CLARIFICATION: So the reason Voldemort would die if Harry dies, is because Voldemort travelled through time through Harry and had then viciously had his soul pieced back together thus breaking his Horcruxes.

Harry's soul is fine, he is clinically depressed with a little PTSD, but his soul is fine. If Voldemort dies, Harry will not unless he chooses to because there remains basically a magic, psychic bond between them.

Harry is a complete being.

Voldemort is half a fractured soul, stuck back together with scotch tape, hence much more fragile than Harry.

Chapter 8 - Chocolates

Lee Jordan and the twins rose to the occasion in taking Harry under their wings. He used their help as a way to explain away how well he was doing, still on review work as he was. At least the sixth year was actually challenging to try and perfect.

As McGonagall, Hermione, Fleur, and Viktor had said, Harry had been holding back.

'Marked as the Dark Lord's equal' suddenly made a lot more sense than it had. As it was, Harry hadn't found his own limits yet.

The wordless casting did help exponentially in maintaining some semblance of control over his magic. He felt like he was a dam that had burst at its seams and he was now being drowned in the resulting flood.

Because of Harry, the twins and Lee ended up joining them, Fleur, Viktor, and Hermione in their group training and practice duels.

Today in Defense class, Harry managed to propel himself and Fred backward ten feet. Fred laughed, managing to keep his feet, Harry wasn't so lucky as George caught him before he crashed unceremoniously into a desk.

"Thanks, George," he breathed.

George put a hand on his heart, "Harry."

Fred made a pained noise like a kicked puppy, he came over to them, head hung.

Harry's smile fell, "Did I hurt you? Fred, I'm so, so sorry."

Fred gave a little sniff and George looked away.

Fred whispered something.

"What was that?" Harry asked, nearly panicked now.

"I'm George," Fred whispered, looking cowed.

A tear fell from George's eye. "Even after all these years knowing us, teammates for so long, and these past weeks... in our classes every day and…" he covered his face with both his hands.

"You can't tell us apart," Fred said miserably.

Harry made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, raised his wand, and sent them both tumbling to the floor. They stayed there, laughing.

He pointed at one, turning his hair sky blue and then the other, turning his orange hair neon yellow. "George is pink and Fred is blue, morons."

"How do you always know?" Lee asked. "If they come to me individually it isn't too hard, but together? They play off each other. They have it down to an art."

"You can see it in their eyes. Fred is always plotting and George is more cautious, doing risk assessment."

"You'll have to give our mum lessons, Harry," Fred said, grinning like a maniac.

"Potter," Moody growled.

"Yes, Sir?" Harry asked.

"You were able to perform the spell in levity. Keep that in mind how you were able to gauge your strength. Try again."

"Yes, Sir," he said dutifully. Harry wasn't sure why, Moody was a good teacher and all, but he was starting to dislike him more each day. Perhaps it was the way he was always watching him, perhaps it was the false niceness, or perhaps it was Harry's bad track record with DADA professors. Even Moony had almost taken a bite out of him last year.

The twins grinned at him, and before getting up to continue class they switched partners. It was now George attempting to get through Harry's defences, they had mixed results. As long as he wasn't trying to shield against them, they had a fighting chance. If he was using his shields, well... the Horntail couldn't get through his shields. However, Harry's offensive was spotty, his offence was just as likely to affect him as the twin he was fighting.

Being 'the Next Albus Dumbledore' was more work and frustration than Harry had ever wanted.

"What was she like?" Harry asked, suddenly one night while they were sitting by the fire. Harry had been reading an advanced Potions book Severus had given him, while Severus was reading up on some titles he had found at the Malfoy estate.

But at this question, Severus gave the boy a speculative look, "Surely people have told you what your parents are like. Why would you want to hear what I thought of her?"

"Remus told me about her a bit. Said she always saw the best in people. Everyone else says she was wonderful but that really doesn't tell me much."

Was that really all Harry knew about Lily?

"Didn't Tuni talk about her little sister?"

