Author's Note: I have absolutely nothing I can think of to say right now.
That said, I would never have gotten even this far if it were not for the support of many people over on the Harry/Fleur Discord server, the link to which is in my profile. There will also be a fanfic recommendation at the end of the chapter. Thanks to DaveAthenai, Gearheadbsnist, Charlennette, and x102reddragon in particular for inspiring me and encouraging me to write these stories. If you enjoy the story please leave a comment telling me what you liked and how you think I could improve. I always read them and they bring a smile to my face every time.
Danse de l'Automne:
Chapter Two
Harry was worried.
Isabelle had become withdrawn over the past few weeks. She still went about all her normal activities, but it was as if she had become somehow muted. Less vibrant than before. A tremor of fear went through him as his mind conjured a future unbidden, a vision of his daughter dour and cold as she moved through her days with the calculated efficiency of a machine, all joy spent.
"Harry?"
He started, suddenly recalling his surroundings as he looked down at the pan of rapidly cooking eggs in front of him. Moving quickly, he took them off the fire and turned to look at Fleur instead. She was sitting at the work table with a small spread of parchment in front of her, her mug of coffee sitting idly by his cup of tea, and she was looking at him with concern.
"Just a stray idea, that's all."
"If you are certain," she said after a moment, not returning to what she had been doing and watching as he finished preparing the toast and carried their plates over. It wasn't much that morning, three lightly scrambled eggs between them with the toast on side. Just enough to start the day.
"I was thinking about Isabelle," he said a moment later, gratefully accepting the cup of tea as she passed it to him.
"Is there something wrong?"
"Have you noticed that she seems… listless, these days?"
Fleur frowned.
"Isabelle has been quieter recently," she admitted, biting her lip in concentration.
"It started just after Roxanne left, does she miss her that much?"
"Not Roxanne," she said slowly.
Harry's eyes widened and he felt like slapping himself for not seeing it sooner. Roxanne's visit had been the exception, not the rule, and Isabelle had of course been excited to have free reign of the house while she was here, but with her departure came the sober reality of being the only child in the house for the next two years.
"She's lonely."
"Gabrielle went through something similar when I left for Beauxbatons, though we are farther apart in age."
He felt his brow furrow.
"Well… shit."
"Harry?"
"It's just—" he struggled to find the right words to capture his frustration. "That isn't something I can fix."
"Non?"
"No," he repeated, raking a hand through his hair and leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. "We can't take James out of school and Isabelle is too young to attend herself."
"Hmmm."
"What did Apolline do for Gabrielle?"
"I must admit I do not know. Although…"
She trailed off and he waited, not saying anything.
"I believe it was around that time that Gabrielle began showing an interest in playing instruments."
"How does that help?"
"A hobby, perhaps? Something to fill her time, at the least, and with other girls her age. Has Isabelle shown an interest in anything of that sort lately?"
"I'm not sure. Certainly nothing social. Not involving Roxanne, that is."
"Could we arrange for more visits?"
"Unfortunately not," he said with a sigh. "Fred and Alicia are going on a tour of the new locations these next few months getting everything sorted for the openings. That leaves George and Angelina alone to run the shop in Diagon."
"Could Roxanne not come here?"
"I discussed it with Angelina when she came to pick up Roxanne. She said that they want to try and get her and Sophie involved with the shop a little bit at a time while Fred and Alicia are away, to keep an eye on them and get them started with the magic that goes into it all, give them a headstart on potions, charms and enchanting. And besides," he added, a wry, somewhat cynical tone overtaking his voice. "I doubt that the idea of solving our youngest's loneliness by inflicting it on theirs will go over all that well."
Fleur's jaw tightened in frustration as her brow furrowed.
"I had not considered Sophie. Would it really be so bad?"
"If Roxie's here often enough that Isabelle feels together then she'd inevitably be away enough that Angelina, Fred, and Sophie feel apart."
Fleur deflated, her expression of defeat all to real this time and not the slightest bit amusing.
"Well… Merde."
"Mhmm.."
They sat in silence for what felt like several minutes, the ticking of the clock and the crying of gulls through the window the only disturbances to their ruminations.
"We could try getting Isabelle to take up an instrument like Gabrielle did?"
"Non. It would occupy her time but it would do nothing to make her feel less apart."
