A Cadmean Victory

by DarknessEnthroned

The escape of Peter Pettigrew leaves a deeper mark on his character than anyone expected, then comes the Goblet of Fire and the chance of a quiet year to improve himself, but Harry Potter and the Quiet Revision Year was never going to last long. A more mature, darker Harry, bearing the effects of 11 years of virtual solitude. GoF AU. There will be romance... eventually.

36. Summertime

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowling's.

So this chapter is a little longer than the others, it wasn't really meant to be, but there just seemed a lot of things that needed to happen before the summer started.

This is also the last chapter of A Cadmean Victory, my GoF AU part... Fortunately for anyone still reading, it will be immediately followed (tomorrow) by the first chapter of the OotP AU part of the same story ;)

Enjoy...

Chapter 36

He was inside something, some cage or cell. It was too dark for him to see it, but he could sense the walls around him, feel them curving close.

It was wrong, and he was sure the walls of his prison were growing nearer in the gloom, but he couldn't seem to move to escape.

His magic moved in frustration, pulsing, pushing at the closeness containing him.

It shattered.

Harry found himself staring at a line under his hands, a divide between black and white. Slowly he pulled back his hands, staring at the grey prints he left behind across the line. Around him the fragments of his prison disintegrated into nothing.

The marks of his hands spread, turning both the dark and the light on either side of the line to grey.

Harry rose to his feet, and found himself standing on the chessboard from beneath the third corridor.

The pieces were not as they had left them, but frozen in the midway into the beginning of a new game, with different figures than before. The white king had no crown or sword, but he stood, regal, righteous and powerful, his hands clasped humbly over his great beard.

Harry eyed the other pieces, they were all still, the only piece missing was the white king's pawn, the piece that should have been occupying his square.

My prison.

He stepped from his square, leaving grey footprints across the board as wandered. The marks swiftly swelled to swallow their squares.

The white king looked down on him with pride and benevolence, but there was no understanding in his blank eyes and Harry felt nothing as he gazed at the sculpted figure.

The black king's eyes tracked him too, staring with cold, apathetic curiosity as he traced his fingers over the surface of the nearest white pawn. It too, turned to grey.

Fascinated, Harry reached out to the next white pieces, to the white knight that stood beside the changed queen's pawn and the rook beyond it.

They changed too, but not as he expected.

Instead of leaving his grey finger marks upon them, they crumbled away into nothing, leaving piles of dust on their greying squares.

The black king looked on unaffected, even as resigned, stone tears fell from the eyes of the white king.

The black pieces changed too, some crumbled, the black queen and the two knights, but others were consumed by his handprints, coloured grey as the squares he strode across.

In curiosity he turned, covering the board, brushing past the white queen, who collapsed into dust at his trailing finger tips, and placed his hands firmly upon the white king's chest.

He too, crumbled into nothing, and Harry flinched back, slipping on the squares and falling.

The jerk dragged him awake.

'Mr Potter.' Harry had never heard anything so sweet as the stern tone of Madam Pomfrey. There was no way she would ever be working for Voldemort, he didn't have the authority to coerce her, nobody did, not in her ward.

'I'm awake,' Harry smiled at her, 'and perfectly fine,' he could see the steaming goblet of whatever that was in her hand and really didn't want to have to drink it. It was fine when he was unconscious; he couldn't taste it then.

'You are not perfectly fine, Mr Potter,' she snapped, placing the goblet next to his bed. 'I am going to permanently label this bed as yours for next year.'

'I feel fine?' Harry attempted, eyeing the thick, chalky looking liquid with some distaste.

'You are the second student I have had in this wing in the last week suffering from the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, and yes,' she caught him looking at the goblet, 'you will be drinking that down to the last drop!' Harry barely registered her last words.

Fleur.

He immediately looked up and down the length of the ward, but the curtains were all drawn back against the walls and the beds were empty. He was Madam Pomfrey's only victim.

'What's it for?' Harry asked, resignedly reaching for the potion.

'It's everything your body needed the last week it spent sleeping off the effects of bouncing off the anti-apparition wands,' she informed in a surprisingly mild tone.

'Will it taste as bad as it looks?' he questioned cheekily, then gulped it down before she could force it into his throat in revenge.

'Yes,' she answered sweetly, as something akin to burning liquorice coated the inside of his mouth, 'yes it will.'

She pulled her wand from her uniform pocket, and traced it over his torso lightly.

'You seem to be perfectly fine, Mr Potter,' she told him with a small smile. 'Except for another scar, you've come away unscathed.'

