KEYNOTE: I didn't make a mistake, Fleur thought Cho was Viktor's date at first.

P.s. this is fanfiction, I am not going to develop every aspect of every relationship. Why? Because I would grow bored writing it. You want -details read What We Lost and Found in the Ashes. This fic is going to be more fast paced and assume things I glance over have a reason to be gloss over -more often than not because how I image those interactions are pretty mundane.

Chapter 7 - Chocolates

Lee Jordan and the twins rose to the occasion in taking Harry under their wings. To say his classes were hard was a bit of an understatement. In order to keep up with the assignments, every essay was at least a foot or two shorter than the requirement. He achieved a P, for poor, more often than not. So far his highest grade was an A, for acceptable, on a Charms essay.

If it wasn't for the twins and Lee, Harry would be averaging a T for troll.

His practicals and classwork were another matter altogether. His performances were always Exceeds Expectations or Outstandings, however, the practicals presented their own troubles. Herbology aside -Harry had been working in gardens before Neville knew plants came from seeds. But his wand work was -tricksie.

It was about a week of futile struggles with wordless magic, until Fred had suggested they tape his mouth closed, then proceeded to jump him in the halls. They ended up clinging to the railings of one of the moving staircases. Harry clinging to the stones for dear life, Fred laughing so hard he almost lost his grip.

McGonagall had saved them, glaring at Fred's explanation of 'helping' Harry with his spellwork.

The wordless casting did help exponentially in maintaining some semblance of control over his magic. He felt like he was a dam that had burst at its seams and he was now being drowned in the resulting flood.

The twins and Lee practiced and did homework with him more than he had been training with other champions. They dueled against each other in rotating pairs, Harry fighting against someone and the other two acting as spotters, either as an additional shield who kept Harry from blowing himself into a wall -something which happened on a semi-regular basis.

On one such evening in DADA class, Harry managed to propel himself and Fred backward ten feet. Fred laughed, managing to keep his feet, Harry wasn't so lucky as George caught him before he crashed unceremoniously into a desk.

"Thanks, George," he breathed.

George put a hand on his heart, "Harry."

Fred made a pained noise like a kicked puppy, he came over to them, head hung.

Harry's smile fell, "Did I hurt you? Fred, I'm so, so sorry."

Fred gave a little sniff and George looked away.

Fred whispered something.

"What was that?" Harry asked, nearly panicked now.

"I'm George," Fred whispered, looking cowed.

A tear fell frown George's eye. "Even after all these years knowing us, teammates for so long, and these past weeks... in our classes every day and…" he covered his face with both his hands.

"You can't tell us apart," Fred said miserably.

Harry made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, raised his wand, and sent them both tumbling to the floor. They stayed there, laughing.

He pointed at one, turning his hair sky blue and then the other, turning his orange hair neon yellow. "George is yellow and Fred is blue, morons."

"How do you always know?" Lee asked. "If they come to me individually it isn't too hard, but together? They play off each other. They have it down to an art."

"You can see it in their eyes. Fred is always plotting and George is more cautious, doing risk assessment."

"You'll have to give our mum lessons, Harry," Fred said, grinning like a maniac.

"Potter," Moody growled.

"Yes, Sir?" Harry asked.

"You were able to perform the spell in levity. Keep that in mind how you were able to gauge your strength. Try again."

"Yes, Sir," he said dutifully. Harry wasn't sure why, Moody was a good teacher and all, but he was starting to dislike him more each day. Perhaps it was the way he was always watching him, perhaps it was the false niceness, or perhaps it was Harry's bad track record with DADA professors. Even Moony had almost taken a bite out of him last year.

The twins grinned at him, and before getting up to continue class they switched partners. It was now George attempting to get through Harry's defenses, they had mixed results. As long as he wasn't trying to shield against them, they had a fighting chance. If he was using his shields, well... the Horntail couldn't get through his shields. However Harry's offensive was spotty, his offense was just as likely to affect him as the twin he was fighting.

Being 'the Next Albus Dumbledore' was more work and frustration than Harry had ever wanted.

Severus was infuriated and debated with himself against this foolish idea. Albus and Voldemort wanted to advance Potter up to the sixth year Potions.

What bothered him more was that, between leaving Potter to his own devices, and taking him away from his peers, the boy was a decent potion brewer.

