So, here's the next chapter!
I hope you enjoy it, and if you did let me know what you thought with a review as they're the best inspiration to write more and write more quickly.
Big thanks to the Flowerpot Discord for the inspiration and Beta-reading of this chapter. First, and biggest, thanks to Michal and Red for their great beta-work. Special thanks too to the sprinting buddies, for pushing me on to get this chapter written. You guys are the best.
Anyway, here it is!
The tropics, as Harry found out, had treated Sirius very kindly. The news of his soon decarceration had drifted along their warmer airs, and even through his letter, it was easy to see the change it had brought about his Godfather.
Sirius and Dumbledore had contacted one-another apparently, with the Headmaster instructing him to remain exactly where he was until Pettigrew's trial was complete. Such a fate was no great shame to Sirius, of course, as it was an instruction to stay in a land that offered endless sun and total anonymity; both of which, afterwards, he would not see for a long time in England.
Yet, the one point that stuck with Harry from his letter was that the moment Sirius gained his family home, it would be Harry's home too. He found it difficult not to smile in the days following. His fate of endless-smiling was not blunted by Hagrid either, who told him in the Great Hall, breaking through crowds of wishful teenagers surrounding Harry to do so, that he had asked Madame Maxime to the ball, and she had agreed.
And so, Harry found himself rapping his knuckles against Fleur's carriage door, with the intent, perhaps for the first-ever time, of doing exactly what they'd initially set out to do.
With the winter solstice only days away, the sky had already decided to shade itself in darker hues even at midday. The snow was not as thick upon the ground as it was most years, with more students staying for the winter break and more snowball fights and snowmen as a result.
Fleur, as he found out then, had been waiting for his arrival for it took him only two knocks before her door swung open sharply. She hurriedly beckoned him in and shut the door behind him at the first moment she could without closing the door upon him. Her wand danced around the room, casting warming charms on anything that could be charmed, her bed tidying itself and her cushions setting themselves straight.
His chest warmed then though. Warmed that she'd allowed him to go into her room; that she'd trusted him with that.
In the corner of the room, a desk that appeared big enough for a toddler grew larger under her command until it would fit the pair of them before it walked itself into the middle of the room, its two chairs walking along behind it.
"Wow," Harry said, eyeing the room as it turned to perfection in just a few moments.
"You would not have to have seen that, had you arrived on-time," Fleur told him.
"I'm a minute early," Harry argued, nodding his head toward her clock.
Fleur smiled, demure. "What is the matter, 'Arry?" she asked. "Did you not wish to spend another moment without me?"
Harry's skin then found itself in a darker hue. "Obviously," he said though, meeting her eyes as he spoke.
Her skin mirrored his. "Oh," she said, softly. "It's less fun if you agree."
Harry smiled and sank into his chair. "Sorry," he said, before he added in a teasing voice. "I hate you, and I never want to see you again. Better?"
"Much," Fleur agreed, sitting across from him. Her voice grew quieter, then. "I'm happy that you arrived now though." She wrapped her arms around herself, her hands rubbing along the sleeves of his jumper as if to coax warmth into her skin. She eyed his torso, to the Quidditch jersey he wore. "The sooner you arrive, the sooner I can get warm."
Harry sighed. "Do you want another jumper?" he asked, his hands already at the hem of the one he wore.
Fleur nodded. "If you insist."
"Is there something wrong with your clothes?" Harry asked, though he'd already slipped his arms free of his jersey and thrown it toward her, leaving him in a top he'd probably find too thin to wear in summer in Scotland.
She shook her head. "But they are over there." Fleur pointed to her wardrobe, which stood a vast distance away across the room. "It would be a wasted effort to get them when you are already here, no?"
Harry sighed, watching her pull the jumper immediately over herself.
"Better?" Harry asked. Given that it only correctly fitted him when he wore his full Quidditch pads, Harry's jersey was massive on Fleur even as she draped it over the top of her other stolen top.
If he was not careful, he'd soon find himself entirely out of clothes.
"Much," she said, sinking into his jersey as though it were a duvet, wrapping herself fully in its material. "How do I look?"
