"It took me years to realize that, were we anyone else, we'd have been killed and eaten. And not necessarily in that order. So I'm glad we are...who we are. No, hang on, that was stupid, don't print that."

"– so after I managed to peel Hermione's fingernails out of my arm –"

"I was not squeezing your arm that hard, Ron! Honestly, you blow every little thing out of proportion!"

"Out of proportion? You left marks in my skin, woman! Deep gouges of – of incredible pain and lasting damage!"

"Oh?" Hermione scoffed, grinning playfully at Ben while Ron pouted. "Let's see these incredibly damaging marks."

"Fine! You'll see, Ben, you'll see I'm telling the...oh."

"I don't see anything. Do you, Ben?"

Ben barely held back his smile. "Can't say I do, Hermione. Maybe it's on his other arm?"

Hermione gave a ridiculously fake look of surprise. "I didn't think of that. Ron, show us your other arm, would you?"

Ron grumbled and rolled up his other sleeve. "Ah ha! I knew you left marks on me!"

Ben peered at his friend's arm. He could barely make out the thin crescent of a fingernail mark in Ron's freckled skin. Ben shot his friend a grave look. "Truly, this is a terrible injury."

Ron sighed. "Shut up, Ben."

"I mean, we may have to get you to St. Mungo's, quick-like. Is wizard medicine good at reattaching arms?"

"Shut up, Ben. Please?"

Ben sighed in a long suffering manner, smiling widely. "Fine, but only because I'm feeling so magnanimous today."

Hermione peered at him. "You've never used a word that big before. Are you feeling all right?" she shook back her sleeve and made a show of checking his temperature. Which ached, because he still had a massive sunburn. Or...dragon-burn, he supposed.

"I see how it is." He handed his golden egg – his very own, he couldn't wait to write home – off to Ron. "You're all jealous."

Ron winced and looked away. Ben's good mood slipped a few notches. That was going to be a sore subject for a while. He'd known that, but in the excitement of surviving the dragon and getting one of his best friends back he'd kind of...forgotten slightly. Hermione waded into the sudden, awkward silence.

"Yes, she drawled, "that's exactly it. And we're not the only ones, either. Soon hundreds of wizards and witches will be flooding the beauty parlors and demanding that they all resemble overdone lobster just like their hero, Ben Potter."

Ron snickered, and Ben opened his mouth, retort at the ready. He was interrupted by a massively loud, sharp snap that sounded for all the world like a breaking chain. The sound was followed by a roar – one he had recently become familiar with.

Then the screaming started, and lead filled his gut. He turned to his friends, face paling and eyes wide.

"Ben," Hermione's voice shook. "tell me that's not what I think it is."

"What?" Ron queried, looking overwhelmed and bewildered. A gout of white flame shot into the sky, followed by another roar and the sound of beating wings. Ron's face paled to match theirs and he dropped the egg. "No..."

People were running, bouncing off each other and screaming and doing everything they could to get away. It was a madhouse. He grabbed their sleeves and pulled them with him. "Run!" he yelled.

"But–" Ron started to protest.

"It's a bloody dragon, Ron!" Ben shouted. "A free dragon!"

The sound of beating wings grew larger, and a hot wind washed over them. They stood still, robes flapping around their ankles, as over the arena rose a black dragon with spikes on its tail and murder in its eyes. It roared again, and dove, spewing fire. The arena may have stood up to the impact or the flames. But not both. Splintering wood, sounding like breaking bones, and a immense smell of ozone filled the air as the wards failed.

Ben hauled his friends back and away. He had no thoughts of heroism on his mind, no thoughts of facing that thing – free and enraged as it was. No thoughts, that is, until Ron dug his feet in and brought the three of them to a halt. The Horntail swiped its namesake through a still standing bit of arena and sent it crumbling to the ground.

"Ron, what are you doing? We have to get out of here!"

Ron's eyes, once wide and panicked, were now focused and narrow. "Ben, your brother and Fleur..."

Fear, followed by a diamond hard determination. "Where." he demanded.

"In the tent."

His wand was in his hand before he knew what he was doing. "Let's go."

Harry didn't know it was possible to feel such varied emotions in a short time. He'd started at a combination of worry, anxiety, and pride during the point allocations, and had gone from that to relief and pride when it turned out that Ben and Fleur had done very well. Then he had jumped from that to really turned on with an eager Fleur in his arms.

