Chapter 37 – Sparks Fly

Submitted: Sunday 11 November 2012

"I don't care what your intentions were. What you did wasn't right." Harry was as angry as Bill had seen him in some time.

To her credit, his wife wasn't backing down one bit, "What did I do? I only told her the truth." Fleur's hands were set firmly on her hips so that she looked an awful lot like a defiant Victoire protesting a punishment. "I would think that with Gabrielle arriving next week that you'd have at least broached the subject yourself. Did you forget she was coming or did you intend to duck your commitment altogether?"

Harry was struck dumb. Twice he opened his mouth and pointed but he couldn't force the words out...at least none he could say out loud.

Fleur baited him, "Did you have any intention of honouring your promise?" She batted her eyelashes for good measure.

Bill expected Harry to explode. Fleur could do that to someone. She knew just where to place the dagger and when to dig it deep. Harry's weakness was his word. She wasn't the sort to pull punches either...nothing was off limits to her when it came to an argument. Bill had spent more than one night in his old room at the Burrow in an effort not to strangle the gorgeous vixen after some well placed words on her part.

Harry still hadn't spoke. He looked like he was desperately gathering his thoughts so that he didn't blurt out a curse.

Fleur's hands were still on her hips. She raised an eyebrow and began tapping a foot as if to ask, 'Well?"

His answer was barely audible, "I didn't know she was going to be here so soon." Remembering his anger, his voice rose, "You could have said something to me first. Eve's a nice girl."

Fleur intentionally kept her response level and calm, "I thought what I was doing was complimenting you." Again she reached for her verbal dagger, "And how sure are you of how sweet this witch is?"

"Eve?" Harry was confused. "What do you mean?"

Fleur prepared her crushing blow. She really meant Harry no harm but if he was going to date her sister then he'd have to get past all of this rubbish with Eve. He honestly could not take care of himself when it came to the witches. He wanted to see the best in everyone.

She pulled out her copy of Witch Weekly. Opening to the back page and handing it to him, she asked, "Has Hermione not shown this to you yet?"

Harry hadn't bothered to speak to anyone that morning. In fact, his first order of business when he woke was to tell off Fleur. The moment Eve had left the evening before he planned exactly what he'd say and how he'd say it. They'd spent a few hours at his place snogging and talking. It tore his heart out the way Fleur had taken this tender witch and nearly broken her heart. So, when Harry glanced at the paper he wasn't even sure what he was looking at.

The picture was innocent enough. It was a candid shot of him strolling with Eva along Diagon Alley. He didn't remember the picture...by the decorations along the Alley it likely was taken in May before he'd left for Rome.

"What am I looking at?" asked an exasperated Harry.

Fleur pointed to the caption:

Fact or Fiction? An unidentified source at the Daily Prophet claims that Miss Eva Flanagan has been paid by the paper to use her relationship with Harry Potter to gather damaging information to be used in a future story. A full detail of the scandal will be provided next week in a special edition of your Witch Weekly.

Sometimes Rita frightened herself with her brilliance – and her quick thinking. She knew she didn't yet have enough for a story. It also wasn't much of a stretch to surmise that she'd be sacked on the spot if she even tried to publish the story in her own paper. What was a writer to do?

It was only known to a select few but Rita had written a few stories for Witch Weekly. Usually these were stories that she knew might embarrass her own paper or that she didn't want her own name attached to. She'd used the pseudonym Tari Streek because it went with the gossipy quality of the writing she did under the moniker. But it wasn't like Rita Skeeter ever used her real name anyhow.

Margarita Godzislawa Skatarvsky was born in England to a powerful witch and a Polish wizard who imported magic carpets from the Mideast. Her parents first met at the Quidditch World Cup the year it was held outside of Warsaw. Within a year they had a baby on the way.

Her name produced unlimited material for the young wizards at Hogwarts. Each morning at breakfast one of the Ravenclaw First Years would produce a lewd poem which he'd read to the entire table in the Great Hall. The challenge was to never use the same version of her name twice and the boys took it seriously. The readings were so embarrassing that Margarita began to fantasize about transforming into something so small that she was invisible.

Soon young Margarita was sneaking into the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library and reading books such as Taking New Forms and Finding the Animagus Within You. All of them insisted that becoming an Animagus required special talent and could not simply be learned. All the same, each gave step by step instructions as to how those talented witches and wizards would go about 'Transforming yourself into the you that you should have always been.'

