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Chapter Fifteen
The Fateful Moment
Harry watched as his Flower stepped away from the window, her platinum blonde hair loosely pulled back from her face and falling in waves down her back. He was awed by the red hues, dancing across the silk knee-length fabric that hugged her lithe body as she moved.
His knees buckled and he barely caught himself on his trunk about the same time another blonde-haired angel peered through the window, looked down at him, and smirked. She reappeared in the front doorway a few seconds later.
"'Arry!"
"Gabby?"
"Of course, who else would come to your rescue?" she asked, throwing her arms around him and squeezing.
He returned the hug, and then back up and looked at her. "You look gorgeous tonight. How many wizards am I going to have to curse tonight to keep you safe?"
She giggled, pecked him on the cheek, then twisted out of his arms. "None, unfortunately. It's mainly family and close friends tonight, though that's probably a good thing, I doubt you'd be able to curse a first year right now."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"Because it looked like you turned into a squib the moment you saw Fleur. I'd have to defend my own honor."
Harry exaggerated a roll of the eyes and Gabrielle giggled again.
"Come on." She motioned in the general direction of the house. "Let's sneak through your apartment in the basement."
Harry followed her around to the side of the house and through the basement door, but he jolted to a halt as soon as he crossed the threshold. The old bookshelves, the soft, low-slung couch, and the muted throw rug on the light-colored wooden floors all brought back a wave of feelings from last summer: guilt over surviving the massacre; anger, heartache, and confusion over Fleur; nausea from his first time getting drunk—
"Don't tell me you forgot where your bedroom is," Gabrielle interrupted. "Or would you rather save time and float your trunk upstairs to Fleur's room?"
"I swear, before the night's over . . ." he left the threat hanging and reached out to muss her hair as he focused on the present again, but she ducked out of the way and bounced towards the door to his old bedroom.
"So, where's Hedwig?" she asked, opening it.
"I let her fly back." Harry answered, and floated his trunk to the foot of his bed before, unlatched it, and threw the lid back. Books; a fur-lined, blood-red winter robe; and a pile of clothes tumbled out. Harry jumped out of the way before a four-hundred page monograph titled, "Speculative Theories Concerning Connections between Emotion and Magic" slid off the bed and thunked down on the floor.
Gabrielle gave the scene a disapproving shake of the head. "Nice packing job, but I think you forgot Hedwig's cage."
"I figured she could use the Owlery, smartarse." He bent down and gathered the pile of clothes, throwing them into the wicker basket against the far wall, then picked up the book off the floor. "Unless you destroyed it while I was gone."
She gave him an eye roll of her own and snagged the fallen robe, hanging it in the closet.
While her back was turned, Harry pulled his shirts out of the trunk. He began refolding them just as Sirius had taught him, but after the fourth or fifth one, a small hand laid on top of his and he looked up into a pair of eyes that were fast becoming as enrapturing as Jaleena's—though these were accompanied with a mischievous smile.
"There's no way I'm letting you skip the party to stay down here and unpack," Gabrielle said. "If your Veela-chicks found out, they'd de-plume me for sure."
"My Veela-chicks?" Harry asked, savoring the familial warmth of her hand. "And are these 'Veela-chicks' expecting an owl from you about what happens tonight?"
"Of course," she answered, her mischievous smile growing wider. "Anything else you wanna know while you're stalling?"
Harry mumbled something about obstinate Veela as she pulled her hand away, then deposited herself in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room.
"Planning on watching?" he asked.
She crossed her arms. "I'll close my eyes—you'll get dressed faster if you think I'm peeking."
"Absolute trouble," he huffed, collected a small bag and a pair of boxers, before heading to the bathroom and a shower.
He turned on the water, completely forgetting the lesson he had learned over the summer.
"Blimey!" Harry scoot back from the cold spray and pushed the showerhead to face the wall, completely missing the bathroom door opening as he continued. "All the magic in the world and we still haven't—"
"What are you doing?!" Gabrielle interrupted, yanking open the shower curtain. "You're supposed to be getting dressed!"
Harry covered himself with his washcloth. "Get out of here!" he yelled and reached for the curtain with his free hand, but she pulled it back even farther, glaring at him.
"If you keep wasting time, I'm going to take a gander a little lower and Pensieve the memory for your Durmstrang harem!"
"My what?"
Her wink pushed him over the edge and Harry reached for the showerhead and turned it on her.
She jumped, barely avoiding getting soaked, but when she let go, Harry took hold of the curtain and snapped it back into place. On second thought, he pulled the curtain back and stuck his hand out, summoned his wand off the counter, then cast a Sticking Charm on the end of the curtain before pushing it back against the wall.
Hopefully he was safe from voyeurs now.
"What happened to my innocent little sister?"
"She turned out to be a dangerous and wickedly beautiful Veela—now shut up and finish your shower or next time, I'll make sure to look at something other than your eyes!"
He heard the door click behind her and peeked out from the non-charmed end of the curtain to make sure she left, then cast a Locking Charm on the door.
Finished with his shower a few minutes later, he stepped onto the bathroom tile, dried off, and pulled on a pair of boxers.
"You still out there?" He asked.
"Of course," she answered from the other side of the wall.
"Go to the sitting room for a moment, I'm coming out."
"Why, are you naked?"
"What? No!"
"Damn . . . that's okay, I'll stay anyway."
Harry shook his head, hung the towel on the bar, and then stuck his head out the door. "If you want me to put a certain memory of you in a Pensieve and show it to everyone upstairs. . ."
Gabrielle's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Try me . . . little sister."
"Um, yeah, I think I'll wait in the sitting room," she said, turning pale. He watched as she swept out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.
With a grin at her antics, Harry stepped out of the bathroom and noticed that Gabrielle had laid out his trousers and shirt on the bed.
He picked the trousers up and realized that they had been re-pressed. Gabrielle must have had Froissé do it, he thought, slipping them on and taking the time to relish the feel of the silk/wool blend. He ran his hand across the fabric three or four times, then pulled the legs up and let them drop, watching how the creases reappeared in the same place every time.
