A/N: I really appreciate the reviews, the new favs and follows, many thanks. Also, I've decided to set-up a discord server for those of you who'd like to talk to me about the fic. I'm easily reachable there. More on that at the end.
Betas: My thanks go again to my trusted betas, Darkened Void, Crippled Witcher, and some caring helpers from the Flowerpot server, who've worked tirelessly to check my work. Bravo!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor the mentioned brand names. They belong to their respective creators.
Please enjoy.
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Chapter 2: Of Curtains, Water and Blazes
August 24th, 1994
Black Manor, London, England
Sirius sat at the desk in his study with piles and piles of books and sheets of papers strewn across the surface. The backlog of documents needing his signature was always a dreaded venture but it needed to be done, lest his business and the upkeep of his estate go out the window.
His study, a spacious room with a high ceiling to accommodate the shelves of books lining the walls, indicated that a highly educated intellectual frequented the room, espousing a sense of ambition and entrepreneurial finesse. The people who had purchased and collected these books were indeed such individuals, however, Sirius had never considered himself as one of them. Most of the books in the room belonged to his late father and his father before him. They were relics of a once-influential family that had wielded power like others handled their swords, with consideration and precision.
He was the last direct male descendant of the once feared Noble and Most Ancient House of Black ever since his father Orion, his uncle Cygnus and his younger brother Regulus had passed away. The only other remaining blood-related family were not on speaking terms with him. His cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa had married into families who had abandoned the Blacks after his father's passing, leaving him to pick up the pieces of what was left. Since then, Sirius had been less than inclined to exchange pleasantries with his relatives, opting only to remain in contact with his only other cousin who'd left the family out of spite. Andromeda, who had split with them, had done so after his mother Walburga and aunt Druella had opposed the marriage between his cousin and the muggle-born wizard Edward Tonks.
After Sirius had become head of the household, he had offered Andromeda a way back into the family, despite his mother's strong opposition. The former had been grateful for the offer but had still chosen to remain an 'outcast' and in the safety of the muggle world with her husband, Ted Tonks. Her daughter, Nymphadora, had recently been extended the same opportunity to join the Black family, but also she declined his invitation. He could sympathize with the young Auror's decision. Nobody would want to join the DMLE while also declaring a political view that may be construed as the losing side.
Scoffing at the idea of 'losing side' he couldn't help but let the words remind him of his commitment to the cause. Before his father had passed under suspicious circumstances, he'd formed an agreement with the esteemed and world-renowned wizard of legend and former headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Old Orion had seemingly agreed to a concerted effort to push back against an emerging group of conservative radicals within the families of old - the other ancient and noble houses that populated the highest positions of power within the country. Sirius was certain that it was that agreement that saw his family get decimated so shortly after. If he didn't know any better, he'd have considered it an act of retribution for some form of betrayal that his father had committed against an unknown party.
Despite having gotten access to his father's documents and ledgers the man had always kept on his person, Sirius had never learned who the responsible party was that perpetrated the murders. It was unusual for the old man to have forgone the documentation of any secret meetings and it left him with little to go on. Since his ascension to head, Sirius had not made any strides toward finding out what had happened to his relatives. The investigations had discovered foul play in all three of them, but no further traces leading to the perpetrators had been discovered. Madam Bones had been the one to inform him, her downcast eyes proving her equally unsatisfied feelings over the premature conclusion to the case.
Murders were always serious business in the magical world and it was rare that perpetrators would escape unscathed. Magical tools for investigations had only rarely been unable to provide evidence, pointing toward somebody pulling the strings from within the walls of the institution that tried to shed light on the matter.
Whether that was true or just his feelings trying to lay fault at someone, he couldn't say. The only thing he was certain of was that he had to watch out for his actions. In the past, before he'd become a father to an orphaned boy, he would have dared to risk far more and weathered any consequence with his chest puffed out. Now, his behaviour outside of his home as well as inside of it was being watched.
When the deaths of his male relatives took place in the winter of 1984, his rise to the head of house ruffled feathers. People had hoped to coax him into spending his family's money on odd investment opportunities. Sirius, as mentioned before, never considered himself a savvy businessman, but he knew a bad investment when he saw one, a gift of experience his father had instilled in him. In his grief and feelings of betrayal, he had refused all proposals of doing business, locking himself away from those that may have had a hand in the murders.
Another consequence of the murders was the sudden fear of associating with the Black family in social circles. His family had been considered the vanguard of pureblood propriety, an ideal to strive toward and mingle with at any opportunity. Sirius had even secured the hand of Celine in marriage, a fellow pureblood. However, after the murders, everything had come undone and all previous agreements had been nulled and voided, leaving him to another pile of shattered hopes and dreams.
The final nail in the coffin had been the Potters' accident in '86, leaving him with barely any family and friends left. If it hadn't been for Harry, who had arrived at his doorstep the next day, Sirius wouldn't be sure where he would have ended up today.
With the arrival of his godson, Sirius' responsibilities shifted away from the past and onto the future. When the last will and testament of the Potters was read to him, the only instruction they'd left was that he raise their son to the best of his ability and when the time was right, to introduce him to his heritage. Until then, it would be up to Sirius to manage the assets of House Potter and do with it as he saw fit.
It had been quite vague but he figured they worded it that way to confuse onlookers who would be keen to know their family's plans. Sirius could only infer from previous conversations he'd had with Lily and James on what 'raising' their son meant - no mentions of magic until he showed magic or learned of magic.
Since then, Sirius had commissioned the reconstruction of an older manor and focussed on making everything muggle-like. The only magic that surrounded the house was protective charms and an anti-apparition ward that would repel uninvited guests. Spells that would hide the house weren't used as it would defeat the purpose of being perfect 'muggles'. The house was equipped with the most modern technologies money could buy, leaving Sirius to read through all user's manuals for the numerous home appliances in order not to accidentally set the home on fire.
Realizing he couldn't possibly maintain and clean the large home all by himself while taking care of a scared boy, Sirius had considered how to replace the absence of the house-elf workforce. Kreacher had been left to maintain the upkeep of Grimmauld Place and serve at the pleasure of his widowed mother and aunt, on the condition that both would not interfere with his life unless the need for his attention was dire.
To ensure that they'd never possibly send for him and accidentally let an owl fly through the home with a letter in its beak, he had granted them a generous allowance for personal use. So far, the agreement had worked.
After the dismissal of his house-elf from his service, Sirius had to consider how to manage his home life. The only chance to provide the boy with a sustainable situation was to balance the scale between them. The staff at home had to be at least partially muggle to manage the home that lacked all magical means, the practice of magic forbidden on the premises. But he also required staff that knew about magic or knew how to use magic in case of emergency.
Sirius had to put on an elaborate, long-term act using the home as a stage and the staff as the curtain behind which he'd have to hide to continue his obligations to his magical affairs. It had been nerve-wracking in the beginning and, if it hadn't been for Celine, he would surely have crashed and burned in the first weeks of raising young Harry.
Truly, Celine had risen to the occasion like the natural talent she'd always been. Always aiming to be the best she could be at something she'd never done before, being a parent.
