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Chapter Five
The Reality Ahead
Finished chasing each other around the yard an hour or so later, Sirius put his arm around Harry's shoulders as they walked back to the Burrow.
"Thanks for coming to my defense today, but if you ever do it again, I'll curse you myself."
"What else was I supposed to do?"
Sirius rolled his eyes and muttered something about Harry being just like James again. But as they reached the back door, he put his hand out, stopping Harry from going inside.
When Harry looked up at his godfather, he saw the adoration that had been missing from his life. He knew instinctively that this was the same way his father would have look at him.
"There are very few people in this world that have the ability to comfort others the way you did today, after all you've been through. Your mother would be unbelievably proud. I think your father would've as well, though he'd be just as proud of the fact that it was two beautiful witches you were comforting."
Remus snorted.
"Might as well do it while I still can," Harry thought, not realizing he said it out loud.
"What was that?" Remus asked.
"Nothing."
"Harry," Sirius growled at him.
The two adults looked at each other before Sirius started again. "I want to know what you meant by that."
At first, Harry was reluctant to tell them about the Horcruxes, but he had to talk with someone and if he trusted anyone, it was these two. They had the privileged position of being both friends and adults, rather than just authority figures; Sirius much more than Remus, but . . . Harry let out a breath. "It's something I saw in Dumbledore's office. He gave me a memory to look at."
"And?" Sirius prodded.
"Do you know what 'Horcruxes' are?" he finally asked.
"Can't say that I do," Sirius answered. "How about you, Remus?"
"Haven't heard of them."
Harry walked back to the picnic table and sat down. The other two followed, eyeing each other warily. When they reached the table, Harry asked Remus to put up a spell to stop anyone from listening.
"It's done. Now what's on your mind?"
"No one can hear?"
"No one," Remus assured Harry.
"Okay. Do you know how Voldemort is still alive?"
"Nobody really knows."
"I do. I helped him."
"You can't blame yourself," Sirius reminded him. "They bound you and took your blood."
"That's not what I mean. I helped keep him alive the last thirteen years." He definitely had their attention now.
"You're going to tell me everything you know about this, now," Sirius commanded. "If we want to stop Voldemort, every piece of information is crucial."
Harry realized he was right and began to explain.
"Voldemort made Horcruxes. 'A Horcrux is a piece of the soul placed into something else for safekeeping,'" Harry quoted one of the books he read back in the library. "In order to make one, you split your soul and put half of it into something else—no, that's not right. You actually crack your soul into a bunch of pieces and put one of those pieces into something else."
"How exactly does that happen?" asked Remus again.
"Murder. According to what I read over Dumbledore's shoulder in the memory, when a wizard murders someone, the soul cracks. The books say it will heal over time, depending on how remorseful you are. So, if you want to make a Horcrux, you murder someone and crack your soul, then use Dark Magic to put part of it into an object. Until the object is destroyed, you can never be killed because part of your soul is always safe. That's what Voldemort did. It was his Horcruxes that kept him from dying."
Remus sat down on the bench. "I notice you're using the plural."
"Yeah, Dumbledore figured that he created at least one of them on purpose and a second one on accident."
"Accident?"
"Yep. An accidental Horcrux happens when a Horcrux has been created, then before the soul has a chance to heal itself, that person murders someone else in the presence of very strong magic."
"Blood wards," Sirius whispered. "That's what you meant by helping him live. You're telling us that you're the accidental Horcrux?"
"Dumbledore thought that was why my scar hurt."
"And the other one?" Remus asked.
Harry noticed that he seemed to have aged from the conversation.
"I destroyed it years ago, before I even knew what it was, so there is one left to destroy." he pointed to his head.
"Where in the BLOODY HELL did you learn this tripe?" Sirius demanded, forgetting that Harry had just told him.
"Like I said, a book. It was in Dumbledore's office. I saw it in one of the memories he showed me."
"Books on the Dark Arts are just as often wrong in the particulars as they are right," Remus reminded Harry.
"It seemed to work for Voldemort, didn't it? Dumbledore believed it too."
"So you're telling me that in order for Voldemort to die, you must die too?" Sirius asked, bordering on outrage.
"It looks that way, unless there is another way that Dumbledore didn't know."
