Dumbledore stood, as he often did during Harry's varied visits, in front of his desk, smiling serenely down at him. He offered a similarly familiar welcome for Fleur, momentarily stunning Harry until he remembered their work together at the Ministry. The portraits in the room grumbled and complained as Dumbledore instructed them to vacate their frames, allowing the three of them complete privacy.
When one particularly old headmaster in a tattered frame finally hobbled out of view, Dumbledore reached into the clutter scattered across his desk, shifting aside a small mountain of papers to collect two crystal vials.
"Pardon the disarray," Dumbledore said, extending his hand for Fleur and Harry to grab the proffered items. "There is rather a lot of paperwork to deal with when involving the ICW in our domestic politics." He turned his smiling gaze to Fleur. "If Amelia had not warned me away while speaking to the Minister about you just the other day, I might have seen to appointing you to be my assistant, Miss Delacour."
"Madam Bones?" Fleur replied, her back straightening at the name.
"Indeed, though you did not hear it from me," Dumbledore said with a wink. "Now, on to more pressing, and much more somber matters. If the two of you would be so kind as to provide your memories of the night of Voldemort's resurrection and place them within those vials. You will then cork the vials, and place them in this box." He produced a small, nondescript iron box from behind him, and held it up. "The box will seal once you have placed it inside and will lock until it is time to present them to the Wizengamot. This will ensure there is no tampering with the evidence between the time you take the memory out, and the time it is viewed. Should it be necessary, I will also be able to testify under Veritaserum that I did not come into contact with the memory containers at any time."
He opened the box and placed it back on the desk before turning back to Fleur.
"You may have Mr. Potter place yours in the box should you desire. I apologize for the material, but, as you are no doubt intimately aware, pure iron is the most magically resistant material we have. I have no doubt you would not like to end the evening with a trip to the infirmary for a severe burn."
Fleur shook her head, unable to tear her gaze from the seemingly innate box.
"How do we get our memory out," Harry asked, glancing over at Fleur out of the corner of his eye.
"Miss Delacour, I assume you know how?" Dumbledore asked, snapping her from her focused stare.
"Oui," she muttered, before shaking her head and looking back at Dumbledore. "I am sorry. Yes, I can show him."
"Excellent. While I do not think it would be a problem were I to demonstrate for you, I am attempting to limit my interaction with your performance of the charm, and the memory, as much as I am able. If you could, please begin the memory from just before you grabbed the Triwizard Cup, and end it once Fawkes returns you to Hogwarts."
Fleur nodded, pulling her wand and turning to Harry.
"You will focus on the memory," she said, raising her wand to her temple. "Think of the moment you and I stood in front of the cup. The more senses you can bring into the memory, the clearer it will be." She closed her eyes and relaxed her face. Harry could see her eyes darting around behind her eyelids as she recalled the moments. She was silent for a time, a frown creasing her brow as she thought, leaving Harry to only guess as to which part of the horrifying evening she was reliving.
After what seemed like minutes, she withdrew her wand from her head, a shining near-white strand stuck to the wand-tip. She sagged, her breath suddenly coming quick and ragged, and she smiled weakly at Harry.
"Like that," she said as she dropped the memory into the vial and secured it with the stopper.
Harry mimicked her movement, raising his wand to his head, the wood surprisingly warm against his temple. He thought back to that evening, the weight of Fleur on his shoulders as he helped her towards the cup, their argument about who should take it, and the absolute hell that followed.
There was an odd slippery sensation as he drew his wand away from his head, and he felt like collapsing as he was returned to the present. He deposited the memory into his vial, slamming the stopper in place in an effort to banish the lingering echoes of her screams. Fleur wordlessly offered him hers, her eyes focused again on the innocuous box resting atop Dumbledore's desk. Harry dropped them gently inside, and closed the top with a small 'click.'
"Thank you both," Dumbledore said when Harry returned to Fleur's side. "I know it is difficult to relive such traumatic moments, and I appreciate your bravery at facing such events yet again."
Harry reached out instinctively for Fleur's hand, a flood of relief rushing through him as she latched on, gripping him tight.