Now he didn't know what to think. He didn't know what had happened. It was like a thick, moorland fog had wrapped around his brain. The last thing he remembered was the barest brush of her lips and hearing a sound like –

Oh, no.

The fog cleared, and with this new clarity came pain. Pain in his leg; this wasn't new. Pain in his back, shoulders and arm – this was. Something was pushing down on him, heavy and rough cut. He could feel its splinters digging into his skin through his robes. A sort of...claustrophobia set in – more a instinctive desire for freedom than anything – and he heaved up, pushing with his arms and shoulders and straining back to shift whatever rested on him. He failed as corkscrews of pain turned through the nerves of right arm, shooting up into his shoulder.

He fell, and landed on something soft. It groaned.

Harry remembered seeing a flicker out of the corner of his closing eye, just before the kiss. Instinct had overridden desire and he'd thrown them both to the ground, covering Fleur's body with his.

He pushed himself up as much as he could, blinking irritated, reddening eyes free of the dust that hung in the air. Beneath him – relief lightened his heart – was Fleur. Her blue robes were dusty and torn, and there was a cut from her temple down to her chin that was covered in dirt and still weeping blood. She groaned again and opened her eyes.

"Ha – Harry? What happened?"

He coughed, more dust, and rasped, "I think one of the dragons got free. Something hit us and we're stuck."

Ice blue eyes, glassy with confusion, cleared quickly. "Okay. Can you reach your wand?"

He shook his head. "There's something wrong with my arm. I think it's broken."

Fleur rolled her head, smearing dusty blood on her cheek, and hissed. "It's broken. Okay. Um. Let me see if I can reach m – merde!"

Whatever was pinning them groaned and shifted, dropping a good six inches and pushing his body into Fleur's. The animal desire to be free resurged and he ground his teeth and reached again for his wand. This time he felt the bones in his arm move. He didn't scream, but a pained groan escaped him.

Fleur looked up at him, concern in her face. "Are you all right?"

He shook his head. "Less so by the second. Listen, my wand is in my right pocket. If you can't reach yours, you need to get mine into my hand. Even if you have to move it. Do you understand?"

"But – that will..."

"Yeah."

The thing, whatever it was, groaned again, pushing them a little tighter together and putting a painful pressure on Harry's spine. "Hurry, Fleur!" he groaned. He felt her scrabbling at her left side, reaching for something just of her reach. He felt her heart pounding through her chest, so close together were they.

Then she whimpered, "I'm sorry," and pushed his broken arm up into the splintering wood above them to reach his wand. This time, he screamed. Through the pain he felt her put his wand in his hand. He closed his eyes and mustered his will and fraying magic, weaving the weak threads together in his mind before whispering,

"Protego."

Palpable relief shot through them both as a cocoon of iridescent blue shimmered into being. Harry sagged, the tearing pain in his arm and shoulder fading to a dull and equally fierce ache now that he'd stopped trying to move. As he did he became aware of Fleur beneath him, tears tracking through the grime on her face. Her lips moved, and after a moment his ears stopped ringing.

"I'm sorry," she was saying, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Hey," he rasped, then swallowed dryly. "I'm okay, see? No harm done. Well, no permanent harm."

Her eyes flashed up at him, scared and angry. But all she said was, "Why didn't you banish it away?"

The muscles in his weary neck and his forehead dropped into the curve of her neck and shoulder. Were they in any other situation the position would be incredibly intimate. "I thought of it," he said, barely audible over the humming magic of his shield. "but I'm beat to crap, and I don't know what's holding it up. If I banished just a part of it – "

Thankfully, Fleur caught his train of thought. Which was good, because talking was starting to hurt. His ribs didn't feel broken, but he'd bet every last Galleon he'd ever have they were bruised to hell and back.

"It could fall on us." she finished.

He smirked into her shoulder. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

He felt her huff in amusement beneath him. "You mean apart from my intelligence, charm, and sparkling wit?"

"That, too."

"And beauty, don't forget beauty."

"Believe me, I haven't."

Silence fell between them, and over the strange sound distortion created by his Protego, he could hear the crackle of burning wood and the louder pop of failing runes. The sound of beating wings and a furious, terrible roar blanketed the sound of people running and screaming. Distantly he could hear the shouts of handlers and Aurors and – or so he hoped to God – professors trying to get everyone to safety and contain the raging beast.