"Like the biggest Quidditch nerd in the world," Harry told her. Other words, like adorable, went unsaid in words, though his eyes spoke them truly enough. The blush that grew upon her at his gaze brought forth the word again, too.
"So," Harry began, mostly to shake his mind into focus. "We really do need to help Madame Maxime and Hagrid."
Fleur took a moment but nodded along. She summoned over a page of notes with only the very tip of her wand poking from her sleeves, the rest ensconced in the warmth of his jersey. "I have put some thought into this," she said. Harry peeked over to look, his eyes widening as he viewed the full scope of what she'd written.
"That's a lot more than 'some'," Harry commented, his eyes skimming over the notes before one point caught his eye. "Do we really need to take into account what Hagrid's favourite colour is, or his opinion on vegetarianism?"
"We might if Madame Maxime develops synaesthesia, or becomes a vegetarian," Fleur defended. "It never hurts to be more prepared."
"Hagrid's a good person," Harry said. "If something is important to someone he cares about, he'll always make an effort."
Like a cake for a birthday of a boy he'd never truly met before, or a photo album for Christmas, of a family he'd not been allowed to have.
"Could I make a suggestion?" Harry asked. Fleur nodded. "Well, if they suit one another, I'm sure they'll be able to work their way through the finer points. Hagrid-" He paused. "Hagrid is a great person, but he's not eloquent. His heart is always in the right place, but his mouth most often isn't." Harry sighed. "He's worried that he might say the wrong thing, and he wants to know what the wrong thing might be so he can avoid saying it. He worries that he doesn't deserve your Headmistress, but he really wants to try to."
Fleur nodded. "Madame Maxime is a…careful person," she said in reply. "There are certain aspects of her that are not widely appreciated. Being a half-giant, for one." Her eyes watched his face for a reaction, though did not find one. "She wishes to know that monsieur Hagrid is not attempting to hurt her before she can begin to open herself to the idea of liking him."
Harry met her eyes. "Then we need a way of reassuring her that there are people in the world, with lives like hers, that just want to care for her."
"She has not been shown much care in her life from the world," Fleur replied. "But I know she is willing to try, for the right person." She cleared her throat. "And, we also need to show him to not worry about being worthy. All that matters is how happy someone makes you."
"I think they make each other very happy," Harry said, his eyes not leaving hers.
"I think they do too," Fleur agreed before she looked down to her notes. "But, if he is worried about saying the wrong thing, it would be best if he did not mention her heritage. It is not the most comfortable of subjects for her."
"Good to know," Harry agreed. Hagrid had been rather excited by the idea, though Harry was sure that he would understand. "Anything else?"
"Charms," she said immediately, the word bursting from her like a revelation. "The subject is her life's work, and she will likely talk about it forever if given the opportunity. She's…enamoured with them." Fleur closed her eyes. "Obsessed, perhaps. If such drive would push Monsieur Hagrid away, it would be wise for him to know now."
Harry recalled then the many hours he'd spent sitting before Hagrid's fireplace listening to him talk about the minute differences in care required for the various breeds of acromantula.
"That's really not going to be a problem," Harry replied easily. "Quite honestly, she will have to prepare herself to hear about magical beings the moment she stops to draw breath."
There was a challenge in Fleur's eyes. "When I was 12, I mentioned to her that I was struggling with the freezing charm," she said. "I was in her office for three hours while she discussed its invention, development, and the alterations and refinements it had gone through over the past eight centuries." She drew breath. "I left the room so overwhelmed I didn't even manage to work out how to perform the spell until the following year."
There was surprise upon her face after she spoke; as though she'd lost control of her mouth momentarily.
"When I was eleven, Hagrid hatched a dragon," Harry said. Shock was still upon Fleur's face, but for entirely different reasons. Her eyes, oddly, dipped to his right arm, to the scar then-exposed by her clothes-stealing. "He didn't at any point question whether his house could sustain a dragon, or if, maybe, he ought to have contacted the ministry before getting a dragon. He just got one, and we ended up getting one of my best friend's brothers to get it before something went wrong."
