Chapter 1

February 6th, 1995.

The trick for a bit of quiet is to come to lunch early, eat quickly and leave. Works fine, mostly, specially on a Sunday. It's overcast, and the temperature is hovering a little below zero, with a gusty wind from the west crisping the surface of the Black Lake. A Warming charm keeps my ears and my fingers from frostbite, but it doesn't make it comfortable. I don't really care. I'm more than used to physical hardship. The grand view and the absence of side looks and whispers more than make up for it.

One task left. Another chance for whoever placed me in this stupid thing to get me killed. Come year end, it's six feet under or, if I'm lucky, back to Privet Drive. Like always. Hurrah!

I wave my wand at the water, a silent 'leviosa' and a rope of water rises up, coalescing into a ball, about three inches across. It's a bloody hard exercise in focus and control, to keep the water up and change its shape. Set it to rotate, flatten it into a disk, half an inch thick. I'm about to try and freeze it, while keeping it up, when my concentration is broken by someone's muffled clapping.

The water falls back to the lake with a muted splash, and I turn around, a curse lighting my wand tip. The curse dies on my lips.. Two blue-eyed blondes, the bigger one frowning while hugging herself, seriously underdressed for the weather, and the little one wearing a heavy off-white overcoat, boots, a hat, mittens and a broad smile.

"I am sorry to bozzer you, Monsieur Potter..."

"Harry, please." I cast a warming charm at her, and the frown eases a bit.

"Merci, if you will call me Fleur."

I nod. "Of course. How can I help you, Fleur?"

She puts a hand on the little blonde's shoulder, who is suddenly looking at her own feet. "You met ma soeur, Gabrielle."

I squat in front of the little girl, snickering. "We met, but we weren't introduced, I guess. Well met, Mademoiselle Delacour." Fleur flinches a bit with my horrid pronunciation, and the little girl pinks adorably and mumbles something towards her feet.

"What is it?"

"Elle."

It takes me a second to get it. "Elle, then. And you should call me Harry too."

The little girl nods. "She is going 'ome tonight, and she wanted to say thank you, and goodbye."

I don't know what to say, so I try to smile pleasantly. "Well, there is nothing to thank me, and I hope you have a nice trip home."

Gabrielle frowns, shakes her head and silently asks her sister for help. "She wants me to tell you zat eet is not true zere's nozzing to zank you. 'er magic was very nearly empty when you took 'er from ze lake. We are not 'uman, 'arry. If we run out of magic, we just die."

I look at them, mystified. "Not human?" I knew the Beuxbattons champion was something, but I thought that meant human with something extra, not a whole different species.

"We're Veela. Creatures of fire and air. Water, specially cold water, is deadly to us."

I shake my head, dismayed that the organizers would risk someone's life like that. "You think this was done on purpose?" Bloody creepy Tournament.

"Non." She shakes her head. "Ignorance and stupidity."

"I see..." I'm not surprised. I turn to the little girl, whose bright blue eyes are shimmering with tears and bow a little. "It was an honor to save you from the cold and dark, Elle."

"Zank you." She opens her arms and I kneel in front of her, gathering her in a tight hug. She feels like a little bird, all delicate bone and sinew under the heavy coat. I look at Fleur standing behind her and wink, getting a sweet smile in return, the first one I see in the haughty girl's face. She definitely should smile more.

The following morning, Fleur approaches me and pulls me aside. "You made an impression, 'arry." I raise an eyebrow. 'On whom?', I'd like to ask, but I keep quiet. She continues. "Gabrielle zought you were a 'chevalier', a knight in shining armor."

"Those stupid books."

"Oui. Even more after you saved 'er from ze cold and dark." She looks at my face and frowns. "You don't like zat."

"No. Not really."

She nods in approval. "But now, now she zinks you are kind and sweet."

That sounds like the right impression. "She makes it easy, doesn't she? To be kind and sweet with her, I mean."