Dumbledore's official countenance softened as he gazed down at them. He leaned back against his desk, letting out a sigh that blew out his white mustaches. He pulled his half-moon spectacles from their resting place and rubbed at the bridge of his crooked nose.
"Things will not become much easier for you, I fear," he said, replacing his glasses. "In fact, I expect you both will become the targets of quite a lot of attention, both good and ill."
"I'm used to it, Sir," Harry said. "They've always liked to say stuff about me."
"So they have," Dumbledore agreed, nodding. "I hope that I am gravely mistaken about the fervor at which they will dissect our motives for our actions, but alas, experience tells me otherwise.
"However," he said, pushing himself from the front of the desk. "It is late, and I know Amelia is a rather strict taskmistress. I doubt you will want to fall from her good graces by being late tomorrow, would you Miss Delacour?"
"No, I would not."
"Then please, use my floo to get home, that way you do not need to travel all the way to Hogsmeade in this terrible weather to disapparate," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the lavish fireplace that adorned the headmaster's office.
Disappointment settled in Harry's stomach, a long, fierce squeeze on his hand conveying the same from his girlfriend.
"Thank you," she said instead, reluctantly releasing Harry's hand and stepping over to the fireplace.
Moments later, she was gone, whisked away by the spinning green flames.
"I will keep you updated as to the results," Dumbledore said, "but for tonight, I have much more paperwork to prepare, and you have very little time before curfew."
"Yes, Sir," Harry said, attempting to sound normal, rather than utterly dejected at Fleur's sudden departure.
As he closed the door to the office, he looked up at Dumbledore, who had already begun work on the indomitable stack of parchment sitting on his desk. As he looked away, he thought he saw the headmaster look up at him with what seemed to be sad commiseration, but when Harry looked again, Dumbledore was poring over his papers, leaving Harry to wonder if he had seen anything at all.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
As Dumbledore's bid to have Voldemort's return recognized grew nearer, Harry could feel himself being wound tighter and tighter as though he were some giant spring. He wasn't the only one, and one of the few people who knew about the upcoming event seemed to enjoy winding him even tighter and he wasn't entirely convinced it was unintentional.
Professor Umbridge made sure to talk to him at least once a day, often utilizing the Inquisitorial Squad to track him down and force him into a small meeting under threat of detention. The only thing that carried him through the exhausting interactions was the hope that she would relax and give up her little crusade to, as he had begun to suspect, recruit him to the Ministry.
The small fires of that hope were all but smothered the day before the Wizengamot was to hear Dumbledore's case, and the squat Professor was as agitated and adamant as he had ever seen her. He'd been shepherded to her office by a jeering throng of Malfoy's little group and had very nearly fled when he saw the flickering light of instability behind the Professor's beady eyes when she turned to greet him from the small fireplace that warmed her office.
"Ah, Mr. Potter. I would thank you to respond to my summons with a touch more expediency in the future. I doubt you show such disrespect to the other Professors."
"I came as soon as I was told, Professor," he said.
"Tut-tut," she said, stepping around her desk. "I simply ask for the respect due to me as an instructor in this establishment. What I do not ask for, is excuses, and backtalk."
Harry suppressed the surprise that threatened to leak out with more difficulty than he had expected.
"Yes, Professor," he said, slipping into the role she wanted him to play.
"That is better," she said, her not-smile plastered dutifully in front of him. "You see? You have such potential if you were to simply listen to those who know better." Her eyes narrowed, and he saw the corners of her lips curl up into an actual, if unsettling, smile. "The Minister has informed me of your...participation in tomorrow's embarrassing facade."
Her smile grew into what he could only guess was meant to be a commiseration, but it only served to make the hairs on the back of his neck rise uncomfortably.
"While no-one doubts that the Headmaster means well," she continued, "his time has passed. He was relevant back when Grindlewald was a threat and enjoyed a resurgence in popularity when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attempted his rise to power. He is grasping at the edges of the past in an attempt to remain in the public eye, and it shows in his decision making and the people he chooses to associate with."
This time Harry couldn't keep the frown from his face and was unable to wipe it away before Umbridge noticed. Thankfully, she looked at him through whatever bizarre lenses she viewed the world through.
"I know it's upsetting," she said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.
He slid deftly from underneath her hand, pushing down the shudder that tried to rise in him.
