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Chapter Fourteen

Waking Up

"Maman, how is he?"

Apolline jumped in the darkened entryway. She grabbed a hold of her chest and put her other hand out on the wall to catch herself. "Fleur? What are you doing up? It's four in the morning!"

"I couldn't sleep." Fleur took her mother's cloak and hung it up. "Who's staying with 'Arry?"

"No one, he woke up about an hour ago. The Healer looked him over and says he's going to be fine; I on the other hand. . . ." Apolline took a breath to steady herself before heading up the stairs; she turned back to see Fleur still on the landing, breathing a sigh of relief.

"I told you he was going to be okay," Apolline said, then smiled. "Did you really think something as small as a mountain could stop 'Arry?"

"I guess not. It's just that . . . I was so scared, Maman, I thought . . . I thought I'd never get a chance—"

Apolline made her way back down the wide stairwell and pulled her daughter into a hug. "Shh, Mon Petite, he's going to be alright. That Russian Healer is excellent, and those three Veela friends of his will make sure he's well cared for."

Fleur stiffened in her grasp. "Yes, I'm sure they will."

"Stop it!" she said, stepping back to look at her daughter. "You know as well as I do that they're respecting the mark."

Fleur froze. "How—did one of them tell you?"

Apolline folded her arms and shook her head. "It was pretty obvious, which brings up another issue."

"Which is?"

"You marked a fourteen year old boy."

"Man!" Fleur snapped back.

"Man, boy; he's fourteen either way. The Zekānōt is not going to be happy with you."

"I'm a Delacour, of course they're not going to be happy with me; and even if I wasn't, Grandma Guillory plucked them naked so badly fifty years ago they still talked about her, from what Paige says."

"Yes, well, this isn't about what my maman did; this is about the trouble you're going to be in for marking 'Arry."

"Don't tell the Zekānōt then."

Apolline glared at her daughter. "Any Veela that gets within three feet of him can smell the mark. You're not going to be able to hide this, Fleur, so instead, why don't you tell me what really happened last spring. That way, I can at least explain it to our flock leader."

Fleur deflated. She walked into the smaller room just off the kitchen where she and Harry had words so long ago, and sat down on the couch. Apolline followed, sitting next to her and waiting for Fleur to tell her story.

"When we escaped from Hogwarts," Fleur began, gazing out towards the darkened valley through the large windows that lined the wall, "we stayed the first night in a cave. . . ."

Twenty minutes later, she concluded ". . . I couldn't help myself; it was almost as if it was fated. Being with him wasn't like anything I'd ever experienced before and as much as I tried to deny what was happening inside my heart . . . I guess I already knew how I was feeling—so I marked him."

"I assume that the increased strength means that you still feel that way?"

"Even more so," Fleur answered, scratching at the fabric that covered the couch. "When you and Papa were dating, could he turn your whole world upside-down with just a look?"

"If you only knew. . ." Apolline answered, and giggled at the memories. "I swear there were times I thought he was the Veela and I was the poor witch caught in his magic. I take it that's what happened with the look the two of you shared before the Quidditch match."

"I guess you saw that."

"It was kind of hard to miss. I think the entire stadium saw it, and 'Arry almost getting hit by the Bludger as well."

Fleur let out a slight grin at the memory, but it died before it reached her eyes. "I just wish I knew how he felt."

"I would've thought it obvious," Apolline answered. "The way he looked at you . . ."

"I don't know. I hope so, but how can I be sure?"

A slow smile lit up Apolline's features. "Why don't you ask him when he comes home for Christmas?"

"He's really coming back?" Fleur asked.

In the faint light that was now peaking through the windows, Apolline watched as a small but significant change came over her daughter. She couldn't pinpoint what it was, but there was no arguing that it had come about. "Of course," she finally answered. "Where else would he go?"

"I thought he'd stay there. That's what he normally did at Hogwarts."

She put a hand on her daughter's knee. "That was before he had a place that was worth leaving school for. Now, is there anything else, Mon Petite? If not, I want to go to bed."

"No, Maman."

She patted Fleur's knee and stood up, then turned back, and asked, "How's your father doing?"

"Okay, I guess. I've avoided him since he came home. I can't believe I hexed Papa."

"Don't worry, I'll talk to him about it in the morning—well, later this morning."

"Thanks, Maman. Tell him I'm sorry. I'm also sorry for the problems I caused by marking 'Arry."

"Interesting choice of words," Apolline said, her arms crossed again, but this time she was smirking. "You may be sorry for the trouble, but you're not sorry for doing it, are you?" she asked.

"No," Fleur confirmed,

"That's okay. I wouldn't be either." She confessed. "We'll work it out, somehow."

Apolline found herself being hugged by her daughter and returned the warm embrace, thankful for it and for the opportunity to make her daughter's world right one more time. She surmised that it wouldn't be long now before that job passed to Harry.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Half an hour later, Fleur lay in bed, cradling the French national team jersey and staring out the window.

Harry is coming back.

While she was sitting at his bedside in Durmstrang, it all seemed clear; the memory of Harry staring into her eyes, taking her breath away and making it impossible for her think; but then she watched those other Veela care for him. They were all so tender with him; sponging his wounds, applying the potions while Fleur held his hand, not wanting to let it go. How could he not fall for one of them? They were so beautiful—not just Veela beautiful either, but human beautiful—especially Jaleena. Why were they like that with him? What exactly was he doing up there—and with who? At least he was marked, but that has its own problems . . . and besides that fact, there were times a naturally full Veela could break a mark set by a part Veela.

She groaned, and gave up on falling back to sleep after that last thought going to the kitchen instead. After filling a cup with water, she dropped a tea bag in it and touched it with her wand, then sat down at the table.

How could she have been so sure sitting by his bedside, then so unsure just a few hours later as she watched the other Veela tend to him? Why was it that every succeeding hour she was home, it seemed like that moment their eyes met, that absolute knowledge that he felt the same way she did, was a dream? What a wonderful dream it was too . . . even if every inch of him were covered in robes, except for those eyes, they were all she needed to see. It was all she would ever need to see as she slid toward him, feeling the heat of his lips as she pressed her own into them—"

"Fleur? Fleur, wake up."

She jolted and almost fell out of the chair, spilling cold tea all over the table and Floor.

"I didn't mean to scare you, Mon Petite. Trouble sleeping?"

"I . . . yeah."

Outside, the first true rays of dawn were stealing away the darkness of the night, leaving behind a fresh new day; one that needed to start by addressing what happened at Durmstrang. "Sorry for hexing you, Papa. I don't know what came over me."

Her father leaned against the counter, holding a cup of coffee. "I won't lie and say I wasn't surprised, though after last spring, I understand how you would come to feel so protective of him"—he paused, casting a suspicious eye on his daughter—"or was there another reason you didn't want to leave?"

Fleur ran her finger around the rim of the cup, wondering how much she should tell father, and decided to be honest. "I care for him too much, Papa. I was jealous of his—the other Veela—"

"His Veela-chicks?" Her father asked, humor playing across his face.