"Wasn't Gabbie in a girls' band?"
"Only after she turned ten, and she was the youngest player by two years. And besides, it was an unofficial group that formed when the Beauxbatons music club was discontinued in nineteen ninety-two. It disbanded when the club was reinstated in her seventh year."
"Shit."
"…"
"…"
Fleur's lips parted slightly, about to speak, but she hesitated, staring at Harry almost tentatively as if she wasn't quite sure if she should.
"Fleur?"
"Is there, perhaps, something social in the Muggle world that Isabelle might be able to participate in?"
Harry hesitated, torn between past anxieties and the more rational parts of his mind. He let his brow furrow, considering.
"When I was young, my magic proved an issue," he began slowly. "Actual accidental magic was fairly infrequent, much more so than we've seen with any of our three, but I don't know if that was because of the stress of the Dursleys or just because I felt out of place and wanted to hide."
"You are worried that Isabelle could have an accident?"
"That she might be harmed in some way generally, yes, a part of me is," he said, nodding. "That, and whether or not having to hide her magic among any group we might find for her might not make her feel even more isolated than she already is."
Fleur bit her lip, also considering.
"It would vary, but most non-magical activities for girls her age should not be cause for concern. It is not as if she is a muggle girl seeking to participate in magical activities," she said thoughtfully. "As long as it is not something that would highlight her lack of common knowledge, then she should be fine. Anything particularly involving their technology, for example, would be difficult for her to adapt to and would make her feel stuck behind her peers."
They sat there for some time, each pondering in their own way, until the clock chimed the hour and Fleur looked up realising she had to leave.
"Time to go?"
"Oui. What will you do today?"
"Go to the market, she does better out of the house and we have enough to sell."
Fleur nodded, gathering the spread she had been idly looking over before he sat down. She paused once she was finished, seemingly searching for words, then glanced at the clock and frowned ever so slightly.
"We will think of something."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
She gave him a light kiss and was gone.
Harry turned back to the table, gathering the remnants of their light breakfast and planning to clean up fully before going to wake Isabelle for the day.
~{}~
"Some fine peppers you've got there. If I didn't know better I'd say it was magic."
Harry chuckled at the old man's joke, accepting the compliment for what it was.
"Thank you, we worked hard on them."
The old man grinned, his wrinkled face a picture of neighbourly geniality.
"You and the young ones, eh? Though I haven't seen your son around today. I don't suppose I missed him?"
He smiled and shook his head.
"Not this time, he's off at boarding school."
The old man's brows went up and he gave Harry a look of mild surprise.
"Is that so? Well, good on you and the missus for taking an interest in his future."
"Nothing less than our best."
"As it should be. Now, did my eyes deceive me or are those tomatillos in that bin over there?"
"They most certainly are."
The old man rubbed his hands together excitedly as they made their way over, and Harry continued their friendly exchange as he loaded up the man's already heavy basket with yet more items from his stall.
Ordinarily he would have offered to help, but he'd learned not to underestimate the men and women who came here. Sure enough, and despite a good-natured jibe regarding the veracity of the chiropractor his wife had suggested, he reached down and lifted the laden basket with nary a creak or groan, donning his broad wicker hat with the other hand, and set off down the row with a spring in his step and a faint tune on his lips.
Harry smiled as he left, walking back over to the chair resting behind the middle table of his stall.
In truth, it was a bit of a misnomer. The Farmer's Market, which gathered monthly between the months of March and November, consisted of a series of canopies set up early in the morning in the shape of an elongated letter H. The farmers would back up to the sides of Canopies and set up tables, crates, shelves, or sometimes even barrels within the bounds of their reserved space and sell their wares.
The middle of the H was theoretically the prime location, but few people came to the market without exploring the full gamut on display and Harry preferred the edges anyway. Even if it weren't for his desire to remain somewhat distant socially, the limitations of his Grindelwald era restored Berliet CBA truck would have prevented him from making some of the tighter maneuvers needed to get in closer to the middle.
"What time is it, Papa?"
He looked around, aroused from his musings, and let his gaze fall on Isabelle where she sat reading and colouring her way through an illustrated activity book as he waited for her words to register with his distracted mind.
"Hmm? Oh, it's about… eleven o'clock," he said after a moment, shaking his sleeve loose and checking the old battered watch on his wrist.