Harry's eyes widened, "Tuni? Oh, that's brilliant. But no, except to say that she was a fool for marrying my father."

Severus felt the oddest sensation in being in agreement with Whiny Tuni. "Lily always saw the best in people, however, she also had a temper. She was especially skilled in Charms and not bad at Potions. Lily was popular at school but did not have many people she depended on. It was harder in those days being a muggleborn."

"What did she do after she graduated Hogwarts?"

"She worked with Professor Flitwick to get her mastery in Charms, and then she fought in the war."

"And then she had me," he added, looking glum. "Why would anyone want a baby in the middle of the war?"

Severus had asked himself that question many, many times, but he said aloud, "Life goes on, Mr. Potter. Fear and hatred cannot stop that."

The look the young man gave him was very close to many Lily had given him so many years ago. It dawned on Severus yet again that this boy who wore his father's persona so very well, was more like his mother than anyone else. Gifted in Charms, temperamental, and with more morals than was survivable.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said before returning to his Potions book, leaving Severus to his memories and regrets.

Harry walked around the side of a stack of shelves and froze at the sight he saw.

On one of the low sofas, Hermione sat with a book -not unsurprisingly, and Viktor's head on her thigh. He looked asleep but for his hand that was tangled in her hair. They looked... peaceful.

Hermione was a consumer of knowledge and though she seemed interested in her book, she seemed not so lost in it to prevent her from running an idle hand through Victor's hair as well.

Harry backtracked and left the two to themselves. Hermione hadn't confided much in him during the last few weeks. Seeing as he wasn't around that much, he should have expected that but in his absence, she had grown closer to Viktor.

Harry liked Viktor a lot, he wasn't the most talkative person, but he had a good head on his shoulders and listened carefully to anyone who spoke. On top of being a thoughtful person, something his sometimes gruff exterior hid, he was also a powerful wizard. For the first task, he had had enough power to send his dragon to sleep with one spell to the eye.

Neither the dragon nor her clutch had been harmed. Harry supposed his regular route might have been more… brutal but he had heard Hermione when she had expressed worry for the dragons.

He supposed it was the beginning of how Viktor had won Hermione over. While Harry missed having her around, his schedule and workload kept him busy.

He missed Ron too, he thought as he walked back to Gryffindor tower. But given how much time he spent with the twins and Lee Jordan, he couldn't say he was missing the younger Weasley.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked upon entering the twins' dorm room.

"Are you going to help?" Fred asked, looking up hopefully.

"Perhaps," he drawled, Snape was starting to rub off on him, "but I would like to know what we are doing."

"We are making truffles."

The twins grinned.

But then George sighed, "The potion we have down, it is the chocolate flavour we can't get right."

Harry sighed, "Let me see the recipe."

Grinning Fred handed him the book of wicked baked goods. Harry's read of the directions was sparse and unhelpful. It was more of an ingredient list, aside from the one clue about mixing the warm cream in with the cocoa first.

"Well," Harry began, "you're in luck. I know how to bake and this recipe is missing salt and vanilla."

The twins had to adjust their potion to the new ingredients but according to them -because Harry refused to be turned into an armadillo, it tasted fantastic.

Harry was glad to pick up new techniques and information about potions. The twins talked animatedly, despite not always following a single train of thought. He learned more from them in one evening than three years of potions with Snape. Which was good because Harry, regrettably, would be joining their class. George agreed to be his partner and Fred would partner with Lee who was the odd person in the class.

"You bake."

He nodded and popped one of the delicate truffles into his mouth.

Warily, Fleur did the same. She nearly groaned as the flavour of rich bittersweetness overcame her senses. Damn them if what they said about women and chocolates wasn't true. The number of girls who didn't like chocolate was tiny, but any woman who did like chocolate, truly liked chocolate.

"Good?" Harry asked her.

She couldn't help but purr her mmmhmm.

He flushed slightly but grinned, "Glad they're up to your standards."

