You have any idea what that was about Lili?" Harry asked, watching the little family drive away.
"No," came her small reply.
He sighed, "that makes two of us then."
The confusion he had felt while talking to Olivia departed with her. The restless energy that had churned within him since picking up the phone coming back with a vengeance. He gulped, knowing what he had to do next.
Harry looked around, making sure no one else was watching before he pulled Lili to the side of Hogsthrope's entrance, out of sight of the offices and windows.
There had been a few times where he'd felt this way, a nearly instinctual certainty that the following moments would be defining for both him as a parent and Lili as a person. Pushing away the asphyxiating anxiety and wishing Fleur was here to help, he settled himself.
Harry crouched down, his hands dwarfing Lili's tiny shoulders. His own emerald eyes reflected back at him. "I need you to listen and answer carefully, sweetie, can you do that?" Her silver head nervously bobbed in acceptance.
"Elijah was making fun of Jasmine, wasn't he?"
Lili shuffled her feet, looking downwards. His guess obviously bearing fruit.
"Why was he making fun of her?" He queried, voice tight.
"He called her a name, I don't know what it meant but… she didn't like it," she replied in a dispirited voice.
"And?"
"When she didn't speak he started talking about her grandmother's 'funny' clothes."
Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Kids being kids indeed, he thought venomously.
"So you told him to stop?"
A shaky nod of platinum hair.
"But he didn't, did he?"
"No," was her quiet response, her voice sad.
"So you got angry and accidentally made his bag rip?" He questioned, trying to keep the anger he felt out of his voice, knowing she would misinterpret it.
"I'm sorry papa," she cried. Harry's chest collapsed as he realized Lili already thought she was in trouble.
He raised his daughter's trembling chin, wiping the tears from her eyes with the pads of his thumbs. "None of that, moonbeam. No tears today," he consoled gently.
"Now what I'm going to say next is very important, are you ready?"
Lili gave a watery smile while bobbing her head. Her tiny hands reaching up to hastily dry the wet trails left upon her cheeks.
Harry looked at his daughter and she at him. He tested the words in his head, rolling them about his tongue until they clicked against his teeth in their eagerness to get out.
He swallowed, breathed. "A good woman who does nothing, is not a good woman at all," his tone even, sober, unwavering. He paused, watching his oldest repeat the words in her head. "Do you understand?"
A crease appeared between the cupid's bow of her brow, face scrunched in total concentration. "I think so, papa," she said.
He smiled at his daughter, trying her hardest to hear the lesson he was doing his best to impart. "Did any other kid say something when Jasmine was being bullied?"
"No," was her slow reply, "I don't think so." Harry could see the mind whirling behind her eyes.
"But there were other kids around right, watching?"
"Yes."
He nodded, "do you think they are bad kids?"
She shook her head, sending her braid wagging behind her. "No, some of them are really nice."
"But they didn't stand up for Jasmine or you, did they?" He asked gently.
A brief frown ran across her face before fading into a contemplative look. "They didn't," she stated resolutely. He watched as understanding dawned across her lovely face.
"There are a lot of nice people in the world, Lili, but precious few are truly good. We are all defined by the choices we make. Our actions and inaction. You did a brave thing today, speaking out for your friend."
Harry breathed out, squeezing Lili's shoulders before he continued, "And I am so terribly proud of you for it."
His daughter crushed herself to his chest, little arms weaving around his neck. He raised a hand to cup the back of her head against his shoulder as his other patted her back.
"I understand daddy, thank you," she whispered in his ear. He smiled, turning his face slightly so he could kiss her forehead.
Raising children was hard, raising them well harder still. It was a difficult thing to gauge, if you were doing right by them. Teaching them not only what they needed to live but how to live well and decently. Moments like this, where their budding character blossomed into something praiseworthy, was the only assurance Harry had that he was giving his daughters what he'd never experienced.
Standing, he held out his hand for Lili to take. He was relieved to see her smile had returned, a childish pride replacing her worry.
"Let's go home, chicklet," he said as her petite, fragile hand grasped his fingers.
They walked slowly, father and daughter humming a tune to a song no Muggle around them would know.
Author's Note : Commissioned artwork has been created for this chapter. The scene is Harry and Fleur in their home before their night upon the town. It is truly lovely and I think captures the moment perfectly. You can find it on the Harry/Fleur Discord server.