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Chapter 11 - With No Shame

Her father came around her side of the cot, whilst her mother stood slightly behind him, gaze softening as she looked down at Harry's still form. Eyeing them carefully, Fleur was glad to note that they didn't seem repulsed at all by some invisible force.

It had looked the same with Ginny when she thought about it. Perhaps whatever affected him previously was slowly healing? We can only hope...

"The nurse said he may be out for a while," her father began, "She mentioned that he has moderate hypothermia, some water in his lungs and has lost quite a bit of blood. She has done what she can, and it will be up to him to wake up."

Fleur managed to stave off the anxiety that threatened to rise as she heard his diagnosis. She didn't want to leave the tent until he was awake. She also didn't know where to start explaining everything to her parents. Coming to a decision, Fleur pulled out her wand.

Her parents looked at her curiously.

"Homenum Revelio," she whispered again, wand pointed down at Harry.

A light glow, very dim, but undeniably there, spread outward from his chest. It was not nearly bright enough to indicate a usual human presence and must've been near-impossible to spot in the murky water of the lake.

She saw her mother's eyes widen across from her.

"Fleur, what is the meaning of this?"

"I do not quite understand myself, and do not know where to begin either," she said, sighing, "He is the one who saved me from those men after the World Cup."

Her father's eyes were the ones that widened this time. His hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"I think he was also hit by the Killing Curse," Fleur added quietly, just before her father could speak.

To give him credit, he took it better than she expected. Her mother's face, however, was pale.

"So how is he…" he trailed off, gesturing towards Harry, "How is he alive?"

"I don't know, and neither does he. What we do know is that his soul was affected by it," she replied.

Her mother gasped at that.

"Did you see for yourself?" she asked worriedly.

"Yes, it was like a deep chasm, I could see very little," Fleur replied, "I have no idea what it means."

"That could have gone very wrong," her mother admonished lightly, "You were unharmed?"

Fleur nodded, deciding not to divulge further details.

Her mother pressed on.

"I can only guess that magic of the darkest sort has played a part in this, and I do not mean only the Killing Curse," she said, "That is the only way he could still be alive. I will trust your judgement for now and not look for myself, I do not want to put him at risk. The soul is a delicate thing."

"He showed me an old book he found - it mentioned that a split soul looks for a replacement, and 'pushes away' incompatible souls?"

"I would very much like to see this book," her mother commented, raising her eyebrows, "That may match what I know. I assume he has had difficulties with his peers then?"

"It has been hard on him. Even with his friends, or former friends."

Frowning, her mother looked back down at Harry, holding the back of her hand to his cheek.

"Poor boy," she said, "He has been good with you?"

"Yes, very good," Fleur managed, ducking her head and trying to fight back the heat that rushed to her cheeks.

She could hear the mirth in her mother's voice.

"I never took my daughter to be the embarrassed type. It is good to hear, though. We will do our best to help him."

"Thank you," she replied gratefully.

"Is there anything else?" asked Fleur's father, who had remained silent during the conversation but now wore a look she couldn't quite decipher.

"Too much," Fleur sighed, not knowing if she should break her most recent discoveries to her parents just now.

"Such as?"

"Ginny - his hostage - just told me that Harry saved her by killing a twenty-metre basilisk in his second year. She also hinted that other things have happened to him as a student here," she paused, taking in the boggled eyes of her parents, "Ginny said something about his relatives, too. They don't treat him well and he doesn't eat much."

Only at that moment did Fleur see her little sister come out from behind her father. She must've heard the whole thing, as a tear ran down her cheek slowly. Her silence spoke volumes, and Fleur opened her arms to her.

Her sister nearly knocked her over as she barrelled into her, sniffing against her chest. Fleur looked up to see the look of rage adorning her father's features. She'd forgotten that in his position within the French Ministry, he'd likely seen plenty of child neglect cases. Whilst it was a rather uncommon occurrence within their Department of Law Enforcement, it still happened occasionally.

