Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 9

Titus Button lounged on the couch. If he was honest, laying around was probably his favorite pastime. Well, excluding quidditch and sex, anyway. But it was hard to think of both of those things as a pastime. So, in the grand scheme of things, he assumed they didn't count.

He was reading a copy of the sports section of a local Falmouth paper. It was discussing the team's recent winning streak. Although the enthusiasm was rather tempered given the fact that their last win was purely the result of Harry Potter simply being better than the entire Appleby Arrows roster.

The writer of the article did not speak kindly of 'the other two additions' made by Derrick Lunfrey. He argued that the defense had been terrible. Which Titus couldn't really argue, seeing as they gave up forty-two goals in a single match. But, you'll have that when you trot out a line of two finesse chasers and one goal scorer, and a defensive pair of a beating-god and a rookie afraid of bludgers.

And no, he didn't think it was off to call himself a beating-god in his head.

Titus really didn't enjoy the second half of the article, though. The writer went on a tangent about how he and Eva were both vastly overrated players. And that Lunfrey should have only attempted to trade for Harry Potter.

Titus couldn't help but notice that the author conveniently didn't mention that both Titus and Harry had full no-trade clauses that they had to waive to come to Falmouth. And that there was no way either of them was going to go somewhere without the other. So really, the only single Bat that Lunfrey could have traded for would have been Eva Larson.

But, for the purpose of the article, that didn't suit the writer's needs so he'd decided to ignore that fact.

He kept reading, wondering how the sports writer could be so ignorant on actual professional quidditch. The man writing the article simply kept banging on how Titus was simply a product of playing with quidditch prodigy Finbar Quigley.

And sure, Finbar Quigley had been one of the best beaters in the league, fifteen years ago. Now the man was slowing down and not quite the force he'd been. And while Titus would agree that he learned a lot from Finbar, the man certainly hadn't been the reason he'd turned into a superstar in his own right.

The author of the article also completely ignored that the scheme of quidditch played by the Falmouth Falcons was completely different than that played by the Ballycastle Bats. Coach Davis wasn't letting Harry and Titus play how they wanted to play.

Well, the coach wasn't letting Harry play how he wanted to play. Titus didn't really have a choice in the matter. He was forced to spend far too much time in the defensive zone, attempting to prevent the opposing team from having a man advantage on the attack. It wasn't a particularly effective strategy. But it was all he could do because Wall, more often than not, simply seemed lost on the pitch.

Titus couldn't help but think of how perhaps Ballycastle's strategy of never letting a rookie start barring injury or incredible circumstance would have probably done Wall some good. But now he was just a non-factor on the pitch, and Titus wasn't sure of the younger man would ever recover from that.

He was trying to help the boy out. But it wasn't really working. In practice, Coach Davis didn't really let them talk much, instead insisting that each should focus on their own segment of the pitch. It was a standard zone defense, and Titus hated playing it. Like Harry, he always thought he was better the more he flew around and let a play develop.

Sure, he saw the benefits of a zone, and he didn't mind playing it in certain situations, but Davis didn't believe there was any situation where it wasn't a superior scheme. So Titus would be forced to just sort of float in his corner and whack a bludger long-distance over toward Jordan and the opposing chasers. It wasn't very effective.

Of course, he knew what he'd been getting into when he was traded. He thought he could help Jordan. He saw a bit of himself in the kid, and Finbar had been an incredible influence on his career in his first couple of years.

But Davis didn't let Titus spend any time with him at practice. He was tempted to grab Harry and see if they could just find the other beater, and spend some off-pitch time with him practicing. But he knew that Harry probably wouldn't be that interested in doing that.

So he'd have to figure something out. Because as much as he loved playing with Harry, he knew that his friend couldn't win every single match for the Falcons, despite his best efforts to the contrary.

They hadn't played anyone worth a damn to this point. But they had a run upcoming against the Harpies, Magpies, and Tornados, three of the top five teams in the league, that would determine just how far they had to go. Hopefully they would improve before those matches came.

Personally, Titus thought they were screwed.

If they couldn't stop the Arrows scoring line, the Harpies and Magpies were going to have a field day with them. The only reason Ballycastle had sustained success against those two teams was purely because they were built to counter them.

Ballycastle's two wingers, Marcus Green and Jeremey Stretton, played a very physical, grinding game. They'd wear you down by taking it to you. Over and over again every play of the game. The finesse scoring lines of the Magpies and Harpies hated having to play that way. And so the Ballycastle line would slowly gain an advantage.

Those same lines would fly around the front three of the Falcons. Just like Appleby's lines had. Harry would have his hands cut out for him attempting to keep the snitch catch relevant. Which would lead to the opposing seeker likely having a huge advantage, since Titus wouldn't be able to offer any sort of assistance to Harry, because their defense still wouldn't be able to hold.

