Chapter 27 – Two Kinds of Trouble
The problem with this particular Yule Ball was the fact that the Hogwarts Express was due to depart the following morning. It was true that most of the students—even the boys, who would normally be almost allergic to such an activity as dancing—enjoyed themselves very much. However, as most of the students had stayed at the ball until at least midnight, and almost no one had been in bed before two, the idea of rising at seven to eat breakfast and prepare for their departure was not exactly welcome. Thus, it was a rather tired and grumpy school of students who gathered in the Great Hall the following morning, minus those who were to stay at the school over the holidays, of course—those few souls were rather smug in their ability to sleep in.
Not much was said over breakfast by any of Fleur's friends, most concentrating on their breakfast and the fight to stay awake. Fleur, having completed most of her schooling at Beauxbatons, and having experience with their more sensible custom of Flooing to and from the school, was amused by the lethargy of her less than chipper friends, thinking that the ride on the Hogwarts Express was likely to be as subdued as any in recent memory.
Soon breakfast was eaten, bags were packed, and the entire school made their way to the train station and boarded the train, settling in for the long trip home. Fleur's group of friends situated themselves in two adjacent compartments and hunkered down for the long trip and, as Fleur had surmised, most of them immediately rolled up their jackets or other articles of clothing, rested their heads upon them, and promptly fell asleep. But though she was fatigued herself, Fleur found that she was unable to join them, as she was simply too keyed-up with anticipation for the coming days.
Since their relationship had begun to deepen, Fleur's level of excitement for her future and the future of her relationship with Harry had risen accordingly. She could now see a very happy future with her betrothed, something in which she had not always held a high level of confidence. She had always known that she would be content—Harry's personality was such that even if he was never able to give her anything more than his hand in marriage, she would at least never suffer as his wife. But being Veela, love was an intrinsic part of her makeup, and she knew that if she and Harry had never developed a true bond of love that something would always have been missing from her life. Harry had still not actually said the words to her—it would have been too early for such a step in any case—but Fleur knew that he was feeling the first stirrings of love in his heart, and it thrilled Fleur. Her hope was flourishing and she did not now doubt that it would come to fruition. It was more than she had dared to hope.
"Weighty thoughts."
The sudden words startled Fleur from her reverie and she turned her head and noticed Hermione watching her with a slight smile on her face. A quick glance around the compartment revealed that everyone else was asleep.
"Not precisely weighty," she responded in a low voice, "but rather happy ones instead, I must say."
Hermione cocked her head to the side, saying, "Can you share?"
Speaking over Harry—who was resting between them—was not ideal, but Fleur gamely leaned forward and continued speaking, again quietly so as to avoid waking anyone. "Just that Harry and I seem to be progressing much more quickly than I had any right to expect."
"And that's where we differ," Hermione said with a wry smile. "Personally, I think you had every right to expect that your relationship would progress quickly. It may not have been evident back in the summer, but you are actually quite well suited, and though Harry is not shallow, who wouldn't be drawn to you? You are very beautiful, Fleur."
As usual, Fleur was somewhat embarrassed at the reference of her physical attributes. There had been times in the past where she had wished she was not considered to be 'beautiful' due to the problems it had sometimes brought her way.
"I know you don't want Harry to be drawn to you simply for your looks," Hermione continued, "but you are well aware of the fact that it's not just that. He'd have to be dense not to realize your excellent qualities."
"I've certainly noticed his," Fleur said with a fond glance at her betrothed. In truth she'd known of them almost from the start. At least she had after their first meeting and her unfortunate "little boy" comment, when she had started knowing him a little better. Perhaps it was best that she had not grown up with the constant Boy-Who-Lived focus which existed in British society—it allowed her to see Harry for what he was, rather than the preconceived notions of him that his countrymen appeared to have.
"But it's all so new to me," said Fleur with a sigh. "I expected to have a great deal of difficulty in finding a mate who would look past my looks or my heritage, and having one essentially fall into my lap has at times been disconcerting."
Hermione's visage became amused. "What, the ever-composed and confident Fleur has been disconcerted? You've destroyed my faith in the order of the world!"
Leaning over, Fleur swatted Hermione's knee playfully, earning nothing more than a laugh from her friend. "I'll have you know that I'm certainly not always confident!" Fleur replied with a mock glare. Hermione said nothing, but her grin was unmoved.