Of course, he didn't know what he was brewing or the properties of the ingredients he was using. But even Severus couldn't find fault with the meticulous way he went through each step. He was also better with a blade than most and his timing was impeccable.

To Severus' great consternation, he worked his way through every fifth year potion, that could be brewed in a day, with ease and to the highest quality the textbooks could have allowed for.

Textbooks were unlike Potion Journals (highly coveted and protected private collections of recipes and instructions). Textbooks were designed to have subdued results. Why? Because they were easier to be undone by healers and the side-effects were often less permanent. Severus didn't completely agree with that government decision, nor the Headmaster's aquesetaince to it. On the other hand, it meant that students such as Neville Longbottom had yet to get himself, or others, killed.

"You will not be able to cut through the skin, crush it with the side of your blade for the juices," he advised in a subdued voice.

The raven haired clone of his old enemy, nodded his head and did as instructed

Watching Potter brew, and restraining from voicing the odd bitter comment, Severus felt well and truly out of his element.

The Dark Lord had contacted him through a scrying mirror. Despite not being able to see a face in the white fog, there was no mistaking the burn in his Dark Mark. The mirror had appeared in his office with a note that had read simply, You have been summoned.

The Dark Lord had asked him to take Potter under his wing, seduce the boy into trusting him and expose him to the Dark Arts. It was the last thing he or Albus had expected for the Dark Lord to ask for or want. Severus hadn't told Albus yet.

For one, there were was no other way for Albus to know of the Dark Lord's return except through him, which, triple agent or no, would still come with consequences. Besides, Albus seemed all too willing to risk the boy's life.

Severus didn't have to like the child to want Lily's son to stay healthy and alive. Introducing Potter to the Dark Arts would be… Severus would have to be very careful in trying to appease the Dark Lord in this and not have Potter and his friends come after his job.

They broke for lunch.

Swallowing his pride, Severus praised, "Well done, Mr. Potter."

Potter looked at him as if he had just grown a second head.

It took more effort than was pretty to not snap at him.

"In order to jump a year, you will have to study over the summer. And during this spring break, you will be taking a condensed run through of the first half of year six with me."

Potter said nothing.

Unable to help himself, Severus asked through gritted teeth, "What?"

"Why?" he asked in return. "My magic isn't jumping out of control in Potions, or Herbology for that matter. Why move me up? You're not even moving me up one year but two."

"Like I said, you will have to do a lot of work over the summer holidays."

"But why?"

Severus sighed, it wasn't like he could say the Dark Lord wanted it and Albus… well, Severus didn't pretend to understand the Headmaster's plans. So, with nothing else, he gave the easy lie, "Scheduling issues."

"My schedule is fine."

"It wouldn't be for next year."

Potter sighed, "Fine. What about my free period? I am not returning to Divinations."

If he only what part he and that drunkard had played in the Potters' demise…

"You will be having your directed study with myself as your free period lines up with mine."

The look he received made Severus wonder if he had grown a third head, with large fangs.

"You want to spend an extra two hours with me every week?"

"I don't mind." He did. "Not if you conduct yourself as you have this morning."

"You mean 'making no noise and pretending I'm not there'?" He asked, sounding as if he were quoting someone.

"No," Severus said. He was about to attempt to build a bridge that had never, ever, wanted to construct, "You reminded me of your mother today."

Emerald eyes sharpened, "You knew my mother?"

He would have rathered stabbed himself than discuss Lily, especially with James Potter's spawn. But he had been a spy too long to fail here. "We grew up in the same neighborhood, we were friends before going to Hogwarts."

"What was she like?"

Severus gave him a speculative look, "Surely people have told you what your parents are like. Why would you want to hear what I thought of her?"

"Remus told me about her a bit. Said she always saw the best in people. Everyone else says she was wonderful but that really doesn't tell me much."

"Doesn't Tuni talk about her little sister?"

The boy's eyes widened, "Tuni? You mean Aunt Petunia, that's funny. But no, except to say that she was a fool for marrying my father."

Severus felt the oddest sensation in being in agreement with Whiny Tuni. "Lily always saw the best in people, however, she also had a temper. She was especially skilled in Charms and not bad at Potions. Lily was popular at school but did not have many people she depended on. It was harder in those days being a muggleborn."

"What did she do after she graduated Hogwarts?"

"She worked with Professor Flitwick to get her mastery in Charms, and then she fought in the war."

