Hey, here's chapter 13. Unluck for some, but hopefully it'll be the last of the angst for a bit. Anyway, my Beta Readers are once again of invaluable service, and they deserve some thanks. gamer0890, x102Reddragon, DJKopper, thank you so much!

Chapter 13 - Where Beauty Goes To Die

Fleur couldn't help but wipe her hands. The portkey left a faint impression on her and a strong desire to wash her hands. No wonder, after Harry's ordeal. She took in her surroundings and kept her head held high. It was for naught, though, they had landed in a small room with a pair of officials holding clipboards. Neither seemed at all interested in them.

One finally spoke, barking out Bulgarian in a harsh accent. Fleur's mother looked him over briefly then swept out of the room. She dropped a note on the floor in front of the man, without a care in the world. Fleur scurried after, not wanting to be alone there, even if it meant being with her mother.

The building was obviously a ministry building, there were too many people standing around pretending to look busy. Fleur heard some of her mother tongue being used, and some English, but dominating all was Bulgarian. She hadn't spent much time around people who she couldn't communicate with, not since her childhood, and that thought was too close for comfort.

An entrance opened onto a grassy expanse. Despite the darkness, she could make out some hedges and trees that wouldn't have looked out of place at home. Her mother strode out making no attempt to interact with the people.

Fleur sighed. The dark wasn't inviting, but nothing was right now.

The road here wasn't paved, it was cobbled. Something she hadn't seen except for rural France. Once out onto the path she turned to look behind her, and stared at the small wooden shack. A kind of portal in the Ministry to lead them here, wherever here was.

A thick line of trees blocked the farthest reach of her vision. Her mother was heading right for them, as naturally as if she lived there. Perhaps she had once.

Fleur's feet didn't move.

Not that she tried to. It was there where the Nest waited for her. In a thick forest in the middle of Bulgaria would be where her fate was decided.

Fleur would need more than orders to make her docile though. She ground her teeth with fury, and perhaps even a little to build her courage. With a great effort, she followed.

The occasional scurrying of an animal jolted her senses, be it a mouse or fox, each one set her heart racing. She tried to find the humour in that but failed woefully. There was little room for much else apart from her tightly wound nerves. A twig snapped under foot, the break from the usual rhythm shook her, and she pulled her wand out.

She had no idea of the laws in Bulgaria but she would be damned, worse than damned, if she didn't fight for her life.

"Hurry up, Fleur," her mother snapped.

"What's the rush?" Fleur said. "They aren't going anywhere."

"The Nest doesn't wait on petulant children."

"I'm an adult, now that I'm seventeen and finished school."

"Fleur, there is much more to being an adult than education."

Her mother's laugh led the way into the forest.

The trees stood tall, thick, and imposing. They must have stood for centuries, and would stand for centuries longer. Densely packed too, each massive trunk took her many steps to pass, and then there was another next to it. Just as massive. Just as ancient. Roots criss-crossed the dirt between the trees, making her footing hard to find, but a simple 'lumos' mostly solved that issue.

Occasionally she caught the eyes of some bird watching her, or the chitters of some critters in a hollow, but now she was so close there was no room for more fear.

The air wasn't unpleasant. It didn't carry the harsh chill of Hogwarts, instead it was earthy and rich with moss. She sucked in the taste, the bark was musky and crisp, and the shrubs covered in flowers. Something about it seemed to be vibrant.

The canopy blocked out any light from the stars overhead. It was impossible to be sure of even a direction. Still, her mother wove through the trees. Leading the way in some blatant mockery of what her life could've been. Should have been.

Her legs had started to burn with strain when Fleur noticed the first thing out of place.

A tree. In a row of identical trees stood a single twisted trunk. It looked as though it had been wrenched around as it grew. Every inch, a foot or two of the tree was mangled and torn. As if a giant had wrung the tree out to dry then left it in the ground. Not a single leaf remained on those gnarled boughs.

From then on, with each step deeper into the forest, Fleur found new anomalies.