"What about you?" Fleur asked. She was a little hesitant about bringing up the subject as she was certain Hermione was not ready to make a choice, but her curiosity and some of the signs she was seeing suggested that her friend's feelings for Harry were deepening rapidly. "Have you given any further thought about what we discussed?"
Sighing, Hermione leaned back against the seat, making it difficult for Fleur to see her around Harry. Hermione did not reply immediately and Fleur, sensing that she was working through her own feelings, left her to her thoughts, waiting patiently for her to respond.
Finally, Hermione sighed yet again, and glanced back at Fleur, her expression rueful and somewhat frustrated. "I have," she confirmed. "In fact, sometimes I wonder if I've thought of anything else."
"And?" Fleur prompted after Hermione had fallen silent for several moments.
"And nothing," was Hermione's simple reply. "I have strong feelings for Harry; you already know this and have known from the beginning. But I have no more answer for you today than I did back in the summer, or even October for that matter. I don't know if my feelings are strong enough to encourage me to live in that kind of relationship, and until I do, I'd prefer to keep it to myself."
"Does it matter?" Fleur asked. "If you love Harry as much as I expect you do, I would think that that would overcome any other concerns."
"But there are still other problems," insisted Hermione. "I come from the Muggle world, and I'm not sure my parents would understand or accept it if I decided to pursue this. And that's not even considering the question of whether I can be with a man who is with another woman at the same time."
"I know it's hard," Fleur replied, trying to be sympathetic to her friend's struggles. It was hard for her too, she reflected; there were times that she wanted to rescind the offer and keep Harry all to herself. But she was doing this for Harry, she told herself, at times when such thoughts dominated.
"It is," Hermione agreed. Her gaze then shifted from introspective to piercing, and she affixed upon Fleur. "What about you? Are you certain this is a wise course for you? Wouldn't you feel jealous if Harry also loved another woman? And if I actually agree with this and am able to convince Harry, wouldn't you be jealous when he's… with me?"
"I have considered all this," said Fleur with a sigh. And she had—she herself had questioned the wisdom of pursuing this path constantly. In fact, the deeper her relationship with Harry became, the stirrings of doubt had begun to assail her more than she would have liked. Could she truly abide seeing Harry with another woman with whom she suspected he held a much deeper relationship than the one he had with herself? But she was firm, telling herself that Harry deserved this, for what he would otherwise be required to give up with Hermione. She would never wish to come between him and anyone else, regardless of what he was gaining by the enactment of this betrothal.
"The quick answer is that I don't know for certain. But I do know that I would never stand in the way of Harry's happiness."
"Fleur maybe you should consider the possibility that you can give Harry all the happiness he needs without sacrificing so much." Hermione's words were gentle and understanding, but laced with a certain firmness that Fleur had often heard from the girl when she was trying to make a point.
"I am actually becoming more and more confident that I can make Harry happy," Fleur responded with a smile. "But I also know he is in love with you. This is an exception which I think is easy for me to make. It would not be nearly as easy if it was, say, Lavender Brown."
Hermione laughed. "I definitely don't think Lavender is his type."
"That's a relief!"
The two friends shared a moment of humor, which effectively broke the somewhat serious mood which had descended over them. "I know you've thought this over from every angle, and I won't push," Fleur continued, smiling at the younger girl. "But I won't promise not to be curious."
"I'm certain you won't!"
The topic was dropped and after a few moments of desultory conversation on other topics Hermione's eyelids began to droop, and she settled in next to Harry, fast asleep within a few moments.
Though she would have liked to join her friends in slumber, Fleur still felt wide awake. She spent a few moments considering Hermione's words and the dilemma which faced her, but nothing new which would help her came to mind; she would simply have to allow Hermione to work through her feelings in her own way. As for her own feelings, well, that was something she would just have to work through as she went along. Hermione's insight had touched a number of feelings and thoughts she had had herself, especially since her first kiss with Harry, and they affected her level of security with this path she had chosen. Still, she had made the decision, and she would stick by it.
By the time she had settled this within her own mind, Hermione had toppled slightly from where she had been resting, until her head now lay on Harry's shoulder. Fleur allowed herself a soft smile at the sight—it was rather endearing to be honest, just exactly how comfortable they were with each other. She was certain of Hermione's feelings for Harry, and she hoped that Hermione would come to terms with them in time.
