A/N: Just a brief heads-up, the next few weeks are going to be a bit more stressful, so it might affect my ability to update on Saturdays. No dice. Anyway, until then, please read, enjoy and leave a review. :)
Beta: Please join me in thanking Misty for proofreading my newest chapter. Can't do it without them hard-working bees.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the HP universe or the mentioned brand names in this story, they belong to the appropriate entities that brought them into this world.
Cheers!
###
Chapter 5: Secrets heard and Secrets kept
September 1st, 1994
Black Manor, London, England
It was early in the morning and the sun barely managed to push through the thick layer of clouds, painting the living room of the manor in tones of different scales of grey. The white-beige curtains looked dirty although they'd only been washed a week ago, their normal warm colour beaten back by the weather outside.
Sitting on the couch in the spacious living room, the paintings of Sirius' ancestors stared down at him, the vividly painted eyes seemingly boring into him as if they were real. The speaker of the phone pressed against his ear, Harry listened tentatively to the soft but rushed voice of his female friend.
She'd called him in the earliest hours of the day to inform him that she was expected to leave for her mysterious boarding school in the Scottish countryside. An institution with a name he'd never heard of before and one he couldn't find in any encyclopedia. Hermione said it was because the school was adamant about discretion and anonymity, something many high-ranking top-buck schools aspired toward when the clientele was in need of such qualities.
Harry wasn't surprised that his best friend attended such a school, having long known that her book-smarts and her persistent need to know everything had made her twice the scholar than he could ever hope to be. What surprised him, however, was that Hermione mentioned Sirius being an alumnus of the same institution.
Assuming that it threw him for a loop was an understatement if there ever was one. Sirius a secret genius and a man of discreet brilliance? He'd read far better jokes in the odd mediocre pun book. Sirius was many things, a caring godfather and relatively witty man, but he was not the kind of smart that Hermione subscribed to.
Moving his head to look up at the oil-painted portraits of the late Black family members, he couldn't help but compare them to his godfather. The sharpness to the eyes and the hinted at cheekbones that Sirius possessed were there, however, the intimidating and strict demeanour of those who looked back down at Harry seemed far removed from the warmth his godparent held.
He dropped his investigation of the images lining the walls and let his vision meet the hazy form of the Persian carpet that covered the relatively darkened wooden floor, the grey of the sky outside having added a depressing tone. Perhaps he was mistaken about what he knew about his godfather, having only seen what the man wanted him to see. Harry learned from Celine that Sirius had belonged to a family that lived on keeping and learning secrets and making sure those remained within their possession until they departed for the next life.
Considering the de-facto foster mother's words, Harry could only speculate over what other things his godfather had not told him about himself. While he played the joker, Harry had never let it get past him that his godfather had been leaving the house frequently. Upon asking him about his absences, the older man would only provide platitudes and nonspecific specks of information. Things like 'taking a longer stroll' or 'meeting a new friend' would often come out of his mouth.
Harry wasn't stupid but he also understood privacy. Sirius clearly didn't want to let him know what he'd been up to and thinking about his own personal preference of 'minding your own business', he'd soon let it go. His godfather would tell him when the time was appropriate for him to know.
Hearing the crackle coming from the telephone speaker on his ear, Harry cleared his mind and returned his attention back to what Hermione had been saying. Listening to her babble on, she hadn't noticed his drifting attention to her words.
"Your race event is when again? I forgot to write it down and now I don't know if I'll actually make it to your event," she explained apologetically, the huffing clearly blowing through the speaker on his ear.
Harry thought back on it and remembered that he hadn't actually ever told her when the event would take place. Not even when she'd come to visit him and also not then, when she'd come back to return the seemingly brand-new turbocharger - free of charge too. When he'd offered to pay for it, she'd waved him off quickly, insisting that a friend had fixed it as a personal favour to her. Upon asking for the details of the genius who'd fixed it for her, in case he required the help of that person's skills for future repairs, Hermione had said that the individual had insisted on anonymity. Citing again that it was a favour - not a business deal.
Shaking his head at her strange behaviour, he reminded himself that he still had to answer her inquiry into his upcoming event. Listening to her question, he noticed right away that she wasn't sure whether he'd told her and simply forgotten to write it down, or if he'd ever actually mentioned it. Turning around to check the calendar on the desk next to the telephone, Harry quickly followed the lines of noted appointments made by his godfather or Celine, until he found the tenth of September marked with a red circle.
"It's on the tenth, next Sunday in a week," he informed her briefly and swallowed as he waited for her response.
The silence that followed was only interrupted by the occasional 'uhm' and 'oh' coming from the other end of the line. Dread and disappointment spread around the general area of his chest at the impending cancellation of his friend's agreement to come to visit him at the race event. Not waiting to hear how she'd talk herself out of it, Harry went to help her out her dilemma.
"It's fine if you can't come after all. Don't worry about it," he offered kindly, hoping that his positive attitude toward her would lift her spirits. Her response, however, was entirely different to what he'd expected.
He could her huff again, only this time it was more agitated than the contemplative tone it had carried before. "Harry, I didn't even say anything yet. I said I would show up and I will, you prat," she replied with vigour, her voice laden with a touch of disappointment in his lack of faith in her.
"Oh," he muttered, a sense of embarrassment washing over him at his unintended slight toward her. "I thought," he began anew, "I thought you were thinking of saying something else."
"Evidently."
Rubbing at his neck, he chose to remain quiet until she'd come out with what she'd wanted to say to begin with. Waiting patiently and almost holding his breath, as not to accidentally interrupt her response to his original statement about the race's time, he could soon hear her clear her throat through the phone.
