Disclaimer: All is owned by J.K. Rowling.
Chapter 18 - If I Lay Here
Dumbledore sighed heavily as he undid the spells on the hospital wing door, silencing the area to not disturb the others.
It banged open, a group of ruffled-looking Ministry employees flooding in.
"Albus, what is going on?" Ludo Bagman blurted out first, trying to crane his head to look around him.
"Something I feared from the beginning, yet was too foolish to act on," Dumbledore admitted. "Please send for some Aurors to secure the school. The wards fell at some stage whilst the champions were in the maze."
"Unacceptable," an oily-looking man snapped from the back, glaring at him. "A man of your stature should not have such shortcomings. Dawlish! Floo the Auror Office!"
Dumbledore couldn't fault the man. He nodded hesitantly.
There was some explaining to do, he knew that much. To whom was another matter, as he did not hold any hope that Cornelius would believe his theory. Even if he had Severus here to prove it, that would perhaps end poorly for the both of them.
"I believe the final task of the tournament was a trap, with the intention of getting Mr Potter away from the school."
"Whatever for?" another asked from the back, "and where were you?"
"My missing professor was found at the bottom of a magical trunk, and I had to take him to St. Mungo's right away. His condition was beyond what we can treat here. The man whom we thought to be Alastor was an imposter. Had I known the wards to have fallen, I would have alerted the Aurors right away," Dumbledore added, taking in the infuriated expressions before him.
A third voice came from behind them. It simmered with barely-concealed anger.
"How could you fail to notice an imposter in this very school for the better part of a year?"
The assembled group parted, revealing the Minister for Magic and a contingent of crimson-robed Aurors.
"They played their part well. None of my other professors noticed anything peculiar," he answered. "I acknowledge my shortcomings, Cornelius, but now is the time to prepare for what is coming."
"And what might that be?" Fudge asked. "Why would this 'imposter' have an interest in kidnapping Harry Potter?"
"Severus' dark mark burned for the first time in fourteen years tonight, meaning Voldemort walks amongst us once more," Dumbledore replied, disheartened to see the Ministry officials flinch, "and it is my belief that Harry may have witnessed the resurrection at the very least."
"Have you gone mad!?" the portly man exclaimed, adjusting his lime-green bowler hat. "You-Know-Who back? The monster is dead, Albus! How can you make such a claim? Have you even talked to the boy?"
"I received a brief missive from Severus that Mr Potter has gone through quite the ordeal tonight, and his physical state seems to confirm that," Dumbledore explained, heart heavy.
"Let me speak to the boy before you put any more of these far-fetched theories into my mind," the Minister demanded, cheeks reddening. "I do not operate on hearsay."
"The boy is resting, Cornelius. Poppy will not allow you to speak to him yet," he stated firmly. "You are welcome to visit at a later time, and I will make my case to you when things are clearer. I only hope that you can keep an open mind."
"It is a very substantial claim to make with little evidence. See that you do not waste my time with meaningless drivel. I have other matters to attend to."
How he was brushed off by the man greatly frustrated Dumbledore, but he reigned it in and nodded, internally ashamed of himself for allowing things to unfold as they had.
Cornelius was an overtly prideful man. Dumbledore could not afford to alienate him just yet, as the Ministry's support would be crucial.
"I shall now tend to the wards. Until we meet again."
The man gave him little more than a slight nod as Dumbledore exited the hospital wing, the rest of the Ministry officials looking on wide-eyed at their exchange.
Fleur worriedly looked back over to the bed where Harry slept as the matron began to fuss over her. She was unnerved by his stillness, her shock not having worn off yet. The wand fragments and holly splinters extracted from his hand by Madam Pomfrey did not give her hope for what he would eventually tell them.
They had been placed in a dish on a low table between the two beds, a disturbing mosaic of red and brown.
"Minister, please keep your voice down. We have patients here," the matron threw over her shoulder as some murmurings became audible.
