A/N: Welcome to the new chapter. It's sometimes quite strange how storied develop a life of their own, and this is an example. Some of the events here have come as a surprise to me, too.

BTW, I'm a bit disappointed nobody commented on some of the names I introduced in the last chapter. Not that they will play an important part, though – at least until they tell me otherwise. R, enjoy, and R!

Chapter 29 Presents and Invitations

Even before she really surfaced into full consciousness, she was aware of the pain, pain in her hands that seemed to be slowly recovering from complete numbness, pain in her legs, and a dull heavy ache in her head. It seemed too much effort to try and open her eyes, they were sure to hurt as well.

"Fleur!" A voice, only vaguely familiar at first, found its way into her mind, and it took her a while to identify it. Slowly she opened her eyes.

"Harry?"

Again it was a couple of seconds before she could take in where she was: In a white bed, clearly not the bed in her dormitory, with a number of people standing around her. And there was Harry sitting next to her on the bed, holding her hands, his eyes behind his glasses filled with anxiety.

"Fleur! How are you?"

She tried to speak but her throat was dry.

"Here, drink this," Madam Pomfrey entered her field of vision, proffering a large silver goblet. "It will ease the pain."

"Come, let me help you," Harry said. He put his arm round her shoulders and helped her to sit up in the bed. Only now she noticed she was still in her Quidditch robes, which were torn and spattered with mud. Dirty and wet strands of hair fell into her face. Harry gently shoved them aside. He took the goblet from Madam Pomfrey with his free hand and set it to her lips.

The drink was cool and soothing, and she could feel how the pain receded until all that remained was a faint throbbing in the back of her head. She looked around. Besides Harry, there was Cho, as well as Roger Davies and the rest of the Ravenclaw team, and there was even Peter Summerby, looking as concerned as everybody else.

"What happened?" she finally managed to ask.

"You crashed," Harry told her.

"I thought it might be something like that…"

"Ah, you are smiling again. Well, it seems you were a trifle too eager in your very first match… But you are fine now – isn't she, Madam Pomfrey?" His voice was still anxious.

"A couple of bruises and a sprained ankle, - nothing serious," she reassured him.

"My heart nearly stopped," Harry went on, as he took the goblet from her and helped her to lie down on her pillows again. "When I saw how you hit the ground. It's a miracle nothing too serious happened."

"She might have broken her neck," Madam Pomfrey grumbled to nobody in particular. "Sports!" she added, and the tone of her voice made it very clear what she thought about it.

"But it was certainly a spectacular action," Cho said. "I've never seen anybody fly like that, well, except for Harry, perhaps," she added.

"Thanks," Fleur said smiling somewhat weakly. "But – did I – did we win?"

"A feat like yours would certainly deserve to be successful," Peter spoke up, stepping forward. "But, I'm honestly sorry to say, you didn't catch the snitch before the crash. – Sorry about that," he repeated lamely.

"Oh," Fleur's face fell. She searched for Cho's eyes. "You should have remained seeker, I guess… And I expect I'd better resign from the team right now…"

"Nonsense!" Cho said energetically. And a decisive "Of course not" came from Roger. "It was your very first game," he went on. "And considering that, and the weather and everything, there is absolutely no reason why you should leave the team. You are an excellent flyer, and we really need every talent we can get. So, as team captain, I refuse to accept your resignation."

"Thank you," Fleur said and she felt a wave of relief washing over her that made her marvel at herself. If anyone had told her only a year ago that she would be playing Quidditch, she would have laughed at them. But, even more surprising, she found that it was not 'just a game' to her any more; now, winning mattered to her.

Suddenly she realised how tired she was. The pain was gone and she felt a pleasant heaviness settling on her so that she found it difficult to keep her eyes open.

"Don't go, Harry," she murmured reaching for his hand, before she dropped off into sleep.

Of course, even though he remonstrated with her emphatically, Madam Pomfrey threw Harry out of her hospital wing once Fleur was fast asleep.

"No, Mr. Potter," she told him very firmly. "It's strictly against the rules for you to remain here on your own. Now I know,-" she continued when Harry opened his mouth in protest, "that you will behave yourself, and everything, but I simply cannot allow it. Besides, she needs her rest, and trust me, she'll be right as rain tomorrow morning. Now, off you go."

She closed the door behind him and reluctantly Harry joined the others in the Gryffindor common room.

