"A prophecy?" Sirius blurted, the words tumbling out alongside the soft click of the door behind him. Harry and Fleur had dutifully recounted their tale to Dumbledore, Sebastian, and Sirius, each filling in their respective parts after they had been separated. Afterward, Fleur had asked for a little more time to themselves before Harry had to return to his room to rest. Sirius had quickly agreed, a number of pressing questions sitting on the tip of his tongue, but none that he wanted to burden the already tired teenagers with.

"As if having a Death Eater for a Minister was not bad enough, they had the time and resources to get Voldemort into the Hall of Prophecy to retrieve a prophecy. I did not know there even was a prophecy concerning Voldemort," Sebastian mused, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Precious few do," Dumbledore answered, letting out a deep sigh. "Though that was by design."

"I expect you know what it is?" Sirius asked, fixing the aged wizard with a steely gaze and crossing his arms. "I don't suppose you'll tell us what it said?"

"On the contrary," said Dumbledore, his gaze shifting between Sirius and Sebastian. "There are a few things we need to discuss, the prophecy included."

Sirius let his arms drop to his sides in surprise.

"However," Dumbledore continued, preempting Sirius' comments, "an un-warded hallway in a public building is not the place for such discussions."

"We can go to my home," Sebastian offered. "It possesses a number of wards to keep people away."

Dumbledore shook his head, though he smiled graciously. "I appreciate the offer, however, I would prefer the discussion take place in my office. It is one of the few places that I would trust to keep our conversations completely private."

"Is this prophecy really so important?" asked Sirius.

"I will explain the prophecy," Dumbledore answered, the aged lines on his face deepened as he spoke, and the years rested heavily on his features, "but it is not the most important thing we need to discuss."

Sirius shared a shocked glance with Sebastian and nodded. "Should we go now?"

"I believe so," Dumbledore replied. "I will meet you in Hogsmeade after you have said your goodbyes. We have much to plan, and my time is about to become severely limited with the power vacuum at the Ministry. At least until they determine who is next in line. I suspect it will be Amelia, though I am unsure if her appearance being used in the attack will delay the emergency measures."

"Surely not," Sebastian cut in. "I've discovered how remarkably inefficient your Ministry is in my time as ambassador, but surely the Wizengamot won't nitpick such a detail and leave themselves leaderless."

"Ordinarily, I would be flabbergasted if they did not fight amongst themselves about the emergency appointment," Dumbledore replied, another long sigh passing his lips. "But I believe that by allowing us to declare war on Voldemort, Barty Crouch has inadvertently helped us in that respect."

"But why would he allow it in the first place?" Sirius said. "I talked to him just before your presentation. He didn't even seem all that concerned that he might lose the argument."

"Then we can only speculate that it was by design. Perhaps it was then that Voldemort made his way to the Hall of Prophecy to retrieve his sphere, using our meeting as a distraction for the highest members of our government. Regardless, such supposition will get us nowhere and will only serve to spend time we do not have. I will see you both in my office at Hogwarts shortly."

The two younger men nodded, stepping aside to allow Dumbledore passage towards the front of the hospital and the disapparition zones. Sebastian leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair as he let out a mirthless laugh.

"This is a real cock-up," he grumbled.

Sirius raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Your English has always been good, but I'm surprised you know more than just the basic curses."

"I've been in government work for a long time."

"I can't really argue with your assessment though," Sirius said. "Though I suppose it could've been worse."

Sebastian could only nod, his legs dropping him slowly to the floor where he sat, his head in his hands. "What if someone had seen her?"

"Seen her what? Transform into her bird form? Thousands of people saw the Veela at the world cup do it."

Sebastian shook his head and looked up at Sirius, the normally unflappable man's fearful gaze putting a halt to Sirius' reassurances.

"What if someone had seen her burn the Minister to ash? She would be on her way to Azkaban, and the people like her in this country would have become pariahs."

"Then we're fortunate that's not the case, and that there will be an investigation," Sirius said, dropping himself down onto the floor across the hall from his friend. "It won't be too long before I get my seat back in the Wizengamot, and I can promise you that for as long as I hold that position, there won't be another miscarriage of justice like mine. For such an uncomfortable chair, the seat of House Black is quite powerful. Don't worry, she'll be fine."