"Getting hungry?"
She shrugged, then nodded.
"I think I saw The Farmer's Table set up on the other side."
"Okay."
He drew in another breath, held it for a moment, then let it out in a quiet sigh.
At markets past, Isabelle would typically be entertained by James and vise versa, the two of them staying just controlled enough not to cause any serious disruption as they passed the time between interesting customers among themselves.
He was just about to speak again when he saw Madame Lefévre approaching down the
row.
"Tell you what, we'll wait until noon and tben pack up early for the day. We'll get a proper lunch and then go to the park. Does that sound good?"
Isabelle's eyes went wide as he spoke.
"Yes, Papa!"
"All right then, just hang in there a little longer."
she nodded excitedly and grinned, and he turned back to the row just in time for Madame Lefévre to arrive.
"How are you today?" He asked in greeting.
"Magnifique, and you?"
"Can't complain. Anything caught your eye?"
"As a matter of fact it has. Jean Claude came by my stall just a few minutes ago and showed me some delightful tomatillos, and when I asked where he'd got them he said they were from you."
"News travels fast, I see. Would you like to see them?"
The kind woman smiled broadly and nodded, and Harry began leading her over to examine the uncommon, though not quite rare, fruits.
"I don't know how you do it, Potter."
"It's nothing special," he said easily, "just a lot of time on my hands."
"Ha, were it so easy. Now, they seem a bit smaller than tomatoes, so I think I'll be needing—"
And on it went for the next hour. A small rush came through just before noon which delayed them slightly, but in the end they were able to get packed by twelve thirty and on their way by a quarter to one.
~~~{}~~~
Isabelle was happy.
The Market hadn't been boring, but it wasn't exciting either and she'd fast tired of filling in the colours of the pictures in her storybook.
She smiled.
Her Auntie Gabrielle had gotten it for her for her birthday that year and she loved it, though even it had gotten somewhat boring lately. A lot of things seemed to be getting boring lately. It wasn't the normal kind of boring either, when that happened she would just go ask her Papa to do something with her and it went away. This boring made her tired. She would get bored of being bored, but doing things to fix it was just so tiring. And even when she did, she'd just get bored of that too.
She frowned, readjusting her position in the bushes as she did so.
She remembered hearing her Maman and Papa talking about Aunt Andie one time, after Teddy went to Beauxbatons and she stopped visiting for a while. It had sounded something like that but also different and she couldn't remember why.
A beetle buzzing nearby flew up to her and landed on her sleeve.
She blinked, startled, then felt her face lift up as she looked at the little thing. It was all gold and brown, and it looked very pretty.
She stared at it for a few seconds, trying not to move, but then she had to take a deep breath and it flew away.
She craned her neck trying to see where it had gone. but she couldn't. Her shoulders sagged in disappointment she let out a long sigh. But as she moved, the leaves over her head had shifted and she settled into a slightly different spot, and now there was a sunbeam falling on her face.
She closed her eyes, letting her head flop back a little and basking in the feeling of warmth.
Other bugs were buzzing nearby and she heard a bird twittering overheard. A soft breeze filtered through the leaves and brought with it a jumbled scent of sweet saps and flowers, and the dry mossy mulch the bush was planted in felt good against her knees and the palms of her hands.
She smiled.
"Come out, come out wherever you are!"
Isabelle's eyes snapped open and she craned her head to just barely see Emma's outline through the bushes as she darted past a tree just a little ways away, heading the other direction.
She grinned at the proof her hiding spot was good, making a mental note to check under all the bushes when Emma was hiding and it was her turn to be seeker.
But then, if Emma did manage to find Isabelle here, she wouldn't bother hiding in the bushes and checking them would be useless. Unconsciously, she bit her lower lip and furrowed her brow in concentration. Emma would find her eventually, they were the only two playing and, even though they'd only met in the park for the first time an hour ago, Isabelle hadn't sensed she was the sort of girl to give up on a mystery. But if she moved, if she made her way to another, easier hiding spot before Emma caught her…
There was a big tree a ways to her left, thick enough that she might be able to convince Emma she'd been moving around it to stay out of view. If she was quick, if she went right now…
Her heart began beating faster and her eyes darted back forth anxiously, straining to see where Emma had gone. There was nothing, no voice calling out or shape weaving through the trees. Her heart beat faster. She shifted in place, focusing on the tree and feeling her legs tense and her fingers twitch. She still had time, but not long. She could feel her impending discovery looming over her like a distant storm, now completely certain that she was only moments away from losing the only advantage she'd found in the four rounds of hide and go seek they'd played. Her heart was loud enough to hear it in her ears, her eyes were thrown wide open, and her vision seemed to narrow as it flicked back forth between the tree and her surroundings. She couldn't see a sign of Emma anywhere and she wanted to wait and be sure, but if Emma wasn't there at all…
She let out a quiet gasp of realization, then sprang.
