Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.

AN: Updates will become a quite a bit more intermittent now, since I'm back to school this next week for an incredibly intensive program. The story will still continue to be updated, but it will be sporadic from hereon out. Don't expect a regular schedule, nor for the story to be updated weekly, as I expect updates to become more of a monthly occurrence as things get back into swing.

Sorry!

Chapter Thirty-Four | Meat & Bread

I blink slowly as I adjust to the light that lances through the massive windows lining the Hospital Wing, motes of dust illuminated by the cold Scottish sun. I rub my eyes, dazed as I remember the events of the night before.

Fleur Delacour.

Fleur Delacour, in my bed, kissing me.

"Woah," I mutter, leaning back into my pillow and staring dumbly at the arched ceiling, tracking over the pristine masonry that hangs overhead. "Woah."

I hear the pitter patter of shoes scuffing lightly over stone to my left, turning to see Madam Pomfrey shuffling over, a large smile plastered over her face.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you awake, Miss Potter," she effuses, leaning over and scanning me with her wand, nodding approvingly at whatever information she's gotten from the quick diagnostic.

"That bad, huh?" I ask, already knowing full well how bad things really were. At least with my magic having replenished itself, or whatever magic does when you use too much of it, I'm going to probably be up and at it again within the next few minutes.

Madam Pomfrey purses her lips and nods sullenly. "You had me quite worried for a while there, but we did manage to get you stabilized," she explains, a frown gracing her features as she casts her wand over me once more. "But it seems that you're already fully recovered, which I find to be quite shocking." Tucking her wand away in her sleeve, she shakes her head disbelievingly. "I will say that I'm not one to complain about fast healers. You've made my job quite a bit easier."

I stretch my neck, cracking it loudly as I work out the kinks from having been bedridden for nearly a week. "So, I can leave when I want?" I ask hopefully, never having been a fan of hospitals, even with my familiarity with them.

It's the damned antiseptic. Tickles my nose. That, and it looks too… sterile. Probably because of the antiseptic.

"Yes, but I want you to take things easy. Don't do anything strenuous, otherwise I'm going to have you brought back here in ropes," she chides me half-heartedly.

I raise my eyebrows comically. "Ropes, Madam Pomfrey? I'm afraid that you're a bit too old for me."

She snorts loudly, slapping me on the arm before putting her hand over her mouth, unable to look disappointed in me what with the smile creeping over her face. "You awful, awful girl. Out with you!" she cries, shooing me away.

"Alright, alright! I'll get out of here!" I say, putting my hands up in surrender as she walks away.

I slide off the bed, grabbing the change of clothes that has been left at my bedside. I tilt my head at the newly repaired basilisk hide coat, someone having gone to the trouble of bringing it back to whichever tailor fashioned it, I assume.

That someone most likely being Severus. I hope no one saw him having it fixed, otherwise the whole school is going to realize that he's not as bitter a man as they think he is.

Not that he isn't bitter. Just not as bitter.

I duck into the side-room, taking off the light hospital pyjamas and quickly putting on my outfit, flexing my fingers as I slide the gloves over my wrist. I run my hands over the surface of the jacket, admiring the seamless repairs. I'll have to find out where Severus had this commissioned, I might come to them some day for future work.

Boots clicking away, I make my way downstairs towards the Great Hall, following the immaterial trail of baked beans and crisp bacon. I walk into the Great Hall, a hush falling over the students as they all turn towards me.

The Hall is unearthly quiet as I walk over to my seat, a sparse few of the Ravenclaws smiling warmly, while most of the students stare at me with no small amount of awe and fear. I plop down next to Fleur, giving her a wry smirk as I start to pile food onto my plate.

"Bonjour, ma dulcineé." She places her hand on my back as I sit down, squeezing my shoulder affectionately, before filling a mug with coffee and sliding it over to me.

"Thank you," I say, unable to hide my dopey smile from her show of affection. "So, how've things been since I was out?" I ask, turning towards the other girls. Hermione bites her lower lip, not sure of whether she should smile or grimace, while the others breathe sharply through their teeth, Padma averting her eyes as she stares at her plate, a sour look on her face.

The hell has gotten into her?

"Er… well, things have been… interesting?" Hermione hesitates, an awkward look on her face.

I raise my eyebrows questioningly, nibbling idly on a piece of jam and butter toast. "Interesting? What do you mean by that?"

She nods slowly, popping her lips. "Yeah. Everyone thinks you're either the second coming of Merlin, or that you're the next Dark Lady."

I shrug my shoulders lazily. "Well, people are always scared of power," I comment, Fleur snickering quietly beside me. "I'm going to assume that the Prophet has made a derisive statement about my use of an unknown spell?"

Hermione nods her head. "You guessed it. They've been subtle about it, but there's been a lot of 'what if' statements from the paper wondering whether or not you're going to end up taking Voldemort's place in the future."

My eyebrows raise once more, tickling my hair line. Subtlety has never really been a strong suit of the Prophet. They tend to be more 'shoot first, ask questions later.'

"Well, it seems I'll be having a chat with the editor-in-chief when I have the chance," I muse, Hermione tilting her head curiously. "I've got a large share in the company. I'll make sure they publicly dispel the rumours they've been making," I explain, her eyes lighting up in recognition. "It also helps that I've got a barrister for a dad."

