Chapter 17 – Compromise

Unfortunately, no one could maintain an emotional high for long, and in the case of one Harry Potter, the likelihood of doing so was practically nonexistent. As he had reflected before, his life was not a simple one, nor was it a calm, placid cruise along idle currents. No, his life was more like a trip down a set of raging rapids, or sailing into the teeth of a monster hurricane. Regardless of whether one's life was that of Harry Potter, or of someone more… normal, reality must set in, and the day-to-day life once more dominate one's focus.

For Harry, it was not one thing which brought him down from his previous high, it was a number of things all put together, and the fall was not a slow decline as might be expected, rather it was a quick and sudden drop.

It started, of course, with the howler from Molly Weasley attacking his best friend. The fact that the Weasley matron had not offered even the barest of apologies did not impress Harry in the slightest, nor did it appease Hermione. The account of her discussion with her children was welcome to the extent that Harry knew she would not repeat her actions in the matter of the howler. However, Harry also knew that she would expect them to simply forget the matter and ignore it, without the proper process of contrition and apology. Doubtless, the next time she saw them she would behave as though everything was as it always was and attempt to smother them in her affection and warm, possessive hugs, as was her wont. She might consider the matter closed, but to Harry and Hermione, as long as the apology was unspoken Molly Weasley would be forgiven, but the episode would not be forgotten.

For several days after the event, Harry found himself responding to the Weasley siblings with a little more coldness than he had ever before. In fact, both Hermione and Fleur were the same way. It was not fair, Harry knew, as the children were really not to blame for the actions of their mother, but perhaps it was understandable. Either way, the Weasleys accepted it for what it was, and allowed the trio some time to come to terms with the event by allowing them the space they required. It did not take long, and soon the friends were once again as close as they had ever been.

The one thing which the howler did for Harry was to force him to think about the female adult figures in his life and to put them into some perspective. He now understood that his initial reaction to Molly Weasley as a mother figure was a simple product of the fact that he had never had such a person in his life before. Aunt Petunia could certainly never be considered to be motherly, and outside of Mrs. Figg—whom he considered to be more of a batty old grandmother than anything else—he had not really had any contact with any other adult women, other than Professor McGonagall, who also did not fit the mother mould.

He quickly came to the conclusion that Mrs. Weasley, for all her good points, was not what he considered a mother to be either. At least, she was not what he considered his mother to be. If he had had an image of his mother throughout his formative years, Harry would have said that he had always hoped that she was loving and kind, willing to support him in anything, and quietly help him improve his faults as a mother should. Harry was well aware that his image of his mother was skewed, and represented a level of perfection which was not attainable by anyone. And all he had heard from others led him to believe that Lily Evans had been a strong woman, with a stubborn mindset, and a tendency toward somewhat of a volatile temper. However, Harry was certain she would have provided him a loving and positive environment in which to grow, had she lived long enough to do so. Of course, such thoughts engendered a renewed sense of loss, but Harry was well used to it by that time.

So, if Molly Weasley was not a mother figure, what role did she fill in his life? The more Harry thought about it, the more he decided that she filled the role of a meddling aunt, one who was forever poking her nose into the lives of her nieces and nephews, while smothering them with an entirely unnecessary—and perhaps somewhat contrived—level of affection. The description fit Mrs. Weasley precisely, Harry realized, though he knew both the woman and her children would likely be offended should he ever characterize her in such a way in front of them.

By contrast, his ideal of a mother was quickly being filled by Apolline Delacour. She was more what he imagined his mother to be—she was firm and unyielding when the situation demanded, but she was also willing to step back and allow her children to live their lives, while providing advice when asked. Harry could not say that he knew her well yet, but he already felt comfortable with her, which was for the best, he reflected, as one day she would be his mother. Or at least she would be his mother-in-law.

Regardless of Harry's thoughts about mother Weasley and the havoc her actions had caused to his equilibrium, it was only a few days before his feelings settled and he was able to put it behind him, though he did not forget. Other, more immediate, concerns intruded into his consciousness, which replaced the drama with the Weasleys. Malfoy's avoidance turned out to be a rather temporary respite, as after the howler, he returned with a vengeance, though seemingly with a new target. Though he did not exclude Harry from his comments, he now took every opportunity to taunt Hermione, asking her how her campaign to become Harry's mistress was coming, how she was getting along with Mrs. Weasley, and anything else he could think of which would cast her in a negative light. Hermione counseled Harry to ignore the prat, and though Harry would have liked nothing more than to blast Malfoy where it hurt, he agreed that the ferret was not worth his time or effort. It helped that Malfoy did not dare to approach the same level of crudity for which Snape had reprimanded him—it seemed like those words had had a rather large affect on the Malfoy spawn. Or perhaps it was simply the fear of being called out by his head of house again. It turned out to be a good thing that Harry was ignoring him, as they discovered several times that Umbridge had been watching them as Malfoy had been spouting off, no doubt hoping for an opportunity to catch Harry responding to the prick's taunts and begin her task of proving him to be a trouble-maker, which had thus far been stymied by his control over his temper.

The final thing which had begun to dominate Harry's attention was the aforementioned Defense professor and her class. The woman was a menace, he quickly decided, and she seemed intent upon goading Harry into a response, using whatever method she could. Harry, with his new-found maturity—not to mention the ever-present assistance of his closest friend—managed to resist her ever more blatant attempts. It was taxing on his temper, however, as he desperately wanted to put the woman in her place.