Fleur looks into his eyes and gives another smile. "Zat she does."

"Fleur..."

"What?"

"Would you tell me a little about Veela?"

She looks at me, tilting her head a little. For the first time I see something really non-human in her. I fear I offended her, somehow, so I'm a little surprised with her reply. "Oui."

August 5th, 1997

So, The wedding happened. Given Dumbledore's recent demise, the groom's near death under the claws of a werewolf, and the chaos of a blood war going around, it is at least a little surprising. War weddings. More so, when Remus and Tonks came by, talking about having eloped. It was all rather fast and I can't help it but worry a little about their future happiness, specially Fleur. My beautiful friend is impulsive, passionate and as stubborn as granite, so I keep my peace and hope for the best.

The weather cooperates, a balmy summer afternoon, turning into a near-cloudless starry night.

The ceremony is interesting. A bearded old man, with gray robes worthy of Gandalf, but no staff, walks the bride and groom through their vows and appeals to the spirit of magic to bless their union. There is no flash of magic, but the final kiss looked very enthusiastic. I will even own up to a girly little tear at the end.

Bill looks impressive with his handsome face and the scars. Fleur is the first bride I've ever seen live, but I figure she might well be the most beautiful one I'll ever see. I stand at the back, disguised as some Prewett cousin, actually happy for the brief distraction from loss and death, I can't allow myself to think of Hedwig, which would make me crumble to pieces. So, I just stare at the bride and the groom, happy that Fleur seems to have found someone to love that will love her back.

I approach the couple, shaking Bill's hand first and then kissing Fleur's cheek. I whisper in her ear. "Nice going, pretty bird."

She stiffens up, grabs my shoulders and pulls me back, looking into my eyes. The fake smile that she's been sporting turns genuine. "I am so glad you came," she whispers back.

"I wouldn't miss it."

She nods. "We should talk."

"Later."

She closes her eyes for a moment and nods. "Later." As I leave, she says. "Talk to Gabrielle."

At the reception, first there is an embarrassing scene involving Ginny. Then I sulk at a corner, until I notice a familiar face, in a pretty light green dress, low heels and her hair bound with a silver bow. She's sitting by herself, her thin legs dangling from the edge of the chair, not long enough to reach the floor and she seems bored. She looks exactly the same, except that her eyes look older. Some of the innocence from two years ago is gone. Fleur said school is not easy for Veela.

I sit next to her, and she looks at me suspiciously. I lean over. "Hello, Elle."

The alarm caused by my invading her personal space turns to puzzlement. She examines me, head to toes and back, and settles on my eyes. After a moment, she asks. "'Harry?"

"It's been a long time."

"Yes." She articulates clearly, with very little accent. "Two years." She grabs one of my hands with both of hers and plays with my fingers a little. "Too long,"

I nod in agreement. "How's school?" She's just finished her first year.

"Hmmm... some good, some bad, I guess. You?"

"The usual, mostly boring, occasionally terrifying. I don't think I'm going back.."

"Really? Why?"

"Got a job to do."

"I see..."

"I doubt that."

A little smile. "You could just tell me about it."

I laugh. "I could, but I'd rather dance."

She lifts her eyebrows and looks doubtful. "I may be a little too short."

I shrug "We can make do."

Indeed, short as I am, the top of her head barely reaches my chest. Still, she is graceful, energetic and clearly enjoys dancing. I do my best to keep up, and a couple of fast tunes end up with her giggling, pink cheeked, and a little winded. Then a slow tune lets us rest a little, holding her delicate little hand in mine, my other hand nearly covering her upper back, and her hand on my waist. We sway back and forth, an inch or so apart, trying to keep the rhythm as she catches her breath.

I look around, and I notice Ron and Hermione, their body language suggesting a fight. 'Foreplay', Tonks once suggested, and I made the mistake of asking what that meant. Just the memory of the detailed explanation that followed still makes me blush. Nobody seems to be paying any attention to Elle and I.

