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Fleur appeared outside her parents home, the wide front porch greeting her with a familiar comfort. This was the home she grew up in, the weathered red brick walls and cobblestone sidewalk giving the yard a welcoming appeal. Her parents were wealthy, her mother being an incredibly influential figure in the Ministry meant that they wanted for nothing growing up.

However, as she got older Fleur appreciated that they didn't have a massive home on sprawling grounds. Just a comfortable building in a nice magical community. It was a place where she could grow up like any other child, pushing away expectations until she could understand what expectations were. She suspected her father had a lot to do with that.

"Couldn't even change out of your overalls?" she heard from the porch, humor laced in the words.

She looked over at her father sitting on one of the chairs, a smile on his face as he looked up at her. She looked herself up and down before placing her hands on her hips.

"At least I got the wood chips out of my hair and washed my face. I would have had more time but I had to wait for Pierre to deliver the latest batch of wood."

She didn't mention that Harry had stopped by for his bi-weekly visit.

Her father shook his head.

"You shouldn't be so worried. Pierre is a good man and trustworthy. I worked with him for many years."

"Yes, you worked with him. I do not trust him," he huffed as she gave him a hug. She sat in the chair next to him. "He didn't even deliver everything I needed. I've told him I'll be visiting his farm next week for the remainder."

"Ah, my flower, always so feisty," he sighed with a good natured shake of his head. "It's why you were always much better at running the business than I was."

"You were, and still are, the better craftsman though," she shot back.

He patted her hand.

"Give it time and you'll soon surpass what I was capable of. If my suspicions are correct, by a very wide margin at that."

Fleur chewed her lip as she looked out to the street, its winding path leading upwards towards the community center. The hint of a smile touched her lips as she recalled her early lessons there in reading and writing, the lessons just as much a chance for parents to socialize as it was for the children to learn the essentials.

"You've never been one to hold back, so don't start now," Richard said. "What's on your mind?"

She looked back at her father with a questioning gaze.

"Why the sudden dinner invitation?"

"You and your mother need to make up."

Fleur sighed. She knew that was the answer but her father was as eccentric as he was genius, so it was always good to be prepared.

"I don't even know why she's still upset. It's been years."

Richard gave a light laugh and his eyes twinkled a bit.

"You and your mother share the same stubbornness. It must be a Veela trait because your sister has it too."

He stood and offered her his hand, which she took, allowing herself to be helped up. She started to wipe her hands on her overalls but stopped, remembering she was no longer at work.

"I do not want anything coming between you two," he stated. "So, if it means a few extra family meals while you work things out, then who am I to complain?"

Fleur raised an eyebrow.

"You don't expect this to go well, do you?"

Richard walked towards the door and opened it, holding it for her as his smile widened.

"I anticipate fireworks that your sister will love, conversations that I will hate, but ultimately, will be necessary for you two."

Gabby arrived a short while later and they all sat for dinner, a basic coq au vin that was a childhood favorite of Fleur's, no doubt the work of her father. Her mother had been pleasant enough upon seeing her, though Fleur couldn't help but notice the once-over she'd given her outfit.

"I've been approved for my transfer," Gabby said as they tucked in. Fleur took a sip of her wine and nearly smiled as the flavour washed over her taste buds. It was her favorite wine, likely her father's doing once again.

"Oh that's wonderful dear," Richard said with no small amount of pride. Fleur knew that the only thing her father loved more than his craft was his family. That's a big reason why she remembered her childhood so fondly. Even when her mother had to stay late at the Ministry, their father was always there with a smile.

"Fleur?" she heard, snapping her out of her reverie and back to the table. She looked around and saw Gabby was looking at her expectantly.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I got lost in thought. What did you say?"

Gabby rolled her eyes.

"I asked if you wanted to help me go look for a place to stay in Paris in a few weeks? Since I'll be full time at the main Ministry office I figured I might as well stay somewhere close so I don't have to apparate halfway across the country."

Fleur nodded. "Of course. That sounds like fun."

"Wait, really?" Gabby deadpanned.