She scrambled forward, her knees scraping against the mulch and twigs catching in her hair as she pushed branches aside to dash out of the bush at a run. She was only a second or two away, but it seemed to stretch out forever. Her face was lit up with a beaming smile and her heaving breaths felt almost like laughter in her lungs as she put all she had into the short sprint.
She was giggling.
And then she was at the tree, reaching one hand out to snag against the trunk and bring her swinging to a stop as she doubled over panting for air, but she was still grinning.
She poked her around the trunk of the tree and looked back the way she had come, toward the large bush that rose like a small island in the middle of a grassy sea, checking for any sign that her flight had been discovered.
There was nothing.
Something swelled in her chest and she felt like laughing but, at the last possible second, she remembered to keep her voice contained.
That had been the easy part. She was out in the open now, easy to spot. Which was the plan, of course, but she didn't feel like losing too quickly. She grinned, crouching low and creeping forward to get a first look around the other side of the tree, ready to pull back at the firsr sign of—
"Found you!"
Isabelle pouted.
Standing up straight, she turned to see Emma just behind her smiling wide. She was a little shorter than Isabelle and had brown hair the same colour as Roxies, though it wasn't as pretty.
"How'd you find me?" she asked with just the slightest hint of a whine.
"I saw you running to the tree from over there," Emma replied, pointing over to another tree that had been even further to the left from the bush.
"Okay…"
She sighed, but comforted herself with the knowledge that she had technically wanted to be found.
"Alright, now it's your turn to seek again," Emma said brightly. Isabelle smiled at the look of excitement on her face, her disappointment fading fast as she was drawn in to the game once more. But before they could begin, a woman's voice called out to them from a little ways away.
"Emma, sweetie, it's almost time to go."
As one, they turned around and looked over to the edge of the park where Emma's maman and her Papa stood waiting. They were talking, but Isabelle was too far away to hear what they said.
She turned back to Emma and found her looking down at brightly coloured watch on her wrist. It looked plastic and had a drawing of a lady with brown hair in a bright yellow dress, as well as a clock and a candlestick with faces.
"It's time for you to go?"
Emma looked up apologetically.
"Yeah, sorry. I have a thing for school."
"O-oh? What kind of thing?"
They had started walking already but Isabelle didn't want it to be over just yet.
"It's a project for one of my classes, me and my friends are making the planet out of papier-mâché!"
Isabelle's eyes widened.
"That's so cool! What class is it?"
"Science."
She struggled for a moment to remember what Muggle science was, then remembered Aunt Hermione saying it was like what her Maman did.
"My Maman's a scientist," she said proudly, "she does cool stuff all the time."
"Cool."
"Do you like that class?"
"It's okay."
She didn't say any more for a second, and Isabelle struggled to think of something to fill the silence. She had just opened her mouth when Emma's eyes widened and she started talking again.
"Oh, but there was this one time when we were making volcanos with baking soda and Jenny put the whole box in by accident. It went everywhere and—"
Isabelle felt her smile slip slightly as Emma talked all about her friends at school at the things they did together, nodding and humming every so often as she slowed or paused for a reaction. Her mind wandered, trying to picture herself doing the things Emma was talking about, with her or with Roxie or even by herself, but it all sounded too strange.
"—and then we put the wires in the potato and it made the wheels spin, and Anna put hers on the ground and it went under the teacher's desk so—"
"Emma, we're going to be late."
They looked up, finding that they had stopped to talk very near to where their parents were standing, and found them coming over.
"Us too, Isabelle. Time to get going."
She sighed and nodded, then smiled and waved goodbye as Emma and her Maman walked away, Emma returning the wave over her shoulder.