"It's my fault," he said to Ron and Hermione.

"Nonsense," Hermione told him. "Whatever makes you think that?"

"I showed her those tricks, didn't I? And she didn't have enough practice, and I should have made sure she was more secure on her broom… Oh, and perhaps she wanted to show me how good she already had become… She is that kind of person, you know…"

"Well, she's been asking for it, in my opinion," said Hermione, somewhat nastily, as Harry couldn't help thinking. "As all of you Quidditch nuts are, if you ask me."

Ron had not been listening, but was scribbling busily on a scrap of parchment.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Checking out the chances for the Cup," Ron said somewhat absently. "If Slytherin beat Hufflepuff with a large enough margin, which I think is pretty likely, and you get the snitch against Hufflepuff before I can let too many quaffles in, which I also think is possible, and if Ravenclaw…"

"Merlin, Ron," Harry stopped him irritably. "It's just been the second game. What's the use? There's no end of things that can happen, so just give it a rest, will you?"

Sulking, Ron got up and marched up the stairs to the dormitory.

True to Madame Pomfrey's prediction, Fleur was perfectly fine next morning, and when Harry, without bothering with breakfast, went to see her, she was ready to leave the hospital wing.

"You'll have to help me practise more," was about the first thing she told him – after a series of emotional kisses, naturally. "It was completely my own fault. Why couldn't I keep my eyes open? I want to learn how to fly my broom without holding on to it with both my hands, and I've even seen you stand on it, balancing. I want to learn all that, too!"

Harry, who had come to the hospital wing with the idea to apologise for his rash teachings, was overwhelmed with that outburst and at a loss what to say.

"And here I was thinking you hated all competitive sports! What's made you change your mind?"

Fleur thought for a minute, then shrugged.

"I don't know. Somehow, suddenly, I want to win – or want the Ravenclaw team to win. It's the same as with that Tournament last year: I remember how reluctantly I entered my name at first and how much I wanted to win after having been chosen…"

"Hmm, I'm not sure I can risk teaching you too much, you know," Harry said seriously, but his eyes gave him away. "I don't expect the Gryffindors would appreciate it."

"But I'll never be as good as you are, Harry! You will, cherie, won't you?"

He gave up his pretence and grinned at her.

"With you looking at me like this? What do you think?"

After a couple of minutes of demonstrative gratitude, Fleur slipped out of Harry's arms and said,

"Let's start today! But first, I need some breakfast. I could devour a dragon!"

Xxx

The beginning of December saw a period of severe cold, but after one week of heavy snowfall, the skies cleared, and the brilliant white landscape sparkled in the sun under a cloudless deep blue sky.

Harry and Fleur were outside practising on their brooms most of their free time, and, although it involved several falls and near-crashes, Fleur kept it up, and her skills were gradually approaching Harry's.

In fact, one afternoon, as they went back to the castle after another round, Harry told her,

"I don't think there's much left that I can teach you. A bit more practice, perhaps, but basically, I believe you know as much about flying as I do. Angelina is going to kill me for this-"

He was stopped by Fleur hurling herself at him and kissing him passionately.

"- but it's worth it, believe me!" he finished when he was in a position to speak again.

They walked on silently, until Fleur spoke again.

"Do you remember, Harry? Just a year ago – we had just finished the first task – "

"Oh yes. And then I caught that egg for you, remember?"

"Do you know – I think that's when I fell in love with you…"

"But it took you a while to show me, didn't it?"

"Beast!" She pushed him playfully. "I guess it took me some time to realise, and then some more time to admit it to myself… Actually, it was Gabrielle who made me see what was before my very eyes…"

"Little Gabie! I'd love to see her again! How is she doing?"

"Fine enough; I went to see her the morning of the match. She'd so love to be here – and it's two more years until she can even start going to school… She's always so very clever – I don't know what I'd do without her…"

A few days later the colourful Delacour mail bird dropped a letter in front of Fleur at breakfast.

Ma Chere,

It is not so long until Christmas now, and time to make plans and preparations. I and all the family trust that this year we will again be able to spend the holidays together. We missed you terribly last year.

Ask Harry if he wants to come, too. We would all be delighted to have him with us.

Please tell me soon if he is coming,

Your loving mother.

"My mother," Fleur said to Cho. "She's inviting Harry for the holidays. And do you know – I believe she's never signed as your loving mother ever before! I'll have to tell him right away!"