Dancing with Gabrielle is nice.

When the song ends, and another starts we walk to the drinks table and grab a couple of glasses of gillywater. "Thank you for the dance. I enjoyed it."

She smirks. "You don't have to lie, you know?"

I lift an eyebrow, a trick I learned with Snape, of all people, and practiced in the mirror. "I wouldn't lie to you." I try to sound offended.

She's instantly contrite. "Well... sorry. I enjoyed it too." Then she frowns a bit. "What exactly are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you spending any time with me?"

"I enjoy it?" Teasing tone.

She gets mad and stomps her foot. "I'm serious!"

"I know." I lift my hands in a half apology. "Your sister is a dear friend."

"So you're doing her a favor." There's a litlle anger in her voice.

"She did ask, but that's not it."

Fists on her hips. Adorable."Then what?"

"She talks a lot about you. It's made me curious."

She ponders that a little, then stuffs her chest as she replies. "And what do you think? Do I meet your expectations?"

I laugh. "Too early to tell. Ask me again when you have boobs."

She smiles, pleased. "I hate you."

"Well, I don't hate you. Not even a little." She seems to approve of the reference to her future bits.

Later I find myself paired with the bride. She looks at Gabrielle, as Bill twirls around with her. "Zank you, 'arry."

"It's my pleasure, actually. She's a good dancer."

"Years and years of ballet. She actually likes it."

"And you don't."

"I 'ate it. Eet is useless." We stop dancing for a second. "I know the 'eadmaster left you a task."

"True."

"Just remember: 'William and Fleur live at Shell Cottage, Tinsworth, Cornwall.'" I feel the information settling in my mind. "We can 'elp. "

"I'm honored by your trust, Mrs. Weasley, and I won't forget."

She laughs. "You're ze first to call me zat."

"It does not suit you."

"I know! 'e should 'ave changed 'is name instead."

"Right."

"Did you notice Miss Weasley glaring at us?"

"She's angry with me."

"Ah! She is always angry with me. 'ateful little salope."

"But the current glare is mine, I think. We were going out for a while."

"Nobody is perfect..."

"I broke up with her, right before the Summer."

Fleur turns serious. "I understand. Eet is too dangerous to be with ze chosen one, non?"

"She tried to force me to take her back today. I wouldn't."

"Bien!" Bill embraces her from the back, and kisses her neck. She closes her eyes, clearly enjoying it.

He addresses me "I think your dance partner wants you back."

I look at them and smile. "Congratulations again, Bill. Be good to her."

"Do I hear an implied threat?"

I snicker. "Not really. I don't throw fireballs when I'm angry."

Fleur giggles and Bill dry swallows. Gabrielle grabs my arm. "Did anyone mention 'fireballs'?"

Fleur clucks. "Only 'appy veela today, ma petite."

"Sure. As long as Harry dances with me..."

Half an hour later, a patronus comes, warning about the fall of the Ministry. Then there are death eaters, and everything turns to shit, for a long, long time. I try to catch a glimpse of my little blonde date, but I can't. I can just hope she, and everyone else, would be all right.

December 24th, 1998.

I jump out of bed at six, and by seven I am showered, fed and dressed in red robes, patrolling Diagonally with my boss Derek Proudfoot. There were only a dozen aurors left after the last battle, so Kingsley offered a deal where, instead of NEWTs and three years of training, some of us could get a kind of apprenticeship. Eight of my old DA crowd took it, and that's been our lot of my life since June. I can't complain. Proudfoot is a quiet wizard, early forties, with a receding hairline, sharp eyes and a quick, precise wit. I've probably learned more from him in the past months than from anyone else, ever.

Diagon is crowded with last minute shopping, so the patrol itself is a little tense. The only incident of note, however, involves an upset witch and a lost five-year-old, who wandered off into Knockturn Alley, got scared, and was quickly returned by a sympathetic hag.