"So the tenth you said, correct?" He heard her ask with the flipping of pages transmitting through the dull buzz of the speaker.
"Yup," he replied with an added pop to his 'p'.
He waited some more before he heard the sound of rough, rapid scribbling on paper over the phone and a satisfied sigh escaping his best friend. His heart warmed at the thought of her actually making time to leave the Scottish countryside and come all the way down to outer London to spend mere hours with him.
Thinking back to what Celine had said to him the day before, about Hermione liking him, the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention and a ripple of goosebumps travelled down his spine. The electric sensation shook him, forcing him to remove the phone speaker from his ear to prevent his thoughts from transmitting by accident. Perhaps his thoughts would transmit and arrive at Hermione's side of the line as morse code. And knowing her, he wouldn't be surprised if she knew how to decode it.
However, he had little to fear in that regard as he could faintly make out her voice calling out to him again. Drawing the speaker back to his ear, he hummed to alert her that he was still there.
"I checked with my planner and it looks like my school won't actually permit me to leave on that weekend," she said with a decline to her tone. "But," she said emphasizing the 'B', "I asked my dad if he could fake a dentist's appointment for me. The school will have no choice but to release me and send me back a day early. On the 9th to be exact."
Harry could infer from her voice that she'd thought about this carefully and perhaps she had planned this from long ago. Maybe an agreement she'd had with her parents before even knowing when the event would take place. Smiling to himself at his friend's pre-made plans, he felt joy at the obvious effort she'd put into making their meeting possible. Her school, from what little she'd told him, didn't feel like a place that would just let anyone do as they pleased. So far up in the countryside and hidden within the hills of the highlands, it sounded as secluded as he could possibly imagine. If history was to be believed, even entire Roman legions weren't able to make their way through the highlands unless the hills permitted it.
And yet, here she was making plans for her escape to London, with her parents' blessing and their co-conspiring performance.
As good as it made him feel, he couldn't deny that there was a spectre of guilt hanging from his mind over his joy at her obvious trickery of her teachers. How much goodwill would she be sacrificing to come to visit him, he wondered. Was he doing the right thing by applauding her evident tomfoolery of her good fortune? He couldn't decide whether he should or shouldn't ask her.
However, he didn't have to think further on the matter as the voice on the other end made to push the conversation on to the next point on the agenda. Hermione asked him what she'd need to bring to the event, when and where she'd have to show up to make it past security early and find her way to his reserved spot as fast as possible. After answering all her questions, he could hear the scribbling noise coming from the speaker again.
He wondered how the phone literally picked up everything she did. He could hear her breathing, the shuffling of her hands and whatever went about around her. The phone was truly set up to record everything that was going on wherever she was. Thinking about it like that, he'd wondered where her parents were as he couldn't hear any background noise coming from her environment.
"Where are your parents?" He asked her rapidly, squeezing his eyes in regret.
The scribbling noise stopped right away and the drop of a pen echoed through the speaker on his ear again.
"What do you mean? They're right here," she replied with confusion underlining her words. Harry found that odd as the phone didn't transmit any of the parents' activities.
"Weird," he stated flatly, "I don't hear them."
Saying that he wasn't even sure she understood why he'd mention that to begin with. Instead of possibly interrupting her, he left the silence hanging until she'd go to fill the quiet.
"Why would you hear them?" she inquired further, her voice increasing in confusion.
If there was one thing he was sure of, that pertained to his friend Hermione, it was that the lack of understanding or the lack of knowledge, in general, disagreed with her. So his asking, regardless of how odd it might be, would put her off until she knew why the question mattered. Recognizing and accepting that was an absolute must to be friends with her.
"It's probably nothing, but I'm kind of hearing everything you do. The scribbling and paging through whatever you're using to write on, but I don't hear anything from your background," he explained, trying not to make his observation sound as creepy as it already did.
"Uhm, what exactly do you mean? What else should you be hearing?" Her voice began to sound irritated at his vague approach, indicating that he had little time before he, indeed, sounded like a crazy person.
"What I mean to say is that I noticed that your phone is set up to be very sensitive to your surroundings. From what I've heard so far, I should be hearing the background too," he explained in more detail while also hearing himself say the words. He raised his hand to his forehead and let the palm smack against his skin. The sound echoed through the house, he was sure. Waiting for the phone call to be cut short, he was met with the opposite again.
"Right," she replied to his observation, her voice quite flustered. "That's because I have the...the door closed," she provided momentarily.
The way she spoke seemed suspicious and even through the phone, he could infer that he'd caught her on the wrong foot. Something was off about the way she acted and it made him feel like he should inquire further into the matter. Licking his lips, he prepared to ask further.
"Didn't you say, your parents were in the same room with you?" He reminded her with a serious tone, prodding her for weaknesses.
"Yes," she answered tentatively.
"Then I should be hearing them, even though the door is closed, right?" He offered as an argument.
She didn't respond right away and let the silence grow pregnant, leaving him to speculate over what was happening on her end. Shortly after, he heard how she fumbled with the phone, indicating to him that she was perhaps indeed weirded out by his question and about to put the phone down.
Wrong again.
The sound of fabric being rubbed against the phone could be heard coming out on his end before he barely registered two words buzzing through it. He wasn't sure he heard the words right, but they didn't sound like any English words he'd ever heard before. Also, as if a switch had been turned, the background noise he'd been asking for came rushing through his speaker like a landslide. Jerking at the sudden increase in volume, Harry pulled the speaker of the phone from his ear and checked if he'd gone deaf on that side of his head.