Fleur narrowed her eyes. "Why do you call them ''Arry's Veela-chicks'?"

He chuckled. "Markus and I spent some time together while I was up there. He said that the three of them have teased 'Arry pretty good this semester, so 'Arry grew a backbone and started teasing them back. When they'd get out of hand, he'd call them his Veela-chicks to really wind them up."

Fleur wasn't quite successful in fighting down a smirk at the thought of a playful Harry, until she remembered exactly with whom Harry was being playful.

"You do know that Azzurra is dating Markus and the other two have boyfriends they have marked," her father asked, "don't you?"

"Then why were they fawning all over 'im?"

"Markus told me that they adopted him much the same way he adopted Gabrielle, and since their boyfriends have graduated already, they have more time to spend with him."

"And that's supposed to put me at ease?" Fleur asked, recognizing the cattiness in her own voice and wincing. That definitely wasn't a way to be a beautiful human.

"I didn't know you were worried."

He put his empty cup in the sink, then leaned over and kissed Fleur on the forehead. "You're making a big deal out of nothing. What you should be worried about, however, is helping your maman with her Christmas party. She's lost quite a bit of preparation time and you know your mother."

Fleur laughed quietly despite her concerns. "She's going to be off her cauldron the next few weeks, isn't she?"

"Better you than me; remember what happened the year I tried to help?"

"Yeah, it was the first time I saw maman go full-feather—it scarred me for life."

Fleur could still hear her father laughing minutes later as he stepped into the Floo.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

"Harry? Are you awake?" A very soft voice asked.

"I'm not sure, are you?" Are you awake—what kind of question is that? Harry couldn't hold in the grin at the look of confusion. "Sorry, just taking the mick out of you."

Azzurra cocked her head a little to the side and pursed her lips. "So, you're Mr. Funny-Boy now?"

"Couldn't resist."

She pressed her lips together in the same way Professor McGonagall used to, but Harry noticed the corners twitching upwards. She finally gave in and smiled. "Professor Sirko said you came around earlier this morning. You had us very scared."

"I've never played Quidditch that close to a mountain. Next time; I'll remember to keep an eye out for it."

Azzurra shook her head and leaned towards him in mock intimidation. "Hopefully, the next time you'll . . ." she paused and sniffed the air. "What is that smell?"

She scrunched her eyebrows together and leaned over Harry a little more.

"I've been out for a week, what do you think—"

"Shh! Where did I—" suddenly her face lit up and she looked Harry dead in the eye, smiled wickedly, then quickly turned and marched out of the room. A few minutes later, Azzurra returned with Jaleena and Médée in tow.

"Well, go on! Smell him!"

Did she just tell Jaleena . . . ?

Jaleena cocked an eyebrow at Azzurra and then turned to Harry. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore, and I have a nasty headache, but I hear that's pretty normal whenumph—"

Something soft, moist, and delicious pressed against his lips.

"Zut, he tastes 'orrible!" Médée ran to the bathroom and stuck her mouth under a faucet, washing out the taste of the mark.

Jaleena stared wide-eyed as Azzurra's laughter filled the room. "How long?" she asked.

"How long what?" Harry answered, looking as confused as a Veela seeking a mate in the Holyhead Harpies' locker room.

"You don't. . . ." she turned to Azzurra and shook her head. Harry then noticed them both fighting off very Veela like grins—secretive and sexy as all get-out.

"What?" he asked again.

"Don't worry, we may you later, if you do what we say," Jaleena answered, flashing him an almost predatory gleam.

Just that fast, Harry had a new respect for any wizard who could stand in her presence.

"Didn't expect that out of her, did you?" Azzurra asked in a sympathetic voice. "The first time I saw her flash it at her boyfriend, it shocked the Veela right out of me."

The water shut off and Médée stepped back into the room. Harry couldn't let the opportunity pass by. "I didn't know you missed me that much, but you should've waited 'til I showered."

Médée narrowed an eyebrow and pinned him with a playful glare. "Keep it up and you'll find yourself flying back into the mountain."

"Only if you're on the broom with me, preferably in front to soften the impact . . . speaking of which," he said, changing subjects. "Do I even have to ask what happened to my Firebolt?"

Azzurra shook her head. "It was in more pieces than your glasses."

Harry closed his eyes and fought off the onset of emotions. "It was the first gift from my godfather that I can remember . . . I guess I'll have to find another broom next weekend."

"Why?" Jaleena asked. "It's almost Christmas break and you're not cleared to play Quidditch until you return."

Harry glared at her. "I have game in two weeks!"

"Which you will be sitting in the stands, watching," Médée finished the sentence. Then she threatened him. "I'll hex the magic out of you if you even think about flying before we leave for break."

"We will," Jaleena corrected Médée.

Harry tried to sit up and argue, but a pain shot through his shoulder into his torso and Harry fell back down into the bed.

"Moving not so good, eh?" The Healer asked as he approached from his office. "Shoulder was dislocated. It's back in place but not fixed magically—too much magic used on face. Not good to overload system."

"Too much magic on his face?" Médée asked, "Shame it didn't help anything."

"I can still hit you with a spell," Harry threatened, to her amusement. The chatter continued for a few minutes, until the door opened and he recognized the person who entered; it was the other Seeker—Stan, or something like that.

"I heard what you did for me," Harry said. "Thank you. I guess I should apologize for the little trick with the goal rings."

"There's no need to thank me and no need to apologize either, it's all a part of the game—except for beaking the mountain," Stan said with a laugh.

"Beaking?"

"It's what we call it when someone runs nose first into the mountain." Stan explained. "We've never seen it done the way you did it; usually, if the opposing Chasers are running up the score, a Beater or Seeker just rubs one off against the mountain."

Harry started laughing.

"What?" Stan asked. "It's rather painful, as you no doubt know."

Tears streamed from his eyes, half in mirth and half in pain as his shoulder protested against his body shaking so violently while laughing.

"What's so funny about that?" Jaleena asked. "I've seen Viktor do it a few times; I know I wouldn't enjoy it."

Harry was gasping for breath when Healer Glasov came back in to check on him.

"Out! Patient needs healing. This not helping."

Harry managed to get Stan's name out before he left, and motioned for him to stay, though it took a couple of minutes for Harry to get himself back under control. "I wasn't laughing at you," He was finally able to explain. "Do you not know what 'rub one off' means in the UK?"

"I guess not," Stan answered.

"It's um, what blokes do while their alone and thinking about very beautiful witches."

Stan stared at Harry for as second, then threw his head back and filled the infirmary with a deep, rich laugh until Glasov came back to escort him out.

"No Quidditch, I hear," Stan said as he put the chair back against the wall.

"That's what Jaleena and Médée said, speaking of whom, please don't tell them what 'rub one off,' means."

"You think I could stand before three Veela and explain that?" he asked, a slight crimson glow starting in his cheeks at the thought. "I'll leave it to you."

