Written for the Quidditch League Season 9, on the team Caerphilly Catapults.

Round 3: Isn't it Gothic

Thanks to my awesome betas: ViolaMoon, charlotteredmond99

Using prompts:

Chaser 2: Dracula by Bram Stoker: Write about someone having a change of heart, for better or worse.

(theme) isolation

(object) locket

(plot point) a funeral

Word count: 2520

It was far too sunny a day for a funeral.

The air breezed past, comforting and cool. It was quiet enough that everyone could hear the speech from the front. Harry sat a few rows from the front, watching the shoulders of Cedric's mother shudder with silent sobs.

Harry wished he'd known him better.

A hand slipped into his, a slow, tender gesture. Fingers interlocked with his, and their hands rested together on his leg. It was a comforting weight.

The action would have made his heart flutter a few days ago. Today, it just pulsed the dark hollowness in his chest. He stared dead ahead, refusing to look down at the perfectly manicured fingers that were entwined with his. He could feel his eyes shimmer, but he didn't let any tears fall.

Cedric's parents stood from their seats as the speech ended, stepping over to the coffin. A small queue of people looking to pay their respects formed behind them.

Fleur nudged his shoulder, another soft gesture. That was so her, he'd learned. She loved to express herself with a million tiny moments of contact. Every one of them was soft and delicate, sparking a flaring, brilliant feeling in him.

The shoulder nudge was a question. Did he want to go up and pay his own respects?

"I don't know what I would say." Harry was surprised to find his voice was hoarse, like he'd just finished screaming for an hour, or been silent for a year.

"You don't have to say anything." Fleur's voice was melodic, a beautiful whisper that Harry wished he could bottle up and keep forever.

Harry thought for a moment, then stood. Fleur stood with him, her hand still in his. They shuffled past Hermione and Ron, who stayed seated, and joined the procession of people. A few minutes later, Fleur released Harry's hand so he could step up to the coffin alone.

Cedric's eyes were closed now. Harry remembered the way they'd looked when he brought him back from the graveyard. Sightless.

Harry's eyes were open now. He could see what was coming.

Harry thought about telling Cedric that it shouldn't have happened, that it wasn't his fight, but he couldn't see the point. Cedric's ears were like his eyes: senseless. Cedric was senseless, this whole thing was senseless. Stupid and unfair and at the whim of a maniac.

He stood by Cedric for a minute before stepping away without uttering a word, Fleur taking his place. Harry shuffled over to the side, out of the way, and waited for her.

She had something to say to the body of the Hogwarts Champion. Harry could hear the melody of her voice, but not the lyrics. Whatever she said, it was short, though Harry knew her words would be deliberate.

She rejoined his side and, after taking a measured look at his face, slipped her arm into his. They walked away from the grieving crowd.

Cedric was being buried in a field near where he lived, with greens and yellows stretching out for miles around them, a sprinkling of trees giving the landscape some distinguishability. Fleur led the two of them up the hill, her long strides met by Harry, step for step, before they came to rest by a lone grand tree that overlooked the fields. Fleur produced her wand and conjured a blanket in the tree's shade and sat down on it.

Harry glanced back the way they had come before sitting down beside her.

Fleur let out a small pleased sigh as she rested her head on Harry's shoulder.

"English summers are far better than our winters, huh?" Harry couldn't help smirking a little. It was something she had mentioned a few weeks ago while they were having a picnic on the Hogwarts grounds and Harry had teased her for wanting to talk about the weather.

She prodded him in the side. "If I'd known that I would have been ridiculed this much, I never would have said it." Harry could still hear the smile in her voice.

"I've heard they're nothing on French summers though."

"That's very true. Who did you hear that from?"

"Well, there have been some very pretty French witches visiting the castle this year."

She prodded Harry again. "I don't like your pluralisation."

"-And one gorgeous witch."

"Better."