Fleur rolled her eyes.

"Yes, really. Why's that such a shock?"

"Cause you never leave your shop. I had to practically beg last time."

Fleur sent Gabby a dirty look before wiping her mouth on her napkin. Gabby was right, but the small, petty part of her brain wouldn't allow her to admit that. She liked the shop, and the small village that was near it, so she rarely ventured outside of the little community.

"I've been…busy. I should have some time in a few weeks."

"I think that sounds like a lovely idea," Apolline said and Fleur nearly wasn't able to hide her shock. She had expected something more standoffish at the mention of the shop, but perhaps she'd been wrong in her assumption of how things would go.

"They just opened this new chocolate dessert place not far from the Ministry," her mother continued, "It's absolutely amazing. Their chocolate mousse is to die for."

Fleur turned back to Gabby and smiled. "It's a date then."

Gabby's smile turned into a smirk and Fleur instantly regretted her words.

"Should you check with your boyfriend before you go on a date with someone else?"

"Boyfriend?" Richard said as he finished his plate. "You've got a boyfriend?"

"I do not have a boyfriend," Fleur said, glaring at her sister.

"Oh, don't be so modest, dear sister. A Quidditch player is a catch."

"A Quidditch player?" Apolline asked with a raised eyebrow. Gabby nodded.

"Yep, and he's an absolute snack. Harry Potter."

Richard laughed as he sipped his wine and even Apolline couldn't hide her smile behind her glass as Fleur's face went nearly the shade of the wine itself.

"When did you meet him?" her father asked.

"He came into the shop a few months ago," she explained as she placed down her silverware. "He was having problems with one of the enchantments on his broom and Luc Bennet recommended my business to him. According to Harry, they don't have any shops like ours in England."

Richard laughed again as he finished his glass, slapping his knee at the humor of the situation.

"Perhaps that's why they've only now been worth anything in the Cup?"

"That's not the best part," Gabby chimed in. Fleur put her face in her hand as she waited for the youngest Delacour to complete her torture. "He's a regular now. Has his broom exclusively serviced by Fleur."

Richard looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Seems a bit like betraying your country, no?"

Fleur nodded.

"That's exactly what I said the first time he came in! But his broom is custom made, and the bond he has with her is a sight to behold. Papa, I've never seen anything like it, and when he named her in front of me? It was as if the magic of the broom changed."

He looked intrigued as he stood and began clearing the table.

"Fascinating. Deep bonds can sometimes take a decade or more to form. For one so young is quite rare. I'd be interested to see it myself one day. Fewer and fewer are forming bonds."

He sent a look at Gabby.

"Come now, Gabby. Help your old man clean up and refill his glass. I've got some ice cream that I think you'll like."

"It better be rocky road," she quipped as she took some of the plates. Richard shook his head knowingly.

"Would I ever forget your favourite?"

Richard and Gabby finished gathering the plates and silverware and made for the kitchen, leaving Fleur alone with her mother. She glared daggers at his back as they fled. This had been his plan all along and she'd fallen for it like a child. She always had a blind spot when it came to her father, probably because they'd spent so much time working together and the level of trust between them was one required for a former master and apprentice.

"He thinks he's very clever," her mother said as she took another sip of her wine. "As if he's some sort of master schemer who pulled the wool over our eyes."

Fleur looked up at her mother and found a softness to her features that wasn't there the last time they'd spoken. Then it had been all fire and anger, but now she saw the woman who'd raised her with nothing but love and affection.

"I do not want to fight with you Fleur," Apolline continued, "and I hate that we're fighting about this again."

Fleur nodded.

"I know, and I don't want to fight with you either."

"But…"

"But what?" Fleur asked as she tensed slightly.

Her mother finished off her wine and set the empty glass back on the table, looking at Fleur with set determination.

"But I spoke with Alphonse Horton last week."

Fleur raised an eyebrow. "You just happened to speak with the head of Comet Trading Company?"

"They're taking over the contract for Ministry-issued brooms. I ran into him during a Ministry event and we started talking."