It was at that moment that the door to the compartment opened. Fleur looked up to see Ginny Weasley standing, obviously ill at ease, gazing into the compartment with a slightly bashful expression on her face. She relaxed slightly when she saw that most of the compartment's occupants were asleep and, after taking a deep breath, apparently to calm herself, she addressed Fleur.
"Umm… Fleur," she stuttered. "I was… wondering if I might have… a word with you."
"Sure, Ginny," Fleur replied before rising to follow the younger girl from the cabin.
In truth, Fleur had been waiting for this for some time. Though a multiple marriage was not exactly a common occurrence, the rules and customs were set out and established by tradition. It was the prospective bride's responsibility for approaching the first wife to gauge her receptiveness to her as an additional wife. While this did not need to be done from the first moment of acquaintance with the man, it was definitely required before anything formal—or even informal—was decided upon. It was a quirky custom perhaps, as it completely bypassed the husband, but as the wife held the authority as to whether or not a woman would be allowed to marry her husband, Fleur supposed it made sense.
For Ginny in particular, it was quite obvious that the girl still harbored hopes to become one of Harry's wives. Thankfully, she had been much more discreet about her feelings, even going so far as to attempt to be a friend to Harry, rather than see him through the prism of the Boy-Who-Lived, or a prospective husband. But still, Fleur had seen enough of her behavior the previous evening to know that her dream was alive and well—her eyes had hardly left him the whole night, and the moment when he had asked her to dance, almost two-thirds of the way through the evening, her face had lit up with equal parts pleasure and shyness. It had been obvious to anyone who had happened to have been looking at the time, as Fleur had.
Fleur was aware of enough of her history to know that Ginny's mother had filled her head with dreams of the Boy-Who-Lived since she was old enough to understand. But though Fleur was not exactly privy to Harry's thoughts, she was almost certain that he did not have any feelings for Ginny beyond that of a younger sister. Ginny was almost certain to be disappointed.
The moment the door closed behind the two girls, Harry's eyes snapped open and he looked through the window after Fleur's retreating form with some incredulity. Had Hermione and Fleur just been speaking of what he thought they had been speaking of?
Unlikely as it seemed, it all made sense. The way the two of them had hit it off from the time Harry had become betrothed to Fleur, the manner in which they sometimes appeared to be speaking, yet avoiding any chance of his overhearing, the comment that Parvati had made the previous night, and now the conversation between them—which had been extremely light on specifics, beyond the two girls' feelings, he admitted—all added up to one thing that Harry could never in his wildest dreams have imagined. Fleur was encouraging Hermione to consider becoming a second wife.
Was such a thing even legal? He supposed it must be, if Fleur had suggested it, and Hermione was actually considering it. What he was not aware of was exactly how he felt about the idea. Or perhaps he did. Turning his head slightly, Harry gazed at the form of his best friend as she slept, her head comfortably resting on his shoulder. He was well aware now of the feelings he had for Hermione, feelings which he had not even known existed before the previous summer—or perhaps more accurately he had simply not understood them—but had been trying, rather unsuccessfully, to suppress since he had become aware of them. If Hermione was amenable to the idea and it was actually legally possible, how could Harry not jump at the chance?
Then why did he feel so guilty, like he was betraying Fleur? Was it natural to feel so deeply for two women? Besides, was it not greedy in the extreme to even be considering marrying the two most wonderful girls he had ever known? And was it even possible?
Of course no answers came to Harry, and for a moment he actually considered approaching the two girls and asking them what they were about. And then reality set in and Harry thought of the awkwardness of asking such a thing. No, he would not approach the two girls. He would figure out the answer for himself. Surely there had to be some information on the subject in the library at Hogwarts, perhaps in a book on Wizarding customs, or something about marriage. That was what he would do—he would search for himself. As for Hermione and Fleur, he would allow them to continue on as they were. Hermione had some valid concerns, and she would need to resolve this dilemma on her own. But Harry would discover what the possibilities were and be ready with his answer, if she ever came to the resolution that she wanted to be with him. He fidgeted a little in his seat to find a comfortable position and allowed he head to tilt to the side until it was resting upon the crown of Hermione's head. He knew his feelings for Hermione and knew what he wanted his answer to be. But he would never hurt Fleur. If they were both able to convince him that it was what they wanted, the decision on his part would likely be an easy one.