Breathlessly she rushed over to the Gryffindor table.

"Look!" she gasped, waving the letter in Harry's face. He took it and glanced at it.

"Sorry," he said with a smile. "But – it's all French to me."

"Mother is inviting you to spend the Christmas holidays with us! You will come, Harry, won't you?"

"Hmm – let me think… I could always bully the Dursleys into letting me stay with them, I suppose, or I could spend some time with my one and only fantastic girlfriend… A hard choice, really, don't you think so, Ron?"

"Well I did tell you you'd be welcome at the Burrow," Ron said in a sulky tone of voice. "But I understand that's not a competition…"

"Come Ron," Harry nudged him. "You know it's not a question of competition at all – I, for one, don't feel the slightest inclination to test if you are better at kissing…"

Ron went red, muttered something and turned his attention to his bacon and eggs again.

"Tell your mum I'll love to come," Harry told Fleur. "But let's make it a surprise for Gabrielle."

"Yes, let's," Fleur replied with a big smile. "And –you know – it sounds so strange to hear you call her my mum…"

Aware of the students' need to find Christmas presents for their friends and families, Dumbledore allowed them another Hogsmeade weekend two weeks before the beginning of the holidays. Therefore, that Saturday after lunch an enormous crowd was streaming out of the castle doors, towards the waiting horseless carriages.

Hermione seemed eager not to let Ron leave her side.

"I won't allow you to spend so much on a present for me again," she said. "That perfume was really enough, and more than you should have done! So, promise me that you'll just get me something tiny if you must."

She glared at Harry, who was struggling to suppress his grin, and steered Ron away to one of the carriages.

Fleur and Harry, on the other hand, who both wanted to look for some present for the other, had agreed to go into the village separately and to meet up in the Three Broomsticks afterwards.

So Fleur found herself walking towards the carriages together with Lyra, Calliope and Aurora. Luna was standing at the shaft of one of the vehicles, moving one hand in a strange way through the air. When they came nearer, they saw that she was holding what looked like a sandwich in her other hand in front of her, and just when Fleur wanted to ask her what she was doing, there was a slurping noise and the sandwich was gone. Luna made a cooing sound, gave the empty air another pat, wiped her other hand on her cloak and looked at them with a happy smile.

"He likes the attention even better than the snack," she told them brightly, turned and marched back towards the castle.

"What-?" Fleur began.

"Search me," Aurora said and shrugged. "Ask her, if you must know, but I don't think it will matter. And now let's get going."

"Luna sees things nobody else can see," Lyra said quietly. "But she usually knows what she's doing…"

They got into the carriage and presently arrived in the village.

"Do you mind terribly if I come with you?" Lyra asked Fleur when they descended from the carriage, while Aurora was already on her way to the fashion store. "I won't be angry if you say no," she added as an afterthought.

"Of course not; in fact, it's perhaps a good idea to get a second opinion. To be honest, I have no idea what to get for Harry. It should be something special, you know…" she stopped and felt herself blush.

"Well, perhaps it will just jump at you when you see it," Lyra said with a smile. "It's more often like that than you'd imagine. They say there is some magic involved in giving gifts…"

"Really? Who says?"

"I forge where I heard it, but it's supposed to be something like second sight; as if the ideal gift has a way of calling out to you… Mind you, it might just be one of those legends…"

"If Harry's ring is anything to go by, there must be a lot of truth in it… "Fleur looked at the silver metal band on her finger thoughtfully. "I do hope I can find something adequate. Anyway, let's go. I want to find that shop he told me about."

So they set off together along the High Street and indeed, after a couple of minutes, they found the shop with the sign of Grit Garlick's Gifts and entered.

"Welcome, dear young ladies," the shopkeeper's voice sounded from the dusky interior of the shop. "Christmas gifts for some gallant gentlemen?"

"Well, my father, actually," said Lyra quietly.

"A gallant gentleman nevertheless," the shopkeeper laughed. "This way, dear, this way!" And she pointed towards a line of shelves. "And for the other young lady-" she looked at Fleur shrewdly through her large glasses. "Don't say a thing, dear! I know – I remember who bought this ring… And I am sure you will find just the right thing for him over there!"

Surprised that the shopkeeper recognised her ring so easily, Fleur turned and started walking along the row of shelves she had indicated, wondering if there was any truth in what Lyra had said.