Looking back on it, Sirius could scarcely believe how he had managed to convince her family to let her 'work' at his estate as head of the staff. He knew that she would have joined him at his estate regardless but he hadn't wanted to burden her with a rift in her family. There were enough cut-off or missing relations to go around in their small family.
Celine had happily accepted the position, allowing her to fulfil the role that Lily had bestowed on her as godmother to Harry. But she had to maintain her role as 'housemaid' to convince the rest of magical society that she was only there to work, not play house with Sirius. A condition her parents had insisted upon.
The rest, as it were, was history. Together, Sirius and Celine, they'd pulled the strings of the people working on the estate behind an invisible curtain while Harry grew up, perfectly unaware of the forces at work in his own home.
It was cruel and deceitful, but it was all to protect the boy from the magical world his parents didn't want him to see and possibly suffer, whatever the cost.
Yes, cost, he mused. Sirius massaged his head to alleviate the heavy set feelings that emerged at the mention of the word. The consequences of his past had denied him many things others took for granted.
The fact that Narcissa's son, Draco Malfoy, was set to inherit his title, family name and assets worried him. The laws of succession were patriarchal and he was partially grateful for that. If they'd included female members of the family, they would have either spelt catastrophe, if things fell to his mother, or, they would have made young Nymphadora a target if Sirius made the wrong enemy. Blessedly, the laws of succession protected young Tonks from harm. Were the circumstances any different, he'd have preferred her over Draco any day, as he found much of himself reflected in her.
While Sirius didn't have the political savvy of his late father nor the financial brilliance that was his uncle's, he did manage his family's investments well enough to maintain his wealth and lifestyle to raise an orphaned boy. Conceiving a son of his own was out of the question for him. The deaths of his male relatives were still unresolved, evidence indicating that foul play had been at hand but otherwise inconclusive as to who committed the murders and why.
Endangering another child, even if his own, to such sinister circumstances disagreed with him well enough that even Celine, who'd have been fine with a child born out of wed-lock, would not dissuade him from his decision. It was for this reason as well he'd yet to enter Harry into his will, terrified by the idea that somebody might come to hurt the young innocent boy.
Drowning in his musings, Sirius almost missed the noise at the window. A pointed 'tock' alerted him to a rather dishevelled looking owl carrying a letter in its beak. Usually, owls would drop their cargo in a designated box but when he was in his office, they'd make their way to his window.
Getting up from his heavy leather chair, Sirius walked over to the large window behind him and opened it with a hard yank, allowing the owl to drop the letter in his extended hand. Bringing the letter up to his chest, he studied the writing on its surface.
"Weasley?" he scoffed, his voice underlining a sense of confusion. "What in Merlin's name do they want?"
The owl called at him, evidently waiting for him to either offer a letter in return or a reward for its services. It was essentially what accounted for the muggle equivalent of mail postage.
Walking back to fetch a knut from a small bowl on his desk, he offered it to the bird which picked at the food rather incompetently before flying off with difficulty, almost hitting a street lantern on its climb up.
Shaking his head at the disappearing animal, Sirius closed the window firmly and returned to sit at his mahogany desk, adding another piece of literature to the already impressive pile. He'd read the letter later.
Looking at the grandfather clock in his room, he noticed that it was soon time for a session of the Wizengamot. An escaped criminal had been caught and a re-evaluation of his still pending sentence was required for which he had to be present to pass the amended sentence.
He hated participating in these sessions, having long loathed how they'd handled his family's murders and how they had effectively been the cause for the cases to be shelved. The existence of a cabal working against him within the ranks of the Wizengamot seemed almost guaranteed, considering that many of the currently active members suffered severe economic as well as political defeats during his father's prime.
If Sirius were a betting man, and he had been in the past, then a plot to murder and eviscerate his family was a fairly safe assumption. The problem was, he had no idea who'd been resourceful or connected enough to come up with such trickery. The Blacks had been one of the families who had led a large political bloc in the Wizengamot until his father's passing. In the aftermath of the crimes, the loyal factions had collapsed overnight, the allied seats breaking away from the Black family and running in other directions, but drawing no direct attention to another player.
The death of Lily and James on the other hand, while suspiciously close in timing to his own family's deaths, provided no leads that would raise the idea that foul play had been involved. Their accident was ruled just that, a typical accident like any other muggle in a car would experience.
The report on their deaths had been phrased exactly like that, 'a muggle accident like any other'. Highlighting the word 'muggle' as the reason why they'd died. Not how they'd passed, but why. The last stab at the family that had been very supportive of wizards and witches participating in the muggle world.
A perfectly noble cause if I ever saw one.
At the time of their passing, Sirius had still been grieving his relatives, when a muggle official had come to drop off the miniature form of James. The child's striking emerald eyes had been dulled by tears, having lost their former brilliant shine.
James' parents had passed relatively young for magicals of their pedigree. The Potter family line had been famous for long lifespans and fertility. In times past, the Potter's youngest unmarried female members were sought after so much that 'auctions' had been held to win the hand of the young maidens.
Of course, the Potters were not uncaring of their offsprings' romantic pursuits and allowed them to choose their mates. It was only when a mate remained elusive or a preferred partner couldn't be selected that an auction of the most agreeable potential spouses had to be held. The Potters were a loving and progressive family but they were also pragmatists.
Over generations, the Potter relations grew too dilute and only the furthest relations almost going back generations remained, leaving the boy without a living magical relative. In the muggle world, Harry was registered as the sole heir of James and Lily Potter with no further relations being recorded. Petunia and her husband Vernon had seen to that, claiming that 'freakish' relations were unwanted.
Within the purview of the Ministry of Magic, he was heir to the Potter name and everything that came with it. However, as he was too young and yet to prove any magical affinity, the Ministry deemed to place the Potter assets and titles in a trust that would be governed by a select group chosen from the body of the Wizengamot. Upon citing the written will of the Potters, that Sirius be given control of the Potter assets, the Ministry's legal department argued that the Black assets were already too enormous to justify the access to another powerful and wealthy family's assets.
The wording of the laws that the Ministry applied was so intricate that Harry had an ill chance of getting what was rightfully his. Lines upon lines of legal jargon would determine more reasons to keep Harry from his inheritance than offer guidance as to how to meet the conditions to release it.
Sirius suspected that it was a ploy to hold on to the vast riches of the Potter family, amongst which the family grimoire with secret magicks as well as magical artefacts would be included. It wasn't every day that an ancient magical family ceased to exist and other families frothed at the mouth at an opportunity to pounce on its treasures.
To protect Harry from the hyenas at the Ministry and some extended relations, Sirius laid claim to the boy, citing a magical oath he'd given to his parents to be his guardian should the need arise. With the legal backing of the registered written oath stored in the Potter family vault, as well as the inspection of Sirius' magical signature threaded to Harry's soul, the little boy had been released to his godfather's custody. Harry had been rendered unconscious throughout the entire ordeal. It was underhanded but again, necessary.
Sirius had, since that day, been doing his best to keep the magical world at bay, keeping his promise to Lily that Harry be only informed of the magical world if he practised accidental magic just once. To this day, Harry had yet to perform a single spark of magic to meet the conditions of that promise.