Thankfully, such an incident doesn't warrant a report. Apparently paperwork is a fundamental part of my 'apprenticeship', or so I've been told.

Near the end of the shift, my badge vibrates, and a come-hither from the head auror appears in the back. Auror's badges are a neat bit of magic. Oval, three inches by two, blue-silver metal. Magically keyed, only the owner or his superiors may touch it. On one side, the crossed wands of the Auror's Office, the holder's name and rank. It appears as a muggle security forces picture ID if the holder so wishes, a complicated little enchantment which also serves as an authenticity check. Short messages can be received on the reverse side. It functions as a portkey back to Headquarters either upon activation, or if the holder is seriously incapacitated, to the nearest hospital. It may also be used to call for help, serving as a beacon for apparition.

I clear it with Derek and touch my wand to the badge, activating the portkey function. I stumble a bit on arrival. The portkey arrival point is an empty office, its single door opening to a corridor on the second floor of the Ministry. Plenty of foot traffic in the corridor, as people are breaking for lunch. It's a few doors to the left, and down a long side corridor to the Chief's office. The door opens to a small reception area, with a battered desk and a young brunette sitting down, looking bored.

"The Chief will be with you shortly, Auror Potter." A nice mid-range contralto. She has straight dark brown hair cut in a bob, a lovely oval face, dominated by a pair of large gray eyes, and a long graceful neck. Slight of build, she is wearing dark blue open robes, a cream silk blouse with a hint of cleavage. A very attractive witch, a little older than myself. Also, she looks familiar. Before I can ask, she continues. "Gemma Farley."

"Slytherin prefect?" I ask hesitantly.

She smiles. "Yes. I was fifth-year prefect when you came to Hogwarts. I remember your sorting. Quite the hatstall." Her speech is the usual pureblood posh, with a tantalizing hint of something else. "I'm surprised you remember."

I know why I remember her. "Draco hated you."

She gets up, extending a hand, palm down. The desk was hiding a mid-thigh plaid skirt and a pair of shapely legs. She is fully in view. Hourglass shape. Five foot three or four. A tiny, extremely attractive package, bright clever eyes and a sincere smile. I take the offered hand and kiss half an inch above it. "A spoiled little prick," she comments regarding the Ferret.

I'm not good with witches. Natural shyness, coupled with the way I was raised, and the nastier consequences of my fame. For the first time in a long time, I wish I was different. "The hat wanted me in Slytherin." I don't think I ever shared that.

"What?" I'm not sure whether she's surprised or unbelieving.

"The hatstall. The thing wanted to place me in your house."

"I assume you objected."

"The little prick..." Her eyebrows go up a bit. "I ran across him a couple of times."

"Ah!" She invades my personal space, straightens my collar and tie. Such a natural little gesture. She smells of freshly cut grass and lemons. "Pity."

I look into her eyes, looking for calculation, but all I see is warmth and amusement. "Yeah. Pity," I'm compelled to agree.

There's a slight buzzing from somewhere on her desk. "You may go in now." She steps away a little. "Good luck."

"Thank you."

It's a cramped office, with beige walls, one ot the Ministry's fake windows, this one apparently overlooking Trafalgar square from five or six stories up, a couple of wooden file cabinets, a single bookcase and a large messy desk. Just looking at the office, one would guess that the owner works very hard and has low tolerance for bullshit. One would be right too. Behind the desk, an unassuming man, thin, short, sharp features, steel gray hair. Gawain Robarts has been an auror through two wars, lost family and most of his friends, and shows it. Beside him, Kingsley is standing, hands behind his back. Both man show an utterly impassive countenance. I feel a prickle of alarm. "Minister, Chief."

Robarts replies in an even tone. "Potter." He extends one hand. "Your badge, please."

I pull it out of the special inner pocket where it is kept and hand it to him. They look at it, Robarts glances at Kingsley, who replies with a brief nod. Robart touches it with his wand. There's a glimmer of magic, and the single bar becomes a double one. It means I'm promoted from trainee to Junior Auror.