Fleur speaks up, an amused look on her face. "I believe you'd also like to know that the Gryffindors have been loudly proclaiming that you're the reincarnation Morgan Le Fay. They believe the chimera is just the beginning of your future reign of terror." She shakes her head disbelievingly, a disappointed look on her face as she casts her gaze over to the staff table. "Their Head of House, that horribly prim looking woman up there with the large hat… she's done nothing to stop the rumours. I believe that she may actually be encouraging them. It's quite unprofessional."

I turn my own eyes over to McGonagall, the strict transfiguration professor looking at me disapprovingly, wearing a stern frown.

"Huh. McGonagall is out for my blood?" I ask, looking back at Hermione, who nods her head.

"I heard she tried to get you expelled."

I glower, feeling deeply annoyed that one of my favourite, or- well, old favourite professors apparently feels such animosity towards me. "Really!?"

Hermione slouches as she sighs quietly. "Yeah, I saw her in the crowds after you killed the chimera. She was in a tizzy, harping on to anyone who would listen, Dumbledore especially, to have you arrested for use of dark magic," Lisa interrupts.

Huh. Well that's not good.

I look up at the staff table once more, Dumbledore staring at me curiously. He doesn't look like he wants to remove my head from my shoulders right now, so hopefully I can get a chat in with him later and make sure that my tenure here at Hogwarts isn't ending any time soon. I don't think I ever told him not to expel me.

Speaking of which. If I haven't told him that, why haven't I been expelled yet? I'd imagine he'd love to put my head on the chopping block. Maybe that falls under my command for him to not interfere with the tournament? I guess that makes sense, as it'd be hard for me to compete when I'm not actually attending Hogwarts.

Odd.

"So, Fleur, I've been told not to do anything strenuous today by Madam Pomfrey. Would you like to have that picnic we were talking about? I'll have to go and change into something a bit more casual," I say, gesturing towards my clothes. "But we could maybe wander around the village, explore a bit and then have lunch while it's still somewhat sunny out?" I ask, turning towards the stunning French-woman.

She grins widely, the sight dazzling as she nods her head. "Oui, I would love that."

I go back to my meal, Hermione's eyes flitting between Fleur and I curiously, before her brow slowly begins to raise. "Oh my! Are you two… are you going on a date?" she inquires quietly, a slight smile on her face.

I look over at Fleur, tilting my head questioningly. She nods her head, once at me, and once at Hermione. "Yes, I would say it's a date."

Lisa smiles at the two of us, while Ginny whoops quietly, punching her hand into the air. "I knew it!" she cries. "Took you two long enough!"

Padma looks on silently while Luna leans in close, serenely stating, "You two have been absolutely covered in wrackspurts as of late. I'm glad to see that you're finally free of their finagling grasp."

I laugh as I clear off my plate. "Well, thank you everyone," I gush, smiling kindly at the other girls. "I'm going to go and get changed then, I'll see you in a half hour or so?"

"Oui," Fleur replies, flicking her eyes over to my empty plate and raising an eyebrow. "Do you not need to eat more? You were quite quick with your breakfast."

I shake my head. "I'll be fine. I never have much of an appetite after getting out of the Hospital Wing until one, maybe two in the afternoon."

"Well then, we'll just have to make sure that you eat enough on our date," Fleur beams, waving at me as I walk away.

I pop out the door and quickly head towards Ravenclaw Tower, jogging up the stairs and disrobing.

"What to wear, what to wear…" I mutter, tapping my chin as I look through my clothes.

God, I've never really had to worry about this before.

I snatch up a plain white button-down, throwing a forest-green jumper over top and a pair of snug, black jeans. With an uneducated eye, I check over my reflection in the mirror, quietly tutting to myself over whether or not I should go with this outfit. With a sigh, I decide to just go with the flow, rolling up my sleeves and deciding on a pair of brogues, feeling a bit dressier than normal.

Might as well make an impression.

I head back down towards the kitchens, threading my way through the crowded halls, the students now on their way to class.

Or at least, I normally would have to thread my way through them. Today, they part like the red sea, everyone except the Ravenclaws, as well as some of the Slytherin's, avoiding me like the plague.

I groan quietly, annoyed that I still managed to alienate myself from the rest of the school. Well, better I'm here in one piece. Dealing with scared teenagers is the least of my worries.

Ignoring the muted squeals and venomous whispers, I finally arrive in front of the kitchens, tickling the pear and walking through the newly opened doorway. The throngs of house-elves halt in their post-breakfast cleanup and stare up at me in confusion.

"Hey, I was wondering if you'd be able to fix me up some food for a picnic? A mix of English and French foods that are easy to nibble on?" I ask, looking over the tightly knit mob of dangling ears and drooping noses.

One of the house-elves, a short, squat little thing, even for a house-elf, looks at me in horror, her dinnerplate sized eyes widening melodramatically. "A student after breakfast? She's… is she still hungry!?" she shouts, her ears flapping wildly against her head as she shakes it in dismay.

I flinch as the lot scream in unison, "Still hungry!?" one of the elves dropping his stack of plates to the ground, the dishes crashing against the floor and shattering loudly.

"Woah! Woah, woah! Hold up a minute there!" I interrupt, holding my hands out in front of me, hoping to mollify the hysterical elves before they begin to riot. "I ate plenty, I was just going to be having a picnic for lunch and wanted to get it ready now."