"Bugg—"
Remus quickly cast a second spell, limiting them from hearing Sirius's expletive binge. "Let's go inside. Sirius will come in when he's finished. I've seen him last like this for three-quarters of an hour, and they're words you don't need to learn for a very long time."
Harry nodded and started walking back to the Burrow. Remus caught up with him and whispered, "Don't worry Harry. Once Sirius calms down, we're going to find out what this is all about and figure out a different way for you to get this . . . Horcrux out of your head.
"Thanks." He smiled at Remus, but it was only for his former professor's benefit. Harry knew what his future held. If it ran true to his past, there could only be one path. He again would have to make a sacrifice so others could go on about their life.
Harry didn't know the phrase "Passover lamb," but that was exactly what he believed of himself. He would have to die so that death would pass over others. Some might even call it a messiah complex, but that wouldn't be right. At age fourteen, Harry just thought that was how things were.
Dinner was a quiet affair. The reality of the last twenty-four hours settled over the Burrow like a winter fog that permeated the skin, leaching away warmth and comfort.
"How are you coping, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked.
"I don't know. I feel like my insides are about to explode, it hurts so much, and a bit later, I'm laughing and carrying on like nothing happened. I feel guilty for laughing and that makes me feel like my insides are about to explode again."
"Good," She said, surprising Harry. "Believe it or not, that's normal." She ladled more stew into his bowl. "Everyone deals with death differently. Some laugh and make jokes about it, others cry and mourn, and still others do neither or both. What do you think the twins would be doing now to deal with their grief?"
Harry thought about it for a few seconds. "I don't know, maybe find whoever did it and make one of their pranks accidentally go wrong."
"Possible," she allowed, and refilled Fleur's bowl over her muted protests. "However, I think they'd be in here with those blasted stink bombs and whatever it was that left feathers all over their room last summer, maybe even a few fireworks. Could you see them doing that?"
Harry gazed off into the kitchen, remembering the first time he was there. The twins and Ron were in trouble for taking the flying car to break him out of the Dursley's house. Entering the back door, the Burrow felt so much more like a home should feel. The biggest difference wasn't the mess, the chaos, or anything else such as that. It was a mum that loved her children.
He thought about the twins teasing Mrs. Weasley about fancying Lockhart and de-gnoming the garden that day. Whatever the situation, they had a joke or prank for it, including trying to cheer him up with the Marauder's map and other types of mischief over the last couple years at school. They did it that way because it was their nature.
"Yeah," Harry finally answered. "They'd probably take it as a challenge to make everyone laugh."
"Would that have meant they didn't care about their father or sister or brothers?"
"No," he admitted. "But I still don't feel right being able to laugh after their deaths."
"Neither did we." Sirius pushed his stew away. "But in the first war, your father, Remus and I quickly learned that it's more important to feel something, than nothing at all. Anything you feel right now, is the right thing to feel, regardless of whether it's having fun, being sad, or even anger. It's only when you don't feel anything, that you need to worry, okay?"
Harry tried to process that, but it didn't make sense. "So it's okay to act as if I couldn't care less that my two best mates are dead?"
"That's not what he's saying," Remus cut in. "When you were talking with Cho on the couch, Susan Bones was in here crying so hard she almost hyperventilated. We had to put up a couple of spells so she wouldn't interrupt you. But by the time you were finished comforting Cho, Susan was able to tease you about taking witches into a broom closet. Dealing with death is like that. It's like chasing a Snitch and you just have to go with it."
"But—"
Sirius leaned in to make sure he had Harry's full attention. "Remember, the only death you are familiar with, happened when you were a baby. This is going to be different."
"I guess so."
Mrs. Weasley reached over and pulled him into a hug. "I cried for hours last night. Then this morning when you came through the door, I was the ecstatic. This evening however, when you came through the same door and Ron wasn't with you, I went back into my room and cried for an hour. But that doesn't mean I didn't have fun today. I really enjoyed smacking your godfather around this morning at breakfast."
"That's always fun," Remus quipped, and smacked Sirius on the back of the head. A moment later, the two of them were chasing each other around the Burrow and casting jinxes everywhere. Harry and the two witches hid behind shield charms and laughed.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
Later that night, they were all in the sitting room. Sirius was still twitching from a particularly nasty jinx.