Sebastian nodded, hefting himself back to his feet with a grunt. "Either I'm tired, or I'm getting old," he mumbled, stretching his back. "Probably both. I doubt they're going to be happy about it, but we should have them get some rest, then go meet up with Dumbledore."

Sirius stood up as well and opened the door to Fleur's room. The admonition he'd prepared for Harry to go back to his room died on his lips when he saw Harry and Fleur, both fast asleep.

Harry sat in the chair next to Fleur, his head resting on the thin linen beside her. She hadn't moved much, except perhaps to allow him a little more space, but one hand rested atop his messy hair, her other arm folded, her hand resting on her stomach.

"I'm not sure if he'll be more unhappy if we leave him in that uncomfortable position, or if we wake him up," Sebastian whispered. Sirius nodded, but walked over to Harry, tapping him as gently as possible on the shoulder.

Despite his soft touch, Harry jolted upright, spilling Fleur's hand from atop his head. He blinked quickly as he scanned the room.

"What-?" He mumbled, righting his glasses on his face.

"We have to go," Sirius said, stepping back while Harry got his bearings. "And you'll be in here for an extra day if you fall asleep like that so soon after healing. Get some rest in your room, and I'll be back tomorrow to pick you up. You'll be staying at home to recover for about a week before heading back to Hogwarts."

Sebastian stepped around Fleur's bed to the side opposite Harry and looked down at Fleur, who had come awake when Harry jumped up.

"Your mother will come by tomorrow to have you slide-along with her back to the house. She's insisted that you stay at least one night at home with us before sleeping alone in your apartment. I only ask that you humor her."

"I will not argue," Fleur replied, her eyes slowly falling shut, her voice barely a whisper as she slipped into French. "A few nights at home sounds nice."

Sebastian smiled down at his daughter as she drifted off, patting her shoulder before turning away. "How are you feeling, Harry?" he asked. "Besides tired, that is."

"Could be worse," Harry replied, a loud pop sounding from his back as he stretched. He glanced again at Fleur, whose breathing had already become slow and rhythmic.

As instructed, he returned to his room to rest, both Sirius and Sebastian extracting a promise of rest from him before appearing satisfied.

"We've got to go talk to Dumbledore and figure out what we're going to do next. I'll let your friends know you're okay while we're at Hogwarts. I tried to tell Hermione about the mirror, but it doesn't seem like she's found it."

Harry nodded letting his head fall back to the pillow. "She's probably going mental," he said. "Thanks for letting her know we're okay." Sirius smiled and nodded. He waved goodbye, a motion that was mimicked by Sebastian as they stepped out of the room, and closed the door behind them.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sirius balked under the scrutinous gaze of the Headmaster, Sebastian's startled glance a far second to the wall of stern, controlled power Sirius found himself staring at. Twenty years of experience melted away, and he was a child again, brought to the Headmaster's office for some form of acting out that had plagued his young childhood.

"You...know of them?" Dumbledore questioned, his voice the subtle rumble of thunder that promised a coming storm. "May I ask how you are versed in such dark magic?"

Sirius pushed against the animalistic part of his brain that told him to flee. "You're forgetting my family," Sirius replied, a short laugh ringing hollow through the room. "Which is something I would usually prefer. I've seen mention of them in our library. The only one that mentions them by name was one called…'Examining Owle,' or something like that. I liked to peruse the more heavily enchanted books when I was younger. Try to see what my family considered important enough to hide." He shuddered. "I quickly got over the hobby."

Dumbledore nodded, some of the gentleness returning to his features and tone. "I suppose I should not be surprised. The Blacks were notorious in their dark magic for a reason. I would very much like to examine that book."

"If you're able to, sure," Sirius answered. "Some of them can be a little temperamental. I can always just tell you what it says." He shifted in his seat, a wince crossing his face. "I can guess how the Horcruxes relate to Voldemort, and his return. I'd rather focus on that prophecy, and what we're going to do to make sure Harry gets through it okay."