And he could hear something else. Someone else. Shouting his name.

"Harry!" Ben screamed. "Harry, where are you?!"

Emotions flickered through him; pride and exasperation on top of worry and fear. And a lovely current of horrible pain running under all of that.

"There!" Another voice yelled. Add weary confusion to the list, he thought. Last he knew, Ben and Ron weren't talking. "I see a Protego, Ben!"

Feet pounded in their direction and he lifted his head to look in Fleur's eyes. The emotions he saw in their depths were a mirror to his. "If I weren't so infatuated with you," she murmured, "I might feel the urge to kiss your brother."

He sighed wearily and smiled. "You'd just get interrupted. It's a Potter thing."

"When we get out of here," she promised, "I am going to kiss you, and I will not be interrupted."

Harry felt a need to remind her of the rampaging dragon, but didn't feel like pushing his luck any more than he had to today.

Having been carefully freed from the debris – which turned out to be a piece of the grandstand – various bruises and aches made themselves known. Though she'd cheerfully go to her grave before admitting it, Harry's landing on her had bruised her chest. That said, they had bigger problems. First and most immediate: Harry.

He was being stubborn.

"I'm fine!" he insisted, holding his shoulder. He wasn't, and it was sandpaper on her skin to hear him say he was. His skin was ashen where it wasn't covered in dirt or blood or both, his hair was matted down from the same. One of the lenses in his glasses was broken. He looked like Hell, and it hurt her heart.

"You're not fine!" she and Ben said in unison. Ron and Hermione were facing away, either to give them privacy or keep an eye out, she wasn't sure which. If it was the latter, they were wasting their time. Dragons weren't subtle. Or hard to spot. Fleur stepped closer to Harry and reached up to cup his cheek. "Harry, your arm is broken and you're swaying on your feet. You can't run, let alone cast a spell."

Harry batted her hand away. His eyes flashed and he growled. "Watch me. Ben!"

She wasn't about to stand for that. But this was not the time. Once they were safe, there would be a reckoning. A reckoning, and a thorough kissing.

"Yeah?" Ben looked resigned.

"Which dragon was it, and where's it going?"

"It was the Horntail," Hermione said quietly, facing them for the first time. Her hands were shaking, but her voice was clear. Fleur's respect for that, and her rose. "and –"

"Look, it's not gonna be hard to find the dragon," Ben's possible friend Ron cut in. In the back of her mind Fleur took note of the fact that he and Ben were patching things up. "Better question is why you want to find it in the first place."

An excellent question, a voice in her head opined. She shushed it and answered, "So we know not to run that way."

"Uh, g-guys," Ben's voice was high and tight with fear. He was staring at something over Harry's shoulder and his eyes were saucer-wide. "We should run. We should run now."

She felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to turn, fought it down, seized Harry's hand, and took off running. She felt the roar before she heard it. The dragon's bellow vibrated in her bones and the hollow in her chest. Heat washed across her back and her robes pulled away from her. Towards the dragon.

"Down!" Harry dragged them to the ground as a pillar of flame eight feet around scorched a furrow in the sand. A massive shadow passed over them and the Horntail wheeled up into the afternoon sky, circling around to try again. They stood, Harry leaning on her shoulder and panting. She looked up at him and saw the pain in his face.

"Harry, we can't – we can't outrun a dragon." she harshed out between breaths. Ben, Hermione, and Ron joined them, each relatively unscathed. The redheaded boy had a shiny burn on his left arm that stretched from shoulder to elbow and Hermione's only injuries seemed to be bruises. Lots of them. Harry passed a weary hand over his face and nodded.

"I know."

"So what now?" Ben asked, fear and courage in equal measure in his eyes.

In that moment, with the world full of burning pain and screaming, Fleur had a terrible, terrible idea. But in the seconds following it's creation, she found that she rather liked it. It spoke to the vengeful fury in her – the desire to punish the beast that had hurt the ones she cared for.

When she spoke, her voice held none of its usual melody. "We fight."

Ben opened his mouth, closed it again. Nope, still no words. Fleur couldn't possibly have said what he thought she had, had she?

"Sorry," Ron was saying, "are you suggesting we actually fight the – ack!"