"You have my apologies, Madam. Where is the winner?"
Looking around Madam Pomfrey, Fleur made eye contact with him. The Minister for Magic was almost comically short compared to the officials surrounding him, yet still managed to exude an unusually prominent sense of authority. As much as his physical appearance let him down, a stern visage said otherwise.
One should not judge a book by its cover, after all, she thought
"Both of us are," she stated firmly.
"How can that be? You are the one who appeared with the cup, are you not?" he asked, a bushy eyebrow raised.
"We both took it at the same time. You will need Harry awake to hear the rest of the story," Fleur explained quietly. "He sent me back first."
The Minister examined her for a moment as if determining the validity of her claim. Turning without a word, he beckoned forth one of the formally-dressed men behind him.
"The cup, if you will."
Behind, a lanky man handed the Triwizard Cup to the Minister. Taking out a stubby, brown wand, he made numerous motions over it. A moment later, he appeared satisfied.
"Very well. In that case, I would be quite interested in hearing the boy's account when he can provide it," the short man conceded in a low tone. "Both of you shall have a thousand galleons deposited in your respective Gringotts vaults', and can decide yourselves whether you wish to keep the cup or donate it to one of your schools."
"Thank you," Fleur said, mildly surprised at his apparent rationality.
Gabrielle looked on from beside Fleur's bed, eyes shining with curiosity.
In France, the British Ministry had always been somewhat of a running joke for as long as she could remember. He appeared to not be the same person that Harry had recounted when discussing the end of his third year.
"Until next time," he stated, walking away after tipping his bowler hat, leaving them alone with Harry.
Turning back to her parents, she almost laughed at the look on her father's face.
"What is it, Papa?" she asked curiously.
He seemed to shake himself out of whatever daze he was in.
"The British Minister is not at all how I expected him to be," he admitted. "His ICW representatives do a poor job of representing him."
Her father could go on and on about the issues plaguing his office's work at the ICW. She wondered not for the first time just how functional the organisation was with the amount of red tape and filibustering that reportedly went on within it.
"Do you at least know how Harry got back?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject. "Did he have his wand?"
Fleur shook her head to both questions.
Giving her mother a long look, her father slowly drew his wand.
"Homenum Revelio," he murmured.
The question she was about to ask died on her tongue as she saw the golden glow fill his body, spreading the entire length of it this time.
"How?" she asked breathlessly. "Does that mean his soul is… whole?"
"I am just as surprised as you," he admitted, putting his wand away, "but I believe so."
Her mother verified her father's statement with a nod, thin eyebrows still raised.
"It is not something I have ever seen, only heard of," she repeated from their discussion on the topic just months ago. "It seems that Harry was able to sense you and managed to perform some form of apparition. His lack of a wand makes that almost certain."
Fleur was still confused.
"What was it? How did he do it?"
"It is never guaranteed amongst Veela, and quite rare," her mother explained, "but now and then a bond becomes strong enough to manifest itself in such a way. They are never the same, so you may have to figure out its effects, but it is undeniably there."
Unable to resist keeping up her endless stream of questioning, she continued to fire them off.
"Really? How do you know for sure?" Fleur asked
"Did you and Harry move… quickly?" she questioned in return.
She nodded, feeling a faint blush on her cheeks. Her sister giggled from beside her.
Grinning at Fleur, her mother leaned into her father's side.
"That is a good indicator," she said, wrapping an arm around his waist. "It took me only two days to scoop up Sebastien."
Judging by the shade of red on her father's face, Fleur didn't want to know the details. However, she now had to figure out what existed between her and Harry. Not that Fleur minded, for the thought of being connected to him somehow was oddly satisfying. She didn't know what to think of it. Gabby, who had remained largely quiet, now looked at her with an unsettling gleam in her eye. It was as if she knew exactly what Fleur was thinking.
