Bonds of Pain and Joy
Pain.
Fleur Delacour woke to an ungodly searing on her arm, a scream in the back of her throat, her mind still trapped in the nightmare that she had left behind, the sense of dread and hopelessness coming into the world with her consciousness.
She grabbed her pillow and bit down on it as the burning in her arm started to radiate to the rest of her. She felt like she was on fire, and for the first time, the thought scared her.
Dread pressed down on her, leaden, her sight dimming as her breathing spiked. Short bursts leaving her breathless. She was hyperventilating. She could not move, it hurt, she could not see, she was-
It stopped.
She let herself fall down onto the mattress and huffed a sigh, the cool air from the half open window caressing her, the chill helping her forget the phantom pain.
This was not the first time she felt such pain, or such dark feeling took possession of her mind, but it had been by far the worst. She did not even tell her parents about it anymore, they would only take her to a healer again, only for him to come to the same conclusions.
She was perfectly fine.
Not even grandmére Elena, with her four thousand years of life and expertise, not to mention her… otherworldly contacts, had been able to tell her anything about it. Same as that half-giant 'Creature healer' her mother had all but dragged her to. Her cheeks tinted in embarrassment at the memory; never had she been more mortified that under the enormous hands of the surprisingly gentle man as he picked and prodded at her with long tools, and peered at her from behind comically large augment glasses, as if she was a particularly stubborn piece of clockwork.
He was incredibly kind though, she had to give him. Her embarrassment stemmed only from the situation, and not the man himself.
She always had a suspicion that Elena knew more than she said, but knowing granny she would not speak if she was not sure. Nor would she say anything if she thought silence was worth more in the situation. That was a balm to her worries, as she knew that were it something truly critical, grandmére would not have been so blasé about it.
A knock on the door made her close her eyes and sigh. She had screamed in her sleep, surely.
"Come in."
The door cracked open, the cone of warm light from it heralding the angelic figure of her mother. Apolline walked to the bed and sat on it, Fleur's eyes scrunching further in response to the shift in the mattress.
Despite her discomfort, despite knowing she'd have to answer questions that she did not want to hear, despite that and much more, the touch of her mother's fingers as they caressed her forehead made her body relax from the stiff and knotted bunch she had not even realized she had been in.
"You are drenched."
"I know."
She shivered and snuggled towards the warm body of her mother, curling into a ball, her head on Apolline's leg, and relaxed under the combing of her hair.
Slowly, surely, her wet hair turned again to gossamer, its unearthly glow pulsing.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Apolline asked as her daughter's hair started to float around her preening fingers.
"Not really," was the mumbled answer she got.
"It may help."
"I'm not hurting anymore. It's okay."
They stayed like that for a while, just listening to the background noises of a Mediterranean night, the monotonous and comforting noises. Fleur's chest rose and fell in time with the pulsing of her hair, the gusts of wind outside making a chorus to it. Apolline's hands stopped and she sighed softly over her sleepy child.
"It was all dark," murmured Fleur.
"Oh?" Apolline encouraged.
"I was dreaming of something else. I can't remember now. Then it changed. Like someone had flicked the dream off. Then I started to hurt. It was like I was burning inside out."
"Like the shift?"
"Non. But yes. It felt almost the same, but the shift doesn't hurt like that."
"I've never heard you scream like that before." Apolline's voice wavered.
"This time was far worse. But the worst part was not the pain," She fiddled with a thread of her mother's sleeping robe. "It was the… the fear. I thought I was going to die."
Apolline's fingers dug deeper into her scalp at that, her lips pursing, the tautest part of the plucked string that was her façade.
She had been afraid of that possibility since Fleur was four years old and she had started to scream, her chubby hands clasped on her forehead before fainting.
"I'm fine, maman. It was just-"
"We don't know that, ma petite. Your father made an acquaintance at work last week. Some famous curse breaker from Spain that may-"
"No." Fleur scrambled up, leaning on her arms to look into Apolline's eyes. "I won't subject myself to another pointless test."
"But Fleur, we need to know why this keeps happening. It could be serious, it could-"
"If it were serious nana would have said something about it."
Apolline's caring expression hardened instantly at the mention of Elena and her opinions.
"I know that you and nana don't see eye to eye but-"
"I will not have you risk your life believing the crazy, convoluted tales of someone who doesn't understand what it is to live a human life."
They locked eyes, mirroring expressions filled with steel and stubbornness. After a few moments both deflated, and Fleur let herself fall back down onto her mother's lap, where she drank in the comfort of her presence.
"I know I'm fine, maman. I feel it. This," a waver on her voice, a darkness on her visage, "Is not something that can be healed. I don't know what it is, but I think it's something I have to find out on my own."
Apolline sighed, a sad smile pushing its way to her lips. "I may not see eye to eye with my mother, as you say, but I think I can sympathize with her having to deal with such a pig headed daughter."
Fleur giggled and burrowed herself further into Apolline's embrace.
"Would it reassure you if I went to this curse breaker?".
"Immensely. It would mean a lot to me, ma chérie."
Fleur sighed. "Okay then. But only a quick check. And it must be here at home."