"Molly, you wouldn't happen to have a shirt I could sleep in, would you?" Fleur asked.
"Sure. I'd offer you one of my nightgowns, but my daughter swore she'd never wear one. She said it made me look like 'a cow with a hip engorgement charm.'"
Sirius laughed, spraying butterbeer all over himself. "Damn it, Molly!"
She pulled out her wand and cleaned it up in one pass. "Arthur spewed Firewhisky across the room when she said it."
"Spew?" Harry repeated.
"Yeah, he—" Molly began, but was cut off by Harry.
"No, SPEW. I can't believe I forgot about the House Elves!"
"But I don't have a house-elf," Molly said, confused by the change in conversation.
"No, the house-elves at Hogwarts. How could I go all day without finding out if Dobby and Winky are alive? I have to go back there."
"NO!" three voices shouted at the same time.
"What is so special about this 'ouse-elf?" Fleur asked.
"He's my friend. He tried to help me a couple of years ago." Harry left out the part about how Dobby had tried to help him. It was some of the most painful help Harry had every received, but he was still grateful.
"If 'e is bound to you, then just call 'is name and 'e will 'ear you."
"But he isn't bound to me. He's a free elf."
"You can still try. If 'e likes you that much, 'e may still 'ear you."
"Really?"
"You've nothing to lose," Sirius answered. "Might as well try."
Harry looked back and forth between Fleur and Sirius. They were both watching him with expressions that alternated between awe at his ability to care for others and sadness at another potential loss.
"Dobby!" Harry called, without much conviction, but to his surprise, the house-elf appeared in the Burrow.
"Harry Potter is alive?"
"I am." Harry laughed and slid down to the floor, bracing himself for what was coming. Dobby ran at him, slamming into him and throwing his arms around Harry's neck.
"Dobby be glad Harry Potter lives. Dobby thought Harry Potter. . . that Harry Potter had. . ."
"It's okay, Dobby. I didn't. How are you and Winky?"
Dobby's eyes widened to twice their normal size. "Dobby should learn not to be surprised by the greatness of Harry Potter. He even asks about house-elves after the terrible battle."
"Of course I would, Dobby. You're my friend. I want to know if you're okay."
"Dobby is honored by Harry Potter. Dobby and Winky is okay."
A change came over Dobby and his demeanor was one of such hatred, Fleur caught herself reaching for her wand.
"Bad, bad wizards come. They saying Harry Potter is dead and they be killing Dumbledore. But already sir, we know about Dumbledore, yes we did. We be house-elves. We know when master dies."
"Master?" Harry interrupted.
"Yes, Harry Potter. Even if he pays Dobby, Dobby considers him master while working there because he is great wizard like Harry Potter. But the bad wizards be killing master and want to live at Hogwarts. We don't let them, sir, not at all."
"What do you mean," Harry asked.
"House-elves are powerful in magic. More than wizards believe. Wards and bonding to families limited magic, but Dumbledore freed house-elf magic, yes he did." Dobby's eyes narrowed and a feral grin appeared. It was the most dangerous Harry had ever seen the elf. "It comes as nasty surprise to bad wizards in masks and black robes. They not be trying that again for a while."
Sirius whistled. "A brassed off house-elf with freed magic is a terror to behold."
Molly and Remus nodded in agreement while Fleur sat there stunned. She'd never thought of house-elves as anything more than servants. Of course, she treated them nicely. But the idea of befriending one, or the concept of a free house-elf fighting for a wizard never crossed her mind.
"Be careful, Dobby." Harry warned him. "There's no need for you to get hurt in a stupid Wizarding war."
"Dobby is free elf and friends with Harry Potter because he is a great wizard and freed Dobby from bad master. Dobby chooses to fight on the side of Harry Potter. Does sir call me to discuss strategy, or does Harry Potter have something for me to do?" he asked, bouncing on his heels in anticipation.
Fleur sat quietly on the settee, watching the unbound house-elf treat Harry like he was a beloved master. It was just one more piece in a very strange puzzle.
"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind getting our stuff from school," Harry asked. "Oh, and could you tell my owl, Hedwig, that I'm at the Burrow. She'll know where it is."
Dobby's face lit up. "Thank you Harry Potter. I do it right away." Before Harry could say another word, the elf disappeared.
