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The chime rang and he stepped in, allowing his eyes to adjust to the change in light as he took in the smell of oil that ran through his nose as soon as he closed the door. He smiled as he thought back to his first year at Hogwarts, newly baptized in the art of Oliver Wood's particular brand of Quidditch 101.
Oliver had given him a small broom maintenance kit, an older one, he'd been told as the Gryffindor captain ran through the various items packed inside. It had been then that Harry's Quidditch journey had truly begun.
He inhaled as the memory faded and he spotted Fleur at the far bench, back to the door, hunched over as she worked. As he moved deeper into the shop he could see she was wielding a wood knife, carefully using it to carve into what appeared to be a newly-shaped broom. He'd never seen a master at the craft before, his own broom being made in Spudmore's workshop, far away from the prying eyes of anyone.
He made it to the bench and stopped, placing his broom on the top as quietly as possible, observing the blonde with a careful look. She'd already carved the neck completely, its long and swooping shape evident, but the area around the base was rougher, less refined. She muttered something to herself and, with a practiced hand, moved the knife with one motion across the wood, shaving a thin layer off.
"It's rude to stare," she said before blowing on the broom, kicking up wood dust, half of it landing in her hair. She placed the knife into her overalls and turned around, blue eyes piercing him from behind her magical glasses.
"You are back." She tilted her head slightly to the side. "I…did not expect that. I wasn't sure your letter was truthful."
He smiled.
"I try not to lie too often," he said with practiced ease. "Unless it's to the press."
She simply stared at him and raised one eyebrow ever-so-slightly, as if sizing him up, before looking down at the broom lying casually on the bench.
"What 'ave you done?"
"Huh?"
She looked back up at him.
"You brought 'er back, you must 'ave done something."
Harry shook his head and furrowed his brow.
"I don't think I did anything. She doesn't feel any different. Still handling like a dream. Is it normal for people to only bring you problems?"
She nodded.
"Oui. Quidditch players rarely come back unless something is wrong. Usually some sort of disaster of their own making. You are a very clumsy bunch."
He didn't know if he should be offended or not.
She waved her wand in a small circular motion before sweeping it up and down the broom, stopping at the twigs to examine them closer. She bent over and inspected them, pushing her glasses further up her nose as she did. Satisfied, she nodded before standing back up.
"She is fine. You have done an adequate job of caring for her in the last two weeks." She couldn't stop the small smirk that spread across her face. "I guess you aren't so bad."
Harry laughed.
"I'll take the compliment."
"Now," she started, "If you don't need anything else, I'm busy."
He frowned. He could understand a dismissal when it was directed at him, but he found that he didn't want to leave. This shop, it worked the tension from his shoulders in a way that was hard to explain, and Fleur was incredibly brilliant. He knew, from only being there once, that she was more knowledgeable on brooms than anyone else he knew.
He looked around, spotting a bottle of what appeared to be polish on the shelf behind her.
"I'll take a bottle of polish," he said with a cocky smile. If he was a paying customer he could stay and she'd have to deal with him.
"I don't sell broom polish," she replied with a deadpan look, gesturing towards the door to dismiss him once more.
Harry's eyes darted around the shop looking at the various shelves and workbenches, all littered with various items that were obviously used in the craft. He even leaned to the side, looking towards the back of the shop, though he couldn't see much. He righted himself and looked back down at her as he scratched his head.
"What do you sell here?"
"I don't sell anything," she answered, confusing Harry even more.
Broom shops in England sold all the name brands and a wide selection of maintenance kits. Hell, they even sold team apparel and gear, catering to all sorts, from confident Puddlemere United fans to delusional Chudley Cannon supporters. To not sell anything at all was odd to him.
He scratched the back of his head again.
"I, er, don't understand. This is a shop but you don't sell anything. So what do you do, exactly?"
She looked as if she were going to tell him off, opening her mouth and narrowing her eyes, but then her face softened and her shoulders uncoiled as she sat down in the stool behind her. She adjusted the frames of her glasses and he couldn't stop his eyes from widening for an instant.
The messy hair filled with wood dust. The thin rimmed glasses framed her face perfectly. Even the small bit of what appeared to be dirt on her chin, it all reminded him of how attractive she was. He mentally shook himself. Now was not the time for that.