The first elf collapses, falling to the ground in a relieved heap, the back of her hand resting over her pallid green forehead. "Missy was so worried!" she gasps, pulling her ears under her chin as if she's about to knot them together, rolling on her back like a stuck turtle. "We thoughts that you weren't happy with our food!"

"No! Not at all! The food is always wonderful!" I say placatingly, every single elf sighing in relief, the sound echoing about the kitchen.

God that's eerie.

A familiar elf jabs his finger in my direction, the spindly appendage quivering dangerously. "You!" he bellows, his lips pulled up underneath his nose in a deadly sneer. "Horse girly! Why are yous back here?"

"Horse girl?"

Oh!

Oh yeah.

I rub the back of my head sheepishly. "I uh- I came to get food for a picnic?"

He marches up towards me, finger still held out in front of him. One of his eyes twitches manically as he tilts his head, peering up into my own. "No horses this time?" he interrogates, one yellowed, bent tooth peeking out over his lower lip.

I shake my head. "No. No horses."

We stand there in silence for what feels like a lifetime, but is probably much closer to ten or so seconds, the statistically massive house-elf and I staring each other down, refusing to give an inch of ground. After a few harrowing moments, he sniffs loudly, nodding his head once.

"We makes you picnic," he mutters, rubbing his hands together as he turns back to the frozen crowd of kitchen workers. "Well? What are yous waiting for? Get working!"

The elves immediately break into action, dashing about the kitchen as they begin to toss together a plethora of different foods. Charcuterie, cheeses, breads, soup, and every other snack food under the sun being prepared at the speed of light.

I honestly believe that some of the elves must have broken the sound barrier at the rate they're moving.

The flurry continues, a blur of gray and green, interspersed by flashes of pale red and creamy yellow as food is quite literally tossed from one elf to another as they load up what looks to be an incredibly heavily enchanted picnic basket, a soft red tartan blanket laid overtop and laced between the handle.

The head elf lifts the wicker container with a single crooked finger, offering it towards me.

I reach out with trepidation, staring in amazement at the miniature basket that may contain enough food to actually feed a village for a week, something Petunia was quite fond of saying whenever Dudley refused to finish his outrageous portions.

No wonder the bastard was so bloody fat.

I grasp the handle tightly, fingers grazing over the smooth and weathered texture of the dried and wound willow with reverence. It has to be one of the most impressive enchanted objects I've ever laid eyes upon…

…and it's a fucking picnic basket.

God damn magicals are weird.

"Thank you very much, I'll be sure to return this when I get back to the school," I say, nodding my head respectfully towards the head elf, who lifts his chin in pride.

"We's only doing our job," he replies succinctly, fading back into the frenzied crowd of cleaning house elves like he was never there in the first place.

I blink a few times as I turn to leave, slightly dazed after that incredibly interesting experience with what seems to be the most eccentric group of elves in the world.

Before I know it, I'm standing outside the Great Hall, waiting for Fleur to show up. I sidle up next to one of the large pillars, flames dancing upon the sconce and lighting up the room much better than any flame should. Magic, I guess.

I break out into a grin when I catch sight of Fleur walking into the entrance hall, decked out in a very warm looking tan vest, snug tweed trousers, and a pair of brown knee-high boots. "Hey there," I say as she pulls me into a hug, the top of my head just coming up to her chin, my hair tickling against her neck.

"Bonjour," she replies, handing me an expensive looking bottle of red wine. I pop open the top of the basket and set it inside, Fleur lacing her arm through mine once I've finished. "I thought it would be nice to bring that wine that I mentioned," she continues, a demure smile on her face. "And I would like to apologize for rejecting you in the first place, especially after all of my flirting."

I put my hand up, halting her. "It's alright, really. You didn't know, and I didn't know. It also doesn't hurt that I did the same thing last year, sans-flirting."

Fleur arches one eyebrow curiously. "Yes? Who was it that you turned away?"

"Hermione," I answer, knowing that if anyone can keep a secret, it's another resurrected time traveller.

"Really?" she asks as we set off, beginning our trek across the grounds and out towards Hogsmeade.

I nod my head. "Yeah, it was a hell of a surprise for me. Just goes to show that you can't judge a book by it's cover." I snicker quietly at my own little joke, Fleur tilting her head questioningly. "She's a bibliophile through and through," I explain, Fleur snorting good naturedly.

"Yes, I seem to remember her being quite… intense in her studies when I was last here. I saw her dashing around the library in a frenzy when I went to research dragons for the first task."

"That's Hermione for you," I laugh, quickly taking a look around to make sure that there's nobody nearby. Once I've confirmed that the coast is clear, we untangle ourselves and blink, or flash past the Hogwarts gates and onto the path towards Hogsmeade. I lace my arm back in hers and ignore the nervous fluttering in my belly. "So… do we need to spend our day in Hogsmeade? I know a fantastic little spot that I think would be great for a picnic."

Fleur taps her chin playfully. "Hmm… let me think," she mutters, lips puffed out in concentration. "I believe we could go somewhere else. Where did you have in mind?"

"Ever been to the Shetlands?" She shakes her head. "Well, in that case, I'm going to have to take you along with me."

