WARNING: depictions of body horror / mutilation
— skip Fleur's scene if squeamish.

— Chapter 7 —
Burdens Borne Of Fire

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, FLEUR ROUSED ME FROM SLEEP.

Tug, tug, tug, went the rope in my mind.

A sliver of warmth. "Harry."

My eyes opened. Deep shadows lay across the ceiling.

"Fleur?"

"I am outside."

I fumbled with my glasses, peered out the window, and gasped. Fleur stood beneath a canopy overhung with leaves, bathed in ghostly moonlight. Her head was upturned, gazing at my window.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

Fleur raised an eyebrow. "Because I want to see you."

I took the stairs two at a time, heart racing. Shoes, coat, scarf — I didn't even change out of my pajamas. It was a brisk night. A gentle breeze brushed against my face.

I turned. Our eyes connected.

God, Fleur was beautiful — even her jaw had an elegant curve. I traced it, admired it, memorized it. I looked further down, lingering on a pair of collar bones so delicate, they might have been carved from porcelain.

"You're here," I said. It seemed impossible.

Fleur ran her fingers through my hair, smiling a soft smile. "It has been too long," she said, and pulled me in for a hug.

The last time I saw Fleur was a month ago. I remembered bits and pieces of that night — not getting a wand, a scattered conversation in Mister Ollivander's living room, Fleur's body pressed against my back — but besides those fragments, most of it remained a blur.

Since that day, she had become my closest companion: the voice in my head that watched the world alongside me. She knew me, better than anyone I had ever met. I couldn't hide from her — literally, my thoughts were an open book. Our friendship was real and intimate, but utterly incorporeal. If I'm being honest, I forgot, sometimes, that she had a body at all — that she was more than just a voice in my head.

But she was, and she was here. Her embrace reminded me of warm summer days, of freshly brewed tea, of beef stew settling in my stomach. Fleur nuzzled the top of my head. Her hand, now tangled in my hair, pressed my face into the tiny pocket of space between her neck and shoulder.

"You've filled out," she said, and pulled me back in.

"I don't understand," I whispered. "Why now?"

"Because today was" — Fleur tensed — "painful. So, I decided to be selfish."

Fleur was... mysterious. She valued privacy. I didn't know much about her. She was quite adept at dodging my questions. I knew by now that pestering her did no good. No, it was better to let Fleur reveal information at her own pace, in her own time.

So, I grabbed her hand, and started walking towards the woods. "I want to show you the river."

"That actually... works out well."

Fleur seemed perfectly at ease as I guided her through the woods. Tree roots didn't trip her. Spider webs avoided her shoulders. She knew the names of everything we saw. Tree, animal, moss, or boulder, it didn't matter — she greeted them all like old friends. A bank in the trees lay ahead, a bank that led to the river where I met Ron every morning. The forest bowed as we left its embrace, and a burbling river greeted us on the other side. Moonlight floated on the water — silver froth dancing at high tide.

"It is beautiful," said Fleur. She turned just a little bit, just enough for me to see the corner of her mouth curl up.

I couldn't look away. "Yeah," I agreed. "It is."

An odd feeling rose within me. I wanted to touch her, touch her lips — her bottom lip — it looked... so soft.

"Come," she said, "let's stand by the water."

Fleur stepped onto the embankment, and when she neared the river's edge, soft moonlight slithered down her frame, revealing a gold dress stained black with blood, and beneath that, a back torn from shoulder to hip by the cruel claws of a wild, feral animal. I moved on instinct — one hand on Fleur's back, the other on her spine. She arched. Her shoulder blades met. I froze. She froze. For a long moment, we did nothing at all.

"We should clean those," I said. Slick, hot, moistness ran down my fingers.

"Yeah," she agreed.

I grabbed Fleur's wrist, and brought her arm around my shoulders. She leaned against me, and this time it felt different; this time, it felt tired. Fleur was heavier than I expected, oddly dense and compact. I could barely support her weight. By the time we reached the water's edge, my breathing was labored, and my knees shook from the strain of staying upright.

I wish I could say I lowered her gracefully, but I didn't. The moment I moved Fleur's arm from my neck, she stumbled, tripped forward, and we both toppled into the water. Fear pulsed through me. I tried to stay afloat, tried to fight against the water, but the current was too strong. It tossed me this way and that, above water and below. I coughed and spluttered, unsure of how long I could hold out. And just when it seemed the worst would happen, just as I grew sure the tide would bear me away, Fleur grabbed me in a tight embrace and anchored my body against hers.

