Author's Note: This is a sequel to All Hallows' Eve, I suggest reading that first, otherwise you may miss quite a bit of context.
A big thank you to the beta readers on the Flowerpot server (discord．gg/Np2zjAH), Thisdude4, Raphaël, SoInstantPlayz, and Astro Hawthorne
-(/\)-
It had been a few months since the fateful Halloween that so irrevocably changed Harry's and Fleur's lives. Now, even Christmas was long past and the snowy coverage of the landscape was quickly fading.
The pair of them now found themselves again in their old cottage where they had hidden from Death Eaters back when Voldemort still terrorized Britain. Although the Wild Hunt eradicated all the Marked followers of the Dark Lord, the struggle still continued for some time. Not all sympathizers bore the Mark, after all.
Yet, bolstered by the unexpected appearance of the spectral cavalcade, the forces of resistance against Voldemort surged forth. Both Hogwarts and the Ministry have been retaken, with Kingsley Shacklebolt assuming the role of acting Minister of Magic. He was trying his very best to root out the sympathizers of the old regime and overturn the laws put into place in the short time Voldemort held the reins of the country. His highly energetic and charismatic style of leadership surprised many and it truly looked as if even the Wizengamot would be reformed. Clinging to ideals of pureblood superiority was clearly not in favour anymore.
Unlike that Halloween, the air seemed to be light, even jubilant now, at the start of spring. Fleur was humming lightly as she was waving her wand, busy cleaning the cottage while Harry was preparing a simple lunch. The delicious smell wafting from the kitchen seemed to brighten Fleur's mood even more. She knew she had much to look forward to.
Making sure to kiss the chef when he brought the food to the table, she had to chuckle at the silly smile this elicited on Harry's handsome face.
They dug in with gusto, their new lifestyle meant they certainly needed the energy. Long gone were the days when Fleur complained about the heavy British food. With the amount of vigorous exercise they had now, she would never again have to worry about her waistline.
To make sure his new vassals were in proper shape, the King of Annwn regularly sent one of his knights to train and evaluate Harry and Fleur. The Fey master-at-arms proved to be a harsh taskmaster, an expert at wielding a multitude of weapons and very knowledgeable about the wizarding arts too. It was the same rider who once showed Harry how to properly hold the reins of his horse, Harry's kinsman. As Harry found out, Adain ap Cadwallen as he was named, was a descendant of Ignotus and his wife, making them distant cousins.
Their kinship, however, had yet to stop Adain from thoroughly trouncing them every time they sparred. Many an evening they went to bed early, exhausted and sore, capable only of gingerly holding each other. But the results spoke for themselves. They both now moved with grace, their instincts honed to a keen edge. They were in fighting form, though Harry, somewhat foolishly, he realized, expected them to gain more muscle. Instead, they were both agile, fast and lean.
And as a package in the corner of their living room reminded Harry, the training was sorely needed. Just a week ago, Harry and Fleur had been called on by a messenger. The King of the Ljosálfar was asking for their help, since word of their new position spread quickly among the non-humans. The dead in Sweden were stirring, restless and the Ljosálfar King asked Gwyn ap Nudd to loan him his new knight and dame.
And so Harry and Fleur went to Sweden and delved into several crypts. Side by side they faced angry draugar, the corpses rising again. In tandem they wielded their wands, cursing, shielding, they danced among the walking again dead. But that was only the first part. Once no corpse was trying to kill them, they used tracking charms, looking for magical traces left there.
It took them two days of searching, but they found the one responsible, a twisted half-hag with a lust for power. She resisted them until the bitter end. Harry and Fleur emerged injured but victorious, supporting each other as they reported their grim deeds to the Ljosálfar royal couple.
They were given thanks by the tall, pale, golden-haired beings and nods of respect from the gathered courtiers. Before they were let go, the Queen nodded at their hands. At her gesture, the King spoke up.
"I thank my fair Queen, for now I know of the perfect gift for your valiant service." His voice carried a strange accent, his tone seeming detached.
The King gestured at one of his courtiers who, hiding a look of surprise, quickly departed and returned with a small package.
"Please accept this gift as a token of our thanks." Here the King smiled gently and looked intently at their intertwined hands. "T'is an ingot of álfrsilfr, a fine metal indeed. T'would please us greatly if bands made of our gift adorned your fingers."
-(/\)-
Upon their return to Britain, they quickly travelled to Annwn to report on their mission. Gwyn ap Nudd was pleased by their success and bade them to stay a while and heal properly. Not ones to refuse such an offer, Harry and Fleur found themselves being attended by Fey healers. While looking unusual, their bearing showed centuries of experience and their tone was gentle. Both the healers quite resembled the formidable ruler of Hogwarts' Hospital Wing with their demeanour. Just thinking of Poppy Pomfrey brought a smile to Harry's face, she was one of the adults on whom he could always rely. She had fixed countless wounds he had managed to inflict upon himself.
Once Gwyn ap Nudd found out about the gift of álfrsilf, his smile widened and his eyes lit up.
"That is excellent news," he boomed. "I quite agree with my fellow monarch, my dears. It is time to think of your nuptials. And for those, you shall need proper rings. Álfrsilfr is an excellent choice. It may be difficult to work with, but the results are worthwhile." The King looked over his shoulder and called on his attendant.