Fleur and Ginny adjourned to the entrance to the next car back, where they could be assured of some privacy, and Ginny turned, her nervousness obvious. Fleur was filled with compassion for the young girl—whether she ended up with Harry or not, she was a good girl and Fleur had no wish to see her hurt.
"Fleur," Ginny began hesitantly, "I wanted to ask you… Well, what I mean to say was…" Ginny trailed off for a moment before she visibly squared her shoulders and said in a rush, "I was wondering if you'd consider me for a possible second wife for Harry."
Amused, Fleur smiled at Ginny, hoping to put her at ease. "I'm not exactly married to Harry yet, you know," replied, trying to be as gentle as she possibly could. "Isn't it customary to approach the 'wife' after she has already married the man?"
"Perhaps," Ginny said with a tremulous smile. "But I'd like to get it out there from the start."
"Ginny, why do you want to formalize this now?" Fleur asked. "You're only fourteen—surely you have some time before you need to worry about betrothals."
"I know that," was the girl's stubborn reply. "But I've spent my whole life dreaming of being Harry's wife, and being his friend the past few months has shown me what a great guy he is."
That essentially sealed the deal—it was obvious where Ginny had gotten her obsession—her mother had to have been encouraging this. Though Fleur could not say to precisely what extent Mrs. Weasley had encouraged Ginny, or even whether or not she had been right to do it, she did, at that moment wish that Ginny was not quite so single-minded on the subject. However, as Fleur had already told herself, Ginny was a nice girl. Perhaps she just needed the facts to be laid out to her now so that it was very clear. Then she could move on with her life and allow things to develop as they would without trying to force the issue.
"Listen, Ginny," Fleur told her, "I will never stand in the way of Harry's happiness in any way. If he at all returned your feelings, I would have no problem at all approving you as another wife. However…" Fleur could see Ginny's expression which had brightened as Fleur had spoken, fall once again, and she could sympathize with the girl. But, this needed to be said, and she would not sugar-coat the stark reality of the situation.
"However, I suspect that Harry does not see you that way," she continued. "If you watch him closely, I think he sees you as a sister and friend. Before the beginning of the school year, I believe you were nothing more than his best friend's sister, but you've certainly made a lot of progress in that regard."
Ginny thought about it for several minutes, her slightly tremulous countenance betraying her dismay. "But if I've made progress, couldn't it become something more in time?"
"Absolutely it could," Fleur agreed. "Ginny, I don't want to discourage you, but I also don't want you to get your hopes up too much. For the time being, I certainly will not formalize anything more, unless it is Harry's desire. We are just getting used to each other—we don't need another relationship right now to complicate things."
"You'll approve of it in the future?"
The request was given so earnestly, Fleur had to smile. The girl was persistent, if nothing else. "Again, it will depend on Harry. If he wants it, and if he is in love with you, then I won't stand in his way. But I will be completely honest—I suspect that there is someone else who is much more likely to become a second wife, if she decides she wants to take that step."
Seeming to intuitively understand exactly of whom Fleur was referring, Ginny nodded her head in a thoughtful manner; at least Fleur had given her pause, and something to think about.
"I'll give you some advice, Ginny," said Fleur. "Try to live your life without this all-consuming desire to be noticed by Harry. You've made a lot of progress in becoming Harry's friend, but I truly believe that you need to consider other options. Or maybe you don't even need to consider this subject at all right now—you are only fourteen, after all. You don't need to find your life mate now."
"You don't think I'm compatible with Harry?" Ginny asked.
"I don't necessarily have an opinion about that at all. All I'm saying is that you should allow yourself to consider other possibilities. You don't want to be stuck in a marriage down the road and find out that you should really have gotten to know your spouse better, or realized that you really didn't want to be only one of his wives. Take some time when you're young to allow yourself to see beyond what you've always imagined. The possibility that you have never even considered may be better than the future you've always thought you might have."
Pleased at the thoughtful expression that now adorned Ginny's face, Fleur squeezed the girl's shoulder with some affection, and turned to go back to the compartment. As she was leaving, Ginny called her again, and she turned to once again regard the young girl.