Fleur crossed her arms over her chest.

"He expressed interest in buying the family business."

Fleur stood abruptly and her demeanor changed just as quickly. No longer was the relaxed, family atmosphere present. It had been brushed aside by rising anger and thick tension.

"I'll stop you right there, mother," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I will not be selling the business. Period."

"Come now, dear," her mother said, casually waving a hand as if to brush aside the tension in the air. "I would tell him to head back to England tonight if you'd accept the Ministry's offer. The French league should be getting brooms from a French company, and the family business could be that company. You could turn it into a shining example of French craftsmanship, with you at the head."

"That will not be happening."

"Oh, why must you be so stubborn?" Apolline snapped, losing the softness to her gaze as a fire lit in her eyes, matched only by the one burning in Fleur's. "You're over thirty now Fleur and you wer-are so incredibly talented. Why not turn the family business into something more? You would still be working with brooms, and you can still maintain your shop on the side, but you'd be running an enterprise. You'd be making a proper salary, not scraping by on what little clients you have."

"Because I don't want something more," Fleur spat. "Did you belittle father like this when he was just a broom maker?"

"As if I would do such a thing. Your father always said his greatest achievement, despite my protests, was training you," Apolline shot back hotly. "You are destined for much more."

"And why's that?"

"Because you are Veela and more talented than any student who has ever gone through the halls of Beauxbatons, including the Headmistress herself! That you waste such opportunities in that little shop when you could be making Delacour and Family a worldwide name is almost insulting to the family name."

Fleur's veins went icy as her mothers admonishment washed over her, and the hurt of her words made tears sting her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. The fire within her wouldn't allow it, and just as quickly the ice was replaced with the burn of her magic. The temperature in the room rose sharply as her magic raged for a moment and she vaguely got the sense that her father and sister had re-entered before she reigned it in.

Her brow was sweating when she finally looked back at her mother before standing to her full height. There was anger within her begging to be released, but she fought back against the urge to yell. It would do little good. Not now.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. Goodnight," she whispered around the lump in her throat before turning around and making for the front door.

She made it to the front yard and looked up at the moon shining above. A gentle breeze blew across her face as she closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. She decided she would go flying when she got home to help clear her head.

She turned around when her name was called and saw her father standing in the door, a look of deep concern on his face. A single tear escaped as she shook her head and apparated away.

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Harry smiled as the chime sounded when he opened the door to the shop. Fleur would be a bit upset that Hedwig was injured again, but this time it really wasn't his fault. He wasn't even around when it happened, so at the very least that should save him some disappointed looks.

As he walked towards the back of the shop he saw her hunched over the bench, scribbling something onto the paper beneath her hands, messy bun bobbing as she shook her head and crossed something out. He could see a smattering of wood chips in her hair. She must have been working on a broom earlier.

"Hey Fleur," he said as he reached the counter, bringing up Hedwig and sitting her on the bench. "I just want to say that I wasn't around when this happened, so it wasn't me."

Her eyes looked towards Hedwig and noticed the damage to her neck, a small hairline crack barely three inches long, but noticeable to someone like Fleur. She made a disgusted noise as she stood.

"Are you completely incapable of going a single day without injuring 'er?"

Harry's eyes opened wide at her question, taken aback by her tone and the withering look she was sending him.

"Well I haven't seen you in two weeks and this just happened yesterday, so-"

"It was a rhetorical question," she interrupted. "You know, 'Arry, you need to learn to take care of your broom. Injuring 'er all the time is not only reckless but also insulting to those of us who 'ave to clean up after you."

"Did I do something wrong? I haven't even explained." He was confused, unsure of what was bringing about such hostility. Had he said something the last time he was here that upset her? He racked his brain to remember but came up empty.

"I've got more things to do than drop everything to cater to the whims of a reckless Quidditch player," she said again, a haughty look in her eyes. Briefly anger rose within him. He hadn't done anything to deserve this, and he opened his mouth to let off a scathing retort before his brain caught up with him.