So this is what it is like to wear brand new dress clothes. I may have to do this more often.
He snaked a dragon-skin belt through the loops and yanked it tight, but before he could buckle it and without any conscious decision, his wand streaked into his outstretched hand and he spun as it touched his fingers, a curse already on his lips.
"It's just me!" Gabrielle squeaked. She couldn't help but let her eyes trace over his still naked upper body. "Perie-le-Snik! What happened to you?"*
He tossed his wand back on the bed and picked up his shirt. "At least I now know you didn't get a good look at me in the shower."
"Yeah, but maybe I'm wishing I did," she answered in a breathy, surprised voice.
A hint of amusement crept into his, "By the way your gawking at me, it's probably better that you didn't."
Her cheeks flushed a cute pink and she looked up from his chest. "Um, sorry?"
He laughed. "At least I'm not running down the hall starkers flashing my derriere."
Gabrielle's flush turned bright red. "Whatever, get dressed!" she ordered, backing up and leaning against the wall.
"Yes, ma'am."
Harry pulled on a black silk shirt that had two extra seams running at an angle up the back, removing any excess material. Azzurra had insisted that he wear it tonight and when he tried to argue with her, she threatened to curse him.
He felt self-conscious wearing something so form fitting—the shirt lay smooth over his chest and tapered down to his waist—instead of the overly large hand-me-downs that he used to wear. It was the reason he still bought most of his shirts a size or two too large.
"So, what do you think?" he asked, looking at up Gabrielle, and had to wait while she swallowed a couple of times before finding her voice.
"I think I'm going to make sure I have a clear view of the room upstairs before you make your entrance," she answered.
He picked up a pair of socks and whipped them at her, but she gracefully sidestepped them.
"Fleur's reaction is definitely going to be Pensieve-worthy, and Paige just may kiss you again!"
A second pair of socks caught her between the eyes. Gabrielle stumbled back a step in surprise, then picked up both pairs and whipped them back at him, missing horribly. The second pair hit a vase on the shelf. It rocked backwards, then pirouetted and fell. Harry's hand flashed out and he caught the overly large Snitch just before it shattered on the floor.
"Thank you!" she gushed. "Maman would have killed me—that vase is made of material that can't be spelled back together."
Harry set the vase back on the shelf. "I guess we should add bad aim to your list of things to work on," he teased.
Gabrielle nodded, probably still in fear of what her mother would have done to her.
Harry slipped on the dragon-skin dress shoes that Jaleena had bought him—she did hex him when he tried to argue with her about it—and felt a tug on his hair. He looked back to find Gabrielle removing the leather tieback. His hair fell out to its full length and she ran her hands through it, and then stepped away.
"Gabby, what are—"
"Shh! I'm thinking."
Harry was also thinking, mainly about throwing something a bit harder at her.
She motioned for him to turn around.
"Happy?" he asked, finishing the spin.
"Shh! I said! I'm still trying to decide . . ."
He gave her yet another eye roll.
"I think this will work," she concluded a few seconds later, and put the tieback in his hair again, though quite a bit lower than he normally wore it. "Now turned back to me," she instructed.
He did, and she backed up and looked at him once more, then nodded to herself. "Ready for the famous Delacour Christmas party?"
"No, but that's not going to stop you from dragging me up there, is it?"
"Of course not!" she chortled, then took his hand and pulled him out of the bedroom.
They walked through the hallway and up the stairs towards the main floor, but as they reached it, her mother caught sight of Gabrielle.
"Oh, there you are. Could you—"
Her eyes locked onto Harry. "You made it!" she cried, and pulled him into a hug, then stepped back and cast an appraising eye on him. "You're looking much better than the last time I saw you. I'm glad you're here . . . and in one piece."
Her demeanor changed as fast as a flick of a wand.
"The next time you scare the hell out of me by trying to kill yourself against a mountain, I'll hit you with so many curses you'll never fly again, I don't care how big you're getting, understand?" she said, a tremor running through her voice. She looked away and wiped at something in her eye.
Harry thought about the maternal feeling he felt when she kissed him on the forehead and later, what Azzurra said to him about Veela magic and adoption.
"Thank you," he answered in a small voice.
The look Mrs. Delacour flashed was one of surprise shifting to understanding, then she smiled and took him by the wrist. "Enough Veela histrionics; let me introduce you to a few people."
She led him into the small family room off the kitchen. It looked like last summer with the couch in the middle of the room, looking out over the valley and farther, to the town and ocean; but tonight, wreaths, fairy lights, and various other accouterments highlighted the room in a holiday theme. "Anastasie, Maryse, could you come over here?"
Two full and very powerful Veela walked towards them.
"This is the young man I have been going on about." Mrs. Delacour said. "Let me introduce you to Monsieur 'Arry Potter."
Harry took each of their hands in turn and kissed the inside of their wrist, showing proper deference in the Veela way.
He noticed the questioning look Mrs. Delacour and Gabrielle gave him, and decided to confuse them a little more.
"Je suis enchantée de faire votre connaissance," Harry said to Anastasie.**
"French?" Gabrielle managed to croak out.
"I can see why they opened their arms to you," Anastasie remarked. "I look forward to getting to know you, but I'm sure you don't want to spend the evening speaking with an old lady when there are so many younger and more beautiful ones upstairs."
Harry realized just how much he owed his Veela-chicks. All the teasing and forcing him to concentrate among the sexual tension, especially with Médée, was about to pay off.
"No one here fits the description of an old lady," he answered. "And I am sure I'd be hard pressed to find greater beauty or conversation as well."
A snort and a chuckle drew his attention to Maryse. "Be careful 'Arry, or you might provoke the old crow into using her Veela magic. Never trust a Flock Leader."
A sharp twill and a few clicking sounds escaped from Anastasie. Maryse bit down on her lips, but her eyes sparkled in laughter.
