Disclaimer: I don't own anything from this story and I make no money out of it.
Recovery
Harry stirred in his bed, feeling as though he were waking from a dream that had lasted an eternity, only to find himself wrapped in the familiar embrace of the infirmary.
As if summoned by the whispering thoughts of his awakening mind, Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, her footsteps light and purposeful as she approached him. Harry wondered if there was some enchantment woven into the beds, alerting the seasoned healer to any stirring patients.
"Ah, Mr Potter," she said, a wry smile playing upon her lips. "Finally decided to join the living, have we?"
"Seems that way," Harry replied, his voice a hoarse croak betraying days of disuse. He chuckled softly, the sound tinged with nostalgia as he remembered countless other times spent under Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye.
"You've been out for two days now," she muttered, her wand dancing gracefully above his body like a conductor's baton, weaving intricate patterns in the air as she cast diagnostic spells. Harry could feel the gentle brush of magic against his skin, each spell probing beneath the surface, searching for any lingering ailments.
"Go easy on me, Madam Pomfrey," Harry joked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'm just a poor, defenceless Gryffindor."
"Defenceless, indeed," she snorted in amusement, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "You're as defenceless as a Blast-Ended Skrewt."
As the last of the diagnostic spells faded away, Madam Pomfrey regarded him with a mixture of relief and exasperation. "Well, Mr Potter, it seems your magical core has recovered."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Harry replied, his grin tempered by a genuine warmth. "I'd be lost without you."
"Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey admonished, her stern gaze drilling into him like a well-aimed curse, "you've been entirely irresponsible, exhausting yourself in such a manner."
"Fine, fine," Harry replied, raising a hand in mock surrender. The ghost of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "I promise I'll be more careful in the future."
"Ha!" Madam Pomfrey snorted, her scepticism as obvious as it was warranted. "I'll retire well before a Potter does anything carefully."
Harry couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within and filling the infirmary with its contagious mirth. It wasn't often that he heard Madam Pomfrey make jokes, even if they were at his expense.
"Your friends have visited quite a bit while you slept," she continued, her tone softening ever so slightly. "They've been worried about you."
Harry smiled with nostalgia. He had been in that bed countless times, the result of his many adventures at Hogwarts, and the common elements always were the stern matron and his friends, always by his side. But no matter how many times that story repeated itself, he would always appreciate his friends' support.
"I'll send a word so they know to visit again. But," Madam Pomfrey held up a finger, forestalling any protest, "you're to stay in bed until tomorrow, Mr Potter. We must ensure your magical core is fully recovered."
"Madam Pomfrey," Harry protested, his voice firm but tinged with a hint of desperation, "I feel better, really. I should be preparing for the third task."
"Mr Potter," she replied sternly, her hands on her hips and her eyes boring into his with the intensity of a basilisk's gaze, "if you wanted to run around the castle like a headless hippogriff, you should have been more careful in the first place."
Harry rolled his eyes, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew there was no use trying to change Madam Pomfrey's mind when it came to the health and wellbeing of her patients. With a sigh, he relented, nodding his agreement.
"Fine, I'll stay put," he acquiesced, mentally preparing himself for the slow passage of time that would accompany his bedridden state.
"See that you do," she said, her expression softening ever so slightly before she turned on her heel and left the room.
The infirmary was bathed in afternoon sunlight, the rays painting golden arabesques on the polished stone floor. As Harry lay in bed, he watched the patterns of flowing dust, suspended in mid-air like tiny galaxies swirling under the sun's guidance. The delicate dance of the motes served as a distraction from his thoughts, keeping the shadows of doubt at bay, if only for a moment.
Harry's thoughts moved towards Dumbledore and the cursed objects. Harry hoped that Albus had managed to destroy them without much trouble. He knew the old wizard was very powerful, and probably the most knowledgable wizard alive, var the Flamels, but fiendfyre was a treacherous spell.
He supposed that Madam Pomfrey would have let him know if something had gone terribly wrong, so it was safe to assume that the headmaster had succeded. And if so, the only thing standing between him and the lives of his friends was a very powerful, very brutal, yet undeniably mortal Lord Voldemort.
"Bring it on," Harry whispered softly, his voice a low growl, like that of a lion preparing to pounce on its prey.
The doors of the infirmary swung open just then, and Ron and Hermione came barrelling in. Harry's mouth twitched into a grin as Ron skidded to a halt at the side of his bed, while Hermione threw her arms around him in a tight embrace.
"Oi, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed with mock indignation, puffing out his cheeks as if struggling to breathe. "You shouldn't attack a sick man!"
"Sorry, Harry!" she replied, releasing him quickly and stepping back, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..."
"Relax," he said, laughing, his green eyes twinkling mischievously. "I was only joking. I'm as good as new."
Ron chuckled and Hermione playfully slapped his arm as she admonished him, "You really had us worried, you know."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Harry laughed.
"It's good to see you well, Harry," Hermione said. "Now, don't go doing anything foolish again."
"Can't make any promises," he replied with a grin.