More than a month into classes, it was very apparent that their original estimation of her class was spot on—they had learned almost nothing in that time and Harry doubted things would get better as long as she was at Hogwarts. With OWLs looming large at the end of the year, even Harry, who had always found Defense to be easier than most, began to be worried about how he would manage to pass the tests without any practical experience.

Ironically, however, the biggest drain on his temper was not the toad woman or the ferret, as may have been expected. That distinction began to manifest itself in that ridiculous suggestion Luna had made that evening at dinner—the idea to start up a Defense Club. Sure he wanted to learn his Defense material for OWLs that year, and he would have participated in such a club had it existed, but the thought of running it himself was not something he wanted to consider. Not only did he not consider himself qualified to teach a class to his peers, but with his determination to improve his overall performance, he was certain that taking on a responsibility such as Luna had suggested would affect his other subjects, all of which he was not as comfortable with as he was with Defense. He felt it did not make sense to concentrate on a subject he was good at, to the expense of others which he felt required more effort.

His friends, however, did not see it that way. It became a frequent topic of conversation, not only among the training group, but also among some of their other friends in Gryffindor house. It seemed like hardly an hour went by when someone would once again bring up the possibility of some sort of Defense Club. Then, inevitably, eyes would wander in his direction, comments would be made without any subtlety whatsoever, and Harry would find himself once again becoming annoyed with the topic.

The worst, of course, were his friends, who took every opportunity to point out that no one could match him with respect to Defense, and that they should really begin planning to start up the club. But though all of his friends got into it to a certain extent, the worst perpetrators were Fleur and Hermione. The latter especially, it seemed, was determined to see him lead this so-called club.

It reached a boiling point on the second Monday in October. Admittedly, Harry had been in a bit of a foul mood the whole day. Potions had been Potions, and though Snape had let up on Harry specifically, he was still a strict and exacting disciplinarian. His classes were always stressful and never any fun, in Harry's mind. History and Divination were as they always were, but the worst was obviously Defense. That day, Umbridge had been particularly blatant in her attempts to bait Harry, and leaving the class, he was almost coming to the conclusion that it would be worth it to provoke the toad for the simple reason that he would finally be able to tell her exactly what he thought of her. Not even Hermione's tutoring in Runes—which he curiously found rather enjoyable and relaxing—was able to help Harry unwind that evening. It was, therefore, a stressed and fed up Harry who was sitting with his friends in the Gryffindor common room after dinner, puzzling through a Rune cluster which Hermione had given him to solve.

After the fact, Harry could not even say what it was that set him off. In hindsight, it was often this way—the most innocuous comments could have the most negative impact upon a person, causing them to react in a manner which could not have been predicted. A person's state of mind simply had a way of affecting them to behave abnormally at times. This was such a time.

"Hermione, will you just let it go already?" Harry snapped at Hermione when she once again broached the subject of the club.

It was a tone Harry rarely used—especially with Hermione—and the suddenness of it clearly took her aback.

"Harry, I—"

"No, Hermione!" Harry was practically yelling, and though he could see everyone in the common room stop to watch the spectacle, his frustration had boiled over and he was beyond caring who saw his tirade.

"You have continued to harp and harp on this, and you don't seem to get the picture. I don't want to lead any stupid club and I wish Luna had never come up with this harebrained idea at all. I'm sick of continually hearing about it from everyone—no one seems to respect my feelings in this matter. Now shut it! I don't want to hear about it again!"

Closing his textbook with a resounding crack, Harry stormed from the room, almost running over a firstie who was entering through the porthole with a friend. Harry dodged around her and, ignoring the look of curiosity she directed at him, he stalked away from the common room.

The next half hour saw Harry wandering through the school aimlessly, thinking about the school year thus far, and the events of the past weeks. It had not taken long for his anger to cool and his control to reassert itself, and as a consequence, he soon felt ashamed for his outburst. He had never spoken to Hermione in such a way before—though they had certainly had disagreements and even spats—and he knew that she never expected it from him. She was due an apology, and he knew it would have to be made immediately.

Regardless, he was unwilling to return to the common room so soon after losing his cool—his mind needed a little soothing, and some solitary time spent thinking was just what was required.

It had been difficult at times, he decided, though there had certainly been bright spots. What he would not give for a year—just one!—where he didn't have to deal with all the crazy happenings in his life. And yet regardless of what he wanted, he found himself dealing with stupid and unqualified Defense professors who would like nothing better than to discredit him for her stupid employer, along with greasy, grudge-bearing potions masters (though Snape had certainly been better since they had cleared the air), and the ever-present interference from poncy, ferrety, bigoted gits with little manners and even fewer brains. As he had reflected before, it sometimes just did not pay to be Harry Potter.

Harry had just about decided it was time to return to the common room, when he turned a corner in the hallway and saw Hermione and Fleur walking toward him, both wearing expressions of determination on their faces.

"Come with us, Harry," Fleur instructed, and taking his hand in hers, she began pulling him along the corridor, with Hermione trailing behind. Harry avoided looking at his closest friend, not wanting to see the hurt on her face until he had to.

"That one's empty," Hermione said, pointing to a door on their right.

Glancing back at Hermione—completely forgetting his reluctance to look at her—Harry raised an eyebrow. Hermione merely smiled, holding up the Marauders' Map.

They stepped into the empty classroom, and closed the door. Fleur applied privacy charms to the room, while Hermione grabbed three chairs and positioned them close together. She motioned to a chair and took one of the others.

"Look Hermione," Harry began, "I'm sorry I lost it back there. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Hermione smiled, and reached forward to pat Harry's knee. "It's all right, Harry. I shouldn't have kept on pushing you either."

