It must have painted an absurd picture, seeing the two of them like this. He could only imagine what a muggle would think if they passed by in that moment.
To his right, stood the tall figure of Albus Dumbledore, dressed in an outrageous combination of twinkling purple robes and a forest green, and crinkling open the cellophane wrapping of his favorite sweets. Meanwhile, Harry was walking around in a pair of ratty old trainers, ripped jeans and an oversized Puddlemere United sweater.
Standing in the middle of an abandoned Muggle street, littered with broken glass, discarded smokes and old trash, they made an odd pair to say the least.
"Where are we, sir?" Harry inquired as he kicked an empty can out of his way.
"We are in a place that was left to be forgotten," Dumbledore answered, leading him in the direction of a rusted gate at the far end of the street. "Whether it was intentionally made so, will be determined shortly."
Wherever they were heading, was certainly not pleasant. The sun was still setting along the horizon, splashing the sky with deep purple strokes; however, what light did remain was suspiciously fading faster with each step they took.
The gate swung open with a sharp screech.
Willow trees lined either side of the path they were now following, crisscrossing their shadowy limbs above them and whispering to one another in the wind.
A feeling of dread hung in the air, not unlike that of a Dementor, and a frigid chill settled at the base of Harry's spine.
"There's something wrong with this place, sir. It feels evil," Harry said, fingering his wand at his side.
"Our destination tonight is one with a dark past," Dumbledore admitted. turned a corner, and Harry spotted the roof of a decrepit Victorian aged home peaking over the trees. "No action is without consequence, and what you are feeling in the air is the product of what has come before. All magic leaves a trace, especially magic used in evil and malicious ways. It lingers and clings to whatever it can, hoping to spread its influence to anything it can find."
They turned a corner, and coming into sight, just peaking over the trees, was a large Victorian aged home.
Approaching the building, Harry was better able to see how far it had fallen into disrepair. What once must have been a handsome mansion, now only looked to be a shell of its former self: the windows were all boarded, ash colored paint peeled from its side and holes punched through the roof in the place of shingles.
"Do you know why we are here?" Dumbledore asked from in front of its rotten steps.
"This is where Voldemort grew up isn't it?" Harry answered, and shivered. "I can feel him. Not like he's here… but that he was—weaker, younger."
"Tom's magic always did have a unique feel to it. He managed to hide the true extent of his nature for a long time, but the signs were there, even when he was still a young boy living in a muggle orphanage."
"It's hard to imagine Voldemort living here or being a child even."
"There are still times when I think of Tom as the boy, I met here all those years ago," Dumbledore sighed, his aged shoulders dropping. "I suppose it is my curse to forever see them as my students, no matter who or what they become."
Dumbledore pulled open the front door, and they entered what used to be a waiting room. There was a collection of wooden chairs strewn across the room, and a small weather-beaten desk sat next to an office.
A large staircase dominated the center of the room, directly leading into the inky blackness of the floors above.
Dumbledore extended his hand in the direction of the stairs, indicating for them to proceed.
The steps creaked and groaned and threatened to collapse beneath their feet if stepped on in the wrong place.
It was impossible to tell where they were going. Shadows shrouded them like a cloak, the light at the end of their wands illuminating only enough to see the floor just in front them.
Despite that, Harry felt himself drawn down the hallways. For whatever reason, he had the feeling he had walked these halls before. He knew he hadn't, but the thought wouldn't leave his mind.
The air around them was so thick, Harry was afraid he would choke if he breathed in too sharply. He could feel the pain, despair and fear, bleeding from the walls. It was almost unbearable.
What had happened here? Harry's stomach churned and sweat dotted across his skin. His head pounded… Or is that my scar? He could hardly tell at the moment.
Harry thought he could smell the stench of rotting flesh.
A cauldron sat in front of him in the previously empty hall, boiling and frothing some horrible mixture. Something moved inside of it; a strange shape that kept shifting. He could hear a high, cold laugh just as a dark form breached its surface. Growing from the cauldron was a black stone arch. It towered over, with a tattered black veil fluttering in the still air.
