Chapter II

"Ginny, make sure to remember your books!" Mrs. Weasley shouted.

"I'm getting them!"

"I really thought this was the year we weren't going to have to rush," Harry said.

"Why was that?" Hermione asked, politely curious. She didn't seem to believe that anyone could think the Weasleys capable of being prepared on time.

"It's just Ron and Ginny coming back to Hogwarts this year and Ginny's usually pretty organized. With Mrs. Weasley on his case I thought Ron would be ready with time to spare. The twins used to take even longer than Ron and Ginny combined with how much stuff they brought back to Hogwarts."

"I think Ron picked up the slack this year," Hermione said. They watched as Ron rushed a loose handful of quills and inkpots outside where his trunk was set against the wall of the Burrow.

Fleur came into the kitchen, hair mussed, like she had just gotten out of bed. It was closing in on noon. Harry had noticed that Fleur wasn't an early riser. His uncle would say, with some relish, that she had the French work ethic. Fleur rose late and stayed up late, reading in her room by candlelight until early morning.

Harry had seen the light in her room late at night when he was outside with Ron practicing Ron's keeping skills one night. Ron had thought practicing in the dark would improve his focus and reflexes. Instead they just lost a bunch of makeshift quaffles.

"Not joining us on the express?" Harry asked.

Fleur poured herself a cup of tea and took a dainty sip of it, then said, "I can't stand trains. They're crowded, loud, and dirty."

"Not to mention infested with plebs," Harry quipped.

"That too."

Harry was a little envious. The Hogwarts Express had lost some of its charm as Harry got older. The trips were long and boring and all Harry could think about was the food waiting for him at the end of it. Hermione usually ended up reading most of the way and that meant Harry and Ron would have to find ways of entertaining themselves. Usually Ron would end up annoying Hermione and they would spend the whole time arguing.

Now that they were prefects it was even worse. Harry had to find other people to sit with. He wondered who Ginny would be sitting with. She was dating Dean Thomas but maybe she would sit with him on the way there. Even if it was out of pity it would be better than spending the trip by himself.

"Will you be at the welcoming feast?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. Professor Dumbledore promised that he would introduce me to the student body then and tell them about the Dueling Club," Fleur said.

"When's the first meeting?" Harry asked.

"I already told you," Fleur said, looking askance at him.

"Well I wasn't listening."

Fleur and Hermione sighed simultaneously. His question was ignored in favor of watching Ginny lug a suitcase down the stairs while Mrs. Weasley hovered behind her, keeping up an endless torrent of questions and reminders while the exasperated girl tried to outpace her. Ron was hiding outside in the hopes that his mother wouldn't notice him.

"I never knew that returning to school could be such an event," Fleur said.

"Oh, your trips to Beauxbatons weren't like this?" Harry said. The idea of Fleur rushing to anything was laughable. Her poise was unwavering.

"Not exactly." Fleur looked lost in memory. Harry couldn't imagine what it would be like to graduate Hogwarts. His entire wizarding experience had revolved around the place. He wondered if Fleur thought of Beauxbatons often and missed it like he was sure he would miss Hogwarts.

"The school sent portkeys to each student that would activate at a certain time. There was no Hogwarts Express. It was all very sensible." Fleur leveled a glance at Ron cringing as his mother yelled at him, as if to demonstrate how ridiculous Hogwarts' system was.

"To be fair, most students don't go through something like this. The Weasleys are just special," Harry said.

"So I've noticed," Fleur said, her expression making no secret of what she thought of the special Weasley brand of chaos.

It was another hour before Ginny and Ron were packed to Mrs. Weasley's satisfaction. Fleur had retired back to her room to shower and dress before her first appearance at Hogwarts. She had given Harry one last smirk as she was leaving, a reminder that he had to take the train while she would be apparating to Hogwarts. Part of him wanted to beg her to take him with her, a reprieve from the tedium and awkwardness that he was sure the trip would be, but his pride held him back. That and the idea of what Snape would say if he thought Harry was getting preferential treatment. The man was a menace when he had no reason to be; best not to give him any more ammunition.

When they got to Platform 9 the place had nearly cleared out. The train gave a warning whistle and the four of them had to rush to clamber aboard before it pulled away. Mrs. Weasley waved, inflated tears in her eyes, as the train pulled away. Soon the platform was nothing more than a nebulous mirage lost in the rushing landscape.

The four of them found an empty compartment near the front of the train. After lifting their luggage to the top rack Ron and Hermione gave Harry an apologetic look.

"We really should go to the prefect meeting," Hermione said.

"But we'll be back as soon as we can," Ron promised.

"It's fine. Go be role models," Harry said. It wasn't fine, of course. He would spend most of the trip by himself or fending off admirers but he wasn't going to beg them to stay. He just hoped that Malfoy didn't show up. Malfoy had always had an uncanny ability to figure out which compartment Harry was in. Being outnumbered three to one could give Malfoy the courage he needed to try something on the express. Harry had confidence in his abilities but three to one was never good odds for anyone.

Before he put his luggage on the top rack Harry pulled the book that Fleur had given him from it. He was almost finished. The book had been getting more complex the farther Harry got in it, each idea building on the last, and he figured the quiet of the train ride would be the best time to finish it. It required a great deal of concentration.

Next to him, Ginny cleared her throat. She held up her luggage in a wordless plea. Harry took it from her and racked it. She slumped back into the seat and stared at Harry.