"Shh, Gabby," she whispered, in an attempt to calm her sister down. Fleur remembered that the younger girl had adored Harry after hearing about him in the few letters she'd sent home. It only enhanced the story-book character that he was in her sister's mind, but she hoped that would slowly change.

When Fleur had turned 17 just days before the Quidditch World Cup, she'd hoped that her coming-of-age wouldn't affect her relationship with her sister. However, her maturity, veiled behind an outgoing personality, never failed to surprise Fleur. She thought Gabrielle would end up just fine.

Harry was probably wholly unaware that Fleur had brought him up. She didn't recall mentioning that she had already told her parents about him - he'd be in for a bit of a shock. The idea amused her, but she had a hunch that they would like him. He was genuine, and quite good-looking for his age too, she thought. That more benefitted her than her parents, though.

The thought made her flush slightly, and she tried to fight it back as she pried a now-calmed Gabrielle off her to check on Harry again.


Consciousness slowly returned to Harry. He shifted, feeling something oddly warm beneath him. A hand ghosted over his shoulder and came to rest on the nape of his neck. It caused him to jump slightly, and he opened his eyes, tilting his head.

The first thing he saw was a pair of deep, blue eyes looking back at him tenderly. Some distant part of his mind registered the blurred surroundings as the hospital wing, but he could not tear his eyes away from hers.

"How do you feel?" Fleur whispered to him, her hand moving from his neck to his forehead after sliding his glasses back on.

Harry realised that he lay half on top of her, and wasn't quite sure how he got there. Fleur was propped up against the pillows above him.

"I'm fine, is everyone else ok?" he replied, starting to feel somewhat uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny and close proximity that he wasn't prepared for.

The depth of emotion he was feeling, however, scared him. He'd not quite thought so before, but now he knew he was in big, big trouble.

"They are fine," she sighed, drawing her hand back, "How do you get yourself into these situations?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted, "Do you know what happened?"

"Yes, Dumbledore told us after talking to the Merpeople. The hostages would have been safe even if we'd left them."

Harry frowned.

"But the clue mentioned that they'll be gone after an hour," he said, confused, "And even still, what were they thinking leaving them there alone?"

"I do not know either, Harry," Fleur replied, "It seems we were both fooled. Although, you were given extra points for what you did. I believe you are now first. It is well deserved."

He really couldn't care too much anymore about the tournament. His focus had shifted. The burning resentment he'd felt for his classmates, which had fuelled his desire to guilt them through his success, had faded somewhat.

An urge to succeed remained within him, but Harry no longer saw the tournament as the only means of proving it. And if anything, he only needed to prove it to himself. And maybe Fleur, too.

"Oh."

Fleur cocked an eyebrow, smirking slightly at him.

"Who's second, then?" he asked.

"Me, of course, by a single point. The other Hogwarts Champion got to his hostage first, but was delayed on the way back and ended up last. The Durmstrang Champion was knocked unconscious after his self-transfiguration didn't work as it was supposed to."

"I'm not sure I care too much about winning anymore," Harry admitted, "I thought that doing well in the tournament would show everyone up, and maybe get me some friends back. I was wrong."

He did feel somewhat disappointed, and even ashamed of himself, for thinking it would work. What he'd done is just fuel their jealousy more. It almost made Harry wish he'd never tried to improve, but he reminded himself it was necessary. For his own sake at the very least.

To his surprise, Fleur scowled, averting her gaze.

"They all deserve to suffer," she gritted out, her eyes softening when she looked back at him, a reluctant smile forming.

"Perhaps you are the more rational one of us both," she added, now grinning at him brightly.

Harry was forced to stifle a laugh at her antics.

"Not that I don't want you here, but are you up to? I'm not sure your parents would approve, would they?" he asked, holding back a smile at her flushing face.

She turned it right back on him as she answered.

"So eager to meet my parents, are you?" she teased, "Don't worry, they won't be too harsh."

"Uh, certainly."