Harry worried for a moment that he'd said too much, though Fleur was smiling as he'd stopped.
"Madame Maxime invented a variation on the cheering charm one summer, and she was so confident in her intuition that she did not even perform the Arithmancy required to see if it would actually be castable by a wand," Fleur said. "She very nearly lost hers the first time she tried to cast her creation, and to this day one side of the wood is singed smooth."
Harry laughed. "God, these two are perfect for each other."
Fleur laughed too. "Provided they do not do too much harm to themselves unsupervised."
The thought that they were worrying over the safety of their favourite Professors, and not the other way around, made him laugh harder.
"You mentioned he invented a creature," Fleur said, in-between their laughs. "A blast-something?"
"A blast-ended-skrewt," Harry informed. He'd not thought much of the time they'd spoken in the Astronomy Tower, other than to ask Professor Sinistra one night after his Astronomy class about her success. Professor Burbage had said yes to her, of course.
"What are they?" Fleur asked, her elbows upon the table. Well, her elbows underneath about a foot of wool.
"An abomination," Harry told her, tonelessly. Fleur laughed, thinking that he was in any way kidding. He wasn't. "They're giant scorpions made of fire and pure hatred."
"What?"
"They wear armour and don't know fear."
Fleur shook her head. "I'm sorry I asked."
Usually, Harry got along with magical creatures perfectly. He felt that he understood them, even. Yet, with the Skrewts, they just detested him. It was like they had a radar for him, too, as even as he stuck to the back of the class while the demonstrations took place, they still aimed their tails at him and tried to burn him as he stood. He dodged every time, of course, but he just knew that they were out to get him.
As Harry came from his thoughts, he found Fleur staring at his right arm again.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, watching her stare intently at his less famous scar.
"Nothing," Fleur said, before shaking her head. "No, I was just curious."
"It doesn't hurt, if that's what you're wondering," Harry said.
Fleur shook her head again. "I wasn't wondering that," she told him. "Though I am relieved to hear it." She smiled. "I wouldn't want you to blame your loss in the tournament on that, anyway."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'd beat you even if the basilisk was still biting me."
"If only it had bitten your mouth," Fleur said. "Then, I wouldn't need to hear you speak such nonsense."
They shared a smile.
"What were you thinking?" Harry prompted.
Fleur leaned over the edge of the table, her hand peeking out of her sleeves to reach and touch the scar with her own hands, Harry meeting her halfway. With her index finger, she passed over the tender flesh absently.
Harry couldn't contain the shiver that was sent through him.
"If I am thinking correctly, you were bitten by a basilisk in its death throes and the Headmaster's phoenix healed your wound?" Fleur queried. Harry nodded, though he could hardly hear through the feeling of her skin against his. "And it apparently required so much of the firebird that you hold a piece of him with you now?"
Harry had to close his eyes so that he could speak, as focus alluded him otherwise.
"Well, two," Harry said, breathless. He could feel the smile on Fleur's face as she watched him. "My wand holds one of his feathers, too."
Fleur, it seemed, had gained her fill of watching him grow red and took away her touch. "Fascinating," she said. As Harry opened his eyes, he found that Fleur had shifted her chair closer to him, or at least seemed to anyway. "Do you have any special ability with conjuring flames?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't think I've ever been in a situation to find out," he said. "I don't often get the temptation to start burning things."
" Really? " Fleur asked, her shock forming distance between them. "What do you do if you're angry?"
"Confront the person who made me angry," Harry said immediately.
The person was, ninety-nine per cent of the time, Draco Malfoy, which meant he also ended up winning a duel or forcing him to run away about ninety-nine percent of the time, too.
"And if you can't?" Fleur asked.
"Oh," Harry realised. "Then I just, kinda, keep it inside of me."
"And then what?"
"It stays there?" Harry offered, caught between question and answer. "I don't know. I haven't given it much thought."
Fleur sighed, ever-artfully. "That isn't good," she said, before standing. "I have an idea."
Harry did as Fleur asked, though came to find that he immediately found himself only inches away from her once more, just as they had been on that night they'd danced together.