The ack came from Hermione seizing him by his collar and hauling him out of the way of a falling piece of arena. He rubbed at his throat, shooting her a grateful look. She missed it, having eyes only for the prowling dragon. Ben looked to Fleur, whose eyes still hadn't left his brother's, and realized she hadn't been talking to them. He watched as her words roused Harry's fighting spirit.

Last year was the last time he'd seen that. Someone had nearly died.

"We don't have to beat it," Ben found himself saying, stepping towards the duo. "just keep it busy long enough for help to get here."

Harry growled and snaked an arm around Fleur's waist, pulling him to her and into a fierce, wild kiss. Ben looked away, easily finding a rampaging dragon more distracting. From behind him, he heard a feminine, satisfied purr and Harry growl, "Fine. Let's do this."

And then, with great courage and questionable sanity, the five of them attacked a fully grown, fully freed, enormously angry dragon. Ben could, if you gave him a few minutes, think of a worse way to die. They just didn't have a few minutes, and a volley of spells arced away from the quintet. He saw Hermione's influence in the dazzle of lights around its eyes, and Ron's in the earthen clods – loose yet razor sharp – that barreled into the dragon's side. Fleur he figured was responsible for the gouts of white-blue fire that seared into its broad chest.

Ben clean forgot he hadn't cast a spell when he saw what Harry threw into the fray. He – his brother – had Transfigured a conglomeration of dirt and loose stones into a massive bird, then Charmed it to attack the Horntail. It was the single most impressive piece of magic he'd seen in fourteen years.

"Ben!" Hermione screeched, flicking her wand like a conductor and creating more splashes of light. "Stop gawking at the pretty bird and do something!"

Oh. Right.

He slashed his wand in a series of crossing, horizontal lines. The magic rose and coiled inside him, and with an effort of will he forced the bundle of power down his arm and out his wand. It manifested as the most devastating spell his fourteen year old body could manage. A Ribbon Cutter. So called for its propensity to turn its targets into ribbons, it snapped into existence and roiled forward. Crescent arcs of shimmering magic tumbled around and over each other, impacting on the dragon hide and doing...

Not much. Oh, sure, it tore a great series of lines into the beastie's foreleg – provoking a pained roar, but it wasn't the evisceration he'd been expecting. Then a fact of a dragon's nature surfaced in his panicking mind: their hides were near indestructible, and resistant to all but the most powerful magics.

Then, well...it was the Horntail's turn.

Harry had oh, all of a second to indulge in pride at Ben's spell casting before the Horntail reared onto its back legs and bellowed at the sky. The force of the sound broke his concentration, leaving his stone bird falling in bits to the ground. Then the beast started to beat its wings – gouts of wind ripping at their tattered cloths and blowing sand into their eyes. He shielded his eyes with his forearm and leaned into the gusts.

Off to his left he heard Ron yelp and the faint sound of someone falling over. Ben shouted, "Ron!", and that was when, with a thunderous, earthshaking crash, the dragon's forelegs hit the ground. It roared again, belched fire, and charged.

…

Fuck.

"Confringo Maxima!" he shouted, staggering off to the side as the magic drain took a huge hit from his stamina. The overpowered blasting curse smashed a crater in the dragon's chest, scale splintering away from the impact site in a comet. "Fleur," his voice was hoarse, but loud, "get them away!"

Fleur was already moving, ushering – well, shoving – the three younger kids of out of the dragon's path. At the last moment, so close to the beast's talons he felt his heart leap into his throat, she dove, shouting a spell he didn't hear. She hit the ground and the dragon passed, gouging furrows as it tried to stop itself. Its wings flared slightly, maybe in instinct – Harry didn't know, and the results of Fleur's spell made itself known.

The dragon's left wing was destroyed. Tatters of the wing's thick membrane flapped weakly and tore as it fully extended. He winced at the sound, like parchment tearing mixed with breaking bone. The beast yowled painfully and lashed its tail.

"Get down!" he yelled, and watched as they hit the ground flat. The smaller, sharper tail spikes whooshed overhead. Then the broken edge of a larger spike dug deeply into Hermione's shoulder and she screamed. From where he stood Harry could see the blood welling and the pale, panicked face on Ben.

Something wrenched in Harry's chest and he spun. His lip curled and a wordless snarl escaped him. He pointed his wand as if it were a lance and willed. There wasn't an incantation, or motion, just force of will and responding magic. Frost curled away from the wand tip and his bad knee gave way as a lance of smooth, white-blue ice shot from his wand. He fell, landing on his knees.