"Even though you don't want to see it, the proof is there, Mr. Potter. He plays favorites and engineers opportunities for his friends to get promoted to the head of departments they have no business running. He shirks his duties as Chief Warlock to visit with the lesser magical communities of Europe and to kowtow to that half-breed loving ambassador of his. That is not the type of person you want to emulate, Mr. Potter. Especially not when someone like the Minister of Magic continues to reach out to you to help you secure your future."
Harry could no longer hear her past the fury roaring in his ears.
"I have half a mind to just drag you to the Ministry myself. I don't enjoy being a messenger. I have worked hard and sacrificed to get to where I am, and I would be most appreciative if you would accept our gracious offer of help, and begin to cultivate the important networking opportunities that are being presented to you."
"Fine," Harry said, the word fired out of his mouth like a curse. If meeting with the Minister would keep him from even one more meeting with Umbridge, it was a small price to pay.
"Tut-tut," Umbridge said. Her mouth smiled, but her eyes glimmered with fury. "Though I am grateful that you have finally understood the opportunity you are being presented, I will not tolerate disrespect."
She walked slowly back around her desk, pulling a small pad from a drawer. She pulled a quill from an inkwell on top and scratched his name onto a detention slip.
"As I am sure you are aware, I will be at the Ministry tomorrow to assist the Minister with this...this sham. I expect to be busy assisting the Minister remedy whatever damage Dumbledore will do during his tirade, so your detention won't be until next Saturday. Good day, Mr. Potter."
Harry grabbed the offered slip from her hand before bidding her a good day in an attempt to quell her brewing anger.
He wasn't as done with her as he had hoped, but maybe if he did as he was asked in the detention, he could finally be rid of the unsettling woman.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Sirius strode purposefully into the elegant Wizengamot chambers, privately enjoying the quick glances and hushed whispers as he walked through the crowd of his peers that filed slowly into the massive room. He squinted up to the ceiling, the enchanted glass just barely visible through the approximation of a warm spring sky that shone down over them. He couldn't really blame them for copying Hogwarts with their enchantments. A sunny day was far preferable to watching the feet of Ministry Employees pass over the glass ceiling; a design that reeked of metaphorical snobbishness so common within the government. A show of good faith that the people the government served could oversee their work, and judge them as fair and just adjudicators of the law.
Sirius scoffed, bringing his eyes back down to the room around him. He knew the Ministry did their dirty business in a small chamber deep in the lower levels. Much easier to send innocents to Azkaban without other innocents noticing that way. He offered a leisurely wave to a couple of old women who were shooting furtive glances his way while huddled together near their seats. He grinned to himself when he saw them jump before he sat down in his seat near to the center of the half-circle of chairs.
He tried to find a decent position in the small wooden chair, giving it up as a bad job moments later. Who'd have thought the coveted seat of House Black was so...uncomfortable. He looked around as the spots nearby filled, noting with pleasure that the Malfoy seat sat empty. Opposite the rapidly filling seats sat the small raised dais for those being interrogated by the Wizengamot in the event of a full trial, flanked on either side by the small, marked-off sections of floor noting the safety wards where they kept the more unruly prisoners in the invisible cage alongside a single dementor guard. Sirius shuddered, tearing his eyes from the source of his sudden chill. It was no wonder the Wizengamot wanted such protections, he doubted most of them could be around a dementor for more than a minute without dropping to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Thankfully they were only present when deemed 'necessary.'
"Mr. Black," a grating, too-friendly voice called to him from the floor.
"Cornelius," Sirius replied, doing his best to don a mask of civility with the infuriating man.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you here," the Minister said, a false smile lifting his pudgy cheeks. "You would naturally want to support Dumbledore after he pulled all those considerable strings to get you cleared."
"I'm just here to see justice done," Sirius replied casually, biting his tongue to keep back the furious retort begging to be let loose.
"Not that you can do anything about it," Fudge sneered, lowering his voice so the surprisingly open hostility in his voice wouldn't be overheard. "Even if Dumbledore pulls the wool over these people's eyes, he won't get what he wants."
