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When Harry came to, he found himself in a very familiar part of Hogwarts, and one he'd done well — until now — to avoid returning to for the year; the Hospital Wing.
What last he recalled was the ice and fire flaring up as Veela-form Fleur streaked towards him, and wrapped her wings around his body, all but completely trapping him with the scaled limbs. Fire and ice had flared up above them, but by and large, his head had been pressed into her chest, which prevented him from seeing what'd truly occurred.
Normally, he'd have been happy to have his head buried there between, but Merlin, they'd been in a fight the likes of which he'd never experienced before. Voldemort was… was a force to be reckoned with. It'd taken Harry and a transformed Fleur to keep him at bay, and the former had noted no small amount of extraordinary strength coming forth whensoever their spells met, but that'd be pushed aside when Voldemort then had to worry about Fleur's magic, be it fire or spellfire.
Harry shook his head to try and clear that fog one had when first they woke. He brought up his hands next, and wiped at his eyes. The sleep crust thereat was quickly wiped away, and so next, he reached for the side table where his glasses would always be.
But they weren't there.
What was present in their place, however, was a figure he'd recognise even sans good vision.
"Fleur?" If it wasn't her, Gabrielle had gotten taller… and bigger. "That's you, yeah?"
"Eet ees," Her voice was music to his ears, and not a second after she spoke, he felt one hand take hold of his, and another set his glasses upon his face; her full beauty and relieved smile were then unblurred. "You 'ad me worried when you deed not wake. I 'ad zought I 'ad gotten you away weezout 'arm."
Harry squeezed her hand, and then he made to rise in bed. "I fee—"
Fleur used that which had pressed the glasses to his person to push him down, and thereafter, she shook her head. "Zere weel be none of zat, 'Arry. You 'ave to rest," she hopped up, and joined him atop his bed, sitting side-saddle thereon the edge of. When she did so, she let out a sigh.
Much like her smile had looked, her sigh sounded like a sound made out of pure relief.
"Have you been here the whole time?" Harry was curious, and with him being pushed back in the bed until he was reclined once more, he reckoned he had the time to ask her all the questions he could think of. The one he'd started with seemed like it was one of the most important.
"Yes," Fleur cocked her head at him. "Deed you zeenk I would leave you?" she tutted. "Zat sheep 'as sailed, as ze phrase goes, no? You are stuck weez me."
"Stuck?"
"Yes." Fleur took a hand away to cover her mouth, and right as she did so, a yawn came forth.
That made Harry wonder just how long it'd been — she was still in her uniform meant for the tournament, so surely it couldn't have been too much time that's passed him by. "Thanks for staying with me. And thanks for helping me. Really. Reckon it's me that owes you now."
Again, she tutted. "We said togezzer, and so I 'ave stuck to zat, no? Gabby 'ad stopped by as well, but only one could stay," Fleur wrinkled her nose. "Ze woman 'ere ees a steeckler for ze rules. Madame Pomfrey, 'er name ees, yes? She 'ad tried to keeck me out from 'ere, but my papa spoke to 'er and used 'ees title. She was not 'appy to let me stay, but 'e would not take no for an answer."
Harry snickered. Madame Pomfrey was serious when it came to the care of her students. It was no wonder she'd set a limit to visiting hours, and was strict when it came to the enforcement thereof.
"I'll have to thank your dad next time."
"Papa? No, 'e would not 'ave your zanks, 'e agrees zat we steel owe you one of our own," Fleur took a pause and swung her legs up, joining Harry atop the bed. After she peeled back the covers and moulded herself to his side, content as she felt his warmth, she resumed her speaking. "I 'ope you know, I 'ad watched over you as a mama 'awk. Zere was no chance zat I leave you asleep een zees place."
Harry wrapped his arms around her just as she'd so oft do to him. Her softness, the scent of flowers and the coolness of her skin made cuddling feel like it was the greatest comfort in the world.
He snickered to himself upon her latter words, and couldn't help but blurt what she'd said to him all those months ago. "That's racist, you know."
Fleur's head, which had been resting on the pillow beside his own, raised and turned towards him. Her eyes immediately sought out his own, and without pause, she prodded him in the side as they narrowed at him. "You dare to use my own words against me, Potter?"
"I do." Harry was amused — he also had to admit, the faux angry tone with which she'd said his name was… certainly something. He opened his mouth to say something more, but then he heard something.
His eyes trailed down right as Fleur flushed red.