The pain registered somewhere in the back of his mind as he watched the icy lance streak across the open air between him and the dragon. This was his last, best effort at hurting it. He had nothing left to give. Now it was all he could do to stay upright. The lance hit the dragon in its rear flank, towards the leg, and dug in. It threw its head back and roared, shooting blue-heat fire into the sky in pain and rage.

Across the arena from Harry, and through the shimmering air the dragonfire created, he Ben and Fleur bent over a prone Hermione while Ron kept an eye on the Horntail. The redhead boy's face altered between angry fear, anguish, and a kind of tired resignation that didn't belong on the face of a boy of fourteen.

Of course, Harry thought, it doesn't really belong on my face either, but...

Then Ron looked at something behind Harry, and his entire bearing changed. It was hope that had been missing, he realized. Ron had honestly believed they were going to die there, and until now he'd had no hope for surviving. Harry twisted, peering over his shoulder to see what had changed Ron's mind. A tired grin spread across his face.

Dumbledore stood at the head of a crowd of Aurors and professors. An expression of utter, terrifying fury was on the old wizard's face. He lifted his wand and Harry felt magic surge towards his headmaster.

They were saved.

"He's here," she heard Ben breathe. "Thank God, he's here."

"Who's here?" Hermione tried to twist her head around and look, then paled and lay very still. "Oh ow, oh fffff..." she bit off her curse and ground her teeth. It drew Ben's attention from their savior, leaving Fleur to watch.

The first thing was two flicks of a wand, followed by a murmur that made Fleur wish she could read lips. Silver, iridescent phoenixes bloomed from Dumbledore's wand tip and soared to Ron, who stood guard over them, and Harry, who had managed to get himself separated. Ron was close enough that, when the phoenix reached him, she could hear the old wizard's voice issue from it.

"Help is here, children. You've done wonderfully. Leave the rest to us."

She saw Harry shoot Dumbledore a look, then nod and start limp-jogging their way. Drawn by the movement and holding its lacerated foreleg close to its chest, the Horntail reared and spun on its rear legs to land three-legged and drop an irate howl in Harry's face. Time seemed to slow and she saw his nose wrinkle from its breath even as his hair was blown away from his face. She saw the heat glow on his face as the dragon prepared to cook her...him.

The air shifted as the dragonfire spilled forth. Harry threw himself to the ground as her heart stopped and a scream choked its way past the knot in her throat. The ground between Harry and the fire rose and froze – a wall of stone and ice that stood fast in the face of the flame.

Fleur was scrambling to her feet and running before the fire stopped. She was dimly aware of the drain on her body as she threw every offensive piece of magic she could muster at the dragon to distract it from the fragile human in front of it. The beast lashed its tail in agitation, digging furrows in the ground as she slid in the dust to stop at Harry's side.

He still hadn't risen. Please, she found herself praying, please please please be okay.

Her eyes found the rise and fall of his chest and she almost wept with relief. Why her emotions were crashing into her now, having spent the majority of their battle under control, she couldn't say. All she wanted was to turn him over, wrap her arms around his neck, and kiss him senseless. And despite the distant purl of arousal that idea brought about in her, she pushed it aside. She risked a peek over the frozen earth barrier, seeing the dragon happily turning its wrath to the new arrivals.

Ducking back down, she found herself face to face with Harry. "I'm not dead," he said, sounding faintly amazed.

The comment brought a choked laugh from her. "No, no you're not."

"Oh...that's good. Ben?"

Three pairs of feet stomped the ground in their direction, but there was no force on earth in that moment that could make her look away. "He's fine. The others are, too. They'll be here in a second."

" S'good." he said, sitting up and putting a hand to his head. "Think I mighta concussed myself. World's blurry now." he looked beyond her to the barrier. "Oh."

She followed his look, then turned back to him. "What? Professor Dumbledore made that to keep you from getting roasted alive."

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Was me."

Fleur gaped at him. To be as exhausted as they all were – magically and phyiscally – with any number of painful injuries, and throw out a Transfiguration that was still standing? She wondered if magic ran strong in the Potter line. Then Ben, Ron, and a hastily healed Hermione arrived; sweating, tired, scared, but alive.