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

A couple of days later, the facial swelling had gone down enough for Harry to try on his contacts. The difference was amazing, though not so much once he realized he hadn't been to an eye doctor in over three years.

An hour later however, his eyes felt as if they were being hit by the Cruciatus Curse. At least this time there was a purpose to it. The contacts forming a permanent bond with his irises.

The next two weeks were torturous for different reasons. The first few days were spent in bed, he wasn't even allowed to walk by himself until the following Tuesday, and wasn't excused from the infirmary until Friday. Even then, he was told that under no circumstances would he be able to start training for at least another week.

Harry spent it mainly at his desk, thumbing through the books he brought with him from Hogwarts and trying to integrate what he had learned about Dark Arts theory with everything he had read. Most of the spells and curses in Gebringang-pinere were nasty affairs—a number of the lesser ones Harry had tried in fighting practice. But there were quite a few he wouldn't use, except on an enemy. There were also spells that he knew he would never use, even if he was standing face-to-face with Voldemort himself.

He reasoned that if the Imperius Curse put a person in the position of God; he didn't want to know what position a curse that destroyed the soul and body, assuring no afterlife, would put a person in.

A few others however, were helpful and Harry's control was coming along, but not to the degree that made him—or anyone else—happy. It was one of the few things lacking in his magical repertoire—really lacking, which was why he was dreading the weekly discussion with Professor Sirko that he was heading for.

Harry knocked on the door and waited until the Professor answered. After everything he had heard about Durmstrang, he still found it strange that the headmaster's office was right off a hallway without any passwords or secret passages.

"Ready?" Harry asked when the door opened.

"I trust you have already finished your morning training?"

"We did." He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

Professor Sirko quirked an eyebrow. "For your first day back, you shouldn't be smiling as much as you are, what happened?

"I managed to wake up first this morning and found Markus sleeping without wards or charms—again."

The professor chuckled. "How did he take it?"

"Pretty good, mainly in the chest and head."

Professor Sirko threw back his head and guffawed.

"I meant has he gotten back at you."

"It was a right interesting jog around the lake, I'll say that much—though I think he took it easy on me. Anyway, I'm sorry to be so forward, sir, but if I want to make it through the rest of the day I'm going to need a bit of kip."

"Relax; we won't be long. I've spoken with everyone, and it seems that the last two weeks haven't hurt you very much. Matter of fact, you've done well the entire semester. The pace we set for you was brutal and the fact you're able to keep up impresses me."

Harry waited, thinking that he was being set up for a particularly nasty Bludger.

"There's an area of continued concern, however."

And here it comes.

"Azzurra reports that you're still struggling with your control, except in specific circumstances like your Patronus."

"I know, I've tried a few different things."

Professor Sirko nodded. "Having any luck?"

"Nope."

"I didn't think so."

Harry's eyes clicked open in surprise. "Why's that?"

The professor leaned forward to gaze at Harry over the ancient desk. "Before I answer that, what do you think about Markus's report that you're average at best in combat, until someone pisses you off?"

"I'd say it's probably right," he answered.

Professor Sirko nodded. "You're so connected with your anger and hatred at what happened back at Hogwarts that you're pushing too much power through everything you cast. It's overloading your real spell work. You may have even been struggling with it before last spring, depending on how you grew up."

That caught Harry by surprise. He absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair while thinking about it for a bit, but one thing still didn't make sense. "If that's true, then why am I just average in fighting until I get brassed off?"

"Because, when you get brassed off, as you say, you're redoubling your power and relying on that to overcome your other shortcomings."

Harry shook his head. "How is that bad? I mean, you and Dumbledore and others are all so much more powerful than me, how can I be pushing too much magic?"

"You're looking at it the wrong way. We all have to pare down our magic to the amount needed for any given spell. Otherwise, the goal of the spell gets lost in the force of the magic."

Harry squinted, thinking about that for a moment before responding. "But that doesn't make sense. If I wanted to punch a hole through the wall with a Reducto, the more power, the better, right? And different people can cast different strength of spells as well, so what do you mean by 'pare down?'"

Professor Sirko picked up a little spongy ball and threw it at Harry's hand, which was still tapping the armrest.

"Sorry," he said.

Professor Sirko chuckled. "No worries. Now, as for your question, let's think about it a different way. Pretend there's a village a couple of miles from here that needs water, so we build a canal from the lake to help them. To control the flow, we dam the canal half way between the lake and the town. Now tell me, what would happen if, even though we were at maximum capacity of the canal, we opened the dam all the way?"

"I guess it depends on whether the rest of the canal could hold the water. If not, it'd flood."

"That's right," the professor said as he walked around his desk and leaned against the front of it. "Magic is both the canal that holds the spell, and what empowers the spell itself. If your spell casting is weak, or inexperienced, then you can't push a lot of magic through it. That is why each person casts spells differently. Now, let's go back to the canal and say we've reinforced it; maybe we made it into a great big pipe. What happens then?"

"The water gets to the town—but if they don't have a way to stop it, the town is flooded."

"Can you relate that to magic?"

Harry started drumming his fingers on the armchair again, but stopped when Professor Sirko picked up the ball again. "So, my magic can flood whatever I'm trying to do, wiping out the specifics of the spell; like hitting something with big hammer, rather than a pointed knife."

"Good," the professor said. "I think you're starting to catch on. Pushing magic through a spell is very much like water running through a canal, except that you're pumping it through, rather than depending on gravity. So, instead of a dam, we install a pump on the canal and then let it loose to push the maximum amount of water, there can be only two results; either the village is flooded; or the water is stopped and it creates backpressure, breaking through the pipe or damaging the pump."

Harry thought about it for a couple of seconds, but finally had to admit that he couldn't see the connection.

"It results in either an accidental magical event, or if whatever you're casting and the magic it encounters is vastly stronger, your magic rebounds."

"Voldemort!" Harry breathed the name.

"Exactly; the blood ward your mother created—don't look so surprised; there's only a few reasons why Voldemort would have risked so much to use your blood in his return—was vastly stronger than any magic he could push. Voldemort has superior control over his magic; but when he couldn't drive it through the wards to kill you; he was hit with the backpressure of the spell. Or, in layman's terms, it rebounded."

He nodded, finally starting to understand the fundamentals of spell theory.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Over the next few days, Harry continued to work through spell theory, even spending time in the library. He couldn't help but think about what Hermione and Ron would say about his new habit, and it tempered his mood.

Nevertheless, he poured himself into studying, and even cast a few spells when no one was looking, but the big break through didn't come until he stood opposite Markus the day he was allowed to practice again.

"I'm going to go easy on you since it's your first day back fighting. Don't push too much magic," Markus warned.

Harry snorted. "Afraid?"

"Funny, but unfortunately I'm serious. Both the Headmaster and the Healer Glasov were very clear. Don't overdo it."

Harry nodded. "Alright, I guess. You ready?"