"Is dancing your idea?" Harry asked, smiling.
She slowly shook her head. "We did not even dance then ," she said, with no doubt as to when 'then' was, for there was only truly one 'then'. "My idea involves fire."
"Does your plan involve telling me your plan?" Harry asked.
"Eventually," she teased. "Tell me; when you flew around your dragon like a blind house-fly, did you ever get burned?"
"You mean to ask me if, when I outwitted the most dangerous magical creature in the world, like a flying genius, did I get burned?" Harry asked of himself, clarifying only to see the fond exasperation dawn upon Fleur's face. "Then no, I didn't."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever allows you to sleep at night," she replied. "But did you not find that odd?"
"I was a bit too preoccupied with thanking Merlin that I still had all of my limbs to stop and consider it," Harry said. "Though, now that you mention it, I did get a little bit too close to its flames for that to have been normal."
The fire, at one stage, had been so great that it had broken through the protections on his, aptly named, Firebolt and grew hot to the touch even through his gloves. Yet, Harry had come away unscathed.
"So, you think that Fawkes had something to do with it?" Harry asked.
"Exactly," Fleur agreed with a nod. "I think, perhaps, that Fawkes' protection goes beyond just the basilisk's venom."
Harry grinned brightly. "Let's find out," he added immediately.
"I am of the Veela, 'Arry," Fleur reminded him. "Any fire that I conjure will burn hotter than it might for another witch."
"Madam Pomfrey is only three floors away," Harry replied, nodding toward the castle. "I haven't seen her in ages, anyway. She'll be expecting me."
He'd also missed one of his check-ups for his injuries, either by purposeful neglect or distraction he was not sure, so she was all the more likely to be awaiting him.
"You're sure?" Fleur asked, seeking clarity.
"Of course," Harry reassured. "And it's your idea, so stop worrying." He clapped his hands together. "Let's get on with it."
Fleur shook her head before she rolled up the long sleeves of his jersey, her wand held purposefully soon afterwards. "Let's hope I'm right," she said. She pointed her wand into the air. " Incendio ."
A plume of fire seared through the air of the carriage, beginning at her wand and stopping just short of the chandelier. The air thickened around the room as she cast her spell, drawing beads of sweat from both of their brows.
"I am resistant to fire, and especially my own," Fleur said. "So, I can do this- ." 'This' was apparently to put her hand directly into her flame. "-Without a single worry in the world. No pain, no ill-effects."
Fleur pulled her hand away. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then the flame diminished in size, spreading only a hand's length above her wand before it stopped. The heat of the room did not reduce, though.
She gave him a smile. "Your turn," Fleur said. She trained her wand toward him. There was a strange sort of glee in her eyes as she did, too.
And, despite any logic he could hope to force through his brain, Harry pushed his hand into the fire without a single moment of hesitation. He awaited the burning pain of course. The feeling he'd first came to experience at the business end of an iron years before. Yet, to his astonishment, nothing came.
There was heat, and a great deal of it, but no pain. No burning. His skin, while warm, went uninjured.
"I wish I'd known this years ago," Harry said, his eyes fixated on his on-fire hand. He spread his hand as wide as it could be stretched, and yet still no change occurred. "I would've been far less scared facing the Horntail."
"You still should've been afraid," Fleur commented. Her eyes closed, and the flame returned to its original stature. Oddly, the change seemed to cause relaxation in her, like a spring finally allowed to uncoil. "Had you researched dragons properly, you'd know that their fire burns hotter than any other known flame; far hotter than either of us could hope to withstand."
Harry shook his head. "I have faith."
"You could have a bucket of water and a fire extinguisher, and you still wouldn't last very long," she told him. She pulled back upon her magic, and the fire disappeared, though Harry's eyes would've had to have been open to know it. "You are resistant, then, yet I wonder about something else…"
Fleur tucked her wand away, meeting his eyes purposefully.
"Veela can create fire under their own power as easily and as naturally as they would breathe air," Fleur began by saying. "Being that such magic is distantly connected to me, I can do the same, though without such ease."