"It is not all right," Fleur interrupted with a clipped tone. She seated herself in the third chair, and directed a pointed look at an abashed Harry. "This is exactly what we've spoken of—you have done well so far this year, but you still need to learn to control yourself better."

Harry mumbled that he knew and he was trying, and after a brief, but intense look, Fleur appeared to accept Harry's apology.

"We need to discuss this," she stated after a few moments. "You should not have spoken the way you did, Harry, but we have not handled this any better. We should have sat down from the beginning and talked about this, rather than pestering you about it."

Harry looked up in shock. "Fleur, I already said I don't want to do this."

"Why?" was her blunt query. "Why are you so against it?"

Sputtering, Harry's ire began to return. They simply would not leave this alone!

"Maybe because I'm not qualified," Harry growled. "Or maybe it's because I have enough on my plate with being a Prefect, trying to do my best in all my classes, not to mention Quidditch. I don't understand why you two are so insistent about this."

Sighing, Fleur reached out and grasped his hand once again, her thumb working circles on the back of it. It was clearly an attempt to calm him, and given her hands were soft, and her manner gentle and affectionate, Harry had to admit that it was working perfectly.

"Harry, we need to speak about this rationally. I don't think you've considered everything yet."

"What do you mean?"

"What we mean, is that Defense is not doing us any good, Harry," said Hermione. "And the way things are going so far, we may have to put up with her for the rest of the year."

"So how is that my problem?" Harry demanded. "Why is it my responsibility to make up the slack for her incompetence?"

"It isn't your responsibility, Harry," said Fleur. "But what everyone has been saying is correct—you are the best in Defense in the school. You are modest, which is a good trait, but you cannot deny the facts."

"And think about it, Harry," urged Hermione. "We came to school thinking that we would need some way to put the things that Moody taught us to good use. This is the perfect way to do it, and to train others at the same time."

"You will learn more that way, too," Fleur added. "Teaching others is a great way to learn yourself."

Harry almost felt like he was watching a tennis match, the way the two girls were going at him. But though he felt once again like they were pressuring him, he was not getting angry. He was beginning to become tired of the whole thing. Was that their plan? Browbeat him until he finally gave in only to get them to stop?

Once again Harry was shamed by his thoughts. They would not do that—they were both passionate in their beliefs and unwilling to give ground when they thought they were in the right, but they would never attempt to manipulate him in such a manner.

"Harry, what is it that really bothers you about this?" Fleur asked gently.

"I've already told you," said Harry, combing his hand through his hair. "Hermione's been after me since we came to Hogwarts to take my studies seriously, and I'm trying to do that. I'm comfortable with Defense—it's my best subject. I think I should be spending more time working on other subjects which I'm not as comfortable with, rather than getting involved in a time-consuming Defense Club."

Hermione and Fleur shared a look, and for a moment, Harry was almost amused—they had become so close in the last month that they almost seemed to exchange entire conversations in the space of one glance.

"Do you think it will be all that bad?"

Harry shrugged. "I would think a lot of work goes into running a club like this."

"Who says you have to do it alone?"

"That's not what I meant," Harry said with some exasperation. "I am well aware that you were not intending me to do all the work on my own. That doesn't change the fact that running a club will be time-consuming and will pull our attention away from other things, like my other classes."

"I hardly think you have anything to worry about," soothed Hermione. "You do well in your studies, Harry, and your increased dedication is only going to help. I don't think this will take up so much of your time that you'll have to neglect your other classes."

Shaking his head, Harry returned Hermione's gaze. "I still don't think I can juggle this many things and not have my school work suffer."

The girls once again exchanged a glance, before Hermione gently leaned forward and grasped the hand which was not already held by Fleur. "Harry, why don't you tell us the real reason you don't want to do this?"

Sputtering, Harry glared at her, a look she returned with a placid, yet expectant, smile. "I think I've already told you."

"No you haven't. All the things you've said are all reasons, but I don't think they are the real reason why you're so set against this. You've always shared things like this with me before—why can't you now?"

Harry was frustrated with her continual pushing, and so snapped, "Is it wrong to want to have a normal year for once?"

"No, it isn't," Fleur soothed. "But you should consider that 'normal' is not a word which describes you, nor should it be something you aspire to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry, you are not normal," said Hermione affectionately. "You are a great Quidditch player and flyer, you are a prodigy in Defense, and you are loyal, intelligent, brave and cunning—a true mix of the four houses. The fact that you are the only known survivor of the killing curse does not even begin to scratch the surface of who you are as a person."

Feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, Harry looked away, embarrassed at the things they were saying about him. Harry did not consider himself to be all that—he was just Harry Potter, one of the guys. Others could have all the fame and fortune—he just wanted to be himself.

"Your relatives told you all your life that you were not normal, right?" Fleur asked.

When Harry indicated that she was correct, she continued, "Regardless of what your relatives told you, their brand of normal is not something you should aspire to. Think of it—would you really want to be like them if they are the ones who are normal?"

Harry had perhaps not thought of it in quite those terms, but he immediately understood that Fleur was correct and said as much.

"You are not normal, Harry," Fleur continued. "You are a symbol of hope. You are a natural leader. You are the focus of a Dark Lord who considers you to be the greatest threat to his power. He must have some reason for believing that, even though we don't understand it. Perhaps you should begin to act like the exceptional person we all know you are. Normal people live in the world; exceptional people change the world."

In truth, Harry had never thought of the matter in that fashion. He had never felt like a born leader, or any other sort of leader—he had always just wanted to be a normal teenager and worry about normal things, not have the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

But the girls—possibly the two most important people in his life—were urging him to be more. Did he have it within him to be more? Did he even want to?