It occurred to her she hadn't heard a dragon roar or rush of fire for a few moments, and risked a peek over the wall. The fact it was starting to dissolve quietly went away in the face of the sight before her.

The Hungarian Horntail, strong and proud and an incredible predator, was bound in silver chains. Muzzled, limbs tied to its body, tail tied to the ground. Utterly and completely defeated. And standing calmly, as if he did not have a care in the world, two feet from the dragon's snout was Albus Dumbledore. With a bright red phoenix on his shoulder.

Of course he did.

In the end, none of them really made it out under their own power. Ben and Ron were supporting a pale Hermione between them, mashed together to the point where it looked like they were all that held each other up. He, Harry, had Fleur's arm 'round his waist and his own slung across her shoulder. Behind the five of them, chained and surrounded by dozens of Aurors, handlers, and professors, came the Horntail. Harry thought they made for a weird looking parade, found the thought funny, and spent the next half a minute or so trying not to giggle.

He didn't do as well as he thought, evidently. Fleur was shooting him a concerned look. "What? Something struck me as funny, is all."

Fleur's eyes flashed fire. When she spoke, her voice was cold. "What exactly is funny about this, Harry? The part where we were almost killed? Or, how about when I thought you were going to burned to death in front of me – ooh, or when you were being crushed to death on top of me? Real laugh, that."

There was a part of him; the rational, well-spoken part, that said now may not be the time to have an emotionally charged conversation. The rest of him said, oh, well, and he growled, "You think it was easy for me? I thought I was going to die, and do so with the knowledge that it would accomplish nothing! Even dying wouldn't keep the people I love alive."

She huffed angrily and he slipped slightly in her grip. She readjusted, shifting him up to get a better grip on his waist. "So it's okay for you to die if it means that Ben is safe? Sure, why the fuck not! I mean, it's not he's ever going to know, right? Let's forget that he knows you and idolizes you and watching you die – for him – just like your parents, would absolutely destroy him – "

Distantly he wondered if she was aware she'd just crossed a line. He was beyond caring in that moment. He ground his teeth, a muscle in his jaw flexing, and he pushed away; taking his full weight. The pain crashed into him, into the walls of hot anger the mention of his parents had erected. His will may have been strong, but his body had just plain had enough. He fell to all fours, a pained moan escaping him.

"'Arry!" Fleur's accent roughened as she rushed to help him. He held out his arm to stop her and pretended not to see the hurt cross her beautiful features.

"Don't," he said harshly. "just...don't. Ever. Mention our parents."

She nodded, remorse and contrition widening her eyes and causing her to worry at her lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm sorry. And...hate me if you must, but...don't punish me by making me watch you be in pain. Please."

That hadn't been his intention. Once the thought entered his mind he felt...wrong. Lessened. Frankly, it made him feel like an asshole. "Okay," his voice was still rough from the pain. "I...I'm sorry, too. It's...I..."

Words had failed him, so he acted. He turned his hand so it became an invitation, an apology, and a gesture of regret. Her eyes still filled with tears, Fleur took his hand and helped him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close. He returned the grasp, resting his forehead against hers and sighing. "I...I think we should try this talk again," he whispered, "after we've been mended, I mean."

Fleur sniffed and swiped a finger under her eyes. "Okay. Let's just...get to the hospital wing and get you healed."

Then she pressed sad, gentle kiss to his lips, which he returned, hoping desperately that he hadn't just ruined any chance of being with her.

Ordinarily, Ben wasn't fond of the hospital wing. It smelled like antiseptic, which was weird, because he was sure magic made things cleaner than that. Also Madam Pomfrey, God love her, starched everything. The sheets, the pillowcases, the bed frames, everything. Even those stupid hospital pajamas she insisted all five of them wore. And you wouldn't know it, but overly starched pajamas and deep-sunburned skin didn't exactly mix.

Ron had done away with one of the sleeves, citing that he'd rather do the detention than deal with it rubbing on his shiny new burn. He looked like a glam rocker in a poster Ben saw once while wandering around London. He sat on one side of Ben's bed and couldn't stop running his fingers around the edge of his war wound. Hermione, who Ben sometimes thought would rather eat her own foot than damage school property, was suffering in silence.

But still, Ben thought, pouting, she doesn't have the worst sunburn in existence over most of her body.