"Most gentlemen would've offered to rack a lady's luggage without the hint," Ginny said. She delighted in torturing him and Harry could never to seem to get the better of her. It was a little game they played.

"I thought that you would be sitting with your friends," Harry said.

"And leave you here looking pathetic by yourself? I'm mean but not that mean. Besides, how could I leave our precious savior all by himself?"

"On second thought I think I'd prefer to be by myself."

Ginny rolled her eyes. She really was quite pretty, Harry noticed. Her hair looked silky, a burnished red, not quite as light and obnoxious as her siblings. He couldn't tell if it was natural or she darkened it herself. Whichever it was, it suited her. Her robes weren't shabby on her either.

Being the only girl in the family she didn't have to wear hand-me-down robes like her brothers. They fit her well and Harry, not for the first time, glanced over her athletic body. He didn't want to leer but he had definitely noticed how attractive Ginny had become during his time at the Burrow. She wasn't anything like that little girl he had rescued from the Chamber of Secrets.

"So, Mr. Quidditch Captain, when are tryouts this year?" Ginny asked.

Harry hoped he hadn't been staring. Ginny didn't give any indication that he had been but that didn't mean anything. If there was one thing Harry had observed as he got older it was that women were generally much more capable of hiding their thoughts than men; or at least than he and Ron were.

"I haven't decided yet," Harry said.

"That's alright, I suppose I don't have to worry about my spot, do I?"

"I was planning on everyone trying out for their positions. Wood would be never let me hear the end of it if he found out I had done anything less."

Ginny pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. It was a good look for her, Harry thought. He wasn't sure if she was doing it on purpose or not but he wasn't going to complain.

"No exceptions? Not even for your best friend's sister?"

"Not even for her," Harry said.

"Spoilsport. What's the point of being captain if you don't take advantage of it."

"McGonagall would put my head in a jar in her office I she thought I was demonstrating favoritism."

"Heads in jars is more Snape's thing, don't you think? McGonagall would just put you in detention for the rest of the year. With Snape."

"Thanks, Ginny."

She stuck out her tongue at him. There was a moment of silence; awkward silence, Harry thought, and he wasn't sure what to say next.

Ginny saved him from having to think of anything. "So you spent a lot of time with Fleur, right?"

"I'm not sure I would say a lot of time," Harry said.

"You don't need to be a lawyer, Harry. This isn't an interrogation. I just want to know what you think of her."

"So you can tell if she's good enough for Bill? Fleur mentioned that you two were close when you were younger."

"For Bill," Ginny confirmed, after a momentary pause. "Just give me a general overview. Nothing I already know. She's obviously gorgeous; you don't need to mention stuff like that."

Harry wasn't completely oblivious; he suspected that Ginny want him to say that Fleur wasn'tthatbeautiful or give her a compliment of her own, but he wasn't quite assured enough to go around complimenting girls like that. He ignored the opening and instead said, "She's smart and talented, better at magic than almost anyone else I know. But she's also proud and condescending. Snooty upper-class, almost."

"Guys like that sort of thing, don't they? Mum always says that some boys can't tell the difference between high-value and high-maintenance. It didn't seem to really bother you considering how much time you spent with her."

From the types of questions that Ginny was asking Harry got the feeling that they weren't really talking about Bill. Fleur's words came back to him; Ginny still liked him and she was jealous of how much time he was spending with Fleur.

He was hesitant to assume that was what Ginny felt. She had been acting so differently around him that he hadn't even considered that she might still like him, like Fleur seemed to think. But her liking him might not be such a bad thing, Harry thought. She was clever and pretty and confident. It was a little flattering to think that she might like him.

"Remember, I'm not the one that's marrying her. And I don't think that she's high maintenance. She just has different expectations than we do," Harry said.

"Higher expectations," Ginny said.

"That's not necessarily a bad thing. Bill likes her."

"I suppose. You think she's talented?"

"Sure. She was a Triwizard Champion and from what she was telling me about the charms book that I'm reading she knows her stuff too. Bill didn't go just for a pretty face, Ginny. I don't think you have anything to worry about. From the way that Fleur was talking about Bill she's enamored with him. She couldn't stop talking about how skilled and accomplished he is. I think they're in love and I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"She's beautiful, talented, and smart," Ginny said, as if in a daze. "Guess I have nothing to worry about then."

"Trust your brother," Harry said.

He had the feeling that Ginny hadn't been assured by their conversation at all. She looked a little glum, like unstated fears had been confirmed. It was the look someone would have if they found out someone they had a crush on liked someone else, Harry thought. Like if Ginny thought that he was enamored with Fleur, rather than her.

It felt vain to think something like that. All he had to go on was what Fleur had said and what he had observed so far on the train (which was admittedly very little), but what he saw fit. It was torturous, Harry decided, figuring out whether or not someone liked you. Like a game of chicken where you either ended up horribly humiliated or blissfully content.

There was a knock on the compartment door. It slid open and Luna walked in, blinking at Ginny and Harry. "There are an awful lot of Wrackspurts around you two," she said.

"Hello, Luna," Ginny said.

Luna sat down next to Ginny without bothering to wait for an invitation and said, "Thank you. The others in my last compartment didn't seem to like having me there very much. Their Wrackspurts were very agitated."

"Aren't ours agitated too?" Harry asked. Ginny glared at him for teasing her but Harry wasn't trying to make fun of Luna; he just found her amusing. He was actually fond of her. She had been to the Ministry with him. That was more than Harry could say of almost anyone else. It spoke to her bravery and loyalty.