Harry couldn't fight off the smile. It had been like this for months. Every moment of stress or worry or sadness, Fleur could appear and sweep it away with a smile or comment or touch. Harry knew she wasn't perfect, but she always made it feel like the world could be perfect. Not just fine, not just okay, but blissful, amazing, beautiful and safe. Full of joy and excitement, with adventure every day, whether in the small moments or the big.

He'd learned so much from her. Every day of his life had been a battle to find a slot for him to slip into, to be part of the whole that already existed. She'd taught him that he didn't need to jam himself into a place he didn't fit, didn't have to conform, that he could carve out his own space.

Even today, on the brightest day that should have been the darkest, he could feel a swelling of happiness in him. From her voice, her touch, her attention.

It filled him up, but it only coated that dark pulsing hollowness in his chest that had appeared a few days ago.

"I got you something," Fleur said.

"Fleur."

"I know you said you don't like gifts, but you'll like this one."

She clasped his hand and placed a locket in it. It was made of silver and oval in shape. It had a hinge at the left where it could open and a thin silver chain threaded through the top. There were some engraved patterns on the front, swirling shapes that seemed to move, but each of them were shallow, barely enough to feel as Harry ran his thumb across the front of it. It was an intricate, delicate and simple design. Fleur would never go for something gaudy.

She flicked the locket open to reveal a photo of the two of them dancing. He recognised it, of course. It had been plastered on the Daily Prophet after the Yule Ball, much to their mutual frustration. That dance had been little to write home about at the time, but they both looked back on that night fondly.

Harry had hung back after Ron's blowout at Hermione, having told Ron to find her and apologise. He'd wandered the gardens outside of the castle, finding Fleur hiding out from her rather awful partner for the evening. They'd talked for a little while, about the tournament, about life, about Harry's complete inability to dance. Fleur had offered to show him. Harry had accepted, fighting his embarrassment every step of the way.

He'd been awful. She had laughed, but Harry hadn't minded.

They danced slowly together for a while, talking, learning about one another.

At some point a Daily Prophet reporter must have snapped a shot of them, but neither of them had noticed.

Harry was glad for it now, looking at the moment captured forever in the locket. Harry and Fleur in the locket danced slowly, not doing much more than spinning on a spot, sometimes talking, sometimes laughing. They were much closer in the picture than Harry remembered being to Fleur that night.

Harry's eyes shimmered again.

"Thank you." His voice was back to being hoarse.

"I'm glad you like it," Fleur said. "It'll be a reminder to keep practicing. When you visit this summer, Gabrielle will demand a dance and she's not nearly as patient as me."

"Fleur?" Harry didn't intend for her name to be a question, but that's how it came out. Like he was seeking permission for what he had to say next.

"Not that Gabrielle will be the worst of it," Fleur said, pushing on like she hadn't heard Harry. "I suspect Papa will be worse. I've never dated anyone before, and I get the sense from Maman's letters that he's going to be having one of those conversations with you."

"Fleur."

"But don't worry, I'll protect you."

Harry winced. There was that word. Protect.

The crowd beneath them began to disperse. Only a few figures remained behind.

The wind blew softly up the hill, stirring Fleur's hair against his neck. Sunlight flickered through the leaves above their heads.

It was far too beautiful a day for this.

Fleur took her head off his shoulder.

Harry looked at her and met those beautiful blue eyes. They were like an ocean, one he could fall into and float in forever beneath an endless sky. If he could live in a moment like this, he would never have a care in the world.

"Fleur." Her name came out so wistfully, like she was already gone.

She looked away, her eyes shimmering now.

Harry knew she was smart, and he'd been brooding and distant the last few days. She'd known this was coming.

"We can't carry on," Harry said, "the two of us."

"Why?" She sounded so defeated, beaten by his words.

"Because he's back. He's a maniac, and I don't know why, but he wants me dead. He'll do anything to get me."

"I'll fight him. I'll protect you, Harry." She looked back at him and the ocean roiled in her eyes. Her hair blew in the wind. He believed her. She was his warrior angel.

"But I can't protect you. I can't keep you safe. He's-" Harry stopped.

He looked down the hill at the few remaining grievers.