Satisfied that he was still able to hear on that end, he went to hold the phone again and brought it toward the other end of his head. His ear wasn't ringing, but perhaps he'd abused it more than enough.
Moving the speaker to his ear slowly, the first noise he noticed were Hermione's parents talking to one another. It wasn't clear or remotely understandable, but the voices were there. A vast difference from just a few seconds ago. He also heard a monotone voice coming through what sounded like the TV - probably the news lady recounting the latest happenings in the world.
What did she do?
Still curious about the muffled words that came through the line, Harry wondered how the abrupt increase in background noise was connected to the former. The entire phone call had morphed into a bizarre encounter between himself and his friend.
"Harry, are you still there?" Hermione called through the phone, her voice trying to seem nonchalant about what had just transpired. Her behaviour caused a frown to form on his face, the act seemingly unusual.
"Did you just open 'the door' or what just happened? Also, what did you say before all that noise came through?" He prodded, hoping to get a straight answer from her. Anything other than a clear response would have been highly suspicious.
"Yes, I opened the door that I closed so that we would be undisturbed. And what words?" She replied as nonchalantly as before, her voice more confident this time than it was earlier.
Shaking his head at himself, he accepted that he must have misheard or imagined it. Also, he was quite sure the line of questioning had exhausted his friend's patience beyond what was considered polite. Sighing to himself inconspicuously, he cleared his throat to move the conversation along.
"Well, nevermind," he considered briefly, "I probably imagined it."
He could hear her sigh in relief and although that urged him to ask her again, he pushed back against the sensation and focussed his attention on something else. Before he could make for more conversation, he heard an older female voice calling for Hermione who hummed in question. She excused herself and a moment later, the knock of the phone touching a hard surface came through, she'd put the phone down while she left to answer her parent's call.
A few moments later, the quick fumbling of hands could be heard before the whoosh of a breath transmitted through the buzz of the phone call.
"I'm sorry, Harry, but I have to go now. My parents are driving me to the pick-up station where my tra...Uhm...my ride to boarding school awaits me. I'm actually already late, so I've got to run."
Hermione spoke with a relatively high pitch to her announcement, interrupted only by the stutter mid-sentence. Aware that he couldn't prolong the conversation any longer and would have to bid his only real friend goodbye, he sighed in mild disappointment.
"Ok, sure. Safe travels and," he paused for a moment, "I'll be seeing you soon, right?" Although she'd already argued her side of the story, he still felt like he should give her the opportunity of an emergency exit. He didn't want her to feel bad if the school called her bluff and forced her to stay and leave him hanging.
And again, he'd been mistaken.
"You are a very difficult individual to convince, Mr Potter," she spoke with fake disappointment. "If I didn't know you any better, I'd wager you were trying to get rid of me." Her analysis, while almost correct in a way, made him giggle into the phone.
"Never, I'm looking forward to seeing you in nine days," he replied excitedly, his face split by a wide smile she couldn't see.
"Quite," she admonished him before her voice turned sombre. "Well, I really have to leave now. Take care, Harry. Don't do anything silly until I'm back."
Her warning tone warmed him in a way he hadn't felt that many times before. He'd felt it when Sirius or Celine had done things for him. Things that family did for one another.
Hermione wasn't quite family but she was his best friend and perhaps that was the closest form of a family one could be without possessing blood relations. Whatever the word 'family' pertained, it didn't matter in the end. He was absolutely thrilled that he would not only begin his racing career in 9-days' time but also that he would kick it off with someone who cared. Someone who wasn't his immediate family.
"Well, I'll see you when I see you," he spoke into the phone.
He heard a ginger sigh pour from the phone before she replied and ended the call on the same note.
"Not if I see you first."
###
Early evening, same day...
Beauxbatons Academy, South of France
Sitting at the vanity and brushing her hair, Fleur looked at her reflection in the mirror without really taking in her own appearance. Her mind was somewhere else entirely while her arm functioned on muscle memory alone, moving up and down along her long silvery blonde mane.
Dressed in a nightie, the bare skin was exposed to the fresh air coming from the open window of the room. It was still early in the evening, the sun's last reddish rays illuminated the pale walls of her private room, warming the space to the eyes like a chimney fire would. She didn't quite feel the cold, but the occasional chill rising up from her spine from brief gusts of air broke her from her unspoken musings.
Sighing to herself, the ocean blue of her eyes cleared and took in her appearance. The orbs scanned her reflection and like many times before, they dulled at her flawlessness, bored by the lack of imperfections.
Was this her or was this the Veela in her?
Her mother had told her that Veela weren't blessed with sublime physical beauty, only that they may have an edge over the human female in regards to strength and fitness. Her genes descended from an ancient apex predator, which ensures all Veela possess denser muscle mass and tougher skin. From a bystander's perspective, she looked like any other fit female who took care of her appearance and frequented the gym to stay in shape.
The beauty part of her, the picturesque features of her face and proportions of her body, was a gift of nature that only made the effect on others all the more difficult to contain. Despite having her allure under control, her physical features acted as a handbrake to her efforts of staying inconspicuous.
Men and women alike would go wide-eyed and slack-jawed the first time they saw here. Their eyes filled with amazement before some would ripen with lust behind them, visibly undressing her in public. And If she forgot to subdue the errant allure, they'd follow her until she felt utterly naked.
Shaking her head to dispel the uncomfortable feeling, Fleur returned her focus on her reflection and studied her arms. The muscles below the skin may have seemed frail to the unknowing eye, however in reality, they were anything but.
Although she didn't necessarily have to go to the gym given her natural edge over muggles, she still did so to keep up appearances in the vicinity of them. Other than a normally balanced all-around body strength and endurance training, she also participated in coordination and specialized neck muscle training with other junior racing drivers.