An occasional tree glowed, a pale yellow light falling from up high and spreading through the trunk, as though it was shedding any light it had ever drank in. In those trees Fleur found eyes, by the dozen, watching her. A hub for life in the dim depths. Broken branches crossed a pathway and when she stepped on one, it gave beneath her as though it were a sponge.

Worst of all were the bushes. Small, dark mounds flanking them on either side, seeming to thrive in the gaps between trees. What made them odd, however, was their refusal of light. Her spell cast light on everything in the forest except those bushes. They remained shadowed and impenetrable no matter what she did.

The thought of what might live in those bushes had her walking much faster. Towards the Nest. She couldn't help but notice that these anomalies were growing more frequent with each passing minute. The path itself was the only regular thing, it winded and turned but not much. It wouldn't be out of place anywhere, unlike everything else in this forest.

Fleur saw a tree that was flat.

It was just behind the row of trees nearest them. She couldn't take her eyes off of it. It was completely flat.

Well, she could only see it as a flat object. It simply couldn't be flat though. From each and every direction she looked at it, it had only one side. Like a picture drawn on paper. Even when she circled the tree a few times, she couldn't tell what was going on. She tried to touch it, but her hands couldn't reach it before she hit some invisible wall.

She walked onwards, try as she might she couldn't get that tree out of her mind. Her mother threw her impatient stares and occasionally muttered under her breath.

Those glowing trees were dominant now as they walked deeper into the forest. They were flanked by pairs of luminescent sentinels, creating a direct path to many years of dread.

Just past those trees Fleur noticed the light-fearing bushes, and she had to focus not to let her eyes fixate on them. From somewhere deeper in the woods a song called. A gentle hymn rang in the air, pulling them in like a lighthouse guarding a stormy sea. She knew that song. She had never heard it before, but her bones remembered it.

Fleur glared at her mother but she just continued on, leaving Fleur to gather herself. She tried with all her might, but every aspect of her surroundings invaded any sense of peace.

The canopy overhead blocked out all natural light. The trees, misshapen and altered, lined her path. Those bushes, taunting her with every glimpse, chased her along. And now that song drifting to her, another thing to force her way.

So, she continued to walk toward the end of her freedom.

At least she wasn't cowering, or being dragged. She was capable of meeting even this on her own two feet. Dragons were much scarier, she told herself, but the lie felt as strong as a flickering candle flame.

"Fleur, please don't fight it. They can be spiteful," her mother whispered. The sound rippled through the trees like cracking bark. It made Fleur's skin crawl.

"I can't. I'm not an animal to be sold," she snapped.

Her mother sighed, but she continued walking. Wringing her hands as she dodged those thick roots.

A small animal wandered across the path, and Fleur stopped dead in her tracks. It had been a squirrel once. Now though, fleshy and flimsy wings sprouted from its back. They dragged the ground as it nosed around in the grass, tattered and broken, too weak to be held aloft.

A mockery of a Veela

The twisted forms of everything nearby. It was grotesque. She wanted nothing to do with it, but she was needed deeper still. The very air here could probably deform and twist, even if she shared the Veela traits, she doubted she was safe.

The trees gave up their march, and clear ground enclosed by those silent sentinels loomed.

Fleur gaped.

There was a huge stump, right in the centre of the clearing, with at least a hundred Veela lounging on it. The stump rose only a few feet tall, but it covered enough ground for hundreds to lay with room to spare.

To the side of those Veela were a pile of men. Not a single stitch of cloth remained to them, and they panted feebly in the dirt where they had been discarded. Fleur couldn't quite take her eyes from those men or the Veela who presided over them.

Their faces were sharp and avian. Fully embracing the natural form that called to them. One that Fleur only used when her life might depend on it. Still, they sat there, soaked in sweat and feathers and nothing else.

She didn't need any more clues to imagine what they did to pass the time.

There were a few openings set off to the sides of the main one. Fleur couldn't make them out, but she saw those glowing trees and their ethereal light. It would be nice to think that this wasn't all there was to the Veela. Even if her first impression wasn't remotely good.