Sebastian nodded his agreement, though Sirius could see the questions percolating behind his eyes.

Dumbledore merely stared at them, his mouth uncharacteristically working silently, words failing to issue from the man. He didn't move or speak, but his age settled on him like a flood, filling the lines of his wrinkled face.

"The Horcruxes...they do not relate only to Voldemort," he said, his voice laying flat across the silent office. "Nothing would make me happier than to be incorrect, but after tonight, I daresay that grows almost impossible."

"Speak plainly, Dumbledore," Sirius growled deep in the back of his throat. He could feel his hackles rise with suspicion. There was no way-

"Surely not," Sebastian murmured.

"I believe Harry himself is a Horcrux."

Even though he'd been expecting the words, they still barrelled through the room; a stampede of giants that left little in their wake.

Sebastian mumbled to himself in French.

"I would like to view this book as soon as possible, Sirius," Dumbledore continued. "I would wager that Voldemort has more Horcruxes than the ones we know about. The sooner we know how to destroy them, or in Harry's case, remove them, the better off we will be. If he cannot be killed, then any counteroffensive the Ministry is able to muster will be for naught."

Sirius could only nod, his thoughts drifting back to the young man who was, hopefully, asleep in his hospital bed. Sirius had watched him open up with barely concealed joy during their limited time together. The frightened boy that he'd met what seemed like ages ago was slowly growing into someone much more comfortable in their own skin. How was he supposed to tell that young man that he housed part of the madman who killed his parents?

What he wouldn't give to be able to have a drink.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry woke quickly from his rest, his body twitching him awake at the first sign of consciousness. The blurry room did little to settle his racing pulse, the unfamiliar shapes screaming danger into his sleep-addled mind. It wasn't until his eyes fell upon Fleur-her silvery hair unmistakable even without his glasses-that his heart finally began to slow.

"You are awake," she said, her voice bolstered by the evening's rest. There was only a hint of hoarseness to her usually clear tone, though it was still subdued.

She handed him his glasses when he began to fumble at the side-table for them.

"How are you feeling?" they asked each other, prompting small smiles to cross both their faces.

"How is your scar?" Fleur clarified, lifting her chin towards his forehead.

"It's fine," he answered honestly, lifting a probing hand to its unfamiliar ridges. "Sirius said it looks cooler now. What do you think?"

Fleur blanched and Harry frowned.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. Their brief conversation the evening before flitted through his mind. "Oh. It's like I said, I know you didn't do it on purpose."

Fleur shook her head, her hair cascading over her shoulders with the motion. "It does not matter. That...thing lost control, and hurt you. It could have incinerated you like it did…" Her mouth shut with a click, and Harry could see the naked fear glimmering in wet eyes. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and made to stand but her arms were already around his middle, her head pressed firmly into his stomach. "It killed a man," she whispered, the confession falling from her lips in her native language.

She began to tremble, small cascades of motion traveling up her back and down her arms. Harry put his hands loosely on her back, her awkward position disallowing any firmer purchase. He expected to feel the small touch of wetness on his shirt, but it never came. She held him tightly in silence while he wrestled for the words of condolence that would properly and tactfully convey his appreciation of her timely assistance.

He was saved further fretting when she released him and sat back up. She inhaled deeply, breathing back in the unshed tears lingering at the corners of her eyes. She tried to offer him a smile, but some hybrid between a grimace and a sob materialized in its place.

"And I would do it again," she said to the ground, her hair hanging alongside her head in silver curtains. "How terrible."

Harry sat for a moment, snippets of reassurances and condolences flaring in his mind to be discarded just as quickly. She didn't wear her heart so plainly to be offered empty cliches in response.

"I-" Harry began, startled at the story that pushed itself from the depths of his memory. Even Ron and Hermione hadn't heard the whole truth of that evening, years ago. "I-er...I killed someone too. In self-defense," he added quickly when her head shot up from its examination of the tiled floor. "My first year." He swallowed. "Last night wasn't the first time for me."

