Chapter 3: I Dream of Veela
Harry looked out at an all-too-familiar graveyard, as he had many nights before. It wasn't pleasant, and it bothered him. He could have described each tombstone in exacting detail and the exact phase of the waning moon he had seen so often.
He knew what he would see when he looked down. He had seen it all too often. Despite not wanting to look, he did.
He saw the silver hair splayed out, the beautiful girl that was once Fleur Delacour dead.
Even in death, she fascinated him, and he did not know why. While his chest hurt and his eyes burned as he looked at her, he still could not resolve himself to push the feeling out with his Occlumency.
It was strange, he thought, because his occlumency was usually ironclad.
Hermonie had once told him something about the consequences of learning occlumency when he was too young. She had used the phrase stunted emotional development, he recalled, picturing the conversation perfectly in his mind.
He personally thought she didn't quite conceptualize the advantage it gave him. Nightmares did not haunt him. He dealt with everything he experienced.
Except this.
Fleur was still lying there, and Harry bent down to her in the dream, staring at her face.
He didn't know why he returned here. There was no one else in the graveyard either. No Voldemort to face or Peter Pettigrew to end.
"What did Dumbledore say?" Harry murmured to himself, "Sometimes the greatest prison is our own minds?"
Dumbledore had been talking about the effects that Sirus had suffered under, he distantly recalled, yet somehow, those words seemed strangely appropriate.
Then another figure stepped into the Graveyard, and Harry turned to face the familiar cloaked figure of Death.
"Back again, Harry?" Death asked.
Harry shrugged his shoulder, "I suppose, though I couldn't tell you why," he said softly, though strangely, a part of his mind felt it disagreed with that assessment.
"Do not feel dismayed, Master," Death said, "I did not expect you to find Love so soon; you have done better than I had hoped."
Harry cocked a brow at Death, "I have?"
Suddenly, Harry felt a disturbance in his wards, and he woke to see the deep red of his sister over his face.
Emerald green met with emerald green.
She startled back with a cry, pulling backward with a sharp jerk.
Harry rose up after her. There was a moment of fleeting worry that she was going to fall, but Rose steadied herself.
They looked at each other for a long moment before Rose's cheeks eventually flushed, and she looked away.
"Is there something you need?" Harry asked, a little confused.
Rose blinked, and then her eyes widened. She rapidly replied, "Oh! Mum wanted me to wake you up! The Quidditch World Cup is today! We need to head out!"
Lily and Rose had already been going to the cup, and Lily had managed to get another ticket for Harry. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was going to the Quidditch Cup, which had set off the events of Harry's previous fourth year, that had disturbed Harry's dream, not just because of the attack but the sport itself.
Quidditch and Harry had an interesting relationship.
Back in his previous world, Harry had been quite good at Quidditch and, in particular, had enjoyed the flying aspect of the sport. The last time he had played the game was in his third year, though. There had been no Quidditch in the fourth year due to the Triwizard Tournament, and he had quit the fifth year.
He just hadn't seen the point anymore.
Shaking those strange thoughts away, he rose from his bed.
Rose turned bright red and immediately spun away from him. "Harry! Where are your clothes?" she cried out.
Harry looked down and saw he was wearing his sleeping shorts as usual. "I am wearing clothes?" he replied, confused.
Rose sighed and shook her head. "Just get ready," she said, turning and walking out of the room.
In short order, Harry readied himself for the day.
When he arrived downstairs, he saw Lily and Rose in quiet conversation, ready already, judging by the bag they had evidently already packed.
"Sorry I'm late," Harry said politely.
They both looked up, and Rose flushed, and Lily smiled gently.
"It's alright, Harry, we haven't been waiting long. Are you excited for today?"
That question entirely depended on whether history would repeat itself, Harry thought. Capturing a dozen death eaters would do wonders to improve his mood. As far as Quidditch went, he still couldn't say he was entirely excited to watch the sport, but Lily and Rose seemed excited.