No, he couldn't do that. Starting a war of words with a French broomsmith could cause a media frenzy. He closed his mouth and cleared his throat, smoothing out his shirt before nodding and gripping Hedwig with his left hand.

"I'm sorry, Miss Delacour," he said formally, "I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll take my leave and send an owl to make an appointment for a more appropriate time."

With Hedwig gripped tightly in his hand he turned around and started walking away. He pushed the anger down and tried to ignore the hurt.

"'Arry, wait."

He stopped and turned around, his face a neutral mask as he looked into her eyes. She was frowning, and there was no anger in her eyes, only apology, causing his own anger to dissipate instantly.

"Bring 'er 'ere," Fleur said softly, motioning for him to come back. His anger was no longer there, so he made his way back towards her, placing Hedwig on the bench. Fleur placed her glasses onto her face and took out her wand, running it up and down the length of the broom.

"I'm sorry," she said as she worked, sending him an apologetic look before returning to her task. "My maman and I 'ave been fighting and it's been stressing me out. We fought again recently and-and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

Harry looked down at her as she bent over, scribbling on the paper on the bench as she continued to wave her wand along the broom. He could see her shoulders were tense, and despite her hair being in its normal messy bun, it seemed a bit more haphazardly thrown together than normal. He smiled. It would appear that even the best broomsmith in the world had off days.

"It's alright," he said casually, waving his hand dismissively.

She muttered another spell and her wand tip glowed as she traced it along the crack in Hedwig's neck. He saw the crack close slowly after the third or forth pass of her wand, smoothed over as if it had never been there.

"Non, it's not," she said as she stood back up, looking him in the eyes and shaking her head.

"It is, Fleur. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because we're friends. Or I like to think we're friends," he said with a shrug. "You're having a bad day. It happens. What kind of a friend would I be if I let that get to me?"

She smiled at him and his own widened to reach his eyes, sending a jolt through him as he could see her visibly relax. The thick tension that he hadn't even realized was present seemed to disappear quickly, replaced with the normal comfort that the shop always provided. She gestured down at Hedwig.

"She's all better. 'Ow did it 'appen?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

"Luc told Oliver that he could get at least 5 goals past him if he were on my broom. He didn't anticipate that the stopping would be so different to his own. Idiot. It mostly resulted in Luc and Oliver's bodies colliding, but apparently the necks got dinged against each other. Hedwig ended up with the damage."

Fleur's eyes narrowed.

"I'm tempted to send him a 'owler. What utter, childish nonsense."

Harry laughed.

"Please, please, pleeeeeease send Luc Bennet, last year's Chaser of the Year, a howler like he's a 2nd year Hogwarts student getting scolded by his mum. I will pay extra for this repair if that's included."

Fleur chuckled before waving her wand, the bottle of polish and rag floating towards her. Before she could grab it Harry snatched it from the air, smiling and motioning for her to sit in the chair behind her. He tipped the bottle over onto the rag quickly, just as he'd seen her do countless times.

As he ran the rag along Hedwig's neck, the liquid darkening her wood temporarily, he glanced at Fleur out of the corner of his eye. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and she was biting her lip, as if having a silent debate with herself. He put more of the amber liquid on the rag and continued to work, letting her decide on her own if she wanted to speak.

"My maman wants me to sell the business," Fleur finally said, looking up at him with an apprehensive look. "Or change it. We-We fought about it."

Harry raised an eyebrow as he placed the rag down and grabbed the twig trimmers from the bench.

"Hasn't this business been in your family for generations? Why would she want you to sell it?"

Fleur wrung her hands on her overalls and bit her lip again. He thought he could feel her nervousness as she looked back up at him.

"Growing up I was an exceptional student. All the professors at Beauxbatons said I 'ad an affinity for charms that they 'adn't seen in 'undreds of years. Everyone expected me to do great things. But then…"

She paused, and he could see the hesitation in her eyes before he looked back down at the broom, snipping a small bit of twig off the end. There were no expectations here, she didn't owe him any reasoning for her outburst, but she had clearly been bottling it up. So he would simply listen to whatever she had to say.