Fleur laughed. "Is everyday like this for 'Arry Potter?"
Harry slid back into his chair. "What do you mean?"
"'Arry Potter," she mimicked Dobby again, "since this morning; sir has been at wand point once; told off the 'ead of a major government ministry; 'ad two pretty witches kiss you, one on the lips; and two witches crying on your shoulder; and 'ad a 'ouse-elf that is not bound to you, worship the ground you walk on."
"Let's not forget," Sirius tagged on, "that Harry Potter woke up next to a beautiful young witch this morning as well."
"That's right! 'E was even using me as a pillow!"
Harry would have rather played Quidditch naked than sitting in the Burrow at that moment.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
Fleur levitated Harry's trunk up the stairs an hour later.
Once in the room, Harry opened his trunk and took out clothes for the night. "I'm going to take a shower, do you—"
"I 'ope you're not inviting me to shower with you? What kind of witch do you think I am?" Fleur teased.
Harry turned bright red (again).
She decided to let him off the hook. "Thanks for the warning 'Arry, but no. I don't need the bathroom." Fleur walked back down the stairs, turning pink and questioning why she would even think to say such a thing to him.
Back in the sitting room, she noticed a picture of Harry and the other Gryffindors from his year, lying on the table. She picked it up and studied it.
"Remus, you were 'Arry's professor last year, no?" she asked after a few minutes.
"I was, what is on your mind?"
"Could you tell me who this is?"
Remus leaned over and looked. "That's Neville Longbottom."
"Why does 'e look like 'Arry?"
"What do you mean? I thought they looked nothing alike."
"Physically, no. But a Veela learns to always look at body language and facial expressions, especially around the eyes. Because of our abilities, we must be able to determine when a wizard is in control of 'imself, or when we are affecting 'im. It teaches us to see many things in the expression. In this picture, there are three boys whose eyes betray them."
Remus looked at the picture and saw only his students from the previous year. He looked back at Fleur for an explanation.
"See this boy 'ere? What is 'is name?"
"Seamus Finnigan."
"Watch 'ow 'e laughs, but 'is eyes do not. When people laugh, their eyes get wider, or smaller. 'Is stay the same. I think 'e 'as seen violence, and expects to see more. 'E doesn't come from a nice place, no?"
"His home was Belfast. He's seen a lot of violence in his life."
"Then, there is Neville and 'Arry. They are uncomfortable around other people, like they don't know who they are. That's clear in the body language. But something 'as 'appened to them too, and that something controls them. Watch 'ow there eyes. . . 'ow do you say it, flit? Yes, flit back and forth like they are waiting for an old 'orror to return, something that they can't stop, like fate. These eyes are old. 'Arry's are much older and 'ave grown even older since last night; but neither wizard, as young as they are, should 'ave eyes like this."
Remus stared at the picture. "It makes sense I guess. You know Harry's story, or at least the larger parts of it. But Neville, he lost his parents a couple of days after Harry did."
"They were killed too?"
"No. His parents were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse for twelve hours. The Order shared many of the same wards, so the person who betrayed Harry's parents was able to tell the Death Eaters what wards they would come against. It was how Voldemort got passed the inner wards so quickly when he came after Harry, and it was how Neville's parents only woke up when they heard the Death Eaters in the house. They barely had enough time to hide Neville in the closet and put the proper charms on it. It probably saved Neville since they couldn't hear him cry. Unfortunately, no one else could either and he almost died from dehydration and malnourishment. In a last attempt to find him three days later, his grandmother went room by room and discovered the closet under an inventive Notice-Me-Not charm."
"'Ow do you know this?"
"I was the one leading a group of Order members to find Neville. After seeing him last year, I wondered if permanent damage had been done by my failure to find him sooner, but from what I heard today, I guess not."
"What 'appened to 'is parents then?"
"They're living in St. Mungo's, tortured into madness.
Fleur shook her head. "It is so unfair. Unfair for 'Arry, for this Neville, for the families that lost their children last night."
"Unfair?" Sirius echoed as he walked back into the room from the kitchen. "There is no such thing as fairness, not a damn shred of it in this life; especially for Harry."
Fleur caught the look he shared with Remus, and read it as well.
"What is wrong with 'Arry!" she demanded.
"Nothing I can talk about," Sirius answered. "You'll have to ask him."