"I couldn't bear another day like this," Harry said. "Not if it was you."

"Neither could I. I will not have a day like this again. That's why I'm going to fight him."

"No," Harry said. He grabbed her hand. It wasn't as gentle a motion as she would manage, but he would never be as elegant as her. He had to make her understand.

"I'm going to stop him, Fleur. That's who I am. I'm the one who stops him. Then and now. It's not a slot decided by anyone else, it's not the place where I fit in. It's what I want to be."

The oceans had not stilled. "It's not what I want for you."

"I know." Harry smiled. "But a gorgeous witch taught me that it doesn't matter what other people want me to be."

She laughed behind shimmering eyes and prodded him. It was a short laugh, less beautiful than the real peals of laughter he'd heard from her previously.

"I'm not just 'other people' though, am I?"

"No, you're not."

"You don't have to do this alone, Harry."

"I'm not. I just know what I can't lose."

Fleur looked down at the people who were leaving the field. Some were returning to Hogwarts, others to their homes. There were lives to go back to, after all.

Fleur's hand held Harry's tightly. It was the least gentle she had ever been.

"Can't we have just one more day?"

Yes, Harry thought. Please. I want that more than anything.

"I feel like I've already stolen so many perfect moments. It wouldn't be fair to take any more from you," Harry said instead.

"You stole nothing, Harry. We gave them to each other."

She pulled him close and he went without resistance. His arms enclosed her and the pulsing hollowness made him want to scream. In that moment, he hated Voldemort more than he ever had, because this could be the last time he held her.

Fleur was silent, pressed up against him. He took the chance to speak without having to face the stormy oceans in her eyes.

"I need you to get started with your life. I need to know that outside of this fight, there are real people, great people, living for real. I want to hear stories about the new up-and-coming dueler on the European circuit who's taking names, pulling out moves no one has ever seen before. You're phenomenal, Fleur, and I can't be the only one to know it. You can't become a name etched in stone before you really get to live."

She moved her head a little, looking up through her eyelashes at him. He held the back of her head and kissed her forehead. A moment later he wondered if it had been the right thing to do, and the pulsing hollowness made him hate himself anew.

He wished he knew what she was thinking, but he supposed that's part of what he loved about her. There was always something new to learn, another facet to uncover.

"I need you to survive," Fleur said. "I don't care what it takes. You make sure you survive."

Harry didn't say anything. He knew it wasn't a promise he could make.

"I know you can do it," Fleur continued. "It's what you do. In all the stories you've told me, you find a way."

Fleur broke the hug, her eyes lingering on Harry's for a long moment. Then she stood. Harry followed her to his feet.

She pulled him in again, but this time there was a kiss. It was unlike any they'd had before. It was simultaneously more than they'd ever shared and not nearly enough. It carried a promise in it, but Harry couldn't describe what that promise could be in words.

Her lips broke from his, the two of them a little breathless.

"When he's dealt with, you come find me," Fleur said.

Harry smiled, but he knew it didn't reach his eyes. If he was still alive, finding her would be the first and only thing on his list of things to do.

She must have read something in his expression. "You come find me," she repeated. She didn't sound afraid. She said it like it was a certainty, like it was a requirement of existence. An immutable law of reality.

Harry nodded. "Okay."

Fleur stayed for a few moments longer, her natural poise returning to her slowly. Then she left Harry alone under the tree.

He watched her go. She looked back at him once but didn't stop walking.

And then she was gone.

Harry felt spent. He wanted nothing more than to sit back down under the tree and hide in this field until it was just him and Cedric left. He wanted to wait until the sun set, for clouds to spread across the sky and for rain to come down in torrents.

He looked at the locket, at the perpetual dance that he and Fleur shared. The dark hollowness pulsed a little, but it had already begun to abate. He knew this was the right thing to do, no matter how much he wanted to stay with her.

Harry closed the locket and hung it around his neck. He began the walk down to his classmates, to the Portkey that would take him home.

He knew, hidden in the locket, albeit unseen, he and Fleur would always be dancing together.