"Run to the forge and tell them to be ready to receive guests. Soon they shall be forging their wedding rings and everything must be prepared!"
While the attendant merely nodded before running off, Harry and Fleur were both struck by surprise. The King had hinted at his expectations of their wedding before, but this truly made it real.
It took some time for preparations to be made, so they were allowed free passage to return to their cottage. They had much to do, despite their desire to just cuddle on the couch and enjoy each other.
Fleur had gone to visit her family in France, to tell her sister, parents and grandparents the news while Harry had sought out the Weasleys. As usual now, their union was tinged by sadness. While Harry and Fleur had been doing their best to avoid Death Eaters, the Burrow had been attacked by a deluge of Death Eaters and sympathizers, led through the protective enchantments by none other than Peter Pettigrew.
Though they had fought valiantly, only Arthur, Molly, Percy, Ron, and Ginny had managed to escape, none of them unscathed. The rest perished. And even then Ginny succumbed to her cursed wounds. Whatever animosity there may have been in the past between Fleur and the Weasleys, it was gone when Harry and Fleur had attended the funerals. Molly had to be constantly supported. The usually lively matron, now a shadow of her former self, had to be kept company all the time, lest she lose herself in her melancholy. Arthur, whose face now bore scars far grislier than even Moody could have imagined, did his level best. Without his steady, quiet presence, Molly would have given up.
Percy now needed a cane to walk properly, having lost his leg to a cursed fire and he had yet to get used to his prosthetic.
With Ron, it had been difficult, he had been hit by a multitude of curses and lost both his left arm and eye. Fortunately, the hospital at St. Mungos was very willing to provide magical prosthetics. Still, Ron's gaze was now unnerving with each eye different. His arm was now made of metal and he had to regularly practice with it in hopes of getting full functionality.
They now lived in the rebuilt Burrow, many volunteers having chosen to help the stricken family. Still, the lively, homely atmosphere so typical for the house, was now absent.
Harry approached the front door and announced his presence. With a squeak, the door opened, revealing the red hair and discoloured eyes of his best friend.
"Hey, mate, good to see you," Ron greeted him, still sounding subdued.
"I've got news, Ron." Harry smiled at him, trying to cheer him up. "Is everyone here? It's best to tell them in person."
Ron nodded mutely and invited Harry in. One thing had not changed, there was a mess inside, but while previously it gave the home a warm feeling, it now only spoke of neglect. Harry followed Ron into the kitchen where Molly seemed to perk up upon seeing him.
"Harry dear!" She exclaimed as she flowed into his embrace. It couldn't compare to her earlier powerful hugs, but Harry did his best to squeeze the woman who freely accepted him into her heart and home. He was startled to realize he could now comfortably see over Molly's head. Was she always this short? This, however, allowed him to see both Percy and Arthur smiling tiredly at him.
If it took a bit longer for Molly to release him and the front of his shirt was suspiciously wet, Harry said nothing, simply squeezing Molly's shoulders.
"You look great, dear."
"Thank you, Mrs Weasley. Healthy eating and lots of exercise," Harry replied with a warm smile.
Arthur beckoned Harry to sit down while Molly bustled around to prepare a cup of tea for her favourite guest.
"So, Harry." Ron's somewhat rough voice caused Harry to look at him, again struck by the difference in Ron's visage. "You said you had news to share?"
All the other Weasleys now perked up, their curiosity getting the better of them.
"Oh yes." Harry grinned excitedly. "Fleur and I are gonna get married!"
Molly brought her hands to her mouth, her eyes suspiciously shiny, while Ron carefully embraced Harry. Percy just put a hand on his shoulder, smiling widely and Arthur had tears in his eyes.
When Harry disentangled himself, he continued, "The date isn't yet set, but you are all invited. Fleur's family will be there too." Harry stopped himself here for a moment and put his hands to his head, using his index fingers to make a sign of horns. "As will our new, ehm, friends."
"Oh, that is wonderful, Harry!" Molly was openly crying now, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Of course we will come. I'm already looking forward to it." She quickly hugged him again. "You will let us know if you need any help with the preparations, young man."
Harry looked at all the Weasleys with fondness and only nodded, overcome by affection for the family.
-(/\)-
Fleur returned similarly elated and when she saw him at their cottage, rushed to embrace him. He knew she had missed her family terribly during the war, so her reaction was entirely understandable. It was also hardly a hardship to hold Fleur Delacour in his arms.
"Your feathers are showing, darling." Harry chuckled while admiring Fleur slender shoulders as he kept her in his arms.
She just laughed brightly and pecked Harry on the cheek. It truly felt like a peck, but as her feathers receded, so did her lips soften. Neither of them wanted to let go and so their embrace lasted for a few minutes.
Gladly accepting a glass of apple juice from Harry, she sat down at their table, facing her beloved.
"The Weasleys?" She asked him after she finished her drink.
Harry closed his eyes for a moment before speaking quietly, "Physically they're recovering, but they've been hit hard." He released a sigh full of sorrow. "But they've agreed to come. Your family?"