"Ready to go?"
She wasn't, but there was no one else at the park just then and she bit her lip as she tried to think of a way to stay.
"Isabelle?"
Her Papa was looking at her expectantly, smiling softly, and she remembered the sorbet he'd made.
"Can we get ice cream?"
"I don't know…"
"Pleeeeeeeeeeease?"
She clasped her hands in front of her and pouted, making eyes as wide as she could. A second passed, then two, then he checked his watch and sighed.
"Okay, but only one scoop."
"Yay!"
~{}~
Pistachio, Isabelle decided, was her favourite flavour of ice cream in the whole world.
She hummed happily as they walked along beside the street, enjoying her ice cream and only paying just enough attention to the lines of the pavement and her Papa in front of her not to trip as they made the short walk back from the ice cream shop to the car park where Papa had left the truck before they went to the park.
It was a bit longer coming back than it had been going, the Ice cream shop and the car park had been in different directions, and Isabelle found her eyes wandering over the buildings around them, fascinated even if she had no idea where they were or what most of them were for.
They had stopped briefly to wait for a traffic light when a flicker of movement to her right caught her eye.
She paused mid-lick of her almost finished double scoop and tried to get a better look at the thing that had moved behind the glass front of the shop beside them, but the sun was shining off it and she could barely see.
Her eyes went wide.
It wasn't a shop at all.
Just behind the glass was a big room full of people. They were all dressed the same and moving together, and she took in a sudden breath as she realised what they were doing.
They were dancing.
She could almost hear the music, and as she watched them she began to imagine how their spins and sways connected to the tune.
All of them, all together, twisting and spinning as one.
The sun dimmed, or she saw past the glare pn the window, or she ignored it, or a cloud passed by overhead, and suddenly she could see everything as clearly as if there was no glass at all.
The floor was dark, shining wood polished to a water sheen, and the walls were mirrors that somehow seemed to catch them and yet also push them away. As if they alone stood real, not in a single small room but in the bright heart of an endless darkness, surrounded by graceful shades and lit from above by a soft golden light. And there were lights, the ceiling dotted with small globes that stretched away in the reflections to shift and tremble like a tapestry of stars, or playing fireflies.
The room surrounded them, enveloped them, but it didn't cage. Poised in rows more than five across and three back, they weren't limited by the space. They were enhanced. All the world fell away around them, each star a part of the constellation that had been set in a sky made just for them. And her eyes were drawn to them, as if there could be anywhere else to go, and she drank in the sight of them. They were clothed dark purple that faded into lavender mist down their arms and legs, and their hair was tied back with silver thread. They were smiling, each face lit up with its own special joy, and their eyes were shining.
They dipped, all as one, and her breath caught as she watched them lift their back legs up behind them and float down on their front, which they bent deep below them and which they balanced on the tips of their toes, their feet curved to match their legs. Their arms they raised up before them in great arcs, as if to cradle the moon and stars overhead, and they lifted their heads to cast their faces upward too, and she felt her heart go still as she saw them in the golden glow.
She knew them.
There, nearest where Isabelle hung suspended in the darkness looking in, her face once mere smile now clearing into features she knew. Her cousin Guinevere, older now, and freer than she had ever seen her. Her smile wide and present and whole, no hint of her shadow of uncertainty to be seen.
And there, a row behind her and three to the side, Aunt Gabrielle. Silver hair gleaming like spun moonlight so bright and pure the metal threads that bound it seemed dull by compare, her face lifted in a contentment so complete it was as if the very idea of it had been lifted from her heart and embodied in her.
And near the front and the end, almost blending in, such warmth and joyfulness she seemed a summer's day brought into being, Mademoiselle Aimeé, somehow more real than she had ever seemed before.
And there were more.
Every face was someone she knew. Her family, friends, even the girl she'd met at the park only just before. And there, in the front, in the middle, two faces she knew best of all.
She saw Roxanne first. Her skin caught the golden glow surrounding them and absorbed it to radiate like a beacon, yet upon the others merely gleamed. And there beside her, waves of wild gold woven into a crown set atop a face she knew so well yet had never before seen in this way…
"Isabelle?"