For Veela, it was recommended they not participate in any muggle sports unless they did so in private. Any team sport or televised sport would risk exposure. A Veela running faster or jumping higher than a muggle male would certainly be cause for investigation.
Her choice to participate in a sport that didn't require her physical prowess per se, was a fortunate coincidence. She could still make use of her physical advantages, mainly her eyesight and reflexes, without causing a stir if she simply outperformed any other competitors. So far her success as a racing driver had earned her the title of 'prodigy' in rally motorsport.
What most of the students at Beauxbatons didn't know was that Fleur had won a number of championships and been crowned champion of Europe. She had yet to break into the senior categories, her father's team not having been given a spot in the World Rally Championship. The WRC's participants were either works teams or teams that were represented in many motorsports and had the funds to finance their annual participation.
The Delacours' fortune, despite their well-off lifestyle, didn't come close to how costly World Rallying was. The financial stretch to close the gap between their team and the WRC was only bridgeable by collecting sponsors on her ticket. There was no way around it for her.
A smirk appeared on her reflection in the mirror, her eyes only registering it after the fact. The Veela in her loved challenges and so did Fleur, the heat of excitement spreading from the thought of climbing and overcoming an obstacle, fueled her sudden urge to run out, get into the next car she could find and drive back home to convince her father to let her abandon her magical obligations and just race.
At a knock at her door, Fleur jerked slightly in surprise, before placing her hairbrush on the desk of her vanity and moving to open the door for the unexpected visitor.
Cilla didn't wait for Fleur to let her in and instantly pushed past her friend, their chests touching awkwardly as she forced her way in.
Catching herself from falling backwards from the sudden shove, Fleur eyed her with mild amusement, while a scoff escaped her. "You could have waited one more second," she complained with a sneer.
Not minding Fleur's reprimand, Cilla sat down on the large fluffy bed next to the messy vanity, her face scrunched up by an annoyed look of her own. Moaning to herself, Cilla wordlessly dropped back on the bed, an angry sigh escaping her as her body bounced on the mattress.
"You won't believe who asked me out again," she groaned loudly.
Closing the door behind her, Fleur didn't react to the outburst and instead moved back toward her vanity, the empty seat offering her a comfortable spot to listen to her best friend's newest bit of drama.
Before sitting down, Fleur fetched a robe to cover her exposed skin and protect her from the chill. She could have simply closed the window, but it was still too early, she wanted to listen to the birds sing their lullabies to the little ones a bit longer.
"Who asked you out again?"
Still on her back, Cilla inhaled hotly. "You wouldn't believe it, I tell you," she insisted again, her own disbelief underlined by the scoff that preceded her response.
"I won't know who you're talking about until you tell me who it is, Cil. I may be a Veela, but I don't read minds, " Fleur replied instead, her friend's antics over boys and relationships drawing on her patience.
Lifting her head off the bed, Cilla eyed Fleur suspiciously, before raising herself onto her elbows to eye the Veela more intensely.
"Didn't I say the word 'again' just now?" Cilla reminded me. "That should make it obvious I'm talking about somebody who's asked me out before. And if it happened before, I would have told you then as well. Therefore," she reasoned, tilting her head meaningfully, "you should be able to remember who I'm talking about."
Fleur didn't take the bait and returned a bored look toward the girl eyeing her disappointedly over her moving chest.
Looking at her own chest for a split-second, Fleur conceded that Cila's were a bit larger and if she cared, it might have upset her but seeing as she hadn't cared before, she didn't let it concern her now.
"Dieu, I don't know, Cil. You've had a number of admirers over the years," Fleur recalled, her eyebrow raised in mild-amusement. "I wouldn't know with whom to start- Non, ce n'est pas ça. I don't even recall the names of all those people who've bought you flowers last year alone."
Cilla gasped at the comment. "Are you calling me a salo-"
"I'm not," Fleur interjected quickly, cutting her friend's over-exaggerated response off.
Nodding at the Veela, Cilla straightened and smiled at her friend with a mischievous grin on her lips. "Well, if you don't remember, then it doesn't have the desired effect anyway," she sighed disappointedly, before tilting her head and raising an eyebrow at Fleur. "When are you finally going to snatch yourself a boyfriend? Hm?"
"This again?" The groan came out louder than she'd intended but it made her dislike of choice of topic perfectly clear. Discussing, or rather listening to Cilla rant about her unfulfilling relationships was more romance-talk than she could bear already.
Disregarding the Veela's disinterest in the topic, Cilla crossed her arms in front of her, nodding her head at the beautiful gown hanging in the open closet.
"Well, you'll need someone to dance with. That beauty over there would be a terrible waste if left unaccompanied during the ball. How about you let one of the boys here partner up with you for the dance? That way you don't have to suffer through the other students asking you out in Scotland."
The idea was not a bad one, she had to admit. Asking someone from Beauxbatons to partner up with her would ensure they knew her well enough not to make a scene or embarrass her in front of the other schools. On the other hand, the thought of the ball just wasn't having the same effect on her as it did her friend. It just wasn't.
"Who says I can't dance by myself?" Fleur asked matter-of-factly. "Haven't you heard? I'm a genius prodigy and will steal the limelight all for myself on the dancefloor," she continued, her nose raised to emphasize her perfect impression at snobbery.
Cilla frowned at her before she realized the play. Giggling, she shook her head and got off the bed to stand by the window to gaze outside. Feeling the chill as well, she rubbed her hands on her arms but didn't move to close the window.