A pit of anxiety still bubbled away in her stomach, and she desperately tried to distract herself by looking elsewhere than Harry's prone form.
"Us Delacours are quite magnetic," her mother added with a smirk towards Harry.
"You were magnétique long before you were a Delacour," Sebastien retorted at the beaming woman beside him.
Bright light immediately blinded Harry, and he squeezed his eyes shut again to avoid the onslaught of colour. Muted murmurings came from nearby.
"He has been alienated from his peers by the tournament, Albus! I told you those were the worst kinds of muggles, do you really want to send him back there? Far better options are available to us now!"
Slowly opening his eyes once more, he focused on what had to be the blurry form of Professor McGonagall. She stood straight-backed in a group of people, not far from the foot of his bed. Beside her, he identified Dumbledore's usual bright-coloured robes. Splotches of silver indicated the presence of two others.
Sinking back into his pillow, he luxuriated in the comfort of his bed, trying to draw the blanket in tighter to escape from the unusually cool temperature and the ongoing conversation. His right hand ached at the slight movement.
The rustling of the sheets must've alerted them to his presence, for before he knew it he was being shaken awake.
"Harry? Harry!"
He pressed his head harder into the pillow in an attempt to escape from the loud noise. A warm hand on his face made him jump, but he slowly relaxed into it. It felt so warm and familiar that he couldn't help but smile slightly.
Feeling the bed shift, he opened his eyes again and jerked back when all he saw was silver.
"Harry?" the person in front of him asked again, concern lacing their voice.
It only clicked then that he was in the hospital wing. Her name was the second thing that came to him.
"Fleur?" he whispered, now recognising the voice.
As soon as he'd uttered her name, Harry was engulfed in a firm hug. She dug her head under his chin and sniffled violently. The dull ache returned to his hand as pressure was put on it, and Harry tugged it out from beneath her.
"I can't believe you," she whispered in a broken tone. "What were you thinking?"
His momentary confusion was interrupted by a flood of memories, and everything came rushing back. No detail was spared, and he slowly felt himself turn numb as it sunk in.
"I made a promise to your father," he responded in a hollow tone. "I keep my promises."
She fisted his shirt together tightly.
"It was a silly thing for him to ask. He did not want you to get yourself killed to ensure my safety," she murmured into his chest.
"There was no other choice," Harry defended. "It was you or me."
Fleur drew back slightly, and he saw the blurry outline of her hand come up. Harry closed his eyes, preparing for the stinging sensation to come.
When it didn't come, he tentatively opened them again to see the indistinct features of her face close to his. Raising a hand, he rested it against her cheek and was startled to feel that it was wet. She slumped forwards onto him.
"I'm horrible," Fleur whispered through sniffles. "You thought I was going to hit you."
"It's okay. I probably would've deserved it," Harry replied.
She grasped his face between both of her hands this time, resting her forehead on his.
"Non!," Fleur exclaimed sharply. "There is never a reason for someone to put their hands on you like that."
A moment of silence passed between them.
"You would've done the same for me though, would you not?" he asked softly. "I couldn't help it."
Fleur hesitated for a moment, before nodding. She took a hand back, using the back of it to wipe her eyes. When she met his gaze again, Fleur's face was close enough to make out in near-perfect clarity. He sank into the ocean of her blue irises. Their depth was something to truly marvel at, darkening the longer Harry stared.
"What am I going to do with you?" she whispered fondly.
Harry couldn't think of a suitable answer, no matter how rhetorical the question sounded. He instead leaned up and kissed her lightly. He was just able to make out her seemingly reluctant smile.
"Give me my glasses?"
A laugh came from behind her. He was so engrossed in the person in front of him that he didn't feel the usual ripple of embarrassment. His poor vision only helped matters on that front. Fleur, however, slowly turned quite red.
"Papa!" she groaned into his chest.
This time he recognised the rumbling laugh as Sebastien, his boots clacking against the hard floors of the hospital wing as he approached them. A lighter pair of footsteps followed, and Harry assumed that Fleur's mother was there too.
