The cold wind howled across the icy expanse of the frozen lake as Harry trudged across the slick surface. Each step echoed with a crunch as the frigid air bit at his exposed flesh, seeping into every inch of his skin. The ice rippled underneath him as if it was waiting for him to make one wrong step and pull him deep under the surface.

For the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out how he had ended up here. His memory felt foggy and muddled; he'd been somewhere else before this, and now...he was here. In the middle of nowhere, with nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. Nowhere...what was he saying again?

As he walked, Harry sensed a growing unease. The edges of his vision darkened, and the wind on the frozen lake howled in response, echoing off the ice and snow like a haunting melody. As the wind grew louder, Harry could feel it wrapping around him like a cocoon, whispering in his ears and tickling his shoulders.

His breath came out in short, sharp puffs, creating a thin layer of fog that danced in the air before dissipating. The sky overhead was a deep shade of indigo, with stars twinkling brightly in the blackness, casting an ethereal glow across the icy terrain.

Harry's attention was drawn to a strange disturbance in the ice ahead. A small ripple had formed on the surface, creating a pattern that seemed to swirl and twist like a whirlpool.

Approaching the disturbance with caution, Harry peered down into the icy depths. Suddenly, a shockwave of terror shot through him as he caught sight of his reflection staring back at him from below the ice.

But it wasn't his normal reflection. Instead, a twisted, monstrous version of himself with eyes as black as coal and skin as pale as the moon looked back at him. The reflection tried to reach up, grabbing at the icy surface, and its fingers tore through the thin layer of ice like it was paper.

Feeling his fight-or-flight response kick in, Harry tried to run, but his feet felt glued to the ice as the reflection pulled itself out of the water, dragging its misshapen body across the surface.

The air was thick with the sound of cracking ice as the reflection pursued its prey, reaching out with long, claw-like fingers. Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to free himself from the reflection's grasp, but it was no use.

"You need to listen to me," The reflection croaked out, dark ink spilling out of its mouth as it spoke. "We don't have much time. Use the book, do you hear me? Use the book."

Suddenly, Harry jolted awake, gasping for air as he sat up. The memory of the icy lake and the twisted reflection was still fresh in his mind as he tried to shake off the nightmare and find comfort in the warmth of...Fleur's arms?

Fleur.

Harry's vision was hazy and blurred at first, but as it cleared, he realized he wasn't alone. His body sagged with relief, but only for a moment. Despite the pleasant feeling of Fleur's soft, warm body curled around him, Harry could also feel her tears falling on his neck, dampening his skin. Her sobs were muffled, but Harry could hear the pain and sorrow in each one.

"Fleur," he said suddenly, tightening his arms around her. "Fleur, it's alright. I'm okay!"

"What happened?" Fleur pulled back and grabbed Harry's face. Her eyes were red and swollen, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her hair was a tangled mess, framing her face in a wild halo. "Why did you…"

"It happens sometimes when I get memories," Harry explained patiently, his heart cracking a little bit at the dejected look on Fleur's face. "It doesn't hurt, or anything. It's just…my body shutting down to handle it."

"This is all my fault," Fleur replied miserably, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. Heat bloomed at each point her fingers made contact with Harry's face. "If I hadn't hit you with that spell—"

"That's not true," Harry argued, lightly grabbing Fleur's wrist. He bit his lip. He wasn't going to tell her the whole truth, or any of it, but knowing she was beating herself up for something that probably wasn't her fault at all made Harry's insides squirm uncomfortably, "I need you to know that. Can you tell me that?"

"It was my fault," Fleur shook her head. "No matter how many times you tell me, no matter how many times everyone tells me, I know the truth, and I know what I saw, Harry. Do you understand how difficult that is?"

"I don't. I probably never will," Harry admitted. He gave Fleur what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "But if you really feel that guilty about it…I know what might help. You're my best friend, right?"

Fleur nodded resolutely. "Right."