They smile at each other, both calm and at peace, surrounded by the indelible warmth of family.
"I'll set it up, ma Fleur."
Two Years Later
Fleur's hand trembled as she held a wand that seemed to weigh as much as the dragon in front of her.
She sang, her enamelled voice ringing from behind keratined lips, features as sharp as her Intent focused on the equally predatory face of the magnificent beast that snored mere meters ahead, drooling liquid fire.
Her voice wavered slightly under the strain, and it echoed within the matching essence of beauty and charm within the rosewood, a ripple of feathers rushing up her chest towards her shoulders. She felt as if she was about to turn inside out, and her focus on the song was the only thing keeping her in this in-between state. She really hoped she did not slip into the shift.
Holding a wand with six inch clawed fingers was not quite so easy.
She was mere steps from the egg now, already under the shadow of the dragon. But there was a problem, she could not lift the damned thing with a single hand.
What a ridiculous hurdle.
With a mental sigh she dropped her hand into her hip holster as quickly as she could and jumped to grab the golden egg. The adrenaline, and severing the stabilizing connection with her wand tipped her over, and in moments her fingers were long talons sharp enough to scratch the metal they snatched.
With a huff she started into the fastest trot she could manage back towards the entrance of the pit, and the dragon, starting to wake, snorted a tongue of flames that reached her legs. The screams of terror from the stands deafened her. Over the panic she heard cheers too.
With a few quick pats of plumy hands she managed to put out her skirt. Almost her entire left leg was on display where the fabric was reduced to less than ashes.
She chirped mournfully, she loved that skirt.
The stadium fell silent as she appeared out of a gust of dragon fire completely unscathed. The dragon started to shake awake, but she was already a few steps from the exit. After passing the doorway she stopped, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, letting it out and feeling it humm and resonate in her changed chest. The heat of the fire had almost made her change entirely.
The undulating sound calmed her. Enough, at least for her to regain her usual look. Not a feather in sight.
She skipped to the medical bay and let the mediwitch check her over, her confused face as the diagnostics turned out odd results only answered by her beatific smile. The madame shook her head and gave her some ugly set of stretchy pants for her to change into before letting her go outside again.
Not even the terrible garment managed to get her off her heady high. The feel of the fire on her skin… It was curious how much it had affected her.
The judging passed quickly enough. She did well. It was no surprise, her charmwork had been more than a little impressive. She was, however, very tired, so it was with relief that she obeyed the command to sit with the rest of the delegation in the stands.
That boy was insane. Absolutely and utterly out of his rocker.
Fleur followed the quick-moving figure as it zipped through the air, swerving and pirouetting around the dragon like an annoying red and black fly.
He had the audience eating from his hands though. The noise from the stands was like a soundtrack to his flight, holding its collective breath when a difficult manoeuvre came, or gasping when a swerve was too close.
It was impressive, she had to begrudgingly admit, if mundane compared to her own attempt, and evidenced a complete disregard for personal safety. Not many people could fly like that though.
The dragon was getting annoyed. The boy swept up close enough to reach and touch the beast's snout, enraging it, and the dragon tried to follow up in a fit of pique. Fortunately, the chains held, and then quick as a fire bolt, he plummeted to the ground, faster than the dragon could register, faster, almost, than she could see.
He had gotten the egg. A blink, he was falling. Another blink, he held the shining prize under his arm.
The stadium exploded in cheers, even the competitors' delegations joining in the raucous celebration. She had to give it to him, she thought with a smile as she clapped, he knew how to put on a captivating show.
A blink, he was levelling after pulling from the head-spinning dive. Another blink, the dragon moved. If Potter's speed was amazing, the dragon's was unbelievable. A mountain moving at the speed of a train. The beast's tail whipped, aimed smartly to his path, wicked bone spikes blurring.
He was not going to make it.
A corkscrew down. The longest spike clipped his shoulder and pushed him down faster. The same arm pulled the steer up with all the strength it could muster, not regarding the awful pain it caused, adrenaline pumping through him as he tried to regain control.
He was not strong enough. His arm failed. The ground was too close.
Fleur gasped, her arm flying to her torso as she collapsed to the floor. She could hear the dragon tamers shooting spells and crying indiscernible commands over the roaring crowd. She was confused, she was having a hard time breathing, her sight doubled. She felt like a bludger had hit her on the ribs.
Slowly, carefully, she rose, her hand patting until it found the railing to help her pull herself up. The pain had already diminished considerably, just a dull ache on the lower, left side of her ribcage.
Her wide, surprised eyes scanned the chaos down in the pit until he saw him. A mere black speckle next to the gargantuan mass of fire and death. He was outside of the competition area. The task was done.
She poked her aching side and the pain did not change. It did not spike in response to her touch. The crazy daredevil of a boy was standing with his back to the stadium's wall, the egg at his feet, his hand cradling the left side of his torso. She saw him there, breathing through the pain, and then she knew.
Her lip trembled. He crouched to grab the egg and his side protested. She felt that. She moaned, in despair, in joy, so many emotions raging through her that she could not identify them before they shifted again.
She cries, but not in pain, no. She had long since learned to deal with that. She cries in relief.