After her first successful transformation, she began to imagine implications greater than simply ducking the blokes that tormented her. Revenge was her second fantasy. She began sneaking into the boy's flats and learning each of her bullies' deepest darkest secrets. In a self-published leaflet she began conjuring up all manner of stories about the going-ons at Hogwarts and the gossip of the day. The leaflets, written under the pseudonym Rita Skeeter, were first published and distributed to students free of charge. Soon, though, the publication was in such a heavy demand that her schoolmates were sending a knut a month with their owls to ensure prompt delivery.

It was Dumbledore who first learned the true identity of Rita Skeeter. Strangely, after reminding her that she should stick to the facts when publishing stories about her fellow students, he sent an owl to the then publisher of the Daily Prophet recommending her for a position as an intern during the holiday months. 'You would be well served to take a close look at young Margarita. She has a nose for a story and a unique talent for getting at the details.'

Dumbledore never once told anyone about her unique gift – even those fateful months during the Tri-wizard Tournament when all of Hogwarts was wondering how she was getting her facts. She'd often wondered why he was so very fond of his secrets. It was as if he felt perpetually compelled to keep others' secrets so that he could collect them for only himself. That was exactly it – he was a collector of secrets.

As her thoughts returned to the article, she again gushed with pride. Truth was, she had no story. She'd raced to the editor at Witch Weekly and promised her a full page exclusive if she published the caption and the picture. Of course, she negotiated a hefty sum for the exclusive but that would only be paid if she came up with a full-blown publishable piece.

The genius of the caption was not just that it would sell papers over the weekend. The main reason for it was to generate enough tension in her own office that people began to speak. She'd lie in wait and listen...hopefully digging up enough dirt that she'd be able to publish the oohey gooey story that she knew by instinct was there. She rubbed her hands together as she finished her tea and she prepared for her day as 'a fly on the wall' at the Daily Prophet.

Lavender was having the time of her life being Lavender again. It had been so long...holing herself up like a hermit in that dank cottage had affected her in many ways she had not even realised. Even now, a week after her transformation, she found herself struck dumb in large crowds. She simply couldn't speak.

Hermione had been a great help. The two of them spent entire afternoons at Diagon Alley shopping and admiring the changes since the Renaissance that had occurred after the War. Lavender would sometimes lose herself in the brightly coloured shops and the displays along the Alley. When a shopkeeper would ask Lavender a question it was often Hermione who answered.

Hannah caught sight of the young Gryfindors they stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. She dropped everything and nearly tackled Lavender with a hug, "Lav! Where have you been hiding? I'd heard you'd been hurt but not a word since!"

Lavender shrugged. This caused Hannah to giggle, "Well, while you find your tongue why don't you have a seat. I'll bring you lot a Butterbeer and some chips to start you out!"

As the witches found a table, Hannah rushed into the kitchen. In a matter of moments she was dragging a tall well-built wizard close behind. His hands were full...a basket of chips in one and a handful of Butterbeers in another. Hannah gloated as if she'd won a major argument, "See? It's her!"

"I never said it wasn't," Neville mumbled as he placed four bottles and a basket on the table. "I said, 'give me a moment and I will get napkins.'" With that, he placed utensils and napkins on the table as well. He opened the bottles and passed one to each witch. Then he took one for himself and announced, "To old mates."

Once they'd clinked bottles and had a sip, Lavender finally gathered the courage to speak, "I'd heard you'd grown, but..."

Hannah sniggered and wrapped an arm around her husband, "And he's still growing. What are you now, dear? Six foot four?"

Neville shrugged awkwardly. Again his wife giggled, "Have you seen Ron? It's as if the two have a wager going."

"Aye, but Ron isn't so...sturdy," Lavender answered as she tested one of Neville's biceps with an impressed, "Mmmm." She gestured with her eyes, "That is some apron, Neville,"

Neville blushed as he unceremoniously pulled off the dainty apron, "Our cook is ill. I was helping out."

Hannah couldn't help but add a jibe, "And the only real benefit that he gets out of the whole mess is to wear that frilly little apron."

He was about to argue but her puckered up lips offered a sweet truce. He bent down to kiss her and all was forgotten. Instead he asked Hermione, "How is Harry?"