"Yours aren't agitated, they're just confused, Harry. Ginny's are agitated though. They seem very upset by something," she said.

"They're very observant, these Wrackspurts," Ginny said.

"Yes. TheQuibblersays that Wrackspurts are the most observant semi-sentient magical creatures in existence," Luna said placidly. She had a pair of glasses resting on her head with bottle cap lenses. It was interesting, as far as fashion statements went.

Harry was glad for Luna's presence. Interacting with Ginny one-on-one while trying to figure out whether or not she liked him was stressful. He'd rather just ask Hermione. She spent a lot of time with Ginny and, well, she was a girl. If anyone would know it would be her or Mrs. Weasley, and Harry couldn't exactly go up to Mrs. Weasley and ask her if her daughter liked him. He resolved to corner Hermione when the opportunity arose.

Ginny and Luna started talking about the classes they were taking and comparing their schedules. Harry picked up the charms book and started reading where he had left off. Their conversation lowered to a dull drone that he easily turned out, losing himself in the explanations and theories concerning advanced charms. It was far less tedious than he had expected.

There was a gratification to learning things about magic that had never existed for muggle learning. When Harry learned a new spell or magical theory it was immediately applicable; he could go out and change the world around him with his new knowledge. It provided a lot of incentive for learning that had never existed during his muggle schooling years.

While reading through the book Harry came upon a few sections that he didn't understand but he figured that he could ask Flitwick or Fleur. They both took a childish delight in explaining things to him. Fleur may not have been thrilled that she had to give up her job at Gringotts but from the sound of it Harry thought she was better off. Fleur enjoyed teaching; her brightest smiles were reserved for when Harry finally grasped a topic that he had been struggling with.

When she was teaching Fleur was trying least to be charming, but it was precisely when she was teaching that Fleur was at her most charming. It was as if all of her haughtiness and pride were nothing but adopted shields that fell once she took a genuine interest in imparting knowledge. She was passionate about teaching and good at it. Harry could see Fleur taking over for Flitwick when he retired. She had the requisite knowledge and skill to teach Charms.

Thinking of Fleur made Harry consider Ginny. She thought that Harry was pining after Fleur, which Harry didn't think was true. Fleur had a whole litany of positive qualities and was absolutely the most beautiful woman Harry had ever seen but there was a disconnect between that and what he felt toward her. He attributed that to the Triwizard Tournament.

He couldn't help but associate Fleur with the whole fiasco, including what had happened to Cedric. Romantic feelings couldn't blossom in a graveyard, and a graveyard was all Harry saw when he thought about the Triwizard Tournament. No, Ginny had nothing to worry about between Harry and Fleur. He enjoyed her company and could see them becoming friends but nothing more than that.

Of course, the most obvious impediment to any romantic entanglement was that Fleur was engaged. Ginny seemed to be ignoring that fact. Though, to be fair, Harry thought, it was easier to forget that Fleur was engaged since Bill was nowhere to be found. Fleur had clearly been lonely at the Burrow until Harry came around, and it was precisely when people were at their most lonely and vulnerable that they made terrible decisions, like cheating on their fiancé. Harry gave more credit to Fleur than that though. He hadn't been lying to Ginny when he told her that she seemed absolutely devoted to Bill. Her tone had a certain warmth when she talked about him that only came out when she spoke of things she loved; France, her sister and parents, charms, and teaching.

No, Harry had no interest in romancing Fleur. He didn't think they would work well together, being too different, and that would irreparably damage his relationship with all of the Weasleys. Even if they weren't exactly enamored with Fleur they would still respond brutally to anyone who dared get between one of their own and his fiancé. Their trust was of paramount importance to Harry and he wouldn't risk it for anything, not even Fleur. It was just a matter of getting that across to Ginny without making it seem like he assumed that she liked him, which could be awkward if she did and awkward if she didn't.

Harry sighed. Sometimes there were just too many layers to dealing with people. Quidditch was much simpler. Just a boy and his broom.

"…but the expedition didn't go all that well because of some local poachers. They claimed that the snark never existed in the first place but daddy and I knew that they were only saying that. Really they just didn't want to share. Snark skin is very valuable you see; the entire village's economy was reliant on it. Designer robes and invisibility cloaks both use snark skin, even though the ministry has laws against that sort of thing. It's estimated that there are fewer than a dozen snarks left because of all of the poaching going on. It's sad, really," Luna said.

"Sounds sad," Ginny said, looking more bewildered than upset.

"I'm sorry, Harry, we've been excluding you. How was your summer?" Luna asked.

Not feeling like explaining how the majority of his summer was spent with muggles that resented his existence, Harry stuck to a short, "It was fine."

There was a knock and the compartment door before Luna could respond and a young student, perhaps a second year from the look of her, opened the door without waiting for a response. With an air of self-importance she stuck out two letters with Harry and Ginny's names embossed in curling gold on the front. "Invitations from Professor Slughorn," the girl said.

Bemused, Harry and Ginny took the invitations. The girl left without another word. She had a few other invitations sticking out of the pockets of her robe.

"Professor Horace Slughorn cordially invites you to a small gathering in his personal compartment in order to get to know some of the school's most promising individuals…blah, blah, blah," Ginny said. She tore the invitation in half with disgust evident on her face.