"You don't know how to swim." There was a smile in her voice.

"I do so," I said, but I didn't. I twisted, trying to break free.

"Don't swim away," Fleur whispered in a voice so sincere I stopped struggling altogether. Her dress lay slick against her body, and through it, I felt her, all of her, in a way I never had before. With nothing but water and fabric between us, Fleur's warmth smoldered, turning to heat, and I wanted it. A hard knot of tension coiled in my stomach. I ached to press myself closer, to rake my fingers down her sides, but… no, not here, not when she was —

"You're still hurt," I said.

Fleur nodded. "I am."

"Can I help?"

A pause.

"Yes."

Without any discernible movement from Fleur, we began to drift through the river. Curiously, our bodies didn't cause a ripple in the water, but when a leaf carried by an errant breeze fell upon the river's face, it did. For all the impact we made on water's glassy surface, we may as well have been two ghosts suspended above a sheet of glimmering glass.

When we reached the water's edge, Fleur helped me onto the outer bank, and a moment later, she joined me. Her dress was the color of white wine — rich, gold, and frothy. It was darker now, stained with blood and water, but I could imagine how the fabric looked when it was dry, dipping and curving the way wine does when it's poured from a bottle into a glass.

"So… how do you want to do this?" I asked.

Fleur turned so her back lay towards me. Her head dipped down, exposing not only her neck, but a golden clasp that secured the dress to her body. "It twists off," she said.

I nodded. "Cool."

A few moments of silence passed.

Then, in a bemused voice, Fleur said, "That means you do it."

Heat flooded my cheeks. "Oh."

My hands shook as I grasped the clasp, twisted, and pulled the mechanism apart.

"Good. Now pull it down."

That didn't seem like such a good idea to me.

"Harry?"

"Uh..."

"You need to see if the wound is infected." Fleur turned and looked at me over her shoulder. "You look like you're about to pass out. Take a breath and do it."

The dress shimmered as it fell from Fleur's shoulders, revealing the strap of a plain, white bra.

"How does it look?" she asked.

Now, with her wound washed clean of blood, I peered closely at Fleur's back, trying to assess the damage. I saw how her skin stuck up at jagged angles, fraying at the edges like ripped plastic; how a thick mucosal membrane lay above a layer of muscle that crawled and bubbled like hot tar; how blood oozed from between those sinuous fibers, changing from black to blue as it met the open night air.

"Well?"

"I mean, it doesn't look good."

"My blood — is it changing color?"

I nodded. "Yes."

She sighed. "That's not good, something is still in there."

"Please don't tell me you're asking to — "

"I'm afraid so," she said.

"Can't you heal it with magic?"

She shook her head. "No. I… can't."

"But surely there are people more — "

"No." Fleur's voice was hard.

"Why?"

"Because I trust you."

I gave Fleur an incredulous look. Trust didn't make me more qualified to surgically remove something from inside her body.

"I do," said Fleur fiercely. "What we share is… there aren't many people who I… just, please, take my word for it, okay?"

"But what if I — "

Her voice rose. "You won't."

"But — "

"Harry."

"Alright," I said loudly. "Alright. Fine."

A mask of tranquility wiped Fleur's face clean of tension, and had I not seen her eyes, I might have believed that calm was genuine. A spark jumped between us, the night air hummed, and Fleur scorched me with her big blue eyes. The burbling river grew louder. A stray breeze rustled the forest leaves. Far off in the distance, branches crunched underfoot as an animal scurried through the underbrush.

Fleur's voice shattered the silence. "Thank you." She drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her hands around them, and leaned forward. Her wounds squelched, stretching open as the skin on her back went taught. "Describe them to me," she said.

I crawled forward until barely an inch lay between us. "There are three long gashes going from your right shoulder to your left hip. In the center of your shoulder blades there's an area of… black — that's where all the blue blood is coming from."

"Okay," said Fleur, and a tremor ran through her. "I'm going to need you to peel the skin off in that area."

I was sure I misheard her. "Sorry?"

"Dig two fingers into the gash, hook them, and pull."

I swallowed. "Won't it hurt?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

"Is there — "

"No."

The grass sunk beneath my knees as I shifted upright. With a straight back, I steadied myself by placing one of my hands against Fleur's neck. Blue blood dribbled from wounds that were now centimeters from my fingertips. "Are you sure about this?" I asked.

Fleur nodded. "Do it quickly."

"Count to three," I said.

Fleur took a deep breath. "One. Two."