Harry's eyes went wide. "You don't have to show me if you don't want to," he stated. After that night, he'd come to understand what her heritage meant to her slightly better. Not fully, and not even close to it, but he was set properly upon that journey then.
She smiled, reassuring. "I want to," she said. Harry reached out to her hand, to hold it for a moment. "My point was that perhaps with your connection to Fawkes, you may find yourself capable of something similar."
Harry grinned immediately. "Do you think I could get wings made of fire or something?" he asked. "It'd make Quidditch easier, for one."
If he could fly half as fast as Fawkes, he'd never need to ue his beloved Firebolt ever again. He still would , of course, but he would not need to.
"You'd set all of your jerseys aflame," Fleur said, looking at him peculiarly.
"I'd have wings made of fire," Harry argued. "I really don't think I'd care."
Fleur definitely looked at him peculiarly after that. A very good kind of peculiar, though.
"So," she said, clearing her throat. "Before you plot on ways to help England win a Quidditch game for the first time this century, would you like me to show you?"
Harry smiled. "If you'd like to."
Fleur smiled back. Her eyes dipped closed, and her face began to behold an intensity he'd not seen of her before. Not in their arguments in the beginning, nor anywhere else.
She splayed her hand as widely as it could possibly go, and something seemed to rise from her skin as she did. It was only faint, as though the imprint of something was showing itself and Harry was not entirely certain he had not imagined it, though he knew in some distant part of himself that it was there.
Slowly, this transient energy took form upon her hand until her skin began to glow in light. Smoke formed before the flame, though only moments before, and soon her hand was unseen behind the fire of her own creation, the flame a shade of blue that accompanied her eyes exactly.
Fleur breathed heavily when it formed truly, though the ease filled her as she did.
"Now that I have formed this, it takes no effort to sustain," Fleur said, her lungs returning to their purpose. "An extension of myself, of my magic."
Her blue eyes seemed to burn with that fire as she looked at him. "Why don't you do what you did before?" she instructed. "The fire will be of no greater heat, but you should gain a better understanding of the process, and perhaps you might come to learn if you are able to do it yourself."
Harry approached her at once. He was not as exuberant as he had been before. His excitement had not diminished at all, though there was a careful edge to his steps.
"If you are sure?" he felt it necessary to ask, his steps not slowing.
"I would not offer if I was not," Fleur remarked. " Allez ."
The moment she'd said the word, he took her hand into his, though nothing could've prepared him for what followed.
The second their skin met amongst her fire, a vision passed through his eyes.
For an instant, he saw in clarity more perfect than he'd ever known before, he could see the gaze of her blue eyes. Their inescapable blue shade, the grace in their gaze, the wonder of their expression. He saw Fleur soon afterward, her body fully held in that very flame she held so easily. Her hair flowing, her skin alight in its glow.
The world flooded back to him immediately after. The world, and with it Fleur and her piercing eyes.
"Did you see a vision too?" Harry asked before he could begin to think about what he was saying.
"Only you," Fleur answered, her focus not leaving him. "You saw something?"
"You," Harry said at once. "I saw you."
"You didn't need a vision for that," Fleur said, though even her voice grew less assured, her fire flickering around their hands. "I am here."
Harry was undeterred, though. "I saw you captured by the flame," Harry explained. He squeezed her hand. "Have you ever heard of something like that?"
"I can hardly believe I'm hearing it now," Fleur replied. Her eyes dipped closed, and when they opened her fire was no more. Neither moved their hands away nor even thought of doing so. "What happened, then?"
"Nothing happened ," Harry said. "You were just there, just as you are now, except instead of fire being here -" He brushed his thumb over her hand. "-It was over all of you."
"And that's it?" Fleur clarified, expectantly. "You didn't gain any insight?"
"The only insight I gained is what you'd look like if you were on fire," Harry told her. Breathtaking was perhaps the most apt description. Hot, if he were feeling uninspired.
Fleur hmm-ed upon her breath. "This requires more thought," she said, after pausing for thought. "Fortunately, after I was chosen for the tournament, Madame Maxime imported all the literature on Veela she could find so that we would be prepared for anything." She pointed toward the interior door to her room, which connected her own carriage to the others, and the largest one specifically. "They're in our library."