Markus's wand appeared from nowhere and he cast a low powered curse.

Harry sidestepped it and cast his own jinx while focusing on reducing and pinpointing his magic, but he was so perplexed that he could literally feel the spell as it streaked out, that he forgot he was even fighting.

A German equivalent of an Expulso Spell smacked into his chest and pushed him back a few steps, shaking him from his thoughts.

"You okay? You should have been able to block that no problem."

Harry rubbed his chest. "Yeah . . . I just, I don't know. Let's do it again."

He raised his wand, but let Markus cast first. A pinkish light streaked at him and he dodged it, and then cast a fun little hex. When Markus began to move, Harry concentrated on using his magic to control the spell.

The red light with blue wisps arced in the air and traced back to Markus, catching him across the thigh. He went down in a lump, his left leg twitching and shaking.

"It worked!" Harry shouted in surprise. "I can't believe it!"

"Neither can I," Markus said from the Floor. "When the hell did you learn to bend your spells?"

"I didn't. I mean, this was the first. Professor Sirko and I talked about controlling magic a few days ago and I've read about spellwork, including how to bend spells, but this was the first time I ever did it!"

Markus got up off the Floor.

"Let's make sure you didn't just get lucky."

He conjured a bunch of targets, then walked over and stood by Harry. "Do it again . . . matter of fact"—he raised his wand and created barriers of different shapes and sizes—"I want you to cast around the shields.

Harry picked the easiest one, a 3x3 target sitting on the far wall across the practice room with a small, clear shield between it and him. He concentrated and cast a stunner to the right of it, focusing on bending the spell around the barrier and back into the target. He was rewarded with the bottom corner being torn off.

"Not bad. Do it again."

Forty minutes later, Harry was hitting eighty percent of his targets, most of those somewhere close to the middle.

Markus waved his wand and banished the remaining targets, along with the blackened shields from a few of Harry's misses. "Damn. I guess Professor Sirko is going to be teaching you now."

That caught Harry by surprise. "Why do you say that?" he asked.

"What you just did is beyond me. I can run you through drills but I can't teach you how to bend spells, or even help you experiment with it. You're beyond me now." Markus answered.

"Yeah, well, that's not saying much," Harry joked.

"I'm the best fighter in this school, including the Professors, except for the Headmaster."

He raised an eyebrow at Markus.

"You doubt me? I told you I've trained to fight since I could lift a wand. Most of the Zashtitniks—that's what the Veela call us, it's Bulgarian for Protector—can hold their own with any professor by their fifth year, and defeat most of them by their seventh."

"I was just kidding," Harry said.

Markus picked up a towel from the lockers in the back and tossed it at Harry, who had worked up a sweat. "And I'm not kidding about you being beyond me. I can still help you with Muggle fighting and the wandless spells we've been focused on, but outside of that, we're finished, except as sparing partners."

"But I can't even cast silently yet," he reminded Markus as he wiped the towel across his neck.

"You do realize bending spells is far more advanced that silent casting, don't you?"

Assuming the answer was "no" by the look on Harry's face, Markus continued. "Try casting a spell silently. Just do the same thing you did when you bent the other spells, but this time, reach through your wand and then cast the spell."

Harry raised his wand and reached through it towards his target, then let his magic flow. He made two sharp movements and a spell shot out, hitting the wall where he aimed.

"I lied to you," Markus said. "Now I've taught you everything I can."

Harry looked at his wand, looked at the wall, then back to his wand, and then to Markus. "Un-bloody-believable. I was really pushing too much power into my spells—that was my entire problem."

"Is that what Professor Sirko said?"

"Yeah, I wasn't letting go so my magic could flow naturally—though that sounds like a contradiction now, but . . ." He shrugged.

"It's magic, if it didn't sound like a contradiction, it probably wouldn't be right."

"That actually sounds more like witches than magic," Harry remarked. He wiped his face one more time before throwing the towel down on the Floor of the locker.

They turned towards the door to go to the Dining Hall. "And that is something else I can't teach you about," Markus confessed. "I'm just lucky that Azzurra puts up with me."

A sharp sucking sound echoed in the locker and Harry glanced over his shoulder to find the towel gone. "How do they do that?" he asked.

"Summoning spells," Markus answered. "We humans have one; Elves have about twenty different types. Our Aurors have tried to learn them at different times, but it seems our magic isn't similar enough."

He pondered that as he followed Markus out of the room and down to lunch, where they sat next to his Veela-chicks.

"Hey, want to go flying after classes?" a teammate asked from the next table as Harry was finishing lunch.

"Sure!" he answered.

"Think again," Médée said. "You don't have a broom, and you're not allowed to fly at least until break."

"Yes, mother! Maybe you can change my nappies as well," Harry remarked. Laughter broke out from the two tables.

Médée turned on the charm.

"So, how long have you wanted me in your nappies?" she asked with a smile of sweet venom.

"Since you insisted I wear them big enough for two."

"He's really getting better at that, isn't he?" Azzurra asked Jaleena as they watched Médée turn a pinkish hue.

"About time," Jaleena agreed. "Though you should probably get him out of here before they really start going at it."

"I think you're right," Azzurra agreed.

Harry laughed at the two of them and gestured to Azzurra to lead the way to the old, unused classroom that they had used for Transfiguration lessons.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

A few days later, they were leaving the Dining Hall again, walking to the Transfiguration classroom when Harry found himself thinking about the first time they were together in this same hall, and how he had acted.

"Azzurra?"

"Oui?"

Great, this was going to be a "French" day. It wasn't that bad, but it did make it a little more difficult to speak. All those stupid letters at the end of French words that are never really pronounced made the language almost impossible sometimes.

"I wanted to apologize again."

She stopped and turned to him, her eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "For what?"

"For that first night; I realize now how much your magic is tied into your empathy. I wasn't just rejecting your help, I was rejecting you and Jaleena and Médée on a very personal level. I know that's why you and Jaleena reacted the way you did—and why I was lucky to get a lecture, instead of a hexing party."

She placed her hand on his cheek. "You don't need to apologize for that again, though I appreciate it."

Harry took her hand, squeezing it gently in a show of appreciation before letting it drop. They started walking again. "I never did figure out why you all did that though. I know what Jaleena said, but. . . ."

They finished climbing the stairway and walked to the room. Harry waited as she opened the door and then followed her in before she answered.

"When I walked into your dorm that first day, I could smell Veela on you," Azzurra began. "There are a number of . . . scents, you could say. The strongest was one of emotional protection. It comes from a Veela pushing magic into you to help protect and calm you. There wasn't a hint of sexuality in it. The control to create that scent comes from a much older Veela and is driven through matriarchal love."

An image popped into his mind. "Mrs. Delacour?"

"Probably; the same scent was in the room when she was with you in the infirmary."

Azzurra paused for a second, weighing her next words. "It means she's chosen to love you like a son. In very strict Veela culture, she's adopted you, though most Veela don't follow the custom anymore."