One young man wandered over to Fleur and her mother. His body on display. He looked a lot older than he should, his skin was stretched and bruised, but it was his eyes that haunted Fleur. They held not a shred of life. It was as if the allure had drowned out any humanity in the poor fool.

He held out an arm and Fleur's mother took it. Fleur followed as they made their way over to the far side of the stump.

She had to pick her way carefully as the floor was littered with their indulgence. Lumps of rotting food smeared into the ground, with tiny spores of mushrooms reclaiming them. She felt a few bones splinter under her feet, and stopped looking down.

Piles of clothes lined the outer edge of the clearing, ready to be donned by any, and no doubt as dirty as everything else. Some bowls and dishes were turned over into the mud.

All of this, mere inches from the Nest.

Their vaunted claims, their righteous attitudes, all they amounted to was an orgy of filth. Fleur wanted to spit. She wanted to go home and shower.

She wasn't one of these creatures. Pride might not be her favourite trait, but she preferred it to this. Never before had she been disgusted by the thought of being a Veela, not until this moment.

Her mother looked on impassively, as though she wasn't repulsed. Fleur could see a hint of strain in those eyes.

They came to a stop before a clutch of three crones. Their beaks were gray, and their feathers were thinning. They looked too old to exist, and certainly not in a place like this. Each had silver hair, long flowing locks that reached well below their backs. One had a hint of wrinkled olive skin, the other two were as pale as sin.

Their eyes locked onto her.

In her mind, she heard them. Not words, not even thoughts. Pure sensation flooded her.

A hint of inquiry with a boatload of scorn washed through her.

She wasn't having any of that. That these things could dare to judge her? It was absurd.

"Get out of my head, you withered cunt," she snapped.

She heard a gasp beside her, but ignored it and glared at the nearest Veela, who lounged there unimpressed.

"You demanded that I come here. Here I am. Be quick, I have no patience for… this," Fleur said. She forced as much derision as she could in that.

"Fleur! These are the Eldest. That's not—"

"Little chick, be careful with that tongue. You might lose it if you continue to flap like a hatchling," said the olive-skinned one. Her eyes were hard as she regarded Fleur.

"This one is new to us, she was raised poorly," another said.

Fleur might have agreed but she felt no desire to give these harpies an inch.

Her mother walked forward, her face cringing and weak. "Forgive me, she is a willful one, she doesn't want to see things our way."

Fleur scoffed, 'Our way,' this wasn't anything like she had been told. Yes, her mother had warned her of how they used men and how the Nest acted like queens on their throne, but she had left out the filth and gluttony.

"She can learn… little chick, how old are you?"

"Seventeen, an adult grown, in any civilised place," Fleur said.

Her decision had been made long ago. She wouldn't give these Veela anything she didn't want to. Having seen them with her own two eyes, she wasn't even willing to give them the time of day.

She hadn't expected this.

The Nest had haunted her for half of her life, once she had heard of them and their plans, and left her living in dread of their verdict.

So, when she looked around at those gathered here, the dregs of Veela society, why did she feel sorry for them? How could they be so pitiful and weak? It wasn't fair.

"An adult," one of the eldest Veela scoffed.

Fleur ignored her.

She picked a path around those decrepit husks, and made her way to the Veela sprawled in ecstasy. Some were old, not quite as old as those she had just left, but old enough to have seen the War. Most were youthful, and should have been in the prime of their lives.

Her mother shouted over to her, but that was equally worthless as those crones.

Fleur cleared her throat. She hadn't ever thought that her fate would be twisted this way, she hadn't considered that her fight wouldn't be for herself. So now that it was so clear to her, there was only forward.

"Good morning," she spoke. She didn't use magic but the clearing rang with her voice.

A few Veela stirred, but most of them continued their slothful rapture.

"I am Fleur Delacour, and I want to help you."

Perhaps it was her commanding presence, or maybe she had annoyed most of the Veela, but half of them sat up to look at her.