"Quirrel," she breathed, her eyes widening as the half-told story came flooding back to her memory. "You never told me how you beat him and Voldemort that night...only that you did."

He nodded. "When I touched him...it burned him. So when he came after me, I just panicked and put my hands on his face. It burned him up, and he...turned to ash. Then I passed out." Harry sat quietly for a moment before the need to fill the silence bubbled up from within. "That's probably why Voldemort made such a big deal about being able to touch me in the graveyard."

"I had wondered about that," she said, "but I had forgotten after everything that happened."

"Makes sense," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably. "But...you know...you're not alone. Sometimes...you don't really have much choice." The words felt strange coming from his mouth, the truth and conviction leaving an unusual flavor in their wake. He'd spent a long time after the incident with the Philosopher's Stone thinking over such things, but never quite believing them for himself.

"That is true," she said, her recovering voice pensive. "Though he did say he did not plan to kill us."

Harry tasted the bile rising in his throat along with Fleur's explanation of what Crouch had said. He was unable to keep the grimace from his features, nor his displeasure from escaping his mouth. "I almost wish he had been planning on it instead."

Fleur finally smiled, though it was fragile and weak. "As do I. But...your words do bring me comfort, Harry. Thank you. I know that it is something that sometimes must be done to protect those you care about...it is just hard to believe it sometimes." She looked up at him from her seat, and another flash of pain crossed her features. "I will be getting a new wand sometime this week. I would very much like it if you could come with me."

Harry nodded, surprised. Though yet unspoken, he could feel the goodbye that was to follow the sudden shift in mood.

"I promised one of the medi-witches that I would let them know once you were awake. They need to check you over once more before you can be cleared to leave," she said. "I feel like I do not want to let you out of my sight. Like something will happen if I do."

"We've got our note-paper," Harry tried to reassure her, though it would be no substitute for seeing her whole, sitting in front of him.

"We do," she agreed. "And I will see you again soon."

"Are you going to use another of your grandmother's hairs?" he asked, desperate to keep from separating from her.

"How did you know about that?"

"The weighing of the wands," he answered. "You told Ollivander about it."

The ghost of a mischievous smile lifted the corner of her mouth. "You really were preoccupied with me."

Harry colored, but took solace in Fleur's flush to match in reply to his muttered, "Of course I was."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur stepped through the floo and into the wonderfully familiar parlor of her parent's home, her note-paper clutched tightly in one hand. It'd taken some doing to convince her mother to agree that she would be fine if she stopped at her apartment for a few minutes to collect some of her things. She hadn't had to push too hard though before her mother finally relented in her requests to come along, and for that Fleur was grateful.

The silence of her empty apartment made no comment on her tears.

She was forced bodily from her memories by an impact to her sternum, Gabrielle's forehead driving the wind from her lungs.

"You've got to be more gentle," Fleur admonished, the residual sting of the impact creeping across her still-tender chest. "Pretty soon you'll break my nose with your forehead if you keep running into me like that after you've grown some more."

"I'm sorry," Gabrielle muttered, her words muffled by Fleur's jumper-something else she had grabbed while at her apartment.

"Gabrielle," their mother cut in, "that's where she was hurt. Be careful!"

Gabrielle jumped away as though she'd been burned, the analogy pulling Fleur's lips down into a frown.

"S-sorry. Maman didn't tell me how you got hurt," she muttered before manifesting a small impish smile. "You hurt your boobs?"

"Gabrielle!" Apolline hissed, but her voice was drowned out by Fleur's laugh that swiftly turned into a ragged cough. She covered her mouth until the fit finally subsided.

"No, thankfully," Fleur replied. Bright red dots speckled her hand and she quickly moved it out of sight. "I'll tell you later. The hospital beds aren't very comfortable, so I'm going to go up and take a nap."