"And then she had me," he added, looking glum. "Why would anyone want a baby in the middle of the war?"

Severus had asked himself that question many, many times, but he said the thing that would get Potter closer to their side. "Life goes on, Mr. Potter. Fear and hatred cannot stop that."

The look the boy gave him was very close to many Lily had given him all those years ago. It dawned on Severus that this boy who wore his father's persona so very well, was more like his mother than anyone else. Gifted in Charms, temperamental, and with more morals than was survivable.

"Thank you, Professor," he said before leaving Severus to his memories and regrets.

Harry walked around the side of a stack of shelves and froze at the sight he saw.

On one of the low sofas, Hermione sat with a book -not unsurprisingly, and Viktor's head on her thigh. He looked asleep but for his hand that was tangled in her hair. They looked... peaceful.

Hermione was a consumer of knowledge and though she seemed interested in her book, she seemed not so lost in it to prevent her from running an idle hand through Victor's hair as well.

Harry backtracked and left the two to themselves. Hermione hadn't confided much in him during the last few weeks. Seeing as he wasn't around that much, he should have expected that but in his absence, she had grown closer to Viktor.

Harry liked Viktor a lot, he wasn't the most talkative person, but he had a good head on his shoulders and listened carefully to anyone who spoke. On top of being a thoughtful person, something his sometimes gruff exterior hid, he was also a powerful wizard. For the first task, he had had enough power to send his dragon to sleep with one spell to the eye.

Neither the dragon nor her clutch had been harmed. Harry supposed his regular route might have been more… brutal but he had heard Hermione when she had expressed worry for the dragons.

He supposed it was the beginning of how Viktor had won Hermione over. While Harry missed having her around but his schedule and workload kept him busy.

He missed Ron too, he thought as he walked back to Gryffindor tower. But given how much time he spent with the twins and Lee Jordan, he couldn't say he was missing Weasleys.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked upon entering the twins' dorm room.

"Are you going to help?" Fred asked, looking up hopefully.

"Perhaps," he lied, "but I would like to know what we are doing."

"We are making truffles."

The twins grinned.

But then George sighed, "The potion we have down, it is the chocolatey flavor we can't get right."

Harry sighed, "Let me see the recipe."

Grinning Fred handed him the book of wicked baked good. Harry's read of the directions was sparse and unhelpful. It was more of an ingredient list, aside from the one clue about mixing the warm cream in with the cocoa first.

"Well," Harry began, "you're in luck. I know how to bake and this recipe is missing salt and vanilla."

The twins had to adjust their potion to the new ingredients but according to them -because Harry refused to be turned into an armadillo, they tasted fantastic.

Harry was glad to pick up new techniques and information about potions. The twins talked animatedly, despite not always following a single train of thought. He learned more from them in one evening than three years of potions with Snape. Which was good because Harry, regrettably, would be joining their class. George agreed to be his partner and Fred would partner with Lee who was the odd person in the class.

"You bake."

He nodded and popped one of the delicate truffles into his mouth.

Warily, Fleur did the same. She nearly groaned as the flavor of rich bitter sweetness overcame her senses. Damn them if what they said about women and chocolates wasn't true. The number of girls who didn't like chocolate was tiny, but any woman who did like chocolate, truly liked chocolate.

"Good?" Harry asked her.

She couldn't help but purr her hmmhmm.

He blushed, but grinned, "Glad they're up to your French standards."

The blush was something, at least. But, day by day, she was becoming more irritated that none of her charm, flirtation, or hints had half that effect on him. On one hand part of the reason she liked him was because he obviously saw her as pretty but didn't fall prey to her allure, a factor that she was beginning to believe had to do with his level of will and self control. His powers were unwieldy, but that was because he buried it so deep and so thoroughly as to experience repression side effects. That he was able to brush off the imperious -if rumours were to be believed, instantaneously then his ability shrug of her allure must have been habitual, by all accounts he seemed unaware he was doing anything at all.

But he was still a heterosexual male, a younger boy that she should have had wrapped around her finger in a snap. But he wasn't so easily caught. He was apparently oblivious to most of her overtures and she wasn't quite sure how to seduce him without being manipulative or so blunt to make even herself uncomfortable.

He was an enigma, a puzzle she wanted to solve. She wanted him all to herself and she was surprised that the more he held out, the more she wanted him. It wasn't like this was her first attempt at a relationship but it was her first time being the pursuer, rather than the pursued.