Sirius was saved having to bite his tongue in half to keep from responding by the unfortunate voice of Dolores Umbridge, who called out from the doorway, her arm raised for Fudge's attention. Sirius' lips twitched when he saw a grimace cross the Minister's face before turning to greet the repugnant woman with nothing but gracious cheer.
The remainder of the Wizengamot took their time to find their appropriate House seats, though Sirius wasn't terribly surprised, as a fair few of the members seemed ready to celebrate their hundredth birthday. Nearly an hour after the session was scheduled to start, the conversation in the room finally died down to a soft buzz, and Fudge rapped his gavel against the wooden top of his podium, signaling the beginning of a very long day.
By the time it was finished, Sirius couldn't help but be thoroughly impressed by Dumbledore's case. Instead of the impassioned plea to reason he'd been expecting, Sirius instead had to sit through hours of testimony from members of foreign governments as well as a few high ranking members of the ICW. Each one spoke at length about their investigations into the whereabouts and activities of Voldemort, both before, and after the date of his resurrection.
Even to his untrained eye, he could feel the mood of the room shift from dismissive to worried as more people gave their testimony. In a veritable coup-de-grace to those staunchly refusing to believe the evidence, the Chief Warlock produced an iron, tamper-proof evidence box from within his robes, and forced the entirety of Britain's governing body to relive the horror Harry faced that night. Twice.
A distressed murmur broke out when they finished watching the memories, allowing Sirius to sneak a glimpse at Fudge, who simply stood behind his podium, arms crossed, face impassive. True to form, Umbridge seemed near to bursting with righteous indignation. Sirius was positive he could see the words 'altered memories' forming behind her beady, hate-filled eyes before, to his surprise, Fudge leaned over, quelling the outburst before it had a chance to erupt.
"Are you finished?" Fudge asked once the talking in the room had dimmed to a more manageable level.
"I believe so," Dumbledore said, nodding graciously to Fudge. He stepped off the dais, wiping a small blue handkerchief across his brow as he returned to his appointed seat.
"Does any member of this esteemed body have any counter-evidence to refute the Chief Warlock's claim?" Fudge asked, his gaze sweeping the hushed group. "No-one?"
Sirius couldn't stop the wide grin that split his face. After so much posturing and delaying, Fudge had been left out to dry by even his staunchest supporters.
"Very well," the Minister said, his shoulders dropping. "Then we shall call a vote. All those in favor of recognizing the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and beginning preparations for...war, please raise your wands."
A near-unanimous vote answered him, and the Ministry of Magic went to war.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
"I hope you're happy, Dumbledore," Fudge said, striding up to where Sirius had been congratulating the Chief Warlock on all his hard work. "There will be nothing but fear from here on out. While we begin the long process of preparing for war, the people will be panicking."
"They can be preparing, the same as we will be," Dumbledore replied. "I look forward to working with you to see that there is as little life lost as possible."
Fudge only grumbled his agreement before turning and walking from the chambers, an irate Umbridge hot on his heels.
"Why didn't you accuse him of tampering with those memories?" she hissed as they shouldered their way through the mass of people exiting the room.
"Learn to read a room, Dolores," Fudge snapped, jostling aside one of the slower members. "I'd rather not waste my time if I don't have to-" he stopped short as he bumped against a short man in a dingy brown coat and matching hat. The large brim shadowed the man's eyes, though Fudge could see the whites of them as the man cradled a small cloth bag held between his hands. "Get out of the way," Fudge growled. "If you're not a member of the Wizengamot, there's no reason for you to be here."
"I was just leaving," the man said distractedly, sliding the bag into a pocket of his coat.
"Good, good," Fudge replied, turning away from the nuisance. "Come along Dolores. We need to prepare for Potter's visit. At least something today went as planned."
"Harry Potter will be visiting the Ministry?" the man cut in, his wide eyes following Fudge. "It's nice to see a young man and his friends take an interest in their futures. It seems as though I came on the wrong day."
"Indeed…" Fudge agreed, resuming his brisk walk back towards his office. "The more young people we can get interested in the Ministry, the better."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
"You really covered every point in there," Sirius commended, walking leisurely alongside Dumbledore as they moved down the long hall towards the elevators. "I didn't expect quite so many people from the ICW to be involved."
