The first week of freedom passed strangely for Harry. Though he was beyond grateful to the Delacours for saving him from his relatives, he wasn't nearly as at peace as he'd expected to be. And it was making him angry.

He'd slept little so far, alternating between insomnia while he ruminated on his anger and nightmares that he'd been sent back to the Dursleys after the Delacours had discovered he really was worthless. No matter the restless sleep, or long nights spent awake, he infinitely preferred doing it in France with his friend and her family, than to sleepless nights cramped tight atop his trunk.

He had taken Mr. Delacour's offer of new clothes a few days into his stay after Fleur insisted he wore clothes that fit for a walk through the woods. He had already known Fleur could be stubborn, but it hadn't taken him long to discover which tone brooked precisely no argument. His second day with the Delacours, he discovered upon leaving his room that she had no intention of leaving his side if at all possible.

After the third day, he tried to offer his help to clean the home as well, only to be told that most things in the house were enchanted to clean themselves. If he wasn't busy with his hands, he was left alone to his thoughts.

And he hated it.

The one thing that had been able to calm him down had been Fleur's propensity for getting out of the house, and taking him with her. He had known she hadn't been comfortable in the cold Scottish winter that he'd met her in, and though she had been glad once the warm weather at Hogwarts once it had finally come, she clearly appreciated being back home during the height of summer. It suited her. More than once he'd turned away red-faced as he realized he'd been staring, mesmerized by her as she walked a few paces ahead of him through the woods.

As the sunny week passed, Harry found himself enjoying the outdoors more and more. He'd been surprised to find himself looking forward to Fleur's excursions as the days went on, and the light it injected into his mind. Despite its expansive halls and high ceilings, the ambassador's manor began to feel oppressive the more time he spent idle within.

On their third outing to the woods, she strode ahead, her bare feet deftly avoiding sticks as roots as her hair bounced off the back of her thighs, tied back in a ponytail by the ribbon she'd found fitting to her mood for the day. The occasional burst of sunlight through the thick canopy would catch her hair, causing the light to diffuse and sparkle around her. He smiled as she hummed a tune as she walked through the woods, the air alight around her. Fairy ancestry indeed.

Their walks had been mostly silent, though Harry could tell Fleur was still often brimming with questions. Their most visited destination was a small clearing deep within the woodlands, which held some moss-covered stones laying sporadically across the clearing, a few large enough to sit on. Fleur often preferred to jump from stone to stone, rather than sit, something that amused Harry greatly. He'd never have expected the beautiful aloof girl he'd first seen at the world cup to be hopping across rocks around him just over a year later.

He smiled at the thought before it was pulled from his face as his thoughts ran away with him. The night he'd met her, the death eaters had attacked. Barty Crouch Junior had tortured people with his wand. Had he killed that Veela with it too?

Harry shuddered, a chill rolling down his body as his mind sprinted down it's chosen path. Despite the sun, the warmth, and his friend so close nearby, he felt the cold loneliness close in on his chest, a deep new fear that it was all temporary came bubbling up to the surface no matter how hard he tried to push it down. He could hear his Uncle's voice taunting him, shouting at him, repeating the word that he felt burn deeper than any wound that had been inflicted on his body. He was worthless. He didn't deserve this luxury, or Fleur's trust and friendship, or anybody's friendship for that matter. Maybe he did deserve as little as his relatives thought he did.

"Fleur?"

His quiet voice made him jump, startling him from his thoughts, and clearly startling Fleur as well, who missed her next jump and landed awkwardly next to the stone on one leg.

She turned to him, a smile dying on her lips as she took in the frantic look in Harry's eyes. She quickly sat down next to him, her heart thundering in her ears. She'd almost expected him to never talk about anything that had happened, but she'd at least wanted to provide him the opportunity should he need it.

"Yes?"

"I keep…" he began, his eyes roaming anywhere besides her direction. "I keep having these..thoughts, or something. Even though I'm here, with you, and not...there...sometimes I just suddenly start thinking about all of it, for no reason. I'll hear him saying I'm worthless, and not good enough, no matter how hard I try. I have nightmares every night about him, and for a few seconds after I wake up it feels like I'm waking up hurt and in my cupboard. Everything is so good here, there's no reason for me to be thinking these things."