"Don't forget to take your potion before you go to sleep," her mother called after her. Fleur waved her understanding, leaving her sister to whatever uncomfortable conversation she had earned herself. She'd talk to Gabrielle later, when she was more alert and rested, and felt a bit more like herself. The beds at the hospitals weren't actually all that bad, but the chair at Harry's bedside had been absolute hell to sleep in.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur rolled over in her bed, the uncomfortable tug of new skin dragging her fitfully from much-needed rest. Her curtains were drawn, only a small sliver of light peeking through was her only indication to the time. It was either dawn or dusk of the next day, though the rather incessant call of her bed led her to believe it was early morning.

A quiet snore from the relative darkness next to her made her jump and scramble for her wand, her hand impacting hard against the empty top of her nightstand. The slap of her hand turned the snore into a yelp of surprise, and Gabrielle sat bolt upright.

"W-what-? Go away!" Gabrielle half-shouted, her groggy voice little more than a raspy bark.

"Gabrielle," Fleur said, shaking her gently to full wakefulness. "What are you doing here?"

Gabrielle blinked at Fleur for a moment. The familiar setting and confusion evident in her face left an odd nostalgia sitting uncomfortably on Fleur's heart. She hadn't thought she'd miss the days when a much smaller Gabrielle would come to snore in bed with her protective older sister after a nightmare.

"I'm...uh," tried Gabrielle, the heel of her left hand rubbing at one of her eyes. She blinked clarity back into her gaze, and it quickly turned downcast. "Maman told me what happened...after yelling at me about my joke."

"I thought it was funny," Fleur consoled her.

Gabrielle offered a fledgling smile, but it quickly fell away. "I knew something was wrong when Maman came to get me from school. You know you can tell when she's agitated, and something was really upsetting her."

Fleur nodded her head in the receding darkness, the light through the curtains growing brighter as the sun rose above the bare treetops. "She isn't very good at hiding what she's thinking."

"You're even worse," Gabrielle pointed out, a genuine grin momentarily replacing her frown. "But she didn't tell me what had happened until earlier." The whites of her eyes shone near-orange in the morning light as she stared at her older sister. "They really locked you in iron? You melted it off to get free?"

"Well...yeah. I did," Fleur answered, one hand snaking up to test the delicate skin between her collarbones. "I had to."

"And...your wand got broken?" Gabrielle asked, the question barely more than a murmur into the sheets that were bunched-up around her legs.

Fleur could only nod, her palm stinging anew from the absence of her rosewood wand on the nightstand. "I'm going to pick another in a day or two. Harry's going to come with me, and you're welcome to come. It'd be nice to have you along."

Her sister settled back into bed, pulling the covers tight around her in a cocoon. Only her blue eyes and mop of long silver hair stuck out the top. Her mumbled, "I'll think about it," was almost inaudible.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

It was three days before Fleur felt well enough to head to Paris to get her new wand. It had actually only taken one, but she hadn't quite felt up to the stares and calls for her attention she would be guaranteed to receive before she had a wand to cast the disillusionment charm. She had written to Harry once she knew she was ready, and his excited reply had been almost immediate. The thought of Harry sitting bored at Grimmauld Place wasn't a very happy one, but the thought of him waiting for her brought a twinge of selfish delight.

She had also spent the time trying to get a straight answer out of her sister about the trip to Paris, but the younger girl had been cagey and hard to pin down. Even her call through Gabrielle's closed bedroom door that she was leaving to go get her wand was met with only a simple, "Okay."

So Fleur stood alone in front of the fireplace, waiting for Harry's arrival. Her father hadn't been home since she had seen him at the hospital, undoubtedly working tirelessly at the Ministry to help mitigate the disaster she'd been a part of. Her mother had left to do some shopping, her request for Gabrielle's company similarly rebuked.

A quiet cough from behind her propelled Fleur from her thoughts with a start, and she spun. Gabrielle stood in the doorway, her hands held behind her back. She chewed on her lower lip as her jaw worked, testing the shape of her words.

"I'm not coming," she said eventually, a small angry mark slowly appearing beneath her lip. "I'm not ready to be...seen...like that. And I can't cast the disillusionment charm yet."

"I completely understand," Fleur replied. She sat down in a chair by the fireplace and motioned for Gabrielle to do the same.

The younger girl shook her head.

"Is something the matter?" Fleur asked, the back of her neck protesting as she quickly leaned forward.