"Then you can help me remember stuff better than anyone else," Harry smiled again. His smile wavered a bit as he added, "Because I had no idea Draco and I were…friends. My parents haven't mentioned him, either. Do you know why they'd do that?"

"Harry, you just fainted when I told you about him," Fleur reasoned. She frowned and brushed some strands of hair that were hanging in front of my eyes away. "You don't remember this, but when you had the dragon pox a few years ago, she almost went into a catatonic state with worry. You're getting your memories back at a decent pace, right? I think, more than anything, she's terrified that overloading you with information will mess things up."

Harry bit his lip, "I get that. But, at the same time, I feel like I'm grasping at straws here. Like, I had no idea about Draco. There aren't any pictures of him in my room, and he hasn't reached out to me yet, so how was I supposed to know?"

"There aren't pictures of anyone in your room, I don't think," Fleur's face was covered in a confused expression. "You don't like them. You weren't…aren't a sentimental person."

"What?" It was Harry's turn to be confused. He leaned back into the grass, his palms digging into the soft dirt. "But…my room is covered in pictures. Of you, I mean. That's why I was confused."

"Oh," Fleur turned bright red. She muttered something under her breath in French before asking, "Can I see? Maybe I'll be able to help you place some of them."

"Yeah," Harry replied, his heart beating a little bit faster. "I don't see why not."

"I always found this one so odd," Fleur said, running her fingers over the photobooth strip on Harry's bedside table. She traced the outline of their faces with a wistful expression, feeling the smooth, glossy texture of the paper beneath her fingertips. When she caught Harry looking, she smiled and said, "I didn't know you kept this. We took these pictures in a muggle contraption. It was my first time seeing pictures that didn't move."

Harry looked at the strip of photos, noticing the bright colors and the slightly grainy quality of the images. He could almost smell the faint scent of the chemicals used to develop the pictures.

"A photo booth," he offered, the words awakening a memory somewhere deep in his unconscious. Harry remembered the cramped space, the heat from the lights, and the musty smell of the curtains. If he focused hard enough, he could still see the crowded fairgrounds and still smell the fried food and cotton candy. "Foire Internationale de Bordeaux, right?"

Fleur's smile was bright. "Yes, that's right. Do you know what I remember most about that day? The taste of the cotton candy we had afterward. It was so sweet, almost sickly. Do you remember?"

Harry nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. "Yeah, I do. And the fried dough, too. They made sticks out of it, right?"

"Sticks? Mon dieu, Harry," Fleur laughed. Harry couldn't help but notice the way Fleur's eyes crinkled at the corners and her lashes fluttered whenever she laughed. He was struck by how vulnerable and open she looked in these moments—her eyes closed just a little bit as if she was savoring the joy of the moment, and Harry felt his heart swell with emotion. "Churros. They call them churros in Spain. But the ones at the fair were nothing like the ones you get in Madrid. Trust me."

"I will," Harry raised his hands. "I'll take your word for it. But, if I ever use that term without you and I get made fun of for it, I'm knocking down your door and demanding an apology."

They both shared a laugh. By the time they were done laughing, Harry's cheeks hurt, and Fleur was reaching back for the photos. "It's funny, though. I didn't know you kept your copy."

"Why wouldn't I?" Harry asked, his tone more curious than defensive. Fleur wheeled an oddly intense look at him, and he swallowed, feeling a sudden warmth in his cheeks, "I mean, it's a good picture. Right?"

"Right. It's just...you always seemed so focused," Fleur said, her gaze lingering on Harry's face. "Like you had this drive and determination that I found...find inspiring." She paused, searching for the right words. "But sometimes it made you seem closed off, you know? Like you were always chasing after something, and nothing else mattered."

Harry nodded, understanding what she meant. Even before he'd fallen through the veil, he had always been driven, even in the midst of chaos and danger. Based on what he knew about this world's Harry, he'd been much the same, maybe even more so.