"Harry is Harry," Hermione mused, "He's brooding, of course. According to Bill, he and Fleur had an epic row and they're not speaking. I don't know specifics but it had something to do with that whole mess with Eva."

A gnarly old wizard a few tables over interject himself into the conversation, "Serves him right if ye ask me. If you nest with enough birds eventually one will sing..."

Neville's glare was hint enough. The old bloke quickly paid and left a half full pint as he scanterred out the door.

Hermione muffled a laugh, "Intimidating customers? That won't get you return business."

Lavender was quickly returning to herself, "I would have left too. Who wants to admit to his mates that he had his arse kicked by some bloke wearing an apron?"

It didn't take long for Seamus to grow impatient with the rules, "Why can't we snog?"

"You know why," Lavender answered. "I've explained countless times." She wasn't in the mood to argue at the moment. It was inevitable. Blokes always wanted what they couldn't have. If they ever did move in together, she was going to insist he wasn't allowed to clean toilets.

She loved to lie down next to him with her head on his chest. He had a short patch of hair on his chest that she liked to twirl around her fingers to take her mind off of things. She had hoped for silence but tonight he was going on and on about snogging.

"This whole wish thing," he ran his fingers through her hair. It made her shiver when he brushed her ear. "...it could have it's own uses. I could wish any sort of thing."

"Knowing you, you'd wish these were bigger," she teased as she made a cupping gesture. "Where would I be then?" She smacked him playfully when he sniggered, "Stop!"

"Nay," he dismissed the thought with the wave of a hand, "The girls are perfect just as they are."

"The girls?" She bit him playfully near a rib in protest, "That's what you call them?"

"Aye, Stella and Sabrina."

"Might I ask why?" Lavender asked.

"Nay," Seamus answered with a thick grin. "I've already said too much."

"You really are very odd. What if I do this," she asked with a grin of her own. "Will you tell me then?"

Seamus's eyes grew very wide, "Why would I possibly say anything to stop you from doing that?"

"Who said I would?" she quipped.

He didn't bother to say more. Instead he kiss her on her cheek as he relished the moment. His only wish was he could actually kiss her beautiful lips instead. It was hard to believe how much he missed such a simple thing.

Gabrielle stepped out of the Floo wearing her school robes. Unlike, the traditional Hogwarts robes, the witches at Beaubatons usually preferred pastel or brightly coloured robes during the spring and summer seasons. Gabrielle knew that the pale blue of her robes brought out her eyes and complimented her golden blonde hair.

Bill smiled knowingly as he glanced up from his notes. He'd been working on a curse all afternoon.

"Are you not going to at least say hello?" Gabrielle asked as she rushed up to him and kissed him happily on the cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Bill sighed. "Gringotts asked me to look at a curse that they found at a tomb in the Valley. A particularly nasty one, in fact." He held up his notebook, "I ran into some similar ones a few years back and I'm comparing my notes to look for leads...otherwise I might have to travel there myself."

"The Valley?" Gabrielle shrugged, I'm not familiar with all of England. Where is the Valley?"

"Sorry," Bill grinned sheepishly, "The Valley of Kings, in Egypt. It's where a good number of the pharoahs are buried. Many of them are cursed to protect the dead from being disturbed. This one had what looked like a bottle for a djinn and the bloke felt compelled to rub it and he won't say a thing to a soul now. He just sits curled up and sobbing all his waking hours. They're afraid if they don't solve it soon he'll starve himself to death."

Gabrielle nodded. She'd read about Egypt in her history of Magic classes at Beauxbatons. French witches and wizards specializing in runes and other written arts were used as part of the exercise to relearn the Egyptian pictograph language when Napoleon had conquered the country in the late 1700s. Even Egyptian mystics had ignored the ancient writings for centuries and it wasn't until the Rosetta Stone was found that the French made real progress.

Bill set his notes on the sofa and stood up so he could show her to her room, "Your sister won't be back for at least an hour. She's gone to the Alley to pick up a few things." He looked her up and down, "Erm, still in your robes?" He lowered his voice as if sharing a secret, "Harry won't be here any time soon. Even if he were...between you and me...it won't likely help him get over the whole age thing if he's reminded you just finished school."