If he was honest, letting Harry know that magic existed would have made everyone's lives far easier. The boy would miss out on the wonders of magic and would have to satisfy himself with the knowledge that he'd never perform magic, but he would know it existed. That alone might be something he'd find joy in. It was what Sirius felt would be a logical conclusion. Magic wasn't to be feared but admired for its own sake.
Be that as it may, Sirius never had to think about not being able to perform magic and thus would never be able to fathom the feelings of those who were born squibs. If Filch was any indication, the horror of Harry becoming like that unlovable, old bastard put the fear of Morgana in him.
He sighed another tired breath to his musings.
Lily, as a muggle-born, knew exactly what would happen to those who learned of magic but couldn't use it. Petunia had made herself quite clear that magic or anything related to magic, even her little nephew, would never be allowed to trespass upon her doorstep. It had been an attitude Lily may have taken to inspire her approach to Harry's upbringing. She sought to spare the child the heartache and disappointment that would poison his mind against his parents and their magical acquaintances.
But if Sirius' friendship with the muggle-born witch bore any educational fruit, it was the quote he'd learned of, with which he agreed the most. It was a phrase he'd heard her mention when talking about her muggle father and it had stuck with him due to its catchiness.
"Anything that can go wrong will go wrong," he quietly told himself before he chuckled at the memory, the thought at the past banter spreading warmth through his body.
He was sure that Harry would find out eventually and that it was up to him to soften the blow of the news. Such a secret was, after all, mind-blowing to most people, and his godson, for all his parents' well-meant intentions, was equally as susceptible.
Looking up at the clock at the other end of his study again, he quietly gasped, having forgotten about the Wizengamot session he was supposed to attend in but a few minutes. Rushing out of his chair, he began collecting his needed belongings and quickly moved toward the door to exit his study. Walking down the stairs from the first floor of the manor, Sirius informed whoever was still in the building that he'd be going out for a bit and that he'd be back before dinner.
Walking out the front gate, he moved toward the alley across the street where he disillusioned himself and, once he was sure that he vanished without notice, apparated away.
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Same day but somewhere else entirely...
South-East of Toulouse, East-Pyrenees, France
The area between Spain and France had been a popular destination for motorsports of various kinds. The beautiful landscape with its rich colours and vast fauna and the seasonal changes and conditions drawing muggles to its region regularly. For Jean, standing atop a small hill that oversaw one of the many valleys splitting the mountains, it was always a genuine pleasure to come here. On this occasion, however, there was little comfort evident as his demeanour was defined by his body's stiffness, evoking a sense of trepidation. In his hand he held a boxy device with an antenna, speaking into it in intervals and with a touch of worry marring his words.
"How long before they're expected at the last control point?" Jean asked, his gaze focussed on the map that laid on top of the camping table, in his other hand he held the walkie-talkie.
"Any minute now. As long as they don't have a puncture," a buzzing French voice responded instantly, the unnatural noise disturbing the peaceful quiet that surrounded the man.
The agitation drew lines on his sweaty forehead above his aviator sunglasses, his skin glistening in the burning sun. He could sit in the shade under the large standing umbrella, but instead, he continued to pace a circle into the dirt around it, digging a trench with each lap.
He couldn't fathom why Fleur hadn't made it to the end yet, despite having clearly prepared herself for the stage. The stage wasn't a difficult one and would have posed little challenge to her driving skills. Even a puncture in the tire wouldn't have demanded much of a time penalty. The dust roads here weren't plagued by rocks or too uneven a terrain, she wouldn't have stopped to change the tire but persevered until the end.
No, this wasn't a possible tire puncture or anything similarly mundane that has caused the delay in her arrival at the second main control point. This had to be more serious than he'd first thought. Gripping the walkie-talkie more firmly in his hand, he engaged the sending button that responded to his push with a two-tone beep.
"Did the car have any damage before they started?" he asked again, the demand to know more growing with each breath.
The voice didn't answer right away, deepening the sense of dread within him as he waited impatiently with the communication device close to his face.
With a rasp to the voice, the walkie-talkie returned to life and transmitted the urgently awaited response.
"Uh...we've...we've had to temporarily fix a water leak. The car slightly overheated on the first run but the guys believe the engine didn't blow its head gasket. We didn't see any oil in the water reservoir. So, the concerns there are minimal. We're more worried about her ferocious driving. Were it anyone else, I'd wager the car might make it to MC2. But with her…," the voice paused worriedly, "well, she might overdo it."
At the confession of the man on the other end of the conversation, Jean couldn't help but groan into the walkie-talkie. Luckily, he had not yet engaged the response button and made his discomfort public. As the owner of the team, he had to remain levelheaded and not let others know that he was put on the back foot. Leadership would become impossible and would allow disobedience to fester among the ranks of his employees.
His shoulders sagged in acceptance, the weight of his worries pulling him to lay back on the heavy-duty fabric of his chair. The walkie-talkie resting on his thigh, he breathed a sigh of defeat and raised it to his lips to express his words of surrender.
"D'accord, Let me know once you know anything. I'll continue to observe the weather conditions out here and report changes. JD out."
Dropping the communication device on the table into the sunlight, he scoffed angrily into the air, shaking his head at his helpless state. His darkened spectacles continued to hide his raw expression of displeasure, masking the majority of his face and protecting his eyes from the light that was reflected by the fluctuating hot air crossing the flatter terrain in the distance. The shade provided by the larger umbrella offered him refuge from the roasting Mediterranean sun above him.
The walkie-talkie kept on sounding other team members' conversations, the dialogues being mostly about other driver pairs' expected performances or inquiries into the logistics of spare parts and tools. Any word on his daughter's location or performance however remained unmentioned, leaving the man to stew in his worries.
The reason why Jean was so far outside the encampment of the rest of the teams that participated in this event, was as boring as it was important. Usually, another man would be sitting in his place, the eyes tracking the movement of the clouds and protocolling changes in the behaviour of the wind. You'd think that one look at the sky would suffice to decide whether one should choose tires for rain or sun. But he wasn't an expert on climates and could as such only provide what children learned in school. The man who was responsible for the job had called in sick that day and since they'd never considered any back-up person for the job, Jean had chosen to fill the position temporarily. His respect for his sick employee grew over the day; only somebody who liked to study the weather could fathom sitting out here and stare at the sky all day.
He wished he'd never considered the position of climatologist in his team, but other teams began using experts on climate to determine the flow of wind. Wind affected the cars' ability to cut through the air and also affected their flight path, should they take off at a sudden drop in the road. There had already been several accidents due to sudden gusts pushing against the airborne vehicles. Some landings have been quite severe, smashing the chassis harshly and threatening the lives of the inhabitants in cars.
Thinking even further back, Jean breathed a sigh of relief at the improved safety regulations that the FIA (Federation Internationale de l'Automobile) had insisted be put into effect immediately after the infamous Corse crash of 1986. It was the game-changer for all future races in the world of Rallye and the end to the spectacle and rogue class of Group B. Fleur now sat in a car that benefited greatly from the strides made in automotive racing safety. Reinforced roll bars, fully fireproof racing overalls and emergency kill-switches that would choke the engine should it catch on fire, were introduced in the years since the terrible accident of his former rivals, the Potters.