She squeaked in shock and spun to stare up at the voice that had spoken, almost dropping the ice cream cone still held loosely in her hand, a bit of loose gravel crunched beneath her heel. The sun poked into her eyes and she shut them hard, her face scrunching as her vision settled and she found herself blinking up at her Papa's face. He was looking at her, waiting.
"Euh…"
His head tilted slightly to one side.
"I asked what you were looking at."
Isabelle blinked once, then turned back to look through the glass. The glare poked at her eyes, and when they adjusted a second later she saw only an open room not much bigger than the ice cream shop had been. The people inside were dancing, but they were wearing plain black, and when she craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the face of the nearest one she didn't recognize the auburn-haired girl at all.
"I…"
Her tongue wasn't working right.
"Looks like a dance school."
Isabelle blinked, hesitating, then half-nodded and turned to look up at him again. He kept looking a little longer, his gaze flicking idly around inside. Then he turned, letting out a deep breath and resting a warm hand on her shoulder, smiling softly.
"Come on, then, we need to be getting back. And besides, I doubt they want us staring at them through the window."
Isabelle opened her mouth, not sure what she was about to say, then she looked back inside once again. Plain wood floors, handrails and mirrors, people wobbling as they practised their moves.
One girl standing by the wall looked over as she let go of the foot she'd been holding in a stretch. She waved.
Isabelle blushed.
"Okay," she said at last, letting the hand on her shoulder steer her away from the window and back to the traffic light they'd been waiting for when she first looked inside.
The cars were going the same way as before, but the ones at the stop were different and Isabelle realised they'd missed it the first time. Papa's hand lifted off her shoulder to rest lightly against her back. She grabbed his hand with her free one and held it tight, feeling very strange indeed as they watched the cars go by.
~~~{}~~~
The door to the master bathroom opened with a soft creak.
Harry looked up from his their sons' most recent letter to see Fleur stepping out in a robe, fiddling her wand in tight, complicated motions around her head as she levitated her hair in a bubble-like halo, drying it in a delicate series of layers and degrees that made no sense to him whatsoever.
Whatever the method to her madness, she was half-finished by the time she crossed the room to retrieve her nightclothes from the dresser and done before she slid into the covers beside him, collapsing against the pillows with a beleaguered sigh.
"Not going to brush it out tonight?"
She groaned in response, giving her wand a lazy flick to send the brush over to him before setting it down on the headboard, snuggling into him and closing her eyes.
For Fleur, it had been the sort of day that was agreed by all to be the counterbalance of pleasant coasting. Not bad, not even hard in the traditional sense, merely restless. Tedious in that most exhausting of ways. Even Isabelle had noticed, worn out as she was, and had spoken up at dinner more than in the past week, telling Fleur about the day they'd had and the people they met, and becoming more animated as she did so. And while Fleur had remained upright and awake long enough to tuck in Isabelle after dinner, she hadn't waited long to sink into a long bath after doing so.
Harry picked up the brush and lifted her hair, pausing when he realised he didn't have enough room.
As if sensing the issue, she shifted before he could speak, propping herself up briefly and coming to a rest with her head in his lap.
He began the process of long, smooth strokes, letting her hair slide smoothly between his fingers and smiling as Fleur sighed contentedly, his wife's usual poise becoming more akin to a puddle as she relaxed into the routine.
They continued like that in a comfortable silence for a minute or so before Fleur spoke, opening eyes and looking up at him.
"Who is it from?"
"Teddy. He says the weather's barmy and the French are all hiding under their Handkerchiefs."
A delicate silver eyebrow arched at him imperiously.
"He's doing well, though it really has been raining," he replied, still slightly grinning. "He and his new friends are getting on well, and he's gotten James to socialize a bit more."
"His study group?"
"Going well, both of them are."
She let out a relieved sigh, her eyes closing once more.
"At least that is going right."
"Want to talk about it?"
"After sleeping for a week, perhaps. But… oui."
She sat up a little, and Harry scooted back toward the headboard so he could keep brushing.
"Aimeé had her first "good" idea today," she said, making air-quotes around the word.
"Oh?"
"We all have them eventually. Things we think will work, or that do work but which we did not think fully through."
"And which was this?"
"The latter," she said with a sigh. "She has been working a way to make charms cast on non-magical objects last longer by imbuing them into the material."
"Sounds like enchanting," he commented, splitting his focus between her story and the ends of her hair.