With these two pushing him, he knew he at least had a shot. He had known ever since entering this world that there was much wrong with it, much which could be fixed. Starting up a Defense Club was a small step, but it could turn into so much more. They were right in that Voldemort needed to be opposed, and perhaps it was the younger generation which needed to do so. There was no better way to begin the task of readying them than to start this club.

But regardless of his wants and desires, he knew that it was not likely, not with the damnable scar on his forehead, that he would ever be considered to be normal. Like it or not, he was a galvanizing figure, and others would follow him if he showed them the way. Perhaps Fleur was right and it was time to take a lead in taking the fight to Voldemort. Perhaps it was time to grow up.

"Can I think about it tonight?" Harry asked, not wanting to make a snap decision.

They smiled at him, assuring him that they did not have any intention of forcing him to do something he truly did not want to do.

"Harry," Hermione spoke up as they were getting up to leave, "I should apologize to you as well. I know I get a little…" she blushed and ducked her head, "single-minded when I decide something. I shouldn't have badgered you about the club."

"Yeah, Hermione, you're a Gryffindor," Harry said with a smirk. "Whatever you do, don't go badgering people. Otherwise, we'll all think you have become a Hufflepuff."

Groans and playful smacks on the shoulder met Harry's poor attempt at a joke, but he grinned at Hermione, before placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Seriously, Hermione, don't worry about it. I know you are passionate in your beliefs, and whatever happens, I should never snap at you like that. I think I should be asking for your forgiveness."

"But you already did," was Hermione's impish reply.

"And I think we should let it rest now," said Fleur.

She stepped next to Harry, and soon her hand was comfortably ensconced within his own. Harry smiled at them both, indicating that he agreed with Fleur's statement, and the three ambled from the room and made their way back toward the Gryffindor common room.
Harry, however, was still thinking about what had happened the past few hours, and he was beginning to wonder about his relationships with the two attractive girls with whom he was walking. Fleur was still somewhat of a mystery. They had made some progress—the little touches of affection, like their growing propensity to hold hands, were becoming more commonplace—and yet they were still very much becoming accustomed to the situation in which they found themselves and getting to know one another. She was a beautiful and brilliant young woman, and Harry was certain that he could come to love her very easily. He was not willing to push the issue however, being more than content to relax and allow their relationship to deepen without any artificial attempts which would just, in his opinion, make the process that much longer and more difficult.

As for Hermione, well in her case, Harry was not certain any longer what he was to think. Hermione was his best friend—it was a subject which he had contemplated many times in the past. He did not know where he would be without Hermione.

And that was part of the problem; he was now pledged to Fleur for the rest of his life, and he would not betray her. However, the thought of losing what he had with Hermione caused Harry to feel an almost physical pain—he did not think he could do without her in his life. But what would happen as they got older? Surely some day some lucky bloke would see Hermione for what she was—a truly exceptional young woman. The man would then sweep her off her feet and they would marry. The thought troubled Harry excessively. Why? What did he truly feel for his best friend? Was he in love with her? He was not certain of his feelings, but he did know that he would not betray Fleur; such a thing was unthinkable.

As they arrived at the portrait hole, Harry decided to put those thoughts out of his mind—it was a topic to be considered another day. They stepped into the common room and took their former seats, once again pulling out their homework which had been interrupted by Harry's outburst.

But as he worked on his homework, Harry could not help but notice Ron giving him dark looks as he worked on his own assignments. Knowing what his friend was likely about, Harry had to suppress a grin—it was quite the reversal for Ron to be angry with Harry for his treatment of Hermione. Mentally, Harry prepared himself for a confrontation, as Ron appeared as though he wanted to have it out. He did not have long to wait.

They had retired to the dormitories early—the day having been long and difficult, and Harry found himself tired and ready to head to bed early. When he approached his bed after brushing his teeth and washing up, he was accosted by Ron who wore a very determined expression on his face.

"You were out of line tonight, Mate," he stated without preamble.

"I know, Ron," Harry replied.

The best way of dealing with Ron in a situation like this—not that he had much experience in this exact set of circumstances—was to agree with him and allow him to get his opinion off his chest. Ron's anger could be impressive when provoked, but it usually ran its course fairly quickly, unless he was of a mind to hold a grudge. Harry did not think he was in such a mood at this point.

"I've already apologized to Hermione, Ron, so you can leave off the big brother act."

Ron cocked his head to the side, clearly taken aback, yet thoughtfully considering Harry's words. He shook his head after a moment.

"All right then, but I hope you've worked it out."

"We have."

"Good, because I don't want you taking my place. I'm the one who makes her cry, and you're the one who sticks up for her."

Thinking that Ron's joke was in poor taste, Harry gazed pointedly at his friend.

"All right, all right," Ron conceded, his hands raised in surrender. "I know I've got some things to work on myself, and I've been trying, you know. But I've never seen you go at Hermione like that before, though if you'd done so, maybe I would have got my head out of my arse before now."

"What do you mean?" asked a curious Harry.

Ron sighed. "I guess I finally saw a bit of myself in the way you yelled at her," Ron admitted.

"It's not easy seeing something like that about yourself, is it?" Harry stated, with some sympathy.

"It isn't, mate, but now I've finally figured it out, I figure I can do better with her. She doesn't want to go out with me, but she's still my friend. I know I need to treat her better to keep her as a friend."

Ron appeared as though he wanted to say something further, but he glanced around at the other three occupants of the room, and seemed to think better of it. He smiled hesitantly at Harry before saying good night and making his way to his bed.