"I just finished as the runner-up in the Tri-Wizard Tournament," she paused, struggling with the swell of disappointment that brought. "I joined for my pride, both in my skills and my blood. Dragons fell before me. I was brought to the brink, and still I fought. I believed I was doing some good, perhaps there was someone who could be inspired by my performance."

"Then I came here…" she paused.

Deliberately, she looked around the Nest. Most Veela watched her, not bored nor angry. That would change soon enough. She tried to fill her look with as much derision as possible.

"A sty. Only these sows should be so much more than they are."

Some voices raised at that. Fleur saw the Eldest Veela glancing at her with smug lines stretching their wasted faces.

"Do you know why you are here? In this forest?" she asked.

The obvious replies came, with a hint more venom than she was comfortable with.

"You're trapped here, because you choose to be. There is an entire world out there to live in, to thrive in. Instead, you stay here, eating like pigs and fucking like them too."

"You are better than this." She gave a gesture to the ruins of men, the food rotting on the floor, and the pile of Veela. "This is no home."

She walked away from them. Her little performance over. She just hoped at least one of them would care, at least a little.

Her mother looked at her as if she'd grown a second head. An anger simmered in those eyes and looked ready to spill over, but Fleur simply stepped into her and threw her arms around her mother. A gratitude she would never have believed possible flooded her. Despite it all, despite the desire to have Fleur be a part of Veela culture, her mother had protected her from the worst of it. The reality of it. There were no words left to her, but she sobbed into her mother's chest.

It was only a faint surprise when she felt a soft embrace.

Angry muttering drifted over to her, but she wasn't worried about that. She had stoked those flames, and Veela didn't fear fire.

She pulled back from her mother.

It was amazing how different she looked. There wasn't any hatred or anger, in either of them. There was confusion on her mother's face, but it was genuine and from a place of care. Fleur couldn't believe it; that her mother was capable of caring for her at all.

After all the fights. Screaming at each other had seemed the pinnacle of their emotional connection. With many tears and arguments she had made Fleur into what she needed to be, and had taken all of Fleur's abuse on the chin.

"Give me a minute Maman, then we must talk," she whispered. Her voice hitched when she said 'Maman,' it had been too long since the last time.

Apolline Delacour swept a long finger across Fleur's face, clearing it of tears. A gentle smile on her face.

Permission of a sort, or at least Fleur took it that way.

Most of the Veela were glaring at her, their avian features should have been intimidating, instead they reminded her of what they were missing out on. Fleur gave the eldest Veela a level look, but they seemed content to let the intruder make themselves the enemy.

Fleur pulled out her wand. A simple gesture. It could be seen as threatening, or even a reminder of her otherness, but none of them saw it as she did.

"Do you know why we are feared, more than goblins, more than house elves?" she tapped the wand against her palm.

One or two followed the movement.

"We are so closely linked to Humans that they cannot deny us wands. We are magical in every inch of our being. Humans couldn't dream of that kind of power, they can only come close through use of their wands."

Chances were these Veela scorned their wands, pride being what it was, but they would see. She would make them.

"We have everything they have and more."

A nervous sound passed through the Veela. Fleur knew what it sounded like, it was very close to the words that had inspired joining Grindelwald. But Fleur was committed.

"We are more powerful than them!"

The effect was instant.

The Eldest Veela started shushing those who sobbed, and sob they did. Wails rang into the night, loud and clear. Fleur watched it all, excitement bursting through her blood, taking in each face that seemed on the edge.

The youngest ones weren't as dramatic. They disagreed with Fleur, just not as loudly.

"We are more powerful," she repeated, her voice raising to be heard, "and they will need our help. Voldemort has been reborn."

A few Veela turned to her at that, not many—not nearly enough, but a few.

"He is back, and he will stop at nothing to plunge the world into war again."

"Says who?"

Fleur turned to see one of the Eldest Veela, pale faced and frightened. Fleur nodded to her.

"Harry Potter witnessed it, as he was a captive," she said. "The Tri-Wizard Cup was a portkey to secret him off to Voldemort. But Harry Potter survived. Again," she added, hoping the reminder was enough.