But that would be something he'd have to worry about at another day. He finished the article and moved on to the box scores without much interest. Puddlemere had pounded the Bats the evening before, marking the fourth consecutive loss for the Bats. They were not faring well since the trade, but that was to be expected. They were still second overall in the standings, barely losing the overall lead to the Magpies with the loss to Puddlemere.

He turned the page of the paper, looking through for any headlines that caught his attention. The only other quidditch related piece in the paper was dealing entirely with the upcoming World Cup. It was written purely based on speculation and was essentially projecting the upcoming roster.

There wasn't anything particularly surprising to him about it. Except that the writer did not have Gwenog Jones in the starting seven. She'd captained the English National team for the last two world cups. The writer's reasoning was pretty clear, too. The English team hadn't done anything remotely impressive in international play during that span.

And like most things determined purely by the British Ministry of Magic, specifically the Department of Magical Games and Sports, they weren't known for making changes. But if the writer's source was correct, there would only be one holdover from the previous national team on the roster.

The projected roster, to him, seemed like it would be solid on the back end, but would struggle up front. There wasn't much to be said about English chasers, apparently. He had to laugh, though, that six of the seven starters came from three teams in the British and Irish league.

He just hoped it wouldn't come down to that. And as much as he hated to admit it, he liked seeing his name in print in the article. He smirked a bit and thought about representing England in the World Cup. It was an intriguing thought.

And as he scanned the list, he was fairly sure he and Potter would find something to do in the host country between matches. Even if that something was just Grecian witches. Although he was secretly amused by the little C they'd added next to Harry's name. Perhaps someone could talk him into it for the World Cup, but for some reason Titus doubted that would happen.

He remembered when the Bats drafted Harry Potter. He'd been surprised, they'd needed chaser help, a void they wouldn't fill for two more years when they drafted Eva, but Titus couldn't help but think that Harry Potter wasn't what they'd need to win championships.

Boy how he'd been wrong.

At first, Harry hadn't done much other than follow their seeker around. Maxime Broussard had been in the league for five years and was pretty good. He'd stumbled in playoff games, but the Bats were always in one of the top three positions in the standings.

Titus remembered thinking his new teammate was a bit standoffish and not a whole lot of fun. Harry didn't really go out with the rest of the team, and didn't seem that interested in social interaction. He was quiet and didn't do much other than practice, change with the team, and go home. Titus couldn't help but think he looked lost.

And then the Bats went on a seven match losing streak. It was the low point of the season. Every single thing that could have possibly gone wrong did. They'd even managed to lose to Chudley. Which marked the only time in Titus's professional career where that had happened. And hopefully the only time it would happen.

A few days later they'd traded Maxime Broussard for a high draft pick. Titus couldn't remember just what that draft pick had turned into. He wasn't sure it really mattered in the long run. Because it opened the door for Harry Potter, and that had been more than anyone needed.

Titus had never really paid attention to the seeker in practice. There wasn't much of a point to. So he was a little bit surprised when Harry shot past him at full speed early into the match against Puddlemere. He vaguely remembered the opposing Seeker following a few moments later, and just laughing at the speed.

The Bats won that match, by a rather substantial margin. And they'd win the next three by equally substantial margins. But Titus still struggled to get Harry to go out with the team. And that wouldn't change for a few more weeks.

And it only changed based on a stroke of luck. After an afternoon match win he remembered going home, showering changing, and deciding he was hungry. So he wandered down the block from his apartment and stopped into a local pub he frequented most nights.

He'd sat down at the only open stool at the bar and wondered why the mood in the establishment seemed so stilted. He ordered a beer and the same sandwich he always ordered.

"Button," a voice said from his side. Titus remembered looking over and seeing Harry Potter, just looking at him, strangely. Everyone in the bar seemed to be focused on Harry. He had a half-eaten turkey club sitting in front of him, next to a full beer.

"Potter," Titus said tersely, then smiled. "I didn't know you liked O'Keefe's!"

"I come here pretty much weekly," Harry admitted. "I live in the apartment building around the corner when I don't go back to London."

"No shit?" Titus laughed.

"Yeah, why?" Harry said.

"I live in that building too," Titus admitted.

"No shit?" Harry laughed, repeating what Titus had just said. And they just started talking. Titus remembered it being a little strange. Harry always seemed like he was waiting for Titus to ask him something, or bring up something. It didn't take long for Titus to figure out he was just wondering when he'd ask about the war. But Titus didn't care about the war. He cared about eating, drinking, leering at women, and playing quidditch.

And it wasn't long before he found out that Harry also enjoyed all four of those things. And their friendship began in earnest. They met up at bars after matches, or went out on off days, and otherwise just had a good time. It was nice. They were recognized pretty much everywhere in the town, but people only ever really brought up quidditch when it was the two of them. And Harry seemed to appreciate that.

Titus wasn't sure who noticed it at Ballycaslte first, but they quickly wound up on all the team merchandise. Something that before had mostly been Titus and Finbar.