"My father said we offer a service to those who desire a more personal touch." She scrunched up her face. "It's been my experience that we're popular with Quidditch stars and the wealthy. Though very few of either ever take the time to visit in person. You're quite unique in that regard."
"So, what's in the bottles?"
"It's a protectant and polish that I make here," she explained, grabbing the bottle and holding it up to examine it. "It's made using a formula my family created centuries ago. You'll not find anything else like it."
"And the tools?" All the tools he could see were worn, as if used by many hands, but all the blades looked sharp.
"All family owned. Most older than me. Each broomsmith has added to the collection over the generations. They're all sharpened weekly."
Harry took a seat on the stool next to him and looked around again. This place had history, but more than that it had character. It had seen a thousand brooms pass through its walls, heard a million conversations, all in the name of something an entire line of people loved. He couldn't help but be impressed.
"You must get a lot of business."
"I.." she stopped and bit her lip, and he saw hesitation in her face. Hesitation and what looked a bit like guilt. "No, not as much as you'd think."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Really? But you're brilliant!" Her cheeks flushed lightly at the compliment. "How do you not have people beating down the door?"
She looked down for a moment, and he wondered if he'd said something wrong before she looked back up with a confident fire in her eyes.
"Because we do not compromise 'ere. Each broom is 'andmade. We carve the wood by 'and. Seal the collar by 'and. Shape the twigs by 'and. Add the enchantments and charms by 'and."
She pointed behind her.
"This is my current commission. A wealthy French politician wants to give 'is nephew one for his birthday. It's…the first bit of work I've 'ad in…a while." She shook her head. "There isn't as much money in this work as the dream would 'ave you think, and I've no idea why I'm telling you that."
Harry frowned, wondering if perhaps he should help brainstorm ideas to get her more business, but stopped that train of thought almost as quickly as it started. He'd gotten good at reading the room, and something told him he was better off not trying to help.
"Well I hope more business comes your way. And hey, I'll be a regular going forward!"
She gave him a tight, controlled smile, and she looked like she was going to say something before she shook her head.
"Enough about me. What about you?" she asked with a piercing gaze.
"What about me?"
She shrugged.
"Oui. What makes 'Arry Potter, 'Arry Potter?"
He smiled but looked down. He'd gotten used to talking about himself over the years, players had to once they reached the professional level, and yet here, with Fleur, he suddenly felt self-conscious. As if her judgment of his life would mean more and he didn't know why.
"Well, my parents-"
She shook her head.
"Everyone knows the story of the Godric's Twelve. I asked about you."
He couldn't stop the low growl from escaping, though it wasn't directed at her. The bloody Godric's Twelve. It was the story of his life, he supposed. Twelve brave witches and wizards who lured Voldemort to Godric's Hollow with a fake prophecy. Twelve people who lost their lives to end the reign of terror of a madman. Twelve souls who'd tricked a man who thought himself a God, and then gave everything at the end.
He'd been brought to his aunt's before it happened, some sort of promise extracted by his grandmother to ensure her daughters would look after each other. Living with the Dursleys hadn't been fun, but it had given him perspective once he'd learned that magic was real.
"I'm sorry," Fleur said, bringing him back from the memories of his childhood. Her eyes were wide and he could see guilt in them. "I didn't mean to bring up anything painful."
He casually waved her off.
"It's alright. I've long since accepted my place in that particular part of history." He looked at his Firebolt. "Quidditch though, that was my first true love. The first thing in the magical world that made me feel at ease. There's nothing more freeing than getting on a broom, kicking off the ground, and just leaving everything behind for a bit. All the worries, doubts, and second guessing? It all falls away when I'm in the air."
"Like it's just you and your broom?"
He nodded.
"Yeah, just about. Oliver, my captain, he and I went to school together. He taught me Quidditch." Harry laughed and shook his head as he let the memories of those first lessons breach the surface of his thoughts. "Before my first professional match he told me that great players are either highly skilled or fearless, but that since my first year at Hogwarts I was both."
He laughed again.
"I then proceeded to get completely outplayed by an average Seeker and never even got close to the snitch, but it made me realize that I was overthinking things. It had always just been me and my broom up there. Everything else was just details."