She handed him a very small mirror and Harry stared at the small mark on his cheek. It was a small triangular nick on the edge of his cheekbone.

'I couldn't get rid of the deepest part of the cut,' Madam Pomfrey explained, 'whatever was used had some enchantment to seal the wound up and I was not able to fully undo the effects.'

'It's barely noticeable,' Harry shrugged, and handed her back the mirror. It was hardly going to drag the eye away from his other scar. 'I-er-I don't suppose you'd tell me what's happened since the tournament ended?'

'You won,' Madam Pomfrey told him, 'but it was a mess after Bagman's involvement came to light.'

'Bagman?' Harry kept his tone innocent.

'He was the one who put your name in,' the nurse sniffed angrily, 'the whole tournament was rigged so you'd get there first and disappear off to You-Know-Who. He confessed to everything immediately once the Imperius Curse was lifted and spouted the whole story to the headmaster and the minister.'

'Where is he?' Harry felt the buffoon deserved some punishment for his role in everything. Krum was dead and Fleur had been tortured because of his weakness.

'The minister carted him off to Azkaban immediately,' Madam Pomfrey shook her head in disbelief, 'no trial, no nothing, just gone, and all for things done under the Imperius Curse. If that was the done thing half of wizarding society would be there after the last war.'

Harry felt a small flicker of pity for the former Wasps player. He had allowed himself be manipulated and tricked, and because of it people had been hurt and killed, but Azkaban was a step too far. Fudge was clearly just sweeping things under the rug.

No doubt Lucius Malfoy was advising him.

'He took the blame for what happened in the tournament?' Harry asked carefully. He'd done his best to remove Cedric from the line of fire, but there had been nothing he could do about himself, the only unattacked champion.

'He took the blame for everything, Mr Potter,' the nurse sniffed. 'The minister didn't seem very interested in his version of events at all, even when it was obvious he had been under the Imperius Curse.'

Harry was hardly surprised, not from what he knew of Fudge. The man was putty in the hands of Malfoy and his ilk, and considering the company the pure-blood kept, Harry wouldn't been counting on the Ministry of magic for anything anytime soon.

'At least the students know what happened,' Madam Pomfrey assured him. 'Dumbledore announced everything at the end of the year feast.'

The end of year feast?

'Exactly what is the date, Madam Pomfrey?'

'Oh,' the nurse looked momentarily flustered. 'It's the second of July, Mr Potter, everyone has gone home except for the staff and you. You should write to Mr Longbottom and Miss Bell, they were often in here to see you over the last week and will be grateful to know you have recovered.'

Harry felt a rush of affection for the loyal pair. They had not forgotten about him while he had been injured, even though Harry had not been able to teach or help Neville, or spend time with Katie. He'd write to them the moment he could.

Everyone, Harry suddenly realised, his heart sinking.

'And the other schools?' he asked the nurse, very quietly.

'They've gone back to their own institutions,' Madam Pomfrey told him, swiping the goblet from his bedside and disappearing into her office next to his bed.

She went back to France.

Harry felt oddly sick. Fleur was a very long way away now, too far for him to ever find to even speak to again.

Of course.

'Are you ok, Mr Potter?' The nurse had stepped back out of her office.

'I'm perfectly fine,' he reminded her, smiling bitterly. It was inevitable that he wouldn't get the chance to speak to her now he wanted, how he rued not ignoring his temper by the lake, or lingering by the Room of Requirement, or taking any of the moments over the last few months in which he had wanted to find her.

'If you insist,' the nurse sighed. 'The headmaster wants to speak with you before you leave, he's on his way down to the ward now.'

Harry took that as permission to get out of bed and dress himself in the robes he had been provided with. No doubt the staff and the house elves had failed to find his stuff, located, as it was, in the Chamber of Secrets.

'Harry,' Dumbledore strode through the doors into the hospital wing. 'Are you feeling well?'

'Yes,' Harry lied. Something fluttered at the edges of his mind when he met the headmaster's bright blue eyes and he furiously cleared his mind, his hand flashing to his wand.

'Ah,' Dumbledore looked slightly guilty, 'you have been learning the mind arts. I apologise, Harry, it has become a habit for me to take a peek using passive legilimency, reprehensible, I know, but sometimes necessary for the greater good.'

'I would appreciate it, sir,' Harry responded cooly, 'if you refrained from doing that. I am aware of occlumency and its principles, but not legilimency. How does it work?'

He remembered quite clearly the final spell Riddle had cast in the graveyard. Voldemort had only glimpsed the emotion behind his spell and memories of his childhood, things from before Hogwarts, but he couldn't risk him seeing anything more important next time they met. Harry had to find a way to keep his mind closed off completely.