He finally settled his gaze on her, his green eyes wet above a frustrated frown.

" What's wrong with me?"

Fleur's answer was lost as a wave of sense washed over her. As they had done once before, she felt her abilities find purchase within Harry. She felt them prod his mind to turn his attention towards her, and she felt them fail.

And she felt immense fear.

Her abilities poked and prodded at his mind in ways that she couldn't decipher, but she could clearly sense how afraid he was at his admission as though he'd spoken the words himself. As she frantically tried to understand what she was feeling from him, she finally registered the sight in front of her as well. Tears began to leak from his eyes, his sense shifting to shame as he buried his face in his hands. Fleur wanted to leap from where she sat, to cross the small gap between them and hug him, to let him know he wasn't alone, but she knew her mother had been right in their discussions, it wouldn't be right to force contact on him, especially after what he'd just shared. He seemed as if the smallest breeze through the trees would shatter him to pieces after laying himself bare before her.

She searched frantically for a reply of sufficient magnitude. Before she could come up with anything of substance, she felt her sense of him begin to flicker, a guttering flame attempting to stay alive. He was pulling away from her, she had to say something.

"It's them," she said, her voice desperate and hard. "They are the monsters. Not you."

"But why-"

"There is no "but," Harry," she interrupted gently. "Mother said it would be difficult for you to adjust. She said that is just how it is for people in your situation. You've lived a lifetime with those horrible people. One week outside of that nightmare isn't enough time to heal. A broken bone doesn't heal in a day."

"So I'm...broken?" he asked. The naked fear in his eyes broke her heart.

"No," Fleur said, fighting to keep calm against the onslaught of hopelessness she felt emanating from him. "You are only injured. You can get better."

"How?" he asked miserably, dropping his eyes down to the grass.

"I...I do not know," she replied. "But there are people who do. And I will help you if I can if you want me to." She smiled as he looked up. She had to swallow thickly as she felt the significant impact of her words.

"You're not...disgusted, or anything? By all of this?" he asked.

"Anybody who is truly is not worth your time," she answered confidently.

Harry shook his head and wiped his eyes. Fleur bit her lip, not wanting to push him away in his vulnerable state, but a promise was a promise.

"Harry?" She said, trying to ignore the sudden fear pulsing out from him. "I made you a promise." She swallowed as his eyes found hers, curiosity mingling with his extreme anxiety. "I can sense you again. It has not gone away like last time."

She sighed and braced herself for the loss, but it never came. Rather than her connection being closed, she only felt the small beginnings of embarrassment in him.

"I...I see," he said, running a hand anxiously through his hair. "What uh...what do you feel...from me?"

Fleur tried to give him a comforting smile as she spoke. "There is no reason to be embarrassed," she said, rather than address his prevailing feeling of anxiety. "I will never use your emotions against you. Please trust me."

Harry nodded slowly, the embarrassment slowly fading.

"I do," he said quietly. "I just wish I wasn't so all over the place," he added.

Fleur smiled at him in understanding.

"I understand, but you cannot control every little thing you feel. To expect you to do so is asking the impossible."

Harry smiled briefly up at her before looking down at his hands.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "I feel a bit better."

"I can tell," she replied, offering him a smile of her own to soften the blow. He looked up at her, startled before she saw the realization set in.

"That'll take some getting used to," he mumbled.

"Are you okay with it?" she asked. She was privately glad that their situations were not reversed lest he sense the butterflies in her stomach. "I know you did not like the idea. I am sure we could find somewhere else for you to stay if you would prefer."

She was astounded by the almost instant sense of panic and urgency she felt from him.

"No!" he almost shouted, before forcibly settling himself. "I really like it here. It's fun at the Weasley's, but it's busy and loud. The calm here suits me better, I think."

She felt a sudden wave of embarrassment from him, though he didn't say anything more.