Harry took a step back and sat down, remembering how he thought he could feel his own mother kissing him on the forehead as he lay in the hospital bed. Was that why?

"That alone told me there was something different about you. It's not often a fifteen year old boy who is not part of a Veela family has that scent on him. Then Jaleena came in and sensed whatever she sensed and we just followed her lead. Since we're younger however, and definitely not as matriarchal, the best we could do was an older sister's flirty best friend type of thing. It's very much how Gabrielle treats you as well, though I don't think she even realizes she's doing it."

Harry smiled at the mention of Gabrielle. "I feel sorry for the poor sod that thinks he's good enough to date her."

Azzurra grinned. "She loves you, too. The week you were in the infirmary, Fleur refused to leave your side and Gabrielle was there next to her almost every step of the way. She referred to you as 'her big brother' the entire time."

He thought about the two blond-haired, blue-eyed Veela sitting at his bedside worrying about him, but the vision morphed into a bushy-haired brat and red-headed git whom Harry loved and sorely missed. How many times had he visited and been visited by them in the infirmary? Of course, now he had another set of friends at Durmstrang that did the same thing. Harry realized for the first time that he was truly lucky in life; in spite of losing his family, living at the Dursleys, and even the events at Hogwarts.

It wasn't that those things weren't important, but since the day he entered the magical world, he was constantly finding people who really did care for him, maybe even loved him.

"Thank you again," he said quietly. "I still don't understand why people would bother, but I can't deny that you have."

Azzurra huffed in frustration. "Why we'd bother? Beyond the obvious, do you know how much you've stirred up the Veela community at this school?"

He looked at her blankly.

She sat down in a chair next to him. "Listen, there's a large rift in the Veela world. Many of us want to pull away from the Wizarding world either completely or almost completely. The main voice against separation comes from two flocks, but even among those, most want to stay somewhat separate from wizards. They use the history of the French Revolution and later Grindelwald's war to justify it."

"Fleur told me about those."

"Figures," she said, and made that cute little sound again in the back of her throat. "But now, just the fact that Harry Potter is sitting in a Veela class—"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I don't care how much you don't like it," Azzurra gently rebuked him; "you can't escape who you are and what you mean to others. The fact that you are here and have befriended three very strong Veela, not to mention basically being adopted by the Delacours, has not gone unnoticed by the others."

"Why?"

"They're wondering about the future. If Harry Potter is a friend of Veela and he defeats Voldemort, what would it be like for us in England? Can we live there without fear of registries or persecution if you took a stand against it? If Harry Potter was in love with a Veela, what would that mean?

"Is that why you three are helping me—why you cared about me?"

"No," she answered immediately. "We were drawn to a young man who was in a lot of pain and had seen a lot of bad stuff, but was still innocent and sweet and able to love. It's probably similar to what Fleur saw in you."

Harry thought about that for a second. "Then does she really like me, or is it just a 'rescue me' thing?"

Azzurra laughed. "Trust me, she really likes you."

He noticed that she was biting her tongue in order to say no more.

"Spill it. What else is there?"

"Nope. Ready for the lesson?

"Not until you tell me."

Azzurra shook her head. "Good luck with that; come on, you need to work on your control."

"Not really," he said, and smirked as he formed a plan. "Matter of fact, I think we could probably forget the 'control' lessons and move on to complex wards and multiple conjurings."

Azzurra stood up and started clearing desks. "Not a chance. You still need all the help you can get in basic magical control."

"Maybe," Harry said, before winding her up even more, "but honestly, how much can a Veela teach me about control, I'm probably beyond you at this point."

"Pardon?" Azzurra asked as she spun back around. Her whole demeanor changed to one of surprise on the verge of anger.

"See what I mean?" Harry flared his eyes.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and pursed her lips, her own narrowed eyes never leaving his. "So, you think you have better control than me?" she asked in a dangerously sultry voice.

He knew he had to work fast. While he could withstand Fleur's and Gabrielle's magic, he didn't want to take a chance with a naturally full Veela. Even so, his grin grew large and a tad malevolent as he set the trap. "I'm pretty sure I do. We could make a contest out of it if you wanted, let me prove my magic against yours—your non-Veela magic, that is."

Azzurra crossed her arms. "Smart boy, now what do I get when I win?"

"If you win, then tomorrow you get to play dress-up doll with me while we shop."

Azzurra lit up. "No complaining—and all day, no matter what we ask you to try on?" she clarified. "And you will also finally tell me why you keep snickering every time we ask what's so funny about 'rubbing one off.'"

"Fine," he said. "I'll tell you, and I won't complain on the shopping trip either, no matter what you ask me to try on." He let that sink in for a moment. "And, when I win, you will tell me how you know that Fleur 'really likes me.'"

She leaned back on the desk. "I get to decide the tests for control."

Harry's mind raced as he realized just what he was agreeing to, and he began to sweat despite the cold draft in the room.

Well, if I'm going to fail, it might as well be spectacular, he rationalized. At least I'll be able to laugh at it—years from now. "Sure, but we're doing four tests and I get to choose the last one."

"Then we should get started."

Harry realized she wasn't planning to play fair a few moments later when she took off her robe, and then touched her jumper and skirt with her wand, shrinking them into a 'little schoolgirl' outfit.

He raised an eyebrow.

"The contest is about wizard vs. Veela control of magic, right?" she cooed.

Harry chuckled. "Alright, just get on with it."

She conjured ten odd sized canisters and placed them on the teacher's desk, then pulled Harry back to the middle of the room. "You have one minute to transfigure ten chairs into a substance that fits the cans perfectly."

"Ladies first," he offered.

"Why? Do you need to watch and learn?"

Harry chuckled and sat in a chair a few feet behind her.

"Nope"—Azzurra raised her wand and began transforming the first chair; she cast a second spell, levitating it off the ground—"I just wanted to watch your form," Harry finished.

The chair quivered and fell, splattering on the Floor in a gelatin-like substance.

Harry opened his mouth to laugh, but stopped quickly when he realized he was looking at the cursing end of a wand.

"Hey, if you're going to show it off, at least I can comment on it," he said, and caught the twitch at the corner of her lip as she turned back around to face the front again, but instead of raising her wand, she lifted her empty hand. A small but tumescent sphere of flames popped out of nowhere.

"You're going to let me start over, right?"

"Um, sure," he answered, staring at the fireball.

It disappeared and she set the first chair right, then waved her wand and restarted the conjured timer floating in the air.

Harry watched as she transfigured all ten chairs into large, round, light-colored pegs and levitated them snugly into each can. When Azzurra finished, he stood up and went to inspect.

"Impressive," he whispered. She had filled each can to within a quarter-inch of the top. Only two had material above the rim. "How are we going to judge this?"

"Like this." Azzurra waved her wand and a mark appeared inside every can. For the ones that ran over, a mark appeared at the same distance beneath the rim.

"Now, we see how badly you can fail," she taunted.

"Competitive, aren't we?" Harry asked as he walked back to the middle of the classroom.