"Madame Pomfrey chased us off earlier when we tried to visit you," Ron added, scuffing a shoe against the floor. "She can be quite...intimidating."
"Yeah, that sounds like Madam Pomfrey," Harry agreed, recalling the sternness with which she'd insisted on examining him moments before.
"Speaking of visits," Hermione began, mischief dancing in her brown eyes. "Fleur came by to check on you, too."
"Really?" Harry asked, trying to keep his tone casual, but feeling warmth rise in his cheeks.
"Yep," Ron chimed in. "All the champions did - even Krum."
"Ah, I see," Harry mused, attempting to mask his surprise. He felt a strange sense of gratitude for their concern, though he wasn't quite ready to admit it aloud.
Madam Pomfrey swept into the room then, "I think it's time for you two to leave," she told Ron and Hermione decisively. "Mr Potter needs his rest."
"Alright," Ron sighed, giving Harry a reluctant smile. "See you tomorrow, mate."
"Bye, Harry," Hermione added.
As they made their way towards the door, Fleur Delacour entered the infirmary, her golden hair shimmering like a halo around her head. Madam Pomfrey regarded her with mild annoyance, but ultimately shook her head and retreated to her office, leaving Fleur to approach Harry's bed.
"Hi," Fleur said as she pulled up a chair next to Harry's bed, her eyes twinkling like the first stars of an evening sky.
"Hi," he replied, his voice wavering ever so slightly as he could feel some awkwardness between them. He couldn't quite put his finger on why their relationship was a kaleidoscope of comfort and tension - one moment, they were like old friends sharing laughter, and the next, it felt as if they were dancing on thin ice, uncertain when it would crack beneath them.
"Madame Pomfrey told us you just needed some rest after exhausting your magical core," Fleur began. "But you have been asleep for more than two days...I admit I was concerned."
"Ah, no need to worry," Harry assured her with a grin that belied the fatigue still lingering in his bones. "I'll be back to winning the tournament by tomorrow."
"Only if I make a mistake," Fleur retorted playfully. "And we both know how rare that is."
"True, but you haven't faced the full might of Harry Potter yet!" he exclaimed, puffing out his chest in mock bravado.
The laughter they shared swept away the lingering unease, leaving Harry feeling unexpectedly light-hearted. A twinkle appeared in Fleur's eyes as she leaned forward, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.
"Remember, we still have one more training session before the third task," she reminded him, an impish grin playing at the corners of her mouth. "And this time, I won't be holding back. I can't leave Hogwarts without defeating Harry Potter at least once."
Harry smirked. "Well, good luck with that. You'll only win if I make a mistake, and we both know how rare that is."
Fleur rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile that tugged at her lips. The words hung between them, softening the edges of reality and transforming it into something altogether more delightful.
Harry was not sure what possessed him. Maybe it was the moment, the companionship he felt, the warmth that speeded through him. Maybe it was the looming battle, which one way or another, would put an ending to his fight with Voldemort. "Do you want to go out with me?" he asked her.
Fleur seemed to be taken aback by this, so Harry pressed on, "After the last task, I mean," he said, "I would like to take you on a date that doesn't include spending the afternoon with a fugitive."
Fleur was hesitant for a moment, but a wide smile eventually formed on her face, "I would like that, Harry." she said.
They stayed looking at each other, no words needed, until Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office with the stern countenance of a headmistress. "Visits are over for today," she announced, sweeping towards them. "Mr Potter needs to rest if he wants to be out of that bed tomorrow."
"Of course, Madam Pomfrey," Fleur replied, her eyes always on Harry. She gave him one last lingering look before leaning down to brush a feather-light kiss on his lips. "I will see you tomorrow, Harry," she whispered, her breath a warm caress upon his skin.
Harry, a flush creeping up to the roots of his hair, smiled goofily at her. "See you tomorrow, Fleur."
With a final smile as radiant as a summer's day, Fleur departed, leaving Harry to watch her retreating figure until she disappeared from view. It was only then that he noticed Madam Pomfrey's knowing gaze upon him.
"Stop looking at me like that," Harry muttered defensively, unable to conceal the blush that still stained his cheeks.
"Of course, dear," Madam Pomfrey replied with a suppressed smile, amusement dancing in her eyes like fireflies on a midsummer night. She turned back towards her office, muttering under her breath as she went, "Potters..."
As the door to Madam Pomfrey's office clicked shut behind her, Harry lay back against the crisp white linen of his infirmary bed, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. He tried to focus on the impending third task, the ever-looming presence of Voldemort, but found his mind irresistibly drawn back to the ephemeral memory of Fleur's lips upon his.
The last golden tendrils of sunlight caressed the high windows of the Hogwarts infirmary. Harry laid in bed, propped up on a mountain of plump pillows, his spirits buoyed by the recent visits from his friends. Outside, the wind whispered secrets as it danced through the trees, but within the infirmary, all was calm and still.
With each beat of his heart, the newfound hope pulsed through him, filling every corner of his being with light. He felt as if he were standing at a fork in the road, one path leading towards the grim void of his past, and the other towards a future filled with laughter, friendship, and love.
The fight was imminent, and Harry was ready.