"C'est des conneries!—'ow do you say in English. . . this is bullshit! First 'is family is killed. Then I find out 'is relatives are abusing 'im. The family that adopted 'im died last night. Then there is the prophecy and now you are saying there is something else?"
"What prophecy?" Remus asked, though it came out very close to a growl.
"The prophecy that was said when 'e was born. 'Arry must be the one to kill Voldemort. Neither can live while the other survives, it says. 'Arry was marked by Voldemort as 'is equal and now, 'e cannot escape it. What the 'ell else can 'appen to the boy?"
Silence.
Finally, the chair creaked as Remus got up to go to bed. "You'd be surprised," he whispered, suddenly too exhausted to stay awake.
Fleur pondered Remus's surprising last words while losing herself in the picture of the five young Gryffindor men. It was taken after a Quidditch win and Harry, despite what she pointed out to Remus, still looked happy.
After deciding she'd given Harry enough time to finish his shower, Fleur went upstairs to return the picture.
The light was on and the door ajar. Quietly, she pushed it open and looked in. Harry was standing with his back to her, stripped naked and drying himself off. Try as she might, Fleur couldn't turn away. She was entranced and enraged by the same red, blue, purple, and green lines on his shoulders and back that girl Cho was tracing this afternoon. They looked like interlocking spider webs, spreading out from every place Voldemort's curses had hit Harry's body.
As she watched, Harry took a sock from the trunk, muttered a simple cleaning charm, and laid it on his arm where the Death Eater sliced it open. With one end in his teeth, he managed to tie it, using it as a makeshift bandage, but Fleur noticed part of the sock was already turning red. Harry ignored it and put on a pair of boxers.
"'Arry?" she called quietly when he had them on. She caught the immediate flood of pheromones in the air again as Harry answered.
"Wait a second, I'm not dressed."
"Too late. I'm already in 'ere. You left this downstairs, I thought I'd bring it up to you." She handed over the picture.
"Oh, thanks," he said, taking it from her and putting it on the table.
Fleur stepped towards him and ran her hand lightly across his back. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what?" he asked as he turned around to face her.
"About this," she said, tracing the marks on his chest now. "These are broken blood vessels. It took a lot of force to do that." She paused. "Lie down, 'Arry."
"Why?" he gulped, not really getting the single-word question out.
Fleur smirked as she heard the question for what he was really asking. "Because I'm going to 'eal you, you silly boy."
Harry laid down on his stomach. When he was situated, she gently touched the center of a mass of multi-colored lines with her wand. Harry jerked, his body almost clearing the mattress.
"'E really 'urt you, didn't 'e?"
"It hurts a little," Harry said, not really answering her question. "I think I was more surprised by the wand touching me."
Fleur let out an exasperated sigh, realizing Cedric was right. Harry really did minimize everything.
She began again, this time placing her hand gently on his back, then resting her wand on the back of her hand and lifting up on the backend. As the tip lightly touched his skin, she whispered a charm and watched as his hands flexed once in response to the pain. The purple mark turned green, then yellow, then disappeared completely.
She removed her wand and pressed lightly on the spot. "Does it 'urt now, 'Arry?"
"No, how did you do that?"
Once again proving she was a quick learner, Fleur ignored the question and flicked the center of the newly healed spot with her finger.
"Ouch!" Harry yelled, and definitely cleared the mattress this time.
"I knew you were lying, 'Arry Potter!" Fleur spat out in a rush of emotion, her accent thickening. "The next time I ask eef eet 'urts, and eet does, I expect you to say, OUI!"
"We?" Harry asked, reaching up to massage the spot on his shoulder.
"Oui!" She responded, forcefully.
"Why 'we'? Why not 'us', or 'my', or even 'I'? I'd think 'yes' would work even better."
Fleur tried to hold on to her scowl. "Now 'e's trying to be cute?" she mumbled.
"Eef you think I'm cute," said Harry, playfully mocking her accent (and surprising himself), "Gabrielle weel be very jhealous."
"You are impossible!" she huffed, turned red, then lost the battle to keep the scowl. They both laughed.
Ten minutes later, Harry's back was feeling much better. An amused Fleur wondered if it was the spells, or having her hands all over his shoulders, back, and down his side to the top of his hip bones that had helped the most.