The laugh sounded again—this time closer.
Harry stumbled. The world was spinning around him like a broom falling out of the sky. He could feel the rough scraping of wallpaper on his palms, the only thing keeping him standing
Catching his breath, Harry tilted his head up and met Dumbledore's worried gaze.
"Evil does as it always has when confronted by those who are not afraid," Dumbledore spoke softly, resting his gloved hand on Harry's back. "It scratches and digs into your soul, preying on our weaknesses and failures and regrets… the moments we wish to forget."
Harry looked back down the hall to see it was empty.
"What did you see?" Harry asked. He could see the bags under his headmaster's eyes, and the frailty hidden beneath it all.
"You are far smarter than anyone gives you credit for," Dumbledore chuckled. "I lived a memory that has haunted me for decades, one I will never forgive myself for. A moment I would give anything to go back and change."
"I hate this place," said Harry.
"As do I," Dumbledore agreed solemnly, "but unfortunately we must continue."
There wasn't much further to travel. Voldemort's room was close by; he could feel it.
Harry wasn't sure what he expected when he entered, but he didn't think it would look so ordinary. It was small and simple, about the size of his bedroom in Privet Drive. There was a wooden frame for a bed, a single chair and a wardrobe.
"Not quite as cozy as my office, but it will do," Dumbledore said as he lowered himself onto the chair, leaving Harry the bedframe. "I have a memory to show you, and I thought it rather fitting for us to view it together where it originally had taken place."
Dumbledore reached into his robes, removing the cloth bag he brought along.
"You didn't bring your pensieve, sir," Harry pointed out.
"I did, however, bring this," Dumbledore said, pulling out what looked to be a small mirror from the bag.
The mirror was rimmed with hand etched runes and released a soft glow, like a full moon on a clear night.
"I invented this a few years ago when I wanted to show an old friend a particularly fond memory from my one-hundredth birthday party. My pensieve is a tad too large to carry around, so I made this," he explained as he poured a memory onto the surface of the mirror.
"Shall we?" Dumbledore prompted. The milky glass of the mirror rippled under their touch, before transporting them to the day Tom Riddle learnt about the existence of magic.
"Did you know?" The question weighed heavily in the tense air.
Such a simple question, with such severe consequences.
"Did I know I had just spoken to the worst Dark Lord Britain had seen in centuries? Did I know this boy would grow up to murder students, colleagues and dear friends of mine?" Dumbledore's eyes darkened, matching the atmosphere of the room. "I did not."
"It seems so obvious looking back at it now." Harry said.
"It does, doesn't it? But in the moment, all I saw was a troubled child," Dumbledore explained.
"He was hurting the other children!"
"Harry, you better than most know the pain children can cause one another."
"And who do I have to thank for that!" Harry's shouted, feeling his temper slip.
Dumbledore winced. "I apologize, Harry, it was not my intention—"
"It's fine." Harry interrupted stiffly, blood still pumping forcefully into his head.
Dumbledore gave a weak smile before continuing, "Tom used his control over magic to punish those he felt had wronged him. As you saw, I admonished him, and made it very clear what he was doing would not be tolerated at Hogwarts. I am curious to see if you caught what happened afterwards?"
"His entire demeanor shifted," Harry said. "He closed himself off, like he thought you were a threat."
"At the time I had thought he was being nothing more than a petulant child not liking being told what to do. But I was wrong."
"He feared you."
"He did," Dumbledore nodded. "He feared what I knew about him. He feared me for the intimate knowledge I held of his origin. Tom hid his emotions well. He blinded everyone with his brilliance, always keeping them an arm's length away to prevent them from learning anything about who he truly was, but I was never fooled."
"Just like when he opened the Chamber of Secrets and Myrtle was killed. He told me in the chamber that you were the only one who suspected him," Harry said, recalling his encounter with the diary in second year.