"Is it really such a bad thing?" She asked, her focus still on something outside the window, leaving the question to hang between them. "Love isn't a one-and-done deal, Fleur. Well, sometimes it is, but for most of us it's a journey. A journey that can be painful but when you meet somebody and it just clicks...I don't know...the feeling is not from this world," she uttered carefully before moving her gaze to Fleur. "I think it's like winning a race, but everyday for the rest of your life."
Fleur listened tentatively but remained quiet. Winning for the rest of your life?
At the questioning look from the Veela, Cilla cleared her throat to elaborate on her point, her jaw growing tenser.
"In all the years I've known you, I've never ever seen you touch, let alone hold hands with anyone outside your family and myself. Be it anyone else, you are polite but distanced," Cilla recounted slowly, her eyes soft.
Shrugging at Cilla, Fleur didn't know how to argue against Cilla's observation. The words rang true. She hadn't really learned to pursue other people and to be honest, it never occurred to her to improve on that. All her life, she'd invested every single minute in her wish to achieve success in motorsports and only ever spent time working toward that goal. Whatever else there was, but didn't pertain to that goal was left untouched and untried.
"The opportunity simply never arose," she finally replied, the words underlined by an even tone.
Shaking her head, Cilla didn't accept that answer. "There's a difference in opportunity and actively avoiding a choice, Fleur," she quipped.
"So what?"
"Fleur," Cilla whined frustrated, raising a hand to indicate Fleur's form. "Look at yourself. You are awe-inspiringly beautiful-"
"I know," Fleur interrupted quickly, her hand raised to massage her head. "I don't need you to remind me of that fact. I've had plenty of people tell me this."
Raising an eyebrow at Fleur, the dark-haired girl shook her head again and moved back to sit on the edge of Fleur's bed. Folding her hands in her lap, Cilla eyed her with a look of pity.
Clenching her jaw, Fleur couldn't help herself but utter her heated reaction to her friend's glance. "What's with that look?"
At the heat coming off the girl sitting on the chair opposite from her, Cila swallowed with a look of trepidation and opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Realizing she may have pushed her friend too far, her eyes jumped to avoid the sharp gaze coming from the Veela's expectant look.
Before Fleur could prod her friend to spill, Cilla clapped her hands together, dispelling the awkward silence that grew pregnant between them. "How about we go for a walk outside? I feel like there's no air in here," she suddenly announced, bouncing off the bed and rushing for the door without another word.
Almost falling backwards on her chair, Fleur's body jerked at her friend's sudden movement, bending herself away to avoid knocking into the other. Before she could stop Cilla, the girl had disappeared around the corner, leaving Fleur's room open to the corridor that echoed the other dorm inhabiting girls' conversations.
Noticing curious eyes scanning her room as they walked past her room, Fleur quickly made for the door and closed it with a clear thud. Sighing, she turned and made peace with Cilla's spontaneous decision-making skills and walked toward her closet to fetch a simple, functional set of jeans, sneakers, a T-Shirt and a leather jacket.
Hearing the door open without an announcing knock, Fleur swiftly pulled her wand from her pocket and aimed it at the person emerging from behind the wood. At Cilla's surprised look, Fleur quickly lowered her wand and rolled her eyes at the intruder, the latter smirking at the combat stance the Veela had instantly taken.
"You know better, Cil."
"I know, sorry," she nodded apologetically. "But, I see you're in the best mood for what I have in mind," Cilla added, the smirk still plastered on her face, espousing a sense of mischief.
Resigning herself to her fate, Fleur pursed her lips before she nodded her ascent to her friend's excitement. Palming herself, she checked whether she had everything she needed.
Usually, they'd need a permission slip to move around the castle in the later parts of the evening, but as it was still a few days before classes begin, students were still permitted to travel the area uninterrupted, using the last days of their summer holiday to spend some time socializing and going to the nearest town to have fun.
Fleur dearly hoped Cilla didn't have anything too exciting in mind, but reminding herself of Cilla's over the top character, it was a lost debate. All she could do was hope they'd not veer too much off the right path and damn them to a sit-down with Madame Maxime even before the school term began.
"Shall we?" Cilla called from the door, staring at Fleur's unfocused daze with impatience.
"Yeah, let's," Fleur replied quickly, joining her friend at the door and leaving the dorms together.
###
A bit earlier in the evening...
Black Manor, London, England
Studying the car, Harry couldn't help but smile, the satisfaction clear across his face, at the improved condition of his project. He'd finally mounted all the engine parts in the rightful place and the engine seemed to have started and run smoothly, the idle satisfyingly balanced. The lack of a wobble or 'cough' of the engine signalled that he'd made all the right choices and that system relevant components were functioning to their specifications.
The fact that Hermione had managed to provide him with a functioning turbo so soon after borrowing it for repairs, didn't stop him from wondering how she'd known anyone capable of doing a repair job so quickly and for seemingly no cost other than a favour.
If he had friends or contacts like that, he'd have had a much easier time working on his project all this time. Granted, if he had agreed to Sirius' offering of paying for everything, he'd have a dream car sitting in front of him, ready to blast the competition out of the water. Perhaps, Sirius would have funded an entire race team if Harry had bothered to ask him.
Alas, he wasn't keen on it and therefore he resigned himself to doing it all by himself. It took a bit longer but he got where he wanted to be and it made it all the more satisfying to stand here now.
Eyeing the engine again, he nodded to himself with a smile. "One milestone down, two to go," he spoke into the silence of the garage, the space void of any other person. As it was meant to be.
Walking around the car, he approached his workbench and fetched his to-do list, the paper's corners crumpled by months of being thrown around, folded and unfolded, and drenched in tears of frustration.