Fleur looks worried for a second, causing me to look at her in confusion. "What is it?"

"Well… aren't we both opposites magically? Wouldn't your form of travel hurt me?"

I pause, frowning.

Huh, I forgot about that.

"I could apparate the two of us," I offer, Fleur nodding in reply.

Helps that I studied that particular form of travel. Wouldn't do to blink everywhere, as it would easily give me away.

With her hand held tightly to my arm, I screw up my eyes and focus on the broch where I was practicing my spellwork. After the briefly disorienting sensation of being squeezed through a small tube, we both land safely a far bit north-east of Hogwarts, looking out over a sea that's much calmer than the last time I'd seen it.

"So? How do you like it?"

Fleurs looks around, slowly taking in the wonderful sight before her. A smile slowly creeps over her face as she crouches down, running her fingers through the thick brush of grass.

"I love it."

"Excellent." I smile widely, taking the blanket off the basket and laying it out over the ground, setting the basket down in the middle as I sit down, Fleur nestling in next to me, her thigh brushing against mine. I tear up two blades of grass, transfiguring them into wine glasses and placing low powered sticking charms on the bottom so that they don't get knocked over on the uneven ground. Fleur reaches over and helps me out as I begin to unveil an amount of food that looks to be prepared for a banquet, let alone a picnic.

"Jesus Christ, those crazy little elves," I mutter as I draw out a whole baguette, followed by a half a dozen well-fired rolls, my eyes widening as I come across what looks to be a roast duck.

Fucks sake. It is roast duck.

How the hell did they manage to make a duck confit in five minutes? Isn't it supposed to be cured for a whole day? Do they just have this shit lying around? And if that's the case, why have I never seen it served before?

Shit. I think I just hijacked tonight's dinner.

"My, my, my!" Fleur mutters appraisingly, looking over the wide array of foods available. "This is looking very fancy."

I chuckle quietly, still shaking my head at the sight in front of me. "Well, I know I'll be giving the house-elves a hearty 'thank you' when I get back. This is absolutely incredible."

Fleur hums approvingly as she slices the end off the baguette, coating it with a thick layer of pâté. She pops it into her mouth with relish and chews slowly, her eyes closing as she savours the deep flavour of the forcemeat.

"This is wonderful!" she sings, already reaching for more. "Please, you must try this," she says as she spreads the pâté over another slice of bread, handing it to me.

I bite into it with gusto, eyebrows raising at the intensely rich flavour that coats my tongue. I take my time with the simple, yet incredibly delicious food, nearly purring as I allow the soft fluffy bread to mingle with the smooth, spiced meat, a slight crunch following every bite as the crust is slowly ground between my teeth.

"Woah," I murmur dumbly, staring down at the simple concoction of meat and bread in front of me. I have to figure out if house-elf magic can be used by humans, if only for the sake of learning how to cook like they do.

Fleur reaches over and uncorks the bottle of wine, expertly pouring out two glasses and passing mine over to me, sipping daintily from hers. She licks her lips, picking up an errant droplet of the sweet liquid.

"So," she says, softly drumming her long fingers along the stem of her glass as she eyes me curiously, her gaze dancing over my body from head to toe, before her face melts into a very seductive smirk.

Well, I think it's seductive. That's how it feels to me at least.

"How did Harry Potter come to be Helene Potter? What did I miss?"

I exhale slowly. "Starting out with the big questions first?" I ask playfully, eyebrows raised. "Well… after I kicked the bucket and came back to life, I decided to go and get a head start on picking up my school supplies, wand and all that. When I went to visit Gringotts, I needed to have my identity confirmed by my account manager, since I didn't have my key."

I take a sip from my glass, swishing the wine around in my mouth. I've never drank the stuff before, but I find it to be quite nice. Crisp, slightly tangy, yet rich at the same time. It's not my favourite by any means, but I'm sure I'll come to like it quite a bit more with time.

Shame I can't feel the effects.

"So, it turns out that I had been locked into being Harry at a young age, probably when Dumbledore had picked me up from Hagrid after Voldemort came in and fucked up everything. Apparently, he was worried about how the public would view me if I was a girl, something about being in a much stronger political position if I was a man. That, and I'd be too powerful for him to keep in check, as the binding locked away a good portion of my magic… at least that's the conclusion that I've come to."

Fleur curses under her breath. "A terrible thing to do to someone, especially for such petty reasons," she states, a horrified look on her face. "You say Dumbledore did that? I can't believe that the man I fought and died for could do such a thing!"

I nod sadly, remembering how crestfallen I was to learn that the man I most looked up to in the world was tampering with my life. "Yeah, that threw me through a loop when I found out it was him. I always held such reverence for him, so for me to find out that he had changed me just so that I would be more appealing to people I didn't know and would probably never meet… it was… well- it was a bit of a trip, to say the least."

I run my fingers through my hair, Fleur smiling warmly at me as she reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. "At least you found out who you really were," she comforts, tilting her head cutely.

"Yeah, it was more than stressful in the moment, but ever since I was turned back into me, I've never felt better."

She smiles even more broadly at that, pecking me on the cheek and causing me to blush furiously.

"Well, I find Miss Potter much more attractive than Mister Potter," she proclaims, wiggling her eyebrows at me.