Perhaps it did, a few nervous whispers broke out. But Fleur squashed the moment, knowing that if they were allowed a minute to breathe, they'd remember she wasn't like them.

"Within five minutes of being back in Hogwarts, Harry had managed to warn Dumbledore. And within five more resistance had begun. I witnessed it all. If you need further evidence, Dumbledore will announce his resignation as Headmaster when school is finished. And then the war will begin."

Her words ran through them like wildfire. It tore through the forest and left them bare before the world. A pair of Veela clasped hands, holding each other for comfort.

"You have a choice to make. You can hide here and continue living like rodents or you can do what my mother did. You can fight for the future. I want to be able to raise my daughters in a world that doesn't hate them. Where she can dream for more than breeding anything that walks too close."

The younger Veela nodded at that. The same fear had played leading roles in their upbringing.

"What can we do?" asked one of the young Veela.

Fleur could have jumped for joy that one of them had finally asked, finally made a decision, no matter how small. Without the prompting of the Eldest, too.

"We can do the right thing. Dumbledore was always obsessed with innocents and their protection. There is likely no better person and cause to be aligned with. Voldemort was always afraid of Dumbledore, for good reason, and now he has a fear and fixation with Harry Potter. This war is one that we can help tip the balance of, and one that can help us start a real future."

One young Veela let out a cheer at that.

She had to back up a few steps as clusters of Veela had formed. They were bursting at the seams to talk things over. The elder Veela were staggering around mingling with the others, no doubt trying to douse the inferno.

A woman slightly older than her walked over, a playful smirk on her face. No hint of the avian traits showed. Somehow, she was the oddest sight Fleur had seen in hours.

"You really stirred up a storm, girl," said the woman. Her accent was rough and coarse. Fleur was just happy to hear her mother tongue.

"It's a talent of mine," she replied. A stolen attempt at levity from Harry. "I'm Fleur, what's your name?"

"Anneliese," she held out her hand, and Fleur shook it. "We should go relax while this blows over, come."

Apolline walked over, and gave Fleur a questioning look. Anneliese had already started off though, so Fleur just dragged her mother along. It felt odd, willingly allowing her near. Something had changed today, and if it wasn't the Veela at least her view of her mother had.

Anneliese walked them out of the main enclosure and into one of the side clearings. Fleur had managed to lose all hope in the Veela, so she found herself gaping when she saw the hidden community. Small homes were scattered around the place, at least fifty of them, each one tucked into the wood line. Leaving the open area free for what looked like a school, chalkboards and desks were arranged just so.

Fleur must have looked strange, since Anneliese laughed at her expression.

"We do more than lie around fucking. The adults take turns teaching the chicks, kids," she said. Her pride shone through her mirth.

"What do you teach them?" Apolline asked.

"Numbers, letters, and the basics. At two, they start flying, so we have to teach them how to do that safely."

Fleur missed her step.

"They fly? At two?" she blurted out.

Anneliese giggled, "we aren't like you domesticated Veela, we live in our Avian forms most of the time. The kids see that and change young, it takes them a while to grow wings strong enough to fly though."

Her family had celebrated her first changing, at twelve it had seemed the most important thing. To hear that there were children flying around, when Gabby hadn't changed yet, was disconcerting.

Still, the fact that there was some community here was a welcome surprise.

"Still, you walked in here like a Queen. Never seen the Eldest look so out of sorts," Anneliese said, a smile tugging her lips.

"My mother," Fleur gestured, "never told me exactly what it was like. I was shocked, appalled." She didn't add the 'embarrassed' that wanted to be voiced.

"You would have burned our house down if I told you it all."

Fleur agreed.

Anneliese walked them over to a house on the far edge, and held the door open for them. Fleur scrapped off her shoes before stepping inside.

The walls were vibrant, covered head to toe in yellow paint that peeked out behind thousands of crayon drawings. From birds and trees, to the moon and other celestial wonders. That was just the living room.

Apolline sighed, a contented sigh Fleur hadn't heard in ages, as she walked into the house. Her eyes were full of wonder, and Fleur found herself laughing.