She winked at him in reply. "Whenever you're ready; the clock begins when you cast the first spell."

He took a deep breath and concentrated. At least he wasn't dodging dragons. Slowly, confidently, he raised his wand and in silence, cast a hovering spell. The chair rose into the air and he guided it to the first target before transfiguring it into water. The can filled to overflowing, soaking the desk and Floor beneath. Azzurra chuckled behind him, but he ignored it and moved on to the next chair. By the time he had finished filling the ninth can, the front of the classroom was soaked.

"Ten seconds," she called out behind him in a good humor.

Harry levitated the last chair over the desk, then transfigured it.

"Six seconds, at least you finished—"

Harry raised his hand to silence her, before flicking his wand at the front of the room. He bent the spell around the cans, banishing every trace of water.

"How the?" Azzurra began as the alarm went off. She flicked her wand at the timer rather forcefully, grumbling as she walked up to the front. She stared down at all ten cans, then at the dry desk and Floor.

Harry walked up next to her. "How did I do?"

She made another noise in the back of her throat that was much more dangerous than sophisticated and definitely not cute. With a sharp slash of her wand and a whispered "Finite Incantatem," the cans disappeared and ten chairs tumbled down to the Floor.

Harry jumped out of the way as the top one landed where he was just standing.

"Sorry," she said, smirking again.

"No problem," Harry answered, and raised his wand while still looking at her. The offending chair rose high off the Floor and floated through the air. He continued to stare into her eyes as he reached through this magic to feel the chair as it settled down, holding it level so that all four legs touched at once without a sound.

"Shall we continue to the second test, or do you just want to tell me now?"

Azzurra growled at him and Harry started laughing.

"So you've improved," she said. "That doesn't mean you're going to win."

The second test was transfiguring objects into life-sized, realistic animals. Jaleena, Médée, and Professor Sirko came in to judge and awarded the win to Azzurra, though by a narrow margin. Harry lost because his lion, while quite well done, ended up a Gryffindor red with yellow markings.

The third round was even more difficult. Azzurra conjured and then floated a series of rings into the air. She explained that they had to transfigure a table without banishing any part of the material, and float it through the rings. The catch however, was that the rings were either too small, or had an inner disk that forced them to manipulate the transfiguration.

Azzurra began and raced her table through the course, shaping and reshaping it; but with one set of rings to go, she misjudged their size and bounced the table leg off the inner ring.

"Fifty-five seconds, plus five more for hitting the ring," Professor Sirko announced when she was finished.

Harry stepped to the middle of the room without a word and transfigured his table. He reached through his magic to feel the material as it shifted and changed according to his will.

"Fifty-seven seconds, no penalties," The professor said once he cleared the last ring and canceled the charm.

"Looks like we're about dead even," Harry said. "Last test wins."

Azzurra tossed her hair to the side and gave Harry a cute pout. "So, what does Harry have planned for little innocent Azzurra?" she asked in a little girl voice as she twisted her fingers in the material of her too-short skirt.

Harry tore his eyes away from her and fought down a number of tinglings that suddenly made themselves known in his body. Damn, did she ever fight dirty!

Instead, he walked over and whispered the last test into the headmaster's ear.

"You can't be serious," Professor Sirko said. "This I have to see." He waved his wand a few times and targets of various sizes appeared all over the room. A second series of wand-waves produced an assortment of semi-transparent shields at various distances between the professor and the targets. Last, he conjured a two-inch high, three-foot square platform.

"What's this?" Azzurra asked.

"Target practice," Harry answered with a grin. "We have to hit the targets with a blasting curse"—he turned to the Headmaster—"and we have to stay on the platform the entire time, right professor?"

"Exactly," Professor Sirko confirmed.

"Where's the control factor?"

Harry grinned at her. "Besides staying on the platform? You can't attempt to move a shield, a target, or deflect a curse off anything."

She gaped at him. "How in the . . ."

"Does little innocent Azzurra need to watch and learn?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Step aside."

Harry obeyed, still grinning. "Anything else?"

Yeah, are we being timed?"

"It's up to you."

"Of course you are," Professor Sirko interrupted. "If you're in a fight, the more time you take to cast a curse, the more chance you have of being killed."

Azzurra nodded. She took a deep breath and stepped on the platform. Then she focused on the first target, raised her arm out to the side, and pointed her wand forward; firing a straight shot that missed the small shield by half an inch. It drilled the target dead center.

Twenty-five seconds later, she had destroyed seven targets, nicked four others (though they were still intact), and blackened three shields. She turned back to Harry with a grin. "Did I impress big, bad Harry?" She asked in the little girl voice again.

"What's fair is fair, I guess. Professor Sirko?" he said, turning to him. "Would you do something for me?"

"What's that?"

"Enlarge the shields a bit more; I want to give Azzurra a fighting chance."

"Prat," Azzurra said, dropping the act.

He chuckled to himself. It was her favorite new English word for him and Markus. Strangely, it made him feel all the more loved.

"Alright Harry, it's done."

He looked back and focused, raising his arm at the first target, and hesitated. Over the last few days, he spent quite a bit of time bending weak spells, but always to the left, since he cast with his right hand. If he could bend the spell one way, however, why couldn't he bend it back the other? Readjusting his aim to the left side of the target, Harry cast his first spell and reached out with his magic, bending it around the shield to the right and splitting the target in half. He barely made the proper motions with his wand and shot off a second spell, bending it hard to the left this time and around the next shield toward the target that sat four feet away from the first.

Harry took down two more targets, then turned to the middle set and aimed, bending his spells to the lower right, lower left, then upper right, and upper left, but he misjudged the last target and his spell exploded into the wall, low and left, showering that part of the room with pieces of marble and dust. The miss threw him off, causing him to miss high on a single target sitting further up on the wall. Frustrated now, he turned to the last set.

In the back of his mind, a thought formed that he'd screw this up and wouldn't find out what he wanted to know—needed to know, and if he didn't know it, Fleur would end up walking away, which was a good thing since everyone else around him died and he didn't want that to happen to her but then he'd be all alone like he'd been since his parents died and of course everyone he knew at Hogwarts was also dead and all his new friends were going to die if they stayed with him and how could—

Harry had absolutely no idea about Muggle psychology and cognitive distortions such as All or Nothing, False Dilemma, or even, ironically, Fortune Telling. For him, the sudden thought was already a reality and he immersed himself in the ocean of emotion that poured forth.

He aimed his wand at the center of the shield and poured every possible bit of emotion he was feeling into the curse, then he reached through his magic to draw it down to the diameter of a needle. The curse streaked through the air and pierced the shield with a loud screech, continuing on. Harry released his magic as the spell reached its goal. An ear-splitting explosion reported that the over-powered Blasting Curse had obliterated the ceramic target.

He ignored the impact against his chest and let loose a second spell, shaping and driving it through the shield again. It destroyed the target and Harry took another sharp hit to the chest. By the time he reached the last one, he was utterly exhausted.