Fleur took his hand into her own and her smile lit up the room, "Oui, they were elated, maman and papa are looking forward to it, Gabby can't wait, and mamie promised to bring presents." She shrugged gaily, "They also promised to 'elp in any way they can."
Harry entangled his fingers with Fleur's and returned her smile, "Good. But now we have to go."
Yes, they had to go to the forge in Annwn.
-(/\)-
The trip through a hillock gateway, now quite familiar to them, took very little time. It was as if they merely passed through a portal. As was usual, they were greeted by the sentries and wished good luck on their way.
Annwn was a strange realm, with many places changing almost on a whim. Through three winters and seven summers they passed, yet it took them less than a day.
Finally, they arrived at the King's court and, after a bit of refreshment, were ushered to the forges. There, among the various tools of the trade, stood a tall, bearded man in a belted brown tunic. His messy and long black and pepper hair was covered by a conical cap and his long beard fell on a leather apron. As he saw the pair, he pointed a pair of tongs at them.
"So you are the two Gwyn told me about." his voice was deep and hoarse as if he'd spent much of his life shouting. His beady blue eyes were hard to see under his scrunched, bushy eyebrows. "You can call me Gofannon."
Upon his gesture they took up positions against the north wall, careful not to knock over anything in this workshop.
"Take a chair, both of you," he bade them.
"You are here to forge your wedding rings," the old smith continued, stroking his beard.
"Congratulations, I suppose." His snort sounded rueful as he went to a flagon on the nearby table.
"However," he said, pointing with the flagon at them, "forging a ring, enchanting it no less, that's no easy thing."
After taking a swig of the ale, he wiped his mouth. "You'll have to learn, both of you. And you have álfrsilfr too. Fine metal. But it's resistant to fire." He frowned at Harry.
"You're magically strong, so I'll teach you how to heat it up too." He pointed at Harry.
"You'll go to the next room and get changed, I'll get you started on a primer." Harry could only mutely nod and went to get changed.
"And you, missy." He pointed at Fleur, "You'll go through the scrolls my attendant will bring you. You'll learn everything there. My journeyman will test you."
"Oui," Fleur managed to get out of herself. The man's presence was… unique, like he filled the room with just his being, his gaze as penetrating as the King's.
"Good." He snorted. "And attendants! More ALE!"
-(/\)-
Harry felt somewhere between nervous and ridiculous as he reentered the forge, his mode of dress now mirroring Gofannon with the exception of the conical cap. Fleur had already left the room by the time he was done changing and something of that must have shown on his face because Gofannon quickly addressed him.
"Don't worry about your little flower," he rumbled amusedly. "She's in a nearby set of rooms studying right now." Gofannon pointed at an impressive set of bellows. "Be so good and get a fire started. Then work the bellows once. They should keep going to help us with the fire."
Harry nodded and went to follow his first set of instructions. Gofannon watched him with furrowed brows. Starting the fire was easy thanks to his wand, but working the bellows took a lot out of him.
"Aye." Gofannon chuckled, "They need some getting used to. But the magic in them is solid. Work hard, your little flower is learning how to weave enchantments into metal, no simple charms."
Finally, Harry got the bellows moving, each repetition making a mighty whooshing sound.
"Now, Harry, can I call you that?" At Harry's nod, Gofannon continued. "You have a nice chunk of álfrsilfr there." He nodded at the now familiar package, "But you have to learn how to work a metal first." Now he pointed at a similarly shaped grey ingot. "That is iron. I know, tricky stuff around here, but it will serve our purpose."
The burly bearded man shrugged and smiled widely when an attendant quickly peaked in, carrying two large pitchers of ale.
"Put them on the corner table, carefully. It's some good stuff," he called at the attendant.
When they were left alone and the fire was burning hot, Gofannon addressed Harry again, "I will teach you how to make an iron ring first, before trying to shape álfrsilfr, not to mention some other tricks."
Was that a wink? Harry was honestly unsure.
"You have your gloves on, lad?" Gofannon checked, "Good! Grab those tongs over there!" He pointed to one of the many worktables. "And use them to put the iron ingot into the forge. Carefully."
Harry did as he was told, already, beads of sweat were forming on his forehead from the heat of the fire.
"Hot in here, huh?" Gofannon chuckled, "That's why I had the ale brought in. Now we wait for the ingot to glow yellow." He pointed at the forge. "Watch carefully, you don't want to take it out too soon, nor too late."
Harry nodded again, focusing on the fire. He watched as the ingot started changing colour while Gofannon spoke again.
"First I will show you how to separate a smaller piece from that. You won't need a whole ingot to make a ring. Take out the ingot now, carefully."
Gofannon watched as Harry cautiously reached into the fire with the tongs and took out the now glowing ingot.
"Good, you have a steady grip." He praised, "Carry it to the anvil in the centre," He pointed and went to another worktable to pick up something.
"This, Harry, is a chisel, watch as I fit it into this slot in the anvil," Gofannon spoke as he worked. "Now, hold the ingot and put it onto the chisel, it should touch the ingot close to its edge, about a fifth of the ingot should go over the chisel."
Guided by his mentor's words, Harry did so and wiped his forehead.
Gofannon handed Harry a large hammer, with one end flat, the other resembling the chisel on which he had the ingot.