'It's a complicated and obscure branch of magic,' Dumbledore began, 'one Voldemort has mastered. It allows a wizard to create a connection to the mind of another and, from there, see his thoughts, feelings and memories. Passive legilimency does little more than skim the surface and let me glimpse very strong reactions or thoughts, but a more active approach would allow me to follow those thoughts and feelings as far back as they run, and even create visions of my own in your head.'

'I think I would like to learn to defend myself against it,' Harry decided.

'It is often a good idea, especially for you, Harry, whom Voldemort has taken an interest it. The easiest way to defeat it is to break eye contact with the caster, all but the most skilled practitioners require eye contact to maintain the magic and it is far easier to do with it.'

That is how I broke the connection, Harry realised.

He'd apparated away from Riddle, and that had separated them. It was a disturbing thought that in the seconds between being hit by the spell and escaping Voldemort had still managed to see so much.

'I can point you in the direction of some good books on the subject, Harry, but I must press you on what happened after you touched the cup and were whisked away. Ludo Bagman, who altered the portkey, knew only that he was sending you to Little Hangleton, Voldemort, and that the Dark Lord would be returning on that night.' Dumbledore ushered Harry out of the door and into the corridor, beginning the route towards his office.

'He is back,' Harry answered simply. 'There was a ritual in the graveyard, using my blood. He has a body now.'

'What else do you remember, Harry?' The old wizard was staring him intently and Harry, remembering the explanation of legilimency, carefully cleared his mind.

'He was angry with the Death Eaters, we duelled.' Harry dragged his words out, acting confused while thinking furiously. 'Bertha Jorkins was the one who Imperiused Bagman, she killed Crouch when he found Pettigrew, and Pettigrew for getting caught and risking his master. We can't prove Sirius' innocence now, can we?'

I'm sorry, Sirius, he silently apologised.

'I'm afraid not, Harry,' Dumbledore shook his head sadly. 'That does explain the body that was found on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, though I suspect Cornelius will not accept its true identity.'

'There was more,' Harry looked down in feigned embarrassment to hide his momentary smile of triumph, 'Voldemort beat me, he was too strong, I only just managed to apparate away when the wards trapping me failed.'

'Surviving a duel with Voldemort is something to be proud of, Harry,' the headmaster told him gently. 'At your age you should not have had a chance. Did something inexplicable happen that allowed you to escape?'

'No,' Harry shook his head. 'He apparated to dodge my spell,' he shifted his wand further up his sleeve out of sight at the faint hint of green light, 'so I tried to apparate back here and sort of succeeded.' Madam Pomfrey had mentioned bouncing, so he doubted he'd arrived quite as planned. Dumbledore looked faintly surprised. 'Should something have happened, Professor?'

'As I'm sure you remember your first wand shared a brother core with Voldemort's. It is possible for that to cause an extraordinary effect known as priori incantatem,' the old headmaster explained as they approached the gargoyle. 'Your new wand must be different enough that it cannot occur.'

'Sugar Quills,' he told the gargoyle cheerfully.

'What happens now, headmaster?' Harry asked.

'I suspect, Harry, that Voldemort will seek to keep his return a secret while he regains strength. I will do everything I can to expose him, but there is nothing you can or should be doing at your age to stop him. In a few years, perhaps, but not yet.'

The headmaster moved quickly up the steps, leaving Harry in his wake, and by the time he'd reached the open door to the office Dumbledore was seated in his office.

'Take a seat, Harry,' he smiled, 'and help yourself to a humbug if you want. I find they help me think.'

'I'm ok thanks, Professor.' Harry took a seat on the opposite side of the desk, avoiding the proffered bowl of sweets.

'First of all,' Dumbledore pushed a rather weighty looking bag in his direction, 'your winnings from the Triwizard Tournament, you did, despite everything return with the cup.'

Harry remembered then that he had still been holding it when he had apparated.

I won.

He bit back the grin. This wasn't the time to celebrate. He wouldn't even be able to read his name off the trophy next time he saw Fleur. That considerably dampened his rush of triumph. Harry would have happily listened to the french witch read her own name off at him if it gave him an excuse to speak with her.

'I do have a few questions for you, Harry,' Dumbledore said seriously, adjusting his half-moon spectacles.

'Of course, Professor,' Harry kept his face calm and still, even as his heart began to race.

'What happened within the maze, Harry?'

'Krum was killed,' Harry said in a dull monotone. He didn't have to fake his regret, he'd liked the competitive Bulgarian. 'I came across the end of the fight.'

'You stunned, Mr Diggory,' the headmaster confirmed.