"Sorry," she seemed embarrassed. "I 'ave not 'ad a zeeng to eat seence we 'ave come 'ere."
Harry blinked; close as she was, Fleur seemed a touch paler than was normal, and there seemed a lingering exhaustion. "There's nothing to apologise for. Madame Pomfrey or one of the elves could have food brought to us," he pulled her close despite her embarrassment. "You haven't had any rest either, you know. I reckon we should eat, then take a nap — you shouldn't worry about me to the point you don't think about yourself either. I can't encourage that."
Fleur seemed to overcome her discomfort at the noise her body had made upon hearing such words from Harry. With a faint pink dusting still upon her face, she spoke, her tone of excitement and teasing.
"I weel look forward to 'ow you weel correct my be'aviour," Fleur leaned forward, as if she were going in for a kiss… but then she raised her head at the last moment, and pressed her lips to his forehead. She said something then, but he couldn't understand what, given her words were hushed and French-sounding.
It was Harry's turn to flush with embarrassment as well, so he pointedly looked elsewhere and coughed into his left hand; the one that'd see him look away from the bird pressed into his flank.
"Ah," One of Fleur's hands trailed across his chest, slow and just as teasing as her voice had been. "Anozzer kees? For ze weener of ze tournament, zees time."
"Winner?" Harry turned towards her then.
And immediately, she pressed her lips to one of his cheeks, then the other. Her eyes peered into his, and she smiled wide as could be with the tip of her tongue pointed out at him, and captured between her teeth.
"Yes, zat ees what I said." Fleur brought him partially atop her, and held his head to her chest. "I know you do not care for ze galleons or ze glory zat ozzers speak of, but I am 'appy to 'ave you ween — you deserve every reward one can zeenk of, my 'Arry."
That warm feeling of embarrassment that'd welled up at her teasing, returned twice as strong when she'd spoken such words to him; Merlin, he was bad at receiving compliments.
"What about you?" Harry had been so exhausted from his battle with Voldemort, and the maze happenings that led up thereto, that he'd not even returned fully conscious; how had he won when Fleur had done just as much as he had? More even, considering she'd had the statue release its hold of him.
Fleur huffed. "We 'ave won togezzer, een truz, but eet ees you zat deserves ze title. I was just zere weez you at your side along ze way."
"That's not remotely the truth. We helped each other from the second task on. We studied together, fought together, defended each other," he shook his head and tried to fold his arms — Fleur didn't relent her hold of his person, nor did he relent his hold of her after a second's thought — but settled on narrowing his eyes as she'd done. "You should've won, if only for what you did towards the end."
Petulant, Fleur shook her head. In doing so, her long, blonde hair tickled his face, and made his 'stern' look shift. "No. I speak ze truz, not you."
"Nope."
"Yes."
"Think so?"
"I know so." Fleur raised the stakes. "Eef you say you do not agree weez me again, I weel 'ave to teeckle you as I do Gabby when she says ozzerwise."
Harry opened his mouth. Despite the absolute torture being tickled by her would bring, especially when she'd jostle him around whilst pressed against him, he was content to tell her she deserved to be the true victor… but he didn't get the chance.
Not when he heard the door to the hospital ward snap open so loud that a resounding bang came of it. Somebody was coming, and based on the quickness of their steps, they were making swift progress in reaching their target; him, Harry imagined on account of the emptiness of the wing.
His eyes sought Fleur's, and she rolled off, to the side — after she stole a real and genuine kiss this time. A peck as it might have been, Harry still couldn't help but grin like the biggest dolt in the world, even as the new arrival grew closer and closer.
Fleur seemed to think it wasn't one of their friends or family though, given how she'd moved with purpose off from the bed.
He had to admit, he rather missed her soft, cool cuddles even if they'd only just departed.
Fortunately, he didn't have to be left reminiscing of Fleur for very long, for the person that'd arrived and walked with such purposeful steps, soon whipped the curtains open. Harry had expected Madame Pomfrey, maybe, or Professor Snape. He hadn't expected Professor Moody to be the one to check on him.
"Harry," his eyes, both normal and the modular one, went to Fleur not a second after he spoke. His upper lip twitched noticeably when he took in her presence, and then his tongue shot out. "Delacour." his voice was gruff-like, and not at all pleased-sounding, not that man ever seemed, well, pleased.
"Professor Moody," Harry rose a bit in bed, using one arm to push himself into a seated position. "Is everything alright, sir?" If he was here, Harry figured not.