"A Flock Leader?" Harry asked, before catching himself. He inclined his head and pulled out his wand, laying it in his open left palm, then covered his heart with his right. "I didn't know you were a member of the Zekēnōt. Please accept my apology for not immediately showing you the proper honor due a Flock Leader."
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Mrs. Delacour's look of complete befuddlement, mixed with shock. He had to check himself to keep from sniggering at this most inappropriate of moments.
Anastasie drew herself up and Harry found himself engulfed in a regal aura. The air hummed with Ancient Veela magic.
"Young wizard," her voice resonated through the room. "If all your kind showed us such respect, the magical world would have a far different history. You honor me and bring honor ten-fold to a race that has acted opposite to the Veela nation all too often."
She winked and the regal air dissipated just that fast. "But be careful, 'Arry; Maryse was right, my magic may just slip and—"
"Oh knock it off," Mrs. Delacour interrupted, finally looking like she was in charge of her faculties again. "Impertinent hen, go hit my husband with your magic instead of 'Arry, it's been hours since he's made a fool of himself."
Anastasie cocked her head to the side, her avian nature almost visible in the way she looked at Mrs. Delacour. "I just may have to do that."
"Good, Pensieve the memory for me so we can watch it later."
"I'm looking forward to it," Anastasie said with a laugh, then turned to say something to Maryse when in the blink of an eye, the levity ceased and Anastasie was once again the regal Flock Leader.
She turned to Gabrielle and held out her hand. "If you please, my dear."
Gabrielle, her pupils slightly dilated with fear, placed her wrist in the offered hand. Anastasie lifted it to her nose, then with a scowl, leaned forward and took in more of Gabrielle's scent. After a moment, she pulled back, looking at Mrs. Delacour a little relieved, but also perplexed.
"The other one," Mrs. Delacour said in an almost whisper.
Harry wasn't sure whether the surge in magic was in anger or surprise, but it disappeared as quickly as he felt it and damn, was she ever powerful.
"Explain," Anastasie ordered, giving Mrs. Delacour a hard look.
"The story is long, but if she is to be believed, and I do, it came about naturally and after much suffering."
"Was it mutually agreed upon?"
"No, but she waits, letting choices be made without interference even as it has had the effects you asked about earlier."
"So I was right then?" Anastasie asked.
"We shall see, maybe tonight, maybe not."
Harry looked back and forth between the two of them, and surmised that it had to do with Fleur—and probably him as well.
"Mrs. Delacour, is Fleur in trouble?"
She looked at Harry, then at Anastasie, as if she was waiting for the answer herself.
"Why would that be of your concern, young Potter?"
Harry raised his chin towards Anastasie and answered with a confidence won over the last few months of training. "She's risked death by the hand of Voldemort to save my life."
"Is that the only reason?" the Flock Leader asked.
He felt himself deflate. "No, but the other is much more complicated."
Her eyes bore into him, then traced over every shadow and muscle in his face, neck, and shoulders, before she came to a conclusion half a minute later.
Anastasie nodded. "It usually is with Veela. We will most definitely meet again before your term begins. I trust Apolline will make that come about, perhaps over dinner."
"I'll see to it as soon as the party is over," Mrs. Delacour confirmed.
Anastasie nodded to Maryse and they walked towards the stairwell to head back up to the party.
Harry was about to ask what had just happened when Anastasie turned back to him. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said, wearing an amused smile. "But I forgot to tell you, 'Good luck tonight; I think you're going to need it.'"
She cackled merrily and dragged Maryse with her up the stairs.
"What was that all about?" Harry asked.
"Just Veela stuff," Mrs. Delacour answered, looking more than a little relieved, but also annoyed. "She's keenly interested in you and Fleur. Anyway, let me introduce you to everyone else."
Fifteen minutes later, Harry found himself in a private sitting room off the Master bedroom.
"Only immediate family is allowed in here," Mrs. Delacour said as she closed the door and gestured to the staircase. "Those lead to the top floor; use them and this room tonight if you need to get away for a few minutes."
Harry thanked her.
"I'll hear nothing of it. Now it's about time I show myself upstairs again. If Anastasie took me up on my offer, who knows how my husband's embarrassed the family by now," she finished with a grin. "Come up when you're ready."
Mrs. Delacour put a hand on Gabrielle's back and pushed her gently towards the stairs. "Let's give 'Arry a few moments alone. I imagine it's an adjustment from Durmstrang."
Gabrielle opened her mouth to argue, but the words died on her lips at her mother's glare. Halfway up the stairs however, Gabrielle stopped and flashed Harry a big grin. "If you can take on an entire mountain, a flower should be nothing."
"Gabrielle!" Mrs. Delacour cried out, swatting her on the rear. "Get up there and leave 'Arry alone!" Gabrielle ran up the stairs, giggling like mad again, with her mother chasing after her. But when the door opened, another voice floated down into the room. "Gabrielle, 'ave you seen Maman? Oh, there she—"
The door clicked shut and he heard nothing else but his heart, now suddenly hammering in his chest. He fought off the urge to run downstairs and Portkey back to Durmstrang, though it helped to remember that if he showed up at the school tonight, he'd face the wrath—and curses—of three Veela. There were few things that Harry wanted less than facing his Veela-chicks in full-feather . . . of course, one of those things used to be Hermione banging on about SPEW.
His laughter filled the room at the random thought of Hermione's one-witch crusade for elf-rights. The memory calmed the thumping in his chest, so he allowed himself to reminisce about his two best mates. She was a saint for putting up with him and Ron. Then again, she could be just as much a prat as either of them when she wanted to be. "Oh look, Fleur's playing mail-owl again; I wonder what Gabrielle said in passing that she just has to tell you about this time?"
Harry's eyes snapped open. "She knew! Why couldn't she have told me?" he asked the empty room, now understanding what Hermione was hinting at. The revelation began a cavalcade of memories, starting with Hermione and Ron teasing each other that last night, then Hermione teasing Harry again about Fleur as they left him at the gate while she walked up.
The memories continued, and soon Harry was reliving the third task; racing through the maze, meeting up with Cedric and then Fleur; Krum almost hexing us and then joining to finish the task –grabbing for the cup. . .