She had found her answers
"I'm fine, Poppy." She hears, muffled behind the thick fabric of the medical tent as she marches towards it. Her feet don't stop even as she crosses the threshold, the flaps on the entrance flopping dramatically as she pushes past them with violence. Every face turned towards her, conversations trailing and fading under her intrusion.
" 'Es not fine." She spats, her feet still moving mechanically, rhythmically. She reaches his side, rounding the gentle-faced mediwitch from before before anyone has a chance to react. She pokes him on the ribs fast, and she feels exactly what the problem is.
A flick of her wrist and a snapping sound that makes him curse and her wince, and then the medic grabs her wand hand.
Fleur looks at her, "The boy 'ad three broken ribs."
She snatches her arm from Pomfreys' grip and pokes Harry in the ribs with her wand, eliciting a complaint from both him and the nurse whose name she could not care less about. At the moment she had enough attention for only one person.
A small and scrawny English boy who yelped again as his bones finished their accelerated knitting.
"You, monsieur, 'ave a lot to explain."
Eyes like a stormy sky pinned him with rage. With apprehension. With resentment. With hope.
And then he knew.
He knew because he felt it all in his own heart, in his own mind. Because he knew the fire in her eyes now burned on his own. A familiar foreignness, an intrusion that had become welcomed over the years, sometimes sparking rage, sometimes happiness. And he saw the roiling reflection of his feelings on the fair witch facing him.
"It was always you," Spoke two voices in unison, unaware of the world that had started to move around them again.
"I think," said the stern voice of Minerva MacGonagall, "That it is you who owes all of us an explanation, miss."
Fleur rose to her full height, something that to Harry's eyes looked quite impressive, especially from where he sat on the low cot. Next to MacGonagall though, she looked like a petulant child.
"I do not see 'ow such a personal matter would be the purview of a foreign teacher, Madame. What I 'ave to speak of is something that is for Monsieur Potter ears."
"You will find that interfering with the medical attention of a competitor will not go over as easily as you hope it will, and the same can be said for disobeying orders from one of the judges representatives."
Her slight foot stomped, bravely wording on its own her slighted feelings. "I will not be paraded and mocked over my personal life."
"And I will not allow Mr Potter to be dragged into anything he has no knowledge or desire to."
Fleur's mouth opened to refute her again, by the looks of her face -and the scorching heat of disapproval and sheer contrariness that Harry felt wash over him- her response was not going to be nearly as cordial as before.
Thankfully for everyone involved, the tent's opening admitted two more figures.
"I think it would be wisest for all of us to calm down." Dumbledore said as he walked into the scene, Madame Maxime in his wake. "Except for Harry here, of course. If he calms down more he's likely to fall asleep, and I think he may be interested in what is going to be spoken."
Harry laughed, something for which his chest was none too happy, and then coughed.
"I am tired." He admitted. "And Poppy gave me something for the pain that is making me even more so. But mostly I'm still trying to process…"
He trailed, his gaze fleeting back to the argentine profile of his 'rival' her defying eyes still as locked on MacGonagall as her jaw was locked into an expression of deep indignation.
"You should advise your student to remember his manners, Dumbledore. I will not stand as he looks at my student in such a way, no matter his fame."
Fleur's eyes turned on him, and a wave of emotion crashed into him. Anger, embarrassment, joy, it was intoxicating. He laughed, his eyelids drooping.
"I feel you." A whisper escaped his lips.
"Fleur?" intervinned Maxime.
"Oui, Madame." Her voice cracked.
"Madame?" Dumbledore reminded her of his existence.
"I think they need to speak, Albus. In private."
"I do not think that is a good idea headmaster, they are-"
"They are our guests, Minerva. Please, everyone, vacate the premises. Let us give young Harry and Miss Delacour some space. Madame, if you please, I think we ought to have a conversation of our own."
Pomfrey and MacGonnagal left, not before making their discontent known, the tent empty but for Harry, Fleur, and the two headmasters. Fleur sat in the cot next to Harry, Dumbledore guiding Maxime to the desk at the other side of the tent.
"What can you tell me about this, Olympe? What is going on?"
"We do not know, Albus. We do not know."
"My name is Fleur." She was nervous
"Harry. Though you knew that already."
She nodded. "I did."
"Thank you."
"Whatever for?" She was surprised.
"For the ribs." He touched his chest again. "You saved me from half an hour of Poppy berating me."
"Not like she'd be wrong to do so. Brooms 'ave limits, you know?" She was exasperated.
He could feel so much more detail now that she was near. Before it was only extremes, but now…
"They do?"
She laughed.
"How did you even know it was my ribs though? I didn't even know that myself."
"I broke a rib a few years ago. I know 'ow it feels."
Goosebumps broke in his arms.
"What does all of this mean… I mean, I have never heard of anyone else that could…"
He grasped at the air in front of him, as if he could catch the words that eluded him.
"I do not know." She was sad. He did not want her to feel sad. He'd get into a funk himself. "I was 'oping that you'd know."
He shook his head. Silence grew.
"Maybe," he said, "Maybe we can find out. Together."