"The principle is similar," she confirmed. "She chose to use animation charms for her test as they are well-documented and easy to measure, but the ones she chose for her test are the same as those used in portrait making."
"I sense an "oversight" on the horizon."
"Yes," she said simply, her face reflecting her exhaustion. "The charms are connected to the whole piece of magic in order to prevent them drifting apart. And, when she cast them with her modifications, they brought an element of personality with them."
Harry paused mid-stroke, running through the potential implications of that statement in his head.
"I take it that her experiments were a tad more lively than Aimeé intended," he said after a moment.
"A tad, yes," she said with a weak chuckle. "And because the actual experiment was a success, all but impossible to dispel."
"How did you handle it?"
"We requested assistance from the magical creature specialists to contain them until it wears off."
"How long will that take?"
"A month, according to Aimeé."
"Impressive."
"Oui, but impractical. An enduring, intelligent bubble head charm that adapts as needed is useful. An enduring, intelligent quill that decides to write only in transliterated cuniform is not."
"Does Aimeé doesn't know how to prevent that?"
"Not in the slightest," she said with an unmistakable tone of amused exasperation.
"Was it at least entertaining?"
"In the beginning, and a little at the end."
Harry hummed in acknowledgement and they settled into comfortable quiet once more as he finished brushing out the last few strands of her hair. She took the brush again once he finished and shifted back to her side of the bed to put it away, then flopped back down against the pillows and stretched, arching her back like a cat.
A cat that was presently grinding the top of its head against the pillows and mussing up all the lovely, straight, shimmering hair that Harry had just spent the past fifteen minutes brushing meticulously.
She sat back up and raked her hair out again with her fingers, somewhat re-energised.
"And how were you today?" she asked apologetically. "I confess I did not listen as well as I should have at dinner."
"Not bad, all things considered. The market went well enough. We sold most of what we had, even if we did close early."
"And the park after that?"
"Yep," he said, nodding. "We met a lovely woman named Flora who let Isabelle play with her daughter for an hour or so, and then after that we went for ice cream."
"And how was she?"
He drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.
"Not much better, honestly. She was withdrawn all morning. She had fun at the park but got quiet again after we left."
Now it was Fleur who sighed in consternation. She began chewing her lower lip, thinking hard.
"No one we know here has daughters her age. At least, not that we can trust like that," she said eventually.
"I don't suppose she could spend some time with a Veela enclave?" he suggested halfheartedly.
"Non," Fleur said after a moment, shaking her head. "The culture is too different and I have not introduced her to enough of it yet. It would only make her feel more alone, especially since I would not be able to spend much of my time there with her."
Harry nodded. He'd expected something like that, but he was running out of ideas.
"I do not suppose Isabelle and Emma got along well enough to try and make a more regular acquaintance?"
His tongue was ready for the denial before his brain finished processing the question, but he did his best to put the memory of the Dursleys aside and consider the idea seriously. Unfortunately, the conclusion was the same.
"No," he said a few seconds later. "From what her mother said, their social circles revolve around Emma's school. And while she was friendly enough to chat with for an hour, I got the sense that Flora wasn't exactly enthusiastic about prolonged contact with strangers, odd ones especially."
"And hiding her magic would only exacerbate matters," she finished for him, sounding defeated.
Yet her question had jogged his memory about another moment that day, however brief, on the way back to the CBA from the ice cream shop.
"There was one thing," he said slowly, feeling Fleur's gaze sharpen on him as she registered his tone.
"We stopped at a crosswalk on the way back to the truck," he said slowly, following the thought even as he said it aloud. "While we were waiting for the light, Isabelle took a peek through the window of the building we were in front of, a dance studio."
"Did she seem interested?"
"She wasn't uninterested," he said, tilting his head. "She might have just been curious, I don't think she's ever seen one before. But, even if that's all it was, she was intrigued enough not to notice me I say her name the first time when the light changed."
"Could she have just been distracted?"
Harry shrugged.
"Maybe. But even if she was, I think it may have been the dancing that was distracting her."
He looked over, Fleur was biting her lip again and her gaze was unfocused, flicking back and forth unseeing.
"I suppose it could work," she said eventually. "Of all the potential activities, I doubt dancing would put Isabelle in a position to feel behind her peers."