I dug my two fingers into the middle gash and hooked my fingers up. Fleur's skin slurped as I pulled. Globs of blood and mucosal membrane splooged onto my fingers and ran down my hand. My palm dug into Fleur's neck, my knees sunk into the grass, and I yanked upward.

The skin beneath my fingers stretched like goo, losing color and form as it became nothing more than flabby flesh dangling above a mucosal membrane. Steam rolled off Fleur's back in waves as her hidden muscles met the cool, night air. I slid my hand up the layer of flesh to the very top and started to pull by the root.

The moment I succeeded, Fleur convulsed. A roar tore itself past her lips. The forest shook and a plague of crows descended from its depths. Caws filled the air, and feathers drenched the sky dark blue. Bile rose in my throat. I gagged. The slippery noodle of flesh slid from my limp fingers and impacted the grass below with a sickening squelch.

Fleur's voice was ragged. "Slide your hand against the muscular membrane."

"Fleur — " I began.

"Press your palm against it."

"Are you — "

"Now!" she snarled, and I did.

Fleur's muscles were so hot I cried out and tried to jerk back, but her membrane congealed around my fingers, holding my palm in place. It was hot and moist, thicker than goo and stickier than honey. With a slurp, my hand sunk below the slime, and to my horror, the muscle underneath writhed beneath my fingers and started to suck like a pair of lips. Suddenly they disappeared, followed by my hand and wrist and forearm and elbow and bicep until finally, my shoulder lay flush against Fleur's back with the rest of my arm inside her.

"Stop struggling," she growled. "I'm trying to show you where it is. We're almost there. I can feel it… it's — ah! There it is."

My knuckles brushed against something solid. The sucking sensation stopped. Adrenaline coursed through me. I couldn't seem to form words. What was I supposed to do again?

"Focus, Harry," said Fleur. "You need to pull it out."

"What?"

"Snap out of it," she snarled. "Grab it, and yank."

When the object came dislodged from muscle it was attached to, Fleur let out a strange mewling gurgle. Her body quivered, her muscles clenched and unclenched, and I slid my arm out. With a sickening slurp, it emerged, coated in a layer of thick blue juice — Fleur's insides.

"Yucky," I said and tried to shake it off.

Fleur panted. Her skin felt hot, drenched in sweat. "Did you get it?" she asked.

"Yeah." I turned the object round and round in my hand. "It looks like a tooth of some sort."

"Basilisks," said Fleur, "are such crude creatures."

I sat back down on the grass and Fleur fell against me. For a moment, we were a tangle of uncoordinated limbs and wet, river drenched hair. I propped myself up with one hand and cradled Fleur's head with the other. When I looked further down, I gasped because her body was already starting to heal. Skin knitted back together; stray blood seeped back in; ripped muscles twisted and curled to form new sinuous fibers that vanished from view as new, unblemished skin crawled across, hiding them from view.

Fleur rolled onto her back and looked up at me. "Well," she said lightly, "that was certainly something." She pulled her dress up, and I reattached the golden clasp at her neck. I chewed through a million new questions, trying to think of something neutral to ask.

"You fought a basilisk?"

Fleur smiled slyly. "Maybe."

"I don't — I mean, I want — can't you tell me anything."

Fleur reached up to tap the bottom of my chin."Sometimes it's better not to know."

"Look," I said. "You say you trust me, but… I mean, my hand was inside you. Look at this!" I held up my arm, still glistening with slime. "What is this stuff? I don't… I just… who are you?"

She blinked her big blue eyes. "I'm… Fleur."

"Alright, just forget it."

"It's the truth," she said. "I'm Fleur. I'm a girl. I'm eighteen. I have a mama and a papa and a little sister and teensie doggie named Yipyip who is very cute. I went to Beauxbatons and graduated last year. I — yes, there's more, I am more — but I like that you don't know, because it makes me feel like… Fleur."

"It feels like everyone knows more than me," I said. "Thorne, Daphne, you, Ron, Blaise, Cedric — everyone. How am I supposed to defeat the Dark Lord if I'm kept in the dark?"

"Maybe… you don't have to."

I scrunched my face up. "I do."

"The prophecy — "

"I don't care about the prophecy," I said. "I don't need destiny to tell me what's right and wrong. I grew up with wrong, I came from wrong, I saw it every day."

Fleur was silent for a long moment. "We should go." I opened my mouth to protest, but she held up a hand. "I'm not saying this conversation is over. I'm saying we should leave here because my blood attracts other…" — she searched delicately for the right word — "beings like me."