"Yes, Sebastian really came through for us with his contacts," the older man replied, letting out a long, tired sigh. "But this is merely a prologue to what must be done. Sebastian and I will be the liaisons to the ICW as we prepare for Voldemort. He and I will be visiting their headquarters next weekend to begin the preliminary stages for setting up a support system should we need one. All while running as quickly as we can through the red-tape that the Minister will undoubtedly put in front of us."
"Why would he do that?" Sirius asked as they stepped onto one of the elevators. "He already failed to prove Voldemort is back, why get in our way?"
"Sheer stubbornness?" Dumbledore replied. "Though I may merely be projecting an unfair image onto the Minister. It is as you say, and I believe that deep down he does want what is best for the people, even if we disagree on what that is."
"Well, you have more faith than I do," said Sirius, scratching at his stubbly chin. "I wish you luck. I'm going to go home, have a drink, and take a nap. It's been a long day." He caught the look that Dumbledore made no effort to hide, and grumbled. "Just a nap then."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
"That's good...but scary," Hermione whispered, her face pale against her Gryffindor colored jumper with a large 'H' on the front. "I know it's what we wanted, but going to war…"
The five of them sat in their usual chairs inside the Room of Requirement, though they had been joined by a sixth, who sat nervously in a chair next to Luna. Hermione had been the one to invite Neville as well, and the ordinarily shy boy had readily accepted her offer, though his initial enthusiasm seemed locked behind a wall of nerves.
Neville had been the one to react the least to Harry's retelling of the information he'd gotten from Sirius, his grandmother apparently having already told him of the Ministry's new stance on the resurrected Dark Lord.
"This is all the more reason to prepare," Fleur said, causing Neville to start violently in his seat.
"Sorry," he mumbled, his face turning scarlet.
"It takes some getting used to," Ron said, unable to hide a smile. He turned to Fleur's chair with a nod. "Dad pretty much said the same thing. Actually, he said 'I'll be damned if you kids have to fight, but a little preparation never hurt anyone. Mum about went spare at the idea of us learning magic so we can fight Death Eaters."
"Then we had better get to work," said Fleur, clapping her hands together once beneath the cloak. "Luna, Neville, I will work with you on our stunner training soon, as neither of you has been present for that lesson. First, however...Harry?"
Harry turned towards Fleur's seat and nodded slowly. She'd made a convincing argument for showing his friends his Patronus. He still wasn't sure he was 'inspiring' like she kept saying he was, but she seemed to think it would help, and he trusted her.
"Neville, you're the only one who wasn't here," Harry said, rising to his feet. "Last week we talked about the Patronus Charm."
Neville stared at Harry as he spoke, awe shining in his brown eyes. "My Gran can do that," he said after Harry had finished. He laughed nervously. "It's a porcupine. Can you all do it as well?"
Hermione shook her head, a frustrated frown on her face. "Not yet," she grumbled. "I've been practicing every day since last weekend, and haven't managed a single thing. Fleur can produce a non-corporeal version though."
Neville turned his wide eyes over to Fleur's chair. "That's still really impressive," he said.
"It is," Fleur answered. Harry could hear both her smile and the prompt in her words.
"Actually…" Harry cut in, his tongue sticking against his suddenly dry mouth. "I...er...I can."
His friends goggled at him in silence, eliciting a quiet giggle from Fleur.
"I did say they would be surprised," she said. "Go on, show them."
Harry brandished his wand and tried to wipe the nervousness from his mind. He dove deep into the memory. Into the warmth.
"Expecto Patronum," he said, breathing a sigh of relief as his eagle dutifully burst from his wand, illuminating the upturned faces of his friends in its silver glow. The Patronus circled the group once, before resting atop the high back of Fleur's chair.
"How did you…?" Hermione managed, the first to regain her voice.
Ron, Neville, and Luna just stared at the shining bird as Harry returned to his seat.
"I don't really know," Harry answered. "Maybe it was because Dumbledore was there to help me."
"Do not sell yourself short," Fleur interjected. "You told me that he sat there and fell asleep."
"Well...yeah," Harry agreed.
"Harry, that's incredible," Hermione said. "Why didn't you show us before?"
"I didn't want you to be discouraged, but Fleur convinced me you wouldn't be."