It had actually been Harry who, during the offseason after the Bats were eliminated by the Harpies, approached Titus about the hybrid style of play the team would adapt. He thought it would be a better counter for the teams like Holyhead and Montrose. And he certainly hadn't been wrong. They'd spent a few days tweaking it before Titus presented it to the coach. Their coach had been skeptical, but gave it a shot.

And in Harry's second year in the league the Bats changed the way quidditch was played. Titus started out in the hybrid role first, because the coach didn't want to give up his seeker. No one in the league really had an answer for it and the Bats steamrolled their way to the title match.

But things had fallen apart against Montrose, and the Bats lost that match 390-70. It wasn't a good night. Titus had been very surprised when, a few weeks later, he'd been named the league Most Valuable Player. He'd been the first beater to win the award in fifteen years, and all accounts stated that it was purely because of how he'd played the hybrid role that season.

He'd never really thanked Harry for the fact that he essentially received the award based on an idea that had originally been his friends. He knew he didn't have to, and that Harry wouldn't have wanted him to. But he did cherish that trophy more than any other possession he had.

The next season other teams attempted the same strategy. But they couldn't quite pull it off as efficiently. Titus wondered if it was purely because of how well he could fly, hoping that he was really that much better than most of the league. Deep down he knew there were other factors, but you had to be arrogant to play professionally.

Halfway through the year the Bats surprised everyone again by shifting Harry into the same role as Titus, and no one had a counter.

Their victory over the surprising Kenmare Kestrels in the finals set the record for largest margin of victory in a championship game in the British and Irish Leagues.

And the next year was just more of the same. Halfway through the season Harry and Titus signed the matching contracts that made them the highest paid players in the history of the league. Norm Wilder, the Bats owner, made many comments about ensuring that the dynasty stayed together forever.

The Harpies had put up a fight in the finals, but they still hadn't done enough to prevent Harry from ending the game and ensuring the Ballycastle win.

His friend quickly became the face of the league, he won two consecutive most valuable player awards, every seeker award, and wound up on the cover of every periodical. But he always liked when Titus came with. The pair of them were kings in Ballycastle, and Titus remembered thinking that life probably couldn't get any better.

It was hard to believe it was only a year later that they were both playing for Falmouth and wondering just what all had happened. Sure, it had only been a couple of weeks, but he couldn't help but think about how unhappy he was with that development.

He heard some giggling and saw Josephine and Sophia run down the stairs. They ignored him and quickly went to the fridge. He didn't pay any attention to them. If he was honest, he didn't really like the fact that they'd taken in a teenage ward, but he wasn't going to argue with Harry about it. They had the space and it would only be for another month and a half.

If he was honest he was uncomfortable around the girls. He felt like he should be some sort of a role model or something. And it didn't help that Sophia kept trying to flirt with him. And it also didn't help that they'd stare at him and speak in French in hushed tones. They'd both be leaving after the next weekend, but he suspected they'd return.

He couldn't fault Harry for taking in Gabrielle though. She herself hadn't been that bad. She was quiet and just sort of blended in. He thought she needed to work a bit on her sense of humor, and that she took things too literally too often. She also may have been a bit too meek. Josie and Sophie always seemed to be leading her around and she never argued with them. But he didn't know enough about the relationship to judge.

He didn't know where Eva or Harry were, but Harry always liked to go over his broom collection in his spare time. So he assumed his friend was in one of their back rooms, going over every thistle on every broom, despite the fact that they were all in perfect shape.

And it was probably for the best if he didn't spend a whole lot of time thinking about whatever Eva was up to. Nothing good could come out of that. He suspected that whatever it was, it was a perfectly innocent occupation. But his brain didn't always work that way.

Thankfully he was dragged from that gutter by a loud knock on the door. It surprised him mostly because no one ever knocked on his door. The only person to ever knock on his old apartment door was Harry, because he could get past the doorman seeing as he lived in the building as well.

And in their couple of weeks in Falmouth, no one had knocked on the door. His first thought was that it was probably Lunfrey. And he really wanted no part of that. But the knocking didn't stop. And there didn't seem to be anything he could do other than get up and walk over toward it. Mumbling to himself about finding an elf or something to take care of unwanted intrusions.

The pounding only grew more impatient as he made his way to the door. He yawned a bit and stretched his arms over his head as he walked, in no hurry to appease whoever it was. When he finally reached the door he let them pound for a few more minutes, secretly hoping that they'd injure their hand before he bothered to open the door for them.

When he did finally open the door, he was relieved that it wasn't Lunfrey.

Instead it was a tall, thin woman. She had probably thirty years on him at least, but still managed to look fairly attractive. His first thought probably shouldn't have been that he'd consider it if he was drunk, but it was, and he wasn't. She had a very stern expression on her face. She stared at him for about ten seconds, and then just started yelling, and unfortunately, she was yelling in French.