She sat up and pointed to a pair of slitted yellow eyes that hovered in the darkness on the opposite bank. "Rumpus is friendly, but there are others nearby who… aren't." She gave me a smile that made my insides flip flop. "Shall we?"

MY BEDROOM WAS ON THE SECOND FLOOR OF THORNE'S COTTAGE and normally served as an annex between the second-floor hallway and an adjoining staircase which led up to the roof. Initially, Thorne had been uncomfortable with me sleeping here, mostly because she had bigger rooms available. I don't think I could have slept in any of them. The spaciousness, the extravagance, would have made me feel trapped, and when I explained that to Thorne, she had relented.

The annex was rectangular and cramped with barely an arm's width of space from wall to wall, but it was perfect, and it was mine. There were massive windows on the far right side, interesting portraits on the left, and when I lay down in bed, it felt like I was sleeping under the stars.

Of course, I never expected I'd be entertaining a startlingly attractive, wet, blonde eighteen-year-old named Fleur at two o'clock in the morning. Now that we were here, standing side by side in a room too small for one person, I wished, for the first time, that I had something bigger so I could put more physical distance between us and hopefully lessen the crackling electricity I felt in the air.

Fleur seemed completely at ease in my bedroom. She walked up and down the annex, examining each portrait with a curious air. She nodded at a few of them, and when she reached the middle portrait — a squirrel trying to steal an apple from a fox — she asked a question in French, and laughed at the fox's response.

"Do you want, err…" — my mouth was dry — "a change of clothes, maybe?"

Fleur turned toward me with a raised eyebrow.

"I just mean your dress is still wet," I said in a rush. "And since I can't dry it with magic, I thought you might want something because, you know, it's never fun standing wet clothes. I suppose I could see if Thorne or Daphne has anything lying around, but they're asleep so our options might be — "

Fleur smiled. "Yes."

"Oh, okay, great. Do you want pajamas? A shirt? I have one in white, black, grey, beige, navy — "

Fleur's smile grew wider. "Yes."

"Uh, well, all my clothes are in there" — I pointed to the trunk propped open next to my bed — "so take anything you'd like. I'm just going to change in the bathroom so…" — god, why was my voice so high — "see you soon!" I darted out of the room with a dry pair of pajamas clasped in my hand.

The faucet creaked. Warm water rushed into the sink. I stripped and put on fresh pajamas. The tension from before was back, tying my stomach in knots. I felt stretched, anxious. I wanted to do something. Run a marathon, or jump up and down, or practice magic. Just… something.

I splashed water on my face, hoping to clear my head. I looked up and examined my reflection in the mirror. I've gained weight, I thought. The changes weren't big, but I saw them. My cheeks were slightly fuller, my jaw seemed a little stronger, my joints looked less brittle. But what difference did that make when Fleur was —

I laughed helplessly and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make it stand a little taller. What was I even doing?

Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside, going toward my room. A voice, Blaise's voice, said, "Hey Harry, I heard your voice and figured you were up. I was wondering if — oh? Hello."

I opened the bathroom door. "Blaise?"

He turned toward me, and his eyebrows shot sky high. "Err — sorry," he said, and shut my door. We walked toward each other.

What the fuck, mouthed Blaise.

I don't know, I mouthed back.

That's crazy.

I know.

We passed each other, turned on our heels, and walked backwards so we could keep talking.

Dude.

I know.

Dude!

I. Know.

We reached our respective doorways.

Are you two…?

I shook my head.

She's in your bed.

I made a face. No, she isn't.

Blaise pointed at my door. Look.

My mouth dropped open when I saw he was right. Fleur was lying in bed, my bed, with the duvet drawn up to her waist. She waved. "Aha," I said, "just a minute."

I shut the door and turned back to Blaise. What do I do? I mouthed, but Blaise just smiled, gave me a thumbs up, and walked back into Daphne's room, leaving me alone in the hallway.

"Okay," I told myself, "you can do this. Just… play it cool. Easy breezy."

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Fleur was still there, still in bed, still tucked into the covers, and I saw now that she was wearing one of my shirts, an old white button up with a hole underneath the right sleeve. She waved, and I waved back.

"You found a shirt," I said.

She gave me one of those smiles. "It was at the bottom."

I hesitated at the dresser, looking at the candle on top. "Should I…?"

Fleur flicked her finger, snuffing the candle out. She did it again, and every light in the room sputtered and died. She did it a third time, and the door behind me locked with a soft click. The covers rustled as she drew them back.