"Not even going to give him a chance?" Harry asked. He had found Slughorn a bit pompous and shallow when they had met but, for all that, he didn't seem like a bad man, and it could only help to have a professor on their side during the year. A repeat of Umbridge was about the worst thing Harry could think of.

"My parents told me about Slughorn. Dumbledore let them know that he was coming out of retirement. They told me that he's a snobby, arrogant git, who likes to collect students that he thinks are going to be powerful or influential. He doesn't care about teaching at all. It's all a power trip for him."

"Would Dumbledore really have hired him if he was such a bad teacher?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore is running out of options," Ginny retorted.

"I think it's nice that he takes such an interest in his students," Luna said.

"Besides, are we going to go to this little party and leave Luna alone? That'd be an awful thing to do. No, I'm staying here." Gina tossed the remains of the card on the floor with a defiant glance Harry's way.

"It's all right. I quite like being alone sometimes," Luna said.

"No, Ginny's right. We're staying here. I don't really feel like toadying up to some new teacher right now anyway," Harry said. He threw his card, whole, onto the ground with Ginny's shredded one, in a somewhat juvenile show of solidarity. Ginny looked grateful and Harry mentally patted himself on the back.

The three of them spent the remainder of the trip to Hogwarts catching up on what they did over the summer. None of them mentioned the events at the Ministry the year before. It somehow seemed wrong, as if the bond they shared from mutual danger wasn't something that should be mentioned aloud.

It made them more comfortable around each other though. It wasn't the same type of friendship that Harry had with Ron and Hermione, especially because of his growing attraction to Ginny, but it was nice. There weren't many people he could talk to that wouldn't treat him differently because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. Luna was so spacy that Harry wasn't even sure that she was aware of who he was most of the time, and Ginny had made a studious effort to act like less of a squealing fan as she got older. It made all the difference in their relationship. He was able to finally get to know her, rather than feel uncomfortable because of how she worshipped him.

Talking to her over the course of the train ride Harry could see the similarities and differences between Ginny and her siblings. She had their boldness and pride, but there was nuance to her that Harry didn't see in Ron or the twins. There was something calculating about Ginny, as if she was advancing to a goal that only she could see, and every interaction was shaped with that goal in mind. Harry wondered if it was the influence that Riddle had had on her. He didn't think there was any active influence but nobody was exactly sure what the long-term impact of possession was.

It was possible that something of Riddle had been left behind; that Ginny was more Slytherin than anyone gave her credit for.

Her pursuit of Harry, if that was what it was, certainly seemed rather Slytherin. It involved an entire makeover of her personality to present herself in a way that she thought Harry would like. That wasn't to say it was all an act; Harry was sure that most of what he was seeing was the real Ginny. It was just the real Ginny without any of the parts she thought he wouldn't like, an edited view at the real her. Ron would never even consider presenting himself in such an edited way. Nor would the other Weasleys, like the twins or Percy. The rest of them imposed themselves on the world and expected the world to accommodate that; they were like their mother in that respect.

Ginny was subtle where they were loud, flexible where they were restrained. Harry could admire that, if not exactly relate to it. He didn't think that he could ever act in such a way, modify himself so convincingly. But it was fascinating to him that Ginny could.

While Harry could increasingly understand Ginny he got nothing of the sort from Luna. She remained as much of an enigma to him as she had the year before. Whatever was going on with her, whether it was feigned spaciness as a self-defense mechanism or actual strangeness, Luna didn't reveal enough of her herself for Harry to make an educated guess.

The three of them stayed together from the train until they entered the Great Hall. Luna wandered off to the Ravenclaw table, sitting alone, a perfect island amidst a storm of adolescent prattle. Ginny saw Dean Thomas, who waved her over, and, with an apologetic nod to Harry, she joined her boyfriend, giving him a kiss on the cheek that made Harry crawl with envy.

Ron and Hermione had never returned from their prefect meeting on the train. He assumed they were being held late so Harry took a seat by himself at the Gryffindor table. Few had the nerve to sit next to him. It was when he was without Ron and Hermione that Harry realized how isolated he was even within his own house.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, his voice booming without the need for magical augmentation. "I am delighted to announce that this year we will be reinstating the Hogwarts Dueling Club, under the auspicious guidance of a very talented young witch, Miss Fleur Delacour."

Fleur stood up and gave a short curtsy to the school. She received rabid applause from the male portion of the school (and a couple of the females as well, Harry noticed) but a more tepid response from most of the girls. It didn't seem to faze Fleur and she sat down as soon as the applause died out.

"Many of you will remember Miss Delacour from her participation in the Triwizard Tournament a few years ago. I am certain that she will bring the same level of dedication and talent to the Dueling Club that she did to that splendid tournament. In other news, please welcome Professor Horace Slughorn to the Hogwarts faculty." There was more polite applause. Slughorn bowed as if he were receiving adulation from thousands. "Professor Slughorn will be teaching Potions, meaning our very own Professor Snape will be taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts."

The Slytherin table exploded with cheers. The rest of the school gave a measured response, if they even bothered to clap at all. Snape had on the same cold visage that he always wore, sitting down even before the cheers expired.

Dumbledore went on to explain some of the new measures that Hogwarts was taking to defend itself against incursion from dark forces and a warning about Voldemort but Harry was hardly listening. He didn't need a reminder to be vigilant. It was him that Voldemort wanted, not the other students. After a few parting words, Dumbledore sat down and the feast began.