Fleur set off no sooner than she'd stopped speaking, her own academic curiosity propelling her onward, and by virtue of their connected hands, dragging Harry along too.
"Okay," Harry said, in a deliberate tone of voice. Such was his tone that she stopped where she stood. He extended his index finger. "Two things. First, you have a library?" He extended his middle finger. "Second, are you really going to wear that jersey to the library with everyone there?"
"First, yes. Yours is just bigger, and it is full of new people to gossip about," Fleur told him. "And second, watch me." She tugged his hand. " Allez ."
Harry shook his head at her words, his face blooming red, though he couldn't shake his smile as they made their very conspicuous way to the library, past doors of larger dormitories and classrooms as they did. The carriages were larger on the inside than they first appeared, though not by a great deal, as they still were to be pulled by the Abraxans after all.
They were nice to look at, certainly, though he did get the strange sense of being dropped into a children's fairy-tale while he walked their halls. There was interest to be found, though they did not hold the wildness that Hogwarts' halls held.
The library did not quite hold the same hubbub as his own school's, and mostly because it was so sparsely populated. It being a somewhat-temporary abode, the building lacked a depth of feeling that came in abundance in the castles, for good and for bad. There was not the overbearing worry, but there were not arcane energies humming in the air, either.
It felt safe, and it held Fleur, and that was more than enough to captivate him.
There were hardly more than a handful of students there, and most were so set in their revision that they took no notice of their arrival. Fleur still looked absurd in his jersey, and even more so set against the pale blue of their schools' colours, but no-one but him was there to see it. There was not even a librarian holding dominion over the room.
Fleur made a direct line to one bookshelf in particular. Whether it be by memory or through knowledge of the magical equivalent of the Dewey Decimal system Harry was not sure, though soon after following her there he found his arms full of books written in languages he did not even know how to attempt to speak.
"If any know of what happened, it will be these books," Fleur whispered, in-between quick flitting through the book stacks. "Otherwise, we may have to consult a seer."
"I'd rather claim momentary insanity," muttered Harry back. The last thing he needed was Professor Trelawney stating it was yet another omen to his ever-encroaching, ever-inevitable premature demise.
"I think your sanity left the window some time ago," Fleur said, standing straight and directing him to one of the many empty tables. She picked one in the furthest corner from the door, obscured by a consortium of restricted books on ancient war magic written in Old Norman. "Let's see if your vision proves it."
Predictably, in the time they spent pouring over the parchments, they did not find a great deal of anything. However, given how bizarre his own life was, Harry found it difficult to have imagined anything else. Phoenixes don't often give parts of themselves to ones who are not their wizarding companion, and if one such event did occur, such a gifted person had never interacted with one of Veela descent.
Harry had not imagined that their meeting would be academically relevant, yet there they were. Breaking ground. Fleur, it seemed, was caught between exasperation and fascination. Each page's turn yielded nothing but disappointment, and yet each empty page provided space for the two of them to fill. She was utterly wonderful then, Harry found himself thinking in-between his own parallel studying, her focus enthralling.
"So," Fleur said, forgetting to whisper as she slammed the latest tomb shut. "Academia has nothing to offer us." It was a thought Harry had experienced several times before, himself. Usually yearly, and usually right before he'd invariably have to do something stupid like find the Philosopher's Stone. "Which means we are cresting a wave everyone else is yet to see."
"Either that or my brain is faulty," Harry said. "Hopefully the first thing."
"I think both," Fleur returned. "Though that certainly bears further testing."
They both got up to leave, with ideas flowing over how and what exactly had happened, yet the moment they arose a voice called out, stopping them in their tracks.
"Harry," called Aimée, as it soon appeared to be. "I could not think of a single place I expected to see you less than here."
Her voice sounded odd, and he came to realise sluggishly that she was speaking English.
Harry laughed in mild unease. "Fleur and I were just going through… tournament stuff," he said, his words flimsy to his own ears. He found himself mostly thankful he remembered to speak English himself.