"Fine," his answer was gruff, and he limped forward, his tongue darting out of his mouth again as his eyes flickered between the pair. "Tell me, Potter — you saw him? Didn't you?"
"Sir?" Harry wasn't sure he'd heard the man.
"The Dark Lord," Moody's head quickly jerked to the left, and he squeezed his fist. "Tell me!"
Fleur, who was still beside Harry, had an audible and sharp intake of breath. She clearly wasn't fond of the tone the man had taken with Harry, but before she could voice that or say anything aloud, Harry spoke; he didn't want Fleur to get in trouble.
"I did."
As soon as those two simple words were said, Moody nodded and turned around. His feet carried him back to the curtains, and it nearly looked as if he was ready to depart.
And then he turned with his wand suddenly in-hand and a spell streaking towards Fleur.
It caught her just as off-guard as it caught Harry, and neither could respond in time.
Worst of all — for Harry — all he could do was watch as that light streaked towards Fleur. He wanted to block it, to intercept it with his body, to do anything that would see her saved, but there wasn't the time to react.
Harry's wand-arm had acted of its own accord in the time Moody had come, but it was as he began to swing it towards Moody that a great many things occurred.
First, two figures that'd been disillusioned, appeared behind Moody.
Next, the spell that'd been about to strike Fleur, was twisted away from her person; it fizzled out when it made contact with the floor near to her seat.
And finally, Moody, the Professor who'd suddenly and without warning attacked them, was forced to the floor with a gust of wind so strong that it sent Harry back to a reclining position atop his bed. From there, the man was disarmed, and bound.
Harry blinked then.
"Fleur?" The first word out of his mouth was the name of the witch he felt so strongly towards; the spell hadn't hit her, he saw that, but… Merlin's beard, it'd been close. Enough to rattle him, and enough to make him feel like shite for not having been vigilant enough to stop it himself.
"I am steel 'ere," Her response was immediate, as was her seeking out his side once more, and despite the two others that'd revealed themselves.
Thinking of the pair as he was, Harry looked past Fleur as she hugged him from the side of his bed, and to them. Recognition was immediate. "Professor Dumbledore?" his eyes flicked over to the giant of a woman beside his headmaster. "Madame Maxime?" He knew he butchered saying her name as well.
Fleur would have him off for that later.
Professor Dumbledore raised a hand. "Be calm, Harry. The impostor poses no further harm," he flicked 'Professor Moody' up, and into the air. "I expect you have many questions."
Harry nodded a dozen times over, if not more. "I do, sir."
"I would tell you and Miss Delacour—" there was a mirth behind Professor Dumbledore's gaze. "—all that I can and more, but I'm afraid our friend won't remain asleep for so long a conversation. Suffice to say, the many issues you've had this year are, as usual, no fault of your own, or horribly bad luck. It was this man that caused the charms in the second task to falter and this man that interfered with the Goblet, as Miss Delacour has informed us of."
Madame Maxime spoke up then, when Dumbledore finished. "We 'ad suspected a spy 'ere for some time, and when you were brought 'ere, and Fleur followed, we decided to set a sentry."
"A trap, weez 'Arry as bait, you mean," Fleur picked up the meaning of her Headmistress's words, and spoke in a tone that conveyed just how she felt about them.
For her part, Madame Maxime didn't seem bothered by said tone. If anything, she had a look of expectancy about her when Fleur spoke with so much acid in her voice. "Eet was 'ere, where we could wait and set an ambush for 'eem een ze 'opes 'e took advantage of ze 'eat of ze moment, or 'ave a constant guard set, watching all ze champions een ze 'ope 'e would eventually strike."
Fleur still didn't seem pleased, but the pair gave an abrupt set of goodbyes — with assurances of more information to come later — and took off.
Neither made Fleur leave his side. He doubted they could manage it.
"I can only 'ope zat ees ze end of today's excitement, no?" Fleur spoke her words whilst she kept up her hug. As a result, her breath splashed with frequency down his neck.
The goosebumps as a result of that were immediate. He swallowed. "One can hope." Harry echoed the sentiment.
And swallowed again.
It was unfair how beautiful she was, and how easily she could make him shiver. Past all the teasing, playing around and banter, past the novelty of her being able to touch him, he'd witnessed first hand her love.
It was the greatest feeling in the world.
Fleur
The day after the final task.