Titus didn't speak French. So he just stared at her for a few moments, letting her yell and wondering just what the point of all of this was. He could only assume it had something to do with one of the French girls currently residing in the residence. She looked a bit like Josephine, but not quite enough for Titus to assume they were related. So instead he did what he always did when there was a situation he didn't' feel like dealing with. He looked over his shoulder and yelled.

"Harry! Someone here to see you!" And then he just walked away from the door and back to his couch, content to simply relax and enjoy the rest of the day.

Harry's French wasn't quite good enough to deal with this situation. He'd tried learning it a few years back on a whim. But it hadn't really gone over well. Sure, he could like order a sandwich or ask where the bathroom was, but neither of those phrases were helping him in this situation. Eventually he just held out his hand and looked at the woman.

"Hi," he said jovially and in English. "I'm Harry Potter. Who are you?" He fought the urge to use an expletive in that sentence. But the woman just stared at him for a few moments. Harry sensed she realized she wasn't going to get anywhere by screaming at him in French. Or maybe she realized just who she was talking to. Either way, she wisely chose to be silent for a few moments and think about what she would say next.

"I am Zoe Fay," the woman said after a few moments.

"A pleasure to meet you," Harry said with a practiced smile. "Can I get you anything? Water, tea?"

"No thank you," she said stiffly. Harry just nodded. Her English was good, but not quite as good as Gabrielle's. Although it was probably better than both Sophia's and Josephine's.

"Alright," Harry kept smiling. "Would you prefer to go to a sitting room. Or would you rather explain why you came into my home and started yelling at me here?"

"Where is Gabrielle," the woman said.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"What do you mean you do not know!" The woman spat. "She has been photographed in papers with you!"

"Damn, Harry, can you imagine if you had to keep track of everyone you were ever photographed with?" Titus said from the couch, chuckling a bit.

"No. And I'd rather not even attempt to," Harry said. He paused for a moment then looked over toward the couch. "And you're not helping, Titus."

"Not trying to," Titus said.

"Where is she!?" Madame Fay yelled.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged again. "She's either upstairs or out getting lunch. I don't track her."

"What have you done with her!" she exclaimed. Harry just stared at her and crossed his arms, shifting his weight to one side.

"What are you accusing me of?" Harry asked pointedly. The woman just stared at him.

"If you have harmed her," the woman started. But Gabrielle took that moment to wander down the stairs. She must have been swimming, as her hair was wet. But she had a towel completely wrapped around her body. Her blue eyes went wide upon seeing the other woman.

"Madame Fay," she said, and she sort of attempted to curtsey or be formal or something, but the move didn't work because the towel fell open and she instead went back to wrapping it completely around her body.

"Gabrielle!" Madame Fay said. The woman ran over to the girl and hugged her tightly. She muttered some things in French to her that Harry didn't understand. So he decided to interrupt the moment by speaking up.

"Sitting room it is," he said and led them both off down one of the hallways to a room they'd furnished with excess furniture. He sat on one of the couches and looked between the two adults. Madame Fay still appeared to be fuming, so Harry instead turned his attention to Gabrielle.

"So, Gabrielle," he said carefully. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Madame Fay," she said, and then she looked at the woman and nodded toward Harry Potter. "Madame Fay, this is Harry Potter."

"We established names on our own," Harry said. Gabrielle frowned and looked away from him. Harry immediately felt bad. He shouldn't have snapped at her. She wasn't why he was annoyed at the moment.

"Indeed," Madame Fay said, she was still standing near the entrance, just a few feet away from Gabrielle who'd shifted to a far wall instead.

"Sorry," Harry sighed, looking at Gabrielle. "But who is she."

"She is my ballet instructor," Gabrielle said. Harry raised an eyebrow and stared at the woman.

"Your ballet instructor just barged into my house yelling at me in French," he said.

"Yes?" Gabrielle responded. She was not sure if she should have said anything or not. Harry looked at her for a moment, and then looked back toward the instructor.

"And why would she do that?" he asked. Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, slouching over against the wall. Madame Fay seemed to understand the question was for her.

"Stand up straight, Gabrielle," she snapped. Gabrielle responded like lightning, standing straight against the wall and looking a little frightened. "I came to make sure you had not done anything to my student!"

"Well, I gave her a room," Harry said. "Seemed like she needed a place to stay."

"She should have stayed with me!" the instructor snapped.

"Maybe," Harry said. "But you weren't there offering."

"I would rather stay here," Gabrielle said quietly.

"Shush," Madame Fay spat.

"I think I understand why," Harry laughed.

"You understand nothing, Mr. Potter," Madame Fay said.

"Actually, I understand quite a lot about quidditch and killing dark lords. Granted, both are pretty specialized knowledge areas, but I don't think they count as nothing." He smiled jovially. Gabrielle had never seen anyone, even her mother, be flippant with Madame Fay. She stared at him, almost in awe. And she noticed his smile. It was half on his face, and it looked happy enough. But his eyes were hard and focused on the dance instructor.

