In Defiance
by MistressWinter
Chapter one: The Reluctant Traveler
The pain…the pain…
Every nerve was firing, on the brink of burning out with synaptic responses, but not quite.
If he thought the Cruciatus was agonizing, then this was surely some unheard of torture, some new more terrible infliction, for Harry felt as if his whole soul was lifted from his body into the air and sucked back in, except this time, there were needles everywhere. The vortex somehow distorting his physical being as well as his emotional, draining every ounce of strength no matter how hard he fought. His will was great but with an unknown enemy, it was hard to figure out what to fight nonetheless how to resist. With every ounce of strength he pushed against the force, like driftwood pushing against the tide, attempting to alter what did not answer to anything in this world. Then a blinding flash of magic with an unearthly glow, and as he often did after great magical exhaustion, Harry passed out.
Ironically, it was on the beach in southern France.
"Get soeur now!" Gabrielle huddled over the unmoving form, which was once probably the most recognizable wizard in all of Europe, and her friend moved to get help with a swiftness associated with bursts of accidental magic. She had found him in a blast of light, and were it not for that, she would have overlooked him.
The figure's face was caked with dirt and grime, and was that seaweed in his ears? But no matter the smell, she felt her heart go out to this poor boy. His forehead and one side of his face were bloody and caked with sand. The wind danced through and the tattered clothing of the supine figure and Gabrielle cast a few charms. Within moments, his lungs were clear of water and his body was shuddering in little sobs. The boy shook and suddenly went still, his piercing green eyes open for the merest fraction of a second, but that was all the time that was needed for the girl to identify him. "Harry Potter!"
He did not move at this name and Gabrielle thought she was mistaken. No. That color of eyes belongs only to one wizard, the wizard who saved her at the '93 triwizard tournament. But just to make sure, she cast a gentle cleansing charm on his face, effectively removing all of the blood. An angry red gash in the shape of lighting contrasted with the smooth pale skin of his forehead, confirming once and for all that this was Harry Potter indeed.
Mirelle ran back with Fleur and her husband in tow. Both were out of breath and very rumpled. Couldn't they keep their hands off each other for a few minutes! Gabrielle smothered her annoyance and chided herself for being so judgmental. The excitement of the morning was really wearing on her.
Fleur gasped as she spotted the figure and Bill stood still with shock. Then they both sprang forward, kicking up sand behind them, and raced to Harry's side. Bill instructed, "We'll need to take him inside. Mobilicorpus." He levitated the body in the direction of their cottage. All the while, Fleur was sending diagnostic charm after diagnostic charm at the unconscious figure. "He's suffered damage to the head and vertebrae but it doesn't seem to be life threatening. His vitals are low and his breathing is uneven, which means that it pains him. Good job Gabby, though on removing the water."
The silver haired girl nodded, and stumbled on a hidden rock. Her gaze was riveted to the boy, to Harry. He was so little, so non-adult like. This was not a twenty-one year old man before her, but a teenager. Her sister and brother-in-law seemed to have noticed too, as they were arguing quietly even as they ran.
The gritty feeling that meant that you lacked sleep was hundredfold. And as Harry woke up, he imagined that he had been asleep for a long time.
The room was sunlit and spacious, with large bay windows that overlooked the ocean. A cool breeze carrying the scent of salt and air blew through, playing with a few strands of silvery hair. Hair that spilled out onto his bedside. "Fleur?" He croaked. His voice was painful to hear and more painful when used but the head looked up. "Harry?" she questioned, with not a trace of sleep in her voice.
He looked at her strangely and she blushed. "I am sorry, but I was tired and I only rested my head for a second."
"It's quiet all right." He looked uncertain about asking but he ploughed forwards. "Um. Who are you exactly?"
"Oh of course you don't remember me! Silly me, its been seven years!" She held out her hands, "Gabrielle Delacour at your service."
"Seven years?" That didn't add up. He was fourteen when he last saw her so it should have been only two and a half years. "Qui. Its been quiet a long time." She pointed her wand at the door and flicked. A minute later, a young woman floated in with a smile on her face. "Fleur!"
"Ah, so Mister Potter has awoken? You are feeling better, no?" The last he had seen her was the Sixth year. "I feel fine." He looked at her strangely, and something nagged at the back of his mind.
Gabrielle spoke to her sister in rapid fluent French and it sounded like gibberish to Harry, but he did catch one word: Bill. Bill and Fleur. Fleur and Bill. What was dormant in the back of his mind surged and he asked, "Did I miss you wedding then?"
Fleur gave a strangled gasp and Harry feared that he had said something wrong. Did Mrs. Weasley change her mind and manage to keep them apart, or did something happen to Bill and their wedding was called off.
In a very measured tone, Fleur told him, "Harry, we've been married for almost five years now. You were missing for almost the same amount of time."
His mind raced through all of the possibilities, finally grasping onto the memory of a late night abduction and failed murder. "Voldemort, what happened to Voldemort?"
AN: soeur means sister in French. And reviewsmean that I will continue this story, or rather, that I will place precedence over the others.