The scenes rushed by; the graveyard, the cauldron, Cedric's death and Harry's fight with Voldemort; but as the Phoenix song began, it's meaning crashed over him—"Do not break the golden beam, ta bien-aimée fleur a besoin de temps pour récupérer."
"Do not break the golden beam, your beloved Flower. . ."
"My beloved . . . Fleur? What?"
Harry thought back to the curses they were casting—watching as Fleur and Krum continued to battle even after all they had gone through in the maze. . .
. . . And she was the one that raced across the graveyard; it surprised him since Krum was closer. Why would she sacrifice herself . . . she was so worried . . . Your beloved Flower;could it have been? Your beloved Flower. . . could she have started to care for him even before that hell had descended upon them? Is it possible that he started to care for her?
Your beloved Flower. . . Harry stumbled back and grabbed a hold of the windowsill, the weight of this second revelation hitting him like a herd of stampeding Abraxans. . . Needs time to recover.
My Flower . . . needed time to recover?
"Oh, bloody hell, how could I have been so stupid!"
His hands were ice; his heart, a jackhammer. He looked out of the window at the star drenched sky.
"Hermione, Ron, help me . . . I'm about to make a ruddy fool of myself!" The words barely passed his lips before he hit the steps two at a time. He reached the top and threw the door open, scanning the room for his Flower.
She was standing with her back to him by the fireplace, looking smaller, less healthy than he remembered, but her beauty still radiated throughout the room, outshining every Veela there.
Harry, now six-feet tall and thirteen-stone with the body of a warrior and a look to match, commanded the attention of every person present. Discussion ceased as he strode across the floor, the crackling of the fire behind an ancient metal grille the only remaining noise among the eighty plus guests; except Fleur who was still carrying on a quiet conversation with Paige, oblivious to the unfolding scene behind her.
Paige caught her breath as Harry approached. Her eyes flicked to him, back to Fleur, then to him again. Fleur's words trailed off into silence and slowly, she turned around.
A champagne glass slipped out her hand and shattered on the hardwood floor.
"'Arry?"
For an answer, he gently touched her cheek, tracing a path down behind her ear and to the back of her neck, then he wrapped his other arm around her slender waist.
Fleur's eyes widened.
At the last moment, the left side of his lips pulled back in a cheeky smirk—and then he dipped her just as he'd seen done a hundred times in the old movies he watched on Privet Drive when no one else was home.
With eyes closed, he sank into breathless perfection. The universe melted away leaving only the feeling of life and love surging through him, the warmth of her lips, the caressing fingers that burned his cheeks with their delicate touch, they were the only reminders that he had not ascended into the heavens.
And then it was over.
He pulled away and set her on her feet again.
"Oui," his voice echoed in the utter silence, answering her question.
He nodded to Paige, then turned and walked away; trying nonchalantly to reach for a glass of champagne and hoping no one saw his hand shaking. He drained it in one tip of the head while heading towards the balcony, wondering what in the hell he had just done.
Gabrielle happened to be standing by the sliding doors, grinning widely and holding out her hand. Harry gave her the glass and stepped outside.
She slid the door closed behind him as the room exploded in cheers.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
Fleur was unable to focus, unable to catch her breath, and unable to stand. "Mon Dieu!" she rasped, and grabbed Paige to keep herself from crumpling to the floor, but she didn't miss Harry as he downed a glass of champagne and disappeared into the night.
"Breathe, Fleur, come on! Take a breath for me," Paige encouraged, still holding her up.
She took Paige's advice, relieving the burning sensation in her lungs that she wasn't even aware of a moment before.
"Where did he go?" she asked in a shaky voice.
Even more laughter and cheers answered her question. She looked for Harry, but all she saw was Gabrielle, standing with an empty champagne glass in one hand and her other on the sliding door—and then Fleur understood.
He left without saying goodbye . . . again.
She turned to look at Paige.
"Oh, shit," Paige whispered. "I thought you were kidding when you said you'd hex him half the night."
"Half?" Fleur growled as she started towards the door.
Gabrielle stepped in front of it, her arms crossed and her foot tapping a staccato beat on the hardwood. She raised an eyebrow.
"Get. Out. Of. My. Way!"
The tapping stopped.
"Don't do anything stupid," Gabrielle threatened. "Remember what drove him to Durmstrang in the first place."
Fleur pierced her with a look and waited until she stepped aside, then opened the door and walked out. She saw a figure meandering down in the garden by the wall on the west side of the estate.
Briefly, she wondered how Harry had ended up down there since there were no stairs, but she put it out of her mind as she reached the end of the balcony. Without hesitation, she stepped up on a bench, put a foot on the railing, and pushed off.
Calling on her magic, she transformed, spreading her wings to slow her decent as she landed on the ground below, then transformed back. After taking a moment to re-adjust her dress, Fleur squared her shoulders and marched off towards the garden. Every step she took was filled with emotion: joy at being in his presence warring with anger at everything she'd been through over the last few months; relief that the conversation so long overdue was finally coming, conflicting with fear at what she would hear . . . and say. But as she closed the distance, something else within her took over and her entire countenance blazed with want.
"'Ow dare you kiss me in front of all those people and then walk out on me!" She spat out when she reached him. Without waiting for an answer, she clutched his shirt in both hands and yanked him forward, their bodies crashing into each other.
She planted her lips on his and a primal need surged forth, her Veela nature emerging hungry and predatory. Needing more of him, she wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him tighter, her hands tangling in his hair and more than aware of the arms that wrapped around her; they were larger, stronger than they were last summer, but so much more important than that, was something that she was finally feeling again, something she had silently longed for since the day he pulled her into his embrace in the Burrow.
She was safe; she was cared for; she was home.
Fleur rested in that feeling until a need to understand what was happening took over. She pulled back and began firing off questions.