Across the wing Harry and Fleur had originally been placed in two separate beds, but after Pomfrey had left to do something...medicinal in her office, Fleur had gone to Harry's bed and sat on the edge of it. They were talking quietly, she even had one of Harry's hands in hers, but...there was something different between the two of them. Something that worried Ben.

"You don't suppose they had a fight, do you?" he asked, pitching his voice low so as to not have it carry around the wing. Hermione gave the two of them a covert glance out of the corner of her eye, while Ron just up and looked. Subtlety, thy name is not Ron Weasley.

"We're all a bit on edge," Hermione said diplomatically. "I mean, I did sort of – "

"Threaten to hex me if I didn't stop talking?" Ron finished for her. "Yeah, and I felt like throwing up the whole way up here."

"You did, in the Entrance Hall." Ben reminded. Ron shot him a look.

"I didn't exactly forget, Ben." he gave Fleur and Harry another overt look. "Oh, they do look tense, don't they?"

Ben sighed. "Yeah. I was hoping it was just me, but..."

"They're both good people." Hermione reassured. "They'll work it out."

"Maybe..." Ben trailed off. Good, yes. Well-adjusted and emotionally stable? No. Not even close.

"How are you doing, mate?" Ron asked quietly.

Ooh, boy...

Hurt. Hurting. Tired. So tired. Not just from today, but just with the whole damn thing. Tired of waiting for the next attempt. Tired of being in these stupid starched pajamas. Tired of watching people pay the price for Voldemort's failures. And angry. At Voldemort, for everything. At Dumbledore, for not killing the son of a bitch when he had the chance, though that wasn't really fair. At himself.

"I'm fine," he finally said. Hermione snorted.

"Bullshit." she challenged. He looked to her in surprise and shock. She smiled. "You keep forgetting we know you, Ben. 'I'm fine' means nothing when it comes to you. After what we went through, today? No one is fine. I – I'm not. Ron isn't. Harry, you, Fleur, no one. So talk. Or I'll make you."

"How're you going to make me?" Ben challenged, feeling churlish now on top of everything else. Hermione's eyes narrowed and glinted.

Hermione did her best German interrogator and drawled, "Ve haff vays."

Ben sighed. Again. The effort of holding it all in was suddenly and rapidly becoming more effort than it was worth. "It's just too much," he admitted. "All of it. I mean, today it was a dragon, but what's it gonna be next time? Another basilisk? Two? A whole – what do you call a group of dragons, anyway - gaggle of dragons? Or is Voldemort gonna finally man up and just end it!? I'm tired of sitting around and waiting for him to cobble together his next convoluted attempt. I'm tired of the taunts, of the adulation of people who forget I was orphaned for my fame, of...everything. I'm just fucking tired."

Ron and Hermione were silent. He couldn't blame them. What do you say to that? He wouldn't know, were their positions reversed. But once again his friends surprised him. Ron narrowed his eyes and something...devilish entered them.

"Well," he said slowly. "if we're tired of the way the game's played, why don't we change it?"

"So, we stop waiting around and go after him? He doesn't have a body, Ron, that's going to make things difficult." Hermione pointed this out, quite reasonably. Ron shrugged.

"He's got followers, hasn't he? Malfoy, the Lestranges, Dolohov. We take them, what's he got left?"

Silence fell. Ben noticed then that Ron's voice had risen, not quite to a shout, but loud enough that Harry and Fleur heard. That realization had another on its heels. Right then, in the hospital wing,wearing chafing, overly starched pajamas, the idea of taking the fight to Voldemort was entirely too tempting.

Fleur took a deep, calming breath. The cold night air wasn't exactly refreshing, but as a contrast to that day, it was welcome. Her eyes drifted close as she tilted her head back and let the garden's calm quiet wash over her. It was easy to see why Harry came here when he needed to. And it was a certain irony that she'd come here because of him.

There was a loud, hurt part of her; the same part in charge of maintaining the wall between her and the rest of the world, that demanded she walk away. She had to, before he worked his way deeper and caused greater pain. Better to hurt herself know, it reasoned, just a little, than cause possible irrevocable damage later on. Then there was the quiet, selfish part of her that demanded she wrap her arms around him and never let go. She'd seen how kind he could be. How brave and strong and smart he was. The odds of meeting another person like him were low. And then...