Harry lay down on his bed, his mind immediately working over the problem of the Defense Club. Fleur and Hermione had not convinced him yet of the benefit of his leading it, but though he would have liked to dispute its necessity, he could not. Clearly this was something which would be a benefit for not only him and his friends, but for anyone who was invited to attend as well. Though he was tired, Harry was a long time falling asleep that night, and by the time he did, he had almost reconciled himself to appeasing his two closest female friends—though perhaps appease was not really the right word—and agreeing to their request. First, however, there were a few things he wanted to make clear with them, and a few ground rules he thought would be necessary.

The next morning found the trio up earlier than usual. Though it was unplanned, all three gravitated to the common room before most of the other house members were up and, deciding that there was no time like the present, they made their way toward the Great Hall for breakfast.

Initially, when they sat down at the table, each of the three concentrated on their meal, and although Harry did not truly feel very hungry, he dutifully ate his breakfast. Thoughts of the proposed club and what he wanted to clarify with the girls rolled through his mind the entire time.

To either side, he could see the girls eying him somewhat nervously. Clearly they were convinced that this plan was the answer to their dilemma, though their behavior over the past weeks had been as much a hint as their current demeanors. That thought of course sent Harry off on a tangent, thinking that perhaps he should have been paying a little more attention, rather than focusing so much on his concerns and worries. Hermione was, after all, very intelligent, and he had trusted her judgment in the past. If he had thought about it a little more, perhaps the previous evening's unpleasantness could have been avoided. There was obviously a lesson there, and one Harry was determined not to forget.

At length, however, he decided that as amusing as their behavior was in their attempts to act nonchalant, it was not getting them anywhere. Class time was approaching, and Harry really wanted to get this sorted out and make a decision now.

"All right, you two," he said, breaking the silence. "I suppose we should talk about this idea of yours."

The two young ladies acquiesced, and Harry continued. "You know what I'm worried about. Have either of you thought how you wanted to do this?"

Hermione was the first to speak. "Well, we don't have everything planned out…"

"What?" Harry demanded cheekily. "Hermione Granger doesn't have everything planned out yet? You must be slipping—usually you have it all done in advance."

"Prat!" Hermione exclaimed, followed with a swat.

Harry just grinned at her impudently.

His jest seemed to have the desired effect of breaking the tension somewhat. Hermione rolled her eyes and continued in a more normal tone of voice.

"Right. Well, Fleur and I figured that we could all share the planning and running of the club."

"We could create a basic plan of what we want to accomplish each week," Fleur spoke up. "We begin each week by demonstrating the spells we are teaching, and then we split the attendees off into groups. Depending on how many we have to each meeting, we could have our friends who trained with Moody each take control over a group and be responsible for helping the students in their group learn the spells. Then the three of us could act sort of like roving instructors—we would go around the room helping out and giving additional demonstrations where required."

"And how much time would we need to prepare?" Harry asked.

"That depends on what we want to teach," said Hermione. Harry smiled at her, hearing the tone of her voice and knowing that she was going into her lecture mode, which she so often did when she was explaining something.

"A lot of the spells we will need to teach we already know. For example, given what happened in the first war, we should likely teach the Patronus Charm. With Voldemort on the loose again, I would be surprised if he didn't get the Dementors to side with him. You already know that spell, Harry, so there wouldn't be much preparation."

"Moody taught us more than how to cast spells," Harry noted. "I presume you want to do more than that in the club too?"

The girls shared a glance. "Ideally, that would be best," Hermione said, speaking up for both of them. "Yes, part of the goal is to help people practice so they can pass their OWLs, but I think an equally important part is to train a group of students who will be able to defend themselves against the Death Eaters, and maybe even carry the fight back to them."

Harry frowned at the implication. "That's pretty dangerous, you know," he stated. "You're talking about turning school children into a fighting force—some of them could get killed."

"That is true, Harry," Hermione admitted, "but think about it: with Voldemort being back, we're all in danger already, and the danger will get worse the longer he is allowed to build his power."

"And some are in even more danger," Fleur added. "What about Dean Thomas, who is a Muggleborn? Or the Patils or Cho Chang, who are not originally from England? Voldemort will not look kindly on them either because he considers them mongrels."

Harry had to admit they had a point. Reluctant as he was to form a fighting group which would inevitably put its members in danger, they already were, as Fleur had pointed out. At the very least, they would be helping others learn to defend themselves, which would only be of benefit for them, and the entire wizarding world.

He was about to speak when Hermione nudged him, while throwing a significant glance at Fleur. Harry took it as he thought Hermione intended—someone was approaching who they definitely did not want to overhear their current conversation.

"Mr. Potter," the cloying tones of his new personal nemesis interrupted them.

Harry turned to see the hideously pink-clad Defense professor standing nearby, while affixing the students with her normally false cheerful gaze.

"You and your… friends are here early today, Mr. Potter," Umbridge trilled in her girlish voice.

However, Harry did not miss the emphasis, nor did he miss the implication that Umbridge thought both of his closest friends to be lower than dirt. He would dearly have liked to respond and put the woman in her place, but the events of the previous day and his discussion with the two girls about the need to hold his temper made resisting the temptation that much easier. But that did not stop him from wanting to witness the payback which he would make certain the detestable woman eventually received. Yes, she would receive it, he promised himself. Her, and all others like her.

"Just wanted to get an early start on the day," Harry responded in a chipper and eager tone of voice which he had learned truly annoyed the toad woman. It was, after all, the only weapon in his arsenal against her, at present, and he had come to the point where he had begun to use it often, especially when he felt himself in danger of giving in and snapping at the woman.