She kept wandering among the shelves for some time, the beam of light faithfully following her, without coming across anything that caught her eye. But suddenly a golden glitter drew her attention. A clasp or brooch, such as were used for fastening cloaks at the neck, in the form of a rampant golden lion was displayed on a blue silk cushion.

"The Gryffindor Lion!" Fleur thought. She took the ornament in her hands to look at it more closely. The figure of the lion was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, she thought she could see each single hair. A single red ruby was set in as its eye and it sparkled brightly in the beam of light above her head.

Without any further hesitation, she returned to the counter with the lion.

"I did tell you you would find exactly the right thing, didn't I?" the shopkeeper said, as Fleur handed her find over to her. "Even if you did not know what you were looking for."

"It's beautiful," Fleur said, whispering without noticing.

"Yes, isn't it? The wizard that sold it to me said something about it having belonged to Godric Gryffindor himself, but of course that doesn't mean anything, he just wanted to get a better price, I am sure. Who in their right mind would sell an authentic Gryffindor heirloom as if it was just some ordinary piece of jewellery? No, there's nothing to it, to be sure."

"If there was, you'd certainly not sell it just like this," Fleur said with a smile. She was sure the whole story was just a way to make her more interested. "So, what will you want for it?"

"A clever young lady you are," the shopkeeper said. "And I won't ask more than it's worth as it is. It's pure gold, you know, and this is a beautiful ruby, too…"

"How much?" Fleur was getting impatient.

"You young people don't appreciate the beautiful art of bargaining anymore… 150 Galleons, and it's worth every Knut of it, believe me."

At that moment, Lyra appeared from among the shelves, holding something in her hand. The shopkeeper turned towards her.

"Yes, dear? Have you found what you were looking for?"

"Er… I've found something," Lyra said hesitantly. "I don't know about the looking for part, though… Anyway, I'd like to have this…" She presented something that, to Fleur, looked like a very ordinary piece of carved wood. "My dad collects them," she said as if to explain her choice.

"An interesting hobby, I am sure," said the shopkeeper. "And a fine example of ancient Scottish craftsmanship this one is, to be sure. Not that I thought someone would be interested in this sort of thing, though… That's also why I can let you have it cheap – how about seven Sickles?"

Lyra counted out the coins and pocketed her purchase in her cloak. Fleur, who was beginning to feel somewhat neglected, was just opening her mouth to say something of the kind, when the shopkeeper turned to her again.

"I'm so sorry, dear. Now, 150, I believe I said?"

Fleur, annoyed because of the woman's behaviour, said, "A hundred should be quite enough, I think."

"Ah the spirit of youth! Not to be outdone by a greedy old woman, eh? I appreciate that, dear. Well, a hundred it is. Shall I wrap it for you?"

"No, thank you," Fleur replied, rather surprised at the woman's acceptance of her offer. "I want it to be personal," she added, in a more conciliatory tone.

"Right you are, dear. There's nothing like the personal touch to a present. It's been a pleasure to deal with you young ladies. I do hope to see you again in my humble shop."

"She is quite a strange person, don't you think?" Fleur said when they had left the shop. "She let me have that clasp 50 Galleons cheaper without so much as a grumble. Why did she change her mind so fast, do you think?"

"I have no idea; just take it and enjoy it. It IS a beautiful piece, to be sure, even if all he stuff about Godric Gryffindor is a lot of rubbish."

"Of course it is. I bet she just made that up. But what did you buy, Lyra? What is it your dad collects?"

"Knives," Lyra answered, sounding embarrassed. "I know it's a weird hobby, and I have no idea why he does it. And, before you ask, no, he isn't the violent type at all, quite the opposite – as gentle and kind as a girl could wish for her father to be…" her voice had become soft as she said it. And he still misses mum so much…"

"Your mum died?"

"Oh, it would be easier for him if she had. But she – she disappeared. He has never told me about it, no matter how often I have asked him, but I think he still hopes to find her again some day…"

"I'm sorry," Fleur said quietly, putting an arm round her. Orest the parrot was making small cooing sounds on Lyra's shoulder.

Lyra straightened up with a visible effort. "Well, that's neither here nor there," she said a tone of lightness in her voice that sounded forced. "The others will already be waiting for us in the pub. Let's go."