Harry piled his plate with food just in time for Ron and Hermione, out of breath, to sit down across from him. They looked frazzled.

"A little late, aren't you?" Harry said.

"We were just-"

"Just finished making rounds," Hermione said. She looked at Ron, who looked at her, then Ron nodded.

"Just finished making the last check of the train," Ron said. Hermione nodded again.

"Find anything interesting?" Harry asked, dryly.

"Nothing," Hermione said. "Is that turkey? I love turkey." She heaped a pile onto her plate then passed it to Ron.

Harry could imagine, thanks to Fleur, what had caused them to be too late. It was, he supposed, the beginning of the end. They would drift together and away from him. Not intentionally, but as the inevitable consequence of becoming closer to one another. It would be a slow, quiet, painful thing. He was selfishly dreading it with all of his being.

Looking away from the couple Harry glanced up to the faculty's table where Fleur was sitting. She was looking at him. He gave her a thumbs up and she rewarded him with a small smile. Her usual stylish robes had been replaced by austere black robes that brought out the milky paleness of her skin and the light sheen of her hair. The ensemble gave her an ethereal quality, as if she were some otherworldly being.

"So, when's the Dueling Club starting up?" Ron asked. He and Hermione were sitting farther apart from each other than they had been when they had initially sat down. Hermione was staring down at her food. Ron wasn't looking over at her, instead staring intently at Harry in the way someone looks when they're deliberately not looking at something else.

"A week or two. Fleur's going to try to get word to spread around school so that everyone who wants to come has the opportunity."

"You think you're going to be able to schedule that and quidditch?"

"Probably not," Harry admitted. "I'll have to give one of them up. I'm not sure which yet. We'll see who needs me more."

"I think that the Dueling Club is much more important. You have the chance to help save lives there," Hermione said.

"Of course you'd be against quidditch," Ron said. He still wouldn't look at Hermione.

She whirled on him. "As if you've ever thought about anything other than that sport and your stomach, Ronald."

"At least I think about something other than books, Hermione." He said her name with a venom Harry didn't associate with Ron.

Hermione didn't react well. With a sneer at Ron she stood up, turned around, and began to walk out of the Great Hall.

"Oi, we need to take the first years to the tower," Ron shouted after her.

"Do it yourself," she shot back.

A few other scattered heads watched her retreat. Ron turned back to his food sullenly. He poked at a potato and then pushed his plate away.

Harry popped some potato into his mouth and said, "I don't think she's happy."

"What tipped you off," Ron said, groaning.

Though Harry was curious about what had happened between Ron and Hermione he didn't think it would be a good idea to press. Ron looked to be somewhere between self-loathing and frustrated and Harry knew that with his temper he was just looking for someone to explode at. Better to let that be someone else.

Besides, Harry could imagine what had happened. There had been a somewhat tender moment between them, one that shattered how they thought about their relationship, and they were recoiling from one another because they weren't sure how to adapt to the new situation. A story as old as time itself. Harry thought that Fleur deserved to know that she had been right. No doubt she would be thrilled that it had happened so quickly. Frankly, Harry had been hoping that it would be another year or two before they acted on their mutual attraction.

"You know, I assumed that Slughorn would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Never figured that Dumbledore would give it to Snape," Harry said.

"There goes the one class that I actually look forward to. This day keeps getting better and better."

"Who knows? Maybe Snape's bad attitude was just because he was forced to teach Potions. Maybe he'll start teaching Defense and we'll see that he's really been a good guy underneath all of the bitterness and gloom after all. I wouldn't want to cramped in the dungeons day after day either."

"You're screwing with me."

"Oh yeah. It's going to be miserable."

Ron groaned again.

People around the Great Hall were finishing eating. The first year Gryffindors had closed ranks and huddled together, like they were afraid that they would be ambushed by some vicious older student. Better keep them away from Malfoy as long as possible, Harry thought.

He wondered where Malfoy had been during the train ride. It was an exceptional ride when Malfoy didn't bother to make an appearance. It might have had something to do with the package he was taking to Knockturn Alley, Harry thought. The stakes of their rivalry, if it could be called that, had changed. They weren't petty children anymore. Each of them had a cause and their causes were diametrically opposed. If they came into conflict Harry had a feeling that it wouldn't result in mild consequences, like prank jinxes or cruel words. The world was changing and they were changing along with it.

"I should probably take the first years now, before they scatter," Ron said. One boy in particular looked as if he was going to bolt from the hall at the first opportunity. From the way he was looking at the ghosts and the nighttime sky that was the Great Hall's ceiling Harry surmised that he was muggleborn. Or at least raised by muggles. Silently, Harry raised his glass to the boy. You've entered a brave new world, he thought, draining the rest of the pumpkin juice from his cup.

"I'll meet you back at the tower," Harry said. Ron was already making his way over to the first years, shouting at them. He didn't seem to be making any attempt to seem gentle. By leaving Hermione had consigned those first years to an unwarranted fate. Ron on the war path was an unpleasant prospect even to Harry, let alone defenseless and confused first years. Not for the first time Harry wondered if Dumbledore had been thinking clearly when he had made Ron a prefect.

Before he rose to head back to Gryffindor Tower Harry noticed a presence by his side. Fleur was standing next to him.

"I thought I might be able to convince you to have a nightcap with me, to celebrate the start of another school year," she said.