"Thanks for the advice," she said with a bashful smile. "I think you're right, but don't be surprised if we're having this conversation some time when I'm older."
"You're welcome," said Fleur. "And I think I can safely say that when it comes to Harry, nothing surprises me."
They shared a laugh before Fleur left Ginny to her thoughts and once again returned to the compartment where her friends still slept. This time, however, she was feeling the fatigue of the late night and, hoping that her thoughts had been corralled sufficiently, she sat on the bench and leaned up against Harry. She was fast asleep within minutes.
The express stopped at the station and within moments its occupants had disembarked for the holidays. Leave-takings were kept short, as the separation between most friends was to be no more than two weeks. And though Ginny bid a fond farewell to all of her friends, a part of her could not but be disappointed and a little jealous of Hermione's good fortune. Her separation from Harry would be of only a few days' duration, after all. Ginny, together with her brothers, approached her parents who were waiting for their arrival and, after their greetings were exchanged, they left the platform and exited the platform.
It was only a few moments later that they were home—Ginny's parents had simply side-along apparated them from a secluded alley with Ginny and Ron, with the twins following on their own. Grateful at last to be home, Ginny immediately made her way up the stairs to her room, intent upon thinking about her conversation with Fleur, not to mention all that had happened since she left for Hogwarts in August. At least this was one of her reasons for her quick retreat; the other was the fact that she had felt her mother's eyes upon her since she had greeted her parents at the station, and her mother's preoccupation while seeing them all settled once again into their home seemed like a good opportunity to escape having to speak about the situation with Harry for a while. Besides, she wanted to work her way through her feelings before her mother began demanding that she answer the inevitable questions. Entering her room, Ginny sighed and, dropping her bag by the side of the bed, sank down onto the bed and lay back against her pillow.
Her mind instantly focused itself upon the things of which she had spoken with Fleur. She was not unhappy with the other girl—nothing could be further from the truth. She was more… disappointed than anything else. Fleur had brought up some extremely good points, after all, things which Ginny had never considered before. Had she been closed to all other possibilities, focused to the exclusion of all else of her desire to one day be with Harry? Until Harry's trial and subsequent betrothal to Fleur, Ginny would have said no. In fact, she had made a resolution with herself upon returning from school the previous June; frustrated by her inability to even hold a coherent conversation with Harry, she had determined that she would stop trying so much, and simply allow herself to have fun. At the time she had felt that if things had happened with Harry then, she would be happy to go along with the flow, but if they did not, then she would deal with it at that time.
But what had seemed like a good idea when Harry was still a shy, introverted teen, with no prospects for a girlfriend, let alone anything more, turned out to be so different when confronted with the reality of the betrothal. The reality that he was already taken had proved Ginny's resolution to be so much bravado. Even Hermione reinforcing what Ginny had already decided earlier in the summer had not fully deterred her. Ginny supposed that she had been quite good about not being too overt, but the prospect of a life without Harry had induced her to attempt to get closer to him; after all, if she could not have all of Harry, then settling for some of Harry seemed like a reasonable compromise.
But Fleur's advice that morning had struck a chord within Ginny. The older girl was completely correct—this… infatuation with Harry was such a part of her that she could not think of any time when her feelings had been any different. She had been focused on him, starting with the stories she had heard frequently as a girl, then by actually meeting him and realizing that he was not at all what the stories had said, not that she had ever truly believed the fanciful children's tales with which she had been raised. And somehow, the fact that Harry was just a young boy with insecurities and an aversion to any kind of recognition endeared him to her all the more. So in light of all of this, Ginny had to admit that Fleur had been entirely correct—she had never allowed herself to think of any other possibility for her future.
But why? Why should she be fixated entirely on Harry? Surely she was so young that she need not even consider such things for several years to come. And could she even be happy with other wives involved in the equation? She had certainly never considered the idea of a multiple marriage, even while she had always known of the possibility—or even the likelihood—of Harry having more than one wife, given the state of his family. It seemed like a serious oversight on her part. But could she do it?
It was with these thoughts in mind that she passed her first two days at home. Fortunately for Ginny, she was able to put her mother off for far longer than she had any right to expect. After a quick breakfast the following day, she had spent the rest of the day with Luna, and when she had arrived back home, had spent some time in the company of her entire family. Her mother, though perhaps not always completely circumspect in the manner in which she dealt with her family, was not about to have this conversation in front of everyone.