"You need to hammer the ingot now, Hary." Gofannon made the hammering motion with his fist. "Let the chisel work itself into the ingot."
This was easier said than done and Gofannon had to chide Harry several times when he didn't hit the ingot properly.
"Careful, you want to be steady, Harry," he advised, "It's hard work."
Harry found his tempo and the chisel was sinking steadily into the ingot.
"Good. This." Gofannon pointed at the chisel, "This will help us separate that piece of the ingot. Careful now!" He warned, "The end is going to fall off."
And fall off it did. At Gofannon wordless gesture, Harry put the rest of the ingot at a worktable and took the fallen off piece into the tongs. Red was starting to creep into the glow of the metal around its edges.
"It's too cold now, put it back into the forge," Gofannon told him, pointing at the forge where the bellows started moving again.
"Leave it there for a bit." He patted Harry on the shoulder. "So far, you're doing good. And sweating a lot." He chuckled.
"Here." He offered Harry one of the pitchers. "Smithing is a thirsty work, drink up while your iron heats up."
It was an interesting taste, much less sweet than butterbeer, but it still retained some sweetness and he could swear it tasted a bit nutty.
"Good, huh? Brewed it myself." Gofannon chuckled at Harry's look. "What? I'm not in the forge every day."
It was time, however, to put the ale away, since the iron piece was now glowing red.
"Take the iron to the anvil." Gofannon pointed at it, "You will need to hammer it into shape, it needs to be long and thin."
Harry put the glowing iron piece on the anvil and asked. "How should I hammer it, Gofannon?"
"Start out with hitting it with the flat end, let the hammer fall straight, you want to hit the iron with the full surface." Gofannon demonstrated the technique. The iron sang with each hit.
"This will straighten the piece out. Keep the power consistent."
While the sound of hammered iron rang out of the forge, Fleur was going through a different, yet no less exhausting process.
-(/\)-
It was evening and Harry ached in places he didn't even know he had. Gofannon kept him in the forge, training various hammering techniques all day. While the breaks and the ale were pleasant and the man himself, while gruff, was pleasant enough, once you got used to his voice, the work was hard. And Gofannon was a ruthless taskmaster, immediately pointing out mistakes.
His walk somewhat resembling the dead he and Fleur had fought some time ago, Harry shambled into their shared quarters. Fleur was already inside, sitting on an armchair, her head tilted back. Had he been even a few minutes late, Fleur would have doused off.
Harry had to stifle a little laugh, she looked adorable in her unique way. As devastatingly beautiful as always, looking lovely in her flowing azure dress, she absolutely lacked any elegance now, sprawled as she was. And still, the sight of her caused affection to swell in Harry's heart.
"I'm home, my love," He called out with a crooked smile. Her eyes flew open and she jerked awake.
Her smile, even as tired as she was, lit up the room and she got up to greet him.
"'Arry!"
She was interrupted as he enveloped her in a bear hug.
"Let go, you brute." She laughed. "You stink."
"Hmm," He murmured into her hair, taking in a long breath. "Love you."
She squirmed in his grasp and kissed him lightly below his jaw.
"Thank you for reminding me of that, 'Arry," She whispered near his ear. "But you still stink."
Harry quickly let her go, feeling her dexterous fingers dancing on his side. She knew very well where he was ticklish.
"Go to the bathroom to freshen up." She pointed at another door. "I will arrange dinner for us, hm?"
Grumbling jokingly, Harry went to the bathroom. He honestly needed a quick bath, but the combination of getting a chance to hug Fleur and having a bit of fun with her had proven too difficult to resist.
Inside the bathroom, he found a bath and a reservoir of warm water. Very quickly he drew his bath. When he finally submerged himself, the feeling was heavenly. He, however, knew better than to fall asleep. He was promised food! And Fleur's company!
It was one of the quicker baths in his life and he was drying himself off. After getting haphazardly dressed, he returned to their living room. Fleur was humming merrily, a tune he was unfamiliar with, and arranging bowls and plates on the table.
One of the advantages of living in Annwn, it seemed, was being able to get fresh vegetables at any time, since there always was the right time somewhere. Harry appreciated that fact when looking at the fresh vegetable salad in the bowl. It was complemented by fresh bread, salted ham and a small wedge of cheese for each of them. And in a large pitcher, there was fresh water with ice. The dew gathering on the surface looked extremely appealing. As Harry learned, smithing was a thirsty job.
"Hm, looks delicious," Harry murmured, hugging Fleur from behind and kissing her cheek.
"'Arry…" She whined playfully and carefully set down the last plate. As he reluctantly let her go, her hand snaked around his hip, going up and grabbing his lapel. She brought him in for a quick kiss on the lips and graced him with a victorious grin.
"Much better, 'Arry." She released him and playfully shooed him to his chair. "Now let's eat, I am 'ungry."
So was Harry and so they both sat down, eagerly filling their plates.
"So," Fleur said after quickly swallowing a bite of the delicious, soft, heavenly smelling bread, "what 'ave you been doing, 'Arry?"
He shrugged and finished the last forkful of salad he had. "Well, Gofannon had me hammering iron, learning different ways to hammer it." He grimaced, still feeling the pain in his arm. "What about you?"