This is no small matter. As a trainee, I am extremely limited in what I can do as an agent of the law. Basically, I can nod my head, pay attention and do as I'm told. Junior Aurors are fullly empowered to act in accordance to the law. Not to mention the tripled pay. I'm frozen for the moment. Robarts puts the badge on the desk and pushes it towards me with one finger. "Here, take it."

I look at the badge as if it might bite me. "It's too soon."

Kingsley smiles while Robarts frowns and hands the Minister a galleon. "We agree, Harry," Kingsley replies with his booming voice. "You're far from ready. And it's good you know it."

Robarts explains. "We're receiving three new recruits in January and we need senior people to train them. So we're promoting you and Bones. Neither one of you is ready, but you two , together, just might make an adequate auror. You can handle yourself if things get dicey, and Bones is not useless either. You know the muggle world. On the other hand Bones is good with people, knows law, customs and where all the skeletons are buried. You're both good at thinking out of the box.

I grab the badge and put it back in place. "I'll do my best."

"I'm sure you will." Robarts picks out a form from his desk, signs it and gives it to me. "Requisition form. You may pick up a firearm, you if wish., but you'll need to qualify for its use with muggle police."

"Anything else, sir?"

"Come to the training center tomorrow at half past seven. I'll brief you and Bones on your new duties."

I turn around to leave, but Kingsley interrupts me. "Harry..."

"Yes, Minister?"

"Train and study hard. You and Bones are likely to be at the pointy end more often than not."

"I understand." One on one, the Minister and a couple of others, are the only people in the building that would give me a hard time.

"I know you do. Goodbye, Harry."

"Goodbye."

I'm in a bit of a daze when I leave. I turn around and see Gemma looking at me curiously. I take out my badge and show her. She grins. "Wow! That's fast. Congratulations."

"It's necessity, not my merit."

"Oh, pish-posh. Necessity and merit both, I'm sure."

I dismiss it with a gesture, despite the warmth in my gut and the likely pink in my face. I have a vague, but very good impression of this girl from school. She was respected, and didn't seem take shit from the nasties in her own house. Her level-headed niceness gains a couple of respect points in my book. "I have to go."

She notes my embarrassment and giggles. A nice sound. "See you around, then."

"Yeah, sure." Smooth, Potter. Really smooth.

Lunch is Kreacher's cuisine, braised beef tips, mashed turnips, boiled cabbage and pumpkin juice, with spotted dog with clotted cream for dessert. No complaints, but I'm looking forward to Molly's dinner roast with trimmings and the ever-present treacle tart for yours truly. Then a long, long bath. I'm eighteen, single and just got promoted doing a well-respected job where I can do some good. The nightmares still come back, but it's weekly, instead of nightly and I haven't had a panic attack in two months. The mind healer is now once a month, down from three times a week back in June. Of course, magic folk never heard of PTSD. So maybe it's time I stop stringing Ginevra Molly Weasley along.

Ginny has made her wishes more than clear. In her view, we should have never split up at all. For a couple of months after the battle we were both too out-of-it to even consider it. But, since then, she's become... insistent.

I'm attracted to the little redhead, no doubt about it. And it's not just the looks. She's clever and intense, competitive and surprisingly sweet at times. She's very vain, but embarrassed about it. And being with her makes me even more of an adopted Weasley. But... she's immature, spoiled, temperamental and, she is horrible with Fleur.

So, I've been waffling, saying I'm not ready, that we should wait until she graduates... and it's not fair with her. The truth is that I'd gladly date her, but I'm not ready to commit my whole life to her. Yet, I suspect that once I start down that path, it's going to be very hard turn back.

Maybe a long talk? Who am I kidding, the moment the subject is raised, she will just stop listening. Actually, does she ever listens? I know she cares about me, but what I think or feel do not seem to matter a whole lot.