Studying the list, his eyes landed on the words 'set up interior' underlined by numerous scribbled lines, evoking their importance. Turning his head toward one corner of the room, his shoulders sagged in disappointment.
The Sparco bucket seats, as well as the accompanying steering wheel and other gadgets, were missing from where he'd left them. He hadn't even realized they might have been gone longer.
Celine might have seen to it. She always complained about the mess in here.
Sighing to himself, Harry folded the to-do list for the hundredth or thousandth time and stuck it to the blackboard hanging above the workbench in front of him with a magnet. Celine would be somewhere in the house at this hour, her shopping having concluded earlier in the day. The supper was also due in an hour, so her proximity to the kitchen or cellar would be highly likely.
Cleaning his hands with a rag lying on the roof of his car, Harry then moved toward the door that led to the house. As he grabbed the handle to open it, he felt a chill travel across him before he could suddenly hear two voices talking rapidly to one another.
Glad that he wouldn't have to go look for Celine long, he opened the door slightly before stopping himself from making another noise.
"What did Dumbledore want this time?"
The name was utterly unfamiliar and yet Celine threw the name around like it was a nuisance to even bother speaking it. He'd never heard the pair mention the name before, which was odd because he was sure he knew all the people Celine and Sirius were acquainted with. This Dumbledore, however, was not someone he could recall.
"He wants me to go to a meeting," Sirius replied begrudgingly.
Harry could infer that his godfather didn't like talking about this by the sound of his voice alone either. But what kind of meeting would it be that Sirius wouldn't wish to inform Celine about?
"What meeting? A meeting of this Order of his? I thought we closed that matter ages ago?" the hot-tempered voice of Celine lashed back.
He couldn't see his Sirius wince, but he could infer from experience that whenever Celine spoke in anger, the man would choose to physically evade her fiery verbal whips.
Remaining still and listening further, he sensed that he'd remained undetected and carefully opened the door wide enough to squeeze himself through the gap as silently as he possibly could. Taking his shoes off, he tip-toed to the nearest wall leading to the restroom with the washing machine and held his breath to wait and see whether they had noticed him.
"No, not the Order," Sirius corrected warily. The words that followed espoused trepidation, "I was invited to a different kind of meeting."
"A different kind of meeting?" Celine repeated the sound of her voice askance of a more substantial reply.
He heard his godfather sigh tiredly, the sound of defeat travelling past the corners toward him.
"Today, while I was at Hog- wait, where is Harry?" Sirius suddenly inquired, the urgency in his voice to know the answer to his question pushing Celine to reply swiftly.
"He's in the garage tinkering away in his car. Don't worry, I've already cast a privacy charm. Now, spill," Celine responded lazily, the mention of his name not having had the intended effect that Sirius had supposedly hoped for.
"You went to Hogwarts and then what?"
"Well, on my way to the castle I met Hagrid and talked to him for a bit about the newest goings-on in the school and he seemed nonchalant about most of the things he'd seen over the course of the last year," Sirius started, mentioning another unfamiliar name that Harry couldn't make heads or tails of.
Who were these people his godfather and Celine were so seemingly familiar with and why hadn't he ever met them, and what in God's name was a privacy charm?
Mentally writing down the word to check for later, he grew curious about the conversation. This was an entirely new side of his family he had never seen nor heard before. Inching himself closer to the edge of the corner, he subconsciously tried to hear more clearly, afraid to even miss one more word of their conversation.
"And?"
"Hagrid made mentions of an increase in violent incidents between the students. Purebloods picking on half-bloods and muggle-borns," he explained, the conversation growing more bizarre by the minute.
"Isn't that normally the case? Sounds familiar enough to our time. I recall some of our friends picking on the newbie muggle-borns coming to school. I don't see what's so special about student fighting?" Celine asked with a tone of confusion, her unusual disregard of violence perpetrated amongst children something he'd never even imagined he would hear her utter.
Who are these people?
"I also heard strange rumours at the Ministry a week back, about pureblood teenagers acting out and destroying a muggle store," Sirius continued unperturbed by Celine's interruption.
"So they were caught," the woman replied flatly, "I'm sure they learned their lesson once they had the privilege of meeting Amelia."
Who's Amelia? What Ministry?
Before he could try to think of an image to the name and place, the sound of steps coming from the living room put him on edge. Harry jerked to stiffen his body, trying his best not to make a single sound lest he be caught.
The footsteps grew fainter, the sound of the echo changing once they walked onto the surface of what he recalled sounded like the kitchen, the opening of the water tap confirmed his thoughts. With the clank of glass touching back down on the wooden kitchen table, he heard Sirius clear his throat. The man's frequency of noises akin to an engine in trouble.
"No, they let them go unscathed. No punishment whatsoever, I fear," he corrected her again.
"What?"
"Yes, citing lacking evidence apparently," he elaborated further, "witness testimony gone overnight."
"What are these government fools even doing all day long?" Celine rasped angrily, the words hot enough to bring water to a boil. "Sipping tea and counting Lucius' money?"
Lucius' money; government fools? I don't even know anymore.
Harry could hear a pointed pacing noise of feet, the echo subdued by the soft sole of the house shoes. The speed of the pacing was unmistakably Celine's, certainly busy digesting Sirius' words and working on her calculated response.
Noticing he still held the stiff posture from before, Harry let his body relax, the tense muscles loosening the lock on his joints. Feeling an irritating squeeze in his knee, he stretched it by reflex. Before he could even begin to realize his mistakes, a pop echoed out and reverberated around in the silence of the house. One could hear a needle drop in the silence that followed.