"This is not a time to joke," Madame Fay scoffed.

"You're right," Harry said. "It's a time to sit down and have a reasonable discussion like adults."

"Mister Potter. I am going to take my student and leave now. There are enough articles about you and your friends. I do not need your perversions ruining her career!" Madame Fay explained.

"No, Zoe, you'll be having a seat," Harry said. Gabrielle was not sure when his wand wound up in his hand. But she was pleased that Madame Fay seemed as surprised as she was. Perhaps more so, as he flicked it once and one of the chairs rushed out and slipped behind the instructor, knocking her into it.

"Mr. Potter!" the instructor yelped.

"Yes?" Harry asked, twirling his wand around his fingers but making no sign that he intended to use it again.

"You will not do that again!" the instructor said.

"Hadn't planned on it," Harry said. "Ellie? Would you be a dear and fetch us some tea? Perhaps put on some clothing, too?" Gabrielle nodded and looked thankful at the prospect of leaving the room. But as soon as she started to move Madame Fay spoke up.

"No. Stay," she said curtly. Gabrielle stopped in her tracks and nodded meekly.

"Or stay," Harry sighed. "Now why do you want her to go with you?"

"Because I have not spent ten years of my life training her only to have all of that ruined because of what has happened!" The woman said.

"So I take it she's good at ballet?" Harry said.

"Good?" Madame Fay laughed. "She is a prodigy. She could be better than Anna Pavlova, Margot Fonteyn-" then she paused, sensing that Harry wasn't really paying attention, or comprehending the names. Instead he was just looking at Gabrielle. She looked a little bit startled by that sentence. After a moment Madame Fay continued.

"In terms you can understand, Mr. Potter. If it were quidditch. She would be a better seeker than you," the instructor said.

"Impressive," Harry said.

"Beyond impressive," Madame Fay countered. Gabrielle again looked a little shocked by that as well.

"So, Gabrielle, do you want to go live with your dance instructor for the rest of the summer?" Harry asked.

"I-" Gabrielle started, but she was interrupted.

"Of course she does. She needs to practice!" Madame Fay said.

"Gabrielle," Harry repeated. "Do you want to go live with your dance instructor for the rest of the summer?"

"I would rather live here," Gabrielle admitted quietly, so quietly Harry barely heard her. After she spoke she just stared at the ground.

"But Gabrielle!" Madame Fay gasped.

"Then you can live here," Harry said. Gabrielle smiled at him, looking visibly relieved.

"Thank you," Gabrielle said quietly.

"There's no need to thank me," Harry said. "Now do you want to continue with your dance lessons?"

"Of course she does!" Madame Fay seemed to be growing more impatient with the conversation.

"Uhm," Gabrielle frowned.

"It's up to you, Ellie," he said. She just looked at him. She looked confused, like she had absolutely no idea how to answer that question. Her blue eyes were very wide.

"What do you think?" she asked. And Harry could only shake his head. It wasn't his decision to make. But she wasn't going to make a decision, he could tell.

"I think it could give you something to work for. More of a focus, you know, to help with everything," Harry said. It made more sense in his head, as it was essentially how he used quiddtich. When he was on the pitch, all of the things he couldn't talk about, all of the things he'd rather not remember, everything vanished. And that had probably helped him more than anything else.

"So you think I should keep dancing?" Gabrielle said carefully. Harry shook his head.

"No," he said. "I think you should do whatever it is you want to do."

"I do not know what I want to do," Gabrielle said quietly.

"I know the feeling," Harry said. He was a little surprised Madame Fay had kept silent. But he suspected she understood just what was on Gabrielle's mind at the moment and did not want to do anything that would result in losing her student.

"How do I make the decision?" she asked. Harry just stared at her.

"Weigh the pros and cons? Think about what other people would want you to do, decide on what makes you the happiest," Harry suggested.

"Your parents and sister would want you to continue," Madame Fay said quietly. Gabrielle nodded a little bit at the comment, but just kept staring at Harry.

"Why did you choose to play quidditch?" she asked. Harry hadn't really expected that question.

"Because I love to play quidditch," Harry said. "I love every moment on a broom. When I'm not playing it there's nothing I rather be doing. And when I'm playing it, no one asks me to solve all of their problems."

"Unless their problem is their team not winning a title?" Gabrielle responded pointedly. Harry couldn't help but smile a little bit.

"I guess," he admitted. "But that is usually my problem too."

"I see," she said. She was still looking toward the ground.

"Gabrielle," Madame Fay said stiffly. The girl almost jumped.

"Okay," she said. And Harry could tell she was simply agreeing to everything. But he couldn't tell if she was agreeing to end the conversation, of if she was agreeing because she actually wanted to.

"Good," Madame Fay said curtly. Harry turned his attention back to the instructor. "We will resume our usual schedule then, starting Saturday. You will floo to my studio at eight in the morning promptly."