"Of course we aren't. I'm not even as surprised as I thought I was," she said, smiling.
"What-?" Harry tried before Ron quickly butted in.
"That makes sense," he said, finally pulling his gaze from Harry's Patronus. "Hermione's right. You've got the best shield charm and stunner out of all of us, and you can shrug off an Imperius from a legendary Auror. I suppose a Patronus just makes sense after all that."
"Qu'avez-vous ignoré?" Fleur nearly shouted, her chair scooting suddenly backward, disturbing the Patronus which vanished as Harry gave her his complete attention.
"Moody put our whole class under the Imperius, one by one," Harry answered in English.
"Harry was the only one who could shake it off," Neville jumped in. "I did some flips."
"He showed us as well," said Luna, her normally serene features drawn slightly together at the memory. "I also was made to dance around the room. Everyone laughed, but that's okay. He told me I was 'a slippery little devil.' Which coming from him seemed like a good thing."
As his friends talked, the air in front of Harry shimmered, the hood of the cloak lifting to reveal Fleur's face to him, while still hiding her from the rest of the group. Her nose was barely a hand's breadth from his own, and her eyes held a familiar steely glint. The stubborn set of her jaw and furrowed brow roughly dragged him back to the Champion's room outside the great hall, where she stood defiantly in his favor for the first time.
"We will talk of this later…'Arry," she whispered, purposefully over-pronouncing his name in a way that she had learned he enjoyed. His clearly reluctant but unavoidable smile helped to relax her frustration into one of her own. Good. He knew she wasn't mad at him.
She hid her face beneath the hood of the cloak and returned to her seat, not for the first time lost in thought about how difficult Harry's life must have been to make such things seem normal. She watched him as he started to direct the conversation back to the Patronus Charm, admiring the way he began to effortlessly slip into a coherent description of how he feels the charm before casting it.
She smiled invisibly, watching as the others held on to every word. Even Luna, who often seemed to be listening with only half her attention, was focused on Harry and his increasingly captivating descriptions. His words seemed to light a passionate fire beneath the other three, pushing them to a level of focus and determination Fleur had yet to see from them. Fleur pulled her wand as well as the rest of the group stood from their chairs, determined to make some progress of her own.
Fleur saw him scan the room after the others split off to make their own attempts at the charm and she raised her arm, allowing him to see where she stood off to the side. He walked over, and even if she couldn't sense him, she could see his nerves written clearly in the way he clenched his jaw
"You...wanted to talk?" he said as he approached.
"I do," she said lightly and breathed a sigh of relief when his shoulders relaxed. It would not do to have him think she was mad at him. His circumstances were not his fault after all. "But after everyone has left. We were...interrupted last time, and did not get to spend much time together. Besides, I need to practice as well. Not all of us can master some of the most difficult spells right away."
"I didn't-"
He cut off as Fleur lifted the hood once again, and placed a gentle peck on his lips.
"Be proud of yourself, Harry. I am."
She left him to his endearing goofy grin, holding in her mind the memory she always used and began to practice, whisps of silver issuing lazily from the tip of her wand.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Harry and Fleur bid goodnight to Ron and Neville, Hermione and Luna having left a few minutes beforehand so Hermione could escort Luna back to Ravenclaw tower without drawing suspicion to four students suddenly leaving an unused hallway all at once after curfew.
"You see Neville?" Ron said as he escorted the boy out of the gradually shrinking room. "There are perks to being a prefect. You get to run around outside of curfew and pretend it's because you're patrolling the halls. You should ask McGonagall if you can be the sixth year prefect next year."
Neville's horrified reply was cut off by the door closing behind them, leaving Harry and Fleur alone in the room.
Fleur divulged herself of the cloak, absently running her hands through her long hair to discharge the static. The usual fireplace and sofa materialized next to them alongside a single coat hanger on which Harry hung the cloak.
"Now we can talk," Fleur said, taking her seat on the sofa and patting the spot next to her. He fidgeted a moment before joining her, his apprehension returning, though not as severely as she had been afraid it would.
"I was kind of hoping we could…" he trailed off with a halfhearted shrug.
She smiled inwardly while lifting an eyebrow to him. If he was struggling with his private nature, he just needed to relax a little.