He looked back over at Fleur.
"So I guess you can say that's what makes Harry Potter, Harry Potter."
She laughed and stood up, dusting her hands on her overalls before looking down at the broom with a fond smile, running her hand along the neck.
"I would be 'onored to continue working on 'er," Fleur said, looking back up at him with a smile. There was a spark of something in the air that Harry couldn't quite place before her look became infectious, causing his own face to break out in a wide smile. He schooled his face and bowed.
"I will endeavour to not embarrass you or damage her in ways that are unbecoming."
She giggled at his antics, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes dancing with laughter. She went along with it, standing tall and giving a haughty look.
"Should that 'appen, know that I will be most displeased. A broomsmith's wrath is not to be trifled with."
His composure broke and he laughed, and she joined in moments later.
"I'll try my best," he offered with a wink as he picked up his broom and turned around to head out of the shop.
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The fireplace roared to life with green flames and Fleur stepped out, brushing herself off as she entered the small Ministry atrium. It was quiet, though that was to be expected as this wasn't the primary government facility of the French magical world. Unlike their counterparts across the channel, France didn't rely on a single building to run their world, but rather, maintained smaller annex buildings throughout the country.
Fleur thought it was all a bit excessive, but then again, she was never one to obey Ministry authority, a fact her mother could no doubt attest to. She pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear as she walked towards the back, passing the large sign that read "Legal Department" as she went. At the end of the hall she turned the doorknob on a plain mahogany door and entered.
She heard the soft sound of music upon entering, though it didn't surprise her. Gabrielle Delacour had loved music since the day she was born, and no Ministry regulations or rules would keep her from it. Fleur walked towards the soft sounds, some long dead muggle composer she couldn't quite place, before stopping in front of the office door. She knocked lightly and entered, not bothering to wait for a reply.
Gabby looked up, quill in hand, and smiled.
"Good, you've made it," she said, looking back down at the document she was drafting, continuing to scratch her quill against the parchment.
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"Why do you not use a pen? They're more practical than quills."
Gabby sighed and scrunched up her face.
"Because this is going to the German Ministry. They don't accept legal contracts written in anything other than quill. It doesn't matter that I've got ink spots on my hands from writing this bloody contract for the last two hours."
"Language," chided Fleur, "you sound like a Brit. And are you a witch, or not? Clean your hands with magic."
Gabby looked up and stuck her tongue out at Fleur before returning to her document.
"Yeah, well they're not all bad. We've got a guy who works in records whose family is Scottish. He's nice."
Fleur laughed.
"That's…not very high praise, coming from you. He must be terrible." Fleur commented as she dropped into the seat across Gabby's desk.
She smiled fondly as she watched her sister work, noticing the way she bit the corner of her lip when she was in deep concentration, even all these years later. A strand of her silver-blonde locks had escaped from her ponytail and Fleur was reminded of their younger years when she'd come back home and watch Gabby do her summer assignments.
Unlike Fleur, Gabby had known what she wanted to do with her life since before she stepped foot into the halls of Beauxbatons. She hadn't been quite so eager to put crooked business people into prison, or worse for them, debt, than she was today but her desire to be right had led the way.
She couldn't help as her mind wandered to the memory from the time after Gabby had landed her first Ministry job.
"Dear sister, I'm always right. I might as well get paid for it," she'd said with a smug look of satisfaction.
Fleur had always silently wondered, however, if part of her sister's drive was to prove people wrong. She'd always been wild, playing to people's expectations, enjoying the spotlight, but there was a focus to her determination as well. Perhaps it was to show that Veela were more than just beautiful. That they could reach just as high without the need for misunderstood tricks or mind games.
That they could be more than simple broomsmiths.
She was proud of her sister, more than she could ever express, but it had always gnawed at the back of her mind. The idle wonder if Fleur's own struggles with her allure, of which Gabby seemed to have none, and her retreat into the safety of their father's craft had increased the pressure. Made her believe she had to be the one to take up the mantle that Fleur had so easily cast aside in favor of something else.
"Finally," Gabby said with an exasperated sigh, dropping the quill onto the desk and leaning back into her plush chair. "If I never have to write another one of these it will be too soon."