"Precisely. There was never a doubt in my mind Tom was guilty for the crimes pitted against Hagrid, but as Transfiguration Professor at the time there was nothing I could do. The case was closed, and Tom was no longer the same boy who could be scared by a flaming wardrobe. He had grown immensely over the years, and I had not checked in often enough. Much of my attention was focused on the war at the time, and bombings in London on the muggle side of things made it nearly impossible to communicate with Miss Cole of the orphanage."
A pregnant pause settled over the room, and shadows rippled around the dim lights at the tip of their wands.
"In the monster that is Lord Voldemort, there is only a fraction of fear reserved for me in the little of Tom Riddle that remains; but there is one other thing he fears above all else—death."
Dumbledore looked at Harry with great importance.
"Love is a gift and a curse; as beautiful as it is ugly. Those who live without it should be pitied, and those who deny it are damned. Merope Gaunt loved her son fiercely and gave her life for his. But Tom did not see it that way… he could not. In his eyes, his mother was weak, and only the weak could die. It was through his mother that his fear of death was born."
Standing, Dumbledore slowly paced about the room and ran his gaze along its cramped surfaces. "It was here where Lord Voldemort was born," he said so softly it was nearly swallowed by the night.
"How did he cheat death, sir?" Harry asked the question that had been burning in his mind for as long as he could remember.
A wave of sadness passed over Dumbledore's face. "That is a question we will be exploring on another night, Harry. All will be revealed, I swear this to you," he said honestly.
The orphanage was deathly silent, as they left Tom Riddle's room.
Harry was relieved; he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay inside without going mad. He swore he could see the shadows move, fluttering like capes in the wind, teasing him with their stalking dance.
Dumbledore pulled out his wand and Harry felt his heart jump within his chest.
"Quickly now," he said with a hint of urgency. "I believe we have out stayed our welcome."
"What is going on?" Harry asked, worried. He looked around, again seeing the dancing shadows circling the dark hall.
Dumbledore didn't answer, reaching out instead and pulling Harry down a hallway they hadn't been to before. He closed his eyes and cocked his head to the side as if listening to something.
Harry couldn't hear anything.
Dumbledore stilled. "Indeed, our presence has been noted."
"Wand out, Harry." There was steel to Dumbledore's voice.
It was as he gripped his holy and phoenix feather wand, that he heard it for the first time.
It was an unremarkable sound at first, like cloth being slid across a hard surface. It slithered along the walls around them, bringing with it the cold feeling of dread as it drew closer. Soon enough, it was all he could hear—the scraping of fabric like nails pulling across a chalkboard.
A shadow shot in front of him, across the edge of light coming from his wand.
"Get back!" With one arm, Dumbledore pushed Harry behind him, as the other cast a golden ring that disappeared into the darkness.
"What is it, sir?"
Whatever it was, circled them like a predator does its prey.
"Lethifolds," Dumbledore answered. His eyes searched the darkness, anticipating where the creatures would strike.
There wasn't much Harry knew about Lethifolds, other than their association to Dementors and taste for flesh.
As if reading his thoughts, Dumbledore said, "They infest places of great evil, slipping into the darkness and feeding on pain and negative energy."
Growing restless, one of the creatures darted forward, nothing more than a black blur, its pale claws grasping at their throats.
Unfortunately for it, Dumbledore did not miss a second time.
The Lethifold unleashed a horrible screech as the ring contracted around its thin form, tightening with each thrash of the monster's corpse-like limbs.
It was hard to distinguish their figures from the darkness around them, but what Harry saw disturbed him. He could see countless Lethifolds swarming and screaming in a blood thirsty rage. They were at the center of a hellish vortex, waiting for the nightmare to come.
Harry chanced a glance at Dumbledore, understanding passing between them. They would have to fight their way out.
A shield of ice grew out of the floor, reacting instantly to the sharp swipe of Harry's wand. With a twist of his wrist, it enlarged and went flying down the hallway, shielding them for a moment from the Lethifolds on that side.
There were far more Lethifolds than wizards in the narrow hallways of Wool's Orphanage. They needed as much space as they could get.