"I think I'm finished with your back. Now turn over."
"No."
"What? Why not?" she asked, genuinely surprised.
"I don't think that's a very good idea at the moment."
Fleur scrunched her eyebrows together, trying to figure out what was wrong. But once she caught the strong scent of pheromones again, she realized Harry was probably having that problem, and was trying to save her from noticing.
"That's okay 'Arry. We'll take care of those bruises tomorrow," she suggested, inwardly touched at his consideration. She'd known too many wizards that would have tried to take advantage of the situation.
"Goodnight, 'Arry."
"Goodnight," he mumbled back.
She was almost through the door when she heard him again.
"Fleur?"
"Oui?" she answered. They smiled, but Harry's smile faltered rather quickly.
"Thank you."
Fleur heard the words, but saw much more. The broken spirit and deadness had returned. She'd hoped that finding Sirius alive would have changed it, but it was a vain hope.
She walked back to him and sat on the bed. "Non, 'Arry, it is you I need to thank, and ask for forgiveness. this year I 'ave treated you like the leetle boy I thought you were. But instead, I find in the second task, then again last night, that you are a 'ero trapped in a young man's body."
Harry tried to speak, but Fleur put her finger on his lips. "Non, please listen. Your 'Eadmaster told me that I was the third life you 'ad saved—why are you laughing?"
"No reason, please go on," said Harry, trying to stop.
"Non! I want to know."
"It's nothing, I promise."
"'Arry, if you don't tell me, then the next time we are in public, I will throw my Veela magic at you and make you embarrass yourself."
"Resorting to threats now?"
"If that is what it takes, yes," she answered with her own self-assured smile.
"Don't you mean 'Oui'?"
"'Arry!"
"Alright, alright." He grinned at her response. There was just something about the way she said his name.
"It's just that, well, I guess he miscounted."
"Miscounted?"
"Never mind. It's late and if Mrs. Weasley finds you sitting on my bed, we're both in trouble."
"Don't change the subject," she demanded in mock anger. "Who mis. . . No! You mean you've saved more then three people?"
"When we were Firsties, Ron and I saved Hermione from a mountain troll that had been set loose in Hogwarts, though somehow I managed to get my wand stuck up its nose. It was not fun cleaning it that night."
"A mountain troll?"
"Yeah," Harry laughed at the memory now. "Scared the goblins out of us, too. But we did it. When the Professors caught up, Hermione lied to get Ron and I out of trouble for sneaking off. That was the day the three of us became best mates. Except for spats here and there, we've been inseparable pretty much ever since."
"'Arry, after everything else, I 'ave learned to believe you. But do you know 'ow incredible that sounds?"
Harry turned to lie on his side so he could face her better. "It was the best thing that could have happened to us. I guess it prepared us for the last few years, like the time Ron and I went down to find Ginny. . ." his voice trailed off. "Fleur?"
"Oui?"
"Are you using your Veela magic on me?"
Fleur raised an eyebrow. "Non, why do you ask?"
"This is the first time I have ever told this type of stuff to anyone other than Ron, Hermione, or Dumbledore, so why am I telling you?"
"I don't know 'Arry. But I am 'appy you trust me enough to tell me."
She stood up to leave again. "I should be going to bed."
"Thanks again," Harry said. He pulled the sheet and blanket up to his neck. But Fleur could still see him pull his knees up to his chest, his elbows tucked in. The dichotomy again baffled her. After showing so much strength and power, here he lay in bed like a helpless child, afraid to be left alone in a room . . .
. . . left alone in this room. His best friend's room. The same one who died last night. "'Arry, do you want me to sleep in the other bed?"
"No, it's okay. You'll probably be more comfortable in Ginny's bed."
"You are the most stubborn wizard! Don't lie to me."
Harry seemed to sink deeper into the bed and looked completely vulnerable. "I've never been in this room alone at night. Everywhere I look, I see Ron. I keep expecting him or Hermione or Ginny or one of the twins to walk through the door. Every time they don't, it's like they die all over again."
It took her all of a second to make her decision. A few minutes later, Fleur walked back up the stairs to the bedroom, wearing an old t-shirt that she hadn't worn since last summer and knickers. As she entered the room, Harry caught his breath and groaned quietly before turning over to face the wall. But as he did, he grunted in pain.