Fleur's eyes gleamed as she recalled her lessons, "Oh, 'Arry." She sighed wistfully. "It was so beautiful." She even blushed at the recollection. "It may have started a bit dry with the scrolls." She chuckled ruefully, "But what they described. Ah… I've always loved music."
That was true, as Harry very well knew. Every day, Fleur would at least hum or sing. Though he knew there was no magic in those songs, they were capable of ensnaring him much more easily than the charm granted to her by her heritage. And Fleur certainly enjoyed the attention of her rapt audience of one.
"It is good that my maman taught me the 'arp when I was little." She shrugged and took a bite of the bread and cheese.
"I 'aven't 'ad the chance to practice, lately." She interrupted her narration by a long gulp of water. "I will learn to direct magic through the 'arp." At Harry's raised eyebrows, she scowled. "Oui, through the 'arp, they 'ave a special one 'ere. That, and with my song, I will be able to place enchantments." She wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Tomorrow I will practice it with some easy enchantments."
"Already?" Harry voiced his amazement. He had only managed to make an almost straight iron rod.
"Oui." Fleur nodded seriously. "I will need to cast them quickly and precisely." She noticed that he was finished with his dinner as well. "You will have little time to work the rings." At Harry's nod, she continued. "I cannot make mistakes."
"You won't," he quickly assured her. "I, on the other hand..."
"Non, mon cœur," She interrupted him, deep affection in her eyes. "You won't. I know it."
It was Harry's turn to blush now, though internally he glowed with happiness, revelling in her faith in him.
They cleaned up and did the dishes in companionable silence, sharing the work. As the frequency of their yawns increased, they, without words, decided to turn in early.
The bed was definitely more comfortable than what they had at the cottage and were they not so tired, they would have certainly enjoyed using it for other activities besides sleeping. However, the next day promised to be just as exhausting, if not more. And so Harry settled on his side, Fleur in his arms. Her silvery blonde hair tickled him on the nose and her heavenly smell reminded him of many such nights they spent in one other's arms.
"Good night, my love," he murmured and kissed the crown of her head. She murmured something indistinct and snuggled closer to him. Fleur's presence, the comfort her scent and heat brought him, soon also helped Harry to sleep.
-(/\)-
When Harry woke up, he, as he had grown used to, couldn't move much, his head was resting comfortably on Fleur's chest, feeling her regular breathing. Her feathers lightly tickled his cheek and nose. Her arms held him in place with a firm grip and he knew it would be futile trying to get free. Not only that, he was very much reluctant to leave her warmth, now even emphasized in her transformed state. But even were he to get free from the embrace of her arms, he would still be wrapped in the cocoon of her wings and he certainly didn't have the heart to disentangle himself from that.
He noticed her breathing change as one of her eyes, amber like a hawk's, opened. She was watching him with an impish smile on her lips, only the slightest suggestion of her beak visible, suggesting that her transformation was slowly fading.
"Good morning, my flower," he whispered affectionately.
"Mhm." She nodded and tousled his already wild hair. Every morning she did that and Harry loved the feeling of her sharp nails lightly running over his scalp. She quickly moved forward and kissed the tip of his nose, giggling. She stopped her ministrations then and removed a silver downy feather from his hair.
Harry just sighed and grabbed her other hand, bringing it to his lips for a lingering kiss.
There was an important morning ritual awaiting him now. Fleur released him from her feathery embrace with a longing sigh. Harry already missed her warmth. Initially, he had thought her too warm, perhaps sick, but she had laughingly assured him that it was normal for Veela. Now, he couldn't imagine Fleur without her warmth.
She sat down on the bed and turned her back to him, her wings already gone. Instead, Harry quickly picked up a silver comb, a gift he had given her over a year ago.
As he submerged the comb's teeth into the silvery gold cascade shimmering in the morning light, Fleur released a content sigh. With careful, languid moves, Harry began combing out her luxurious hair. From time to time he encountered a tangle and had to be extra careful. Nobody liked having their hair plucked out, but it was extremely painful for Veela.
With practised ease now Harry brushed her hair, both of them humming in harmony. And as Fleur's hair slowly got untangled, she, feeling her partner's devotion and affection in his every move, began to ethereally glow. With each stroke of Harry's brush, the soft silver glow grew in intensity.
Finally, her hair was fully untangled, flowing freely and resembling a waterfall made of spun moonlight, she turned around, her beaming face filling Harry with awe, every morning without fail.
Her arms went around his neck, her lips sought out his in a needy kiss. She had to pour her love, her passion, her affection for him into that single kiss.
When air became a necessity, they simply stayed in a tight embrace, forehead to forehead.
Much as they both would have preferred to stay and enjoy the intimacy, they had work to do. And so, with a final brush of the tips of their noses, they let go. After some quick hygiene, they dressed up and went to the living room of their quarters. Food was already on the table, the heavenly smell of bacon, fried eggs and fresh bread filling the room.
They both partook of those with gusto and were also delighted to find two cups of coffee, steaming and ready for them. Fleur's blissful sigh as she took her first sip caused goosebumps to appear on Harry's arms and there and then, they were almost late for their lessons.
But Harry resisted the urge and with a last quick kiss and Fleur softly caressing his cheek, they went their separate ways.