"Come. It is late, and I would like to sleep before morning."

"But you said — "

"I know," she said, "come."

It felt like the world was moving in slow motion. I approached the bed, Fleur scooted forward, and I slid into place behind her. She leaned against me, turned on her side, and looped her arms around me. There was nowhere to hide, no injury to distract us. For a long moment, neither of us moved.

Then, my hands came up, and in the darkness and the silence, I finally felt brave enough to brush my fingers against Fleur's delicate hips. She pressed closer. Her breath whooshed out, hot against my neck. Electricity made the air between us hum. How long we stayed there, I knew not, but at a certain point, Fleur pulled the duvet higher up our bodies, and wriggled up so her lips were right next to my ear. When she spoke, her voice might have a breeze for all the noise it made.

"Three questions. Choose carefully."

I licked my lips, more nervous than I'd ever been for. "Am I allowed follow-ups?"

Fleur smiled. "Yes."

"Okay then. I guess, my first question is… what happened the day of the auction?"

Fleur's hot breath washed against my ear. "I was there on an assignment. There was someone I needed to kill."

"And the silver thread, the fire, what was all that about?"

"It's how I track the things I hunt."

"Are you hunting me?" I asked.

"I don't know. It wasn't me who marked you."

"The eye," I whispered. "Is that what it was?"

Fleur nodded. "Yes."

I took a deep breath. "Okay. I think I'm ready for my second question now. What's the eye?"

"She doesn't have a true name because she predates language. Her descendants are known as Veela, and they exist to provide bodies for her to inhabit."

"Is she inside every one of them?"

"No." Fleur's voice turned hard and cold. "Only I have that… honor. Her last host died when I was four, and I was chosen as the replacement."

"It sounds like you hate her."

Fleur's voice was thoughtful. "Does it? I don't know. I can't remember life before her. Do I hate her? Maybe. Maybe not. I… accept her."

"Do you know why she marked me?"

"No." Fleur didn't sound happy about it, either. "She is interested in you and I don't know why. She is hiding it from me. When she came out in the wandmaker's house, it was… startling. She's never taken control like that before. I couldn't stop her. After that night, I resolved never to see you again, but" — she chuckled — "you can see how well that turned out."

She leaned back and her big blue eyes bore into mine. "I wasn't lying before. I am human. My name is Fleur. I am a girl, but I'm also… more than that. My body plays host to a being that is, perhaps, an embodiment of one of the most powerful magical forces in existence."

"And… what's that?" I asked.

"Desire."

Silence fell between us then, and it stretched for so long that the light in my room turned from midnight blue to dark grey. Dawn was breaking.

"Are you going to be here when I wake up?" I asked.

Fleur shook her head.

"Will I… see you again?"

She smiled. "Never."

"But you'll still be…" I pointed at my temple.

Fleur's eyes clouded over. "When I mark someone, it's because I'm going to kill them." She hesitated for a moment, and then said, "I hope it stays, but… I don't know if it will, or what will happen if it does, or… if it should. There is so much in the air, so much I don't know. The world is changing and" — her eyes closed — "it feels like the past is haunting me."

"But for now?" I asked.

Fleur opened her eyes. "For now."

No use worrying now, I thought. So, I asked, "Are you ready for my last question?"

She nodded.

I smiled. "Will you tell me how you got Yipyip?"

Fleur laughed. Not chuckled, but laughed. Her face cracked wide open, her eyes lit up, and she smiled a real smile. It was toothy and wide and so big I discovered she had dimples. "Yipyip," she said, and I could hear in her voice how much she loved her dog. "I almost named him Arfarf."

We lay down together, Fleur threw one of her legs over mine, and she started telling me the story of how she stoleYipyip and almost caused a war between France and India. I wish I could say I remember what she told me, but I fell asleep long before she finished. When I woke the next morning, Fleur was gone, and she took my shirt with her.

THE NEXT MORNING, BLAISE POUNCED. "So," he said in a voice far too casual for comfort, "who was that girl in your bed last night?"

Ron coughed on a mouthful of corned-beef sandwich, and Cedric thumped him on the back — hard.

"Blaise!" I hissed.

"It's an interesting story." Blaise threw up a hand, setting the scene. "Picture me, last night, hearing Harry's voice. This was peculiar since Harry's usually out by ten. And guess what time this was?"

Ron set his fishing rod down and turned toward us with a look of rapt attention. "When?"

Blaise leaned forward. "Two o'clock in the morning," He looked very pleased with himself and swirled his potion like champagne. He toasted me and took a large swig from the neon-green mixture.