"Are you alright?" she asked, grinning.
"Yep," he answered quickly.
"Don't lie to me, 'Arry. Should I come over and 'eal your chest now?" Fleur bit down on her lip to stop herself from laughing. She knew she was being a little cruel to Harry, especially after the dreams he probably had last night. But in truth, she was enjoying herself. There was something about his innocence, his ability to make her feel safe with her sexuality as a part Veela that drew her to him. Yet, it wasn't a sexual draw per se, more like she could, well, be myself. The last time that happened, I was Gabrielle's age.
"No," he responded, drawing her back to the moment. "You should definitely stay over there."
Fleur bit down on her lip even harder to stop from laughing, and thought about telling him what she was planning on wearing to bed. Then she realized that'd be completely cruel. Instead, she crawled into bed and waved her wand, turning off the light.
"Goodnight, 'Arry."
"Goodnight, Fleur."
"'Arry?"
"Yeah?"
"If Molly wakes us up tomorrow morning and we're lying like we were this morning, I'm blaming you."
Fleur was rewarded with a blush that radiated in the moonlight flooding the room. With that, she rolled over to fall asleep, a smile plastered on her face.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
Two hours later, sleep still hadn't come. The bed was comfortable enough, as was the pillow. But Fleur's mind would not stop racing.
What was she doing? Why was she flirting with a fourteen year old? Was she flirting with him?
Yeah, I am, she finally admitted to herself. But why?
The second task. It really did start there.
Fleur was standing on the shore, wrapped in blankets and being consoled by Madame Maxime, who was telling her that Gabrielle would be okay. But an irrational fear had taken over and Fleur knew she'd never see her sister again. She doted on Gabrielle. More than once, Fleur had skipped out on friends to come home and spend time with her sister, and the feeling was mutual. According to Gabrielle, Fleur wasn't just a big sister, she was everything Gabrielle wanted to be. How lucky was it that your hero, was your very own big sister?
But Fleur knew that heroines don't fail like she did that day at the lake, and failing, made her a failure at being a heroine for her sister. If there is a god in heaven, please bring back Gabrielle—she remembered saying to herself. Almost in answer to her prayer, three heads popped up out of the water. By the time they had reached the shore, Fleur was flailing, trying to get away from Madame Maxime and get down to Gabrielle. A few seconds later she'd broken away and ran to her sister.
Fleur felt like such a fraud, holding her sister and hoping that she'd understand that Fleur had done everything she could. But regardless, she felt so grateful to have Gabrielle in her arms again. Then her eyes fell on the little boy who saved her, that bested the heroine.
Lying in bed, Fleur wiped away tears as the memory finished. No one else knew that she woke up every night the following week, crying because she had dreamed that Gabrielle was dead. Those dreams gradually changed to reflect what had actually happened, then went even further until one night, Gabrielle made it, but Harry didn't.
Fleur remembered the utter panic she felt when she woke up that night. A little boy died doing what the heroine couldn't. But what little boy would sacrifice himself? Why would Harry wait to save Gabrielle, and sacrifice his place in the standings or worse yet, his life?
Those were the questions, and the night, that everything began to change as Fleur asked herself what she would've done. That was also the night she realized introspection could be more painful than a dozen Cruciatus Curses.
The next day, she remembered seeing Harry in the dining room and smiling at him. He smiled back, a plain, simple smile. It was the first time she realized that his smiles weren't filled with want or lust and she felt—comfortable? Was the right term?
She spoke with Harry quite a bit after that day, often telling him what Gabrielle had said about him. She found that she enjoyed watching the young wizard blush. It was so. . .cute and innocent, and it made her feel even more comfortable.
Looking back on it now, she realized how thin her excuses to talk to him had become. A mere passing mention in a letter from a friend would be relayed to Harry at breakfast the next morning. But through all that, she still doubted his story about putting his name in the Goblet of Fire. At least, until last night.
Fleur folded her pillow in half, propping her head a bit higher so she could look across the room and watch Harry sleep. The memories of the last twenty-four hours now flooding back: Harry coming through the hedges to save her out of the curse in the maze, being shocked and flung to the ground by it; Harry, standing at the end of the pathway after she hurt him again with her words; Harry, suggesting they all take the cup and share the victory, not wanting to take it himself. Harry, landing on top of the hill and telling Cedric to come get the two of them and leave. Harry being bound and cast across the graveyard, but refusing their help because he wanted them to survive. Lying at the bottom of the hill, hearing him being hit with curses, watching him save her life with what the English call an Unforgivable; facing off with the most powerful wizard she'd ever seen, and winning.