She stood up and paced back and forth in front of the broom and he was tempted to stop her nervous pacing but decided against further agitating her. Just as quickly as she had started she abruptly stopped, turning to look at him. He looked up and saw pain, or perhaps it was the look of someone who was scared, he wasn't sure. He placed the trimmers down and stood up, giving her his full attention.

"Do…Do you know what I am?" she asked.

"A broomsmith?" he tried. She shook her head.

"French?" he tried again.

She gave a sad smile as she shook her head.

"I am Veela," she whispered and Harry frowned when she briefly looked away. "A Veela's allure is something she must quickly learn to master. Mine manifested itself the summer before my fourth year. I was…am not very good at controlling it. I spent more and more time locked away in my room hiding from others. During 'olidays my father would bring me 'ere and ask me to 'elp him."

She ran a hand down Hedwig and smiled at her fondly.

"Everywhere I went there were eyes on me for reasons I 'ated." She looked around at the shop. "It was 'ere that I learned control. Where I found myself at peace and the allure easier to deal with. Working with brooms 'elps me control it. That's why I fell in love with the craft. It gave me a sense of control. A sense of purpose that my blood 'ad stolen from me and I 'ad finally taken back."

She looked back up at Harry with a sad smile.

"My maman was furious when papa made me 'is apprentice, but I believe she understood why. I think part of 'er 'as always 'eld onto the belief that I would wish for more than what being a 'umble broomsmith offers. That I would get restless and look for opportunities for expansion. Papa's retirement reopened those old wounds. She wants me to expand the business into an enterprise that sells brooms to all of France. I just want to be 'ere."

He nodded. He might not have really had a family growing up, but he understood enough to know that expectations could be crushing.

"For what it's worth, I think what you do is brilliant," he offered in reassurance, though he was unsure of how much it helped.

She chewed her bottom lip and wrung her hands together as she looked at him. There was a vulnerability to her posture that he'd never seen before. Gone was the confident, if a bit eccentric broomsmith, replaced with a woman unsure of herself. His heart ached for her.

"What…What do you feel when you're around me? Do…Do you feel anything odd?"

He thought back to all of their interactions, all the times he'd walked into the shop, the chime at the door signaling his arrival, trying to remember what he felt. The shop put him at ease, but he didn't think Fleur's allure was causing that. He remembered the slightly odd sensation when they'd named Hedwig, and suddenly that made sense.

"This place," he started, looking around, "puts me at ease, but it's the atmosphere. The smell of oil and birch? That's the smell of comfort. Familiarity. Something I've spent years around."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"There were a couple of times while we were naming Hedwig, where I felt something else."

"A compulsion?" she asked worriedly.

He quickly shook his head.

"No, nothing like that. It was as if something was brushing against the back of my mind, letting me know it was there." He gestured down at Hedwig. "It was almost like the feeling I get when she's trying to tell me something. Nothing invasive or unkind, just kind of there, letting me know. Almost…reassuring me."

She smiled and nodded down at Hedwig. He smiled back when he noticed her's was no longer sad.

"I think you give yourself too little credit, Fleur," he said as he grabbed Hedwig, placing a small pouch of galleons on the table. "I think you're stronger than you know. Broom crafting may have helped you control your allure, but it doesn't define who you are. I'd bet all the money I have that you could do anything you set your mind to, allure be damned."

He motioned behind him and sent her an apologetic look.

"I really should get going. Thank you again for fixing her up and just so you know, the offer to join us after practice is a standing one. Anytime you need to blow off some steam you're more than welcome to join us. We're a rowdy bunch, but we like to have fun."

He turned and casually made his way towards the door. He heard footsteps behind him and before he could turn around he felt a body pressed against his back as her arms wrapped around his stomach. She squeezed him before breaking most of the contact, pressing just her forehead against his back as her arms remained wrapped around him.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for listening. And for understanding. And for being kind."

Harry smiled and squeezed one of her hands comfortingly.

"Anytime. That's what friends are for."