"I think it'll be nice to watch the game with the two of you," Harry replied honestly.
The beaming smiles triggered a strange warmth in his gut.
They grabbed a portkey and appeared on the outer edges of the sprawling encampment of wizards. They were ushered along to make room for the next group, and Harry had already noted some of the double takes from the wizards and witches who had caught sight of his sister.
Gently he grasped his Sister's hand pulling her along with them while also positioning himself to take the view off her.
It was quite novel for him to be the least interesting person in a given group, and Harry found himself enjoying it.
To all the other wizards and witches, he was just a black-haired teenage wizard. Completely normal. Unremarkable even.
They walked into the encampment of tents, eventually finding their sport. Halfway amongst the masses, next to them, was a massive black tent where, outside, he could see Sirus coaxing a fire to life.
Another small but clean and well-kept brown tent was to their left, where Remus was working on frying sausages.
"If it isn't the Potters," Sirus raised his hand in greeting.
Lily set their tent down, and with a sharp gesture of her wand, it rose and assembled itself on the spot.
Rose waved at Sirus, "Sirus, did they give you a day off from duty?"
Sirus chuckled and stretched his back as he sat back in his chair, "They sure did. They're even paying for it, which I plan to more than double by a bet on Ireland."
Remus spoke up, "Really, Ireland, Sirus? You don't think Krum will catch the snitch too fast?"
"Nah!" Sirus shook his head, "No chance; Ireland's team is far too good to lose to Bulgaria, even with Krum. I think the Chasers will run up such a score that the Snitch won't matter in the slightest."
Remus shrugged, not countering Sirus, before he looked at Harry, "What do you think, Harry?"
"Sirus is probably right," Harry replied, "Bulgaria's quidditch team is inferior to Ireland's by quite an amount. They've only gotten by so far because of how good Krum is. Lynch just has to run defense, and Ireland has it."
"Have you had much of a chance to play or watch Quidditch?" Sirus asked casually, ignoring the look Remus had shot him.
Harry also noticed Lily and Rose looked interested in his next words as they emerged from the tent and began to create their own fire.
Harry shrugged, "I've flown a bit but haven't done so in a while. I suppose I fell out of the habit."
"You should ask your sister then to give you some practice; she's just about the best seeker Hogwarts has ever seen," Sirus said.
Harry looked interestedly at Rose, who blushed slightly under his scrutiny, "I'll have to," Harry said.
Out of Remus's tent walked Celene, whose half-lidded eyes opened a bit more as she spotted Rose and the rest of the Potters.
"Rose," she drawled lazily, smiling at the other girl.
Rose ran up to her friend and embraced her in a fierce hug, and despite himself, Harry found he was smiling at the scene. He was happy that despite having to deal with the Girl-Who-Lived nonsense, Rose still seemed to have good friends that made her happy.
"Oi," called out Sirus back to the tent, "Come out and say hi to your friends Angelica!"
"Coming, Dad," came a soft voice.
From out of the tent emerged Angelica, her dark hair draped around her head in a shimmering curtain.
Hers and Harry's eyes met momentarily, and Harry felt a brush of something against his Occlumency barriers.
He cocked a head at Angelica, who turned away as if nothing had happened and walked up to Rose and Celene.
"Hello, Rose and Celene," she said softly.
Rose wrapped her friend in a hug, which she took gracefully, patting Rose on the back gently.
Harry's attention stirred from the scene as he felt something strangely familiar press on his senses. A distinct warmth that he remembered like it was yesterday.
He turned and spotted a platinum blonde girl walking down the aisle of tents, gently holding the hand of a smaller girl who was jabbering in French at her. The smile on the platinum blonde girl's face was painfully familiar, and her blue eyes danced in a way that he thought he would only see in memory, though there was something off in the eyes, something familiar, something sad.