"I am glad," Fleur replied, offering a nervous smile. She remembered her foolish obsession with the 'why' of Harry's immunity and the odd event at the Yule Ball. She did her best to push the thoughts away. She could talk to her mother about it later if she remembered. For the time being, she was just glad her abilities hadn't pushed someone so important to her away.

They sat in silence for a time, while Fleur turned her focus to the new sensation of Harry's emotions. He hadn't been wrong, it seemed. He was a little 'all over the place,' but she doubted it was as bad as he thought it was. She could hardly blame him for feeling a little scatterbrained after the whirlwind that had been his summer, or rather, his whole life. She turned to look at him, his gaze focused on some point off in the distance as he thought about whatever it was that was causing him such disquiet. She could see the squinting of his eyes behind his glasses, and the slightly pursed lips that told her he was still upset, even without her abilities confirming her guess. She stared at him, a small sense of triumph building inside her. He'd been so difficult to read in the beginning, especially without the sense that she'd come to depend on so heavily. Though, she doubted he was as open with anybody else, especially considering he'd flat out told her she and her family were the only ones who knew about his home life. Her eyes widened. Even his two oldest friends didn't know.

"Harry?" she asked, startling him. He turned to face her as the sun broke through some cloud cover. She saw his eyes shift up to her hair, as they often did, and she felt a sense of wonder from him that rendered her temporarily speechless. His eyes focused back down to her own.

"Yes?" He asked after she was unable to recover her thoughts.

"Oh! I had a question. A serious one, if that is okay," Fleur said, reluctant to break the positive turn to his mood.

"Okay," he answered slowly.

"Do your friends know anything about...all of this?" She asked, gesturing vaguely around them. "About...what happened?"

She both watched and felt him deflate beneath her question.

"No," he answered quietly. She could see the weight of his guilt settle on his slumped shoulders. "They don't know. I never really wanted anybody to know, but especially not them. I don't know why."

"Then why did you tell me?" Fleur asked.

"I don't know really," he answered with a shrug and a sideways glance. "It was just so much worse this summer. I felt like I was going to explode if I didn't do anything. I couldn't take it anymore…" he trailed off, and she felt his mood grow dark and heavy.

"What is it?" she prodded gently.

"I actually tried to take it back," he admitted, rubbing his hands together as he spoke. "When I saw the postman pull the letter from the postbox, I panicked. I ran out the front door to grab it from him, but my Uncle caught me." He winced as a hand reflexively went to his now healed side. "That's where that one came from," he whispered, pointing to the spot Gabrielle's head had impacted upon his arrival.

Fleur felt her anger begin to simmer beneath the surface.

"I want to burn their house to the ground," she grumbled, plucking a clump of grass from the earth and letting it incinerate in her hand.

Harry turned to look at her, startled.

"You probably shouldn't," he said after a moment, concern radiating from him in waves.

"I know," she said, dropping the ashes to the ground and pulling her knees to her chest. "Hurting them will not fix anything."

Harry shrugged.

"I don't much care what happens to them," he said, before giving her a small half-smile. "I do care what happens to you though. I don't want you getting in trouble because of me."

Fleur felt her anger calm at his words, the furious inferno replaced by a comfortable warmth.

"I have something for you," she said, suddenly remembering the project she'd worked on to distract herself while her parents worked to get approval to retrieve him.

"You do?" Harry asked, confused at the sudden switch.

"Yes," she said, rising from her seat and offering her hand to help him up. "Come on!"

Harry reached out, and took Fleur's warm hand in his, and hefted himself to his feet. She let go, the sudden absence of her touch leaving his hand momentarily cold, despite the warm summer day.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur led Harry into her bedroom and closed the door behind them. He looked around at the surprisingly similar room to his own across the hall, though he could smell the faint cinnamon that he'd slowly come to associate with Fleur.

"Close your eyes," she said, her nervous excitement shining through.

"Why?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"For your surprise!" Fleur said with a laugh that died as she took in Harry's continued confusion. "Oh."

She attempted to rally her excitement as her heart broke again for her friend. Had he ever had a birthday gift before?