"It wasn't like that," I protested. "You don't — "

"So," said Blaise, ignoring me, "I decided to give my mate a how-do-you-do. I leave Daphne's bed, walk down the hall, peer inside Harry's room, and what do I find inside?" He paused, and his dark eyes danced with mischief. "A girl, and not just any girl, a pretty girl."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "Have you been holdin' out on us?" he asked.

Cedric laughed. "He totally has been. Look at how red his face is."

"Nothing happened, guys!" I said. "Really!"

"Didn't look that way from where I was standing," said Blaise. He handed his now empty potion vial back to Ron who stored it in his toolbox. "All I saw was a girl wearing one of your old shirts and naught else."

"No," said Ron, aghast.

"Yes," crowed Blaise.

"No…" I groaned.

"Yes," laughed Cedric. "Harry, you've got tell — "

"Oh, alright," I growled, "fine. Her name is Fleur. She's from France. She's eighteen and she has a little dog named Yipyip."

Blaise looked at Cedric, Cedric looked at Ron, and Ron looked at me. "…hang on," he said. "You're telling me that not only did you have a girl in your bed last night, but she was eighteen and french?"

Blaise nodded. "And blonde."

"And beautiful," said Fleur. "Don't forget to mention how beautiful I am."

"You're enjoying this aren't you," I hissed. Fleur laughed, a sound that chimed like ringing bells.

"Wait," said Cedric. "How pretty are we talking, Harry? A seven, an eight?"

Head flooded my cheeks. "A ten," I mumbled.

Fleur preened.

"A ten!?" howled Ron. "S'not fair, innit? Some people have all the luck."

Cedric smiled a dazzling smile, the kind of smile that could win over someone like Fleur. "You have to tell us how you met her."

"You wouldn't believe me," I said.

"Oh, yeah?" There was a challenge in Blaise's eyes. "Try us."

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of if I was allowed to. "Can I tell them about you?" I asked Fleur.

"I suppose the damage is done," she said in a wry voice. "More my fault than yours."

"...is that a yes?"

"You may brag."

I smiled at her comment, and said out loud, "Alright, fine. I met her during my auction. She threw a hair ball of fire at me that somehow made it so that I could hear her thoughts and she could hear mine. She might be an international assassin, but hey, who knows? Last night, she showed up out of the blue and I stuck my whole fist inside her to pull out a basilisk fang."

It was silent for a moment.

"Are you sure she's a real girl?" asked Ron.

"What?" I asked with a laugh. "Of course she's a real girl."

"Polyjuice potion exists mate." Ron gave me a knowing look and tapped his temple. "A little bit of hair and anything can be anyone."

Cedric rolled his eyes. "You need to be human to turn into a human, Ron."

"Beings can do it, too," said Ron. "I heard about a hag who did some hanky-panky with a chap up in Bristol and it used Polyjuice potion."

"You're a moron Ron," said Blaise. "Never say 'hanky-panky,' again."

"Well, who asked you, anyway? You're named after a vegetable, what do you know?"

"What?" laughed Blaise. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. A zabini. Duh. It's the long green thing."

Blaise turned to me with a look of disgust. "Do you know what he's talking about?"

Unfortunately, I did.

"Ron... it's called a zucchini."

"No, it's not," argued Ron. "It's a zabini. My brothers told me so. That's how Blaise got his last name. His family were zabini farmers."

"No, they weren't," squawked Blaise indignantly. "My family would never — "

"Ron..." There was no way he could be this thick. "Have you ever bought a zabini in public?"

Ron shook his head, looking glum. "Nah, mate. Whenever I ask the muggles for one, it never works out."

"But, why?" I leaned forward. "Do they say: we're out of stock? Do they say: we don't know what that is?"

"Neither mate. Usually, they just say: why would we have one? It's not winter yet. Muggles," — Ron rolled his eyes — "what can ya do?"

IT WAS MONDAY, THE DAY THORNE LEFT FOR FRANCE. We were in the kitchen, and a feather lay before me on the kitchen table. The weight of the rubber chicken was familiar, comforting. I had practiced so many times I knew this spell inside and out. My hand tightened and sweat gathered on my brow.

This was it. This was my moment. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and believed.

Swish and Flick!

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The feather burst into flames.

"Well," said Thorne as she extinguished it, "maybe that was too much spunk. But, hey, progress, right? Good job, kiddo."

I smiled.

Finally… progress.

Ending Notes:

[1] Beta'd by Jarizok.