"We have a great deal to discuss, Harry," Fleur said, turning sombre, "If you recall, I told you my mother knows more than I do about sensing and the soul. I also learnt a few other things…"

She was interrupted by the doors swinging open, and Harry turned his head to look. A tall, attractive woman who didn't look a day older than 30 strode in, heels clicking against the hard floor. She bore a great resemblance to Fleur. Next to her came a slightly shorter man with sharp features, formally dressed. He must've been in his mid-forties.

Harry jumped and started to adjust himself in Fleur's grip, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Stay still," she hissed to him, raising her chin, "They know I'm here. I'm an adult, and you're in no condition to be moving around like that."

He wasn't particularly keen to fight with her, and could already feel the fatigue beginning to set in again. Acquiescing, he sagged back down with his head on her shoulder. Harry wasn't quite looking forward to this conversation, whatever it may involve.

Looking up, he saw Fleur's mother and father come into view at the side of the raised cot.

Her father smirked down at him.

"Bonjour, Harry Potter. Quite comfortable, are we?" he said, now grinning widely.

Not to be intimidated, he gathered his strength as best he could.

"Yes, Sir," he replied, "Nice to meet you."

The woman next to him elbowed him lightly, whispering rapidly what Harry could only guess was some kind of admonishment to him in French, at which Fleur's father chuckled.

"You may call me Sebastien, and this is Apolline. It is a pleasure to meet you. Unfortunately, we have some troubling issues to discuss."

"We do wish we could meet under more pleasant circumstances, but it is of utmost importance," Appoline added. Her accent was by far the most pronounced of the three Delacours he'd now met. Harry wondered where Fleur's sister was.

"That's okay," Harry reassured, "What would you like to know?"

"I'm not quite sure of that myself," Appoline sighed, "I left Gabrielle back at the carriage, as I think some of these topics may be more delicate," she said, looking to Fleur deliberately.

Fleur gave a grim nod, and Harry couldn't help but speculate what caused her mood to change so suddenly. They'd had a while to come to terms with whatever had happened to his soul. She looked at him, and he reached for her hand to squeeze it, not quite knowing where to start himself.

"His soul appears somehow fractured, as you now know. I discovered that the presence-revealing spell seems to react to the soul. Can a soul regenerate?" she asked hopefully.

"I have never heard of it, but I have also never heard of someone surviving the Killing Curse twice either. It is thought that only under very specific conditions can a soul regenerate, and they are not known. There is only the theory that it may be possible," Appoline replied.

"We still have not thanked you, Mr Potter, for your actions after the Quidditch World Cup," Sebastien said, jumping in, "I admit I did not believe my daughter at first, and it did not help that your government was so eager to suppress any mention of terrorism. We are greatly in your debt," he finished.

"It's okay," Harry replied, a mischievous grin forming on his face, "It worked out in the end, anyway."

He was pleased to hear Fleur snort above him and noted the bright smiles on the faces of her parents.

Sebastien's demeanour shifted as he seemed to steel himself.

"I now intend to fulfil our promise to you as best as I can, and things may become a little uncomfortable, but you do not need to answer questions you do not want to," he added, searching for words.

Fleur's tightening grip on him didn't reassure him as he thought it would.

"Do your relatives treat you okay?"

Harry froze, thoughts running rampant through his mind. He couldn't let the secret out, could he? But what of all his progress this year so far? It would be difficult to change for the better if he was continually haunted by his past. It's not such a big deal, I guess.

They hadn't given him a reason to distrust them at all, and Fleur had always been completely honest with him too. He decided to return the favour, as much as he may be uncomfortable with the idea. Still, it wasn't like he was routinely beaten or anything, so it should be fine.

"Um, it's mostly okay," he began cautiously, "I don't get as much food as I'd like, and I have a lot of chores to do, but it's manageable."

Fleur only tensed further, and he hoped he hadn't spilt too much.

"Are they ever physical with you?" Sebastien pressed, and Harry was already not liking the expression he saw forming on the man's face.

"Only here and there, it's not that bad, I promise. Just when I muck up."

His voice came out far weaker than he wanted it to. Harry had no clue what the older man wanted to do with this information. He cursed himself at his weakness. He'd gotten past this, and come to terms with it long ago.