'I obliviated him as well, Cedric would never have done any of those things on his own, so I stunned him and broke his wand. He won't be blamed now.' Harry hoped his gamble was about to pay off. He did not want to take the blame for what the Imperiused Cedric Diggory had done instead, there were many places he'd rather be than Azkaban.

'That was very noble of you, Harry,' Dumbledore smiled. 'Mr Diggory is distraught over what has happened, but given the position Cornelius has taken and your risky act, he will never suspect the part he played or have to bear the guilt. I'm very proud of you.'

'Thank you,' Harry replied quietly.

'It may leave you in a very tenuous position, Harry,' the headmaster warned. 'There will be those at the ministry who seek to taint your reputation, and this will be an opportunity for them.'

'I know, headmaster,' Harry smiled faintly, 'but my friends would never believe that, and I won't fear their lies.' He'd cross that bridge when he came to it, if nothing was said, all the better, since Bagman had taken the blame for everything there would be no official accusation or trial.

'That's very wise of you, my boy,' he smiled. 'And now I must ask you what Voldemort said to you in the graveyard.'

'He didn't really speak to me much,' Harry lied, feeling slightly guilty for doing so. He had a feeling that Dumbledore knew what the prophecy Riddle had mentioned was, but he didn't trust the headmaster to tell him, and if he knew Harry was after it, it would make things more difficult. 'Just some insults and the Cruciatus Curse, really.'

'I see,' the headmaster looked quite old for a moment. 'I'm very sorry, Harry, I don't seem to be able to keep you from harm for a single year, do I?'

'I'm sure you aren't to blame, sir,' Harry responded. He had intended to be kind, but a note of something slightly cruel managed to seep in and the old wizard flinched ever so slightly.

'I have only one more thing I need you to speak about before I can let you apparate home, though I must ask you to refrain from using your excellent ability except when in the direst need. It is still illegal, if harmless, but the supporters of Voldemort in the ministry will be waiting for any excuse to smear your name.'

'I will only use it when I have no other choice,' Harry agreed, choosing his words carefully.

'Thank you, Harry,' the headmaster nodded. 'I appreciate that. I'm sure you're dying to be able to use your magic whenever you can, when I was young I used to use my magic at every chance I got.'

'What did you want to ask me about?' Harry inquired.

Let it be horcruxes, let it be the prophecy, let me trust him like I used to.

Harry was well aware it was a foolish hope. There was no reason Dumbledore would change his mind. He was still the final sacrifice as far as the headmaster knew or planned.

'We found Miss Delacour quite a long way from where she remembered falling unconscious when we apprehended Ludo Bagman.' The headmaster's face shifted to something quite grim. 'It was very lucky that we stopped him, since if he had touched her like he intended he would have suffered quite a horrible fate.'

Harry looked up at him innocently, emptying his mind of thoughts, and staring into the headmaster's eyes. 'I carried her out of harm's way, it was either her or Cedric, and I figured he was needed alive to take the blame, but Fleur was not. When I encountered the sphinx I had to make sure she was safe in case I answered its riddle incorrectly.'

'That does not, Harry, excuse the use of such a horrible piece of magic. That was a particularly dark curse you used.' Dumbledore looked very disappointed.

'I'm not perfect, sir,' Harry played guilty. 'It was the only way I knew to protect her. It was for the greater good, headmaster,' he finished guilelessly.

'I understand, Harry,' the old wizard sighed. 'Far worse things have and will be done for the Greater Good, try not to let it burden your conscience, nobody came to harm.'

Harry did his best not to let his anger at the obvious self-justification show. 'I won't, sir,' he managed to reply tonelessly.

Worse things like raising a child to die, he wanted to spit across the desk.

Dumbledore was starting to look only a little better than Riddle in his actions towards Harry. They both wanted him dead, one for good intentions, the other for selfish ones, and neither were of great comfort to Harry.

'I'll let you go back to your home, Harry,' the headmaster told him kindly. 'Professor McGonagall and the house elves were unable to locate your things, so I'd remind you not to forget anything and collect your trunk from wherever you have hidden it before you leave.'

He was more right than he realised. Harry was going home, but only very briefly before he returned to the Dursley's.

'Thank you, sir,' Harry replied, picking up his somewhat weighty bag of galleons. 'I hope you have a good summer.'

Harry left the office, leaping down the spiral stairs and out past the gargoyle, before taking off in the direction of the Chamber of Secrets under his disillusionment charm. The founder was likely to be quite unhappy that he hadn't seen Harry in some time.