Whether or not one of the two would come to investigate the noise was unclear, but to him, the game was up. He swiftly tiptoed toward the door of the garage and closed it with a loud thud, letting the noise echo toward the two occupants of the living room. Grabbing his shoes by the door, he raised them to his knee before dropping them noticeably.
"Celine," he called loudly, hoping his voice sounded as normal as he usually did when he needed her to find one of his things, "have you seen my car seats and the stuff I put next to it? I can't find it in the garage."
Making his way deeper into the manor, he found the pair in the living room. Sirius on the couch with an open newspaper in front of him, seemingly deeply immersed and unaware of his appearance, and Celine who looked like she was about to make her way to the kitchen.
From what he could see, they didn't appear like they noticed his hidden presence.
The urge to come out and ask what they'd been talking about was difficult to subdue, but he had no choice. They'd instantly know he'd listened in on their private conversation.
Eavesdropping had never been an issue before. He had never walked in on them and listened to a private conversation. This was an entirely new experience with the two of them. Secrecy had never been a thing before - until now.
Hearing Celine clear her throat, he moved to focus his attention on her, the woman moving toward the stairs that led to the cellar of the manor. Before she opened the door to the stairs, she turned her gaze back toward him and urged him to follow her down.
"I moved your stuff to the cellar where there was still some space left," she explained calmly, the smile on her face the polar opposite of her heated voice from before.
"You could have at least told me you moved them," he huffed, his thoughts on the previous conversation forgotten for mere moments before his mind returned to the discussion he'd listened to.
Following Celine down the stairs, he couldn't help but wonder what else they'd kept from him. The earlier conversation sounded serious. Serious enough for Celine to sound more concerned than he'd ever heard her speak. He couldn't imagine what she must have looked like during the exchange, but the sound of her voice felt altogether different, foreign even.
Arriving at the bottom and feeling the cold of the stone under his feet, Celine nodded toward a lit corner of the cellar, a few feet away from the wine shelves that held dusty bottles with varying degrees of coloured glass. The years branded on them suggesting they cost a fortune.
"I moved it here to free up space in the garage," Celine explained again, "I didn't want you to trip and hurt yourself. Don't worry, I've made sure that your things stay clean and dry and ready for when you would need them."
Nodding at her, he didn't find fault in her reasoning and moved to touch her by the arm. "Thanks, I thought I might have misplaced them and forgotten about it."
Smiling at him, Celine moved her free arm to pat his hand on her arm. "I'm glad I didn't make a mistake bringing your things down here."
At his smile in return, Celine nodded to herself and looked back toward the stairs leading to the upper floor. "I have to go and start preparing dinner now. Will you be ready by then? I don't want you delaying it because you forgot about the time again," she inquired knowingly, an eyebrow raised in demand.
He nodded his understanding of her reminder, upon which she moved to walk around him and toward the flight stairs.
"Celine," he called again, before noticing what he'd intended to do, sending chills up his spine.
Turning at the call of her name, the woman eyed him expectantly. "Yes?"
The words danced on his tongue but he couldn't begin to voice them, fear of revealing he'd listened in on their conversation chaining him down again.
What would happen if he let her know that he eavesdropped on their talk? They spoke in his absence for a reason, they wouldn't keep stuff that really pertained to him on purpose.
"Harry?" Celine uttered worriedly, her form approaching him again. "Is everything alright?"
Shaking himself mentally, he decided to let the matter lie for the time being and wait and see what else he could find out before opening the subject with them. Perhaps it was a harmless matter and he was simply making an elephant out of a fly.
There is a perfectly logical reason for all this. I'm being stupid.
Whatever it was, he couldn't bring it up now. "It's nothing, nevermind. I thought I forgot something but it's not important," he quickly offered, the worried demeanour of Celine morphing into one of calm.
Nodding at him again, she turned and finally disappeared up the stairs, leaving him to the eerie quiet of the wine cellar.
###
Nighttime...
Botanic Gardens of Beauxbatons, South of France
Flashes of lights and brief bursts of air engulfed the trees, bending them back and forth. Their swaying accompanied by the groan of the wood and rustling of leaves travelling throughout them, the sounds circling around the clearing in the forest.
The two rapidly moving forms moved in a dance, the distance between them holding while sparks of energy blasted in clashes between them.
Any animals that had been roaming the woods before had long run to hide from the violent encounter in their usually much more quiet habitat, the silence in the absence of the birds chirping only adding to the frightening display of combative magic.
Cilla leapt and rolled to avoid being struck by Fleur's disarming spell, the Veela not taking her sharp eyes off her prey. With twitches of her head, she stalked the form of her friend who continued to leap to avoid her casts of magic.
When Fleur had followed Cilla out of the castle, she hadn't thought that they would end up in the woods duelling. It was a spur of the moment kind of favour that Cila asked of her. And being the person Fleur was, she agreed to it - same as always when it came to Cila.
The spells they used were mostly mere stinging hexes, the point of the duel being muscle memory and improving the flow of spell casting as opposed to training the use of exotic powerful spells.
If they used demanding spells, such as many they in fact possessed in their arsenal, the training would end too soon, their cores exhausted before they'd really reap the benefits of the exercise. Instead, the small hexes didn't do much more than frustrate the target when it struck true and encouraged them to improve on the spot. To learn from a mistake instantly, like a roll that was too slow or a turn that was taken too wide.
Comparing the two witches circling each other, one wouldn't really notice a difference in skill and power but to the trained eyes, it would show that Fleur wasted less of her magic and energy than Cilla did.