"We would go to the studio and then leave when she's done, so we wouldn't have to worry about hosting or having someone else host her," Harry added.
Fleur nodded slowly, then focused back on him again.
"Did it seem like she could start lessons there?"
Harry frowned, realising the first flaw in their plan.
"I doubt it. All the students I saw were quite a bit older, in their late teens at least."
"It could just be that class."
"Might be," he conceded. "Still, we can't just sign her up for the first one we see."
Fleur hesitated for a moment, then slumped with a sigh.
"Non, we cannot."
He let the silence linger, feeling rather spent as well, then took a deep breath and let it all out at once.
"It's a start," he said eventually.
"Oui, one we can build on tomorrow," she said, her exhaustion clear. "Now, is there anything else we need to discuss tonight, or can we go to sleep?"
Harry snorted softly as he sank more fully into the bed, his eyelids already beginning to pull themselves closed. Then a thought struck him as his hand and wrist carried out the perfunctory charm to turn off all the lights in the room and he found himself unable to dismiss it.
"Fleur?"
"Hnnnm?"
"Other than feeling nice, what's the point of brushing your hair like that if you're just going to mess it up again?"
There was a second of silence as the question penetrated Fleur's exhausted consciousness, then she chuckled. Rolling in place to face him fully, she reached up to pull his face in close to hers.
"It is a magic hairbrush, Harry," she said softly, smiling and leaning in to press her forehead against his. "So long as the brush touches my hair regularly, it will remain tangle free."
His brow furrowed in confusion.
"So the brushing…"
She shrugged awkwardly, the movement oddly endearing.
"Feels nice."
He blinked.
"And," she added, closing the remaining gap between them to kiss him softly, "It has to touch all my hair."
And with that, he watched her eyes close.
"Huh."
"Shuuush, sleep time," she mumbled. "No talking."
But he was grinning even as his eyes drifted closed.
"Yes, dear," he whispered.
~~~{}~~~
The floor was cold.
A small shiver went down her spine as she looked up at the door to Maman and Papa's room, but she didn't move.
They were asleep.
She wasn't.
Her pyjamas were soft and warm, and her bed was warmer still, and her bare feet were cold against the floor. And she didn't feel tired. But she didn't feel awake either.
It was dark.
She couldn't read the clock up on the wall or see the doorknob her hand had found first try.
It was quiet.
The ticking didn't break it, just made it deeper.
She breathed.
She felt the rise and fall of her chest as if it were the only thing in the world. And the breath across her lips. And the hall's draft against her skin. And her hair, and the tips of her fingers against the palms of her hands, and the loose thread in her pyjama trousers as it pulled across the back left side of her knee.
She didn't blink.
There was only one window in sight, in the door at the far end of the long hall. Her own stood open still, almost exactly halfway down its length, the glow coming through it from her window stopping long before it reached her feet.
She stared up through nothing at the door still standing there.
She saw it open.
She saw the deep red carpet at the foot of their bed. She saw the bins tucked underneath where Maman kept her jumpers and Papa his slippers. She saw the soft yellow duvet and the smooth white sheets and the mound of pillows at the top, and she saw her Maman and Papa lying there soundly as if she'd seen them a thousand thousand times before. She saw herself walk in, climb up and over and in between them, and she saw herself close her eyes to sleep even as they shifted and pulled her in close once again.
She saw the door, still closed.
She could see her Maman's face, bleary eyed and warm as she laid a kiss on her forehead, and she could feel her Papa's arms wrap around her, the safest she's ever been.
She could hear them wake.
Wake, and fall back asleep. And wake, and fall asleep. Shifting around her in the bed, making room, finding ways to fit her in. Waking, sleeping. Waking, sleeping. Waking…
The floor was cold.
Her tingling feet carried her silently back down the hall, back through her open door, back across soft blue carpet and cold wood to where her warm, empty bed lay waiting.
She lay there, eyes closed.
She lay there, all but still.
She lay there, waiting.
When sleep came she did not know.
AN: Thank you for reading. If you liked the story, please leave a comment telling me what worked and what didn't. I see and read every single one, even long after the stories are posted, and I appreciate them all!
Harry/Fleur Discord Server: Link in my bio
Fanfic Recommendation: Emissary by grumpywolf, a DC crossover spinoff of Back? Not Really by the same author, currently updating.