They came into view, two blurry forms towering over them on the hospital bed. Appoline spoke first.
"Your glasses were not with you when you appeared at the start of the maze," she said softly, stroking his hair lightly in a familiar way.
Her touch felt unusually similar to Fleur's, and Harry found that he quite enjoyed it.
Appoline leant down next to him.
"Your godfather is supposed to be organising replacements as we speak," she whispered into his ear. "Hopefully he returns soon."
Harry nodded in acknowledgement, chin digging in slightly to the top of Fleur's head as he made the motion.
"How long has it been?" he asked.
"Two days," Sebastien answered. "Two very long days, not including the first night you spent in here."
"Oh," he replied, momentarily dumbstruck.
"The two girls from the second task visited mere hours ago," the elder Delacour added.
Harry presumed that meant Hermione and Ginny, and regardless of what he thought of the former, it made him happy that they'd cared enough to. He craned his head, attempting to see the table beneath the bed without disturbing Fleur.
"My wand?"
"Destroyed, I'm afraid," came the voice of Dumbledore as he, too, sidled up to the edge of his bed. "Take comfort in the fact that you managed to take Voldemort's wand with you."
"How?" he asked faintly.
The Headmaster exhaled deeply, seemingly preparing himself for a conversation he didn't want to have.
"You shall need to visit Ollivander to ascertain the exact reasoning behind that, as he is well-versed in wand lore. However, yours and Voldemort's were brother wands." he began. "They shared a feather from the same phoenix, who incidentally happens to be Fawkes. This perhaps explains half of it - brother wands cannot be forced to duel against one another, and evidently, the only way in which they could escape was to explode. What you have accomplished is an admirable feat regardless."
He paused, sighing again.
"Rest assured, I do not need you to recount your experience to me, as Severus was there and provided me with the memory. Please, do not make assumptions until you have heard the full story. We have numerous things to discuss."
Harry nodded again, tightening his grip around Fleur's waist. He didn't quite care for the presence of her parents now. They had made no indication that they minded her proximity to him, and her weight on top of him was incredibly soothing. Some part of his subconscious silently mourned the loss of his wand, but it was a struggle to properly process through the deluge of information.
"I must first apologise for my lack of action this year. We had very little evidence to work with and did not establish any suspects for who may have deposited the slip of paper with your name into the goblet. It is now apparent that our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was an imposter. The real Alastor Moody is currently in St. Mungo's."
Harry remembered being unsettled by the professor but had attributed it to his unique brand of teaching. Now, the oddities in his behaviour stuck out like a sore thumb.
"It's fine. It wasn't entirely your fault either, professor," Harry responded.
"Alas, it was. I am responsible for all of the students at Hogwarts, and my inaction has done even greater harm to you. Cornelius was not wrong to criticise me on the matter."
That was a surprise to him.
"Fudge? The Minister was here?"
Dumbledore nodded slowly.
"That he was, Harry. I believe he may meet me again to discuss what occurred following the tournament, as it has become somewhat of an international incident."
"How so?" Sebastien questioned from the opposite side of the bed.
"Harry managed to fatally wound one of the Death Eaters present," Dumbledore replied, giving Harry a significant look. "He was an ICW representative for the Croatian office, and his absence has not gone unnoticed. Severus tells me that it was he who was responsible for your difficulties communicating with your godfather. It seems that the curtain of darkness currently forming across Europe threatens the integrity of the entire organisation at present."
"What does Snape have to do with all this? He's not a Death Eater, is he?" Harry asked, trying to fend off the numbness.
Ending a life was not something he'd set out to do that night.
"Professor Snape, Harry. He was in the last war, however, has since seen the error of his ways and now has an enormously dangerous yet valuable role as a spy for the Order. Your godfather has already enlightened you on that, hasn't he?"