Fleur would have thought such a day would be one in which she'd celebrate until it was the second day after the final task, but that wasn't the case. After much time spent by Harry's bedside, after he'd collapsed of exhaustion — magical and physical — on account of the aforethought final task, Fleur had gone away to wash and rest herself.
What little she'd had of the latter had been rudely interrupted by a supposed Professor of Hogwarts. One that'd nearly hurt her quite terribly, were it not for the presence of her headmistress, and Harry's headmaster; the pair had set an ambush for the spy they'd learnt was amongst them.
That ambush had been dangerous for Harry. Her too. But she wasn't particularly concerned about herself.
She huffed and crossed her arms as her mind carried her back beyond even then.
Harry should have let her distract the Dark Lord, and in that time, seize the goblet for himself. If he were so concerned about her, he could have pulled her towards him a second after the Goblet. That wasn't to start on how reckless he'd been either. No, Harry had tried to draw the monster's attention away from herself, to him instead.
It was a horrible thing to do, even if the monster seemed frustrated by Harry in some strange, magical capacity.
Fleur blew soap that'd washed down to her lips out and away, to the bath water below.
Her mind drifted again thereafter, away from the hospital and mention of the monster or those that followed him. Instead, they were filled with thoughts of Harry — ones that didn't make her angry for the reckless, selfless, brave, stupid behaviour he'd exhibited.
No, these thoughts made her wiggle in her basin, for they thought of the newfound musculature of his back, and then, beyond just his back. He'd become more 'fit' as the British were fond of saying. More so than she remembered him being back when they'd been in the tent, before he'd faced a Horntail. Perhaps it was all the time he'd have to pick up her weight as well as his own given the degree of contact she desired. He'd proven very capable recently in doing just that… manhandling her…
Such wondrous thoughts were, unfortunately, interrupted however, when a series of knocks sounded at her door, and thereafter, the voice of Harry came. "Fleur?" he called out. "Are you decent? Well, decent enough?"
Those latter words made her giggle to herself. He was used to her testing his limits and teasing him ceaselessly whensoever he visited her room aboard the wagon; just like that, her earlier anger melted away — she was still cross, as the British would say, at his reckless behaviour, but she could never be upset with him for very long.
"I weel be a moment. I need to dress," Fleur called back, standing abruptly and summoning forth her dress, which she'd quickly adorn after a drying charm. Done with that… and a hair-styling charm… and perhaps perfume as well as a few other quick, easy cosmetic fixes, she unlocked the door with one flick of her wand and opened it with another.
When Harry appeared there behind, she smiled wide; then she blinked. Silent as could be on account of being deep in thought, she strode right up to him with long, purposeful steps. When she reached him, she held out a hand and set it right atop the hair she'd just cast a half-dozen charms on.
She extended it towards Harry, and watched in disbelief, as she had to elevate it a few centimetres higher than it'd been. Her eyes had not deceived her. He was more muscular and tall—
"Fleur?" Harry's voice broke her free of her thoughts as it'd done when first he'd arrived at her door. "You alright?" He sounded amused, with only a hint of concern underlying his voice.
"Parf— perfect," Fleur said, stepping back and blinking at him. Those changes he'd gone through this past year… she liked them. She liked them a lot.
Harry closed the door to her room, locked it, and then for a change in pace, grabbed her hand. Thereafter he led her to the table which they'd typically sit at — when they weren't atop her bed — and, after pulling out her chair and pushing it in after she'd taken it, slid into the one across from her and spoke. "I wanted to talk to you about something."
That made her sit up straight, and fold her hands in her lap. Such words were never said before goodness was spoken. "Deed I do somezeeng?" She couldn't help but to cut him off as a sinking feeling in her stomach began to grow.
"You almost sacrificed yourself for me back in the cemetery," Harry's words had a certain heat in them that caught her off guard; he'd never spoken to her like that before. "I don't know how your ice and those flames happened. Merlin, maybe you don't know how they happened either — I wouldn't think you did when I saw the look on your face. It was like you were begging me to leave, but I couldn't very well do that, now could I? Not without you."
"I 'a—"
Harry shook his head, and continued speaking in that firm, authoritative tone. "No. You won't do that again. No matter what you think, you aren't going to throw your life away for me. I'll stun you and throw the Goblet at you before you try it again."
Fleur blinked at him. This was not the same shy, easy-to-make-blush boy that she'd teased months ago. With his new height and the muscle he'd packed on in droves through the rigorous efforts of the tournament — and good nutrition under her caring gaze — he was as a young man.