"You think my standards are so high?" she asked without thinking

Harry was mostly an enigma, a puzzle she wanted to solve.

If he wasn't so damned polite she might have been offended that a hetrosexaul boy wasn't at all phased by her presence. However, taking insult from Harry was like being mad at sunshine for shining, it wasn't his fault he lit up a room, it was just his nature.

Except her father was on to her. She had always been close with her family, hard not to be when everyone outside of the family treated her as less than human. But she had always been closest with her father, whose patience was infinite and whose support always gave her strength.

After her last letter home, one she couldn't quite remember what details she had shared about the boy she had danced with at the Yule ball, her father had written back. And in his neat handwriting, she could hear the tone of amusement in the words.

Alors, qu'est-ce que tu aimes chez ce garçon?

'So, what do you like about this boy?'

It was embarrassing that he had seen what she hadn't seen herself. It was a bit embarrassing that she was smitten with Harry Potter.

If she was being objective, he wasn't all that handsome. He was a bit scrawny, scarred, and most notably, three years younger than her. But he was sweet, strong, and above all else, treated her like she was a person. Not an object of lust, not subhuman, and never like an air-headed girl, but a real person.

And, perhaps, she was enamoured that he treated everyone that way. And there was something that drove her to want to be special to him. For him not just to be respected but inspire more in him.

She wasn't in love with him. But she could imagine the possibility of that depth of feeling.

Only, he was so damned oblivious to everything and three years younger than her. Although Harry didn't act like he was fourteen, if she hadn't known better, she would think that he was older than she was.

"You can have the rest," he said, holding out the plain box to her.

She blinked at him, having been jerked from her musings.

His eyes were so green, no one had eyes like him.

"Fleur? I promise I didn't let the twins poison them."

She took the box, "Merci. Where did you learn to bake?"

"My aunt had me baking and cooking by the time I could stand."

She frowned. "Isn't that a bit dangerous?"

He shrugged, "Oil burns are not fun, but I was a quick learner."

"Do you like cooking?"

He thought about it for a moment, it was as if no one had ever asked him that nor had he thought about it before. "I don't like being forced to do anything. However, I think I do like baking and cooking. I like making things."

"You think?" Fleur asked, "Pourquoi?"

He smiled, though it was bitter around the edges. "If I get to eat when I'm in the kitchen, I like it. But I don't like the smell of hot food on an empty stomach."

She wanted to poke at that, she really did. But a part of Harry being humble was him being private. And she knew that if she attempted to bull down his walls he would avoid her.

So instead she said, "Donc, if you ever feel like learning repas français, I'd be happy to sit at your table."

He raised a brow, unconsciously stretching the pale scars on his right side.

It pleased her that he didn't seem to remember he had scars around her. She could tell because in the halls he was often ducking his head and avoiding eye contact with everyone. But never with her. With her, he always made eye contact and never hunched his shoulders.

"You cook?" he asked, sounding disbelieving.

And rightly so.

"Of course not, mais, I like eating and I have excellent tastes."

He grinned, "Alright, but you have to find the recipe so you can't hold me completely liable if your French food isn't as good as you claim it is."

She sniffed, "I'll take you to the continent and you'll never want to come back to this triste island."

"Triste?" he asked, mercifully his accent wasn't terrible. There was nothing worse than an Englishman's accent when speaking in her beautiful mother tongue, with the exception of an American accent. But luckily for her, she didn't encounter many Americans.

"Sad. Your petit triste island."

He huffed a laugh, "Alright, mademoiselle, on that note let's practice."

She rose to her feet and carried her gift to a safe-ish corner of the room.

Their duels were always a lot of fun. Harry had an artless grace about him. He moved like he was a skittish doe and a bird whose wings had caught the wind. He was never still and could avoid most spells before she had even released them.

It was a lot of running around and quick thinking to keep up with him, something that delighted her. He wasn't bothered by her competitive nature, which warmed her heart, since most men felt demasculinized by her talent.