The loss of their raw talent and their commitment to pureblood and muggle-born relations had been well received across the globe. Magicals and muggles, while wholly unaware of each other, felt the raw vacuum that the pair left behind in the world of motorsports. But nobody would have come close to the intensity of feelings that had erupted from the boy his daughter had held in her arms that fateful day.
Fleur had howled in pain as she squeezed herself onto the boy, not letting go. Before he had been able to rip her from young Harry's body, the latter had already collapsed and dragged the limp form of his daughter with him. When he'd asked the medical staff at the event about the cause for their mutual collapse, they'd cited emotional trauma for the boy and severe exhaustion for his daughter. Later, at a magical hospital, they had told him that her magical core had suffered some kind of bursting episode. The how and why remained unknown.
Rubbing at his arm, he couldn't help but let a ripple of anxiety roll across his body, ending with a tingle at the furthest part of his extremities. Growing more restless by the minute, he leaned into the burning sunlight to study the weather conditions again, trying to avert his gaze to avoid being blinded and remain clear-sighted. Discovering no noticeable changes in the weather conditions, he decided to pack up his things and move them into the rented 4x4 that was parked behind him; the vehicle slightly tilted to the side due to the uneven ground it was left on.
Dropping the last few bags into the back seat and folding the table and storing it in the boot, the man went to grab the walkie-talkie from the table, licking his lips to combat the dry skin. The black device burned at the touch but he didn't care and pushed the 'send' button with determination.
"JD to Roland, come in," he called into the device.
"Roland, go," the buzzing voice answered almost immediately.
"I think we'll be fine now. The weather is clear and no changes in the direction of the wind as far as I can see. I'm packed up and ready to leave for MC2. I'll see you there." he stated, his voice evoking the sense of disinterest in a discussion on the matter.
"I see, affirmative. We'll prepare a spot for your arrival," the voice answered readily but was reluctant to continue. "I'm afraid, we've still no news on their whereabouts. They seem to have passed the third checkpoint but according to other teams, Fleur and Paula have yet to be seen again. We fear they may have had a wreck."
There, the words that he had dreaded to hear all this time had been finally uttered, the reluctance only adding to the frightening nature of their implication. Fear struck at his heart as his mind reeled from renewed images of bent metal and black smoke rising to the sky. The possible reasons for why Fleur and her co-driver Paula were delayed couldn't be counted on his two hands alone. The sheer amount of conceivable reasons simply outnumbered his fingers one hundred to one. He fought the urge to yell at the device in his hands. He couldn't shout at people simply because he wanted to, it wouldn't help anyone, much less those who went missing in the hills of the Pyrenees. Jean held on to the device in his hand much tighter than he did a second ago, his voice sounding much calmer than he'd expected.
"I'm coming down. This is ridiculous. People don't just up and disappear. This isn't a desert, we're in France for God's sake. Find them!" he instructed firmly, "JD out."
Lowering the walkie-talkie to his side and re-attaching it to his belt, he looked out to the almost endless line of the valley in front of him, his eyes scanning the skies for a signal. Something that may pinpoint the women's location. Anything that would calm the fast-paced beat of his heart.
As the seconds dragged on, he quickly accepted that fate and fortune never agreed to meet one's wishes and that he had little choice but to hope and pray that his eldest daughter knew her way out of whatever situation she'd found herself in.
She had, for better or for worse, to do this on her own.
###
The car sat motionless at the bottom of a relatively steep incline, a few dozen metres away from the road they'd exited just a while ago. The two women who'd driven the car up until then had to make an emergency stop as white smoke emerged from below the hood of their old but heavily modified Peugeot 205 GTI.
Fearing a total mechanical failure due to overheating, Paula had suggested they stop despite Fleur's hesitance to forfeit their lead over the competition. The latter had relented once the valves of their engine had begun to rattle noisily, indicating that the engine had in fact begun to overheat and cook the oil that was lubricating the overhead camshaft. The viscosity of the oil would have continued to lubricate the mechanical parts but the rise in temperature would also have had an impact on the head gasket that separated the coolant from the oil. Once that seal was ruptured, water would make its way into the combustion chamber and damage the engine.
Fixing a water leak was one thing, overhauling or replacing an entire engine would spell catastrophe for the rest of the championship. The time penalty would be so severe Fleur would have no chance to remedy it no matter how talented and fast she thought she was.
They'd been stranded for a long time now, Fleur's head dipped below the surface of the engine compartment, still searching for the leak that hindered them from continuing their race to the second main control point, also known as the finish line. Paula, the copilot paced impatiently next to the car, the heat of the sun drenching her in her sweat. With her racing overall's sleeves slung about her hip, the undershirt clung to her skin, the lines of her sports bra's outline perfectly visible.
"Forget it, Fleur. The car is through. We'll never make it in time," Paula repeated as she fanned her face with her hand, trying and failing to cool herself under the merciless sun.
The frustrated words of the older woman bounced right off Fleur's ears. Her head was still hiding within the valley of the engine compartment, her eyes scanning the water lines leading to and from the radiator. The heat rising from the engine and down from the sun above almost roasted her. Angry words from the stressed individual next to her couldn't possibly add to her already intense sense of discomfort.
If she didn't already feel like she'd melt at the increase of one more centigrade Celsius, she'd have opted to set the woman on fire with the snap of her finger. Instead, she straightened and gave Paula a focussed gaze, the Veela behind the unassuming eyes thrashing at the chains.
"All we need to do is find that leak. Once we seal it up, we'll be back on our way. But before we can even fathom doing any of that I'd need water. Would you consider helping me by fetching me some water from the river over there?" She raised her hand to point into the general direction behind the older woman. "Until you return with water, there isn't much I can do over here. The longer we wait and bemoan our bad luck, the less likely I can rectify the delay in the upcoming stages. I'm not forfeiting this run just because you didn't want to help."
Noticing that Paula had yet to make a move from her position by even a millimetre, Fleur moved away from the engine and faced her colleague, her jaw set in a tight clench. She breathed a calming breath and steeled her voice to clarify their situation to her colleague.
"I am the primary driver, Paula. I can't be bothered to run in the sun and get the water. You, however, can because you are less vital in this situation. Therefore, you are the dispensable element here. Now be more helpful and get that damn water already." The words came out grittier than she had intended but the heat was also getting to her and, frankly, she had almost no patience to spare. What surprised her more was that Paula, as the senior of the two, had so little will to continue in the face of adversity.
Paula stopped her fanning and glared at the younger woman, her face becoming a map split by blood vessels. Her neck widened at the displeasure that waited to explode out of her.
"Now you listen to me," she began while pointing a finger at Fleur. "Your father may be the team owner and he may be the one paying my salary, but I won't be treated like this by his stuck up daughter who thinks she's the hottest stuff around here. You're just a kid with an inkling of talent whose father has financed her entire career, whereas I have spent the last twenty years developing my skills and talent and dealing with fucking sexism."
She paused, realizing that she'd just thrown a tantrum, and swallowed to drown the rest of the tirade that waited to burst from her chest. Averting her gaze to hide her embarrassment at the outburst, she turned her body away from the silvery-blonde-haired young woman to give herself space to normalize her hot tone.