"That's quite fair. I think I prefer Fleur over Francois," I jibe back, Fleur laughing. "So, what uh- what happened after I was gone? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

She bites her cheek, shaking her head softly as she takes another sip from her glass. "Nothing good," she murmurs, a faraway look on her face. "After you died, Voldemort quickly took over. Not many knew, of course, but members of the Wizengamot started to disappear… others changed how they voted, previously forward-thinking people began to speak publicly about the 'danger that mudbloods posed.'" Fleur grits her teeth, fingers curled into a fist, knuckles white. "Fudge stayed on as Minister, since he would do anything to save his own hide, happily passing along any and every law that served to make the lives of muggleborns, beings, and anyone they just didn't like more difficult." She takes a deep swig, finishing her drink before pouring another, swirling the wine within the bottle as she stares at the ground vacantly.

Fleur coughs, clearing her throat and collecting her thoughts.

"It took a few months for things to get bad… very bad. Ces fascistes, they set up prison camps for the muggleborns and other undesirables, just like in Nazi Germany…"

I cover my mouth, gasping in horror.

"That's… what!? They… they set up concentration camps?"

Fleur nods shakily in reply, pursing her lips. "They collected people in the dead of night. Death Eaters running around Britain like the Gestapo. It was horrible, absolutely horrible. This toad of a woman was running the program, interrogating muggleborns and halfbloods, asking them where they stole their magic before locking them up if they couldn't provide an answer to an unanswerable question."

I don't know if they began to… exterminate people, or if they would stoop to that level, but I do know that if you managed to fight them off and escape… well, they sent their best men after you, and you would be publicly executed if you weren't dead already. If you were… well, they just strung you up in Diagon Alley for all to see. Mothers, fathers, children… anyone who tried to escape was made an example of."

"That's… that's fucking horrendous," I whisper, unable to imagine how things could get that bad that quickly. To set up camps, have public executions… to even have those in power loudly proclaiming that 'mudbloods' are the problem already raises enough red flags on its own… but to go that far?

I let out a long, slow breath, digesting that information as best as I can. "Let me guess… Lucius Malfoy lead them?" Fleur scoffs, tearing a roll in half and attempting to butter it, nearly stabbing herself with the knife as she does so. "Hey, here, let me get that," I say as I reach over and take it from her, calmly buttering the roll and handing it back, Fleur nodding in thanks.

She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Yes, Lucius Malfoy was the one leading things… he was more of a general, never to be found in a direct fight, always commanding his underlings. It was Lestrange you had to watch out for. Any of them, but Bellatrix was the most terrifying of all."

"Well, you don't have to worry about her or the rest of the Lestrange family anymore, I went and put an end to the lot of them this past summer," I say, changing the subject away from the macabre discussion of prison camps and probable genocide, to the less macabre topic of family annihilation.

Fleur lifts her chin, eyes wide. "That was you? Mon Dieu, Helene. You broke into Azkaban?"

"It's really not terribly difficult with our abilities. I mean, it wasn't easy, but it wasn't incredibly difficult either," I opine, looking off over the sea in the general direction of the unholy fortress. "Sure makes it easier when you can talk to dementors."

"You can what?"

"Talk to dementors. Something to do with me being half-dead and all that."

Fleur puts her hand up asking me to stop, using her other to pinch her forehead. "Alright, forgetting the dementors… what do you mean by half-dead?"

"Er- well, I'm not technically alive, so to say," I hesitate, curious about how things have worked for Fleur.

Now that I know she's not half-dead as well, does that mean she's… normal-alive? Super-alive? Mostly-alive? I haven't a clue, but I'm sure I'm going to find out.

"A few months after being resurrected, I managed to knock-off Voldemort's container, some doddering idiot named Quirrel," I explain, remembering how I managed to traumatize most of the school. Not my best moment. "Death showed up after Madam Pomfrey noticed that my heart wasn't beating. He froze time and gave me a little spiel about how I should go out and learn Necromancy, Blood Magics and the like. His reasoning was, that since I wasn't alive, and I wasn't dead either, that's the perfect combination to use his brand of magic."

Fleur reaches out, pressing her fingers to the bottom of my neck and frowning when she doesn't feel a pulse, shaking her head in confusion.

"That's… bizarre," she comments, perplexed. "I guess you're truly the opposite of me then… after I had come back, Life explained to me that I was going to notice some changes." She snorts, a smile creeping across her face. "It was like getting 'the talk,' learning all about my new body. I sort of… radiate? Is that the word? I radiate life." She pauses, sweeping her hand over the grass and screwing up her eyes in concentration. Her palm begins to glow with a soft white light, the grass underneath it growing rapidly before my eyes.

"Wow," I whisper, staring in awe as the grass grows from just under an inch, to nearly a foot in height in a matter of seconds.

Fleur releases her hold on the magic, a feeling of pureness and… health? It doesn't make sense, but her magic feels healthy, emanating from her in waves, like a low tide of calm washing over me. "If my assumption is right, I think you'd be able to do the opposite," she guesses.

Feeling curious, I mirror her, my hand held out over the much taller tuft of grass as I channel my magic into it. I nearly squeak in surprise as a void appears over my palm, an empty, inky blackness that seems to go on forever. Hesitant, I watch as the grass withers and crumbles to dust, motes of gray picked up by a lazy wind and scattered across the broch.