"There should not be any of that happening, at all, ever!" Sebastien exclaimed.

Harry looked back to Fleur worriedly, unsure of what to do. To his surprise, she was the vision of unadulterated rage. Perhaps he should've expected that by now. He could feel her body warming by the second.

"Harry," she managed, "I should not be able to pick you up and carry you as easily as I did. You should also not have such an aversion to touch. These things are not normal. I did not piece the clues together earlier, and I am disappointed in myself for it."

He had no clue what to say, so he chose to remain silent, avoiding eye contact. Thinking furiously, he wasn't sure he could salvage whatever remained of his dignity. He didn't blame her, though, or her parents. It was just an unpleasant topic.

Fleur's hand came back up to his hair, turning his head towards her slowly. She seemed to reign in her anger at seeing his blank face.

"Look," she started, "We are not angry at you and do not blame you either. It is the thought of what those disgusting people have done to you that makes us angry."

Her hand came up from around him, ghosting up his cheekbone with her knuckles. The other pulled him closer until all he could see were her impossibly bright eyes.

"Harry," she murmured again, her breath warm against his cheek.

He saw an unnatural vulnerability shine through and wondered what could inspire her to feel that way. Harry desperately wanted to reassure her, but what she said next stumped him.

"I love you. I can't stand to see you treated this way and try to brush it off. I don't know how you can stay so strong" she whispered, "I know it is early for me to say, but I would rather say it now than not at all."

It caught him like an unexpected blow to the side. It'd never occurred to him that someone would say those words to him. He could tell, just by the look in her eyes that he was now able to place, that she meant it.

Harry thought he might have a name for that foreign, yet unexpected feeling that had welled up whenever he was with her more recently, especially so just before the second task. The emotional turbulence he felt in the moment was too much, however, and he found himself simply unable to form the words.

Mustering all of his courage, he tried to get it out.

"I… I think-"

Fleur put a finger against his lips. The tender smile on her face was all the reassurance he needed.

"It's okay, you can take your time. I understand it might be difficult to comprehend, but I want you to be fully aware when you do. I do not want to force it from you."

Her understanding encouraged the feeling to swell further. Harry was unable to completely stem the flood that threatened to spill out of his eyes, as Fleur gently wiped at the corner of his eye, collecting a lone tear with the pad of her thumb. Her own eyes looked quite watery.

She closed the gap, the heat of her lips making it feel as if he was having his soul seared while she kissed him hard. Harry felt like he was being mauled, but had no complaints. He didn't have very many thoughts at all, seeing as his senses were entirely overloaded. The only external factor he noted was a familiar scent. A scent of burnt rose petals, perhaps. He struggled to label it, other than as 'Fleur'.

Harry pulled back slowly, some distant part of his brain remembering that her parents were in the room.

Fleur must've known what he was thinking, an amused expression on her flushed features.

"They gave us some space, my love. They have enough tact to know when they are not welcome," she added, beaming at him

He found he greatly enjoyed the endearment and grinned back in response. It may have been a trick of the light, but Harry thought Fleur's skin had taken on a subtle glow.

Looking up over his head, she gave a nod, presumably to her parents. They both came back over to the same side of the bed. Harry was surprised to note that Appoline had rather red-rimmed eyes too.

The woman sniffed, wiping at her face, before resuming their earlier topics.

"What is this I hear about your other school years? Does it not end with a basilisk?"

Harry wasn't quite sure if it was his fatigue, Fleur's proximity or what she'd just said to him, but he spilt almost everything. It wasn't intentional, he just couldn't bring himself to lie to these people that cared enough to listen. It was particularly harsh detailing his first year, he'd never had the time nor presence of mind to come to terms with essentially killing someone.

Fleur's parents had been quick to reassure him that it would've been in no way his fault, seeing as the professor was possessed by Voldemort. It was when he got to his third year that the questions started.

He'd just finished recounting the bulk of it but had left out who his godfather was, simply out of habit. All Harry had mentioned was that he used to be best friends with his dad, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin, the professor during that year.