"When I'm telling you that the run is over, then it's over. Not because I'm lazy or hopeless, but because the situation is unsalvageable, and dying of a heat stroke in the middle of this," she waved at the environment, searching for a fitting word only to settle on, "'dump' for your unrealistic expectations is simply not worth it."
Raising her cloth-covered elbow to her face, Paula wiped at the sweat running into her eyes, blinding her with burning stings. Eyes clear again, she sighed at the sudden, apparent exhaustion that spread from her forehead toward the rest of her melting body.
The sun continued to whip its scorching rays into their bodies.
"Fleur, stop being a brat and call it quits right here. Let the team come pick us up and get back to camp. This is senseless," she tried to reason, her voice finally lacking spirit.
Fleur didn't react to the words and remained perfectly still, her eyes tracking the pacing woman's pacing with a predatory gleam.
Paula, who had her back turned to the Veela, seemed to have taken the younger woman's lack of a response as a sign that Fleur had seen reason and would follow her instructions. What she'd failed to notice was that Fleur had been moving her lips without making a noticeable sound. Getting slightly dizzy, Paula leaned herself against the car while holding her increasingly spinning head.
"What the…?" she began saying before mumbling something incoherent and falling into a heap next to the car, kicking up dust in her wake.
Eying her unmoving body on the ground, Fleur checked whether anyone else had witnessed the loud exchange before she pulled a wand from inside the leg of her racing overalls. The wood felt moist to her touch, the reason why making her feel dirty.
Uttering a quiet levitation spell, she carefully raised and deposited Paula's limp body in the co-drivers seat of the Peugeot. Tightening the chinstrap of the helmet and securing the body in the safety harnesses, Fleur ensured that Paula wouldn't risk injuring herself when they'd made their way back onto the dusty road. Satisfied, she closed the door and turned for the engine compartment with a fleeting glance at the plexiglass window of Paula's door that exposed a distorted but still clear enough image of herself.
Stopping in her tracks, she took a hasty step closer to inspect the reflection in the glass where she first noticed that she had begun her transformation into her avian form. The change was still just minor as her human features were still quite prevalent but her skin had started to make way for the tiniest threads of her light blue feathers.
Stepping away, she closed her eyes and practised her calming technique that she'd learned from her mother. It was a skill that every adult Veela would no longer need once their maturation was complete. Fleur, as an older teen, was still in her maturation period and prone to accidental transformations if provoked strongly enough. She, therefore, required mental cantrips that would centre her irate emotions. Many young Veela like her had to learn to control their emotions in their formative years, lest they never grow to grip their inner wild being by the beak.
Sensing the unintended transformation retreat, she opened her eyes and stepped toward the window again to study the skin on her face before checking the rest of her exposed arms. Her body having seemingly reverted to a fully human form, she stepped toward the engine compartment again and looked over her shoulder to check again for onlookers.
Encouraged by the continued absence of prying eyes, she drew her wand to cast two spells. One Reparo to quickly find the leak in the cooling system and fix it and Aguamenti to pour water into the radiator of the car. Using the chance, she bent over and summoned another round of water to soak her head of hair that swiftly banished the uncomfortable heat that had been roasting her brain.
Satisfied that she'd done all she could on that end, she dropped the hood of the car and collected the few tools she'd used before to find the problem in the muggle way. Having stowed everything in the back, she dropped the rear hatch and jumped into the driver's seat, strapping her helmet to her head and securing her safety harness. Glancing over to the passenger side of the car, she found Paula still sound asleep, still unaware of what had transpired.
Having completed her accelerated safety procedures, she started up the car and feathered the gas pedal. The car's engine roared to life with a reluctant cough and upon engaging the first gear, lurched forward as if slapped on the back.
Making her way back up the ledge from where they had originally driven off the course, Fleur couldn't stop a smile from forming on her face - she was back in the race again.
Due to their extensive memorization of the course's layout, Fleur knew the roads by heart but the lack of a co-driver giving her instructions weighed on the young woman's mind as she shaved past guard rails and mountain walls. Despite how close she came to the deadly objects, she continued to drive the car forward.
The constant bang coming out of the exhaust after she shifted gear and the whine of the differential, as well as the roar of the engine, served as reminders that not everything was lost and that there was still something that could be gained. It was now down to her and her noble Peugeot to make up for lost time.
Gradually getting back into her rhythm as a driver, she began mumbling the memorized pacenotes that were written down in Paula's booklet. Doing so, she managed to swerve the lion-themed car to take turns and curves efficiently enough to gain ground. Finding courage in her seemingly good performance and the stable temperature of the car, she upped the ante and took bigger risks at every coming turn.
The kicked-up dust blocked the sight in the rear-view mirror but she didn't care. What lay ahead mattered more as she pushed and pushed, and cut centimetre for centimetre at any given chance. The wheels of the car groaned under the stress and the door rattled at every pothole in the dusty road.
Her emotions ran high and her skin formed goosebumps. Yes, this was it. This was what it all was about. The excitement of speed, the danger and the success once crossing the finishing line. These were the things she did this for.
Her eyes sharpened to look so far ahead she could plan her next moves early. She engaged the clutch half a second earlier than before, pushing the brake with her toe while feathering the gas pedal with her heel. Bring the mass of the car forward and toss it to the side to slide around a hairpin corner with the grace of an elephant wearing ballet shoes.
The fans waving and urging her forward with their loud calls didn't distract her. She'd long forgotten they were even there, even if they'd jump out of her way mere metres from impact. Her eyes were already looking dozens of metres ahead, her focus already on the next moves to take.
Fleur's body moved comfortably with the flowing sways of the car, her hands and feet worked the steering, pedals and gear shifter in perfect concert. She was the conductor and the car was her orchestra. She'd decide and the car would follow.
No, that wasn't it. The car was her.
She felt it. It was a feeling every other racing driver hoped to experience in every race, the experience of the perfect lap.
She no longer thought about it and just did.
Even though she was almost taking off from the ground and the car struggled to hold on to the road beneath it, it felt like the world was slowing down, waiting for her to decide the next course.
Then she could see it. A large white banner with the black letters printed on it that she had so desperately been hoping to reach as fast as she could force her Peugeot's two-litre engine to go.
Suddenly seeing the finish line fast approaching, Fleur's heart began to fall into a false sense of safety before her memory jerked back into action and reminded her of the second to last pacenote in Paula's booklet.
"100J! D/C," she whispered apprehensively to herself.
100 metres, Caution Jump, Don't Cut corners!
As she glanced at her tachometer, she felt time slow, her heart beating loudly in her ears. The fiercely pumping organ drowned the noise around in the car.
'I'm going 160km/h and the jump is just ahead,' she reminded herself, trying to instil calmness in herself.
'I turn at the wheel too much, I'll go into a horizontal spin and I'll crash.'
'I hold the gas too long, the car will drop its nose too early and I'll crash.'
'I let off early, the car might drop its rear too early and I'll crash.'
No matter how she pondered the possible outcomes in those few seconds, an answer to her fear of taking flight in a metal cage seemed growingly irrelevant as the drop approached the car at terrifying speed.