"Can we do it here?" Gabrielle asked. When Harry turned to look at her she was blushing. But she could not bring her gaze up to meet the instructors eyes.

"Here? Of course we can't! What kind of nonsense is that!" Madame Fay scolded.

"Why can't you?" Harry asked carefully. He didn't really want to thrust himself into the situation any more than he already had.

"Because you do not have a studio!" the woman scolded. Harry nodded a bit and gazed around the room. He raised his wand above his head a bit and waved it around, taking a small amount of pride in the fact that Madame Fay cowered away from the motion.

He changed three of the walls to mirrors, purely because he had some notion of ballet studios having mirrors. He left the fourth wall as it was, but added a bar coming off of it about waist high, because he once remembered seeing that as well. He changed the floor to a polished wood and looked back at the instructor.

"How's that?" Harry asked. The instructor did not look amused.

"The wood is poor, there lighting is awful, and the acoustics will be terrible," Madame Fay scoffed.

"Probably," Harry said, tucking his wand away. "But I'm sure you have a detailed layout of a studio somewhere. Why don't you have it sent over to me and I'll take care of it. You can resume your lessons next week."

"Absolutely not," Madame Fay said as sternly as she could.

"Please Madame?" Gabrielle asked quietly.

"No," Madame Fay said.

"Oh come on," Harry responded with a jovial tone. "What's three more days after a couple of weeks? And it'll only be for a couple of months." Madame Fay glared at him for a moment before she spoke.

"Fine," she said. "It cannot be any worse than a converted Beauxbatons classroom."

"Thank you, Madame," Gabrielle said quietly.

"But if it is not perfect come Monday, Mr. Potter, we will be taking it back to France," Madame Fay scolded. Harry just nodded.

"Fine by me," he said. He noticed that the instructor was staring at Gabrielle in the newly acquired mirrors in the room. Her mouth was pulled into a taught line, and she did not look happy with the situation.

"Gabrielle!" she barked, looking at the girl. Gabrielle shot up perfectly straight and looked at her instructor.

"Yes Madame?" she responded quickly.

"You have a swim suit on underneath that towel, correct?" Madame Fay barked.

"Yes Madame," Gabrielle nodded.

"Take it off," she ordered. Gabrielle blushed and stared toward Harry.

"But Madame!" she gasped.

"Now," Madame Fay barked. Gabrielle blushed more but brought her hands up to the towel and unwrapped it slowly. Harry looked away at first, figuring that he was being nice. But he'd forgotten that the walls now all had mirrors. Of course, he wasn't quite sure what the big deal was, as he could have just as easily wandered up to the pool and spotted her in the swim suit.

Harry didn't notice anything unusual. She was thin and small. But he'd already known that. He turned his gaze down, wondering if he should just leave the room. But the instructor just barked again.

"You have been skipping meals again," she said. It sounded like a question, but the instructor's tone indicated that it was anything but.

"N-no," Gabrielle stuttered. "I have not."

"And you are out of your potion," Madame Fay said sternly.

"No. I have two left," Gabrielle said.

"It has been over a month, Gabrielle," Madame Fay scolded.

"I have been rationing it," she said quietly.

"Gabrielle!" The instructor yelled, looking more incensed than Harry had seen her since she'd entered his home. And that was saying something.

"I-" Gabrielle started. But Madame Fay interrupted her.

"What did I tell you about that potion!" she yelled.

"I-" Gabrielle stuttered. She was doing everything in her power to not look at the dance instructor. Instead she was just looking down at her body and frowning.

"No excuses," Madame Fay said. "What did I tell you?"

"Every day or not at all," Gabrielle admitted quietly.

"Yes," the instructor said. "One vial, every morning. Anything else is dangerous!"

"Sorry. I tried to not take it. But it hurt too much," Gabrielle said.

"Do not be sorry, stupid girl, just do it right!" Madame Fay said.

"I will," Gabrielle said meekly. Harry couldn't help but wonder just what they were talking about. Madame Fay just stared at her for a few moments.

"What hurt?" Madame Fay asked, picking up on the girl's words.

"My stomach," Gabrielle admitted. Harry couldn't help but smirk a little bit at her tone. He'd heard that tone for years. It was the exact same tone any professional player used when a trainer caught them with an injury. Especially when they didn't want to risk losing playing time.

Madame Fay, however, just looked annoyed. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the girl for a few moments, before reaching up and touching her shoulders, looking over them down her back, and examining her arms and wrists. Harry didn't quite see the point of all of that.

"You still have your food sheet?" Madame Fay asked. Gabrielle nodded.

"Of course, Madame," Gabrielle said, as if the concept of possibly losing it was abhorrent to her. Harry had heard that tone before too. It was the same tone any professional would adopt if they were accused of losing their playbook.

"Add one item to breakfast and dinner for the next two weeks," Madame Fay ordered. "But do not mix proteins."