She was swiftly shushed by the owner though as Anneliese pointed up to the roof with a glare.

"If you wake them…" she threatened.

"Your children? How many do you have?" Fleur asked.

"Eight, for now," she said.

Anneliese was only a few years older than Fleur, surely no more than five. It was impossible. Her mind struggled to settle that equation, mostly because it was everything she had dreaded her life becoming.

They were ushered to a sofa, a huge, fluffy monstrosity covered in throw blankets and pillows. It could fit the entire family, no doubt, with room left for prodding elbows.

"You can sleep here until sunrise, the girls won't let you sleep after that," Anneliese said. Apolline chuckled.

"Thank you, we will find something else for tomorrow. We would hate to intrude," her mother said.

Anneliese giggled at that. "With what Fleur got up to tonight… you might have little choice but to intrude. She really made an impression."

"She is stubborn," Apolline replied. Warm and teasing.

"I need to go back there, help yourself to anything," Anneliese said.

Then they were alone.

In a stranger's house, on the outskirts of the Nest.

Fleur couldn't believe how things had gone. If she had burned the entire forest down, she would have been surprised but would have known herself capable of it. But to look over those Veela and feel pity for them, to want better for them, that was the real shock.

"Why did you do that?" Apolline asked.

She gently placed her hand on Fleur's, testing it. Fleur wasn't startled by the affection anymore, but it would still take some getting used to.

"I saw them all, I saw what and how they lived. It was nothing like I knew growing up. It's squalor, and it clicked. You protected me and Gabby from that. You made sure we had a better life. Regardless of what they could have decided, I wouldn't have ended up here for the rest of my life.

"It might not be perfect, but for the hell I put you through, it was more than enough," she said, as she choked back a sob.

"Oh, Fleur…"

Her mother's arms wrapped around her, and held her close.

"There were days I hated you more than anything I've ever known. Never because you fought with me, but because you had a fire in you that I didn't," Apolline whispered. "I wish I could've marched in here all those years ago and fought for my freedom. Screamed myself raw. But all I ever did was fight for the little victories. Even at the end of it all, you still had your plans to fight them, the Tournament, Potter… I've never been so envious of anyone in my life, Fleur."

Fleur pulled a single shoe out from beneath her, and dropped it over the edge of the sofa. How this had become her life in the last few hours was beyond her.

"And for the rest," Fleur muttered, "I just had to do something. You saw them, they made a brothel look clean. It's not right. I just hope I did the right thing."

"I doubt you did. The young ones will have some anger at the Nest, and rousing them for a war cannot be good. But it's too late to do anything about it. So you need to think about what's next. They'll look to you. You know that, right?"

Fleur nodded.

"It was all true at least. About Voldemort and Dumbledore," she said.

"I could wish it weren't. The last time someone had a score to settle with Dumbledore it brought us to ruin."

!

Ron threw down the gobstone, he never took losing well, and glared at Harry. His last throw would have been pointless, as well as the two before, but Harry hadn't shared that with him.

Hermione tutted. She surfaced from her book just long enough to give them a withering glare.

Harry and Ron giggled to themselves. She'd been scowling at their game for its entirety. After their first game though, she had pulled out a hefty tome and dove in. Each exclamation or outburst had been met with a scathing glance.

The school year was officially over, classes were finished, and somehow Hermione had found some studying to do. She had done little else on her visits to Harry in the hospital wing, but she didn't need to make such a big deal of it. After a week of being trapped in these four white walls, enclosed and imprisoned, Harry was scrambling for anything to break the monotony.

Ron had been the savior in that regard. They'd played countless sets of gobstones, with him losing endlessly.

Still, tomorrow was time to leave Hogwarts. Usually a bitter day for Harry, but his glimpse of freedom was enough to shake that. He'd have to be back at the Dursley's, but that wasn't the end of the world. Not quite.

Harry had spent most of his time alone in the hospital wing staring at the walls, trying to find patterns or features in the imperfections of the walls. When that failed, he counted the glass panes in the windows. Each one had twenty-one, and there were seventeen windows on either side of the Hospital Wing. He hadn't quite gone crazy enough to try and multiply them. Yet.