Umbridge sniffed with ill-concealed disdain. "Very commendable of you, I am sure."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry continued in the same tone. "I am trying my best."

Umbridge did not say anything in response. Rather, she directed an expression of sweet approval—with which she attempted to cover the malice in her eyes—at Harry, and walked away toward the staff table, her nose held higher in the air than was her wont.

Grinning at his friends, Harry motioned to the entrance. The three gathered their things and left the Great Hall to find a location more conducive to a private discussion. After all, it was somewhat silly of them to have been discussing this in the Great Hall in the first place. There were too many eyes to see and ears to hear.

They made their way from the hall and through the school, eventually stopping in the same classroom in which they had had their discussion the evening before. They settled down to speak once Fleur had once again cast privacy spells.

"What about Umbridge?" Harry asked without preamble.

"What about her?" said Hermione.

"Well, I assume you don't want her to know about this."

It was a question and not a statement, but Hermione nodded her head in agreement anyway.

"That means that we won't be telling any of the other professors either?"

"Plausible deniability, Harry," Hermione responded. "We don't want Umbridge to have any ammunition she could use to try to take over the school, so if our professors don't know what we're doing, then they can't be held responsible."

Harry frowned. "But we can."

"Perhaps," interjected Fleur. "But what could be done to us? Starting up a group like this is not against school rules, after all, and the only ones who may take exception are Fudge and Umbridge, and then only because they are paranoid that Dumbledore is trying to take over the Ministry. If Dumbledore is able to state, even under Veritaserum, that he had no knowledge of what we were doing, then any suspicion is deflected off him, and onto us. The worst we would get is a slap on the wrist for failing to clear the club with one of the professors."

It was well thought out, but it would have to be, considering it was Fleur and Hermione's brainchild. And it just may work. There were only a few other things he wanted to work out before he agreed to it.

"You mentioned that we would act like instructors. What about our practice time?"

"Why Harry, have you forgotten we need to prepare?" asked Hermione impishly. "On the nights we run the club we would instruct, but we could have our own practice sessions with our friends on other nights. And besides, I think there would be plenty of practicing going on while instructing."

"We could even run some dueling tournaments," said Fleur with some excitement. "That would help us all know where we stand and where we need to improve."

"Good idea," said Harry, "though I think some of the younger students might find themselves in over their heads."

"So, have some mini-tournaments then," suggested Hermione. "Rank everyone based on how well they are doing, and have several smaller tournaments."

It was a good idea, and a perfect way to put Moody's advice to work. "What about the location?"

"That we haven't figured out yet," admitted Hermione. "We obviously need a place where we won't be interrupted or found out by Umbridge, but I'm not sure of where we could do it."

"Well," began Harry slowly, "if nothing else, there's always the chamber."

Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste. "From what you've told me, Harry, it doesn't sound like a very good place to spend several hours."

"No," Harry agreed, "but it's very secure. I doubt that Umbridge is a Parselmouth, so there's no way she'd be able to catch us."

"True, but she could catch us going in or out of it—I think we should look for a better place."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. As the only one of the three who had ever been down to the chamber, he was well aware of the fact that it was not truly suitable for their needs. Needless to say, the millennia of filth which had built up down there would not help matters either. They would need to find a better place, and he figured the first place to start looking was to ask Fred and George—if anyone knew of such a place, it would be the Gryffindor pranksters.

"Have you two got a list together of who you want to invite?"

"Does this mean you're going to do it?"

"Looks like I don't have a choice," said Harry with a smirk. "You two will pester me until I agree, so I might as well save myself from being annoyed by just agreeing now."

A glowing Fleur let out a little squeak and hugged Harry, pressing her lips against his cheek. What surprised Harry, however, is that Hermione mirrored Fleur's actions from Harry's right side, so Harry found to his astonishment, that he had two soft pairs of lips attached to his cheeks.

It did not last long. Hermione seemed to immediately realize what she was doing, and she blushed and pulled away. A quick glance at Fleur showed that she was not angry at Hermione's presumption—as a matter of fact, she appeared rather amused at the brunette's actions. Hermione did not say anything, but it was clear she was embarrassed, if her pink cheeks and nervous glances were any indication.

"Well, it's not every day a guy gets kissed on the cheeks by two pretty girls," Harry deadpanned.

Hermione's blush deepened and she began stammering, presumably to apologize. Fleur cut her off, though, with a bit of well-placed humor to complement what Harry had said.

"We had better be careful, Hermione," said in a dry tone of voice. "Harry's going to get a swelled head with this kind of attention."

Giggling in spite of her embarrassment, Hermione made a great show of gathering her things and rising. She looked to her two friends and with exaggerated casualness said, "Well, shall we head off to classes?"

Harry shook his head and rose, assisting Fleur to her feet. He then wrapped his arms around both girls and ushered them from the room.

"I think you're right, Hermione," he said. "I'm sure glad I have you two around to keep me grounded. You two are the best."

Both girls beamed as they allowed him to lead them from the room.

Sitting in the small breakfast nook, Sirius Black was enjoying his meal, his newspaper, and the new direction his life had taken.

"These French certainly know how to eat breakfast," he thought as he savored his sweet treat. A chocolate-filled croissant was something one would rarely find in England as a breakfast food and Sirius, who had been legendary at Hogwarts for his sweet-tooth, took every opportunity now to indulge. He deserved it, he thought, considering the hell on earth in which he had been imprisoned for more than twelve years, not to mention the equally hellish slop that passed for food.