The young witch blushed. Bill had never acknowledged her crush on Harry. He'd always politely stayed out of the whole affair due to Harry's previous relationship with Ginny. She'd always had the impression that he'd hoped the two of them would reconcile.

"...Your chest is waiting for you in your room," Bill went on. "I had it shipped directly here. You may want to get your room made as you want it this evening...and I wouldn't mention Harry tonight. At least wait until morning."

It was as if Bill could read the question in her mind, "Your sister was in rare form a few nights ago and the resulting row was one for the ages. You know how your sister is. She stepped over a line this time and hetold her he didn't want to have anything to do with her. She sent him a few owls but they were returned with the messages still fastened tightly too them. She refuses to admit it but she's rather upset."

"What did she say? What did she do?" Gabrielle was worried.

Bill glanced toward a week-old copy of Witch Weekly, "She let her heart cloud her judgment."

"I don't know what to do," Fleur sounded miserable.

"Why don't you own up to it?" Hermione asked. She was skimming through racks of robes and only half of her attention was on Fleur and her problems. She'd invited Fleur to come with her robe shopping because both needed to get out of the house and Hermione was beginning to grow out of the robes she had on hand. It made shopping awkward because she was determined not to share her secret with anyone in the Weasley family. Lavender had been clear about that.

"What would I say to heem?" Fleur was gradually losing her French accent but occasionally it would slip out when she was upset. Not able to wait for an answer, she gave her future sister-in-law a closer look as she noticed the plus-sized robes that Hermione was admiring, "Herminee, I've been meaning to say sometheeng. Kreecher's cooking is doing you no good at all. You reelly must watch more closely what you eet...and how much."

Hermione blushed. She'd noticed others trying to catch discreet glances. She really hadn't grown that much but she'd begun filling out the sides of her robes so that the small bump wouldn't be as noticeable. The mirror told her that she might have gained a good twenty or so pounds but most of it was her illusion. Thankfully, the mirror was lying...if anything, the healers claimed she needed to put on more weight.

As she found another rack of plus sized robes, Fleur preached on, "And when did you take to wearing robes all of the time? Jeans suit you much better." The Veela wouldn't stop there, "You do not want to get fat like me. After Victoire I look at myself and all I see is a fat cow."

Hermione stopped what she was doing and looked Fleur up and down. She couldn't be an ounce heavier than her days at Hogwarts. Fleur had always been fit and trim. This was obviously an attempt to fish for a compliment. Hermione would have none of it, "Oh, you are so right... Just the way your cheeks have fleshed out. And your hips...I promise, I'll begin taking better care of myself right away."

Never in her life had Hermione fought so hard to hold in a giggle. Fleur's face was a mask of horror. The Veela ran to the mirror and studied her hips and her cheeks carefully, "Do you reelly theenk so? Am I reelly getting fat, Herminee?" The Veela was pinching her perfect cheeks, desperately looking for imperfections. Her hands then held her hips, tightening the clothing to see if there could be an ounce of fat hiding there.

"No!" Hermione fought not to laugh, "You are perfect. Just like yesterday and last year and the day I met you. Are you mad? You looked better than me on my best day when you gave birth!"

Realising that Hermione had been taking the piss out of her, Fleur exhaled. It was only then that Hermione recognised just how self-conscious Fleur was about her appearance. It must be difficult for Fleur's considering her appearance was the only thing that she'd heard anyone compliment her on. She was sure Bill complimented her about other things but everyone else..?

"Fleur, you do know that you are much more than just a beautiful woman, don't you?"

The Veela was still studying the mirror for imperfections, "Oui. It has been very deeficult, reecently, though."

"Why?"

The Veela's striking blue eyes betrayed the sadness that she was usually so good at hiding, "When a Veela, or even a quarter Veela in my case, binds herself to a wizard, she can't help but feel what her companion feels. When he is happy she is happy. When he is sad she is sad."

"Has Bill had problems, recently?"

The smile returned to Fleur's eyes, "No...no, no. It is only that Bill spends much of his time travelling. He returned home a few nights ago when Harry and I had our row. He sides with Harry on this one."

"So you are arguing?" Hermione thought she understood.

"No, not exactly. But I can sense that he wants Harry to return to Ginny. It is a feeling I get. And I have been the one to push him away."

"So...?"