It was the girl who haunted his dreams, Fleur Delacour.
Almost as if she had sensed his gaze, Fleur and his eyes locked.
Blue against emerald green, yet it was strange he thought it was if those eyes knew him.
The sapphire blues dragged over his form, and there was something distinctly sad in the girl's gaze.
She walked with careful steps up to him, and unconsciously, Harry drew his left hand behind his back, his body instinctively preparing itself.
"Bonjour, je suis désolé, quel est votre nom?"
Instantly, Harry's mind translated the sentence, French being one of the languages he had learned in his travels.
"Hello, I'm sorry, what is your name?"
The way she asked was strange, as if there was one specific answer she was desperate to hear.
"It's Harry," Harry said quietly, examining Fleur awed at that moment by too many memories.
The moment he pulled Fleur's sister from the Black Lake, the same sister who trailed Fleur right now.
The heated kiss she had pressed to his lips was the first kiss he had ever had.
As of now, it had been the only kiss he had ever had.
"Harry?" questioned Fleur and Harry noted her eyes had brightened at his name, "I'm sorry have we met before? Do you go to Beauxbatons? I must say your French makes me think of you as a native to France, what are you doing here?"
Fleur assaulted him with questions instantly, and a small smile formed on her face. Harry was confused. There was something strange about this version of Fleur. She seemed altogether too interested in him.
"I'm sorry," Harry shook his head, "I'm actually English. I picked up French in my travels. I don't go to Beauxbatons."
Fleur was eyeing him seriously, and Harry noted her nostrils flaring as she breathed deeply in front of him.
Veela had a more sensitive sense of smell, he recalled from a book he had read during his fourth year. It was actually theorized that they could smell magic traits that the average witch or wizard would never be aware of.
Fleur had further closed the distance, her nose nearly pressed into his chest now, "You smell like-"
"Hey, uh, what are you doing with my brother?" Rose stepped forward and eyed Fleur cautiously, taking a couple of steps forward as she eyed the girl around her own age.
Fleur blinked, and then her cheeks reddened a bit as she backed away slightly, "I'm sorry," she said in English, turning to Rose, "Your brother looks very familiar. I thought we knew each other."
Her tone was strangely sad when she said the last sentence.
"Oh?" Rose cocked her head, looking at Harry, "Do you two know each other?"
Fleur interrupted, shaking her head, "No, I don't think we do. I'm sorry; I know it must seem rather strange."
Harry was only listening to the conversation with half an ear as he could feel his magic stirring in a way he hadn't felt in years. It was stirring and swirling inside him, and if he had to put an emotive word to it, it was rejoicing.
It stretched out, reaching in front of him, searching for something that it had lost, that had been severed but was now here.
A frown quirked Harry's face as he felt the magic in the air. He focused on Fleur's own magic and was assailed by a sense of familiarity. The last time he had felt this was in the graveyard some eight years ago and in a different world.
But that didn't make sense.
Fleur kept on talking, "You actually look familiar, too? Have I seen you in the newspaper?"
Rose flinched and shrugged a little awkwardly, "Uh, perhaps I'm Rose Potter," she said quietly.
Fleur blinked, and Harry noted the disappointment in Rose's words that crossed her face. "Oh, you're the Girl-Who-Lived," she said somewhat dryly.
Rose looked rather taken aback by the response, "I'm sorry? Have I offended you in some way?"
Fleur shook herself, "No, I'm sorry, No you haven't, just some personal-" Fleur stopped herself before looking seriously at Rose, "Did you just say that Harry was your brother?" she said slowly.
"Uh, ye-" Rose was interrupted as Fleur spun back around, staring seriously at Harry.
"You are Harry Potter?" she said shortly. Harry didn't think he had ever heard so much desperation put into those words.
"Well, actually-" Harry was just about to inform Fleur that he was, in fact, technically Harry Peverall, but he didn't have a chance as Fleur's aura flared around him.