"Why'd you want to meet?" Fleur asked, idly wiping her hands on her overalls.
Gabby smiled.
"We're going to celebrate. My treat. There's a cafe not far from here that overlooks a river and the view is amazing."
"And what are we celebrating?"
Gabby sent her a smug look.
"I've got my transfer interview next week."
Fleur opened her eyes wide. Gabby, being as young as she was, had been relegated to an annex office upon her entry into the Ministry legal system. Some ridiculous form of "paying her dues" from what Fleur understood. That she was being given an interview so young to transfer to the main office was unprecedented.
"That's amazing!" Fleur said, a wide smile on her face. "An opportunity like that deserves a celebration."
Gabby shook her head as she stood up and moved around her desk.
"We're not celebrating the interview dummy."
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"We're…not?"
Gabby shook her head again, Grabbing Fleur by the arm and pulling her up.
"No, we're celebrating my transfer. The interview is just a formality."
Fleur tilted her head to the side in confusion.
"It is? How?"
Gabby rolled her eyes.
"Because I'm me. They're going to love me, everyone does. Now come on," she said, wrapping Fleur's arm and leading her out of the office.
They'd almost made it to the door when another blonde woman came around the corner. Her long hair hung down to her waist and her blue eyes went wide briefly, looking Fleur up and down before she smiled.
"Madeleine!" Gabby said with cheer, "We're going to go out for lunch. I'll be back in a bit."
Madeleine nodded before looking back at Fleur, her lip turning up ever-so slightly.
"Fleur, it's good to see you," she said with just a hint of displeasure. "I see your wardrobe hasn't improved."
"And we're off!" said Gabby, leading Fleur out of the door. They walked down the hall and made it to the atrium before Gabby slowed their pace, sending a look behind. She looked up at Fleur, who could only raise an eyebrow.
"Is your coworker always such a…bitch?" asked Fleur.
Gabby barked out a laugh.
"You don't recognize her?"
Fleur shook her head.
"Should I?"
"Of course you don't," giggled Gabby as they made it to the building exit and onto the street. Gabby let go of Fleur's arm and stood in front of her sister.
"Do you remember that rich kid you dated, or rather attempted to date your last year at school? Before this," she waved her hand up and down in front of Fleur's overalls, "took over fully? The one who asked you out and you said yes because he wasn't immediately drooling?"
Fleur thought back and remembered who she was talking about. Her last year at Beauxbatons was a blur, largely consisting of finding every last bit of material on broomcrafting she could to study and trying her best to control her allure. But she did remember Jean. He'd been quiet, never really making any splashes, and he'd always been nice to her, so she'd accepted his invitation on a date when he'd asked.
They'd only dated for a short while before they'd split, but it had been nice. She'd struggled with her allure a bit closer to Christmas that year, no doubt her own eagerness to start her apprenticeship causing her to lose what control she had. He'd been…different during those times. As if her allure awoke something within him that wasn't there before, and it wasn't attractive. Their parting had been amicable, however.
"Yes, I remember Jean," Fleur nodded as they started walking again. "We broke up on good terms though. What does he have to do with her?"
"That," Gabby said teasingly, "is one Madeline Garnier. She was crushing on Jean big time that year and you swoop in, all unassuming, and scoop him out from under her. Unassuming for you, of course."
"What does any of that have to do with her attitude now?"
Gabby laughed.
"Jean is now her husband. They married a few years after you all graduated. Apparently, he was going to send you an invitation to the wedding. That pissed her off. Still, a year after they married she went to the shop and ordered a custom broom for Jean. Dad said you did most of the work and even gave it to her when she went to pick it up. None of this rings any bells?"
Fleur shook her head, but got the vaguest recollection as she thought. She remembered every broom, but not every client.
"I remember a blonde woman picking up a broom I worked on and never seeing her again. She barely said two words to me before leaving. That was her?"
"Yep," Gabby confirmed as they made it to the cafe, sitting down at a table as a waiter brought them menus. "Oh, the chocolate here is so good it'll make you moan. I'll get you some to bring home for a lonely night."
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"How do you even know all of that? About Madeline and Jean?"