Cilla was a competent, skilled witch and had enjoyed private tutoring by duelling masters in her time spent at home. Fleur knew that and secretly enjoyed blasting her friend onto her back every time, the other cursing the defeat each time as well.
With a sudden flick to her wrist and twirl of her body, Fleur moved to strike true again, compressing a ball of air before bursting it and blowing Cila back onto her butt. The surprised yelp signalled the end of another duel.
Huffing to herself, as she stayed on the floor, Cilla couldn't help but eye the Veela with indignation, her face sweaty and her bangs drenched.
"You're too skilled for your own good, Fleur," Cilla said with a shake to her head, the eyes rolling in disbelief. "I still can't beat you." The admission visibly grated on the girl on the floor, still panting from her failed attempt to twist her tired body out of the way of Fleur's light blasting hex.
Moving toward Cilla, Fleur came to stand beside her and offer her friend a hand to pull her from her puddle of self-pity.
Before Cilla could take the offered hand, she halted and instead gazed past Fleur's face at something above her. Following that gaze, Fleur noticed that the sky had gone completely dark, leaving only the stars to show off their shine in numbers.
Taken aback by the beauty of the display, Fleur remained unmoving until she felt the hand of Cila pull her down onto the earthy ground next to her. With little resistance, she lowered herself onto the soft weed and let the cool of the earth spread through the hot skin of her back, chilling the heat remnant from their physically demanding exercise.
It wasn't an uncomfortable sensation, despite her normal aversion to the cold. She appreciated the refreshing change in temperature the same way a thirsty person appreciated water in the desert.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Cilla asked lying down next to her, the words not really asking for a reply.
"Yeah," Fleur replied anyway.
Minutes past between them without another word being uttered, only the sound of animals returning breaking the silence, evident by the rustling of hedges that surrounded the clearing in between the trees that stood guard.
The branches creaked at the wind that picked up, announcing the cool air that travelled across their laid down bodies, bringing goosebumps to Fleur's skin. Rubbing her arms to combat the sudden drop of temperature, Fleur's elbow bumped into her friend, breaking the other from their dazed gaze looking up at the night sky.
"Ow," Cilla voiced half-heartedly, patting at the spot where Fleur had accidentally hit her. "Always so violent, you Veela," she added jokingly.
"Only to you, Cilla. I'm only violent with you," Fleur corrected with an even stare, her mien not betraying a sense of guilt at the words.
"Guess I should feel honoured to be treated especially harshly."
"Clearly," Fleur scoffed humorously, "I don't go out of my way to hex just anyone onto their butts. I do that just with you."
"Oh-la-la, madame, you flatter me with your commitment," Cilla gasped exaggeratedly, "whatever shall I tell my other lovers."
Giggling at the antics, Fleur pushed her friend with a snicker to her laugh, dispelling the silly exchange between them.
After having calmed down and letting the energy of their joking evaporate, Fleur could hear Cilla moan at the soreness of her body, the girl seemingly trying to stretch her muscles to alleviate the pain that made her voice her displeasure.
Noticing the chilled air again, and not wishing to suffer any muscle sores of her own, Fleur decided it was time to return to the castle before their absence was apparent. While it wasn't per se a violation, two senior students staying out late left a bad impression on the younger students and Madame Maxime would throw a fit if she found out it was her star pupil who'd committed the faux pas.
Groaning to herself, Fleur moved to get up, building up momentum to get her feet under her without using her hands for support. Almost reaching the right amount of motion, the hand of Cilla grabbed her by the shoulder, halting the movement of Fleur's body instantly and forcing it back on her sitting position.
Turning her gaze to look at her friend, the girl smiled only before moving her lips to speak.
"There is another reason I wanted your help in practice duelling. I thought that maybe a change in scenery would help me break your silence," she explained slowly, her eyes soft around the corners, inviting Fleur to listen further.
"I know you don't like talking about it but it's been bothering me for a while now, and I think I need to know what's what," Cilla elaborated further, eying the Veela without a blink.
"What is it? Boys again?" Fleur huffed, irate at the resumption of the earlier discussion. What else was there that needed rehashing?
"Yes and no," Cilla offered vaguely, her face still flat.
"Are you going to let it finally go, if I answer your question?"
"Whatever you say now," Cilla began seriously, "I will take as your final answer and we'll never talk about it again unless you yourself bring it up." The words came out clear and seemed genuine, things that rarely were attributes that could be associated with her friend.
After a few moments of consideration, Fleur finally nodded. "Fine, ask your question."
Nodding at the Veela's reply with relief, Cilla's black hair fell over her shoulder as she quickly inched her body closer to Fleur, their shoulder almost touching.
Clearing her throat subtly, Cilla folded her hands together in her lap before moving to gaze at Fleur with clear eyes.
"Has there been anyone you ever considered…," Cilla hummed vaguely, her hands unfolding to gesture at something unspecific, before halting once she knew what she wanted to say, "liking? Not as a friend but as...not quite a lover...but where you perhaps felt something for them?"
Shaking her head at Cilla, Fleur didn't quite understand what the girl was getting at. "Do you mean, if I have experienced first love?" she offered.
Waving her off, Cilla gestured to her disagreement. "No, I meant if you ever met someone you kind of liked."
Have I ever felt like I liked someone?
"No, not really," she lied.
###
End of Chapter
A/N#2: Hoped you enjoyed it.
Discord: If you like the Fleur/ Harry pairing and would like to share your thoughts on it, or meet other fellow fans/ writers, then hop over to our flowerpot server at; discord . gg / k8ZxUjE (Remove Spaces).
You can also join my server at; discord . gg / uE6Xkj2V (Remove Spaces).