"Well, isn't that something," I say, staring at my hand in awe. That is... much, much too dangerous an ability for anyone to have, let alone an undead nineteen-year-old.

"Agreed," Fleur echoes, looking both impressed and worried at the same time. "Please make sure not to do that when your hands are on me, yes?"

I can't help but laugh, Fleur joining in with me as we collapse into a fit of giggles. I roll over onto my back, a snicker or two escaping me as I look up at the sky and watch the clouds slowly ebb and drift across the horizon. Fleur sidles up next to me, resting her head on my chest and her arm over my waist.

"Hello there," she whispers, staring up at me, a coy smile on her face.

I awkwardly return the gesture, one arm wrapping around her back, hand resting on her hips, hoping that I'm doing something right. "Hey."

She kisses me softly, lips curled up into a smile as they meet my own. I hum happily, slowly detaching from the gentle embrace. "So, Miss Potter. Tell me something about yourself," she says, staring up at me, head still resting on my chest, fingers tickling up and down my side.

"Well, I…"

Ooh, that's actually a difficult question to answer. Is she going to ask me that every time we go out?

I hope not.

"Hmm, well, to start, I'm a big reader, although right now all I've been reading has been spellbooks and big dusty tomes on magical theory. I'm just stocking up on every spell that I think could help me out in a fight." I pause, scratching my chin thoughtfully. "I like to cook, I'm a morning person through and through, and when this whole mess with Voldemort is done and over with I'd like to settle down somewhere quiet, maybe open up a shop somewhere. I'm a dab hand at runes what with my Blood Magic experience, so I could get into enchanting. Otherwise, I know that the Weasley twins want to eventually open up a joke shop, so I may join them on that if I have the chance. What about you?"

Fleur clicks her tongue, eyes narrowed in thought. "I quite enjoy runes as well, and I was actually interested in being a curse-breaker before the war. Either that, or I'd like to be a teacher." Her eyes practically glow as she continues, a small smile creeping across her face. "I've always helped Gabby with her schoolwork, and there's just something about it that I love. Other than that, well, you already know that I love American poetry, but I also love to paint and sketch. But I'm warning you now, I'm a nightmare in the kitchen."

I chuckle quietly, Fleur giggling at her own little comment. "That's alright. If I'm ever cooking and you want to help, you can just chop the veggies."

"Ah, that, I can do."

I sigh and lean back, running my fingers through Fleurs hair and just enjoying the moment, the two of us curled up next to each other and just enjoying the day, cool air staved off by the steady beat of the autumn sun.

"So… would you like to come to the Yule Ball with me, Miss Delacour?"

She arches one eyebrow, a playful look on her face. "The Yule Ball? I seem to recall you being an awful dancer, Miss Potter. Would I have to take out insurance on my poor toes before then?"

"Hey! That was because I was in the wrong body!" I argue, Fleur laughing loudly at my mock indignation. "I'm sure I could dance circles around you now. This marvelous body has been enhanced beyond natural means," I say, waving my hand across myself, the corner of Fleur's mouth curling up into a coy smile.

"Oh? Magically enhanced you say? Tell me more," she whispers seductively, her voice trailing off into a sultry breath.

I inhale sharply, completely unaware of how to respond to her.

"I… well… uh- "

She laughs at my frazzled self, tinkling bells ringing off across the picturesque, windbitten countryside. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she apologizes, wiping away an imaginary tear. "I shouldn't rile you up like that."

"It's okay, I'm just… well, this is my first time dating someone, properly dating someone, you know?"

"It's the same with me," Fleur responds, my eyebrows raising sharply.

"Really? A clever, beautiful woman like you?"

She lets out a soft, slow breath. "Yes… I've never dated before. My heritage makes it… difficult for me to find someone who's truly interested in me, and not just enthralled by my aura."

I tilt my head, Fleur noticing the curiosity in my eyes.

"Well, you already know that I am Veela, yes?" she asks, and I nod in reply. "I, and all other Veela, we have an aura of sorts. It's a defense mechanism, a way for us to escape or distract those who would wish us harm. Unfortunately, since society has changed and is no longer so vicious as it once was, the aura just brings us more unwanted attention now that we are rarely are forced to use it. Men and women alike are entranced by us because of it. It makes a true, real relationship of any kind hard to come by."

"I'm sorry," I murmur, fingers tangled in her hair.

She shakes her head, nuzzling into me. "It's fine. I've gotten used to it. You know, in our last lives you caught my interest?" She smiles as I shake my head, eyes crinkling. "You barely reacted to me. It was there, yes, but you could ignore the aura, look past it. Why, if you were but a few years older, I might have had my wicked way with you."

I laugh, my tongue poking out of my mouth. "What a shame!" I cry, hand held over my face in faux dismay. "To have been with the delectable Fleur Delacour!? My life is at an end!"

"Hey!" Fleur shouts, unable to hide her smile. She jabs me in the chest playfully, causing me to grunt, her dainty finger much sturdier than it looks. "No complaining! You're on a date with me as we speak!"

"That I am, that I am… still can't believe it if I'm being honest."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Hmm? Why can't you?"

I shrug awkwardly. "Well, you're you, and I'm me. My only experience with dating was an awkward trip to Hogsmeade, a kiss that involved more crying than kissing, and a very angry woman who thought I was ignoring her for my best friend."