-(/\)-
With a last lingering kiss, Fleur said her goodbye to Harry for the day and went to her lessons. She knew they took place close to Gofannon's workshop, yet she had never heard the noise from the forge. Similarly, she knew Harry had heard nothing of her lessons. The room was quite spartan, with just a pair of chairs and a long table on which were laid out the various items she would need for the day.
Her instructor, a gentle-looking man of indeterminate age, welcomed her for the day, his blue eyes reflecting the wide smile he wore. It wasn't every day that Morfan ap Cadfael could work with such a gifted and enthusiastic student.
"Take a seat, Miss Delacour." He gestured towards one of the empty chairs. "Today, we will practice with the harp again."
With a smile, he followed Fleur's gaze which fell upon the harp resting atop the table.
"You must truly familiarize yourself with it. For when the time comes to cast your magic on the rings," ge told her, looking into her eyes seriously, "no mistakes can be allowed. You both shall wear those rings for the rest of your lives."
He gestured towards the harp and then unfurled one of the scrolls. Inside, there were notes for a soulful ballad.
"And hence, the harp. Not only must your song be perfect. Your heart must be in it."
A slow, mournful song filled the room, recounting a tragic tale of lovers star-crossed, facing opposition from both families.
"A sad song, yes? Even without words, your playing must be able to bring tears to your audience's eyes."
And so time went by, Morfan would pick different songs, romances, ballads, epics, silly ditties, and Fleur would do her best to put the feelings into music with the strumming of strings. And as her dexterous fingers danced and music flowed through the room, Morfan's smile grew.
"Enough for now," he announced after an indeterminate time. "We shall practise this more in the coming days. You show promise." He took a deep breath, seemingly gathering his thoughts. "However, so far, I have been picking the songs. When the time comes, the songs you will be playing are going to be of your choosing. And we shall now practice the reason for that."
He stood up now and began pacing around the room.
"Your songs must carry the emotions you feel." He pointed at her heart. "Your heart must be in them. For it is your heart, your feelings, that give shape to your magic." Now he looked at the rather large pile of scrolls on the table. "Therefore, you must select the songs to perform carefully. You will only have this one chance."
Again, Morfan paced, caressing his smooth chin.
"Yes, perhaps we should try." He stopped again and went out of the room. With him, he brought a colourful cloak. "I have a simple task for you. This cloak is quite old, not as warm as it used to be."
Fleur focused on the cloak and it truly appeared quite worn.
"And so, you shall give it additional warmth. Easy, no? Imbue it with your magic, guide it to provide warmth to whoever wears it."
The day continued in this vein. Morfan would bring in an object and ask her to change its properties, give it a new quality. She would then look through the various songs, looking for the right one to awaken the right feelings in her. Especially at the start, it took many tries. Even when she found a song that could cause feelings to burst from her heart, it often ended only with a passionate performance.
When a golden ribbon of light appeared in the air for the first time, she nearly dropped the harp and lost her concentration. Soon after she was overcome by giggles, feeling like a little schoolgirl again, casting spells for the first time.
And like a schoolgirl, her first attempts had very varied results, though very rarely ones she desired. Even so, she left the lesson with an enormous smile on her face, planning to ambush Harry with a bear hug and a kiss that would take his breath away.
-(/\)-
The next few days all flew by at a similar tempo. They would go to their lessons and work hard under their watchful tutors and return to their quarters, both exhausted but also happy, knowing well that their endeavour was a worthwhile one.
Over dinner, they would share their impressions, Harry of learning to flatten the metal into thin strips and Fleur of imbuing her voice and the harp with her magic. While he learned to curl metal into rings, she was learning several songs by heart. When he learned to channel his magic into a special hammer to pound his magic and will into the metal, she practised, pouring her heart and magic into songs, epics, romances, and ballads.
They would always share a few intimate moments, unable and unwilling to resist the urge, and would fall asleep in each other's arms. Invariably, Harry would wake up in Fleur's feathery embrace and as the days went by, he truly looked forward to the moment when they wouldn't have to get up early and he, like a dragon, could simply bask in the warmth his beloved exuded.
It wasn't only work, though. Fleur loved working with music, it spoke to her heart of hearts like little else in the world. Already she had plans to obtain a harp of her own, and the image of Harry's face, entranced by her songs, brought an impish smile to her face. She had seen his reaction whenever she sang. And as she kept learning new songs, her heart was filled with a warm glow. Still, she had to focus on directing her magic into the desired object. Unlike her magic lessons in the past, she wasn't learning specific incantations. No, it was her heart that would shape the magic as she sang and played. Using magic, she would give her love for Harry, her intense pride and fierce protectiveness a concrete form. Their rings would carry her feelings for her Harry just as surely as she would.
Harry too enjoyed his lessons with the gruff old man. His instructions were always clear and gentle, whenever he had to correct Harry, he never berated him unfairly. And during their breaks, over ale, Gofannon would share some of his numerous stories. He was a good listener too and Harry retold much of his life. There, in the forge, over shared hard work, stories of their life and companionable silence, a bond of friendship was forged between Harry and the older blacksmith. He could see that Harry genuinely enjoyed working the metal, absorbing his lessons with eagerness and a focused look. And it seemed that Harry could have quite a talent.