It was Monday morning when Ginny found herself completely unable to avoid the inquisition any longer. Her father had left for work and her brothers had gone out to the Quidditch pitch to fly on their brooms, and Ginny, as she was still pondering the situation, was not quick enough to escape.
The conversation began with the typical banal platitudes about how the school year had gone and what she had learned in her studies, which Ginny, of course, found rather amusing, considering the fact that she and her brothers had already had this conversation with both of her parents. But as they talked, Ginny quickly arrived at the opinion that her mother, though affecting an interest in what they were discussing, was more than a little impatient to get to the subject which was the real thrust of their tête-à-tête. Clearly she hoped that Ginny would bring up the subject but perversely, Ginny decided that she had no intention of speaking of Harry unless her mother forced her to do so. It was, therefore, that her mother finally became impatient and opened the discussion herself.
"And how is Harry, dear?" The words were spoken in a credible manner which her mother undoubtedly intended to be nonchalance mixed with polite curiosity, but Ginny, who knew her mother quite well, could see through her in an instant. Deciding further that her mother's behavior should provoke a similar response, Ginny responded in a manner for which her mother was most certainly not hoping.
"Harry is well. I've seen a lot more of him this past term, what with the Defense Club and all. It's nice to see him finally happy, and I think that his relationship with Fleur has really taken off."
Though her mother appeared as though she had just swallowed a gallon of bubotuber pus, she forced a smile. "That's nice. He's such a nice boy—he deserves a nice girl to settle down with—when he's little older, of course."
"Then you'll be happy to know that Fleur is a very nice girl. I see her as a big sister already."
Her mother regarded her for some moments after her glowing report of Fleur, before she sighed and leaned forward, clasping Ginny's hands between her own. "Ginny, I think I know my daughter, and though you put a brave face on the situation, I know how intense your feelings are. Aren't you upset or disappointed at Harry's betrothal?"
"Disappointed?" Ginny asked. "Of course I'm a little disappointed. Upset? No, not at all. I've had this infatuation for Harry a long time, but I always knew there was no guarantee that he would ever notice me. I'm sure I will get over the disappointment."
"It's not what I would have wanted for you…" her mother began in a very hesitant manner, "but have you ever thought of the fact that Harry may have more than one wife? Have you considered approaching Fleur?"
Of course she had, but Ginny would never admit to her mother—even under the influence of Veritaserum!—that she had done exactly what her mother was suggesting that very morning!
"I'm not sure if I could live that way, mother," Ginny prevaricated. "And I have no indication that Harry sees me as anything other than Ron's little sister." She had not, and neither had Fleur, and with the older witch's abilities, the knowledge of Fleur's opinion made her own doubts seem all that much more real. She was still not certain what she felt about that, but she was certain she would come to some sort of resolution in time.
"I just hate to see you upset," was her mother's worried comment.
"Don't worry, Mum," Ginny responded. "I think it's time to move on with my life. All I ever had was an infatuation, and I know that I need to learn to see beyond that. Who knows? Eventually something may happen between us, but I'm not going to pine away waiting for it. And besides—I'm only fourteen. It's not like I have to rush to get married."
"You're right, I suppose," her mother said with a sigh. "It's just… well, I've always indulged in the hope that Harry would take a fancy to you. Especially since he's such a nice boy."
"I know, mum. But if it is meant to be, it will happen. Otherwise…"
The thought did not need to be expanded upon, and Ginny was content to allow the conversation to come to an end, as her mother appeared to have nothing more to say. But Ginny was encouraged by her mother's reaction—she half expected, given Molly Weasley's well known temper and insistence on getting her own way, that she would dig in her heels and refuse to see sense. Now Ginny just had to work through it in her own mind and come to terms with it herself…
A long, dark hall, stretching eerily off into the distance.
Shelves line the walls, shelves which hold row upon row of dusty orbs, gleaming dully in the gloom.
Orbs? Yes, dusty, slivery orbs, of unknown substance.
Each is placed within its own niche built into the shelves, carefully immobilized so that it cannot move or fall.
What can they be?
No matter.
Unimportant.
The shelves and their orbs continue on into the distance, never ending, never beginning. Nothing breaks the monotony.