"Yes Madame," Gabrielle said. Again her tone was meek and Harry doubted that she would comply. But other things were starting to come into focus for him as he watched the scene before him. He couldn't help but wonder just what he'd inadvertently gotten himself into.

"I am very disappointed in you, Gabrielle," Madame Fay said. "Why did you not contact me."

"I did not know how," Gabrielle said quietly, looking away from her instructor.

"Do not lie to me, Gabrielle," Madame Fay scoffed. "You are perfectly capable of using a floo."

"I did not think of it," Gabrielle stuttered. Madame Fay just shook her head. But she did not comment any further.

"I expect you here precisely at eight on Monday morning," Madame Fay said.

"Yes Madame," Gabrielle responded immediately.

"You will have already eaten. You will be changed. And you will have already stretched," Madame Fay said.

"Yes Madame," Gabrielle responded again. It seemed almost mechanical by this point.

"And no excuses, Gabrielle. We have a lot of work that we need to catch up on," Madame Fay said.

"Yes Madame," Gabrielle said. The dance instructor nodded and stepped away from her student.

"And that studio better be perfect, Mr. Potter," the instructor said.

"Nice to meet you too, Zoe," Harry smiled, not bothering to get up from the chair. The instructor just glared at him and left the room. Gabrielle didn't move. After a few moments Harry stood and walked over to her. He leaned down and picked up the towel, offering it to her. She took it and wrapped it around her body.

"I am sorry about that," Gabrielle said quietly.

"You didn't tell me you had a dance instructor," Harry commented.

"No, I did not," Gabrielle agreed.

"You should have told me," Harry said. "We could have sent for her. I'm sure she was worried."

"Maybe," Gabrielle said as she slouched forward. She looked defeated, for lack of a better term.

"You don't seem happy about that," Harry said. And Gabrielle just looked at him for a few moments. And then she smiled a smile that she learned from looking at him.

"I am happy," she said hollowly. "Can I go back to my friends now?"

"Of course," Harry just laughed. "You don't need to ask me for permission to do things, you know."

"I know," she blushed. "I will see you later." And she left the room as well. Harry stared after her, wondering if she thought he couldn't see straight through that.

Titus found him a few hours later. He was standing in the middle of what had, a few hours before been a sitting room. He'd vanished or transfigured all the furniture, except for one couch that he'd shoved away into a corner, and was working on the floor, directing his wand slowly over each piece of newly formed wood while he gazed at the plan for a studio that had shown up a few moments after Madame Fay left.

She obviously wouldn't have been in Slytherin. In a reversed situation Harry would have made sure the plan hadn't shown up until further into the weekend, just to try to have an excuse to take the girl away. But perhaps she really did just want to make sure the girl had the best facilities possible.

"The hell are you doing?" Titus asked, laughing a little bit as he spoke.

"Making a dance studio," Harry said.

"Why?" Titus asked.

"Because apparently Gabrielle has been indolent in her ballet," Harry said. Titus just stared at him for a few moments.

"So the woman was a dance teacher?" he asked, getting to the point much sooner than Harry would have thought. But every now and then Titus managed to surprise him.

"Yes," Harry said.

"We're so charging her rent if she winds up staying here too," Titus commented. "Have enough people freeloading off of me at the moment."

"Technically they're all freeloading off of me," Harry commented, taking a few steps forward to continue on the floor.

"I paid for dinner last night," Titus said, as if that had some sort of bearing on the conversation.

"Which you offered at like two in the afternoon," Harry commented.

"So?" Titus said.

"So when you offer you can't say it's freeloading," Harry concluded.

"I don't think that's how it works," Titus commented.

"I do," Harry said.

"Huh," Titus responded.

"Now shut up and come help me finish this damn thing," Harry said. Titus walked over to him, sliding his wand out of his pocket and staring over his friends shoulder.

"What do you need me to do?" Titus asked.

"Make sure all the wood matches. Apparently that's important," Harry said.

"You've already done all of it," Titus groaned.

"And now you get to check it and tell me where I screwed it up," Harry said.

"Oh sounds fun," Titus responded sarcastically.

"Doesn't it!" Harry agreed. He moved over to a corner and started on the ceiling, making sure the lighting was installed exactly to Madame Fay's expectations. He even installed the optional ceiling fans. He finished up the ceiling about the same time that Titus finished checking over the floor.

"Looks all the same to me," his friend said. Harry nodded.

"Good. Want to give me a hand with these acoustic charms?" Harry asked. "I haven't done magic this complicated since Hogwarts." Titus walked over to him and looked over his shoulder.

"I haven't done magic that complicated," Titus laughed.

"It's a good thing you know how to fly and hit iron balls," Harry commented.

"So I've been told," Titus responded.

"Just follow my lead," Harry said. "It shouldn't be that hard."

"You buying the beers?" Titus asked.