'Oh,' Salazar enthused with more sarcasm than Harry had yet to endure, 'you are alive. Thank you, sole remaining family member, for being so considerate as to visit and let me know.'

'I was sleeping off my encounter with Riddle,' Harry told him, grinning. He was glad of Slytherin's ire. He knew it meant the senile old portrait cared.

'What happened?' The painting demanded immediately.

'The third task was going to plan. I used fiendfyre once I was far enough into the maze to be unseen, and nobody seems to suspect me for the razing of the hedges, but the other champions were taken out by one of his servants so I could get to to the cup and be abducted. Voldemort was also responsible for my name ending up in the goblet,' Harry explained. 'His followers arranged events so that I ended up with him, using the trophy as a portkey, and he resurrected himself using my blood before I escaped.'

'Your blood?' Salazar asked sharply.

'Yes,' Harry nodded. He'd expected the founder to have some sort of reaction to that.

'The protection of your mother is not lost to you,' the painting decided after a moment of contemplation. 'It is possible that this has formed a bond of sorts between you. He cannot undo the blood magic your parents used, but he has stolen its protection for himself by using your blood in the ritual. He is protected just as you were, though I am unsure of the specifics. He may be protected from your actions, or from the results of his own, I do not know.'

'That is only one of many things I have learned,' Harry informed his ancestor quite gravely. 'There is a prophecy, Riddle mentioned it, and implied that it is at the very least relevant to me.'

'You must find it and learn what it says,' Salazar instructed firmly. 'If Voldemort knows what it is then that may dictate every action he takes against you. We can't afford to be left in the dark.'

'I know nothing about it,' Harry shrugged, 'only that it exists.'

'Find out about it,' Salazar snapped, 'someone must know something. A prophecy cannot be made without a witness.'

'I'll search as soon as I can,' Harry agreed, not having much clue as where to start, 'but I'll be out of contact with the wizarding world until term starts after summer.'

'Why?' Slytherin demanded incredulously.

'That's how it is every summer,' Harry told him helplessly. 'I can apparate here, but going anywhere else will attract suspicion and I don't really want to be attracting any adverse attention with Voldemort back.'

Dumbledore had been right about that much.

'So you can't even use magic for the summer,' the painting said, disgusted. 'This is why I wanted the school to take on Muggle-born students full time, they get left behind and cut of the world that they rightfully should be part of by their own families.'

'Why doesn't it?' Harry immediately regretted asking the question.

'Godric insisted that breaking up those families was wrong, and the others agreed. I could hardly argue against all three of my friends, so I relented.'

'Perhaps you should not have,' Harry mused, remembering Riddle's memories and how he had once believed Hogwarts his home, just as Harry did. He had no doubt that they were both thinking of the same specific part. The Chamber of Secrets had been home to both of them.

'Did you still win?' The portrait seemed rather expectant that he had. Slytherin would never accept anything less than his best from his heir.

'I won,' Harry didn't need to hold back his smile this time, even if it was still tainted by regret.

'Then at least you have proved that girl from the other school wrong,' Salazar nodded, 'I hope you went to speak to her.'

'She's gone back to France,' Harry informed hollowly. The painting stared down at him with slight pity, the founder knew that he had formed an attachment to Fleur Delacour. He'd had nobody else to speak to it about when the Room of Requirement had begun to make it unbearable.

'I take it you are about to leave?' Salazar asked, peering down at him and changing the subject.

'Yes, my aunt and uncle are no doubt already furious with me for being late, but I'll come back when I can.' Uncle Vernon was likely to explode with rage, not only had Harry inconvenienced them, but he was about to use magic to return to their house. Harry was quite looking forward to it.

The founder looked concerned.

'If it becomes unbearable you can just return here through the chamber,' he suggested gently.

'This is going to be the best summer yet,' Harry grinned, 'I have to catch up on everything I missed in my classes because of the tournament, and,' he slipped his wand from his sleeve, waving it cheerfully, 'Ollivander was kind enough not to apply the trace that prevents me using magic in the summer without being detected.'

Salazar laughed rather coldly. 'I hope your muggle relatives realise how different things are going to be because of that.'

'They'll come to realise soon enough,' Harry smirked.

'Now?' His ancestor asked rather sadly, clearly a little upset that Harry was going to be leaving him alone down in the chamber. 'What about your things?'

'I need only my wand,' Harry responded. 'Hedwig can find her own way to me, she's a smart owl, and I have every book I could need in here. I'll just apparate back when I need something.'

'It's a long way to apparate just for a book,' Salazar remonstrated very half-heartedly, 'you might splinch yourself again.'