He glanced around, noting the tastefully decorated and comfortable furnishings of the Delacour home, noting the difference between this affluent family dwelling and the dark and dirty hole in which he had been raised. The Delacours had insisted he treat the chateau as his home during the course of his sojourn in France, and he found that he was very happy and at ease here. It did not hurt that that the Delacour house-elves saw to his every need and fondly looked to him as a member of their human family. It was the perfect place to rest, recuperate, and get his life back in order, and one which he was happy to have at his disposal. And though he would not have thought that the solitude would suit him, due to his gregarious and social personality, he found that dealing with the demons in his mind often required quiet and an undisturbed location. And when he felt like it, he had made a few acquaintances in France, and the Delacours were just a short Portkey journey away—being friendly with someone of Jean-Sebastian's influence in France certainly did have its perks. Jean-Sebastian was well on the way to becoming a good friend and powerful ally, and Apolline was lovely and welcoming. It appeared that he had chosen well when he had made the decision to involve them in Harry's life.

Sirius's recovery was for the most part going smoothly. Though he was still plagued at times with nightmares of his time in Azkaban, and at times he brooded over the unfairness of life, those times were becoming fewer and further in between. All in all, his therapist assured him that he was making tremendous progress.

Chuckling, Sirius thought of the woman he saw twice weekly as his therapist. She was the one part of his recovery which was not proceeding according to plan. Audrey St. Laurent was a tall, statuesque blond, who was—unaccountably—still single, though she was older than Sirius by a few years. Naturally Sirius, as a self-proclaimed ladies' man, had immediately become infatuated with the beautiful woman, but thus far all his attempts at coming to know her intimately had failed. In fact, she seemed to take great satisfaction from shooting him down and reminding him at every opportunity that it was inappropriate for a mind healer to be seeing her patient in any capacity which was not professional.

Ah well, Sirius reflected, it was more the fun of the chase than the catching of the prey, after all. For now, he was having fun honing his flirting abilities, which had rusted during his stay at Chateau Azkaban, needless to say—Dementors were not exactly adept at the practice—and generally attempting to make the woman blush. Not that he was having that much success in that endeavor either…

Soon he would be ready to return to England and build a new life with his godson, taking his rightful place in society, and once again defying Voldemort and spitting in his eye. He was determined that Lily and James would have their justice, and he would use every knut of the Black family fortune to see it done if necessary.

His musings were cut short by the sight of an owl drifting in through an open window and landing on the table in front of him. Sirius promptly removed the parchment from the owl's leg, while Matty popped in and placed a dish of water and a generous helping of owl treats in front of the bird. Since it did not appear to be eager to depart again, Sirius assumed the owl was waiting for a reply.

He opened the letter and though he was somewhat surprised at its contents, he was not at all displeased with it. In fact…

A devilish grin slipped over Sirius's face, as he contemplated the possibility for a prank—as a Marauder at heart, such an opportunity could not be allowed to slip away without taking it up.

At his request, the house-elf provided him with a quill and parchment, and Sirius set about drafting his reply. He could hardly wait—things were looking up in Sirius Black's world.

For the next few days, Harry, Hermione, and Fleur, along with the rest of their friends, who were quickly brought into the discussion, debated the composition of those who would be invited to join their proposed club. It was perhaps unsurprising that just about every Gryffindor of Harry's year and up were on the list—and a few from the younger years as well. However, though Gryffindors constituted most of the planned club members, there were a number of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who, after some debate, were considered trustworthy enough to receive invitations.

The one task, in which they did not have any success, was in locating a suitable location for their meetings. Harry was insistent that they had to find a place which was almost foolproof in its defenses and simply commandeering an unused classroom and placing protective charms on it was not good enough. In addition, the members had to be made aware of the location and times of the meetings. To offset this problem, Hermione and Fleur charmed a number coins with a protean charm to alert potential club members of the times of future meetings. Once they had a meeting place, they would rely on their members to spread the word to their friends, and ultimately to all those who were on the list for possible membership. However, they were completely at a standstill until a location could be determined.

Through all of this, Fleur gave as much assistance as she was able, but for the most part she simply listened and absorbed what she could of what her friends were saying. She was the newcomer to the school, and as such, she could not give much advice on the other students, after all, and she was by far the least familiar with the castle. On the planning side, she, Hermione and Harry worked closely to come up with a list of activities for the club, once they were able to officially get it off the ground.

Other than that, Fleur's days were spent with her friends and housemates, getting to know everyone, and learning what she could about the new school she found herself attending. A month had gone by and Fleur had quickly adjusted to the new school. It was different from Beauxbatons, but not necessarily in a bad way, the major difference, of course, being the house system, which did not exist in her old school. As a result, though the student body of Beauxbatons still had its share of cliques and rivalries, it was in no way comparable to the rivalries which existed at Hogwarts.

It was almost incomprehensible, but true—it seemed that generally only the barest of relationships existed between members of the different houses. There were of course some exceptions, but Fleur came to understand that those exceptions often seemed to be between those friends who had known one another before coming to school. In general, the houses interacted on only the most rudimentary of levels, and when they did, it was almost always with a certain distrust and wariness. And heaven forbid a Gryffindor and a Slytherin actually speak to one another without resorting to threats and intimidation. Fleur quickly became aware of the fact that Luna being part of their group was somewhat of an oddity, as normally she would be expected to stick with "others of her own house." The fact that very few in her own house seemed to tolerate the quirky girl, much less like her, added to the fact that she had been Ginny's childhood friend, seemed to make it easier for her to associate with mostly Gryffindors. However, she was an exception, rather than the rule.