"Why did you say you didn't want to be with me this summer? Why did you try to shut me out? Why didn't you let me 'elp you? Why didn't you tell me you were leaving for Durmstrang? Why didn't yooummph—"
Harry shut her up the best way he knew how—and Fleur was very thankful, but she needed answers. She tried to pull away from his beckoning lips, his entrancing eyes, the demeanor of strength with an undercurrent of danger all mixed with innocence that called out to her— Her lips searched for bliss once again. Finding it, she lost herself until the need for air made her pull back, gasping.
Who's the Veela?She shook her head to clear it before beginning.
"'Arry," she said, still fighting the protests of her body that demanded she shut up and kiss him again. "I know I was wrong and that I 'urt you, but I need you to answer my questions."
Fleur peered up in to his eyes, hoping, even praying that he understood why.
Almost as an answer, he traced his fingertips down her arm and a jolt of electricity followed his touch. Harry took her hand and they walked down the path a bit farther in the moonlight, and then stopped at a little knoll where the ground leveled out. He gently pulled Fleur towards him and let go of her hand, grabbed her waist, and set her down on top of the rock wall.
The lack of effort on his part wasn't lost on her, nor was the anxiety, the pain, and the fear clear in the set of his jaw and firmness around his eyes.
"I owe you a lot of answers, and a few apologies," he finally said.
Something in his voice caused a tingle of fear to trace a course through her body, leaving a sense of foreboding.
"I need to apologize for what I have done. When I first arrived at Durmstrang, Azzurra, Jaleena, and Médée came into my dorm to introduce themselves."
Fleur's eyes pricked as tears formed. Anger welled up at the confession she feared was coming, but she had learned her lessons well enough about jumping to conclusions, and remained silent.
"They sussed out pretty quickly that I was having what they called, 'witch troubles,' and took it upon themselves to straighten me out. Once they realized that you were a Veela, they made me take a class that discussed your history and culture. I learned much in that class."
The clutching in her chest relented a little.
"I learned that I hurt you in ways I couldn't even imagine. I can't even blame you for the things you said that day we visited Paris."
Fleur opened her mouth to interrupt, but Harry continued. "I learned that you bathed me in your love and chased away my nightmares while we were in the Burrow.
"And, I learned that by acting like a child, I spit on your very soul."
Harry absentmindedly pulled the tieback out and ran his hands through is hair, shaking it out. Fleur watched his every movement until his eyes caught hers again and she was captivated by their sublimity.
"I'm sorry, Fleur, after everything you did for me, I don't know how you can forgive me after I treated you like . . . like. . ."
She put a hand on his chest and shook her head, having heard enough. "Thank you 'Arry, but I am as much at fault if not more. I didn't think about what the Order represented to you, about all the people who you cared about and 'ow much loss you and your friends 'ave suffered by your parents being involved with it. I didn't think about you being worried that something would 'appen to me . . ." she paused, a look of uncertainty crossing her face. "You do care—don't you? All of this, I mean . . . they are so much more beautiful than me. I wouldn't blame you, not after the things I said."
"Who?" Harry asked, confused.
"Your Veela-chicks," her mouth twisted over the words, her voice barely louder than the breeze that caressed the trees behind them. "Their 'earts are so beautiful. The way they took care of you . . . I realized 'ow little I still know about caring for people, and after the way I treated you this summer, 'ow could you choose me and not one of them?"
"Fleur, I've thought about you every day, and dreamt about you every night."
She was caught off guard, hearing him speak French. Then she realized what he had actually said, and the words stole her breath away. Could it be true? She wanted it to be, yearned for it to be. Could he really still feel that way? She thought she had ruined it all, and now it was being offered to her with a golden wand.
"How can you still care?" she asked, desperately wanting to believe him.
"Because of what you did for me, because you, you . . . loved me."
"And I still do," she confessed, the words rushing out before she could catch them, still not quite able to accept that she'd been given a second chance. "I so want to believe you, 'Arry, I want to believe that I didn't destroy everything between us, that I didn't push you into the arms of a Veela that's so much more deserving of you than I am."
She couldn't stop the tears that washed over her eyelashes and down her cheeks. Harry wiped them away, his touch causing her skin to pulsate with heat in rhythm with her heart. She found herself again entranced by the man in front of her and longed to take him into her arms.
As if he knew, Harry stepped closer, his body now inches away. His breath danced across her cheek as he spoke. "I've felt your love. The night the Burrow was attacked. I woke up before you and felt it, felt the depth of what you were giving to me. No one has ever given that much of themselves for me. How can I forget that?"
She leaned back slightly, searching his eyes for any hint of a lie. "It's too good to be true," she said quietly.
"Will you believe my magic?" he asked, his breath dancing again on her cheek as he spoke.
She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling. Unless he had turned dark in the last four months, his magic wouldn't lie, couldn't lie; and though her underdeveloped empathic sense testified that both he and his magic had changed, he was still 'Arry, and he wasn't dark; at least not yet.
And he's going to stay that way, she decided. It was her responsibility to make sure, because she loved him too much to lose him to revenge and the Dark Arts.
"Yes," she finally answered, and pressed her cheek against his lips, feeling the pressure as he leaned in as well. The chaste kiss touched her soul more deeply than anything she'd ever experienced before.
Harry wiped away her last remaining tears before stepping back, but Fleur saw something in his eyes that she'd never seen before, a look of contentment, of peace, of . . . joy.
It looked foreign on him, but it also looked very, very good.
She reached out for him, wanting to hold her wizard, but stopped short; her hands dropped to her side as she watched Harry's Patronus soar into the air, hauntingly majestic. The ancient progenitor stretched its wings, banked, and came back towards them. Fleur felt her magic call out to the Patronus, then link with it, confirming the love that she believed Harry felt for her. As it passed over her head, she heard Harry's voice emanating from it, "My beloved Flower."
Fleur turned to watch it fly by, but it dissipated into a mist above their heads.
She turned back to Harry with a timid smile and reached for his shirt, pulling him into her again.
He opened his mouth to say something, but she rested a delicate finger on his lips. "Shh, 'Arry. I believe you, and I give you my 'eart."