Movement? A flash of something in the distance. Shapes, indistinct, shrouded by the murky light.
Approach.
How? Is there a way?
No matter.
The figure comes closer and its indistinct form solidifies like a tower looming through a thick fog. It appears, materializing into the shape of a man.
The man walks slowly through the gloom. He peers this way and that, clearly looking for something. Or scouting. Much like she is doing.
She? Who is she? Does it even matter?
Caution is required.
The man continues slowly down the aisle, scanning the gloom. Looking for something.
Follow.
Suddenly the man turns and gazes back toward…
Harry starts. The figure is known to her. Red hair, slightly balding, jovial features, though etched with concern and caution.
The man is Mr. Weasley! What is he doing here? Where is here?
Stillness. Motionlessness.
Mr. Weasley begins to walk again, still carefully studying the hall.
After a moment, she follows, slowly gliding toward him.
Gliding? Harry's gaze rotates back and forth, realizing that following is impossible. Harry has no arms and legs.
No arms and legs? What a ludicrous thought! But though Harry tries to look for them, see them, even if he cannot feel them, her eyes stubbornly remain fixed on the form of Mr. Weasley who is getting closer all the time.
She approaches and sees the form of her enemy towering above her.
Enemy? Mr. Weasley is not an enemy!
Why is Harry so much shorter that the Weasley patriarch? Harry is not overly tall, as has been sometimes lamented. But surely Harry is not that short! And Harry has grown in the past months!
Faster. Speeding over the tiles of the floor. Mr. Weasley is now only inches in front of her face.
The first indication the man has that something is wrong is when Harry's sinuous body begins moving up his leg.
Sinuous body?
Harry gasps with recognition; she is a snake!
She wraps herself around the body of the human interloper, an evil gleam in her eyes. Just as her master would, she delights in the fear which suddenly blooms in the man's countenance.
Harry can only struggle against his bonds, witnessing the attack with rising horror.
Mouth open wide, she rears back and hisses before darting forward…
Gasping, Harry jolted awake and sat up, his chest heaving, his heart beating wildly, seemingly trying to force its way from the confines of his body. The sheets had been twisted around him and he could feel the slightly oily sheen of sweat dripping from his forehead and staining his bedclothes.
Wearily, Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, vainly attempting to suppress his trembling. Starting, he looked down at his hand, inspecting it as though he had never seen it before. Its form, the lines upon his palm, they were all familiar sights, but almost seemed alien in the aftermath of the dream. There he had not had arms or legs, just scales, eyes, and long gleaming fangs…
Suddenly remembering, Harry's eyes opened wide and he remember the last instant of the dream, the feeling of gliding up Mr. Weasley's body, and the moment when the snake had reared back to strike.
Nagini! But why was he dreaming of Nagini? What could it possibly mean? And was it real?
Grimly, Harry grabbed his wand from a nearby table. Given his history with dreams of Voldemort, he could not take the change that it was not real.
"Expecto Patronum!" he cried, and from his wand, the silvery, comforting form of his stag patronus leapt forth. But whereas it would normally have immediately begun searching for enemies, this time the stag merely stood silent, waiting for him to direct it. He smiled; it was exactly as Hermione said it would be, when she had researched the spell and told him of its other uses.
"Go to Dumbledore," he commanded the patronus. "Mr. Weasley has been attacked by Nagini in a room full of globes."
The stag bowed its head before stamping its front hooves and galloping from the room, speeding through the walls as though they were not even there. Confident that the message would be carried and accepted, Harry swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood from the bed, his legs still feeling unsteady from the dream.
He left his room and made his way down the corridor, knowing that Jean-Sebastian would want to be notified of what had happened. He wondered what time it was; though it was difficult to tell due to the shortness of the midwinter days, he thought it was likely no later than four in the morning, and likely much earlier.
Arriving at the door to the Delacours' room, he took a quick breath before knocking on the door, his manner much more urgent than he had intended. It was only a moment before he heard footsteps approaching and the door opened to reveal the Delacour patriarch. His hair was tousled from sleep and he had hastily thrown a dressing gown over his shoulders. His countenance became instantly concerned, obviously recognizing the distressed expression Harry knew he was wearing.
"Harry, what's wrong?" he asked as he stepped out into the hall and closed the door.
"Something has happened," Harry blurted out.
