Harry Potter was bored senseless. Which was rather surprising considering the hustle and bustle going on around him. It was the eve of Bill and Fleur's wedding at the Burrow and there was plenty to do. Well, plenty for everyone save Harry.
Harry really did want to help out with the preparations, but the Weasley matriarch had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he had already done more than enough to help the Weasley family out and to 'sit tight'. It seemed the message had been spread around the redheaded clan, as all of Harry's sheepish efforts to offer his help were gunned down mercilessly by them.
As a result, Harry found himself twiddling his thumbs restlessly in a vain effort to occupy himself and not go insane with boredom.
"Someone's 'aving fun," a voice said suddenly, causing Harry to nearly jump out of his skin in surprise.
Gabrielle Delacour, younger sister to the bride-to-be, laughed raucously at Harry's reaction.
Harry merely grumbled in annoyance.
"Oh, dear me, ze great 'Arry Potter, scared out of 'is wits by a leetle girl?" Gabrielle mused, her voice layered thickly with mirth.
"Don't you mock me, Gabby," he growled. "Plus, I wasn't scared, I was... Startled."
Gabrielle hummed in mock belief.
"Maybe I should tell 'E-'Oo-Must-Not-Be-Named zis is 'ow 'e can finally dispose of 'is leetle green-eyed-bespectacled problem?" She joked.
"Oh yes, let's do just that, after all, the world's better off with a Dark Lord running around rampant, right?" Harry joked, his tone dominated by a not-so-subtle current of sarcasm.
Gabrielle snorted.
"Oui, zen we wouldn't 'ave to deal wiz ze Boy-'oo-Lived's ego anymore," she reasoned.
"Oh, sorry, remind me not to save you from the depths of a cold, dark lake next time you're taken hostage by merpeople," Harry snapped back lightheartedly.
The joke turned out to be in bad taste, as Gabrielle's face fell at that.
"Gabby, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" Harry began.
"No, it's fine," Gabrielle choked out through tears, before rushing out of the Burrow.
"Idiot," Harry muttered, berating himself as he took off after the teenage Veela.
How could he have thought that was okay to joke about? She obviously felt she owed him a great deal for saving her, there had to be some underlying guilt she felt towards him for nearly costing him dearly for that task.
When he finally caught up to Gabrielle, she had curled up into a ball and was weeping to herself in a great expanse of field, the kind that was common in the little area of Ottery St. Catchpole.
"Gabby-" Harry began.
"I'm so sorry, 'Arry," came Gabrielle's muffled voice, thick with tears. "I'm sorry zat-"
"Gabby, stop," Harry interjected forcefully.
The silver-haired witch's sobs died down, almost in compliance and she looked up at Harry with her tear-stained face.
Harry sat down beside Gabrielle and pulled her into a hug, stroking her silver hair soothingly.
"I made a joke in bad taste back there, and for that, I'm sorry," Harry began, his voice slightly above a whisper. "I harbour no resentment to you whatsoever for what happened that day. You were not, are not, nor will ever be a burden. I saved you that day because I wanted to. If that action had ended up essentially costing me that Tournament, I would have still held my head high, because for me, that was the right thing to do. In hindsight, the cost of winning that Tournament was far too high. A wonderful life was lost, and believe me when I say that I take some comfort in the thought that I did save one that tournament, regardless of the measures that were in place."
Gabrielle's head tilted up to look at Harry, her face beaming.
"Gabby, I'd dive starkers naked into an ice cold lake to save you any day of the week, no hesitation," he said.
She snorted.
"That'd be a sight," she muttered.
"Yeah, the Prophet would have a field day," he chuckled, before they lapsed into a comfortable silence.
"'Arry?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."