Steeling her nerves, she trusted her instincts and acted accordingly. The moment the car left the ground, Fleur felt a tickling in her belly, a natural response to the feeling of weightlessness. Paula's hand appeared before her, the former's entire arm having been raised due to its limp state. Just as she was about to grab the floating hand, gravity pulled them back to earth again, the trip through the air ending with a resounding bang back onto the road.
Fleur had to hold onto the steering wheel tightly and counter the Peugeot's uneven landing. The impact wasn't as bad as she'd feared and was, therefore, able to maintain their direction safely. Just as she was trying to focus her eyes toward the far end of the road, she had passed the second main control point.
Punching the brakes hard, the wheels squealed in protest, burning at the sudden torture, releasing the pungent odour of stinking, scorched rubber into the cab of the car. Once they had stopped, she turned the engine off and breathed heavily, dropping her head against the headrest of her seat. Closing her eyes, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
She'd made it.
###
"Tell me what happened, Fleur," Jean demanded seriously, his face entirely unamused by her performance at her unwillingness to confess to what had transpired out there.
Fleur remained quiet, her gaze looking past her father who stood opposite of her as his eyes observed the gears turning behind her eyes.
"I need you to tell me what happened out there. I can't fix this if you won't give me anything to go on," the older man tried again, crossing his arms to emphasize his displeasure at her.
Still, Fleur remained unmoving, her features not betraying any guilt. On the contrary, she exhibited a sense of pride at what she had accomplished on her way to the finishing line. Perhaps, it was also out of spite at his disregard of her seemingly courageous and determined effort to succeed in spite of overwhelming hopelessness.
Visibly growing impatient with his daughter, Jean sighed in frustration, his hand massaging the bridge of his nose to relieve the agitating pressure building up there.
He took another breath and opened his mouth to try and convince his eldest daughter to tell him about what had happened on the road. He considered guilting her into telling him.
"Paula was completely out of it. She was disoriented, confused and utterly unaware of how she got here. All she seems to remember is that you had an unfortunate mechanical failure and went off the road to inspect the issue. Am I correct so far?" he recounted while he eyed his daughter, her face remaining impassive at his line of statements he'd heard from the dazed co-driver.
Fleur returned her focus on her father, her ocean blue eyes studying him. Recognizing that simply telling him about the disagreement wouldn't matter anyway. What had happened, happened. Her head dipped slightly until it grew into a full nod, confirming her father's retelling of events.
"But that is not all that happened, is it?" Happier now that she had chosen to react, he prodded further, using the momentum to urge her to tell him more.
"No, but I don't see how it matters," she finally replied, an irked huff almost escaping her. She'd made it to the finish line, hadn't she?
"It doesn't matter?" he paraphrased with a tone of disbelief. He let her reply bounce around his mind, contemplating her defiant behaviour. Her reluctance to give an immediate answer seemed strangely infantile and wholly unusual for her. The only times she would ever behave like this was when she had done something she'd found embarrassing. The nature of her attitude forced him to come to a troubling conclusion.
"Fleur, tell me you didn't use magic on her." His voice lacked humour, the time for childishness long over. Answers were now needed to combat the clouds that formed in his mind. If Fleur had done something and Paula remembered, there'd be hell to pay if he didn't act preemptively.
Her previous bravado evaporated and finally made way for a crack in her facade, a twinge of guilt escaped her eyes.
Jean sighed again. His body relaxed from his rigid posture but he maintained the distance between them. If he wanted to discipline her, he had to make sure that she understood his position.
Considering why she would resort to using magic, he opted to offer her an olive branch. "Did she attack you? Did she hurt you-"
"No!" she suddenly interrupted him, her foot moving one step closer to him in her fervour.
"Then what was it that made you use magic?" he rephrased at her instinctive lurch.
She couldn't help but let her embarrassment show, feeling like she was the little girl again that had set fire to her mother's precious curtains. "It's stupid."
"I'll decide what's stupid and what's not," he clarified, his patience thinned with each minute that passed without her full confession. "What made you use it?"
"Paula was being a complete bitch out there, Papa," she replied hotly, her disregard for decorum disappearing regardless of any possible eavesdroppers. She didn't care who listened and what they would think of her choice of words, regardless of whether her father had put up privacy charms or not. She wanted this interrogation to be over.
Jean didn't rise to the use of the expletive and threw her choice of words right back at her, punishing her use of language with his tone alone. "And because she's a bitch you knock her unconscious?"
Her eyes widened at his premature conclusion. Shaking her head at him, she made sure to correct him and understand that she wasn't the guilty party. "I didn't knock anyone out."
"Then what did you do?"
"Nothing, I just sang," she finally confessed, her eyes jumping across the length of the dirt on the ground.
"You sang?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows in question. The response struck him as odd and he couldn't make heads or tails of it. A sense of deja vu appeared to him but he couldn't place the feeling with its original memory.
Watching her father's eyes process her cryptic response, Fleur cleared her throat to clarify what her 'singing' entailed and prepared herself for hell to freeze at his reaction. "I was trying to fix a water leak that seemed to have reopened in the radiator while Paula spent her time bemoaning our misfortune. When I asked her to fetch us some water to help me find the leak, she outright refused to cooperate. She told me how it's a ridiculous idea to think that we'd still have anything left to gain."
Still not seeing it, he frowned at her with a shake to his head. "And then what? You sang to her face?"
"Hm-m," she hummed in the negative.
"She didn't exactly watch me as I began my spell. She'd started this strange monologue about her not so illustrious career. So while she turned away from me I pushed more magic into my voice and before I knew it, she collapsed on herself - dropped like a rock." She moved her hand in a gesture to emphasize the 'drop' part.
Going through what she'd just told him, he still couldn't connect the dots of what had happened. Her explanation seemed to revolve around the assumption that he'd understood what she was referring to.
"Spell? Singing? What are you even getting at?" His head continued to shake at each word.
"I used a frequency she couldn't have possibly been able to hear. It's genius, really," she clarified, hoping he would finally infer what she meant.
"Used a different frequ-?" he muttered before realization dawned on him. His face formed a look of shock that slackened the skin on it. Pulling himself together, his voice came out louder than he'd intended. "Fleur, did you transform in front of that woman?"
Her eyes widened at the question. Quickly, she waved her hands wildly at him, attempting to relativize what happened.
"No. At least not fully, I mean," she uttered, unsure how to best explain it.She wasn't actually sure if Paula had noticed anything. "I don't think she saw anything, and it was just the barest change of my skin. Her actions gave me no indication that she might have noticed anything. So I'm quite sure she didn't."
Jean listened to her tentatively, absorbing each word and mannerism to verify the honesty of her words. Finding nothing that would make him believe otherwise he couldn't help but look at her, his face forming the perfect picture of disappointment.
"Maybe Maxime was right to recommend you stop your racing aspirations," he began, raising his hand to halt his daughter's sudden jerk to disagree.
"At least for now," he clarified. "The Triwizard Tournament is taking place this year and Beauxbatons has been chosen as one of the schools to participate in it. You, as the most promising student of your year, are therefore expected to go and attend this competition."
The words felt like cold water crashing down on her. While this wasn't news to her, she felt like it was a punishment for her behaviour during the race. The two things were clearly separate matters but it served to renew her anger at Paula, who sat outside with confusion still marring her features.