I think of the brunette I met today. Out of my league, surely, but... who else is out there? I shake my head in confusion. I'd really like to try, and, just maybe, shag. I hear it's nice. Maybe I'll ask Ginny out. A real date, perhaps for the New Year. One step at a time. We can see where we go from there.

I arrive at the Burrow near sunset, a couple of hours early. Charlie and Ron are tossing a quaffle outside, "Hey!"

Charlie tosses the quaffle at my head without missing a beat. I grab it one handed and toss it at Ron. "Nice reflexes." Charlie says with a grin.

"Better than yours," Ron replies, grabbing me in a bear hug. "Catch any darkies lately?"

"Nah. Domestics mostly." The few loose Death Eaters left either ran away from Britain or are lying very low. Not that domestic disputes are a breeze, when both parties are angry and armed with a deadly weapon.

"Sounds boring," replies the dragon handler.

"It's not dragons, for sure. But I like boring."

"What do you mean you like boring?" Ron complains.

"I think I had enough excitement for a lifetime." Routine, procedure and Constant Vigilance. And paperwork. Flying spells for variety. Six months as an Auror, and not once I've been terrified or helpless. It's a nice change.

"I wouldn't mind a little excitement." Ron pouts.

"I guess Hermione is not doing it right..." I tease.

Ron blushes hard. "Oy!" Charlie guffaws. "Leave her out of it."

"It appears sweet Hermione hasn't let ickle Ronnikins in her knickers yet." Charlie half embraces his brother, who pushes him away roughly.

Charlie is not tall, but he is built like a tank, so, a little shove, and it's Ron that ends up sitting on the dirt. "Oww..."

"Oh, I'm sorry... did Ronnikins hurt his little tushie?" Charlie mocks.

A wave of pure green envy hits me. An honorary brother is not really a brother. "Talk about Hermione..."

"Ginny and Hermione are visiting Luna." Ron explains, climbing back to his feet while throwing Charlie a dirty look.

They go back tossing the quaffle. If I had pushed Ron like Charlie did, he would spend a week without talking to me. But they are back playing like nothing happened. Real brothers. I wrap my silly angst around myself like a cloak and walk inside.

The house smells mouthwatering. Meat basting on its juices, bread and tarts, roasting taters and other delicious things cooking. I hear Molly humming offkey to herself while she works. Percy and Arthur are sitting at the couch sipping tea, Arthur looking pleased and Percy clearly uncomfortable. Arthur smiles broadly when he sees me. "Harry! Come sit with us. Care for some tea?"

I nod stiffly to Percy as I do as told. He's redeemed himself during and after the battle, but I still haven't really forgiven his previous behavior. "Happy Christmas Mr. Weasley, Percy."

"Oh, Happy Christmas for you too. Milk and sugar?"

"Plain is fine, Mr. Weasley."

"Harry, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Arthur?"

I sip my tea and mumble. "Once more, I suppose."

"I hear congratulations are in order." Percy interjects stiffly. I think of a pretty brunette, who might like gossip more than she should. No harm done, I guess.

"Really?" Arthur gives me a sharp look, reminding me that there is a lot more to the man than it appears at first.

I pull out my badge. Arthur leans in and squints. "Is that a second bar? Yes it is! Oh well, congratulations, Harry! Junior Auror after six months. Excellent." He turns to the kitchen. "Molly! Molly!"

The redhead matriarch appears at the doorway. "Yes, dear?" She looks at me. "Oh, Harry! So good to see you. Happy Christmas." I stand up. And normally I'd get a tight hug for my trouble, but Molly is rather floury at the moment, so she refrains. I confess I miss it.

"Happy Christmas, Ms. Weasley."

"Molly, dear. Just Molly." A long suffering sigh. She turns to Arthur. "What was it, dearest?"

"Harry has news."

"Well..." I show her the badge and she screams. "Oh... Oh! Junior already, Harry!" She gets a hold of herself and gives her husband a sharp glance. "They are tossing him at the deep end, aren't they?"