Streams of sparks and golden string lit the hall, trailing the long brushstrokes of Dumbledore's wand. The Lethifolds screeched in agony as they burnt bright and hot through them.
Dumbledore waltzed through the cloaked figures as though he were dancing to his favorite piece of music.
Harry felt more than saw what was coming next, as time seemed to slow around him. From an empty bedroom to his side, a Lethifold barrelled through the door, shattering it from its hinges, and flew at him with a gaping maw.
Expecto Patronum!
Prongs galloped out of his wand in a blinding white mist and the Lethifold was blasted back by the waves of positive energy radiating from its corporeal form.
A slivery phoenix glided overhead, helping his Patronus clear a path for them to follow.
He bounded down the steps at a breakneck speed, spotting the purple robes of his headmaster glittering through the open front doors as he fought to keep the Lethifolds inside.
A burst of pain erupted in Harry's ankle and ice travelled through his veins. He fell hard on the wooden steps, toppling head over heels the rest of the way down.
Everything was spinning. He was paralyzed, his body consumed with the frozen grip tightening around him.
A cloak wrapped itself around his shoulders, and all Harry could think of was falling asleep. It would be so easy. His teeth were chattering, and the warm embrace of darkness was welcoming, but the persistent tugging on his ankle and a stabbing in his shoulder kept him awake.
The reality of the situation settled in as a second Lethifold crawled over his skin and began to smother him with its shadowy body. His breaths came in short desperate spurts.
The taste of death filled his mouth, and a single spell came to his mind in desperation. Tempesta Furora. He had never attempted it before, only glossed over it in Percival Dumbledore's book where it spoke of harnessing nature's power to achieve feats beyond imagination.
As his mind began to fade, deep within himself Harry felt a storm gather strength. It thundered violently in chest, wanting nothing more than to break free. He let the fury of nature build inside him. The power was frightening. It thirsted for one thing—destruction.
Harry roared in his mind and let go.
Thunder clapped overhead, the force behind it shaking the orphanage down to its foundations.
Winds blew in from the east, howling like a pack of wolves as it whipped around Harry, lashing out at everything it came to touch. Each gust grew more brutal than the last, tearing wood from the floor and panels from the walls. Furniture clashed together as it was thrown about this tempest.
There was something beautiful about the devastation it brought.
Harry could feel the wild power threatening to break free from him at every turn. There was no negotiation, no half measures—only a battle for dominance between nature and the one foolish enough to summon it.
The hand on his ankle had long since lost its grip, and the Lethifolds around him had been viciously torn to shreds by debris caught in the windstorm.
He lay there, spread in a field of carnage for what felt like hours.
Finding one last surge of strength, Harry stumbled to his feet and confronted his own creation. It showed him no recognition and even less mercy.
The winds slammed into his body like a train, ripping the glasses from his face, but he held his ground.
The winds intensified and roared in his ears, his own magic protesting against him, but Harry would not be cowed.
He could taste metal at the back of his throat as he screamed trying to subdue the storm; and for some reason, it listened. Nature bowed to him, and all that remained was a cool breeze licking at the back of his neck.
Looking down at his feet, Harry kicked away the tattered remains of a Lethifold. He spotted countless others littering the surrounding rubble.
"Harry…" he heard someone say his name but ignored them.
His mind was blank as he sifted through piles of debris.
"Harry."
He knew his glasses had to be there somewhere.
"Harry!"
He found them crushed beneath a beam, completely misshapen and the lenses shattered. With a wave of his wand they were as good as new.
Only then did he remember someone had been trying to speak to him.
Swaying slightly as he turned, Harry saw Dumbledore standing across from him at the center of the crater which had once been the orphanage.
Dumbledore looked his normal calm self, taking in the scene like it was something he would happen across on a Sunday afternoon stroll. "That spell, where did you learn it?" he asked.
"In your f-father's book," Harry replied, stumbling through the wreckage.
Dumbledore nodded, inspecting Harry carefully. "The effects are rather hard to miss. I was unaware you had practiced it before."