He felt the warm heat running through his body as it always had done in his presence, and Harry, despite himself, relaxed into the sensation like a warm bath. This was the allure that he had grown used to from Fleur, and despite his occlumency keeping his mind in perfect control, he enjoyed the warmth seeping through his body.
"How?" Fleur whispered, staring at him with a long, searching gaze, "You should not be here. I know you can't be here."
Her blue eyes were beginning to swell with tears, and Harry's heart clenched.
For some reason, Harry's occlumency drew up another memory as he looked at Fleur.
He was soaking in the warm sun after his swim in the lake, and for some reason, Fleur had nestled herself into his side, something which Harry would have complained about if it were any other person, yet he could not find it in himself right now. Her allure was draped over him, and Harry magically got the impression of a fiery bird's wing draped over him.
"Arry, after this tournament is over, there is something I would like to discuss with you," Fleur said lazily, pressed to his side.
"What?" he asked; he had been spending quite a bit of time on his French recently.
"Not now," Fleur shook her hair in a shimmering stream of silver, "We'll have plenty of time to talk about it then. Do not think you will be getting rid of me, okay?"
The gaze Fleur looked at him now reminded him of the look Fleur had then.
Death's voice spoke in Harry's mind unexpectedly, "To think I would give a Peverall one of the true gifts of what their family sought."
Harry's occlumency rapidly crunched these new facts that had been presented to him.
Fleur was here.
Evidently, she had some emotional connection with him.
Death's words were clear yet obtuse. What had the gifts the Peverall's sought? The stone, the cloak, and the wand.
Cadmus had been the one with the stone and had killed himself after he realized he could not have the one he sought returned to him.
Would Death have…
Unexplainably, Harry's mouth was slightly dry as he addressed Fleur, "I'm sorry. You seem upset, are you alright?"
Fleur's face firmed up, and she seemed to shake herself, "It is alright; I hope you enjoy the quidditch match, Arry," she said softly before she grabbed her sister's hand and began to walk away.
Harry frowned. Those hadn't been the right words. Somehow, he knew they hadn't been the right words, but what he should have said was unclear. Was it not fanciful thinking that Fleur would have been brought back from death? What was he supposed to say to her?
"Harry, are you alright?" asked Rose, stepping up to him and laying a gentle hand on the back of his neck.
Harry looked up and gave Rose a half smile, "I'm fine," he said.
Now, he just had to believe it.
Despite his words Harry's encounter with Fleur remained on his mind. In part because of its strangeness, but for another matter, despite his continued use of occlumency, he had been unable to purge it from his mind.
Still, he had other things to focus on. Rose and her friends had amped each other up about the upcoming quidditch match, and despite himself, he had been unwilling to muddy the mood with his own thoughts.
If he fiddled with his wrist holster more often than he otherwise, he chalked it up to excitement.
Ireland had dominated the Quidditch match, and even with Krum pulling out the snitch in the end, it hadn't been enough. Idly, Harry thought it was funny that even in another reality, it seemed that Bulgaria was destined to lose.
His group had seemed more than content to watch the game from their private box and despite the loss of Ireland they were generally in an upbeat mood.
Sirus had consumed a large number of drinks under his wife Cathryn's amused gaze, but Sirus, as Harry knew, was simply a funny drunk and, without his trials and tribulations from Harry's world in Azkaban and with dementors, was far more unburdened.
Though that was much to his wife's amusement and his daughter's deeply reddened cheek shame.
Harry could not rid himself of his tension, though, as he amusedly watched the group celebrate Ireland's victory in the tent.
Rose, Celene, and Angelica were quietly in intense discussion with one another, their cheeks reddened by the butterbeer and fire whiskey they had consumed.
Sirus and Lupin were sharing private remarks with one another, and Harry's heart was lightened somewhat at seeing his father's old friends in better health and better spirits. Neither of them, he thought, deserved what had happened to them.