Clenching her teeth, Fleur remembered Madame Maxime's instructions for the training she was given to prepare for the legendary magical tournament. And while it was indeed a prestigious event, Fleur didn't quite feel like she'd benefit as much as other wizards or witches would. If she won, and in her mind she definitely stood a chance to do so, then she would receive a prize only a magical would really be able to employ for the future. In respect to her racing dreams, a trophy to mark her success at a magical tournament meant little.
"I know. She'd told me at the end of last year. I've been training since then. Remember? Mother's tree suffered one of my mishaps," she admitted, shaking her head at her failed casting of a new spell she'd been gifted by her headmistress. Apolline had lamented the partial destruction of her favourite tree, giving her oldest daughter the most distressing glare she could muster. A shudder travelled down her spine at the memory.
"Consider this then," her father suddenly announced, his calmer voice and appearance wiping away her discomfort. "Since you still struggle to control your Veela nature, use the opportunity of going to England and participating in this tournament as a means to test your mettle. Meet new people and make friends."
"Take a break from all this," he let his hand travel around them, "and spend some time with fellow wizards and witches your age. Who knows, you might just benefit from a change in pace."
She nodded dejectedly at that and glanced toward the exit of their tent, her gaze falling on Paula's backside sat upon one of the camping chairs.
"What about Paula?" she asked her father, nodding her face at the entrance of the tent. The wind occasionally pushed the gap wider to expose what transpired outside.
A frown forming on his face, he turned to follow her gaze. Upon recognizing the subject of her question, he sighed tiredly.
"I'll deal with it. If she remembers anything compromising, I'll simply obliviate her and that will be the end of it. If she doesn't, then that's fine too," he explained, his shoulder offering a simple shrug.
"Either way, I'll probably rotate her and partner you with somebody else once you're back from Britain. Perhaps her lacking success as a co-driver has gotten her so frustrated she unnecessarily unloaded it on you."
Fleur remained quiet at that but loosened her low ponytail to allow her silvery-gold mane to fall freely around her shoulders. Massaging her scalp she moaned slightly in relief.
Taking notice of her silence, Jean went to add something else.
"In terms of your sportsmanship, you've done nothing wrong. It was a lousy situation and you simply tried to remain positive, if a bit zealously, I admit. But it was certainly better than Paula's defeatist attitude."
His final conclusion to the events of the race pleased her, the burden falling from her shoulders. Having his blessing or getting praised always left her wanting more, no matter how childish it made her feel. Stepping up on the podium and waving down at him while he gazed at her with pride was a long-held dream of hers. It was one she had every intention of achieving.
"There is always something that can be done," she mused aloud, not looking at him.
"There is always something that can be gained," he nodded in agreement.
Finally allowing a smile for his daughter, he held her by the shoulder before he turned to leave the tent but stopped again to speak to her.
"Pack your things and wait for me at the rental. We'll go home together."
After watching her father disappear through the gap in the tent, Fleur began collecting her things and packing them in her go-bag. The events of the day still going through her head, she regretted the way she'd handled it. Fleur began berating herself for her rather infantile solution to her problem that was Paula.
Satisfied that she packed all her belongings she nodded to herself before following her father through the same gap he had just disappeared through mere minutes ago.
###
Later that day, in the afternoon...
Black Manor, London, England
The sound of a wrench's ticking could be heard from the garage that was attached to the side of the house, along with the occasional curse echoing out through the large open door of the space. The rare sunlight of English weather illuminated the front of Harry's project race car, still showing its bare condition that awaited parts to garnish its chassis.
Standing at the workbench, Harry studied an object in his hand with great concentration, muttering words to himself in deliberation.
"You piece of crap that has come from the blazes of Tartaros. Why won't you work?" he growled to himself.
Turning the part over and over in his hand, he grew increasingly frustrated before sighing in defeat. Placing the part on the workbench under the bright neon light illuminating the working surface, he placed his hands on the bench and glanced over to a thin booklet that seemed to look like a repair manual for air compressors and turbochargers.
Deep in thought, Harry didn't notice the person approaching the house from the road, despite the gravel amplifying the movement with noisy crunches. He also failed to hear the attention-seeking knock coming off the frame of the garage door.
"Harry?" The female voice called, the way in which his name came of their lips espousing a sense of familiarity with the word.
"Huh?" He jerked, his body immediately straightening up and turning toward the origin of the call.
Recognizing the person grinning at him from the large opening of the garage door, he couldn't help but squint at her uncomfortably. The windows of the neighbouring houses reflected the waning sunlight, blinding him horribly.
"Hermione, what are you doing here?" He asked her once she'd realized his discomfort and moved closer to stand inside his holy space.
Her grin dropped to a flat line as his question seemed rather dull to her. She decided to humour him and answer with the obvious. "I came to visit."
"I can see that."
"Then why ask?"
"Because I didn't expect you here."
"Well, we could have remedied that if you'd only finally answered your phone."
"Oh." It was the only reply he could offer. He hadn't realized that Celine and Sirius leaving the house would require him to answer any calls to the manor. The staff were instructed not to respond to telephone calls to avoid misunderstandings, should they forget to inform their employers. It was therefore easier 'not to be home' than 'forgetting to remember a call'. It was quite possible that Hermione had called and simply decided to come visit on a whim. It was also kind of odd to do that as well. Clearly, Hermione was as smart as she was odd. He snickered at the thought.
"Quite." She eyed him, his amusement not making much sense to her.
"My bad, I guess," he admitted finally with a kind shrug, scratching his head.
"It's fine," she waved the unneeded apology off with a lazy hand, "I am the one imposing, after all."
He couldn't agree with her sentiment, finding her sudden appearance a very welcome surprise. He hadn't often had people come over. His godfather had chosen to keep people at arm's length, always opting to approach and visit others rather than invite anyone to their spacious and ballroom-worthy rooms. Celine had agreed with him on that but cited her position as housemaid as something unbecoming of telling the 'man of the house' what to do. He was sure that was absolute nonsense. While the two adults played the role of master and housemaid to the best of their ability, he knew perfectly well how infatuated they had always been with each other. He was a teenager, not blind.
Seeing Hermione grow uncomfortable at the silence, Harry quickly made to correct her previous statement. "You're not."
At his dismissal of her self-deprecation, she couldn't help but smile "Thanks."
He looked at her, studying her attire. She came wearing a shirt exposing her neckline that was garnished with a beautiful necklace, carrying a golden lion. The tight jeans hugging her legs and the red sneakers on her feet made her look more mature but also a lot cooler than Harry was used to. Her eyes bore a breath of dark make-up, bringing out the shine in her brown eyes. The usually bushy head of hair was straightened and pulled into a low ponytail with strands for bangs to frame her beautiful face.
Unaware that his face had become slack-jawed, he opened and closed his mouth like a fish swallowing water. Slowly regaining control of his features, he uttered the first words he could manage to pronounce without sounding as stupid as he felt. "You look different."
"What?"
Alarmed at his faux-pas, he jumped for a more appropriate response in his mind, figuratively grasping at straws as his mind went blank. He hadn't had this problem before with Hermione. Never felt this out of place in front of her before.