This, working hard, shaping the unyielding metal in the heat of the forge, drenched in sweat and Gofannon's company held an appeal to Harry. Here, he could create, shape and change something crude and raw into something new. Gofannon assured him that he could create true beauty. And after years of struggle, fighting, even destruction, Harry found himself looking forward to being able to bring something beautiful into the world.
-(/\)-
And then it was time, Gofannon pronounced them both ready to make their rings. Despite the thorough training they had both received, Harry felt butterflies in his stomach and a single glance at Fleur's paling face suggested she shared his feelings. Nonetheless, after a shared glance, they held each other's hands and shortly nodded. With squared shoulders and heads held high, Harry and Fleur went to change into the appropriate clothes. For Harry, it was the familiar belted tunic and leather apron while Fleur donned a long white dress in which she very much resembled a wild Veela from the old tales.
Gofannon and his assistants, meanwhile, cleaned up the workshop, for nothing was to be left to chance. Nothing could be allowed to get in the way. Worktables were cleaned up except for tools Harry would need, the floor was clean, the anvil polished. And unlike all the previous time, the typical smell of burning coal was absent. The álfrsilfr ingot was resting on the table nearest to the anvil.
Before the forging itself would start, Gofannon had his assistants measure the pair's fingers, making a mental note of the values.
Another assistant then handed Fleur a harp with the frame made of a red wood and the strings glistening in the light as if they were pure moonbeams. Harry in the meantime asked the assistant who had measured his finger to take hold of the tongs and keep the álfrsilfr ingot steady.
It was time for the first step. Fleur strummed the harp, the tinkling sound of the strings soon accompanied by her angelic voice. She started with the Ballad of Iskra and Dragomir. Already, Harry felt his beloved's magic wrapping itself around him, reminding him of her soft hugs and gentle touches. As Fleur's voice rose and fell, singing of the devoted Lady Iskra standing by her beloved's side even in the face of cruel fate and enemies uncountable, Harry brandished his wand. The onlookers were amazed as they could see the golden ribbons of Fleur's magic gently surround Harry, given will by the emotions of the Veela songstress.
As he had trained with Gofannon, Harry focused on the magical feat he wished to achieve. As with all magic that would be worked that day, there were no incantations. All that would happen would be driven by the feelings they both would put into the process. There was a spark at the tip of Harry holly wand and then an arc of bright blue light connected the wand's tip with the ingot. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and his wand started twitching, but he kept it aimed firmly at the ingot which started to heat up. Fleur's song gained in tempo as Iskra kept her vows to Dragomir to stand with him even if whole armies tried to separate them. The ribbons of her magic, at once both fierce and gentle, wrapped themselves about his wand arm, providing sweet relief.
And then it was done, the arc sputtered and died, the ingot glowing red hot as Iskra and Dragomir, both dead, were buried next to each other. A tree was planted over each of their graves and as Iskra and Dragomir were together in life, their souls went to the trees, their branches growing entangled. Not even death could part the lovers.
There was no time to hesitate, though, so Harry holstered his wand and took the tongs from the assistant while another handed him a cross-face hammer with an ogham covered handle and the head being made of a bluish metal known only to Gofannon.
Fleur started a new song, a love song, about a young prince, Mark, who met a young Veela, Aine, a protector of the largest wood in his kingdom, while hunting. He lost his way and the enchanting young woman found him. Yet he wasn't the only charmed person on that day, for she, too, had fallen under his spell. Long they merely beheld each other, before starting to court each other. He recited her poems, she teased him with riddles. Happily they were married and happiness they brought to their shared realm, keeping the balance and peace between the kingdoms of the humans and the fey. Numerous and fruitful were the weddings between the two peoples during their reign.
And as the cheerful song full of hope brought more golden glow to the workshop, Harry put the glowing ingot on top of the chisel that had been prepared so he could start separating the heated metal into smaller pieces. With each upswing, the hammer glowed blue and with each downswing, as the hammer hit the metal, a blue flash appeared. With each hit, Harry's magic and focus entered the metal, preparing it to be shaped. The ringing of hammer on metal, though much different in sound, only complemented the tinkling of the harp. With each hit, Harry drove the chisel deeper into the ingot, until, finally, just as Fleur's song reached its highest point, the piece that was to become a ring fell off. Quickly, an assistant grabbed it with another pair of tongs.
Once again, Harry's hammer started its steady rhythm and Fleur began the second act of the song, describing how the royal couple shaped their prosperous kingdom and brought up their two children, spreading joy wherever they could. Then also the second piece was separated and caught in a pair of tongs. The song ended when the young son met a charming river maiden.
Quickly, before the metal could cool off too much, Harry was handed the tongs with the first separated piece of álfrsilfr. Once again he raised the hammer, the workshop lit up by blue flashes to the steady rhythm of his hits. This time, Fleur began an epic, the saga of Reginleif and Haraldr, the latter of whom was a young warrior from a country doomed to be plagued by jötnar raids. The young shieldmaiden, seeing Haraldr's fire, joined him on his quest to save his homeland. Together they faced the doom they have bound themselves to. And as the mail-clad lovers faced blackhearted foes in the morning gloom atop sea-shore's cliffs, Harry's hammer fell.