Back home, Harry had Quidditch, and eventually, the DA. This Harry had quidditch, dueling, school, extracurriculars, and a whole friend group. In every facet of life, he seemed like this larger-than-life caricature; almost like a superhero.

Hearing Fleur articulate it so clearly made him realize just how much this Harry's focus had defined him. Maybe it defined him too much.

"I guess I never thought of it that way," Harry admitted, his eyes fixed on the photobooth strip. The other Harry looked happy, but not entirely there at the same time. His eyes looked empty. "I'm sure I just wanted to do what was right."

"I know," Fleur said, her voice softening. "And that's why I admire you so much. You have a rare kind of courage, Harry. The kind that doesn't give up, no matter what." She leaned closer, her hand resting on his shoulder. "But sometimes, it's okay to let go. To take a moment and just...be." Harry met Fleur's gaze, seeing the concern and affection in her eyes.

He knew that she understood him in a way that few others did and that her words carried a weight of wisdom born from experience. See, with Harry, it was his best guess as to how to handle things in this Harry's life. For her, she knew him inside and out.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the only sound the gentle rustling of the photo booth strip as Fleur turned it over in her hands.

Finally, Harry spoke. "Thank you, Fleur. For everything."

Fleur smiled, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Anytime, mon cher. But don't let it go to your head."

They both laughed, the tension broken. And for a moment, Harry felt something shift inside him. He remembered, "And what about all the other kids in these pictures?"

"Our friends," Fleur followed Harry's gaze. "Aimee. Jean. Camille. And I think that the last one is Lexi. She transferred to Hogwarts a few years ago."

"So, they're our friends?" Harry asked. "And Draco?"

"Yes, he's also in our friend group," Fleur nodded. She licked her lips, "I'm…hesitant to say anything about him. Your last reaction scared me, Harry."

"I understand," Harry said. Just the nugget of information from Fleur had been enough; he knew he could ask Lily about it later. Though, the presence of Draco in his life here begged the question—how much truly had changed?

This world was entirely different from the one he knew. When he'd originally been tossed backward in time, Harry had mistakenly assumed that his knowledge of what was to come and what had already transpired was a boon—that somehow, knowing what he knew could help him not make the mistakes this time around.

So far, it had been nothing but a hindrance.

"Do I have any other uncles?" Harry wondered aloud. "I mean, other than, uh, Lucius."

"Um, that I know of? A few. I've met your uncle, Peter," Harry's eyes widened imperceptibly. Peter Pettigrew?

Fleur raised her hand and began ticking down fingers. "I know you have an uncle Vernon, though your families don't meet frequently, if ever. You have your uncle Edgar and your cousin Susan. Your uncle Baxter and your aunt Chrissy have Viola, who's in her 2nd year with us at school. Uh, there's your uncle Sirius, but don't tell your parents I mentioned him—"

"Wait, Sirius is alive?" He couldn't help but feel a wide smile stretch across his face. Harry felt a sense of joy bubble up inside him, radiating from his heart and out to his limbs.

"Yes, he's alive," Fleur said slowly. "But he's your uncle in name only. As far as I know, you've never met him."

"What?" The joy that was bubbling up in Harry's body abruptly stopped, like a tap that had been turned off. "Why not?"

"He's the reason your family had to move to France," Fleur pursed her lips, "He betrayed your family to the Dark Lord. He never gave a reason, never apologized—and since then, your mom and dad haven't spoken to him, and neither have you. The most he's mentioned around here is when he ratifies a new bill in the Wizengamont or leads a motion. It's never good."

"That's…horrible," Harry swallowed. He left his world chasing after Sirius. For a brief, fleeting moment, he was convinced that it had all been worth it, but now, he wasn't so sure. "Thank you for telling me."

"Of course, Harry," Fleur said solemnly, patting his hand. Her eyes flickered, and she hesitated before saying, "Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry replied.