Fleur looks worried for a moment, gnawing on her lower lip for a fraction of a second.

"What is it?" I ask, concern written over my features.

She closes her eyes, sighing softly. "After I saw you at the World Cup, I did some research to see if this world had somehow changed after I returned, seeing as someone I knew had managed to change genders entirely. I… I read your interview to the Prophet about your family. Was it really that bad?"

I shake my head, jaw clenched tight. "No… if I'm being honest, it was quite a bit worse." I run my hand through my hair, scratching my scalp lightly, a slow and tense breath trickling out from between my lips. "It wasn't the beatings that got to me… those I could deal with. I don't know why, but I could. It was the deprivation of everything good that was the worst. I never once heard a good word come out of their mouths. Every single thing they had to say was derisive, derogatory, meant to beat me down into submission, crush me… hell, my Aunt spent most of her time harping on about what a 'wretched bitch' my mother was, and how great it was that she was dead. So… if you're wondering why I have a bit of a hard time understanding why you're interested in me, go ahead and blame it on those sad sacks of shit."

I hear a quiet growling, looking down to see Fleur with fury in her eyes, teeth gritted and chin jutting forward. "Fils de pute!" she hisses, her voice thin and coarse, almost animalistic. I frown as I see her pupils narrow into slits, her canines lengthening into fangs.

"Woah! Hey! Are you alright?" I croak, eyes wide. "What's going on?"

She closes her eyes, breathing slowly, her nostrils flaring as she inhales, lips parting slightly as she exhales. It takes her a few moments, but she opens her eyes again, pupils once more returned to normal and her canines having shrunk back to size.

"I… I apologize," she mutters, looking slightly ashamed. "Veela can be a bit… animalistic when it comes to someone we care for. For someone to so poorly treat one of our partners… well, we can lose a bit of ourselves to baser instinct."

"That's… actually really interesting," I blurt, quickly slapping my hand over my mouth. Fleur goggles at me, before laughing loudly.

"Interesting? Really? Most people are terrified by that."

I shrug unapologetically. "I'm half-dead, you're a living fountain of youth. I don't think things get any weirder than that." I hesitate, before continuing with my train of thought. "Also… you said partner?"

She shuts her mouth tight, looking very sheepish all of a sudden. "Well, you see- I… merde," she curses, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Forgive me for presuming," she apologizes, looking me in the eye. "This is a first date, I shouldn't put a name on things so quickly."

I tilt my head in thought, clicking my tongue to a staccato beat. "You know, it really does have a good ring to it," I muse, Fleur brightening up immediately, a smile on her face stretching from ear to ear.

"Are you sure? I don't want to take things too quickly, I mean, you're still quite a bit younger than me, and we're both inexperienced, and-"

I silence her with a kiss, Fleur squeaking quietly, before sinking into the embrace, one hand reaching up to cup the back of my neck as she presses herself against me.

"We're both new to this, and forgive me for presuming, but I think that things are going to go well between the two of us. I mean, look at us!" I exclaim, my hand waving over her and I. "We both died and came back to life, we both know what happens in the future and are fighting in this weird, unmentioned and unknown war. We both have incredibly rare powers, regularly have conversations with Gods, and we're worried about whether or not to put a name on things? If any relationship would make sense, it would be this one."

Fleur frowns, staring off in the distance. "Well… if you say it that way…"

"We're both having a fit over something that isn't really an issue, aren't we?"

She nods. "I guess so. Then, in that case… I would be more than happy to call you my girlfriend."

I grin, pecking her on the cheek, already feeling surprisingly comfortable with how things are going.

For someone who's never been in a relationship before, I think I'm doing quite well.

"That sounds absolutely wonderful."

I walk into the Daily Prophet decked out in the most intimidating clothing I own, the long black basilisk hide jacket skirting around the top of my knees as I march through the office, garnering confused looks from the staff inside as I move past them in a blur.

My boots click heavily across the hardwood floor as I stomp up a flight of stairs, fingers skirting over the bannister as I climb level after level, moving past each inconsequential floor on my road towards the editor-in-chief's office.

After about a minute of climbing, I've made my way to the top, the secretary ahead of me not even looking up from her work as she says, "Sorry dear, Mister Cuffe isn't scheduled for any meetings right now, you'll have to come back later."

I ignore her, striding past and tuning out her spluttering protests as I slam the door open, Barnabus Cuffe jumping in his chair. I eye the man with disgust, his whole office screaming 'lavish.' So lavish that it should be impossible to achieve considering the average income of an editor-in-chief, so I imagine that a good majority of his income comes from bribes and other under the table means.

This man must be a Scrimgeour who can write. This is going to be fun.

He's wearing a gray pin-stripe vest, the blue collar on his shirt tucked tidily underneath thick jowls, indicative of his fondness of the less healthy things in life. He slicks his brown, going on gray hair back, standing up and jabbing his finger in my direction.

"How dare you come barging into my office! Why, I have half the mind to-"

"Would you please just shut up?" I retort, waving my hand and shutting the door behind me, following that up with a silencing charm or two.

Cuffe blusters angrily, nonsensical muttering leaking out of his chubby mouth.

"Now, I have half the mind to run this place into the ground after the article you wrote about me," I begin, Cuffe's eyes lighting up in recognition.