"Well, Maman always had my close my eyes when she gave me my birthday gift, even though it was wrapped, and I could not see what was inside anyway. You do not have to play along if you are uncomfortable."

Harry nodded thoughtfully before obediently closing his eyes.

"Hold out your hands," Fleur called from across the room.

Harry stuck out his hands as instructed, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot as he waited.

"Happy birthday," Fleur said, dropping a wrapped package into Harry's waiting hands. He opened his eyes in surprise, bewilderment clear on his face and in his sense. She felt an overwhelmingly intense emotion beginning to emanate from him as he looked up to her with wide eyes.

"My birthday was in July," he said weakly, his hands still held out, the small package resting on his open palms.

"I know," Fleur replied nervously, silently cursing her tremulous voice. She'd worked so hard on it and desperately wanted him to like it. "I was going to send it to you once you had gotten to Hogwarts, but now you are here…" she trailed off.

She felt another indescribable wave of emotion from him as he looked back down at the gift.

"Open it?" She asked, her hands automatically beginning to pull on her ribbon.

Harry reverentially moved the package to his left hand, and carefully removed the paper, uncovering a small box. At Fleur's excited gesture, he opened the lid to reveal a folded piece of fine stationery. He lifted it carefully from the box, unfolded it, and turned it around to look at the back.

"It is not just a simple piece of paper," Fleur blurted, rushing over to her desk. She opened a drawer and produced another blank paper, and pulled a quill from the inkwell on her desk. She hunched over, obscuring Harry's view as she wrote, the scratching quill filling the quiet room. A motion from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned his head back to the gift still held in his hand. Across the front, Fleur's familiar looping handwriting traced its way across the top of the paper.

Happy Birthday

Harry marveled at the words for a moment, before turning back to face Fleur, who stood facing him, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"What do you think?"

"It's incredible," he answered truthfully.

"You write on the other side, and it will appear on mine. Just tap it with your wand to remove the writing." She walked back over to where Harry sat on the edge of her bed and sat down next to him.

"This is amazing," he said, his eyes wide. "Where did you get it?"

"I made it," Fleur answered, beaming. "I was introduced to charms and enchantments relatively young, and I have always found them fascinating. Once my abilities manifested, I found myself with quite a lot of time to myself. I filled some of that time with study." She smiled mischievously at him. "I was chosen as the Beauxbatons champion for a reason, you know."

"You were the Triwizard Champion for a reason," Harry replied with an answering smile.

" We were the Triwizard Champions," she corrected. "We grabbed the cup together."

"We did," said Harry, feeling the playful mood fade as he recalled what followed their 'victory.'

Fleur shuddered next to him, her mind clearly following the same path his had.

"Are you okay?" he asked, surprised to hear the words he so often hated leave his lips.

Fleur nodded, smiling weakly at him.

"I am fine," she replied, trying again to offer a reassuring smile, causing his doubt to only grow stronger.

He suddenly looked away from her, a sigh escaping as he turned.

"I'm the last person that should be allowed to ask that question," he said quietly.

"I appreciate the concern," Fleur said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. His head whirled to face her, and she suddenly afraid she'd frightened him with the contact...but she felt no fear, only focus. She slowly removed her hand and placed it in her lap. "I just thought...with everything that has happened with you...that it was not that important. It is not nearly as bad as what you have had to deal with."

"It was still pretty bad," he said after a moment, "but you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. It's up to you."

Fleur was silent for a while as she considered. She felt no pity or irritation from him, only concern.

"I am still unable to swim in our lake," she said quietly as she pulled her ribbon over her shoulder. "Every time the water touches my neck, it's like I am back at the bottom of that damnable Black Lake." Her eyes widened as she felt the ghost of her own panic come from Harry, though he only nodded in reply. "I am sorry you had to endure that because of me."

"I'd do it again if you needed me to," he answered with a shrug.

She smiled at him, before turning her gaze back down to her hands, which were twirling the ends of her yellow ribbon up into small rolls.

"Do you dream about that night in the graveyard?" she asked quietly. She felt his body still, though his sense erupted in a mix of emotion too tumultuous to decypher.