"It's…nice to see you like this," Fleur whispered as if she was scared that the whole world might hear her if she spoke too loudly. Her fingers curled into Harry's hand, her grip growing painfully strong. "For so long, you've been, I don't know, burdened. Distracted. We've been friends since we were kids, and we always will be, but you've changed a lot in the last few years. Don't get me wrong, you were still you, but it felt like something was missing. Seeing you smile again, well, it makes me feel like it's back. Whatever it is."

"Well, I don't want to jinx it, but I'm not going anywhere," Harry smiled, not shrinking away from Fleur's contact.

There was a pop from downstairs, and Harry and Fleur both jolted as if they'd been shocked by electricity. "Probably my mom."

Harry was right. A few moments later, Lily appeared in the doorway of his bedroom, her eyes brightening at the sight of Harry and Fleur together. "Harry! Fleur!"

Fleur got off the bed to give Lily a hug, while Harry watched on, smiling. Lily patted Fleur's back and they continued making small talk, until eventually, Lily asked, "Do you want to stay for dinner, Fleur? It's lasagna night."

"I would love to," Fleur said brightly, a smile forming on her face. There was a relaxed air about her now—her shoulders had lost some of the tension from before. "Let me Floo my maman and let her know."

"Of course," Lily said with a smile, moving to the side so Fleur could walk by. Once Fleur was on her way down the stairs, Lily gave Harry a knowing smile and slowly sat next to him on the bed. "How are you today, sweetie?"

"I feel good," Harry replied honestly. He rubbed the back of his head, "I had a bit of a memory overload when Fleur mentioned Draco, but other than that, no hiccups."

"Yeah," Lily said quietly. "I had a feeling you would. Back when I was living at home, around my sixth year, my sister—your aunt, Chrissy—was studying for nursing school. Reading case studies, I think. There was one in there about this patient; a biker who got into a horrible accident. The patient was able to remember facts and information related to his job as a musician but couldn't remember his own name or personal information. The main takeaway from it, for me, anyway, was that certain types of memories are more resistant to the effects of amnesia than others."

Harry remembered the name Chrissy from Fleur's rundown of his family tree. In this universe, it appeared his mother had two sisters, and he had a brand new cousin he was sure hadn't existed in his world, "And you thought the same thing happened, or, well, is happening to me?"

"Kind of. I've been observing the way your memory recall works, and it seems like you're remembering everyone close to you first, which is good on paper. When we mention relatives or show you pictures, the initial process of memory retrieval starts pretty reliably," Lily sighed, placing a comforting hand on Harry's arm. "But I can't stand seeing you in pain or discomfort like that. That kind of fast-paced influx is just horrendous for me to watch, Harry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"No, you don't have to be sorry," Harry's insides felt warm, like he'd drank a cup of hot cocoa. "I…thank you for looking out for me."

"I'm your mom," Lily said with a smile, planting a kiss on Harry's forehead, "It's what I do. That's enough of being down in the dumps for now. Let's go make some lasagna with your girlfriend."

"Mom," Harry said, a blush forming on his face. When he realized what he'd just said, the blush tripled, and Lily giggled, pulling him off the bed. "Fleur and I…it's not…we're not…"

"There's my boy. Now come on."

Cooking had never been fun for Harry as a child. In his past world, it was a punishment. A requirement.

Harry could still remember all those times, standing in the Dursleys' cramped kitchen, trying to whip up something edible from the mismatched ingredients they'd left him. It wasn't just the cooking that bothered him, though. It was the way they treated him like he was their personal servant like he was nothing more than a pair of hands to do their bidding.

Though, admittedly, the cooking was the worst of it. He wasn't a bad cook, mind you. His aunt Petunia had taught him a thing or two about making meals when he was younger. But the Dursleys were never satisfied with what he made. They'd complain about the flavor, the texture, and even the way he plated the food. And then, of course, they'd tell him to clean up the mess he'd made.

He tried not to let it bother him, really. He knew they weren't worth getting upset over. But there were times when he just couldn't take it anymore. When he'd be standing there, stirring the pot and feeling their eyes on him, he'd think: This isn't fair. I shouldn't have to do this.