Gabby shrugged as she looked over the menu.
"Jean and I are friends. He works at the main branch and is my point of contact for things there. He can't resist my unmatched charisma and sunny disposition."
Fleur laughed, picturing her sister wrapping a hapless Ministry worker around her finger using just her personality. That's the kind of person Gabby was, and she never did it out of malice or spite. She was fun, daring, willing to walk up to a stranger and become their friend within minutes of meeting them. All without a hint of allure.
Sometimes, Fleur felt sorry for the people who faced off against her little sister on the legal battlefield. Charm and bright personality was a double edged sword, and Gabrielle Delacour was not one to be trifled with when she flipped it over.
"Alright then, let's celebrate," Fleur said, looking over to Gabby with a smile. "What are we having?"
"Before I forget," Gabby said, ignoring Fleur's question, "Papa asked me to stop by. Do you know what that's about?"
Fleur shook her head as she ran the last conversation she had with her father through her head.
"No. He stopped by the shop last week and we had lunch, but nothing came up. I think he was visiting friends in the area. It was the first time he'd been back since retiring."
"Well, I'm sure it's something to do with you," sighed Gabby. Fleur frowned.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it always is, especially with how…explosive the last family dinner was. I'm sure he's planning something."
Fleur smiled. Her father always looked out for them, no matter what, even when she'd seen him have a terrible day. When he took off the broom making apron and stepped away from the bench he transformed from Richard Delacour, Master Broomsmith into Richard Delacour, World's Greatest Papa.
"Regardless," Gabby chimed, "I'll let you know. Now, here's what we'll have…"
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The familiar chime rang as he walked through the door and a smile spread across his face. Hearing that sound and the accompanying smell set him at ease, just as it had for the last two months he'd been making regular stops.
"Always punctual," Fleur said from behind the counter, a rag in her hand as she cleaned out what appeared to be an old jar of broom polish. He looked around the shop and noticed the entire place had been dusted, the sweet scent of lemon accompanying the birch that had seeped into its foundation after years of broom work.
"Did you clean?" he asked as he approached the counter, placing his broom on the surface that separated them.
"Oui. The place was due for a dusting and I 'ad some time. The latter 'alf of the Quidditch season generally sees a decline in business, though I guess I can count on your continued patronage. Did you win?"
"We did," laughed Harry. "Caught the snitch at the very bottom of my dive. She handled it even better after you made those adjustments two weeks ago."
Fleur nodded before pulling the glasses that had been resting on her head to the bridge of her nose, bending down to inspect the neck of the broom for scrapes or chips.
"You really should come to a game. You're part of my team now!"
She looked up at him without standing up, a single eyebrow raised.
"I 'ardly think giving me a Puddlemere jersey with 'Maintenance Crew' on the back counts as being part of your team, despite 'ow thoughtful it is."
"C'mon, Fleur," Harry said as he sat down at the counter. "The team has been wondering where I've been disappearing to every other Tuesday. They've noticed she's performing better."
"Why do you not simply tell them that you are coming 'ere?"
Harry scoffed.
"And give up the best fixer in the world? I think not."
She ran her wand down the neck of the broom and muttered a few spells.
"I'm so 'appy to know my craft 'as been reduced to being your fixer," she said dryly before stopping as she got to the end of the broom. She looked up and narrowed her eyes.
"The bristles are frayed," she hissed dangerously, "why are 'er bristles frayed?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck as his smile dropped and he looked down, as if he'd been caught stealing a cookie before dinner.
"Well, you see, what happened was that at the end of the dive, right when I caught the snitch, she might have, you know, been rubbed across the pitch before I could slow down fully…"
Fleur let out a string of curses in French, none of which he understood, and likely wasn't meant to. Her eyes held fire and he shrunk away.
"I didn't mean for it to happen, I promise. I looked at her after the match and noticed right away, I just didn't want to do anything and risk messing things up more."
Fleur sighed but nodded as she began to work on the twigs.
"It was best that you didn't, so at least you know enough not to make things worse. The twigs are especially sensitive to improper care. Getting it wrong could make 'er sick."