Too tired to drive his spell through another shield, he aimed to the side and cast the last spell, pushing all his emotion and power into it one last time, then reached out to bend the spell and force it back to the target. He hit enough of it to destroy the ceramic plate, but the backpressure of the spell kicked him in the chest once more, this time knocking him down to the Floor where he lay, unmoving.

He came to a couple of minutes later with a weight in the middle of his stomach. He barely moved when someone screeched at him.

"Tu ragazzo stupido, Che cavolo stai pensando?"

"What?" he asked, opening his eyes to see a furious Azzurra straddling him, her hands and wand hovering over his chest. It looked like she was casting diagnostic charms. Harry could recognize those charms halfway through his second year, unfortunately.

Azzurra clamped her eyes shut for a second, took two calming breaths, and began again. "I said, 'You stupid boy, what in the hell where you thinking?'"

Harry flinched, but caught himself and refused to react to her term of (not so much) endearment.

"Can you stand up?" The professor asked.

"Not after I get finished cursing him," Médée muttered and moved to his side, tapping Azzurra on the arm. The latter backed up and pulled Harry to a sitting position. Médée stepped behind him, slipped her arms under his, and despite her threat, helped him to his feet. She readjusted and moved him to a chair.

Harry sat down, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the wall. "That wore me out."

"OF COURSE IT DID YOU IMBE—"

He peeked to see Azzurra, now with her hand firmly placed over the mouth of a half-feathered Jaleena.

"What were you thinking?" Azzurra asked; an undertone in her voice betrayed the tight control she had just gained on her own anger.

"I don't really know, somehow I went from missing a target to thinking that all my friends have been killed by Voldemort and I'm all alone. Then everything just took off on me, like my magic was in the driver's seat and I was along for the ride."

Professor Sirko conjured a glass of water and handed it to him. "When did you learn how to control your bending of spells?"

"A few days ago; Markus told me you and the Healer stressed that I shouldn't exert myself over the next few days—"

Jaleena snorted derisively and Azzurra glared. Médée just shook her head.

"So we went half speed. I focused on reducing the power and"—Harry waved his hand—"that was the result."

"I asked you about manipulating spells earlier this year," the Professor said. "If I remember right, you didn't realize you were doing it . . . looks like you've learned how to do it on purpose now." He strolled over to the conjured objects that protected the targets and inspected them.

"Azzurra?"

"Yes, Professor?"

He ran his hand across one of the shields again. "Harry won."

"If you say so," she answered. "Though I'm not sure we should count the last set of targets, this was about control"—she kicked Harry's leg hard enough to tell him that she was still brassed off—"not power."

Harry smiled and closed his eyes. He was beginning to understand that a friend's care could show itself in many ways.

"Then these targets should count double."

"What?" Azzurra walked over and inspected the shields The two of them talked in whispers for a few seconds before turning back to Harry.

"Do you remember how you did this?" Professor Sirko asked.

"Kind of, I just thought about driving the spell right through the target." He opened his eyes to look at the Professor. "Why?"

"Remember how your magic is like water running through a canal?"

"Yeah."

"You've found a way to turn the canal into a tunnel and push as much of your magic through it as you want without destroying the spell, which is why you felt the backpressure. If you back it off a little, that's one damn dangerous spell, so long as your intended result is something big and loud."

"Loud?" Harry asked, looking at Azzurra.

"Don't you dare say it," she threatened and turned back to look at the shield again.

Harry thought for a second, then ignored his better judgment. "Professor Sirko?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Does the school give money for the Head-Boy and Girl uniforms?"

"They do, why?"

"I was just wondering. I guess Azzurra just likes wearing her fourth year uniform to sexually frustrate fifteen-year-old wizards.

Azzurra spun around to glare at Harry, while glowing a beautiful red. He let out another whoop, only to slump down in the chair again, tired but proud of his multiple victories that afternoon.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

"How is that I won and yet, I'm still being used as a dress up doll?"

"Shut up and turn around," Médée demanded.

Azzurra let out a cackle as Harry flashed a two-fingered salute before doing as Médée asked.

"I don't know," Médée continued, still down on one knee. She grabbed the loose material on the outside of the lower thigh. "I don't like how it fits him here. Up here however,"—she grabbed his rear, one cheek in each hand—"it fits very well."

"HEY!" Harry spun around to face a Veela kneeling before him with a wicked gleam in her eye.

"Oh relax," Jaleena said. "You're in public with three Veela fawning all over you and one grabbing your backside. Start complaining, and there's going to be rumors about you."

Harry let loose string of threats and desired cursings under his breath before turning back around.

"Jaleena, want to feel how well these fit his derriere?" Médée asked.

"Alright, that's enough!" Harry stalked off towards the dressing room, leaving three crowing Veela behind him. He slipped on his shirt and noticed that once again, his clothes were getting a little tight through the chest. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror and realized just how much he'd grown this fall.

Sirius was right—he was taking after his father.

He was also quite a bit wider as his shoulders had begun filling out. His forearms were a little thicker and his jaw line more angular, not to mention the fifteen pounds he put on in muscle since he came to France.

Harry pulled his hair back into the leather tieback, then put on his shoes, gathered up his clothes and walked out to face his Veela-chicks; they were having a great time today, mainly at Harry's expense—both literally and figuratively. Azzurra took the clothes and sorted them; throwing most of them on the return cart, but handing a few items back to him.

"Really? More?" he asked.

She huffed, and pointed to the clerk with a pair of trousers in her hand that he had tried on earlier. "Trust me, and you're wearing these trousers to your Christmas party. They go perfectly with the shirt we found."

He dutifully paid and collected the bags before leaving the store.

"You know, some people would consider it a privilege to go clothes shopping in Milan, especially with three beautiful tour guides," Azzurra said.

Harry grimaced. "Sorry, I haven't been that bad, have I?"

"Your head really isn't here today, is it?" Jaleena asked, catching on to something as she walked next to Harry. She took his hand. "Worried about next Friday?"

"I didn't know it showed."

"Maybe lunch will 'elp," Médée said. "Let's send those bags on and go eat."

They went to the Floo center in the middle of the Milan Quadrato Magico and transported the packages to the way station. The wards would alert the elves who would then pick them up and take them back to the school.

The four of them made their way back through the confusing streets that seemed to wind back and forth in odd directions, until Azzurra stopped and pulled them inside a dingy little café.

Harry looked around and scowled at the ripped seats and broken Formica tabletops. Harry didn't mind it at all, but—

"Come on," Azzurra encouraged him. "I promise it's the best food you'll get in Italy."

"I don't doubt it. I just have a hard time placing you here."

She rolled her eyes and pushed him to the back of the room and up four flights of stairs to the rooftop where there more tables, ornately carved from different types of wood. Most of the seating afforded a breathtaking view of the city skyline, including its red roofs. Harry noticed that a warming charm protected the entire area and turned to Azzurra.