Harry cupped her hand and pulled it down so he could speak. "You offered it to me a long time ago. I am the one that pushed you away."
"Please, 'Arry, I understand why, I was foolish to not speak with you first."
She watched the emotion play on his face.
When he finally spoke, her jaw dropped at hearing her mother tongue spoken as if he had actually learned it, rather than memorizing a few lines to impress her.
"I reacted as a child. It was something I found I did often. The first day at Durmstrang I reacted the same way over something and faced the wrath of a naturally full Veela"—Harry chuckled—"you were right, by the way, very scary."
Despite the serious conversation and heavy emotion, Fleur found herself laughing. "I warned you," she said in a cute, chiding voice. "And while we're talking about things you learned, when did you start speaking French?"
"Azzurra was going on about magic and control one day. I got tired of it and cast a Patronus to shut her up." He raised an eyebrow. "It used to be a stag. Imagine my surprise."
A content smile played on her face as Harry continued. "I had no idea what it was. Unfortunately, Azzurra, Médée and Jaleena were all in the room. They quickly sussed out that my "witch problem" was not only Veela, but also the Beauxbatons Champion. They forced me to start learning French the next day on top of Veela classes."
"Remind me to thank them."
"A couple good hexings should suffice," Harry said with a small laugh. "But, that night back at the Burrow, I was afraid of losing you. After losing so many others, and after everything that had happened over those last few days, I couldn't bear to think about it so instead, I acted like a git and said some pretty cruel things. . ."
Fleur placed her hand on his cheek, able to look slightly down at him from her seat on the top of the wall. "And then I hurt you the next morning when I slapped you." She swallowed hard before continuing. "Not even two days before that I made a promise to never hurt you, but that day I broke it in the worst possible way."
A slight tremor ran through her hands, just as it did every time she had rehearsed this part of the conversation over the last few weeks.
No matter how much the answer to her next question hurt however, she had to know, so that she could own up to it and make it right. "Please be honest with me, 'Arry. Was that why you pulled away from me?"
"No," he answered, his voice growing empty and flat again. "I wish it were; it'd be so much easier."
"Then what?" she asked, the tendril of fear curling up her spine yet again. "Tell me, I don't want anything left unsaid between us."
Harry stepped back from her and turned to look down the moonlit valley. "Please Fleur, not tonight."
The tremors increased, but she ignored them and pushed herself off the wall. "Yes, 'Arry, tonight. I will not sleep until I have bared my heart to you—and hope you'll do the same."
He took a breath and closed his eyes, but when he opened them, she had to bite her tongue to stop from crying out.
Standing before her once again was a hero whose heart had just died.
With an emotionless voice he confessed, "I'm a Horcrux."
"I know," she whispered, moving to wrap her arms around him, but he backed away. Anger and rejection surged to the surface and she barely caught it in time before brutally shoving it back down.
"Do you?" he asked. "Do you really know what it means?"
She stared. The foreboding and fear morphed into impinging doom.
"The one thing the myths of your origins left out, the most important part of the story you told Remus and me that morning in the Burrow, was that those men could be killed as long as the Horcruxes were destroyed."
"I know zhat, it is why the Order was . . ." And then it clicked.
"Destroyed?" she asked, her voice brittle.
"Yes, Fleur, I'm going to die. Either fighting Voldemort or by my own hand as soon as I kill him, in order to destroy the Horcrux."
"NO!"
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
On the balcony, Paige, Gabrielle, and a number of their cousins and friends watched the show in the garden. They couldn't hear anything and really, they didn't want to. But the entertainment quality was something they'd remember for years to come. A brassed off Fleur had stormed out of the party and didn't even break stride as she dropped from the balcony, transforming in midair and falling over twenty-five feet to the ground below. The scene emptied half the room. They cheered when Fleur launched herself at Harry, attempting to suffocate him with her kisses. A minute later, they watched as Harry shut her up with another kiss, and they cheered again.
They went inside for a while, but when the older adults went to bed, the younger Veela and a few others congregated back out on the balcony. They had just found chairs and settled in for the show when they saw Fleur barely remember to push out her magic and save her dress. Her heels, however, exploded as she transformed again while a screamed, "No," echoed up the valley.
"Ahem," Gabrielle cleared her throat rather loudly and held out her hand. "Full-feather in less than ten minutes of watching; pay up."
She smiled a few seconds later, now almost twenty Galleons richer as most of the balcony had foolishly bet against her. It was her sister, after all, and except for Paige, only she knew how much Harry could wind her up.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
The slow movement of Apolline's hand was the epitome of stealth. She chose her target, right there . . . she tuned out her husband's ramblings, though she nodded a couple of times, letting her hair fall forward to better hide her movement. Wait; there were two, even three, and close together, as if they were trying to gain support from each other—but she wouldn't have that, not if she could help it. Her hand now perched, ready to strike; she closed an eye to make sure she was seeing them correctly, and went in for the kill—
"OUCH! Stop plucking my chest hair! I don't care how gray they are!" Her husband yelled, rubbing his chest. "Damn wicked Veela!"
She curled up into a ball beside him, pressed her faced into his ribs, and laughed so hard her sides began to hurt almost immediately.
He rubbed his chest and then flicked her gently on the nose, causing her to smile. "Would you please tell me where, in all of your literature, law, or lore, it says that anything positive can come from ripping out your husband's chest hair at six-thirty in the morning?"
"Honey, you married a Veela," she equivocated.
"And what's that supposed to mean? I have to endure follicle abuse?"
She pulled out her "hurt little girl"look. "You're not going to deny me my heritage, are you?"
"Heritage? Oh please. How is your gray-hair fetish is related to your heritage? This I HAVE to hear!"
Apolline looked up at him from under her eyelids, giving him the cutest, yet most sultry look she could manage in the early morning hour. "I was preening you, love. All us birds do it."
He groaned and threw the covers back. "If that's all you have, I'm headed into the office."
Apolline latched on to him, resting her head on his chest. "You're not going anywhere, grouch! It's your day off."