Other than that he spent his time rebuilding his gobstone collection. His backup set felt insignificant in his hand, and he'd wanted to try out something new. So he made fourteen new gobstones, each with colours divided, swirled, and solid. Each as different from the other as possible.

He needed to make that last one though.

"Reckon she'll let you come down for breakfast tomorrow?" Ron asked.

"Yep, she's promised me complete freedom starting tomorrow," he replied.

"Brilliant."

Harry nodded. He didn't know what the reception would be; since winning the Tournament he'd heard that his fame had swollen. He doubted it would be bad though, not as bad as when the school assumed him a liar. It would be odd, being stared at by half the school then going 'home' and being ignored like he had something catching.

"Dumbledore will probably announce his resignation at the leaving feast," Hermione said. "I do wonder how everyone will take it."

"Not well," Ron said. "He's been here for ages, it won't be the same without him."

Harry shuddered at the echo of his feelings.

Dumbledore out of Hogwarts wasn't a pleasant thought. He wasn't sure exactly why though. It wasn't as if he'd been any safer here than elsewhere, even with Dumbledore around. Still, there would be something missing. He couldn't put a finger on it though.

"No, it won't, but there's more to it than that. He's going to be out there, against Voldemort. That's worth more than having him here," Harry said.

"Of course," Hermione agreed. "He was a leading factor in Grindelwald's defeat, and he's the only wizard You-Know-Who ever feared."

Ron wrung his hands. Harry knew he wasn't comfortable with the idea of Voldemort being back. He had grown up with too many stories, too many family members in early graves, to be at peace with the thought. Still, if he remembered the events after the Third Task, his family was ready to stand up once more.

Mrs. Weasley had lost her twin brothers in the last war and Mr. Weasley had lost his parents. It was no small gesture.

"He will be able to keep people safe," Harry said, trying to instill some hope in Ron.

Ron shrugged, then stood and nodded to himself, "yeah, you're right," he said.

Hermione seemed to understand that it was time to leave. Harry wished he hadn't mentioned Voldemort, it brushed at Ron's fears and left him on edge.

Their steps clanged and rang against the floor, and didn't stop until the door creaked shut, leaving Harry alone once more. Only this time he had something to do.

Those three strands of silver hair had been calling to him for the entire week. He had known, in the second she'd given them, what he wanted to do. Known and hesitated. It seemed silly, a foolish way to use her gift, but he had little else to do with them. Veela hair was magical, but the only uses Hermione had found were less than legal.

This way he would be able to treasure them in his own way. Fleur wouldn't be angry.

He rubbed his hand through his messy hair.

The box sat at the end of his bed, a heavy weight tugging at his blankets, taunting him.

There was little use in debating it; he was all but committed to his plan. Once he actually committed, he'd be exactly that, committed.

The latch clicked as it smashed against the old wood. Those hinges creaked and the musty scent of old wood washed over him. Sand, finer than any he'd ever touched, was already in the divots. The vials chinked as they were jostled.

Committed wasn't a bad thing. Not unless Fleur wasn't agreeable.

The sand melted, sticking to the sides and not pooling at the bottom. He couldn't waste it now. He had so little of the stuff left.

Her hair fit perfectly, leaving just enough room for a little liquid, as though he had planned it.

He licked his lips, there was a spice lingering. Something that reminded him of Fleur.

The liquid of choice was faintly golden, almost pale, and there was just enough to reach the brim of both halves. He had saved enough for this. It didn't offset the silver very well, nor did it compliment, but it looked fitting to him. It felt like Fleur.

His wand tapped the box, and it sprung into action. Crushing the two halves into one. Sealing the gaps and finishing the gobstone. Harry leaned forward.

When the gobstone was revealed it glowed.

Pale gold with veins of silver.

AN: So I hope you enjoyed it. It been a long time since i thought of most of this chapter and was so eager to write it. Turns out it's much harder in reality than in fantasy, but i think it turned out pretty good.