Fleur began, bustling back and forth as she worked to straighten out the injuries. Harry simply watched as she worked her craft, the sight never losing its magic. He'd never worked with a true master in anything, especially not in brooms. She was in her element as her long locks, held together in her trademark messy bun, bobbed up and down as she moved.
She was mesmerizing in her task. The way her brow furrowed as she checked and rechecked her calibrations. How she bit her bottom lip slightly when she snipped a stray twig. It was a sight to behold, watching a master at their craft.
As she worked, the magic in the air around them seemed to move with her, as if it too had been enamored by her.
"How long has your family been in this business?" he finally asked, breaking his gaze from her.
"Since the 1600s," she said, not bothering to look up as she peered at the collar near the base of the broom. "We don't know exactly when, but it was around then. My father believes it was probably in the late 1600s."
"And the shop? Has it been here the whole time?"
Fleur gave a brief shake of her head.
"Non. This shop was established in 1852. Before that the family operated the business out of their 'omes."
Harry nodded and looked around the small space, its cozy atmosphere and inviting sense of personality relaxing him once again.
"So your family has to have seen pretty much everything there is to see when it comes to brooms then, yeah?"
Fleur stood up, placing the trimmer down and wiping her hands on her overalls.
"Quite a bit, oui. I can't say we've seen everything, but it's been a lot. Why?"
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down again as if unsure if he should speak his mind. Sighing, he looked back up at her.
"Promise you won't laugh?"
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"I don't make it a 'abit of laughing at paying clients, so non, I won't laugh."
Harry stood up and paced back and forth in front of the bench, his hands opening and closing as he tried to come up with the right words.
"So, it's like this. Sometimes, and this is going to sound absolutely crazy but I swear it's true, sometimes I feel like she knows what I'm saying or thinking."
Fleur looked at him for a brief moment, her piercing gaze quickening his heartbeat, before finally nodding.
"In what way?"
"Say, for example, I need to dart as fast as I can across the pitch, pull up into a corkscrew maneuver, and then dart off in the other direction. Sometimes I feel like she's moving before I am. Like pushing her to change directions is easier because she's already moving that way."
Harry rubbed his forehead in embarrassment.
"I know, that sounds crazy, but-"
"It's not crazy," she interrupted. Harry's eyes widened as he dropped his hand.
"It's not?"
She shook her head.
"Non, it's not." Fleur ran her hand down the length of the broom before coming to a stop at the twigs. "My father used to say that it wasn't the enchantments or charms that made a broom magical. It was the very material itself. That bringing it all together is what gave the broom life. Not necessarily sentience, but some form of life."
Fleur tapped her chin as she contemplated the broom in front of her. She muttered to herself, almost as if she had forgotten Harry was even present before finally looking at him. A wide smile spread across her face.
"My father 'ad a theory. 'E believed that an incredibly strong bond between a broom and 'er owner could cause something akin to what you are describing. An almost imperceptible form of precognition that would only be noticed by one who 'ad deeply bonded with the broom."
She walked around the counter and stood next to him looking down at the broom.
"'Ave you named 'er?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"You should. Bonds, true bonds, between a broom and 'er rider are said to be rare. Giving 'er a name, something that's uniquely 'ers, is said to make that bond permanent."
Harry looked down and ran his hands along the neck of the broom, letting the warmth of her smooth surface wash over his hand. This broom had been a friend to him through everything. His career hadn't been without its hardships, especially early on. Relationships with friends and lovers took second place to the game when you're new. When you've not yet proven yourself, personal relationships are simply not in the cards.
He'd seen friends new and old come in and out of his life since the moment he signed his first contract years ago, but from his forth game she'd been there for him. Triumphs and failures, she'd seen it all, been there first hand. Even when his team had signed a sponsorship with Nimbus and provided the entire squad with their latest model he'd refused, taking a pay cut to continue using his broom.
She was, in many ways, his best friend.
"Hedwig," he whispered as he looked over at Fleur.
Her smile widened and her nose crinkled at the end. He could sense her excitement and he felt his stomach flutter at the sight. He looked into her eyes and saw how happy she was, but also felt a tug at the back of his mind, as if something was pulling very gently. Just as quickly as he noticed her smile dimmed and she shook his head, looking back at Hedwig.
"Hedwig," he repeated, louder and with more intent.