If he wasn't so damned polite she might have been offended at having to try so hard. However, taking insult from Harry was like being mad at sunshine for shining, it wasn't his fault he lit up a room, it was just his nature.

And her father was on to her. She had always been close with her family, hard not to be when everyone outside of the family treated her as less than human. But she had always been closest with her father, whose patience was infinite and whose support always gave her strength.

After her last letter home, one she couldn't quite remember what details she had shared about the boy she had danced with at the Yule ball, her father had written back. And in his neat handwriting, she could hear the tone of amusement in the words.

Alors, qu'est-ce que tu aimes chez ce garçon?

'So, what do you like about this boy?'

It was embarrassing that he'd seen through her, though not unexpected. What was perhaps most embarrassing was that she was truly smitten with Harry Potter.

If she was being objective, he wasn't all that handsome. He was a bit scrawny, scarred, and three years younger than her. But he was sweet, strong, and above all else, treated her like she was a person. Not an object of lust, not subhuman, and never like an air-headed girl, but a real flesh and blood person.

And, perhaps, she was enamoured that he treated everyone that way. And there was something that drove her to want to be special to him. For him not just to be respected but inspire more in him.

She wasn't in love with him. But she could imagine the possibility of that depth of feeling.

Only, he was so damned oblivious to everything.

"You can have the rest," he said, holding out the plain box to her.

She blinked at him, having been jerked from her musings.

His eyes were so green, no one had eyes like him.

"Fleur? I promise I didn't let the twins poison them."

She took the box, "Merci. Where did you learn to bake?"

"My aunt had me baking and cooking by the time I could stand."

She frowned. "Isn't that a bit dangerous?"

He shrugged, "Oil burns are not fun, but I was a quick learner."

"Do you like cooking?"

He thought about it for a moment, it was as if no one had ever asked him that nor had he thought about it before. "I don't like being forced to do anything. However, I think I do like baking and cooking. I like making things."

"You think?" Fleur asked, "Pourquoi?"

He smiled, though it was bitter around the edges. "If I get to eat when I'm in the kitchen, I like it. But I don't like the smell of hot food on an empty stomach."

She wanted to poke at that, she really did. But a part of Harry being humble was him being private. And she knew that if she attempted to bull down his walls he would avoid her.

So instead she said, "Donc, if you ever feel like learning repas français, I'd be happy to sit at your table."

He raised a brow, unconsciously stretching the pale scars on his right side.

It pleased her that he didn't seem to remember he had scars around her. She could tell because in the halls he was often ducking his head and avoiding eye contact with everyone. But never with her. With her, he always made eye contact and never hunched his shoulders.

"You cook?" he asked, sounding disbelieving.

And rightly so.

"Of course not, mais, I like eating and I have excellent tastes."

He grinned, "Alright, but you have to find the recipe so you can't hold me completely liable if your French food isn't as good as you claim it is."

She sniffed, "I'll take you to the continent and you'll never want to come back to this triste island."

"Triste?" he asked, mercifully his accent wasn't terrible. There was nothing worse than Englishman's accent when speaking in her beautiful mother tongue, with the exception of an American accent. But luckily for her, she didn't encounter many Americans.

"Sad. Your petit triste island."

He huffed a laugh, "Alright, mademoiselle, on that note let's practice."

She rose to her feet and carried her gift to a safe-ish corner of the room.

Their duels were always a lot of fun. Harry had an artless grace about him. He moved like he was a skittish doe and a bird whose wings had caught the wind. He was never still and could avoid most spells before she had even released them.

It was a lot of running around and quick thinking to keep up with him, something that delighted her. He wasn't bothered by her competitive nature, which warmed, since most men felt demasculinized by her talent.

It was possible that his reflexives were better than hers, but her endurance was better. He was always more winded than her after an hour. Of course, that might have had more to do with the amount of strength he expended in overcharged spells and trying to control his magic.

Though his 'control' wasn't all that great.

His last spell had shot out a gust that expanded outwards, in both directions.

Fleur was able to shield against it, but Harry was knocked off his feet. He fell forwards and just barely caught himself on his hands and forearms before his nose met stone.

He grunted and she winced, that had to have hurt.

He rolled over on his back and she sat down beside him. She grinned down at him. "I could say you keep stealing my victories. Potter one, Potter zero."