'It is,' Harry grinned, 'I'll get very good at apparating.' Salazar attempted and failed to hide his smile at the obvious excuse to visit.

'Off you go then,' he ordered, 'but you're cleaning up that basilisk corpse first thing when you next come back. I know you can use fiendfyre well enough to get rid of it now.'

Harry shot him a parting smile, pictured the Dursley's back garden, and twisted the world back past him.

There was a shriek of surprise and a smash as something glass broke.

'Hello, Aunt Petunia,' he called cheerfully, waving at the horrified woman. 'Hello, Uncle Vernon, Dudley, I'm back.'

There was a moment of silence as Vernon did his best to cover every shade of red known to man before moving on to purple. Harry smiled icily.

I'm going to enjoy this.

'Where have you been, boy?' The man's bellow could probably have been heard on the other side of Surrey.

'The neighbours, Vernon,' his aunt hissed.

'And how dare you appear like that!' He had reached a shade of puce Harry hadn't seen before, and was yelling only a little quieter than before.

'I was in hospital,' Harry explained, letting the cold creep into his voice. He wasn't scared of his uncle, not after duelling Voldemort.

'Don't take that tone with me!' Vernon rose to his feet to tower over Harry as threateningly as he could. 'You can't do anything freakish now, boy, go to your room and change into normal clothes and then we'll talk about your behaviour. I won't tolerate…' He trailed off as Harry's wand gently pressed itself into his jowled cheek just below his right eye.

It was glowing a bright, cold green.

'Oh,' Harry smiled brightly, 'please carry on, uncle, don't let me interrupt you.'

His aunt's mouth was opening close in a manner amusingly similar to a goldfish, and Dudley was frozen in disbelief.

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, but the only thing that emerged from under his bushy moustache was a strangled whimper.

'I shall assume you have finished speaking, then,' Harry concluded. 'Now, if an underage wizard,' there was another strangled noise when Harry said the forbidden word, 'performs illegal magic a letter arrives to inform them what they've done and what will happen next. Observe.'

He retracted his wand from his uncle's face and transfigured Dudley's sandwich into a cobra. The boy screamed every bit as loudly as his aunt, even eclipsing her for pitch, and they both recoiled from the table to cower across the garden from the admittedly deadly Egyptian Cobra.

They waited in the garden for several minutes as the snake made a mess of the table, scattering perfectly prepared sandwiches everywhere.

'No letter,' Harry remarked in mock surprise. Vernon blanched, and Harry banished the snake with a flick of his wand that made all three Dursley's flinch. 'I'm going to my room to change,' he told them firmly, 'please remember that demonstration for the future.' Everything but the ice slid from his face and eyes, leaving his previously warm smile cold, cruel and menacing. 'I'd hate to have to make this point a second time, I might decide I need to do something slightly more dramatic than summon a small snake...'

He slipped his wand away and strode inside through the back door, while the Dursley's were still stunned. His wardrobe was full of Dudley's cast offs, but a little transfiguration and nobody would ever know, he could keep reapplying it until he bought some new clothes of his own. For the most part, the summer looked bright.

Hedwig was sitting on his desk, one taloned foot outstretched on the folded, manila surface of an envelope.

Did Ollivander lie to me?

He immediately discarded the idea. Hedwig would not be the owl to deliver an official ministry warning.

Curious, Harry unfolded the envelope. There was only a single line of writing on the front. It had been written next to a hand-drawn image, sketched in pencil, but animate, as all images in the wizarding world seemed to be. The picture was of a tree, a willow, leaning over a bend in the river, its branches caught in a slight breeze.

Eleven o'clock on the day you receive this, or the first afterwards, Harry read. The word is argent.

He flipped over the picture, hoping for a name, fearing he would find the Dark Mark. He didn't exactly trust portkeys at the moment.

Fleur Delacour.

Her name was signed elegantly, looping gracefully across the bottom of the page. It could have said anything or nothing on the other side. Harry would still be holding it tightly, smiling like an idiot, with a shivering heart, just so long as the signature remained the same.

A more conservative part of him warned that it was probably a trap, but a quick glance at the clock told him it was less than half an hour to eleven and that voice of caution was swiftly overpowered. There was nothing that could stop him from going. Voldemort would surely have chosen a less convoluted plot to capture him.

He flipped the sketch back over, eyeing the drawing in anticipation.

'Argent.'

Nothing happened.

'Argent,' he tried, pronouncing it with a french accent. The picture glowed, there was a sudden jerk, and suddenly his back was flat against something warm and rough.

He was standing under and against the trunk of the willow tree from the picture, looking over the bend in the river.