Then there was the whisper. The one that said this was what life with him would be like. Life-and-death situations, fierce battles, wrung-out emotions. The kind of roller-coaster impossible to manufacture on purpose. It would only be a matter of time before somebody slipped, and died because of it. It would only be a matter of time before sooner or later, either Ben or Harry would have to kill someone.

Fleur didn't know – after only a few weeks – if the affection she bore for Harry was enough for her to go to war at his side. Which was why she'd come here. She'd been lying in bed in the carriage, thoughts chasing each other in a never ending circle of doubt, conviction, and doubt. The clock had ticked on and on and the moon had risen fully before she'd given up sleep and come up here. Hoping that the garden, or something in it, would help her make up her mind.

But as beautiful as the place was, with its ivy covered trellises and flower beds, its wrought iron pots with closed-bud flowers, it held no answers for her. Only a quiet winter's night.

For a while.

Then there was a small, wry laugh, and a voice she'd had dreams about – and probably would have tonight if she'd been able to sleep, said, "I should have known you'd be here."

She didn't need to turn to know Harry was to her right. She didn't need to open her eyes to imagine his expression; tired, bruised, regretful. Hopeful. Without opening her eyes she replied, "Maybe we should get a sign: Thinking Garden in Use, Go Elsewhere. We could hang it on the door when we're using it."

Another laugh, this one more humorous than wry. "That'd defeat the purpose of a hidden place, I think."

Her lips quirked up. "Very true." then she sighed, opened her eyes, and twisted in her seat to look at him. In the moonlight his skin looked paler, his bruises darker. His eyes seemed to burn brighter. She'd never seen someone so beautiful. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I shouldn't have said...any of what I did. I was worried about you and tired and exhausted and...it all just got away from me"

"No," he shook his head. "Not your fault. Not my fault." he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "This is my life, Fleur, all the time it's evil plot this, dangerous monster that, and political intrigue in between. If I don't...find something to laugh at, I honestly think I'd have killed myself long before now."

Fleur sat in silence for a long minute. Too long for him, it seemed.

"I'd understand, you know?"

"Understand what?"

He gestured faintly at him, then her. " If you don't want to do...this, anymore. I'd understand. My life is dangerous. People have died, and more likely will before this is done. So, if you want to walk away, I understand. I don't want you to – God, do I not want you to – but I won't stop you."

She blinked, then sighed. For the second time that day her emotions swirled a hurricane inside her. Worry, for him, for herself, for Ben. Fear, that they were right and someone would eventually pay the price. Anger that it had ever gotten this far, that Voldemort hadn't been smothered in his crib like the monster he was. And desire. She ached for him, wanted to wrap him around her and kiss him until the sun rose. The amount and intensity of what she felt staggered her. It scared her, too, that a boy she was only starting to know could bring such a strong reaction in her.

"I don't – " her throat was dry. She swallowed and tried again. "Today's been too much, you know, to make any kind of decision, but...I find myself wanting to promise I'll stay. Promise I'll help you. Promise that I'll...be with you."

Green eyes shone in the darkness. She watched as a handful of tears spilled shamelessly down his cheeks. His smile was small, quiet, a thing of tentative hope and joy. "You mean to say...?"

She rose and walked towards him, winding her arms around his neck. The feeling of his wrapping around her; one around her waist, the other with hand splayed across her back, sent warmth flowing through her body. "I mean to say," she whispered, looking up at him, "that tomorrow will be what it is. Today, I want you to kiss me."

His smile bloomed then, a thing of fierce joy. He dipped his head and kissed her, lighting a fire inside. Not lightning like in the books. There were no sparks, just a burning hunger for him. She smiled against his lips as he paused for breath and, when he laughed, pulled him back down to her.

Tomorrow, things might change. But that wasn't for a while yet.

Note: Without a doubt one of the hardest chapters I've ever written. Juggling three perspectives on the same fight without accidentally under or overplaying the power of either side. That is, I wanted both the dragon and the kids to be as close to what I thought them capable of as I could. Then there was the emotion of it all. Good God, my characters haven't hijacked a story from this bad since...ever. My original plan was for some light, post-fight banter and maybe some romance, along with some plot move-along-ing, which is a word I just made up. Instead you got this.

So, yeah...

I pushed the plot move-along-ing (new word!) to the beginning of the next chapter, because it fits the new, refined pace better. I'll never forgive them for this...

GV out.