"It's my Uncle's," she answered, seeing the question in his face. "The downstairs is for Muggles and is a front for the real business up here."

They sat down at a table and a few minutes later, a portly middle-aged man with a receding black hairline and kind brown eyes stepped out of the doorway. Harry was surprised when he started yelling at Azzurra, but Jaleena and Médée were smirking.

"What's going on?"

"She's getting lectured for not telling him she was in Italy," Jaleena said. "It's quite humorous, really. Let us play dress-up with you again after lunch and I'll put it in a Pensieve and interpret it when we get back tonight."

"Nothing can be worth that much torture," Harry quipped.

She tousled his hair. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"It wasn't," Médée said from the other side of the small table. "I quite thoroughly enjoyed myself."

Harry cleared his throat and looked at the edge of the flat rooftop. "I wonder if Veela can actually fly."

Both Veela giggled at the empty threat.

Azzurra finished with her Uncle and returned to the conversation. "Sorry about that. I haven't seen him in a while. I hope you don't mind, Harry, but I ordered for us."

"That's fine; I can't read the menu anyway."

"True," she responded. "I just figured you had something else you wanted to talk about. You did win the bet, though it took you a week to recover . . . you idiot."

Harry laughed, "Probably not the smartest thing I've done, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't the dumbest either. So what's the big secret?"

"Want to know why Médée washed out her mouth after kissing you?" Azzurra asked.

"Yeah, though that happens every time a Veela kisses me. I just figured I taste bad."

"Every time?" Jaleena asked. "Can you think of any Veela that may have kissed you and didn't want to wash their mouth out?"

"No." Harry answered. "Azzurra just leaned in and sniffed before she ran out of infirmary, Mrs. Delacour kissed me on the forehead, so that doesn't count either. Paige and Gabrielle both—"

"Gabrielle?" Azzurra asked, surprised.

"Yeah, well. . . ." Harry explained what happened.

"The best kind of trouble," Azzurra echoed again, smiling on account of the younger Veela's antics the previous summer. "Anyway, is there anyone else?"

"None that I can think . . . Fleur kissed me on the cheek after she thought I saved Gabrielle's life, but she kissed my best mate too."

Médée unfolded her napkin and laid it in her lap as the first part of the meal arrived. "Did she happen to kiss you any other time?"

Harry thought about that for a second. "Well, yeah, but that doesn't really count."

"Let me guess," Azzurra said, moving her wine glass and dishing up a plate of antipasto. "It was a chaste kiss on the lips, but not a peck, she held her lips to yours for a couple of seconds, and it felt absolutely wonderful, maybe even awe-inspiring."

"Ah, yeah, how did. . . ."

"We have done the same thing to our boyfriends," Jaleena said, gesturing to Médée and herself.

Harry pulled his eyebrows together. "What does that mean?"

"It is called 'marking." By doing it, we informed any Veela our boyfriends may meet that another Veela is in love with them. That mark puts a type of scent and taste on them that repulses most other Veela. The more we fall in love with our mates, the stronger it gets, until not even a naturally full Veela like Azzurra can break it."

Harry's eyes grew larger and larger as he began to understand what they were telling him. "Why didn't she. . . ." he pushed a couple of olives around on his plate. "So what else do I need to know?"

"As the love for a wizard grows, we can choose to open our magic up even more to him." she continued. "Remember what you felt holding our hands those first couple of weeks?"

"Kind of hard to forget," Harry answered, staring down at his plate of cured meats, cheeses, and olives.

All three Veela laughed.

"It's like that, only a lot more intimate." Azzurra said. "Once we're ready, we can even bypass a lot of barriers that normal wizards put up towards love. It doesn't make them love us, but rather, it lets them know that they are really and truly loved."

He listened, thinking back to the last night in the Burrow. "I think . . . I may have felt that once."

Three pair of Avian eyes focused on him. "If she did," Azzurra said slowly, emphasizing every word. "Then not only did she mark you as a mate, but she has chosen to bathe you in her love—it is the most intimate magic a Veela has—and is not something that is given away lightly. If she did that for you, then she opened her heart and gave of herself to you; and unless I'm wrong, she was doing the same for you when she was at Durmstrang, wasn't she?"

"I thought she was just giving me better dreams. . . ."

"Dreams?" Médée raised an eyebrow. "That's a different part of our magic; you really did get a Veela education, didn't you?"

Harry stared out over the city, not seeing a thing. His chest felt like it was constricting as he nodded. "Why didn't she tell me any of this?"

"If you haven't noticed, Veela are strange creatures." Azzurra reminded him. "Either we want to be in charge and revel in our Veela powers, or we want to run away from them. Fleur probably wanted you to choose her for her, instead of always wondering if she manipulated you into liking her– or even loving her."

Harry thought back to the night in the cave. "I guess I understand. I didn't react well the one time she tried to use her magic to get me to do something."

At the look on their faces, he told them that story as well. By the end of it, he had related pretty much everything up to the time he left for Durmstrang, filling in the pieces that had been left out in previous conversations. What he didn't count on, was his Veela-chicks failing to hold back the grins, giggles, and finally, outright guffaws by the time he finished.

"I'm glad you all find it humorous," he sniped.

"We don't mean to laugh at you," Jaleena said "It's just that it seems the two of you have tried so hard to protect each other that you both ended up making a mess out of it. It's sweet, it's romantic, and it's amusing as hell, at least from the outside. It also makes me feel better about Fleur. I think you know how the three of us feel about you and if any witch causes you problems. . . ."

Harry smiled. "Except for you three, right?"

"And Gabrielle," Médée clarified.

"Can't forget her," Harry agreed, and then leaned back in his chair. "I just keep thinking about how much I hurt Fleur. She probably feels like I spit on her very soul."

"From the smell of it," Médée began, to choreographed eye rolls from the other two Veela, "I think she'll forgive you, but take my advice. You have to be honest with her and tell her both how you feel now and felt then. Tell her why you didn't want her to be a part of whatever it was she joined. Tell her how you felt when she held your hand, and when she said the things she did the day you visited Paris. A Veela senses emotion and when emotion is based on truth, it's powerful. Even if she isn't used to using that part of her gifts, it's too innate to turn off."

Harry listened, asked more questions, then listened some more.

The food was absolutely delicious - once he actually able to eat.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

The following week raced bye and before Harry knew it; he was saying goodbye to his Veela-chicks and other friends. Markus promised to come by the Delacour house over the holidays and train with him a couple of days to help him stay with it. He informed Harry that it'd also be a good time to go over the spring schedule of classes.

All of that faded into the background, however, as Harry took a Portkey from Durmstrang to the Way station, and then from there to where he was standing now, looking up at the Delacour manor decorated for Christmas. Wreaths lined the windows and doors. The trees were lit up with fairy lights and traditional Christmas decorations were hung as far as the eye could see. Music and laughter floated down from a top Floor that Harry had never set foot in. He glanced up to it, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw through a window, the profile of the most beautiful flower he had ever known.