"You seem…," he tried again, only to stop mid-sentence again. God, somebody please dig a hole for me right now, groaned inwardly.
Watching him squirm, she raised an expectant eyebrow at him. She suspected what he was going through but wouldn't leave him a door to escape through. Instead, she went to make it worse. "Yes?"
"You look good," he mumbled, before averting his gaze to look as if he was studying the science that was behind the invention of the garage door. It was the best he could do.
A small but genuine smile formed on her face, the white of her teeth peeking out briefly. His response seemed to have had the desired effect, or maybe it had made it worse.
"Well, thanks for noticing," she responded, her sudden shy behaviour putting him on the back foot again. Watching her nervous face he nodded dumbly, his face trying its hardest not to smile awkwardly at her.
Finally giggling at him, she moved away from the spot in front of him and made her way toward his rusty Mercedes. The hood was still missing, allowing her to study the project in its entirety.
"So, what is it you're doing exactly? Oh, and also, language, Harry," she admonished him. "I could hear you curse from the bus stop. If I didn't know you, I'd have believed you to be a rather rude individual."
Embarrassed by her berating him, Harry bowed his head in shame.
"I didn't yell so loud," He argued meekly, rubbing at his neck again. Playing cute did work sometimes.
Seemingly unperturbed by his display, she went to eye him evenly."'Blazes of Tartaros'?"
Smiling wryly, he nodded defeatedly, "Right, I might have said that."
Sighing, Hermione studied the garage in more depth, letting her gaze travel around, spying the occasional mess and pile of dirty rags. Leaning down on the frontal crossmember of Harry's car, she studied the condition it was in before shaking her head at him.
"I may be a bookworm, Harry," she began seriously, "but this car strikes me as quite incomplete. I don't believe an engine compartment should be this empty."
Harry, gladdened by her change in subject, moved closer to the car and leaned on the fender next to her.
"It is almost complete, actually," he corrected knowingly. The accusation of mishandling his car didn't sit right with him. "What you're probably thinking of are cars with much bigger engines that occupy more of their engine compartments. This prime example is a 2-Litre 4-Cylinder EJ boxer-engine that I salvaged off of a Subaru Impreza. It came with this sweet turbo," Harry pointed at the workbench, "and a programmable ECU for chip tuning. It's every boy's wet dream."
"I see," Hermione nodded before turning to him with a question on her lips. "So if this engine is so brilliant, why then are you cursing it to heaven for everyone to hear?"
"Well," his lips pursed, "the turbo isn't exactly working. If it did, the engine would produce wondrous amounts of power, but it doesn't. I've tried messing with it but it's not improving. Frankly, I'm inclined to try and find a different one to replace it but these don't come cheap."
Understanding what he tried to convey, she thought about how she could help him. Remembering their previous conversation, she jumped to remind him of something he'd told her, "Can't you buy one with Mr Weasley's money?"
He nodded at her but his face didn't translate any joy at her idea. Instead, it showed that he'd already thought about it before and only come to realize it wouldn't help. "I could but I already planned to spend it on different parts that I require as well."
His shrug deflated her premature excitement. Thinking more on it, an idea came to mind she hadn't considered at all.
"Perhaps," she started reluctantly, her demeanour generally unsure, "I can jump in and have it fixed for you."
Having no intention to intrude on her, he made sure to nip the offer in the bud. Any attempt to fix the turbo would put her in the red. He couldn't possibly exploit her generosity like that. He wouldn't. "It's fine. I'll figure something out. I always do."
Frowning at him and his immediate decline of her help, she raised to place her hands on her hips. With a tilt to her head, she went to prod him right there. "Will you fix it or replace it, then?"
"I'll probably replace it. No point trying to find out if it's completely unusable," he replied honestly. He wouldn't exploit her generosity but he wouldn't also lie to her about what he'd rather do with the broken component.
"Then give it to me," she demanded, extending her hand toward him, a no-nonsense look gazing at him. "Maybe I cando something."
Her serious expression intimidated him but he tried his best not to show how much. The gaze seemed like it would allow for no tomfoolery. Sighing in defeat, he said the only thing that would define how he felt about this. "Fine. Take it, you monster."
Smirking at her victory, she grabbed the turbine-looking object appreciatively, turning it over in her hand gingerly. "I can be a monster when I have to be."
But before she could bathe in her overwhelming victory, an awkward silence fell between them. Harry's eyebrows moved to hide in the wild black patch of his scalp at the sight of Hermione's palms.
Hermione, who seemed to have noticed his displeased look, nodded to confirm his reaction."Yeah, I might ne-"
"You need a bag," he finished as he slapped his palm on his forehead.
"I might yes," she confirmed awkwardly.
Searching the garage, he failed to find a suitable bag to put the car part in. Finding Hermione still holding the object awkwardly as she was studying the grease spots forming on her palms, he groaned to himself.
"I shouldn't have done that. I didn't even stop to think to at least clean the damn thing."
Hermione shook her head at him. While it sure looked like she may have to walk around with dirty hands, she didn't mind all that much. It would just be another funny memory of both of them together. "It's fine. I just need a bag and directions to the bathroom to wash my hands."
"Right, that's a rather good idea," he admitted, his demeanour screaming his embarrassment.
Considering how Celine might feel about oil and grease stains making their way into their bathroom, he shivered in fear. He didn't let it show and instead focussed his attention on how to remedy his idiocy. "I'm a ghastly host. I didn't even think to offer you tea."
Observing the wild mix of emotion run across his face, she worked hard not to let her amusement show. Harry was clearly not in his element. She'd never come to his home before and perhaps it flustered him more than she'd expected. She didn't know why but it made her happy that she may be the first visitor he had in a while. Moving again to dissuade him from panicking too much, she almost grabbed him by the arm but remembered that her hands were stained. Pulling her hand back, she simply instructed him on how to proceed. "Really, Harry, it's fine. You just lead the way and I'll follow. I won't touch anything."
Nodding to himself, he went to clean his hands with the closest rag and turned off the lights above the workbench. Moving toward the door leading into the home, he opened and disappeared through it, leaving Hermione to herself and her thoughts in the now darker garage.
Making sure Harry was well outside of earshot she moved to place the part back on the workbench and pulled out her wand, pointing it at the metal object. Whispering a quiet Reparo to which the turbine-looking object responded with a discreet wiggle, she took it as a sign that it worked. She failed however to notice the subtle ripple that travelled along the walls and ended on a glowing rune in the deepest corner of the garage.
"Hermione?" Harry called worriedly from inside the house.
"Coming!" she responded loudly, quickly shoving her wand into the pocket and grabbing the repaired object before swiftly making her way through the door and closing it behind her.
End of Chapter
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A/N: Well, I hope you liked it and will leave a review of your thoughts. I love to read them and learn from your observations.
If you're interested, you can come and discuss the fic with me on my dedicated Keeping Pace discord server at discord . gg / uE6Xkj2V (Remove Spaces).
And, as usual, if the Harry/ Fleur or the Fleur/ Harry pairing floats your boat as much as it does mine, then please do come and join us at our Flowerpot server at discord . gg / k8ZxUjE (Remove Spaces).
Cheers!