"I hadn't—"Harry coughed harshly, before starting again. His knees felt weak and he couldn't lift his arm. "Th-there was a Lethifold… it was on me… I couldn't b-breathe a-a-and I needed it off—"
Dumbledore's serenity was quickly replaced by panic. "Harry!" he shouted, rushing over to catch him before he fell.
Harry was numb to the touch.
Curious at what his headmaster was inspecting so meticulously, Harry looked to his right shoulder. A giggle burst from his lips. From where his shoulder should have been, was a hole oozing a tar-like substance.
He could hear Dumbledore's distressed words but was fading in and out of consciousness. The only thought on his mind being, if he tasted any good.
His body felt like it was filled with lead, and cracking open his eyes, they burned from the sudden influx of light.
He had given up trying to move for the time being; every joint and limb resisting his commands. Instead, he lay splayed across the soft bed, enjoying its feel along his bare skin.
Harry would be glad to never have to hear the name Lethifold again.
Across the room the door creaked open, signalling the arrival of a visitor. He heard them slowly pad their way towards him.
The cool, smooth feeling of glass was pressed gently against his lower lip. He tilted his head back and nearly gagged at the foul-tasting potion trickling down his throat.
Slowly, the liquid worked its way through his system, releasing the invisible binds around his body and freeing him to move whichever way he pleased.
Harry looked up into the face of Albus Dumbledore. He sat on a chair at his bedside, his beard curling up on the covers of the bed. "It is good to see you awake, Harry. You had a fair few of us concerned for a moment."
"What… happened?" His voice was scratchy, and he graciously accepted a glass of water from Dumbledore.
"From what I was told you suffered a fairly serious concussion, 3 broken ribs, lacerations to your left side, and a fairly large wound to your right shoulder. They have all been healed of course— some not as well as others. Fawkes is too young in his current life, and there is only so much healing magic can do without his fresh tears."
Harry turned over to look at his shoulder and frowned. There was a large patch of poorly regrown skin over its surface, withered in appearance with a series of blue veins crisscrossing through it all.
"A Lethifold's bite is not a pretty thing. It was the most serious of your wounds, and took days to heal," Dumbledore filled in.
"Days?" Harry said.
Dumbledore chuckled at Harry's expression. "It has almost been an entire week, truthfully. You were kept under sedation during the healing process. Eight teeth needed to be removed from your shoulder, and as resilient as you are, Harry, everyone has their limits."
"Are we in Grimmauld Place then?" Harry asked, to which Dumbledore nodded.
Harry gazed around the room and was surprised at how tidy it was. It looked far too well kept to belong to anyone else besides Sirius' brothers room.
"When can I go back to Hogwarts?"
"That is not under my control," Dumbledore said, smiling down at him in amusement. "You will have to wait for Madam Pomfrey's clearance. I'm sure you know how diligent she is with her care."
Harry groaned.
"I sympathize with you, I truly do." Dumbledore pulled a large slab of chocolate from his sleeve and cracked off pieces for both himself and Harry.
Harry felt much better, a comforting warmth filling him with its rich flavour.
"Your friends have been informed of your safety, as has the rest of the school," Dumbledore continued. "As far as they are concerned, you are under isolation in the Hospital Wing with a case of Dragon flu. Your previous encounter with the Horntail is a likely enough cause."
"What about Ron, Hermione and Ginny?" Harry asked
"As trustworthy and devoted as they are, they have been told the same. It must be that way. If they were to find out you were injured or left the castle, it will point to my involvement. From there it would not take much for them to discover our lessons. Only select members of the Order are aware of your presence at headquarters."
"Professor," Harry spoke up, "won't Voldemort mind I destroyed the orphanage?"
"I doubt Tom will ever know we stopped by," Dumbledore answered truthfully. "He always hated the place. It only served as a reminder of his humiliating beginnings. I'm sure he would be pleased if he ever found out about its destruction."
There was a knock on the door.
"Ah, I believe it is time for me to depart. Minerva already has enough duties herself, without me adding running the school on top of it all. We will talk more when I return," he said, standing from the chair and exiting through the door.