Lily, Cathryn, and Sarah were chatting idly with each other, and the warm smiles on their faces and the open bottle of wine were enough to tell Harry where their states were at.
Harry held in his hand an untouched bottle of butter beer. Harry rarely drank, not only because the rituals treated alcohol as a poison and purged it, but having spent his life as he had, he didn't feel as if it were worth the risk.
His ears caught the screaming before any of his fellow wizards or witches did.
Silently, he slipped out of the Black family tent they were celebrating in and turned around, gesturing with his wand. He subverted the tent's permissions and triggered the emergency ward he had sensed on it carefully, sending the tent back to the Black family manor for safety but not alerting the occupants inside.
The tent flashed blue and then disappeared in a swirl.
Harry turned, seeing the flash of fire in the distance and feeling the dark magic across his skin.
He sprinted forward, sprinting past the other tents at an incredible pace. His magic fueled his body, speeding his passage. He spotted groups of wizards and witches fleeing, crying out and screaming.
Such sights did not really bother him, he had seen the results of Dark Wizards too often for that.
He passed another tent to come face to face with the Death Eater host. They were cloaked in black robes, trampling across burning tents and beaten grass. Like in his world, they had captured the muggle family and hoisted them up in the air. Unlike in his world, he spotted those with no skull masks and instead open faces proudly portraying their standing. These must be Grindelwald's Acolytes.
It was a larger host than he had anticipated, to be sure, but Harry could already feel his magic surging in anticipation.
He stepped into the path of the group as they marched, and at first, they didn't seem to notice him.
To be sure it was likely the anti-apparition wards they had set up trapping the people inward with no hope to escape.
Well, that was the first thing to remedy.
Harry flicked his own wand toward the sky, and the silvery haze of the apparition ward became visible; with a flick of his wand, it broke, sending slivers of light across the night sky.
Harry held his own wand to his throat, "Go, the wards are broken. Everyone who can apparate, take you and yours out of here," he said simply, his voice booming across the entire area.
Then turned his consideration to the Death Eaters and Acolytes.
They had stopped in their tracks, and he noted that some of the more magically powerful wizards in the group had focused on him, realizing he was the one who had broken their wards.
One of them stepped forward, and Harry's lip curled into a sneer as he spotted the silvery blonde hair underneath the mask. The voice that spoke was unmistakably Malfoy Senior.
"Good wizard, you are standing in the path of the two greatest wizards known to wizardkind; it would be best you step aside," Malfoy Senior said, and Harry noted the confidence that the man drew from thirty or so odd wizards he had around him.
"Malfoy," Harry drawled, noting the wizard's flinch behind the mask. Evidently, the man did not like his name bandied about while he wore his mask, "I will give one warning only. All of you are to disperse, never to return to your false masters."
Nothing happened in the tense silence for a moment before a ripple of laughter echoed from the Death Eaters and Acolytes.
"False masters?" and Acolyte shouted, "They are the only ones fit to rule! For the greater good of all wizardkind!"
There were roars of acknowledgment, and the crowd seemed to firm up.
"Is this how you all feel?" Harry politely asked.
"Avada Kedavara," shouted one of the men, and a green blast of light erupted forth, only to stop halfway to Harry by a single stone he had summoned from the ground.
Not that the Death Eaters and Acolytes knew that; to them, it seemed as if the killing curse had vanished mid-way.
Harry nodded to himself; he had given them the option to surrender, and now it was his turn.
Harry drew his left arm behind his back and swept his wand in a wide-ranging sweep across the battlefield.
For a moment, nothing happened, and more Acolytes and Death Eaters drew their wands up, ready to strike.
They never got the chance.
The earth erupted, grasping hands animated from it, drawing the Death Eaters and Acolytes down to the floor.
More backed up trying to avoid the appendages.
Harry swept his wand forward, and the air itself ripped apart, sending the man flying every which way.