"Professor McGonagall would have a fit if she thought you were serving minors on school grounds," Harry said.

"I won't tell if you don't. Just a small glass of wine, enough to cleanse the palate. I think I'll need it after that dinner. The English don't seem to believe in cooking things. You just throw meat into a vat and take it out when it's brown and lifeless."

"We're an efficient people," Harry said.

"No, the Germans are efficient. You're just barbaric," Fleur retorted.

"With racial discrimination like that how could I say no to the offer of your company."

"I thought as much," she said.

She took him to the room's she had been assigned. Dumbledore had given her a suite not far from where Harry knew the Hufflepuff Common Room to be. Fleur had already gotten around to decorating. The room was tastefully draped in blue and silver; it had the appearance of a home that had been lived in for many months.

There was a bathroom, living room, small kitchen, sitting room, and bedroom. Overall it was much larger than Harry had thought that her accommodations would be. For some reason he had always imagined teachers living ascetic lives in cramped two-room apartments in the bowels of Hogwarts. For them to actually be comfortable was a bit of a surprise.

"What do you think?" Fleur asked.

"It reminds me of you," he said.

"That's a very safe answer."

"The safe answer is sometimes the best answer to give."

"The safe answer bores me," Fleur said. "Tell me something interesting. Say something bold about my room. Tell me something you hate or something you love."

"I like your drapes," Harry said, flatly.

"You don't have the slightest appreciation for décor, do you?" Fleur asked.

"Of course not."

She sighed. "I will civilize you, Harry Potter. Even if it takes the entire year."

Something so innocent shouldn't sound so threatening, Harry thought. He decided to move the conversation to safer ground. "You were right about Ron and Hermione. Something happened to them when they were on the train together. Hermione blew up at Ron and left the table halfway through dinner and he's been in a rotten mood all night."

"Confused young love is always a sight to behold," Fleur said, her voice fluttery like she was lost in memories.

"I wouldn't call it confused love," Harry said. He reached for the proper word. "More like…angry love."

"That can be the best kind of love of all," Fleur said, arching her eyebrows suggestively.

"I don't want to imagine that."

"It's only natural, Harry."

"Not between Ron and Hermione it isn't."

"Love knows no bounds."

"Theirs should."

"I'm sure their children will be beautiful."

"Please stop. Just stop."

She laughed and then said, "But I'm being a terrible host. I offered you a drink. Do you prefer red or white?" Fleur went into the kitchen and returned holding two bottles, the labels in French, stoppered full of what was no doubt expensive wine. They both looked about equally appealing, or unappealing, to Harry.

"The port it is," Fleur said, not waiting for Harry's input. She put the white back into the kitchen, retrieved two glasses, and poured a generous amount in each. Harry took one and she clinked her glass against his. "To a new year," she said.

"To a new year," Harry repeated.

Fleur sipped at her wine, her eyes locked on Harry as he tasted his own. He couldn't help but make a face when he tasted it. The Dursleys had never let him have any alcohol before, sure that it would only exacerbate his 'delinquent' tendencies, so the distinctive flavor of the wine caught him unawares. It was much stronger than he had been expecting and Harry wasn't sure that he actually liked it. Fleur smiled but didn't make fun of him, taking another drink from her own glass.

"Wine can be an acquired taste. In time you'll grow to like it. In the meantime I'll force you to drink different varieties so that you're not completely unaware of elegant pastimes."

"Drinking is a pastime?" Harry asked. The taste of the wine was clinging to his mouth, saturating it, so that he was sure his first order of business when he got back to the tower would be to brush his teeth. Fleur gestured for him to drink more and he did so, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

"Of course. The indolent wealthy love nothing more than to spend all their time drinking. The poor do the same, but less tastefully."

"I hate to break it to you, Fleur, but I'm not wealthy," Harry said.

"That doesn't mean you can't be a gentleman," Fleur retorted. "Good manners and cultured appreciation for the finer things in life are attractive in any man."

"I suppose," Harry said. He took a small sip of the wine before saying, "I sat with Ginny on the way to Hogwarts."

"Oh? And was I right about both couples or just your friends?" Fleur asked.

"Both, I think. Ginny was asking me about you, about what I thought about you. I think she was worried about me liking you, and having to compete with that. She kept asking me about your personality and whether or not I liked this and that."

"Interesting. And what did you tell her?" Fleur was running her hands along the rim of her glass. She never took more than small sips but Harry noticed that over half of her glass was gone already.

It was a rather large glass. He wondered if her assessment of the drinking habits of the rich applied to herself.

"I tried to reassure her, make her realize that I didn't like you like that. She didn't seem reassured though."

Fleur chose her next words carefully. "What, in particular, were the traits she wanted to know about."

"She thinks you're sophisticated and tenacious," Harry said, trying to choose his words carefully. The power games that women played were beyond his mortal ken.

"In other words, snobby and clingy."

"Ginny isn't your biggest fan," he admitted.

"No, of course not. She's worried that I'm going to seduce you," Fleur said, rather lightly.

Harry blushed and averted his eyes from Fleur. He was all too aware that she was beautiful and he was alone in her suite with her. For her to talk so casually of seduction made him uncomfortable, and, for a small part of him that Harry had hoped didn't exist, excited.

"Why would she think that?" Harry asked.