He knew he shouldn't have, but he could not help but stare at Fleur as she came in after Dumbledore. The sweet scent of lavender and her pale blue eyes captured his attention.
"Eez eet not possible for you to stay out of danger?" she asked pointedly, handing him a plate of bread and cheese and piping hot soup.
"I told you it always manages to me find me," Harry replied, taking a bite of bread. Once he started eating, he found he couldn't stop. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was.
"You were in zis room for days wizzout a word about your condition." She sat almost stiffly beside him, staring with cold eyes.
Something about the way she was acting irked Harry.
"Are you expecting me to apologize? I'm the one who got hurt," he said. He had been looking forward to seeing Fleur again since the day he left for Hogwarts, but not like this.
"Zhere are people 'oo care about you, 'Arry. You know zat," she huffed.
"And I don't care about myself?" he shot back sharply. The movement of his body rattled the plate and spilt some of the hot soup onto himself.
Harry sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry, Fleur… but can we just not do this right now. You know I don't ask for these things to happen…"
"Oui, I do 'Arry," she replied, softer this time. There was a hint of apology in her voice as she took his hand. "I was seemply worried."
"Honestly, I'm fine. Besides, I was out with Dumbledore, the chances of me dying with him around are pretty low."
"Were you looking for somezing together?" she asked interestedly.
"No, I don't think so," Harry frowned. "We were just talking. He was teaching me history, I suppose."
"History? What kind?"
"Dreadfully boring stuff, you wouldn't be interested," Harry replied. Dumbledore had been rather clear on keeping the contents of their lessons secret.
Fleur quirked her eyebrow at him. "I would not consider somezing zat needed a week of 'ealing and recovery to be boring."
"Er—that came afterwards. It was unlucky really."
As Harry continued to eat, he couldn't help but notice the intensity of the stare Fleur directed at him.
"Shouldn't you be at work, right now? Instead of—you know, feeding me," he asked bluntly.
"Eet eez quite touching knowing zat you care so much about my career," she replied. "I start work een four hours. Eet eez three o'clock in ze morning, 'Arry."
Harry felt his eyes widen.
"Oh… thanks for this, uh, it means a lot," Harry said motioning at his half-eaten plate. "You don't have to stay up for me, I don't want you losing any sleep."
Fleur gave him a weary smile. "Zat is very gracious of you, but I will stay. I 'ave not be able to sleep recently anyway."
She yawned and stretched herself out in the cramped wooden chair she was sitting in. Harry thought she looked very cute doing so.
"I understand the feeling," Harry said in a low voice. "There's been times when I've been afraid to close my eyes at night."
"'Arry…" Fleur started to speak, but Harry persisted.
"I see my godfather dying," he said, voicing it for the first time, not entirely sure why. "Sometimes he's dead already, and I stand there not able to do anything. Before that, I would see Cedric. I hide it from my friends… I don't think anyone would understand."
He felt Fleur squeeze his hand softly.
"But those aren't the worst," he added, shivering at something beyond sight. "It's the other dreams, they're more than just dreams. They're too vivid. I'm right there, living them as they're happening.
"'Arry, what are you talking about?" Fleur looked troubled.
"I dream through him," Harry said, his voice barely a breath, a sort of madness taking over him. "There's a connection between us, we're linked. He can play with my mind—my dreams. The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal."
Harry parted his messy fringe, showing off the angry, red lightning bolt.
"Merde," Fleur swore.
"He used me as a weapon against myself, all for that damn prophecy."
"A prophecy?" Fleur snorted as if it were a joke.
Harry forced a laugh. "It broke, serves the bastard right."
"So 'e did not 'ear it?" she asked.
"No… no one did. It's gone forever," he lied.
"Eez zat not a good thing? If nobody 'eard ze prophecy, per'aps it does not matter anymore."
If only, Harry thought wistfully.
"It's not so bad anymore," Harry continued. "I haven't had those dreams since the Ministry. I think Voldemort is afraid of the connection now."
Fleur looked intrigued by what he was saying.