All in all, though, Fleur found herself content with her new home, and happy to be there. Here in Hogwarts, she felt that she had gained some true friends for the first time in her life, and possibly more importantly—acceptance. And, she was becoming closer to Harry and Hermione all the time.

The one thing which was not going well was her time in Defense class. She could not claim to have been singled out to the extent that Harry had, but she was well aware of the professor's opinion of her, from the way Umbridge ignored her whenever possible, to the barely concealed contempt which she was favored with whenever the woman did actually acknowledge her.

The Friday after they had finally persuaded Harry to start the club, Fleur gathered her books and departed the Defense classroom in the company of the other Gryffindors. Due to the size of the class and the number of students who had either not obtained the grades sufficient to continue on to NEWT Defense, or had not continued with the subject, the entire seventh year was taught in one large class, which was scheduled for Wednesdays and Fridays. As such, she was also in class with some of the few acquaintances she had made the previous year, primarily with Ravenclaw house, with whom she and her Beauxbatons schoolmates had usually taken their meals.

She had begun to walk from the room in the company of the Weasley twins when a voice calling her name prompted her to stop.

"Hello Fleur," Roger Davies said as she turned.

She returned his greeting in a friendly manner, which was the mirror of his own. Roger was, quite honestly, an enigma to Fleur. To say that he had been an uninspiring date at the ball was a massive understatement. She had agreed to accompany him, in part, due to the fact that he had asked her to the ball with every appearance of composure and confidence, and as the thought of spending the entire evening with a drooling sycophant had been unappealing, she had thought he would be a good choice.

Sadly, she had been mistaken. Once he had been able to secure her as a date, it appeared the composure had deserted him, and the entire evening she had felt like she was drying herself off from the continual drool that even the small leak of her allure had engendered. Most of those in attendance had thought that she and Roger had left the ballroom late in the festivities for an intimate interlude in the gardens; Fleur had laughed long and hard when Harry had told her of the speculation. In reality, Fleur had become tired of his constant adulation, and her feet had become sore because of his continued inability to stay off her toes when dancing. She had left to return to the Beauxbatons carriage, only to be followed by an amorous Roger. Fortunately, it had taken nothing more than a small burst of her allure to render him a gibbering idiot and allow her to make her escape, to nurse her toes and curse the unfairness of her life.

This year, Roger appeared to have overcome his susceptibility to her allure, and he could always be counted on to stop to talk to her in the hallways, or to exchange a few words in class. She was certain he was a good sort of boy, but something about his manner seemed to suggest to her that he was still influenced by her far more than he ought. She therefore attempted to limit the times of contact, and exchange only the barest of pleasantries with him if at all possible.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Roger commented as they continued to walk from the room.

"Well, you know how it is," Fleur responded vaguely. Roger was on the list of those to invite to the Defense Club, but Fleur did not want to let the cat out of the bag too early. "With schoolwork and everything that's going on with Defense class, things have been a little hectic."

"True. Seems crazy that it's already NEWT year, doesn't it?"

Fleur smiled and agreed, and they walked on in silence.

"Are you looking forward to your first trip to Hogsmeade?" continued Roger after a moment.

"I am—anything to get out of this castle. I never thought a building this big could become so stifling, but I am looking forward to leaving it for a while."

"Just wait until January," Roger replied with a smirk. "Scottish winters are not pleasant, you know."

Fleur, having grown up in the south of France, shivered a little theatrically. "Don't remind me," she said, remembering the previous winter at Hogwarts.

"So what are your plans for the Hogsmeade weekend?" he asked.

Glancing sidelong at him, Fleur wondered what he was getting at. He had to know the group she associated with, not to mention her betrothal to Harry—could she really have any other plans than to go to Hogsmeade with them?

"Harry and Hermione have promised to show me around the village," she said.

A flicker of something passed over his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, and Fleur was unable to decipher it. "It's good to see they are taking care of you," was his only enigmatic reply. He then excused himself with a friendly good bye, and strode off in the direction of his common room.

Their interactions always seemed to be this way—short, desultory, and lacking in any substance whatsoever. What was he about? His little conversations which he initiated from time to time seemed innocuous enough, but Fleur could not help but wonder if he had some other objective in mind when they spoke. He would often make small talk as he had only moments ago, but he also avoided any conversation about Harry, or any of her other friends. She did not sense any sort of malice from him, but she also could not feel entirely comfortable with him either.

Shrugging, Fleur put it from her mind. Aside from Roger and Luna, and a few other acquaintances she had made the previous year, Fleur had very little direct contact with anyone other than her own housemates. The atmosphere in the school was simply not conducive to creating lasting friendships with the members of other houses. If nothing else, the club they were planning would be good in the sense that it would at the very least promote some interaction between members of the disparate houses, and possibly a little cooperation at the same time. The school could only benefit from it.

As for the other girls with whom she had not yet become acquainted, whether they regarded her in the same light as her Beauxbatons contemporaries had, or were just simply not interested due to the fact that she was not one of their own, she could not say. The one thing she could say with absolute certainty was that the Slytherins by and large viewed her as little more than an intelligent animal. In fact, some of the looks she received from certain members of that house—particularly the older boys—brought nightmarish stories of kidnapped Veela sold into sexual slavery to her mind. Though the world was in general more civilized now, such traffic did still exist, a fact which accounted for some of her father's protectiveness toward her and Gabrielle. Some of those Slytherin boys—particularly Malfoy and his cronies—would be only too happy to use her and sell her, she thought. She was glad she had the protection of her friends, as the school would be a very nervous place without it.

Updated 06/07/2013