"Sometimes," he admitted.

They sat in silence while Fleur tried to wrestle with her memories. She had been so exhausted after her transformation that it'd been mostly a blur, until Voldemort's wand was pointed down at Harry, his screams dispelling any trace of lethargy inside her. Then it had been her turn. She swallowed thickly and tried to push past the memory replaying in her mind.

"I do want to talk about it," she said eventually. "That was part of the reason I wanted to write to you after all, but not right now. It is harder to say in person than it is to write down on paper."

Harry smiled and lifted his paper in question.

"That is part of it, yes," Fleur explained. "I have grown accustomed to having someone to talk to, and I was not looking forward to communicating by owl once you had returned to Hogwarts. Waiting on the letters was torture, though I am sure the subjects of our discussions had something to do with that. Owls are faster, certainly, but I thought this might be a little more convenient."

"It's a good thing we're in your room, and not mine," Harry said with a smile. Hedwig, true to form, had arrived at the manor just days after Harry had. She had been well received by the Delacour family and had taken a particular liking to Gabrielle, who had instantly fallen for the snowy owl.

"I am sure Hedwig would understand what I mean," Fleur said, smiling.

"She probably would," Harry agreed, "but then she'd probably get irritated anyway."

An awkward silence descended between them as their thoughts swiftly returned to that fateful night.

"Being under his Cruciatus was...horrible," Fleur said weakly, her voice barely a whisper.

Harry could only nod in agreement, his mind catapulted back to her dirty, tear-streaked face as she writhed on the ground, her mouth open in a silent scream. He saw Voldemort's hand wave and felt Fleur's screams pierce him deeper than even the curse could manage. Harry shook his head, trying to banish the memory.

"What is that," Fleur asked quietly.

Harry turned to look at her, confused.

"Whatever you were feeling there. It felt like…" she trailed off, a concentrated frown on her face before her eyebrows shot up in realization. "Oh! You do not have to tell me. I know I said I would not use your feelings against you, but I thought we could still talk about them. We should probably establish some rules or something. I do not want you to feel uncomfortable around me."

"Okay," Harry said slowly. He was finding that Fleur's abilities didn't bother him as much as he had feared they would. "What did you have in mind?"

"I...do not know," Fleur replied nervously. "I have never done this before. You are the first resistant person I have known for any length of time."

Harry nodded, a slow realization forming as he stared at her nervous but eager face. Despite his difficulty acclimating, he wasn't sure he'd ever been as happy outside of Hogwarts as he was at the Delacour's. Not only was he enjoying his time there, but Fleur seemed to be as well. He remembered their first conversations, and how excited she'd been to talk to someone, even though she had clearly been extremely nervous. She'd been the same way the first time she'd showed him the clearing in the woods like she was showing him a secret part of herself.

He saw Fleur tilt her head to the side, and adopt a faraway gaze that he'd already come to associate with her 'listening' to his emotions. He took another deep breath in preparation for his leap of faith.

"It's okay," he said finally. Fleur's eyes snapped up to his, widening in surprise as she focused on him. "When it's just you and me...I don't mind."

"Are you sure?" Fleur asked, her voice surprisingly quiet and small.

Harry smiled, "Can't you tell?"

Fleur stared at him, her blue eyes wide in disbelief. A smile grew on her face that quickly began to tremble as tears started to spill from her eyes.

"Thank you," she murmured.

She suddenly looked up, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"I am sorry," she said tremulously.

"It's okay," he said finally. "Are you alright?"

Fleur nodded, wiping the last vestiges of tears from her eyes.

"It is nothing. Do not worry about it."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, and found himself wishing he were the one with the extra senses.

"It's just…" Fleur began, before letting out a sigh. "It's all so overwhelming."

"The...feelings?" ventured Harry.

"Partially," Fleur admitted, nodding. "I am accustomed to the general feeling of many people and ignoring them. Yours are...complex, Harry. I can understand the basics of your emotions, but many of them I have never felt from someone so close before."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, confused

"It simply means that I have not spoken at length with someone about the time we were both tortured by a dark wizard. It is no wonder your feelings are complex, it is a unique situation. I've spent a large portion of my life afraid I would never have a true connection to anyone-a friend of any sort, and yet you continue to be everything I had hoped for when I lay in bed, sure the loneliness would crush me."