Arthur just shrugs, while Percy responds. "There is a staff shortage." He gives Harry a faint sneer. "One works with what is available."

I'd be upset with Percy, if that wasn't exactly what I think too. "Right you are." He gives me a surprised look.

Molly pokes my chest with a stiff finger. "You will be careful."

"Of course. And train and study very hard." Truth be told, I've always performed my best struggling at the deep end.

"And you two." She addresses Arthur and Percy. "You will keep an eye out for him." Her tone brooks no argument. Father and son nod their assent.

She turns around to leave. "Can I help you in the kitchen?" I ask to her back.

She replies without turning back. "Sure, dear. I can always use an extra pair of hands."

I'm arranging a huge plate of breads and fruit, so large I could barely embrace it with both arms, and with stuff piled a foot and a half over it, when the girls return. I get a hug from Hermione and a peck on the lips from Ginny. Hermione, goes straight to the point. "We heard about your promotion."

"Suzy was promoted too, and I'll be her partner. Robarts said we just might make an adequate auror between the two of us."

Ginny frowns at hearing this, but Hermione nods in approval. "She's a good one to have at your back."

"I know..."

"Harry..."

I sigh. "What is it, Ginny?"

She tries to hold it in, but it quickly comes out. "She's gorgeous!" Her hands sidle up to her boobs unconsciously . A perky pair of B cups, if I'm not mistaken, but not Suzy's very prominent double D's.

Hermione and I exchange a glance. She's trying very hard not to laugh. "Don't worry. There's all kinds of rules about fraternization between aurors, specially partners."

"That doesn't help, Harry!" Sure, there was all kinds of rules about sex between students at old Hoggy, but the broom closets were always in use. People will do whatever they will do.

Hermione tsks, dismissing Ginny and her concern with one little noise. "This is not a good thing, Harry. You will be careful."

"Sure. Constant Vigilance!"

Ginny looks at us as if we're mental. "What?"

"Harry is not ready, Ginny."

"What do you mean, he's not ready? He killed You-Know-Who!"

Hermione gives Ginny a pitying look and shrugs. Some arguments are just not worth pursuing. I decide to try and change subjects. "We need to talk, Ginny. Can we go for a walk after dinner?"

She turns pale. "All right."

"Good. Now, either help or get out of here."

Bill and Fleur are the last to arrive, carrying a large basket of homemade pain au chocolat. Fleur doesn't like cooking, but whenever she bothers, it's well worth it. I approach them, and manage to steal one. It melts in your mouth. "'arry!"

"It's good" I speak with my mouth full, which earns me a disgusted look from Fleur and a laugh from Bill. "Hi, Bill."

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

"Of course eet's good, you little voleur." She was wearing a heavy dark green coat, which Bill removes to put away, but under that, a long, tan wool skirt and a silk blouse, clearly from the pricey end of Muggle fashion. I look intently at her middle, but I see nothing.. "Non. Eet's a very leetle bump."

"How far alomg?"

"Sixteen weeks."

"You look radiant, Fleur. They are right about pregnant women."

"Ah bon! Veela are always radiant."

Bill comes back and kisses her in the neck. She shudders and gives him a hungry look. "Maybe a little more radiant?"

"Per'aps." She turns to me. "I 'ear you've been promoted."

"True."

"Be careful, 'arry." The people who care worry.

"Of course."

Bill pulls her close with a half hug and gives me a serious look. "Have you studied warding already?"

"Hermione taught me some. I can cast a notice-me-not and a warning ward. But as an auror, no."

"We would be happy to teach you the basics. And maybe duel a bit too. You should come by after New Year and we will set it up." Fleur was grinning madly at the idea of mock dueling. Former european champion, she is fast, ruthless and unpredictable.