"What sort of wand do you think you'll get?" her sister asked instead, one hand twisting stray strands of her hair.

"I...I don't know," Fleur answered, her eyes searching Gabrielle's nervous face with little success. Why couldn't they both be easy to read? "You know it's more complex than just picking one, even though we got ours made custom. It'll depend on the core most of all." She couldn't fully suppress a shudder. "I don't think I would want dragon heartstring anymore. One with unicorn hair might be nice. They're supposed to be rather versatile."

"And you...you can't get grandmother's anymore," Gabrielle continued, her voice whisper-quiet.

"No, I cannot. The hairs lose their power posthumously if still attached. You know this." Fleur rose from her seat. "What is going on with y-?"

There was a sudden, deafening shriek of pain and a flash of blue behind her sister's eyes. Gabrielle's arm shot towards the ground, pulling with it a single strand of shining silver of hair.

"Gabrielle!" Fleur shouted, running to catch her sister, whose legs had given way. The skin on her wrists stung when Gabrielle's body impacted her hands, but she gritted her teeth against the pain and slowly lowered her sister to the ground. "What are you doing?" she hissed, wiping away the sweat that beaded Gabrielle's brow and the tears that had begun to leak from the corners of her eyes.

"That hurt a lot more than I had expected," Gabrielle grumbled, reaching her free hand up to touch the tender spot on her scalp.

"Of course it did! What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking..." Gabrielle replied, sitting up slowly from her place on the floor, "that you should still have Veela hair as your core."

"And I think that you shouldn't risk making yourself weaker just so I can have a certain wand," Fleur shot back, holding tight to her indignation lest she praise her sister for such a stupid, risky...touching idea.

"Then it's probably all the more important that you have a strong wand so I can have an even stronger big sister."

"That might be the grossest thing you've ever said to me," Fleur teased, gently lifting the hair from Gabrielle's outstretched hand. It was heavy, the same way she remembered her grandmother's being so many years ago. The one she'd been given to take to Emilienne for her wand. For her first wand. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Gabrielle said, rubbing vigorously at the side of her head. "It still really stings though."

"Maman is going to lose her mind when she finds out what you did."

Gabrielle's hand slowed to a stop, and a chagrined wince preceded a shrug. "Well, it's too late. We can't exactly stick it back in there." She brightened. "Now it's kind of like I'm going with you anyway!"

"Kind of," Fleur agreed, helping Gabrielle to her feet. "I'll be right back. I need to find something to carry this in so I don't lose it."

"You're not getting another one, so please don't."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry and Fleur walked down the busy Parisian street, Sirius' disillusionment charm holding fast as she swerved through the crowd. She held her hands in front of her face and blew into them, the warm air from her lungs offering only temporary respite from the cold January morning. Despite the frigid weather, a fair few people still walked the stone sidewalks. They dodged two red-nosed children bundled up in scarves as they ran down the sidewalk, a haggard middle-aged man following close behind.

The disillusionment charm did its duty, with the only failure being that of a small long-haired dog sniffing at Fleur's shoes as she passed through a small wedge-shaped island in the middle of the streets. She directed Harry across the crosswalk and around a corner cafe, its garish orange awning bright in morning sun. They rounded the sign proclaiming the dead-end street 'Villa Niel', and wound their way through the already full parking spots. At the end of the small alley sat a bright yellow door recessed into the stone building, with two intricate stained glass windows on each side.

"This is it," Fleur said. "Let us hurry. The charm is wearing off."

"The wandmaker in Diagon Alley has a shop that's a little more...intimidating."

"Yes...he did seem the sort," she agreed.

The room that lay behind the door was a far cry from Ollivander's tidy shelves filled with boxes. In fact, the only similarity seemed to be a layer of dust that covered everything in the room. Rather than a proper shop, it simply seemed to be someone's messy living room. Long pieces of wood were stacked up against the banister of a stairwell to the left. Small scraps and colorful wood shavings littered the floor, creating a secondary carpet above the faded red beneath.