"Because it's what she would do. You can relax; I'm not going to pounce on you. I'm marrying Bill, Harry. It's just what she would do if she were in my position. Women, when they're enamored with a man, can't help but see any attractive woman as a potential threat. It's why Hermione was so upset with me; Ronald couldn't help but react to my presence and that bothered Hermione because she liked him. You and I have become friends and that bothers Ginny who sees and relationship between you and an attractive female as a likely romantic one."

"Oh," Harry said. There wasn't much else for him to say. Ginny's behavior made more sense, as did Hermione's, but it was a disappointing explanation. Jealousy was, by nature, distinctly uninteresting. Judging by Fleur's reaction to Ginny's supposition she had never seriously considered Harry in that light either. It was closer to being laughable to her than it was a realistic proposition.

Harry didn't want any romantic relationship with Fleur but it still stung to know that she hadn't even considered it. While not surprising—she was older, beautiful, intelligent, and, from what he had gathered, wealthy—it still was a little offensive. Harry would never jeopardize his relationship with the Weasleys but Fleur was compelling and he thought that they had been getting along well.

He supposed that there was more to a relationship than friendliness. Maybe it was the age gap that did it. She couldn't take him seriously because he was so much younger. Or perhaps once you were getting married you ceased looking at other people in that way. It could be that Fleur didn't look at anyone in that way since she had agreed to marry Bill.

In the end, it didn't really matter. It was all hypothetical anyway.

"Have I spoiled the mystery for you?" Fleur asked. She drained the rest of the wine from her glass. Her cheeks were flushed, though not with anger or embarrassment. Uncle Vernon got the same way on Christmas Eve when he had too much to drink. Fleur hadn't had much but she was much smaller than Uncle Vernon, Harry supposed. He wasn't feeling much from the wine he had drunk but there was still over half left.

"No, I like solving mysteries, not the mysteries themselves," Harry said.

"Do you like her?"

"Who?"

"Ginny," Fleur said. She looked at him as if he were an idiot.

"Oh…I suppose. But she has a boyfriend."

"Somehow I doubt that will present much of an obstacle," Fleur said. She ran a finger along the inside rim of her glass and licked the traces of wine off her finger. Harry pretended not to notice, though he was sure that would be an image burned into his mind for some time to come.

"Care to elaborate?" Harry asked.

"Dean Thomas, another boy in your year, correct?" At Harry's nod she said, "Ginny is using him to make you jealous. It's no coincidence that she chose someone in your year rather than her own; it's someone that you can't ignore. Every step Ginny takes is one she thinks will bring her closer to you. Express an interest in her and watch how quickly Dean Thomas is dropped."

Harry had never considered it like that before. It made Ginny sound conniving, as if she didn't care about anything but getting together with Harry. Her having an interest in him was flattering. Her being obsessed with him was less so.

"Should that make me wary?" Harry asked.

"Are you asking me if I think Ginny is crazy?" Harry nodded and Fleur said, "I wouldn't say it's reached that level of obsession. She likes you and wants to date you. It's not as if she's stalking you or interfering in your life at all. You just have to understand that it's likely she's built up an idealized version of you in your head and it would be difficult for you to match up to that. Her relationship with you, if it does emerge, is years in the making. She's had a long time to plan every aspect of it out and she doesn't know you very well. It's all conjecture on her part. Preconceived notions make every relationship more dangerous and Ginny is bound to have a lot of them."

"You're a guru, Fleur," Harry said.

"No. I'm an astute observer of the human condition and I'm out of wine. Would you like anymore?" she asked.

"I'm alright," Harry said. He let some more drip into his mouth, pushing the wine below the halfway mark in his glass, which seemed to please Fleur. She left him sitting on the couch and went to refill her own glass.

She had made Harry much more wary of pursuing a relationship with Ginny. He liked her, enjoyed their time together, but Fleur made it sound as if any relationship between them would be difficult. Even if she wouldn't come out and say so it was clear that Fleur thought Ginny had been planning to essentially manipulate Harry into a relationship for years.

Could he possibly get together with someone who had so much invested in him? There was a pressure in that; he might not measure up to Ginny's mental standards for how he should be. Harry also wasn't sure that he wanted to date someone who put so much of themselves into the process of finding someone to date. He thought that Ginny should have been living her own life rather than trying to figure out how to worm her way into his.

The more he thought about it the less appealing a relationship with Ginny was. She had too much baggage, saw too much of the hero in him and not enough of Harry. The question, then, was whether or not to continue their friendship, if it could be called that.

A friendship might encourage her, or it could help her to realize what the real him was like and discourage any further interest. Or she could see who he really was and would grow to like him for himself, rather than any imaginary notion of him that she had.

Not only did Fleur return with her own glass, refilled, she returned with the entire bottle as well. Harry laughed at her and she flushed out of embarrassment. He had never seen Fleur genuinely look embarrassed before; it was nice to know that she wasn't the permanently collected, keen-eyed observer that she pretended to be.

"We're celebrating, no?" she said.

"We are," Harry said, still smiling.

"Then you must drink more so that I don't feel bad about myself," Fleur said. Together they took a long draft of their wine.

"Ron and Hermione were asking me about the dueling club. They want to know when it's going to start," Harry said.

"That reminds me." She grabbed some flyers from her desk and handed them to Harry. They were bright and showed two wizards facing off, wands buzzing with magic, in rigid dueling stances. Across the top in bold letters it saidHogwarts Dueling Club: MWF at 7:00 PM. In the bottom, in small letters, it mentioned that Fleur was the instructor and Harry operated as her assistant.