Aimée pressed her lips together, her arms folded. "That requires her wearing your jersey, of course," she muttered. "Can I join you?" Her hands already began to fall to her bag to spill its contents onto the table. "I only need to work through my Defence questions and then I am free, for the next few weeks at least."
"We were just going to leave," Fleur began to say, rising from her chair. Her voice grew curt, to Harry's ears at least. Whether it be due to the language or the circumstance, Harry did not know.
"Are you sure?" Aimée asked, her voice soft, and only growing softer still when she added in French. "I have not spoken to you properly in an age, Lis."
Harry's eyes snapped toward Aimée after she spoke. He knew he ought to have held himself back if he wished to continue his apparent ignorance of her native language, though it was he then who found himself transfixed by curiosity.
"So you two know each other?" Harry asked, rather dumbly.
Fleur thought for a time, and then returned to her seat, crossing her arms across herself. "We have gone to the same academy for five years," Fleur told him, though her words lacked the bite she most often carried. "It would be more difficult not to know each other."
"Yes," Aimée then said, with a look to Fleur from the corner of her eye. "Lis was one of the first friends I made at Beauxbatons."
Begrudgingly, Fleur allowed herself to smile. "She woke up late on her first day and would've missed Professor Parnasse's lesson had I not woken her."
"I had been home-schooled for my whole life," Aimée defended. "I hardly knew what an alarm was, let alone how to use one." She then smiled herself. "Has Lis told you about how she wore her blazer inside-out for the first week of term?"
"No way!" Harry exclaimed, grinning at Fleur as her skin reddened.
"It's true," Aimée added. "She would glare at everyone, and so no-one plucked up the courage to tell her, until at last, the Headmistress called her into her office for it."
"How do you even manage to do that?" Harry asked Fleur. He tried to think how on Earth he would manage to wear his robes inside out, though he found himself struggling.
"They are thinner than you think they are," Fleur muttered. "And they are quite similar, the inside and the out."
Aimée laughed. "It is a testament to your glare that no-one made fun of you."
Fleur raised her nose to the air. "They had common sense."
Aimée smiled in recollection, before turning to Harry. "There was once a time when I was a better student than Lis too, though that time has long passed," she told him. "She was always good, and then just before she took her OWLs, it was as if overnight she became brilliant."
Fleur's eyes lost their expression, her face blank in an instant. "I realised that I would not get far by playing games," she said, before standing. "I'm going to look for books on Phoenixes, 'Arry, to see if there is something there."
She left the two of them without another word. In an instant, Aimée had grabbed onto Harry's arm.
"What's going on with you two?" she asked, excitedly. "Is it what it appears to be?" She gripped his arm even tighter. "How can it be anything else?"
"To answer," Harry said, taken aback by the stark interest the usually poised Aimée showed. "I don't know, I don't know, and I don't know."
"Well, it looks like she's wearing your clothes," Aimée first pointed out. "Which even Neville and I do not do."
"Yet," Harry added.
Aimée shrugged. "Probably," she acquiesced. "But that does not change that you are doing it now."
Harry shrugged back. "She likes my clothes," he said, his heart warming as she frowned in discontent. "What's going on with you two, anyway?" His eyes looked to Fleur. "It seemed odd."
"It's not my place," Aimée said before she muttered in French. "Better to ask your girlfriend, anyway."
Thankfully, Harry was saved from the maelstrom Aimée then caused within him by Fleur returning.
"So, phoenixes?" Harry asked, immediately as she sat down, steadfastly ignoring Aimée beside him, though he did not need to see her to know the expression she held as he looked at Fleur and Fleur alone.
Fleur nodded. "Phoenixes," she agreed. She split her pile of books in two, passing one to him and holding onto the other. "Though if there is nothing, I doubt there will be any struggle in working this out for ourselves."
Despite the odd tension that seemed to pass between the other two, Harry found their time oddly companionable. They were silent mostly, with Fleur's frown returning as even their new resources proved fruitless.
"Do you happen to know the theory behind the Hex-ridding counterspell?" Aimée asked, in one of the few breaks of the silence.