Fleur skipped the scene at Hogwarts, knowing if she dwelt on what she saw in Harry there, she'd be in Harry's bed in under a minute, holding him close to her. But she couldn't forget the way he came to save her again, dueling and casting a snake, trying to protect her and telling her to leave so he could face them alone.
Then the cave. That was no fourteen year old boy who sat on the floor of the cave and stared into the fire. It was a wraith of a human tortured again by forces of Darkness and Wickedness. Then this morning, again the innocence as he woke up, and even more so when he was comforting her. She had never been held that way, had never cried on someone's shoulder. A large reason was her Veela heritage. It was in a Veela to be strong, matriarchal, even dominant if possible. But to be held by a male and cry while feeling safe; knowing that every touch, every whisper was out of concern without secondary motive? Why again, did he have to be fourteen years old? Or she, seventeen, almost eighteen?
On top of all that, there was the prophecy. He would have to face Voldemort again, not only face him, but kill him or be killed. This sweet, kind young wizard, this hero, this wraith and veteran of battles against the Darkness, would have to face death again. How could he really be only fourteen? Gabrielle was two years younger than him and at that age, he had already faced Voldemort twice, three times if the encounter years ago was included—four times including last night. Zut, and now she had sworn to a dying man that she'd care for him. Was that it? All these changes, everything she went through, was it fated so that she could care for Harry, protect him from himself as he protected everyone else? Was she to be his protector or big sister?
But what if she didn't want to be a protector, or a big sister? What if she wanted something else? With a fourteen year old boy? Or is he the wraith-hero with old eyes and a lifetime's worth of pain and responsibility. . .at fourteen?
"Fortuna Virgo, vous êtes une pute." She whispered to the heavens.
Whatever happens, she promised herself, I won't get in his way, and I won't cause him any more pain than he's already endured. Years later, she'd look back and shake her head at the utter futility of that promise.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
"Come now Lucius. Do you really expect me to believe that you gave the diary to the youngest Weasley in hopes of Harry Potter being killed in retaliation for the Philosopher's stone incident?"
Malfoy was prostrate before him on the floor. "My Lord I—"
"Crucio!"
"You do not know what it contained, or did your fancy yourself as powerful a wizard as me?"
"No, my Lord."
"You have cost me much! CRUCIO!"
Voldemort began wondering about his other horcruxes—the locket in the cave, Regulus Black's house elf couldn't get passed my defenses there; the ring; the cup. . .
"Crucio!" Lucius Malfoy jerked and bounced across the floor.
"Now, my wayward Death Eater. You have failed me greatly. Though you did well cleansing the school. It is a pity so much Pure-blood had to be spilled, but most of them were already tainted with Albus's teachings. So what punishment is befitting you? Ahh, how lowly would it be, for a father to take orders from a son. Bring the boy in here!"
Draco walked in, white-faced and shaking.
Voldemort motioned him closer. "Do you choose to take the Dark Mark, young Malfoy, and redeem your father's honor?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Then bear your arm."
Malfoy screamed in pain for the next twenty minutes as the mark burned in.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
Harry woke up, yelling and holding his scar as it bled. He could feel the Voldemort's wrath and hatred, sense the darkness within his very soul.
The light turned on and two very soft, but very blurry hands were on his face, wiping away the blood from his forehead.
'Arry, 'Arry, what's wrong!" Fleur was asking, her voice frightened.
"It's just a dream. I'll be fine."
"Then why are you 'olding your 'ead?"
"I get headaches when I dream."
"And you bleed too? You are lying again, 'Arry!"
Fleur took her wand and waved it over him, cleaning the blood that seeped out of the scar. "You are not going to dream like that again tonight," she promised him.
Before 'Arry knew what she meant, Fleur pulled the covers back and climbed into the bed with him. She spooned him again, reaching around and pulling him tightly into her body, letting her Veela magic out. She held him all night, chasing away his demons, or in this case, the demon called Voldemort.