"And how would you do that, exactly? Tear out the foundations with whatever odd, wandless magic you use? You'd be arrested in an instant," he spits, rolling his thick neck imposingly.

"Tear the place down? No, I didn't mean that so literally. Who do you take me for? Voldemort?" He blanches considerably, flinching at the mention of the moniker. "Because that's who you made me out to be with your recent story, one that was published while I was in intensive care. Very brave of you, Mister Cuffe, to write a smear piece on a teenager while she's unconscious. Bravo," I sniff, clapping slowly.

I gesture for him to sit down, the man doing it as primly as he can, head held high as I take my own seat in front of his desk, legs crossed serenely.

"So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to write a public apology and retract your statements towards me, specifically those that subtly inferred that I was the next up and coming Dark Lady, ready to take Voldemort's place after having offed him when I was barely even a year old." Barnabus goes to speak but I lift my hand, pointing it at him dangerously. "The reason you're going to do this is because I own a quarter of the paper, as well own the entirety of Witch Weekly, along with Teen Witch Weekly."

Cuffe's eyes widen dramatically as he pales even further, a bead of nervous sweat dripping down his forehead that he doesn't move to wipe away, too focused on the conversation at hand.

I smile at him, a thin and stretched thing that doesn't lend itself to friendliness in any way. "I see that you're beginning to understand the situation that you're in Mister Cuffe."

He nods vigorously. "Miss Potter, I had no idea that… well, you understand, right?"

I tilt my head questioningly, clasping my hands over my lap. "No, I don't understand." I wave my hand for him to continue. "Please, do tell."

He straightens out his collar, swallowing heavily. "Well, when one of our… other shareholders, requests a certain story be told, we often take their opinions into consideration. When one of our primary shareholders demands a certain story be told, it happens." He folds his hands out in offering. "I'm simply doing what I can to run the paper."

"No, no, I understand that," I say, lifting my hand to my chin, cradling it. "That's not going to be happening anymore, at least, whoever demanded you publish that article no longer has any say in what goes on here, as, I can assure you, whatever they can threaten you with, it doesn't even compare to what I will do."

Cuffe splutters indignantly and I put my hand up once again, my palm glowing lightly. "Mister Cuffe, I'm afraid you don't understand the situation," I lament, resting my cheek on my fist. "I have you by the balls, and I don't care how much money Malfoy throws at you, if you continue to do what you're doing, you will be out of a job so fast your head will be spinning." I smile once more, my expression screaming danger, causing the heavy man to lean back into his chair in an attempt go shirk away from me. "Now, that won't be the end of it. What will happen after that, you say? Well, let me explain."

I steeple my hands in front of me, perched under my chin. "I will go about making sure you will never find a job in Britain again. I have the backing of the Black-Greengrass voting bloc, and in turn, their business. If word gets around to the most powerful party in the Wizengamot that the Daily Prophet has been spewing nothing but Malfoy's propaganda under your direction, there will be hell to pay." I put my hand out, waving it over my head dramatically, watching as Cuffe follows it with his eyes, his complexion all of a sudden quite sickly and pale. "Imagine it. Every single business owned by either me, or the members of that bloc having put out a blacklist on you. If I had to guess, I'd say that nearly half of the businesses in wizarding Britain fall under ownership or direct control of those men and women, and if they decide to spread the news that Barnabus Cuffe is an un-hireable menace? Well, I think you'd be shit out of luck, wouldn't you say?"

He inhales sharply, lips pursed as he finally understands how well and truly fucked he is if he continues on the road he's on.

"I… I see what you're saying Miss Potter," he chokes, throat bobbing. "I- I'll make sure that a full apology is published tomorrow morning, you have my word."

I grin, clapping my hands as I get out of my seat, inclining my head towards the terrified man. "Thank you for your time Mister Cuffe, I'll be on my way," I jibe as I turn to leave, striding out the door and leaving the flustered, miserable little bastard to take a long hard look at where his life has gone.

A little bit of fluff, a little bit of intrigue.

Purpleeater54: Monsters are so incredibly fun to write. I don't know if it's the psychological horror fan in me or what, but a well written monster is just my favourite thing.

setokayba2n: So, Helene does have super-regeneration, but at a cost. It draws on her magic, the more intense the wound, the more intense the pull. So, since she'd run herself completely dry at the end of that, there was nothing for the regeneration to draw on.
I didn't want things to be too overpowered, especially since I'm writing an already overpowered character. There's always got to be some sort of tension, otherwise the story loses all of its fun.

Bearmauls: I know it was kind of silly, but I didn't want the fight to last three seconds. That'd be no fun to write, and it'd be no fun to read.

eltanan: I'm trying to do my best to showcase that, that just because someone is Dark doesn't mean that they're going to go around eating babies and strangling kittens.

Guest: I'm not at all inferring that Hermione is some sort of bibliophile God, but I felt that it was a good opportunity to have that little bit of magic pop up and have a fun interaction between her and Helene.

wickedlover87: I'm sorry, but much of that is too cliché, even for me. No portraits, no house-elf magic, and most importantly, no intense political intrigue, mainly because I know I can't write that worth a damn.

newname1: You have my guarantee that nothing like that will be written in again. Once was one too many, and I have no interest in delving into that topic again.