People sit at the stretched table, and I help Molly bring the food over. There's eleven of us. It's a noisy, happy table, despite the one who is missing. Almost eight months, and the hard truth is that the war touched this family lightly. I think of my myself and my future partner, the very last of our ancient families. As I often do, I raise a silent toast to all those who died, so we could be here, alive and laughing.

After a few mouthfuls I lift my eyes and look at Ginny. In some way, she's my 'date' tonight. I note she is looking particularly fetching, with a light green blouse contrasting nicely with her red hair. Her breasts seem a little bigger, somehow. I find myself focusing on her lips, highlighted with pink gloss. She's kissed me earlier, and I wish she would do it again. She looks a little anxious. I reflect back, think of the brunette I met earlier, the attraction I felt. I feel a slight revulsion. This is different. It is different... a haze, at the back of my head, pushing at me. I feel disconnected. I know this feeling. A fourth year class... the graveyard... I look up. Everyone is laughing, something George said. Except Ginny and Molly. They look anxious. Ginny... A ball of fury explodes in my head. I push back from the table, stand up. I hear myself yelling "No!"

Something snaps and the world goes back into focus. Ginny is passed out at her chair, blood coming out of her nose. She is having a seizure. Bill is standing up, wand in hand, casting something over her. Molly is also up, screaming and Arthur is holding her. Everyone else is looking around, trying to understand. The fury leaves, replaced by cold and sadness. Everyone is looking at Ginny. When I walk out, I'm not sure if anyone notices.

It's several hours later, and I'm sitting in a deep leather chair at number twelve, nursing my third tumbler of scotch. I'm lightheaded, but not quite drunk. The fireplace flares in the other room, there are sharp steps, and a familiar voice is heard. "'arry?"

"In here." I get up and wobble a little when she rushes in and embraces me.

"Oh, 'arry! I'm so, so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." My voice sounds dead, even to me. "So?"

"I'm coming from St. Mungo's. Ginevra is still unconscious, but out of danger. Zey say 'er magic is damaged, though."

"I see."

"Zey know about ze potion 'arry. Eet was like pulling teez, but Willliam and Arzur finally got Molly to admeet it. Zey are furious wiz 'er. But nobody can explain what happened to Ginevra. Molly says eet's all your fault, zat you are too stubborn, too uncaring..."

"She is not entirely wrong." I close my eyes and count to five. "I should have seen this coming."

"What do you mean, 'arry? Zey try to potion you and eet's your fault?"

"I've been stringing Ginny along for months, Fleur. She wanted to get together, and I just wasn't sure. Molly admits without shame that she potioned Arthur to give him a 'push'. I also don't think this was Ginny's idea."

"She didn't know?"

"Oh, she knew it. I don't think she would have gotten hurt otherwise."

"What do you zink 'appened to 'er? Arzur was yelling about Ancient 'ouses and Family magic..."

"I don't think so. I have some idea how my family magic feels. I believe this was the life debt."

"A life debt? Do you know 'ow rare zey are?"

"Yes. But I'm sure about this one."

"And why would a life debt hurt Ginevra?"

"She is not supposed to attack me.

"A love potion is not really an attack, magically speaking. Married people can't attack one another, but they often take such potions willingly."

"It's intent. The potion felt like an attack, like the imperius. Ginny also had the ill intent. The life-debt got mixed in and extracted a price. If I understand this right, it's like a broken oath. The actual price will depend on how badly the implicit oath was broken."

"Zat makes sense. I should go back and tell zem."

"All right."

"Are you going to be ok?"

I laugh. "No. It feels like I just lost my family."

"Oh, 'arry..."

"I'll live."

She shakes her head. "You should come to France wiz us. Gabrielle would be very 'appy."

The thought of seeing the little-not little girl again sounds nice. "Maybe. I have lunch with Ms. Tonks and my godson tomorrow, but I could come afterwards for a couple of days."

Fleur smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I could invite a cousin..."

"Just don't." I'm no monk, but the mere idea makes me tired.

Now the smile reaches her eyes. "Your loss."