Harry tilted his forearm to make it easier to get to his wand, but it felt a little warm to be England, and he was very much hoping it was a real invitation.

'You're early,' a soft, french accented voice told him from above.

Definitely Fleur.

There was a quiet thud as she jumped down out of the tree next to him. 'I said eleven,' she reminded him, 'you are lucky that I come here often, else you would have had to wait.'

'I think I could have survived,' he responded with a smile, looking around him. It was a beautiful, peaceful spot.

'You owe me an explanation, Harry Potter.' Fleur's bright, blue eyes bored into his, and he became even more aware of the tree trunk behind him. 'I did not walk myself all the way too the centre of the maze, and I certainly did not place a curse capable of killing anyone who tried to touch me intending harm on myself.'

'That may have been me,' Harry admitted, not seeing a way to deny it and not really wanting to lie to her. 'I couldn't leave you for whichever of Voldemort's followers was lurking around.'

'So you carried me all the way across the maze to the wards instead?' Fleur's eyes sparkled and she took a step closer. 'My little sister, Gabrielle, has a theory as to why you might have carried me all that way instead of simply sending up red sparks as you must have done for Cedric Diggory.'

Harry gulped, suddenly Voldemort was looking like the better option. 'Is it an interesting theory?' His question came out very weakly, and something almost predatory gleamed in the silver-haired witch's eyes.

'I think that I would very much like to know if she is right.' Fleur placed a hand either side of him on the willow trunk, cutting off any avenue of escape save the drawing he was still holding.

'You made a portkey,' Harry noted, trying his best to clear his mind and not let either her proximity or her aura affect him. She was his Fleur from the Yule Ball again, the one who was so like him, who understood without pushing, and the one he had previously feared a lie created to use him.

'They are easy to make.' Fleur shrugged with slightly smug nonchalance. 'It will take you back, but that requires a different word to the one that brought you here.'

'You've trapped me,' Harry laughed. 'I did think it might be a trap, but I did not expect to be trapped by you.'

'I will give you the word once you answer my questions,' Fleur assured him, proud of her trick. He was showing her the Triwizard Trophy for this, that would remind her who won the real competition.

'What questions?' There were so many questions that he couldn't, shouldn't answer if she asked. He hoped it wasn't any of those, he didn't want to lie to her.

I won't lie, he decided.

'Why would you not speak to me after the Yule Ball?' Her eyes fixed themselves on a point just between his, piercing, and he wondered if she could use legilimency. Half of him wished she could, because it would be far simpler if she already knew, the other half curled up in embarrassment at the very idea.

'You avoided me,' he replied, 'you used your allure on me, kissed me, and then refused to speak to me for almost two months.' Harry felt he had a fairly solid case, even if he regretted some of his reaction afterwards. He didn't feel any remorse for some of it. Pettigrew had died and Harry had been freed because she had pushed him over the edge.

'I did not use my allure to affect you,' she defended. He was glad to see that small flicker of guilt pass through her eyes again and know for sure that whatever he was to her, it was not nothing.

'Yes you did,' Harry exclaimed, 'after the Yule Ball in the Room of Requirement, when you wanted to test my resistance. I felt it, Fleur.'

'You called me beautiful,' she smiled, leaning in a little closer. Harry had the distinct impression that she knew something he didn't.

'You used your charm on me,' Harry pointed out in his defence, 'and then you kissed me and left.'

'I'd drunk more wine than I should have,' Fleur confessed. 'I was feeling reckless, and I had never kissed anyone before, but I could not use my allure to make you think I was beautiful, not even if I tried. It is a compulsion to impress, to want, nothing more.'

'I didn't feel any desire to impress you,' Harry remembered aloud. He had never even come close to managing to forget that evening. 'Why did you avoid me?' He asked quickly, to escape the next question, the one he saw looming ominously in Fleur's very clear, very close eyes.

'I had a lot of things to think about,' she explained calmly, 'most of them were to do with you.' There was a flicker of something across her face, a tremor of anxiety that shook the facade of calm she was presenting to him.

'I'm sorry about the second task,' he said after a minute. 'I should not have been so cruel to you.'

'Why did you do that?' Fleur drew back a little so she could see him properly and Harry suddenly found there was a whole lot more air in between them to breathe. It all smelt of the same scent of burnt holly that clung to the blond veela.

'I was angry,' he admitted. 'You used to me to save Gabrielle, you used how I felt about you to make me do what you wanted. I hated that.' Harry had really hated that.

'How do you feel about me?' Her question, the question, wavered when Fleur spoke it, but she leant in confidently, as if unphased. Her face was much closer than before, only a hand's length from his own.