Some of the remaining men tried to attack, sending curses his way in a storm of light.
Such a storm of magic would have overwhelmed even the most experienced of Aurors.
Harry laughed a gleeful childish thing as he narrowed his form and flicked a shield into existence, letting the spells bounce away from him even as, with his free hand behind his back, he flicked a finger outward.
The air rippled, which was all the warning the men opposing him got, sending them flying into the air, breaking their bones, and sending them rolling away.
In Harry's world, the gap between a good wizard and an exceptional wizard was vast. The kind of wizard that Harry was now?
They stood no chance.
Lights flew at him, and he blocked the killing curses with stones and conjurations of butterflies. The more impactful curses he slipped away from or shielded with a small shield as necessary.
Harry realized he was laughing, but he couldn't help it. How long had it been since the wizards he fought didn't flee in simple terror from his name? How long since he had broken body and bone in a battle of life or death against those who would oppose him?
Too long on both counts.
"Come!" Harry cried out, "Come show the supremacy of your lords! Show me what their most ardent followers can accomplish!"
It was a lie. This was a simple terror operation that would have disapparated away the instant that actual aurors had shown up. Grindelwald was still around, but his best and brightest were far away from England, where Dumbledore resided, and as far as Harry knew, Voldemort was but a mere spirit.
Death Eaters and Acolytes charged forward in a storm of spells ripping at him, simply trying to overwhelm him by sheer magical might even as they showed their lack of coordination and got in each other's way.
Harry flicked his wand, and the sky darkened into a pitch black as clouds roiled overhead. Lily Potter had summoned lightning from her own magic, but Harry needed a bit more than simply summoning lightning.
He raised his hand to the sky, his grin still in place, and he was struck not once but three times in rapid succession by bolts of burning white light.
The wizards opposing him stopped their spell slinging momentarily, a couple of them even backing away with strange stutter steps backward. Some seemed to understand the true danger they were in, and Harry heard the cracks of desperation echo across the field.
Negligently, Harry brandished his wand, and air cracked and ripped as bright bolts of blue light ripped forth.
The lightning connected with the remaining dark wizards, shattering hastily cast shields with ease and sending them to the ground in smoking heaps.
Harry surveyed them idly, rolling his wand between his fingers.
That had been rather disappointing. Of course, these were not either Dark Lord's best or brightest. Mere bottom feeders, really.
Still, it had gotten his blood pumping.
He noted a familiar magical signature rapidly making its way toward him, and Harry frowned.
It was Fleur.
He felt her arrive much as he saw the white light she cast from her wand held aloft. She came to a stuttering halt behind him and slowed from her sprint.
"The Death Eaters, the Acolytes, you dealt with all of them? What did you do? Who are you?"
The words came rapidly in French and in Fleur's familiar tone.
Harry did not turn around as he gestured with his wand disguising his voice and appearance with a subtle charm that made them hard to focus on.
He sensed Fleur's magical signature approaching him, yet he remained still, gazing over the bodies of the unconscious men.
He did not like this he realized. He did not like Fleur seeing him this way. The red hot feelings that had ran through him now felt cold and nauseating.
Fleur was approaching him, and Harry didn't move, frozen as if he had been under a petrification spell.
"It's fine now," he said in French, and his spell made his voice sound like he had deep gravel, "My spell merely stunned them."
Moreover, it wasn't a reversible spell. The lightning had overcharged the nerves of the wizards, and they wouldn't be making any conscious moves in a while. Really, he probably should have killed them.
Fleur was still approaching him, her own wand held steady and pointed at him.
"Who are you?" Fleur repeated her question.
Harry opened his mouth to respond, though he didn't know with what. If Fleur knew it was him, what would his reaction be? In his previous world, at a certain point, the looks directed at him had distinct tinges of fear.
He didn't want Fleur to look at him that way.
Harry felt the incoming apparition signatures seconds before they arrived.