"Understand?" Harry had said a few words she'd missed, but he'd grabbed her other hand gently, and pulled it towards the centre of the table. There, he held both of hers, and implored her to make eye contact; she submitted immediately.
"I 'ave to say, 'Arry," Fleur's voice was as honey-dipped and alluring as she could make it. When joined with how she looked forward so as to allow the centre of her shirt to hang down, she garnered his full attention, and used it to say her next words. "I love 'ow you sound when you are angry weez me, eet ees—" she paused to swipe her tongue from left to right across her bottom lip. "— 'ow to say. Attracteeve? 'Ot?"
He blinked at her.
Fleur used his inaction to slide from her seat, and into his lap. There was no resistance from him when she did so, and so she swung up her legs and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, before ultimately resting her head atop his shoulder.
Harry might not have agreed to it, he might not even know it, but he was hers.
Some few minutes later — longer or shorter, she didn't know — and after a silence that each had been content with whilst holding the other, Fleur came down from her feelings of intense possession and attraction. In place of each, was yet another realisation; one she'd long pondered, and one she'd now become very certain of.
She'd fallen in love with Harry. Where some might think her infatuation childish or insincere, fake or on account of her being Veela, she knew the truth beyond any and all doubt. It was almost scary, the swiftness with which this love had come about, but that was also what made it so thrilling. So wonderful.
So fulfilling.
If he'd worked his way past the barrier she kept up with most others in less than a year's time, what could he do in two? In five? A decade? The thought alone made her beam down at him from her spot atop his lap.
She was a Veela, no, a witch in love, and she longed to see many more years by his side; whatever they'd entail, together, they'd weather it and thrive.
"Fleur?"
Upon hearing his voice, that bright, wide smile grew, and she leaned down so as to rest her forehead against his own. With her eyes peering into his — and after a scant few seconds of being lost in the greenness thereof — Fleur said aloud the words she'd thought.
"I love you," Fleur's gaze was unblinking, and intense. "I do not know 'ow you 'ave done eet een so leetle time, but you 'ave. I 'ave fallen een love weez you. I want to see many more years weez you at my side and me at yours. Would you 'ave me?"
With her question posed, she swivelled atop his lap and wrapped her legs around him just as surely as her arms were; she wished to kiss him, but she wanted to be comfortable first, not bent as a gymnast… and she needed to wait for his answer.
One she wasn't sure would come, given how red and embarrassed he seemed to be upon her confession; she'd thought it predictable after admitting she'd do whatever he'd want if it meant courting her.
Becoming hers.
"I think…" Harry's voice was quiet. Small-sounding — she expected as much given he looked like a tomato. He cleared his throat as one arm came to wrap around her waist and hold her close. The move shocked her given the change in demeanour it represented, but it wasn't what left her stunned. No, those were the words he'd say next. "No. I know, I love you too."
As soon as the words were out, that confidence of his deflated and he looked away as he grew impossibly red. To think Fleur had thought she'd seen the limit to his level of redness. That, evidently, wasn't the ca—
"You love me?"
Harry nodded, opened his mouth… and then nodded some more when no words manifested.
Fleur's response was as one might expect.
She snogged him senseless whilst happy tears formed in her eyes and a feeling unlike any other burst forth from her chest.
And only then, after her tears had dried and Harry had assured her that no snot had 'soiled' his shirt, did he give her an apology of his own for how reckless he'd been.
It was only fair.
The Weasley twins — Fred and George, her Harry had called them — had shifted from their jovial, jesting attitudes, and stared with mouths agape at the wondrously brave boy by her side after he'd held aloft an enchanted pouch. One in which his tournament winnings were kept inside.
Neither seemed to believe the words he'd said following the greetings they'd shared. In truth, even she hadn't known what he'd had planned after they'd been given their galleons. No, Fleur had simply been content to walk wherever he walked so long as his arm was looped through her own, and the hands thereof were holding one another firmly; she still had a lingering fear about her, after all.
One that'd come about as a result of the graveyard they'd been banished to by the impostor Professor that'd had it out for Harry since first his name had come out of the Goblet. At nought but the thought of such a horrible man, Fleur nearly sneered. Fortunately, she stopped short of doing so, and heard Harry repeat the words he'd spoken only seconds earlier.
"You heard me," he said, pushing the pouch into the pair before him. "Take it. For your idea, yeah?"
The twins looked at one another much like they'd done when first Harry's gift had been offered, but this time, rather than seem totally befuddled, they were resolute in their joint refusal.