"And it's a shame, too," he answered, but she felt his hand as it slid down her back to rest between her hip and derriere. She loved when he held her that way. There was something so intimate about it. "Tell me again why we have to get up at six-thirty in the morning when we didn't get to bed until after midnight."
"Because the rest of 'Arry's family is arriving today."
Jacque snorted. "Good, they can take him back with them if he's going to kiss my little girl like he did last night."
She swatted him on the arm. "Now's not the time to start up the 'Protective Father' role," she admonished.
"Don't worry," he said, and smiled at his wife. "Hell, you haven't seen him duel. Every time I go to Durmstrang, Professor Sirko puts some memories of 'Arry's training in a Pensieve. After what I saw last week, there's no way I'd want to face an angry 'Arry."
She pushed herself up on her elbows, allowing the surprise she felt to show. "Really? I don't think I've ever heard of you backing down from a duel."
"It happens," he said. "It's called 'choosing your battles wisely,' at least maturity is good for something."
"Maturity?" she mocked. "Oh, no, no, Mr. Delacour, it's not maturity—you're just getting old, sir. I could even pluck a few more gray hairs to prove it!"
"Preening." He shook his head and chuckled, then kissed her before winding her up. "With all that gray hair, maybe I need a trophy wife to get me through my midlife crisis."
He dodged the pillow and tried to jump out of bed, but the sheet wrapped around his ankle and before he could undo it she took another swing, and he took the pillow in the center of his chest, then tumbled arse over elbow off the bed. A thud reported that the floor broke his fall.
She pulled herself to the edge of the mattress and looked down, her silver-blond hair framing her still youthful face, now lit up with mirth. "Still alive, Mon Amour?" She couldn't keep the humor out of her voice.
"Remind me to list 'bad aim' as a good trait when I start looking."
Apolline chuckled and reached down, running her hand along his back and neck. "You are okay, aren't you?"
"I think so," her husband answered, and rolled over to his knees and sat up, taking the opportunity to kiss her again. She followed him into the bathroom a few minutes later and decided to take a shower.
She relaxed, letting the hot water beat down on her back as she thought about what had happened the night before, or more specifically, what 'Arry had managed . . .
. . . Do you know what you've done, Mon Petit? she wondered. Do you know the uproar your little show last night is going to cause?
Both shows, she corrected herself with a big smile.
The way he handled Fleur was priceless. The memory was already in a Pensieve. Those who missed the scene for one reason or another thoroughly enjoyed the replay.
It was his other show however, that she was thinking about now, and its far-reaching ramifications. There was no way he could know the firestorm he had created, but Apolline did—knew it better than she knew her own magic—and she was going to make sure the resulting flames were spread far and wide. The right things said to the right people, the name "Harry Potter" dropped at the right time . . .
She adjusted the spray so the hot water could beat down on her neck, loosening the knots that formed every year from the stress of the Christmas party. Normally, this was the time she'd swear that it was the last one; a promise that usually lasted through New Year's Day, when she started planning again.
This morning however, she was too focused, thinking about how History, Fate, or even a god was guiding Harry's life. What were the odds that he'd fall in with a Veela who happened to be the Beauxbatons Champion, come to France with her, connect with a Professor from Durmstrang, and through him, become friends with none other than Azzurra Sala?
Apolline shook her head at the implications of the friendship. That little Veela was the daughter of one of the three most powerful Veela on the Zekānōt, and she was dating a Zashtitnik on top of that.
Then last night, Harry provided her own Flock Leader with enough ammunition to shock the entire Zekānōt into action, if Apolline could manipulate it in the right way.
She knew the game she was playing was dangerous at best. Her family name was close to anathema in some circles of her flock already, mainly because of the stand she, her mother, and her grandmother had taken within the Veela nation in general and the Zekānōt in particular while the last two Wizarding wars raged. Of course, the Zekānōt just sat on their pretty, little asses and whined about centuries past while real people, not historical numbers, real damn people were dying, and those putains did nothing but bemoan stories in a book!
Had they joined the last war, had they did what she asked, maybe 'Arry and that young wizard named Neville and hundreds like him would still have their families. What happened to the proud species that spawned the belief in guardian angels—the warrior women who would fight to protect those who deserved it no matter their species? Sure, they complain about wizards, but the truth of the matter was that the Veela had become just as prejudice as wizards.
Maybe that was why they were willing to sit around and allow children like Harry to go off to war while they preen and parade themselves.
"Putains!" she repeated. It was time they saw the light, and she had plans to make sure they did just that.
It was exactly what she would do to protect her own children, and Harry deserved that, even if he wasn't biologically hers.
~ . ~ . ~
Half an hour later, she and her husband opened the front door and welcomed Sirius, Remus, Charlie, and a young woman with spiky pink hair into their home. The young woman put off an erratic, ungraceful air and Apolline couldn't help but wonder how she had survived the war this long.
Greetings and introductions were being exchanged when a cheer went up from the backside of the house.
"Do you have a Quidditch game going on out there?" Sirius asked.
"There's no way—check Gabrielle's room" Apolline said to her husband, and walked down the hall. Opening Fleur's door, she stepped in, and then came back out and shook her head.
Jacque had done the same thing in Gabrielle's room, and then came back with an inquisitive look.
They were surprised when the young woman stepped in front of the three wizards with her wand in hand. Her hair flashed from pink to back with dark red streaks and her eyes hardened considerably.
"Mr. Delacour, would you like to tell me what is going on?" Her question sounded like a command.
Jacque's eyebrows went up. "Auror?"
"Yes sir. Since we're supposed to meet Harry here, I would like to know.
"Now!"
Apolline reappraised the young woman; the erratic, flighty semblance was all but gone. In its place was a witch that could pluck-n-pack her before she'd even get her wand out.
"Tonks, is it?" Apolline asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Please, call me Apolline. There's no problem here—at least not an Auror problem. In a few minutes however, when I find out what my daughters and nieces have done, it might be a different story.