"Of course," Harry said. And he flipped open a text book, paging through the pages until he found the charm that Madame Fay mentioned. He was lucky that Hermione had bought both he and Ron copies of the seventh year spell books in hopes of getting them to complete their tenure there.

It hadn't worked, but they'd come in handy every now and again for Harry. Thankfully, all the charms Fay wanted on the studio were in the seventh year book. He figured wherever she was, Hermione was at least amused that he was getting some use out of them. Even if it had been the first time he'd bothered to open them.

And it worked out, more or less. It only took he and Titus two hours to get everything in place. And that was largely because Harry insisted on casting every charm three times to make sure that they were operating correctly.

Finally, when all that was said and done, he wandered over to the couch in the corner and started to transfigure it. It took longer to turn it into a piano than he thought. And his first attempt didn't make any noise when he struck the keys, so he turned it completely back into a couch and tried again.

The second attempt looked promising, but sounded completely and utterly terrible when he attempted to get it to make noise. And while he certainly didn't know a whole lot about how a piano should sound, he could tell that wasn't it. And Titus laughing hysterically at it didn't help.

His third attempt worked out though. At least Titus didn't laugh. He positioned it in the corner exactly how it was on the diagram and peered around.

"Well I think that should do it," Harry said.

"You should have had Eva help," Titus groaned. "She's at least good at this shit."

"I'll have her look it over tomorrow," Harry said.

"So where we going for beer?" Titus asked.

"Where are the girls?" Harry countered.

"The Frenchies went into town for dinner. I have no idea where Eva is," Titus said.

"Underground?" Harry asked, naming a late-night joint they'd stumbled upon a few days before. Harry had rather enjoyed it.

"Works for me," Titus commented and they stepped out of the newly furnished dance studio and worked their way out of the home.

Eva had been rather impressed with him the next morning. She made a few alterations to some of the charms on the studio, but otherwise said it seemed to be in excellent shape. He wasn't sure, but he thought she may have been a little bit jealous. But she didn't let that show for too long.

Gabrielle's reaction had been a bit more impressive. She walked into the room, seeming a bit annoyed that morning that he was being so insistent on showing her something. She stepped in and just looked around and gasped. Eva, Titus, and her friends chuckled behind her.

But Gabrielle had simply hugged him, tightly, and said something in French he couldn't decipher, before thanking him and staring around the room.

"Is this mine?" she asked. And she twirled around the room on her toes. Harry watched, curious at how natural the movement seemed. She finished the twirl staring directly at him.

"Sure, Ellie," he said. "I just hope your Madame Fay is as enamored with it as you are."

"She will not be," Gabrielle responded. "She does not like anything. But it will be perfect. She cannot argue that we should have lessons back in Bordeaux."

"Well that's good," Harry said and wandered back out toward the kitchen to make breakfast for everyone. He was only moderately surprised when Gabrielle ate her usual piece of toast and added some unflavored yogurt.

On Monday, Madame Fay showed up at quarter to eight. Eva and Titus were still asleep, and wouldn't wake for hours, but Harry had gotten up early purely to make sure Gabrielle had everything she needed. He felt a bit like an awkward parent helping a child go to school. But he quickly shook that thought from his head.

Although he did think she looked a bit silly sitting at the counter in a pink leotard with a skirt. She also wore matching leg warmers, and a pair of shoes that looked like they couldn't be comfortable or provide any sort of support. And she had her hair up in a very intricate bun that he didn't want to know how long it took to style. But he didn't comment on her appearance. And she didn't say anything to him. Instead she just seemed nervous. She left the kitchen and moved to the studio right around seven thirty.

Ellie had been right. The instructor didn't comment on the room. She paced around it once, ignoring Gabrielle as she went through what Harry could only assume was a predetermined stretching routine. When she was done looking around she sat at the piano and waved Harry out of the room. Harry watched her hand a small brown parcel to Gabrielle as he left. The young dancer looked very relieved at receiving it.

And time passed. He was amazed at how quickly it went. He was amazed that Madame Fay showed up five days out of the week. And Gabrielle never once complained. Even if her entire mornings were focused on something else.

Of course, along with never complaining, she never really spoke about it either. She just went about her business and practiced and practiced. Madame Fay did not let anyone watch their lessons.

Sometimes she looked more worn out than others. And sometimes she looked like she'd been crying during the rehearsal. But she never mentioned it. She'd just disappear to her room for a few hours after, on occasion. If Harry would check on her, she'd claim she just needed a shower, or was working on her summer assignments.

Madame Fay never stayed for more than a minute after the lesson was finished. And she never bothered exchanging words with any of the residents. And really, that didn't bother Harry, Titus, or Eva.

In short, they settled into a routine. But Harry had never been any good at routines. And between worrying about just how the Falcons were going to deal with their run of games against the best teams in the league, he also found himself worrying about whether or not a young ballerina was actually happy with her lot.

Author's Note: As always, thanks for reading. I appreciate it. The best way to contact me and actually expect a response is typically through a PM.