"It's not the start of the school year, so you must be here for replacements," a boisterous voice called from behind the stacks of wood against the banister.

"Oui," Harry replied before Fleur could answer.

A stack on the end began to fall to the side and hit the ground with a crash.

"A foreigner, eh?" The woman said, her posterior appearing from behind the remaining barrier of wood.

She was wearing what appeared to be a leather apron, though instead of a warm brown it appeared almost black, with small tarnished rivets around the perimeter of two large pockets in the front. She dropped a small dark piece of wood into one of the pockets and pulled a pair of thick glasses from somewhere inside her wild mane of snow-white hair. She set them on her nose and squinted at Harry.

"Englishman if I had to guess," she said, her English barely touched by her accent. "Maybe an American." Her squint moved up to his forehead, and she pulled her glasses from her face. "English I see. I somehow doubt Garrick is unable to provide you with a wand Mr. Potter, so I would have to assume that it is Miss Delacour there that needs the replacement."

"You remember me?"

"You Delacour girls are the only Veela I have made wands for. The rest of your kin tend to work with Gregorovich on account of his proximity." She stepped around a chair piled high with open books and waved for them to follow. They gingerly made their way through the cluttered workspace. Small piles of cut wood and crushed boxes toppled over as they passed. They heard the jangle of keys from around the corner and the click of a door swinging open. "Hurry up! And mind your step!"

The door opened to a narrow stone stairwell down into a cellar, the steps covered in a thick layer of sawdust. At the bottom stood the wandmaker, a few small blocks of wood already held in one strong hand.

"These just got done drying," she said in their native tongue as Fleur approached. "I'm sure you remember the routine. Do you have a preference?"

"I think I will choose as I did last time," Fleur answered, picking up the first piece. Harry stepped to the side, admiring the long slabs of wood piled along one wall of the cavernous room.

"Mahogany," Emilienne said as Fleur inspected the dark wood. "Sturdy stuff. Makes good tables too."

Fleur set the blank aside with a shake of her head.

"Cherry. Very tight grain and can make a beautiful, sturdy wand. A little finicky though. Smells nice."

"Red Oak. Strong and reliable, though not a stand-out."

"Rosewood. I'm sure I don't need to tell you about this one."

Fleur frowned down at the wood in her hand and reluctantly set it aside in the discard pile. Emilienne held out the final blank resting in her hand. Fleur's fingers slid around the wood, and a smile broke out on her face.

"That does not surprise me. You are not as inflexible as you used to be, though I can see you are still plenty stubborn." Emilienne took the piece back and twirled it through her fingers. "I might have expected rosewood again, but this will work." She held the small square end of the wood up to the light and squinted at the small markings on the end, and barked out a laugh. "Fitting. Back to your roots with this one."

"What did you pick?" Harry asked, walking back over to where the two women stood.

Fleur looked up from where her gaze lingered on the rejected piece of rosewood. "Yew."

"Now for the core," Emilienne said, glancing appreciatively over at Harry. She pointed over to an opposite wall, where an apothecary cabinet sat atop a massive workbench, each drawer labeled in chalk with crisp small handwriting.

"I have one already," Fleur said, fishing around in her coat pocket. She produced a small box and handed it to the older woman.

"I should have expected as much," Emilienne said, grabbing the box from Fleur's open palm. She pushed open the lid with a finger and drew the silvery hair from its resting place. "Not your grandmother's this time, and longer than I remember your mother wearing hers. Though it has been a few years."

"My sister's," Fleur answered, darting a glance over at Harry, who looked on with interest.

"And she is well?"

Fleur nodded, allowing a small perturbed sigh. "She didn't offer it as much as she forced it upon me, but I am glad to have it."

"A sisterly bond is a strong one, and such things can be very powerful when it comes to the esoteric nature of wands. Especially in regards to your kind." She turned and dug through a few drawers before producing a small yellow roll. "Arms up, jacket off. The measuring tape can account for clothes, but nothing as bulky as your coat."