"I can still feel it," he said, rubbing at the scar and feeling its unnatural heat. It was like an itch that couldn't be scratched. "It's always been there, ever since I was a child."
He stopped and decided it was time to change the topic to something more pleasant. "I'm sure you've seen your fair share of interesting things at work," he started.
It took Fleur a few seconds to realize he was talking about her after such an abrupt change in conversation.
"Ze work can be interesting at times, but mostly eet eez quite dull. I 'ave not been given any of ze more demanding assignments," the tone of her voice indicated she was quite annoyed with this.
"What do they have you doing?"
"For ze past month, I 'ave been split between teller duty and ze office of archives."
"Are you not far too qualified to be doing paperwork all day?"
Fleur smiled at him sweetly but shook her head. "Ze Goblins are bitter creatures 'oo cannot be trusted. Zey are unpleasant to most, but extremely so to Veela. Zey are hypocrites and only care for their own kind."
There was a finality to her tone, which left no question over her feelings.
"Have you thought of quitting? If they treat you so terribly, why not leave and go somewhere you will be appreciated? Why not go back to France?" Harry didn't really want Fleur to leave, but if it came down to it, he preferred her happy than miserable.
"If only eet were so simple. I cannot leave," she said, and for a moment Fleur cracked. She looked stressed, with slight bags hanging beneath her eyes and an air of melancholy about her.
"Fleur are you alright?" Harry asked softly.
"Would you believe zat you are ze first person to ask me zat in months?" Fleur laughed disdainfully, her delicate fingers pulling at Harry's sheets. "There eez a war going on, I am working a mediocre job zat eez unpleasant, there are my duties to the Order, and no one 'as asked me once. But of course, Mrs. Weasley will always find time to speak about ze wedding."
"Surely Bill has—"
"William 'as not been around!" Fleur snapped, before quickly regaining her control. "He just returned last night, and 'as gone to see 'is parents."
"Are you happy he's back?" Harry wasn't sure why he asked that question.
Fleur studied him closely, a loose strand of silver hair hanging over her eye. "Of course, William is my fiancé." She stated it plainly, and for some reason it hurt Harry.
"When is the wedding supposed to be?" he asked next, feeling his throat clench and chest tighten painfully.
"In ze summer, I think. It eez not decided yet, but ze Weasley's want it then," she answered.
Their gazes met and held, neither one looking away from the other. For the first time since waking up, Harry was aware he was shirtless. Unconsciously, he reached over and felt the newest of his scars.
Fleur frowned, her pale eyes trailing up his arm to where his hand sat on his shoulder. She kneeled on the bed, her body covering his, and gently placed her arm on his side and turned him over.
A curtain of silver hair fell over his face, and he breathed in a field of lavender.
Even with his back turned, he could feel the weight of Fleur's gaze inspecting the blackened skin of his injured shoulder. Her fingertips danced lightly along the coarseness of his scar and he leaned into her touch, enjoying the feeling of her hands on his bare skin.
"What 'appened?" He could hear her voice murmur next to his ear.
Harry swallowed before answering. His heart was beating wildly against his chest. "Lethifold," he breathed out.
He could feel Fleur hum in response, her fingers continuing to run along his scar, mindlessly tracing patterns. "Something so ugly does not suit you, 'Arry."
"I would settle for something more beautiful if I could," Harry said.
Fleur shivered, before moving off the bed and back into her seat.
She let out a forced laugh. "Eez it not enough that Britain eez cold to begin with," she said, rubbing her hands along her arms, "do ze houses in Britain 'ave to be so cold as well?"
"I'll buy you a nice pair of mittens and a cloak for Christmas, how about that?" said Harry.
"I think I would like zat," she smiled gently.
Fleur must have been for more tired than she had let on, as it wasn't long before her breathing evened out and Harry turned to see she'd fallen asleep curled in the chair beside him.
Harry watched her, longer than he should have, but found it was terribly difficult for him to look away. Eventually, the fatigue of his recovering body overtook him and he drifted off as well, the sight of her pink lips smiling at him playing in his mind.