"Imagine that every instinct in your body told you to please your companion," Fleur tried to explain. "But you fought that instinct. In my case, I feel compelled to do this. When I push him away from me I don't feel the absolute adoration he has for me. If you could feel it..." Fleur seemed to be talking more to herself now, "It's like a warm blanket that protects me. I feel beautiful and perfect."

Now Hermione did understand, "And when you argue with him you don;t feel it so you doubt yourself?"

"Every moment," Fleur returned to studying the mirror. "And I know that's how my sister feels. Imagine falling in love with some bloke and suddenly every emotion you have is somehow affected by his feelings for you. All your life, any boy you bat your eyelashes at falls madly for you. But not this one. All you feel from him is pity and embarrassment."

"That would be difficult," Hermione admitted.

"She's my seester. When he brought that witch to the Weesley's I could feel how he felt for her. It was like the small sparks you would feel when someone would rub their boots on the carpet and zap you..." Fleur explained. Hermione had forgotten all about the robes and was listening intently, "...Harry projects so much raw emotion that even I can feel it and I'm not even bound to him. When he would look at that Eva I could feel those sparks and I began to feel..."

"...Attracted to him?"

"No!" Fleur insisted. "I'm bound to Bill." She smiled mischievously, "But I wanted Bill to come home. Had he been at the Burrow that night we'd have slipped upstairs and I'd have given him a good talking to."

"What?!" Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. "So you are saying...?"

"Oui! It's not the first time either. You know the whole story about how Victoire was conceeved, oui?" Hermione nodded and the Veela grinned, "You don't know what brought it on." She eyed Hermione carefully, "That night, Ginny kept teasing Harry and flirting with him when others weren't watching. I can always tell...because those sparks begin to flare up. Anyway, she kept going on and on with him that night until finally I couldn't take it anymore. I dragged Bill into the elevator and you know the rest of the story." Fleur looked like a huge weight of a secret was lifted off of her.

"Wait." Hermione thought carefully on what she'd been told, "So you're saying that your not attracted to Harry? But Harry makes you feel frisky?"

Fleur nodded, "Oui."

"But not toward Harry? Harry brings it on but it's actually toward Bill?"

The Veela nodded again. This time it was obvious that she wanted very badly for Hermione to believe her.

"You are one complicated witch," Hermione remarked as she shook her head.

"Thee point ees," Fleur explained as she reverted back to her French accent, "If Harry has that much of an affect on mee can you eemagine how Gabrielle feels?"

Both stood in silence as Hermione took in what was said. It all started with Fleur telling her that she felt self-doubt when she argued with her husband. Then she went on to tell her that Harry would act like an aphrodisiac to her...even though she wasn't attracted to him. This was the type of thing that the Weasley boys would never let Fleur or Bill...or Harry...live down if it ever got out.

"Does Bill know?"

For the first time that Hermione could remember Fleur looked at her like she was stupid, "Are you keedding?"

Hermione understood. This was their secret. And now Hermione could tell that Fleur regretted saying anything, "I promise not to tell anyone."

"I believe you," Fleur said quietly. Her expression seemed to say otherwise.

An odd silence stood like a wall between them.

"Would it help if I told you that I'm pregnant?" Hermione blurted out.

"That would make me feel better. At least then I would know I was not the only one keeping a secret." Fleur stopped and took a moment to look at Hermione, "Wait. Are you pregnant?"

Hermione bit her lip. Her first instinct had been to cover her mouth in horror when she said it. Instead she nodded nervously.

"Why haven't you told told aneeone?" the Veela asked. "Her eyes followed Hermione to the oversized robes, "You don't want anyone to know, do you? Why not?"

Silence was Hermione's only answer.

Fleur lost interest in the 'why.' Instead she stepped over to the robes and began pulling selct ones off the rack, "Thees one weell look good on you. And thees one. And thees one will compliment your eyes. Thees one weell take the focus off of your lower body." In all, she handed Hermione seven robes that all turned out fitting and looking brilliant. As Hermione carried them to the fitting room she was more than confident that her secret was safe.

"I'll talk to Harry about Gabrielle," Hermione promised once the shopping was done.

The Veela's eyes were thankful but she brushed the idea off with a hand, "We'll worry about that later, Herminee." Her eyes were bright, "We have so much to do! You're having a baby!"

A/N: Want to make me smile? Then please let me know what you think. Nothing makes me happier.