Though he opened his mouth, presumably to question further, Jean-Sebastian looked around and then motioned for Harry to follow him. Harry was grateful—the hallway was not the location to be having this conversation and he was feeling slightly lightheaded as his rush of adrenaline faded.
They proceeded down the hallway, stopping when Fleur's door opened and she stuck her head out, frowning when she saw them. "Papa? Harry? What is wrong?"
Jean-Sebastian glanced between Fleur and Harry, and motioned to his daughter to come with them. "I don't know, but it seems like Harry has something to tell us. You may as well hear it now as have Harry repeat it in the morning."
Fleur frowned at Harry, but he just gave her a tired smile in response, to let her know he was well. They continued along their way until they had arrived in Jean-Sebastian's study several moments later. Motioning them to a pair of chairs which were positioned in front of his desk, Jean-Sebastian sat in his own high backed chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. Harry felt almost like a piece of meat being inspected, though he knew that Jean-Sebastian had no intention of intimidating him or making him feel as such.
"Well, Harry, what has happened?" Jean-Sebastian asked a moment later. "Considering we're all sitting here quite calmly, I assume it's not that urgent?"
Clad in a warm dressing gown, Apolline stepped into the room as Jean-Sebastian spoke, her expression concerned. She stopped to clench Harry's hand in her own, offering support for which Harry was immediately grateful. Apolline then sat in a chair which was situated to the side of the desk and, taking her husband's hand in her own, turned to await Harry's explanation.
Slowly and haltingly, Harry began to tell them of his dream and his experience, recounting in an almost emotionless voice the horror he had felt upon realizing that he was in the mind of a snake, and had bitten his closest friend's father.
Alarmed, Jean-Sebastian rose from his desk in agitation. "We need to summon help for Mr. Weasley!"
"I sent Dumbledore my patronus," Harry blurted.
Jean-Sebastian peered at him for several moments before nodding. "Good thinking, Harry. I didn't know that you knew of that application."
"Hermione researched it when I was learning it in third year," Harry replied almost shyly. "She told me what she'd found."
"Still, we should make sure that Arthur is receiving assistance," Jean-Sebastian declared. He moved to the Floo and began speaking into it.
It appeared that Fleur and Apolline were perceptive enough to realize that he had no desire to speak, as they were silent, Apolline in apparent deep thought, while Fleur held his hand and brushed her thumb lightly across the back in a soothing fashion. Harry attempted to think of nothing while he waited, content to drift on the currents of his thoughts without truly dipping into them. It was some time before Jean-Sebastian's movement caught his attention and he looked up from the half sleep he had fallen into.
"Well, it appears you were right, Harry," he said. "Though Dumbledore is trying to keep it as quiet as possible, Arthur was attacked tonight, and it was your quick actions which saved him."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry slumped in his chair and rubbed his eyes wearily. Dreaming you were a snake was disconcerting, but at least in this instance he had been able to help his friend's father.
"But where was he?" Harry asked after a slight hesitation. "What was he doing?"
"I don't have any answers for you, Harry," Jean-Sebastian responded. And though Harry suspected he knew more than he was letting on, he was content to let it go. He was too tired and drained to protest what would normally annoy him. "But rest assured, Harry, I will investigate and get to the bottom of this. I'm concerned about these dreams you have—first it was Voldemort, and now his familiar. We need to find out what's going on, and put a stop to it."
Harry could only agree. Having Voldemort in his head and his dreams was even more wearing on him than the psychopath would otherwise have been simply by being after his hide. At that moment, Harry wanted nothing more than to seek his bed and the oblivion sleep would hopefully bring.
Seeming to sense this, Jean-Sebastian regarded him with an expression of compassion on his face. "I think perhaps the answers will come to us in the morning. We should return to our beds."
Sighing gratefully, Harry left the room with Fleur accompanying him. They said good night with a quick kiss outside her door and Harry returned to his room. He sank down thankfully on the mattress and closed his eyes, allowing sleep to overtake him. But while he was soon asleep, his sleep was fitful that whole night, and he woke many times to the stillness of his room. Neither Voldemort nor Nagini invaded his dreams again, but the night terrors which did were indistinct shapes, calling out to him with distorted voices and mocking tones, baring gleaming fangs.
Updated 06/30/2013