"It's a beautiful name," Fleur said as she moved next to him, looking down at Hedwig. Their elbows touched and Harry felt a brief jolt run through him. "Your bond is now complete, or so the idea goes."
Harry looked down at her.
"Is this another one of your fathers ideas?"
She shook her head.
"Non, it's one of my entire family and one I believe in completely. My father worked on so many brooms growing up, some made by 'is own hands, some by others, but I've seen what 'e was able to accomplish when working on brooms that were bonded to someone."
"And you?" Harry asked, "Have you seen it? Been able to work on such brooms?"
She sent him a smirk and bumped his elbow with her own.
"Only with you and 'Edwig. You are a curious case, Mr. Potter. I've been a master for a fraction of the time my father was, accomplished none of what 'e did, and yet I believe what you 'ave with 'Edwig is something that 'as never passed through this shop."
She moved back to the other side of the bench, grabbing the small bottle of oil and rag along the way. She settled in her spot and began spreading the oil along the length of the neck. Harry frowned.
"I think you give yourself too little credit," he said. "I think you're the best broom maker I've ever met."
She laughed.
"I am the only broom maker you know. Or at least, the only one who is recognized as a master broomsmith."
"Still," he countered, "What you've shown me-"
"Bonjoooooooour," a voice called from behind Harry, interrupting him.
Turning around he saw a woman approach who looked remarkably similar to Fleur, long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, a smile affixed on her face. Unlike his favorite broomsmith, however, she wasn't decked out in dirty, worn overalls, but rather, she wore normal muggle clothes. Dark jeans and a crimson t-shirt, the logo displayed he couldn't place.
She stopped just in front of him and looked up, her smile widening. He heard Fleur groan behind him. The shorter woman peered around him to look at Fleur before looking back at him.
"Polishing 'is broom in the middle of the store, sister? 'Ow scandalous," she quipped, never breaking eye contact with him. He fought the blush that he knew she was fishing for, he could see the mirth in her eyes, but lost, his cheeks heating as a small giggle escaped her lips.
"I know who you are," she continued, causing Harry to rub the back of his neck.
"Yeah, I-"
"You're Luc Bennet's teammate."
He laughed, not just a chuckle but a full laugh, because it hadn't been what he was expecting. He sometimes forgot that Luc was French and how much of a big deal him leaving to play for the English league had been, so the greeting had taken him by surprise. Being in Fleur's shop, surrounded by things that put him at ease, made him forget he was so far from home.
"You're also my sister's new boyfriend," she stated seriously.
He stopped laughing as his eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open. He looked back and could see that Fleur had her hand in her face, hiding it in embarrassment. Turning back, the younger woman's eyes were filled with humor.
"I'm Gabrielle Delacour, nice to meet you. You can call me Gabby." She looked around Harry once again at Fleur. "Papa says he wants us both to come for dinner in the next few weeks."
"You 'ad to tell me this in person?" Fleur mumbled behind her hand.
"I 'ad to meet 'im and you let slip that you thought 'e'd be in today," replied Gabby with a shrug. She straightened and looked back up at Harry again, her smile returning once more.
"I've always wanted an older brother."
With that she turned and swiftly made her exit, and Harry swore he could feel the smugness radiating off her figure as she exited the shop. Neither spoke for a long, drawn out moment before he finally turned back around. Fleur had removed her hand from her face but she was a deep crimson and not looking at him, instead finding Hedwig to be particularly interesting.
"Sister?" he guessed.
She nodded.
"Oui. That's Gabby, my little sister. She's…"
"A handful?" he guessed again.
"Oui."
Finally she looked at him and they both laughed, all the tension that had built breaking immediately as the sound of an exhausted joy filled the room. Briefly, for the second time, Harry felt something tug at the back of his mind as the air seemed to fill with warmth before it dissipated. Fleur picked up Hedwig and held her out for him as their laughter died.
"She is in perfect 'ealth now."
Harry grabbed the neck and the familiar warmth filled his hands, though this time it lasted longer, as if she wanted him to know that something had most certainly changed.
"Thank you, Fleur. You're the best, you know that?"
Fleur nodded and a smug look crossed her face.
"Oui. I know."