"Hoping we could...kiss?" she asked as innocently as she could manage. Reveling in the flush that bloomed across his cheeks.
"W-well...that's not quite-" he tried, though she caught the quick movement as his eyes darted down to her lips.
"Oh! Then you must have meant...rouler une pelle? I heard it last year during preparations for the ball...what was it? To...snog?"
Harry somehow managed to blush an even deeper shade of red, though his mouth drew together as he fought a smile.
"You're teasing me again," he pointed out.
"Is it teasing if it is also a promise?" she asked airily, struggling against the heat she felt building in her ears.
"O-oh."
She leaned forward and gave him another small peck on the lips as a small apology.
"We do, however, need to talk," she said when they parted.
"About the Imperious?" he asked.
"In a manner of speaking," she replied. "It is more about how...normal...such an unbelievable event seems to be to you."
"I don't think it's all that normal to shake off the Imperius, I suppose."
"Not that, Harry," she said, her suddenly sharp tone commanding his complete attention. "That you were subjected to such a thing at all. You were placed under an unforgivable curse at school, and that, unbelievably, is not the worst thing that has happened to you here."
Harry looked down at his hands, an invisible weight pulling his shoulders down along with his gaze. She sighed silently, not quite able to find the root of her disquiet. A hazy puzzle piece tapped insistently at her memory, but she couldn't figure out where it belonged, and it wouldn't do any good to dig into if she couldn't get her thoughts in order.
"I am not saying it is your fault, nor am I saying that Hogwarts is a bad place," she winced internally, her stomach revolving at the realization of the half-lie. "It is just...these things are not normal, and you should not accept them as such."
"My life isn't exactly...normal," Harry replied after a few silent moments beneath her gaze. His voice had become flat with an expression to match "It never really has been. I've sort of gotten used to it."
"You should not have to," Fleur replied. "It is very quickly becoming my mission to see you live as normal a life as possible."
"I'm...not sure if I can," he answered, his eyes slowly traveling back up to hers. "I want to...it's just that with Voldemort…"
Fleur tried not to falter in front of such a monumental obstacle. He needed someone to be positive on his behalf.
"It would be nice to do normal things though, would it not?" she asked. "Just because he is out there does not mean your life must come to a halt. Even if we cannot go on normal dates, that does not mean we cannot go somewhere together. I enjoyed our time in the woods together over the summer. I feel so comfortable in the woods. Maybe we would be able to go camping? I believe Maman and Papa have a tent...though I suppose I could buy one…"
She knew she was rambling, and his gentle smile told her that he did too, but he didn't stop her.
"That would be nice," he agreed quietly, his mind drifting to the picture resting by his bed at Grimmauld Place.
"Perhaps this summer then." Fleur nodded, decidedly ignoring the complicated logistics that tried to intrude upon her positivity.
Harry nodded, some of the life returning to his features.
"However," Fleur continued, bolstered by Harry's interest. "That is quite enough planning for the future. As for the present…"
Harry cocked his head to the side in confusion, and Fleur shifted her smile to what she hoped was something a little less...decent. She had a promise to keep, after all.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
An oppressive silence surrounded Sirius. It carried only the 'tick' of the living room clock through the cold, empty house into the kitchen, where it steadily chipped away at the seconds until he again lost his internal battle. Dust sat on the cabinet in front of him, a dirty trophy for his dirty secret. Not so long ago it had been the only clean spot in the kitchen. Well...the only used spot in the kitchen.
The prospect of a second wizarding war had escorted him expertly from the floo after another discussion with Dumbledore. It led him across a well-worn path and directly into the kitchen. It supported him as an old friend, albeit one that had taken all his other old friends years before.
He twirled the mirror in his pocket, the thin glass heavy with the weight of his responsibility to Harry, but he couldn't reach out to him. Not like this anyway.
The twirling stopped.
There was one the war hadn't taken, in body anyway, if not in spirit. And though his last friend had been difficult to pin down...one more try couldn't hurt. The cabinet wasn't going anywhere.
With a horrendous effort, Sirius left the kitchen in search of floo powder, tossing a handful into the minuscule flames left flickering in the ashes.
"Remus Lupin."