Harry nodded again at Dumbledore, feeling Fleur's curious eyes on him.
The Headmaster hummed an acknowledgement, his gaze shifting between him and Fleur.
"I presume Miss Delacour is also aware of this?"
"She is," Harry confirmed.
"And would I be correct in presuming that you consent to her presence for the remainder of this discussion? I have to warn you, Harry, these are not light topics, and it is about time that I explained them to you," he said cautiously.
"Fleur stays. If she wants to, that is," he added, glancing down at her.
Her flushed face had since shifted back her usual pale, yet faintly pearlescent complexion. She wore a fierce expression as she raised her head.
"If you would think me to be anywhere else, you would be a silly boy indeed," Fleur declared, arching an eyebrow at him as if she had issued a challenge. "If that man did not want to die, he would have aligned himself differently."
Her reassurance proved invaluable, the shock receding somewhat.
Dumbledore just chuckled beside them.
"Burdens are best shared with those who care for us, Harry. I would advise you to heed her warning," he said with a blurry grin.
Harry thought he saw McGonagall's lips twitch up, though it was difficult to make out her distorted features. Apolline's hand came down to stroke through his hair again, and he was sure she was just as amused.
The Headmaster continued after his brief pause.
"It is not an easy thing to end a life, nor to cast the curses that you did, when both the impact on your conscience and the magical prowess required is concerned. As much as I may disagree with your methods, I cannot fault you for what you did. I am proud of how far you have come this year, Harry. You have inherited the best of both your parents."
He'd not expected the man to praise him as he did, especially after he'd been quite distant all year, but it did warm him.
"Thank you, professor," he replied, still stunned.
"It is commendable how far you have come this year," McGonagall added from somewhere behind, her usual Scottish brogue surprisingly warm. "You have every right to be proud, and I too apologise for my inaction. It saddened me to see you no longer attend classes and choose to study alone. I endeavour to do better by you in the future."
Harry had no clue what to do with the praise, so he just nodded, trying to hide his embarrassment.
"You are also exceedingly lucky that the wards had fallen," Dumbledore commented, his tone softening. "I have already discussed the matter with Mrs Delacour, and will let her explain it to you afterwards. However, now that he has returned, it is only right that I make you aware of why Voldemort came for you on that fateful night. I understand that you are still resting, however, I believe it would be detrimental to withhold from you further."
The Headmaster appeared to sag slightly, before fishing his wand out and turning around. Harry's eyes were beginning to hurt, straining to see the blurry form of Dumbledore as he levitated something over to the table next to them. He looked back down at Fleur to give them some relief.
"This, Harry, is a penseive."
Harry lay on the hospital bed, still half in shock. He stared up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, whilst Fleur sat on a chair next to his bed. She lightly stroked his bandaged right hand absentmindedly.
Madam Pomfrey had just left after insisting on checking his condition.
"We face it together, yes?" Fleur asked in a low murmur, her vulnerability shining through an otherwise inscrutable expression.
Harry could hardly blame her, the weight of what he'd just learned threatening to crush him. It didn't help things that Apolline had explained to him her theory on how he'd apparated without a wand. She'd also theorised that his lack of a whole soul earlier in the semester was the reason for the Imperious Curse to fail on him in one of his first Defence Against the Dark Arts classes.
He nodded, wearily closing his eyes.
"Yes, I promise," Harry murmured.
"There is no chance I am letting you stay at your relatives for longer than a week," she stated forcefully. "Even if your Headmaster tries to extend it. What a madman."
All the discussions of blood protection, prophecies and souls had drained him, and Harry didn't even entertain the thought of arguing with her. Before he succumbed to his exhaustion, he felt Fleur press a soft kiss to his temple.
"Rest well, mon amour."
His dreams thereafter were filled with that same lovely shade of blue.
A/N
I'll be hard-pressed to stick to my usual Sunday schedule this coming week. Regardless, your consistent reviews are much appreciated :)