Fleur stopped talking for a moment, before snapping out of her melancholy and blushing a deep crimson.

"I am apparently still not very good at moderating what I say," she mumbled, flashing a small nervous smile.

"It's still refreshing," Harry replied. "But...I know what you mean...I think." Harry shifted uncomfortably. Fleur was right, it was much harder to speak your thoughts aloud than to write them out, or have them interpreted. "I've never had someone who was a friend like you are," he blurted, feeling his own cheeks flush to match Fleur's.

Fleur grinned at him before confusion set into her features.

"What about your other friends? You have been with them your whole time at Hogwarts, yes?"

Harry winced, guilt flooding him at his admission, but it was the truth. He, Hermione, and Ron had been through harrowing ordeals together since their second month at Hogwarts, but it was somehow different with Fleur. Hermione was a good friend and tried her best to respect his wishes for privacy, but he could never drop his guard around her. He was positive she knew that something was off about his life, and knowing her, she'd never give up until she'd sussed it out.

Harry's thoughts stumbled to a halt as the thought about Ron. He'd felt somewhat estranged from his best mate since his name had flown out of that damned goblet, and he'd still not quite gotten over the speed at which Ron had assumed him to be lying. Sure he'd made all the appropriate apologies and gestures of friendship after he'd come to his senses, but Harry still wasn't quite sure how he felt about Ron now.

"It's not quite the same," Harry admitted quietly. "It's hard to explain, but it's not. They're still my friends, it's just…" he trailed off, unsure how to vocalize the shift in his world that had been so massive and slow, that he'd somehow missed it happening.

Fleur had become as important to him as Ron and Hermione.

As though driven by some cruel compulsion, his mind turned back to the graveyard, where he'd been forced to watch her writhe and scream in front of him, powerless. A titanic chessboard, acromantulas, and even 'deranged murderer Sirius Black' paled in comparison to suffering at the tip of Voldemort's wand. How was it everyone he cared about was always in danger? How could he-

"Harry!" Fleur nearly shouted, both her hands planted firmly on his shoulders. "What's wrong? You felt so...afraid."

Harry tried to gather himself enough to offer a reassuring smile. The grimace he managed to produce seemed to only deepen Fleur's worried frown.

"People that I care about get hurt," Harry said, defeated. "You've seen firsthand what I mean. Now that Voldemort is back, and Dumbledore thinks he'll come after me again, it'll never be safe to be around me."

Fleur squeezed Harry's shoulders in reassurance before letting her hands fall to her lap.

"We have already stood up to him once," Fleur said, her tone allowing no space for argument, "and you have done so even more than that. We will only get better with practice."

Before Harry had a chance to reply, the door to Fleur's room swung open to reveal her mother.

"There you two are," she said, striding into the room. "Sebastian has come home with some news that I think you will want to hear, Harry."

"About...the hearing?" Harry asked, his stomach beginning to knot. He was dimly aware of Fleur's gaze shifting from her mother over to him. He wondered what kind of feeling she could sense from him at the moment.

"And your godfather," Apolline said, her brow creasing as she frowned. "He asked me to tell you that, though he wouldn't tell me why. He said you'd understand."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, "I'll be right there."

Apolline nodded, and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry turned to look at Fleur and nearly jumped as he met her intense blue gaze.

"Sirius Black is my godfather," Harry explained, watching as her eyes widened in realization.

"He is who you were writing to when we first met," she said slowly. She scrunched her face in concentration. "He was the one in the graveyard too."

Harry nodded. "He's innocent. They captured the real culprit that night."

Fleur felt hope grow bright inside Harry before it dimmed.

"Maybe he's been cleared. Dumbledore said his retrial would be near the end of summer. We'd better go find out."

Harry rose from the bed, Fleur following closely behind.

AN: A bit of calm after the storm that was the last two chapters. I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it.