Without a thought, he disappeared.
He reappeared in the Black family's home. He walked down the stairs into the safety room where he had sent the tent. He could still hear the celebrations coming from inside the tent.
Occluding his mind, he stepped inside and was accosted by a rosy-cheeked Rose.
She grasped his face between her hands, "Harry! Are you alright? We didn't know where you went?!" she seemed genuinely worried, though her face had relaxed as she looked at him.
Harry gave her a small smile, gently scooping the intoxicated girl into his arms, "I'm fine, how are you?"
"I'm great!" giggled Rose, leaning into his chest and taking a deep breath, "Why do you smell like smoke?" she mumbled into him.
"Spent too much time around the campfire," Harry absently replied, rubbing Rose's back.
It seemed no one had noticed his relocation of their tent, which was just as well. He didn't want to spoil their night.
Rose dragged him over to Celene, who was sprawled backward in a chair, and Angelica, who was solemn regarding her own bottle.
"So he returns," drawled Angelica, "Bit of a loner aren't you Harry?" she looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow.
Harry chuckled, caught off guard by the comment, "I wouldn't say so," he replied, "I'm just used to spending most of my time by myself."
"Oh?" Angelica asked questioningly, "Or were you perhaps going to check on that pretty girl from earlier?" she said innocently.
Harry cocked a questioning eyebrow at her.
"Angelica!" Rose cried out, looking at her friend perturbed.
"Hey, let's all calm down," Celene gestured vaguely with her hands before her half-lidded gaze focused on Harry, "Though it wasn't very nice to leave without saying anything," she said, a small part of her lips downturned her pale grey eyes piercing into him.
Rose looked even more upset now, but Harry realized he had made a faux pas somehow.
"I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head slightly, "I'll let everyone know in the future."
Celene seemed taken aback, and her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, "Ah, it's not like that. It's not a big deal. We were just worried that something had happened to you."
"You were?" Harry asked, confused, "Do I not seem capable of taking care of myself?"
He didn't think he'd ever given that impression to these people, but perhaps he had said something that had been misunderstood.
Celene shook her head and opened her mouth to respond, but Angelica cut her off.
"Honestly, you don't," she remarked dryly, "Sure, as far as magic goes, I can tell just from your presence that you're something else; still, you're kind of odd. I bet a pretty enough girl could get you to do all kinds of things."
Harry felt he should be offended by those words, but he was more curious about the meaning behind them, "You mean someone like you?" he asked innocently.
Rose choked seemingly on thin air. Celene gave a startled laugh. Both paled in comparison to Angelica whose cheeks flushed a bright searing red.
"I-, I didn't, stop laughing Celene!" Angelica pouted at Celene, who was doubled up in a blonde-haired ball, cackling to herself.
"Nope!" Celene cried out, "This is the best day. I've never seen anyone get that kind of reaction from you. The Ice Queen who shuts down everyone, losing her composure to Rose's brother!"
Angelica cried out in fury and leaped at Celene, attempting to wrestle the other girl to the floor. Celene didn't seem like she was particularly getting overpowered, but she allowed it to happen anyway.
Despite himself, Harry laughed, falling into a chair himself as he looked on in amusement. Truly he was glad that Rose had such good friends.
Rose, for some reason, joined him on the squishy chair, falling into his lap in a heap curling into him.
"Rose?" Harry asked questioningly.
"M just tired," she murmured drowsily into his neck.
Slowly, her breathing evened out, and she fell entirely asleep.
Harry looked down at the girl. Right now, looking at her, he couldn't really see himself as her brother. He felt a strangely fierce protective urge, sure, along with a strange warmth, but he didn't know if that qualified.
Still sitting here surrounded by new people, he felt strangely happy. He felt happiness that he had never really felt.
He cast a quick setup of his wards around the tent before he let himself drift off to sleep. After all, there was no such thing as being too sure. These people would remain safe.