"You say you have a godfather that you rescued. Who is he?" Sebastien questioned with a frown on his face again.

It was difficult to decide whether or not to trust them with that tidbit of information, but Harry did want to just blurt it out. He'd only ever told Ron and Hermione, and their parents had known from Dumbledore, he presumed. Making up his mind as Fleur squeezed his hand again, Harry prepared for the coming storm.

"Sirius Black."

Sebastien recovered first.

"Sirius Black is the innocent 'criminal' godfather you mention during your third year? Really?" he asked, a disbelieving look on his face.

"Papa! Harry does not lie!" Fleur scolded, eyes narrowed.

Harry was impressed by how quickly she was willing to stand up for him, and against her own parents too. He'd never even thought of doing such a thing, but he had to remind himself that he'd probably grown up in a somewhat different environment.

"I apologise, it was simply a shock," Sebastien replied, "I was not sure if I had misheard. This complicates things more. However, if you have someone with a claim to guardianship for you, we may be able to get you away from those terrible excuses for relatives you have, assuming we can get him a trial. Where is he staying?"

"It's okay, and um, I don't know," Harry said.

This time Appoline jumped in.

"What do you mean, you do not know? Criminal or not, this is your godfather, surely you must?"

He turned his head, looking back up to Fleur. She had a puzzled expression.

Harry had quashed the feeling of loss that had brewed once anew within him at the first mention of Sirius, but it was a harsh reality he had to face. Slowly, throughout the year, he had lost faith in his continued belief that there would eventually be another brightly-coloured bird with a letter just for him. Ever since Harry had seen a tropical creature on his windowsill at Number 4 Privet Drive, he'd held on with increasing desperation that another would come. The excitement he'd felt as his hands unfolded the parchment was nearly unparalleled.

Looking back now, Harry realised it had probably only pushed him deeper into self-absorption and fuelled a further desire for independence. Hindsight is a hell of a thing.

He'd just have to face it.

"I don't have any idea where he is. The last letter I got from him was in the second or third week of the summer break. I sent him a reply, and then another letter a month ago. It came back unopened."

Harry thought the bones in his hand might begin to pop if Fleur tightened her grip any further. Her scowl dissipated somewhat when she looked back down at him, but some of the tensenesses remained.

"Criminal or not, why has he left his godson to fend for himself, especially during the Triwizard Tournament? He is no godfather to you if he is willing to do such a thing," Fleur spat.

Taken aback at her reaction, he tried to explain that it wasn't Sirius' fault, seeing as he was on the run and facing a fate worse than death if captured.

She shut him up within the first few words.

"He must've seen the paper by now. Half the thing was about the tournament after the first task, it even covered the Weighing of the Wands and the selection of champions. No matter where he is, he should at least have let you know that he is there for you in some way," she said.

Harry's annoyance with her interruption faded as he realised the objective truth behind her words. Wasn't a godfather meant to at least help with the raising of a child in some way? He'd only met Sirius last year, and only once in person at that. Somehow, Harry had instantly latched on to the only potential parental figure he'd found. Had his attachment and continued belief in the man been all for nought? Surely Sirius would turn up eventually, and-

"No."

A voice pierced through the whirlwind of thoughts and Harry refocused to find Fleur staring straight back at him. He wasn't sure how she could read his mind like an open book, but it didn't bother him.

"He had a chance, and now he has lost it. I will find it very hard to forgive him should we ever meet," she added, "If he was able to send a letter before he should be able to do so again. It is not right for him to get your hopes up."

"Well said, la fille," Apolline responded. Sebastien nodded alongside her.

He sagged, the realisations and admissions of the past conversation having sufficiently worn him out. Fleur's warm, bare collarbone peaking out of the neckline of her blouse provided the perfect pillow. Distantly, he heard people quietly shuffling out of the hospital wing. The last thing he felt was a hand brush through his hair, and it soothed him back into the void.


A/N

Thanks again to all of the new and repeat reviewers. Your reviews, whether they be critical or just a 'cool chapter, mate', are always welcome. I very much hope this chapter is to your liking :)