"I was hoping that you would distribute these in your common room," Fleur said.

"Get the word out?" Harry asked, still examining the flyer. It looked high quality, a contrast to the usual posters that got put on the common room board. He was sure that it would attract a fair amount of attention on its own, before even considering the impact Dumbledore's announcement would have had.

"Exactly. I don't want to hold the first meeting until I'm sure that we'll get as much participation as possible."

There was something more intimidating about helping Fleur with the Dueling Club than there had been with the DA. That was illicit, exciting even, because they were resisting unjust rules, but the Dueling Club was serious. It had no charm. Voldemort was back and the Dueling Club was a faculty supported initiative to help people save their lives if they came into difficult or dangerous situations. People would be looking to him and Fleur to make a difference. It was a humbling thought.

Harry and Fleur let the night die as they talked together. Harry let her pour him another glass of wine after he finished his, the taste starting to grow on him, becoming tolerable if not actually pleasant, and Fleur matched him drink for drink. Harry was feeling a pleasant buzz that he had never felt before, a small pressure on his head, and a cheeriness that he quite enjoyed. He noticed himself becoming more talkative as time went on whereas Fleur had normally been the one to do most of the talking in the past.

Smiles came easily to their faces and the conversation flowed, undimmed, deftly leaping from topic to topic. The bottle grew emptier and emptier, Harry's giddiness only growing proportionally to how the bottle emptied. Artifice disappeared completely from their conversation and Harry was confident that he had never before been so honest and open with someone in his life. Even with Ron and Hermione he held things back but he felt as if he could bare his innermost thoughts to Fleur without judgement, as if she were on his side. She listened to everything he had to say with a content smile, only interrupting every now and again to make an observation or point of her own.

They traded stories of their childhoods; Harry told Fleur about when he had accidentally vanished the glass on a snake exhibit at the zoo, setting the boa constrictor free. She couldn't stop laughing at the image of his fat cousin paralyzed with fear as a massive snake slithered over him to freedom.

Harry didn't play up the way he was treated by the Dursleys but he didn't attempt to hide it either. Fleur made no judgements and didn't attempt to validate his perception of how horribly he had been treated; Harry's great fear that had always prevented him from opening up about the Dursley's was the idea of pity. He didn't want to be known as the kid who was neglected by his family; it would make him sound whiny, ungrateful, and pathetic, he feared. Fleur didn't judge, she just listened. Harry liked that.

In return for his story Fleur told him about growing up in France. She mentioned how she would read under an old giant oak in her backyard; how her father taught her how to fly a broomstick when she was a little girl and she was so terrified she would fly away she wouldn't let go of him. Fleur told him about her little sister and how she was bullied when she was little so that Fleur had to hex her bullies to get them to leave her alone. It warmed him to hear Fleur speak so fondly about her sister.

Her stories about her family made Harry wonder what his own childhood would have been like if Voldemort hadn't killed his parents. He wasn't sad that they were gone; it was hard for him to be sad about something he had never known. Instead he just felt an unsettling emptiness at times, like he was missing something integral that he couldn't explain. That feeling receded a bit when Fleur told him about her family.

By the time Harry was telling Fleur about how he and Ron had saved Hermione from the troll their first year, and he had stuck his wand up the troll's nose (sending Fleur into a convulsive fit of laughter), the bottle on the table was empty, along with their respective glasses. The castle had settled to the dull quietness that Harry associated with post-curfew Hogwarts. He had no doubt that Filch was on the prowl.

"It's late," Harry said, when he finished his story.

"I promised you a quick toast and here I've kept you for hours," Fleur said. She didn't seem apologetic at all, her words nothing more than a stodgy banality.

"The wine did grow on me," Harry admitted.

"I had a feeling it might."

"I should head back though. I've got class tomorrow."

"Let me walk you back," Fleur said. "I don't want you getting in trouble for being out past curfew."

Harry stood up and there was a moment of vertigo, then the world started spinning. He had to concentrate on where he was putting his feet and the effort of it was making him want to laugh.

When they were walking back to the tower, Fleur said, "I hope that the Dueling Club will be a success. I've never actually tried to teach before."

Harry stopped, putting one hand against the wall to balance himself, and said, "Fleur, you'll be brilliant. You taught me more about charms in one week than I usually do in a month with Flitwick."

"You had better not tell him that," Fleur joked.

"And the guys are going to absolutely hang on your every word," Harry said, giving her a wink. Normally he never would have been so bold but the wine had made him feel powerful and indestructible, like he couldn't make a wrong step.

"Flatterer," Fleur said. "You're quite a cheerful drunk, aren't you?"

"I don't think I'm drunk," Harry said, nearly missing a step.

"Of course you're not," Fleur said.

They spent the rest of their walk back to the tower in silence. Harry was gratified that they had reached the point in their relationship that they weren't obligated to keep up a constant stream of conversation; only friends could be completely comfortable together in silence, unfortunately.

The silence of a friend was a beautiful thing, Harry thought.

They reached the tower. Harry knew that it was at least past midnight.

"I enjoyed your company a great deal tonight, Mr. Potter. It was…refreshing," Fleur said, with faux formality.

"And I you, Miss Delacour. You were charming, as always." Feeling gallant, Harry took her hand and placed a kiss on it. Fleur's cheeks were red, though from the wine or the kiss Harry wasn't sure.

"Goodnight, Harry," she said.

"Goodnight, Fleur."