She turned to her husband "Want to come upstairs with me and see what this is all about?"
"I probably should," he agreed, before addressing the others. "Feel free to make yourself at home, or if you'd like, you can come upstairs and see what happens when a crotchety old man has to deal with a bunch of teenage girls who think they're all grown up due to Veela law."
"This I have to see," Sirius said with a grin.
"Don't mind him," Remus cut in. "By now you have to know that he has absolutely no class."
Sirius shook his head. "I have class, I just never went to class; you still get the two confused." He turned the Jacque. "Remus was a Prefect; it's damaged him for life."
"A Prefect?" Jacque repeated, looking at Remus. "Come on then, maybe you can help; the Auror too."
They all climbed the stairs and walked into the massive, empty room that held the party the night before. The House-Elves had already cleaned it, preparing for Christmas morning.
Apolline led them to the balcony, where she saw her younger daughter sitting at a table with a stack of Galleons in front of her. Paige was sitting on one side of her and her best friend on the other, along with seven or eight of their cousins, three male cousins, and a smattering of other male counterparts in longer-term relationships with the Veela.
"What's going on out here?" Apolline demanded. "The sun's coming up and none of you have gone to bed yet?"
She caught a smile on the face of a niece two years younger than Fleur. "If you have a bed for us aunt Apolline, I'd love to take Devon—"
"No, Danielle, that's not an offer for you to bed your boyfriend in our house," she cut her niece off, chuckling at the coy smile and her boyfriend's embarrassment. Apolline turned her attention back to her daughter. "Gabby? Mind telling me what is going on?"
Gabrielle pointed out to the garden, where Fleur and Harry were currently gesticulating wildly in what looked like either a passionate conversation, or an intense fight.
"They've been out there all night?"
"Yep," Gabrielle answered.
"And you're all doing what?"
"Currently?" Gabrielle asked.
Apolline shot her the "You will tell me now"look.
She was just about to answer when another cheer went up and Galleons exchanged hands.
"You—Are—Betting—On—My—Daughter's—and—Harry's—Relationship?"
"Yep!" Gabrielle said, grinning at her. A Galleon each for a guess at the next bird sighting and the next kiss, plus side bets.
Sirius laughed and looked out at the Harry again. "I'll take eleven minutes on a bird-sighting, and am open for a side bet that it'll come before the next kiss."
Apolline glared at him.
"Hey, I know my godson, he's just like his father."
"You will do no such thing!" Apolline thundered at Sirius, then reached down and grabbed a handful of Galleons from her daughter and flipped them at Paige.
"I will take the earliest on the bird-sighting and as many side-bets as you all want that it'll come first," she said, throwing a look at Sirius and smirking. "Mother's prerogative, and I also know Harry, and my daughter."
The sun had fully risen and the early morning twilight was long gone. Harry tenderly drew his fingertips down the bridge of Fleur's nose, resting them on her lips. "That's everything I've thought and felt since the day you stepped onto the grounds of Hogwarts," he finished, speaking in French for the last hour.
Fleur took his hand in hers.
An almost electric shock ran up his arm. It happened every time she touched him. "Thank you. I'm still not happy that you kept the Horcrux stuff from me, but at least I now understand why you were pulling away from me last summer."
Harry sighed. "I still don't see any other way."
"That may be," she said, a sadness in her voice. "But we don't know when the time will come, and we don't know if it really is the only way to destroy the Horcrux. I think we should sit down with Remus and Sirius and talk with them. Papa may have some ideas as well—and yes, 'Arry, we will tell Papa. Even Professor Sirko if we have to. You didn't give up on me; I will not give up on you . . . you're too important to me," she finished quietly.
Her words were a balm to a wounded soul. Harry smiled and leaned in, kissing those tender lips again. He knew that he would never get tired of it—but that infernal cheering from the balcony was a different story.
"Ready to go hex a bunch of Veela?" Fleur asked, reading his mind.
"Absolutely."
"By the way, how did you get down from the Balcony last night? The Apparation wards are still up."
His smile grew larger. "Maybe someday I'll show you."
By her reactions, Harry knew that she still liked his playful side. He was glad, seeing as it had grown tremendously over the last few months, despite everything else that had happened. It was something else to both thank, and blame on his Veela-chicks.
He shifted her hand in his and lead her back up the path, but after a few steps, she yelped, reaching down to rub her foot.
"Stupid rock," she huffed.
The memory of her shoes exploding off her feet made him grin again. He waiting until she stood up, then without asking, swept her up into his arms and carried her into Fleur's bedroom through the patio doors—accompanied by a standing ovation. Harry put her down and stepped out to let her change.
She put on a long t-shirt, then met Harry in the hallway and they walked upstairs to make good on their threat.
Every cousin and friend was hit once or twice with a tickling hex.
Gabrielle was hit multiple times.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
An hour later, the Delacour family and the newcomers were in the large sitting room by the fireplace on the main floor.
"It's good to see you again, Harry," Sirius said from the chair across from him, "but we're going to be here a few days, so why don't you go get some sleep?"
Harry, sitting between the Veela sisters, mumbled his agreement. Gabrielle was already out like a light, so he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, then planted a chaste kiss on Fleur's lips and headed downstairs to bed, a very happy young wizard.
He climbed into the middle of the bed with his back to the door, and adjusted the covers, then reached for his wand. But as he lifted it to ward the room (the habit was ingrained in him now), he felt the covers pull back and someone slipped in next to him. The familiar sensation of magic and love flooded his body as an arm draped over and pulled him close.
"Good night, my beloved flower," he whispered, and was kissed on the cheek.
He warded the room, put his wand down, and pulled the covers up under his chin; but just before he drifted off to sleep, a leg drape over him as well, followed by a contented sigh.
Translations
*Perie le Snik is actually "perelesnyk," another supernatural being of folklore from the same area as Wila, and are akin to nymphs or spirits. They are, however, considered "spirits of seduction," which is why the word has transliterated into the French Veela language as an exclamation for someone who takes a Veela's breath away.
**"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.