It was possible that his reflexes were better than hers, but her endurance was better. He was always more winded than her after an hour. Of course, that might have had more to do with the amount of strength he expended in overcharged spells and trying to control his magic.

Though his 'control' wasn't all that great.

His last spell had shot out a gust that expanded outwards, in both directions.

Fleur was able to shield against it, but Harry was knocked off his feet. He fell forwards and just barely caught himself on his hands and forearms before his nose met stone.

He grunted and she winced in sympathy, that had to have hurt.

He rolled over on his back and she sat down beside him. She grinned down at him. "I could say you keep stealing my victories. Potter one, Potter zero."

"Ha ha," he drawled, but she could see the humor sparkling in his eyes.

He sat up. "I can't help feeling like I'm getting worse."

"You are growing more powerful, but I wouldn't say worse. Your spells are increasing in variety and precision. Most of the time anyway."

He looked away from her, "Yeah, more dangerous too."

"Harry," she put a hand on his knee, "it's going to be alright."

But he shook his head, "What if I hurt someone I care about? I don't want to hurt anyone by accident."

"That's why you're at school. It takes time, you have to give yourself time."

He looked at her, the emerald of his irises surrounding the black ink drops of his pupils. He sighed, brushing himself off, "Time, right. That reminds me, I have a stack of papers to get through for tomorrow. I'll see you later, Fleur."

"Good night, Flyboy," she teased.

He spared her a grin before leaving the Room of Requirement.

She sighed and stretched out before retrieving her box of chocolates. Now that she was alone, she allowed herself a groan at the rich chocolatey taste with a hint of raspberry. She closed her eyes to savour the moment.

With such sweet flavours melting on her tongue, she couldn't help but feel as if Harry Potter was purposely trying to seduce her. And if she were being honest with herself, he was succeeding more thoroughly than any man had before him had managed.

Fleur Delacour was the most remarkable person he had ever met. Self-assured, brilliant, and witty. He could go on and on, about the list of things he liked about her. But he felt a bit guilty as he knew part of what made them friends was him not fawning over her.

When he got into the common room he was relieved to see Hermione in an armchair on her own, for once.

"Hermione," he breathed in relief plopping down across from him.

She looked up with brows raised, "Hi Harry, you alright?"

He nodded, then shook his, "Can I ask you a question?"

She frowned, "Of course."

"You and Viktor are dating, right? Girlfriend, boyfriend?"

"Yes," she said, an unconscious smile curling her lips. She shut her book, "Now, what's the matter?"

He ran a hand through his hair, "Does the age difference bother you? Does it bother him?"

She gave him a knowing smirk, "No, it doesn't." Then her face fell into more serious lines. "Harry, you and I, were not like most people. For the last four years, we have faced death and consequences that most people our age couldn't even imagine. So yes, technically Viktor is two years older than me, and will graduate when I still have two years left of school, however, in four years, when I'm nineteen and he's twenty-one no one is going to care."

He nodded, taking a seat beside her.

She smirked again, "I saw you at the ball, everyone did. The way you look at her-"

"I don't gawk at her," he said a bit too quickly. But it was true, he was not like the mobs of boys who swooned at her every word.

"Let me finish," Hermione reprimanded, "The way you look at her is only outmatched by the way she looks at you."

He knew his face must be scarlet at this point, "That's not true."

Hermione whacked him over the head with her book, "Get your head out of the cauldron, Harry. You don't have to keep proving you're oblivious. We get it already. But next time you're in a room with her, pay attention."

He thought if he tried paying any more attention he would lose his reserve. But, perhaps, that was a battle he was willing to concede. An image of Fleur eating one of his chocolates flashed through his mind.

He was eighteen years old, he might be scarred and skinny now, but one day, the physical age difference wouldn't be significant. Too bad he had absolutely no idea how to approach the subject, and despite what Hermione said, he had a hard time believing that Fleur would be interested in him.

Besides, she had fallen for Bill Weasley. Who was Harry to get in between what was meant to be?

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