All the air disappeared from in between them and the words went with it, evaporating off his tongue every time he tried to say something.

'I won't give you the word to go back until you answer,' she warned him, half-teasing, half-serious. Fleur's voice grew increasingly uncertain.

She's nervous too.

Words didn't seem to be helping him. They kept abandoning him, vanishing on his lips, and as they remained stuck in his throat, Harry could see the hope in her eyes slowly dying. Something wet welled desperately in its place.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her across what little was left of the gap between them, giving up on his traitorous tongue.

'Is that your answer,' she whispered, her hair falling around their faces in a tickling, silver cascade.

Harry shook his head. 'No,' he managed to exhale. Her hands came from beside him on the willow tree to rest on his shoulders, but she didn't move away from the gentle pressure of their contact.

It was enough to give him the courage to kiss her. He slid his other hand up from the small of her back to the base of her neck and pressed his lips into hers as gently as he could.

Fleur was far less tentative.

The moment their lips touched her hands swept up into his hair and she crushed herself against him, pushing every curve of her body into the contours of his, and pressing his back hard into the tree. Her tongue tasted of marzipan again, leaving a sweet tang traced along his upper lip.

'That was a good answer,' she told him breathlessly when they separated.

'Gabrielle was right?'

'She will not let me ever forget it.' Fleur scowled playfully, but she was too happy to hide it for long and her warm smile soon spread back across her face.

'Good,' Harry decided. 'I don't ever want you to.' She kissed him again for that, more softly, taking his lower lip teasingly between her teeth.

'You aren't getting the word for the portkey,' Fleur smiled, running her hands through his hair, 'not until I'm satisfied.'

'I'm only fourteen, remember,' Harry reminded her, suddenly fearful.

'Almost fifteen,' she smirked, eying him coyly, then she laughed and kissed him again. 'It doesn't matter, I stopped thinking about your age a while ago.'

Harry leant his head back against the tree trunk, letting Fleur rest her cheek on his. 'How is this going to work? You will be in France, I will be in Britain.' Thoughts of Voldemort, Dumbledore, horcruxes and Death Eaters flooded through his head as he wished, not for the first time, that he was someone else.

'You can come visit me,' Fleur murmured into his neck, eyes closed, 'with that portkey. I will make one for myself, and we will both come here, whenever we can.'

'For the rest of our lives?' Harry asked her gently.

'Until we think of something better,' she told him, 'or I will just not tell you the word to send you back to Britain, and keep you here with me. Gabby would like that, she'd find it very romantic.'

'You'd kidnap the Boy-Who-Lived?' Harry teased her.

'Nobody would ever look for you here in France,' she decided, sounding worryingly serious. 'If you wanted, you could disappear and stay with me.' There was an unspoken desire there, but enough realism for Harry to know he wouldn't hurt her by refusing.

'You know I can't,' Harry responded, with surprising regret. 'I have to finish school, and that's the least of my worries.'

'Voldemort,' Fleur muttered angrily. 'We heard the rumours, even if your ministry denies it.'

'I have a plan,' he assured her, grinning cheerfully. 'He'll be defeated, I'll get wonderful exam results, win the house cup, and be in complete control of my life for the first time.'

It was a very vague plan, one that was little more than a list of four words, but it seemed to reassure Fleur.

It's five words now, Harry decided, changing his mind. Prophecy. Horcruxes. OWLs. NEWTs. Fleur. And certainly not in that order.

'I will help,' Fleur decided, shifting slightly to look up at him. 'I have only six more months at Beauxbatons left, then I am applying for a job with the Bureau d'énigmes. It will not be easy to get in, it takes years sometimes, but, hopefully, I will be able to work with the most complicated enchanted things in existence. Other things do not interest me yet, and my family is wealthy enough. In the meantime,' she leant back into his neck, 'I shall help you however I can and you will come and visit me.'

That apparently was that, because she gently place her finger on his lips when he tried to talk about the future again, and shook her head. Harry relaxed and kissed the finger tip.

Fleur was right. This was not the time to worry about such things, somehow, despite his best efforts, he'd managed to find her, his closest equal, and in this moment that was more important to him than anything else could be.

AN: Please read and review, thanks to everyone who does. Now the second part of the genre definition will actually begin in earnest, though I'm still concerned that without the three chapters pre-third task that the ending of this chapter will feel like a leap. I hope that gives you an impression of how long this could end up being provided I don't die first, either of natural causes or by being assassinated by J K Rowling for butchering her universe. I do wonder sometimes if she ever reads this stuff, and what she would make of it if she did.