"It channels away negative energies, and if cast perfectly it replaces them with positives ones," Harry said, not even looking up from his book.
Aimée took a moment. "Thanks," she did say, though, and only then did Harry realise that she was likely asking Fleur.
Harry closed then closed that book. "I don't think we're getting anywhere," he said to Fleur.
"There is just nothing to find, it seems," Fleur rushed to agree. "It seems as though we are to be on our own in this."
"You two are going, then?" Aimée asked. They nodded, and she turned to look at Harry. "I had hoped to ask you something."
Unfortunately, Harry did not find out what exactly that something was, as they were joined by another person then, though on this occasion it was not someone he'd ever seen before.
A boy had appeared, shorter than Harry yet taller than Aimée. He looked to be Harry's age, with curly hair partway between blond and brown, and eyes a warm hazel.
"Hi," he said, with a slight wave, his English holding a noticeable accent made more noticeable by the slight shake it held too. "I think you're very handsome, and I was wondering if I could accompany you to the ball?"
There was something strange about his words; he sounded as though he'd memorised them. He breathed heavily the moment he'd finished, and Harry realised then that he probably had.
"You can speak French if you wish, Antoine," Fleur said, watching on. "'Arry understands."
"I knew it," Aimée muttered, behind him.
Harry ignored Aimée for the moment. "Antoine is it?" he asked, in French. The boy nodded. "I think you're lovely, but I don't think I'm going to take you." He paused then, an idea striking. "But, if you'd be willing, I think I might have someone who would be a wonderful partner for you."
"I thought you'd grown tired of this?" Aimée asked, her voice whispering.
"Special circumstances for special people," Harry muttered back, before meeting the boy's eyes. "So, what do you think?"
Antoine allowed silence to hold the room, his hands tugging at the sleeve of his jumper. "Will he be English?"
"I think he will, yeah," Harry told him, smiling.
The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Then please do," he said, his voice shy though his eyes bright.
Harry smiled at him. "Do you want to meet them before, or do you want the night to be a surprise?"
"Surprise," the boy blurted, no sooner than the moment Harry himself said the word. "More romantic that way."
"He'll see you there," Harry said. The boy gave him one last, beaming smile and went off on his way, bursting through the carriage's doors to enjoy the snowy outdoors.
The sight was wonderful to see, though Harry found he could only enjoy it briefly.
"So, you speak French?" Aimée asked, to his back.
"You did not know?" Fleur asked. She laughed, then. "Oh, that is funny. Sorry for telling her, 'Arry."
She didn't sound particularly sorry.
"So, all of the times I talked about Neville, you understood every word?" Aimée asked, realisations spooling directly from her mind to her mouth with nothing in-between.
"I don't know whether to be proud of him for being a good kisser or not," Harry commented, idly. "Though really, you never asked if I understood or not."
Aimée bloomed red. "I really should've expected you of all people to have been full of surprises," she muttered, before beginning to grin. "Though, just because I know, that doesn't mean that Émilie needs to know."
Fleur grinned dangerously. "Are you laying a trap on dear Emi?" she asked. The words didn't mean an awful lot to Harry, though they did to Aimée, it seemed, as her grin only grew. "I need to see this."
"The offer is always open, Lis," Aimée said, her words holding weight. "Just as it always was."
A conversation occurred between their eyes, until Fleur nodded at last. "Another time, then."
"Soon," Aimée amended.
"Soon."
They parted then, and Harry found himself staring at Fleur for the entire walk to her carriage. "What was that?"
"Secrets," was all Fleur answered, the answer equal parts enthralling and irritating. Her carriage, as they entered then, felt as warm as it had before with the fire filling it. Fleur slammed the door behind them, as if to keep the heat in.
Harry brought his hand on top of hers, their skin meeting upon the door.
"One day," Harry whispered, aware of their closeness and almost nothing else. "I'm going to know them all."
A flash of something like worry went through her eyes.
"One day," she whispered. "I just might let you."
They relaxed until the day's end, after that. The fire would wait for another day, they both knew. They had time.
There it is!
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