"Ha ha," he drawled, but she could see the humor sparkling in his eyes.

He sat up. "It's been a month or so, and I can't help feeling I'm getting worse."

"You are growing more powerful, but I wouldn't say worse. Your spells are increasing in variety and precision. Most of the time anyway."

He looked away from her, "Yeah, more dangerous too."

"Harry," she put a hand on his knee, "it's going to be alright."

"What if I hurt someone I care about? I don't want to hurt anyone by accident."

"That's why you're at school. It takes time, you have to give yourself time."

He looked at her, the emerald of his irises surrounding the black ink drops of his pupils. His lips were slightly parted.

It would be so easy to lean in and-

He stood up abruptly, "Time, right. That reminds me, I have a stack of papers to get through for tomorrow. I'll see you later, Fire Girl."

"Good bye-" she began as he all but ran for the door. "Flyboy…" she finished as the door shut behind him.

She sighed, got up, stretched, then retrieved her box of chocolates. He always left in such a rush.

She had put a hand on his leg, no boy had ever run away from her when she initiated touch. She glared at the door and popped a truffle into her mouth.

Now that she was alone, she allowed herself a groan at the rich chocolatey taste with a hint of raspberry. She closed her eyes to savour the moment.

In all her attempts at seduction, it seemed he was the one seducing her.

The image of Fleur's sapphire eyes looking at him as if she might eat him was seared into his brain.

For a moment, he had thought she was going to kiss him. She had touched him, leaned in, and-

No, he told himself firmly, there is no way someone like that would like someone like me.

Fleur Delacour was the most remarkable person he had ever met. Self-assured, brilliant, and witty. He could go on, and on, about the list of things he liked about the older girl. But that was the thing, she was older and beautiful, and he was runty and, well, he didn't want to look at himself in a mirror.

His scars weren't that bad but the way everyone looked at him, he might as well have had acid burns or something.

But his friends didn't make him feel that way, and Fleur…

Had she been about to kiss me?

He couldn't get the way she looked at him out his mind. If she had wanted to eat him, he would have let her and gone out with a smile.

But she hadn't been about to kiss him. Had she?

He shook his head, of course not, it was just his imagination running away with him.

But she had looked at him as if he were the only light in the darkness...

He snorted at himself. He was being ridiculous.

When he got into the common room he was relieved to see Hermione in an armchair on her own, for once.

"Hermione," he breathed in relief plopping down across from him.

She looked up with brows raised, "Hi Harry, you alright?"

He nodded, then shook his, "Can I ask you a question?"

She frowned, "Of course."

"You and Viktor are dating, right? Girlfriend, boyfriend?"

"Yes," she said, an unconscious smile curling her lips. She shut her book, "Now, what's the matter?"

He ran a hand through his hair, "Does the age difference bother you? Does it bother him?"

She gave him a knowing smirk, "No, it doesn't." Then her face fell into more serious lines. "Harry, you and I, were not like most people. For the last four years, we have faced death and consequences that most people our age couldn't even imagine. So yes, technically Viktor is three years older than me, and will graduate when I still have two years left of school, however, in four years, when I'm eighteen and he's twenty-one no one is going to care."

"Yeah, but you're fourteen and seventeen now."

"Well considering how much I used the time turner last year, more like fifteen and seventeen, but that is besides the point. Harry, you aren't a child. You don't have to belittle yourself. If you want to be with Fleur Delacour, then be with Fleur."

He felt his face heat, "You knew?"

She smirked again, "I saw you at the ball, everyone did. The way you look at her-"

"I don't gawk at her," he said a bit heatidly. He was not like the mobs of boys who swooned at her every word.

"Let me finish," Hermione reprimanded, "The way you look at her is only outmatched by the way she looks at you."

He knew his face must be scarlet at this point, "That's not true."

Hermione whapped him over the head with her book, "Get your head out of the cauldron, Harry. You don't have to keep proving you're oblivious. We get it already. But next time you're in a room with her, pay attention."

He thought if he tried paying anymore attention he would lose his reserve. But, perhaps, that was a battle he was willing to concede. An image of Fleur eating one of his chocolates flashed through his mind.

He would gladly learn to cook French meals for her.

AN: Sappy, yes, but I needed it, hope you enjoyed it. Please review for your poor author who drowning in real world responsibilities?