"No can do mate."
"Those are your winnings."
"Couldn't take them from you."
"Not now."
"Not ever." They finished their rapid-fire words by saying in unison the last two.
Fleur had all she could do to process them before Harry huffed and tried again.
"Come on," he said, jingling the bag. "I know how much you two want to open that shop. Just take it. Really. I'd just waste it — please, I insist." Harry didn't want to say aloud that he had tens of thousands back in his vault, and that wasn't counting Sirius' galleons, of which the man had assured Harry he could use whatever he'd like.
As one, Fred and George — she'd already lost which boy was which name — shook their heads. "Nah, mate." The left one said.
"You heard us. We can't take it." The right one added.
Harry huffed again, looked up at Fleur, perhaps seeking out a smile or some other show of support. She gave it readily, and willed it to show the love she had for him. If that was what he'd sought or not, she didn't know, for he turned his head to look back at his friends whilst nodding to himself all the while. He was formula—
"What'll it take to get you to take the galleons?" Harry asked.
As they'd done before, the pair shared a look, and then, again, spoke as one. "Sorry mate, still can't take your Galleons."
Harry wasn't having that, and so he fired out an idea. "What if we considered it a loan, yeah? You get started with the Galleons and then pay me back later when you can, and not all at once."
The two shared a look once more, and then, they spoke; finally, it was news Harry wanted to hear.
"We'll pay it back with interest…" One finished. "... and show you everything new that we create." The other finished.
Another shared look from the pair, then more words. "Call it an investment that we'll return handsomely — just as handsome as us."
"That sounds proper to me."
"Me too."
The two agreed instantly, and then looked to Harry for his opinion.
"An investment?" Harry shrugged. He was just happy as could be that they'd finally agreed. "Loan, investment. Either's fine with me." He pushed out the pouch again, and this time, slowly, they accepted it. Upon their doing so, he grinned. "An investment then… is ten per cent fair to you?" Those last words came after a few seconds' pause.
"Right fair to me."
"I'd say the same."
They stuck out a hand each, and said one final word. "Deal!"
Harry quickly shook it, lest the two go stubborn once more, and made his getaway whilst they still had his pouch. Once they got far enough away after farewells spoken of their shoulders, Fleur thought to compliment him.
"You are buseeness savvy, no?" Naturally, she said such words with a teasing lilt as her other hand came around to pinch at his cheek. He was too adorable, her Harry. "My papa weel like zat about you, zees I know."
In response to her pinch, he'd brought up a hand of his own and swatted with no real effort at her offending one. He liked her attention just as much as she liked giving it to him. Her latter words, however, seemed to make him sober up a touch despite the playfulness of the moment.
"I can be, I think. Shouldn't be too hard, now should it?." Harry looked to her for any semblance of help or suggestion after such words, and with an expression on his face that made her wish to cuddle him as she did her pillows… then again, that could be said of just about every expression that'd ever been upon his face; as for Harry, internally, he had no idea how loans or interest worked.
Thankfully, she shook her head, intent on storing such an idea for when they returned to the carriage, and spoke aloud her advice after a few seconds spent to gather it; in truth, she hadn't realised by the way he'd spoken he hadn't a clue as to how any of it worked. "You could 'ave an eenternsheep weez my papa at ze Meeneestry. I can say weezout a doubt 'e would love to 'ave you zere weez 'eem."
"An internship in France?"
"Ou— yes," Fleur dipped her head, and as a result, tickled Harry's face and neck by way of her hair. Naturally, she took care of it by running her nails along where her hair had been, but he'd shivered and jolted away, just as red as before.
After he took care of the itch himself, he spoke again. "I don't speak French… and I don't have a passport. I wouldn't have a place to stay there either."
Fleur waved her hand. Not any of what he'd said was an issue that couldn't be easily solved, and as she started them off, away from others and to her room, she said as much aloud. "None of what you 'ave said ees an eesue, no? Papa can 'ave ze passport exped-ited—" She had to pause to make sure she pronounced it right. With how good her English was, it was only large or seldom-used words that gave her issues. "— and you do not need to speak eet too well — only enough to sign ze marreege licenses to make eet approved by ze law."
"Papers?" Harry questioned.
Rather than give him a response… she peppered his face with kisses and showered him with thoughts of what they'd do once they reached France.
Happy as she was, Harry went right along with it as they strolled hand-in-hand down one of Hogwarts' many beautiful paths.