Hard, it seemed, the metal was to shape, sweat rolled down Harry's brow, yet unceasing was his arm. As if guided by a higher purpose, the hammer hit the metal unerringly. With each blue flash, the álfrsilfr sang and changed shape. As Haraldr and Reginleif faced each other in the duelling ring in a fierce spar, they made their weapons sing.
Sparks flew high in the song, when steel met steel, and higher still when Harry's hammer struck. No one watching could believe that the two were lovers and not enemies.
Harry's muscles started to ache but the ribbons of Fleur's magic, bright as polished gold, fiercely hit the metal, making it yield while her song renewed the resolve in his heart. Stronger, fiercer, harder, Harry's hits shaped the metal into form.
Then, finally, the first strip of álfrsilfr had the correct shape, yet was too cold now. Harry wiped his brow and grinned, in his eyes a fierce gleam. Fleur's song continued and as the two lovers were fighting their own practice war, every muscle straining, Harry heated up the second piece of metal.
Gofannon nodded appreciatively as Harry's swings were regular and precise, his focus unwavering. And as the two lovers, clad in mail, swords in hand, led their hird against their hated foe, their doom foretold, they rose to meet their fate. With each line of the song, a flash of blue signified Harry striking the metal, shaping it both by his strength and the power of his will.
The heroes' friends fell one by one, exacting a bloody price and Harry's eyes gained an ethereal glow. Then his hammer fell, once, again and once more, the piece of metal grew in length and became thin. And with Harry's last hit, the two lovers died, their swords stuck in the jötunn chief's heart, surrounded by a circle of foes slain. And as they rose again, a valkyrie and her einherjar heading to Valhöll's famed feasts, they knew that together they had earned the glory to fight in the last battle.
As the last tones faded, Gofannon nodded curtly and his assistants offered Harry and Fleur cold drinks. Now was the chance for rest and both, drenched in sweat, gladly accepted the refreshments. They sat on a bench, shoulders touching while the assistants brought them clean, wet towels to clean up and pitchers of mild beer to refill their energy.
Soon the time to rest was over. Now came the most painful part of the process as both Harry and Fleur plucked out a hair off their heads. No harp would accompany the next process, instead, it was Harry's surprisingly deep singing voice accompanying Fleur's in a song of two lovers, promising eternal love to one another. As they sang and went over the lovers' first meeting, Harry heated up both strips of metal again, straining to split his attention between the song, never once wavering, and keeping his wand on target.
And then both pieces were glowing bright blue. Still singing, describing the lovers' final vows, Harry and Fleur approached and with extreme caution placed their hair onto the metal strips, Fleur's longer silver hair hissed as it was absorbed into the metal while Harry's hair vanished quietly into the metal as if it was welcomed and accepted.
Fleur took up the harp again. Ribbons of golden light filled the workshop again, circling Harry and Fleur before flowing into the metal pieces. This time, Gofannon recognized the familiar verses of the song of Culhwch and Olwen, Fleur's lilting voice almost bringing a tear to his eye. And spurred on by her song, Harry took the piece containing his hair and took it to the anvil's horn, to a spot Gofannon had indicated.
Once again, blue flashes lit up the workshop even though Harry worked much more gently now, curling the strip of metal into a ring, one that he would eventually put on his lover's finger. Culhwch's tasks as he worked for Olwen's hand ran through his mind, conjured by Fleur's talented voice as he carefully ensured the ring would be smooth. Finally, the shape was perfect and with a bit of his own magic, the strip of metal became a ring.
And when finally Culhwch was free to marry his beloved Olwen, the strip with Fleur's hair, the ring that would rest on his finger in the future, was finished. A smooth band of bluish silver metal, retaining some of the warmth carried by Fleur's songs and his hammer.
The time for the final two steps was nigh. Instead of the large hammer, Harry was handed a much smaller tool, a file. This process took much time, for his goal was to make sure that both rings would fit comfortably. It took much time and concentration to make sure the sharp edges of the rings were filed and rounded. Still, he was accompanied by Fleur's magical song. And so he worked to the tunes of various songs, feeling his lover's magic both caressing him and entering the rings. He knew the metal yielded so easily to the file thanks to both his and her magic filling it.
And then, finally, Harry put down the file and took up a small hammer and an engraver. It took surprisingly little time for him and Fleur to agree on what would be engraved into the rings. Learning how to do it in the ogham script, however, was much more time-consuming. Still, Harry persevered and now, to the tunes of the tragic romance between Ignotus and Heledd, a song of love everlasting, of humility and acceptance and of the Faerie King being softened by the love his daughter held for a mortal, Harry worked. Neither of them noticed the flow of time, the assistants, one by one, leaving the workshop.
And then, in the end, only Harry, Fleur, and Gofannon remained, working long into the night. Finally, they were finished, she put down the harp and went to Harry, immediately embracing him. Gofannon briefly squeezed both their shoulders and with a wish of good night left the lovers alone, exultant in their embrace and looking wondrously at the pair of rings, with the inscription glowing blue and gold into the night.
'O'r diwrnod hwn i'r diwrnod olaf.'
From this day to the last day