Like a lot of things, though, cooking in this world was way better.

As Harry stood in the kitchen, surrounded by the savory aroma of bubbling tomato sauce and fresh basil, he couldn't help but feel content.

Lily stood beside him, her hands deftly layering the lasagna noodles in the baking dish. Fleur, ever the eager sous-chef, stirred the simmering sauce with a wooden spoon. The warm glow of the oven bathed the kitchen in a soft light, casting shadows across the countertops and illuminating the steam that rose from the saucepan.

Harry's only job was to take care of Wisteria. He'd offered to help out in the actual cooking itself, but both Fleur and Lily were vehemently against it.

It was nice to see, though. Fleur's comfort around Lily betrayed years of familiarity, and Harry enjoyed playing with Wisteria.

Lily tended to work in silence in the kitchen, a trait Harry seemed to have inherited from her. The only sounds coming from her side of the kitchen were the occasional clink of the baking dish or the soft rustle of the lasagna noodles.

Fleur was the opposite. She was constantly humming, tapping her fingers against the various surfaces, or even singing softly. As she worked, Harry noticed the way Fleur's eyes lit up when she tasted the sauce. It was as if the combination of herbs and spices had unlocked some hidden pleasure center in her brain.

Not that Harry got to look at either of them too long. Wisteria was a bit cranky from earlier, seeing as her 'Hara' time got hijacked by Fleur, and by extension, Mitsy. Despite being a fraction of his size, she kept trying to get his attention by yelling at him or throwing things, and the last thing Harry wanted was for Wisteria to be sad, so he made sure to conk her nose an appropriate number of times.

The timer beeped, signaling that it was time to put the lasagna in the oven. Together, Fleur and Lily carefully placed the dish inside and closed the door. The smell of bubbling cheese and crispy pasta wafted through the kitchen, and Harry's mouth watered in anticipation.

"That sauce looked amazing, Fleur," Lily complimented. A mischievous grin formed on her face as she said, "Harry won't ever go hungry with you around."

Fleur blushed and went to reply when there was a loud ring that echoed through the very foundations of the house.

"Is the lasagna done already?" Harry asked, but his eyebrows scrunched together when he saw Lily's face pale. "What's going on?"

"Someone's trying to enter our wards," Lily said hurriedly, her face flashing through a broad spectrum of emotion, before settling on determination. "I'm going to call James."

A feeling of protectiveness filled Harry's body. It was a sensation like no other, a rush of power and strength that coursed through his veins like a river.

The air around him seemed charged, almost electric, as he moved to the window, ignoring Fleur's cry of warning.

He almost tripped when he saw who it was.

The man was dressed in a tailored suit that looked like it had been made just for him. The fabric was a luxurious blend of wool and silk, the kind that only the wealthy could afford. The suit was charcoal gray, with a faint pinstripe pattern that gave it a subtle sense of sophistication.

His pants were impeccably pressed, and the cuffs were just the right length to show off a pair of polished black leather shoes. His shirt was a crisp, white button-down with a high collar and French cuffs. The material looked like it was made from the finest cotton, and it gleamed in the light. A silver tie bar held his dark blue tie in place, adding a touch of elegance to his ensemble.

Perhaps it was the way he held himself, with a confidence bordering on arrogance. Or maybe it was the silver-tipped cane that he carried, like a symbol of his power and influence. No, it was definitely the look in his eyes when he saw Harry. It all seemed right on par with the way Fleur had described him.

Sirius Black had come to visit the Potters.

AN: Sorry I took so much time away from this fic! It's always on my mind, though, so don't worry about that. I'm working on a more consistent upload schedule so I can work on all 3 of my fics at once, so hopefully that's the longest break between chapters for a long while, lol.

I'm still kind of getting my bearings with this story, so sorry if things seem a bit wonky. I think I'm getting a feel for the vibe of it, though, so I'm looking forward to what comes next.

Thanks for sticking with the story!