Fleur dutifully removed her coat and handed it to Harry, who stepped forward to take it as she pulled it off. She raised her arms and allowed the floating tape measure to take its necessary measurements. She shifted uncomfortably when the tape wrapped around her wand-wrist, and again when she took a deep breath as instructed, and the tape wrapped around her chest. It floated back to Emilienne, who tossed it over her shoulder. It landed perfectly in its place, and the drawer slammed shut.

"A bit longer this time I think. You're a bit taller and a bit more powerful than we'd anticipated originally. It shouldn't be too much longer though, less than an inch I should expect."

Fleur grabbed her coat from Harry and slid it back on. "Do you know how long it will take?"

"It shouldn't take too long. When you got your wand the first time it was the busy season, and I had quite a few to put together before school started, not to mention I had a lot of replacements to do around that time as well. Give me two hours or so. I have a rather dusty sitting room on the top floor if you'd like to sit up there since you won't likely be able to go out on a date while you're waiting."

"How did you know we're…?" Fleur asked, pointing between her and Harry.

Emilienne's eyes smiled behind her large glasses. "He's been eyeing you since you first walked in, and he's not making a fool of himself. Since you didn't seem to mind, and you don't seem hopelessly vain, there was only one real answer."

Fleur smiled over at Harry before leading them up the stone steps and back through the treacherous maze of scraps and discarded boxes to the front. They ascended the stairs, taking care not to knock any of the leaning boards from their precarious resting places against the banister. The first door on the left sat open, a handful of chairs and coffee tables sitting inside.

The room was sparse and simple compared to the rest of the cluttered space, holding only a single bookshelf below a high window, and five chairs arrayed in a semi-circle around a coffee table. Opposite the chairs sat a lumpy off-white loveseat. Small mounds of foam poked through tears in the fabric covering the back-rest.

Fleur dropped down into the chair and yelped as a muffled thud sounded from beneath her.

"It is not as cushioned as it appears," she said, gesturing to the space next to her.

"Are you excited?" Harry asked as he sat. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and snatched it away when Fleur let out a small hiss of pain.

"I am sorry," she said, her apology punctuated by a small smile. "I am still a little tender. The potions I take help me heal much faster than I would normally, but there is not a lot they can do for the pain."

"Sorry," Harry said, dropping his hand to his lap. She rested one of her hands atop his, entwining their fingers together.

"This is okay though, so long as we are careful of my wrists. To answer your question, I am excited, but nervous as well."

"I probably would be too, if I had to get a new wand," Harry replied.

Fleur nodded. "It will take some getting used to. Using Gabrielle's hair will either make it much easier or far more difficult. I am not sure which."

"I wonder if you could use one of my hairs," Harry said, tugging at his long fringe.

"I doubt it," Fleur said, reaching her free hand up to idly pat down the messy spot near the back of his head. "Veela hair is slightly more...precious than normal hair. There is an element of our power tied to our hair, and when we pull it by the root, it can weaken us."

"What if someone just yanked out a bunch of your hair though? That seems dangerous."

"It is...complicated," Fleur said, her hand dropping from the top of his head, leaving a warm tingling sensation behind. "Suffice to say that some random person on the street could not hurt me by pulling out a bunch of my hair, beyond how much getting your hair pulled actually hurts anyway."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. A shout from outside occasionally drifted through the walls, or more regularly, a muffled swear from the basement. One particularly long string of words following a loud crash had Fleur laughing into Harry's bewildered shoulder.

"I only knew two of those words," he said once her laughter had subsided.

"She is rather...creative."

"Do you think you have to be off your rocker to be a wandmaker, or do you think making wands turns you a little crazy?" Harry asked the air after a wall-rattling bang sounded from beneath them.

"I think it must just be a calling," Fleur replied. "Like teaching, or becoming a Potion Master." She turned to him, a serious set to her features. "Have you given any more thought to what you want to do after you leave school?"

"Not really," he answered, hoping she couldn't feel her way through the half-truth. He truly hadn't thought about what he wanted to do. Hermione had hinted that he should look at being a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor one evening after discussing lessons for their group, and that hadn't sounded too bad.

In truth, it wasn't a career that shone so clearly in his future.

He hoped she couldn't feel that either.