TWENTY - A Change of Plans
...
"My brave, beautiful boy…"
"…so much, like your father…"
"I'm dead… aren't I?"
"Yes… No…"
"You can go back…or…"
"…come with me…"
"I have to go back…"
"I wish we had more time…"
"Close your eyes…"
"We love you so much."
It was slow, Harry's return to consciousness after hours of sleep. It was as if his subconscious refused to leave the dream, the memory. Seeing his mother who he hadn't ever met before and hearing her voice outside of the nightmares brought on to him by dementors. The love in her eyes, in her voice as she spoke to him, it made him want to cry, and cry he did. He could feel it as he opened his crusty eyelids, the dry tears itched along the edges and the trail they'd left upon his face on each cheek.
After he blinked a few times, working his vision from a blurry mess to a reasonable sense of clarity, he finally recognised his surroundings. Warm light from numerous candles gave the space a welcoming and peaceful glow while the moonlight offered a balance of cold blue through the tall, stained-glass windows. He smelled the crisp air and half-expected the first rays of morning to grace the room soon enough.
Rubbing his eyes again, he sighed as he pushed himself into a half-seated position, the air leaving his chest feeling heavy with the weight of the previous night. Feeling the relief as he finally managed to scrape away the remnants of sleep. By pure habit, he reached for his glasses on the bedside table before he remembered that they were no longer needed.
Harry pulled his hand back before he turned to look at the rest of the familiar space. He wasn't, in fact, the only occupant. Fleur was fast asleep in the bed closest to him, her platinum-blonde hair strewn across the pillow in a wild spread that seemed to radiate its own glow of light. Further away, at the end of the line of hospital beds, was Viktor, equally deeply asleep laying on his side. Harry then turned to look for the last of the champions but failed to spot the older boy's sleeping form before remembering Cedric had been taken directly to St. Mungos, on account of the sheer damage to his leg.
Thankfully, in spite of the danger they all had been, they'd all come out of it relatively unscathed. His newest experience did however leave him with another mark, one that he was constantly reminded of by the stinging sensation on his chest where the curse had struck him. It had left behind burned skin that resisted healing and required a balm. Strange as it may seem, the killing curse usually left no mark. On the other hand, one usually also didn't survive them. Another scar on his body as opposed to certain deaths seemed a fair trade. At least Harry thought as much, when he really contemplated it.
Emerging from his musings on his battle scars, Harry glanced at the door which led to his teacher's private quarters, where Madame Pomfrey recuperated from all the commotion of the previous night – one made worse by Minister Fudge's incessant inquiries in between treatments.
He clenched his jaw just thinking about the noisy man but soon relaxed his shoulders and laid back against the headpiece of the bed. Overall, he really didn't know how to feel about the events of the night before. While it was frightening, and dangerous, and had anything happened to Fleur, he'd never have been able to live with himself… But… It was also wonderful. He'd met his mother. He'd gotten to see her, to speak to her. Feel her wrap her arms around him, hear her voice, her love, her pride for him. It was an experience he would treasure for the rest of his life.
"Maisy," he called out softly.
The house elf popped into the room, thankfully without the noise and exuberance Dobby possessed.
"Harry's be calling Maisy?" she asked, keeping her voice low so as to not disturb the others still asleep.
"Hi, yes, I did. Can you please fetch me some clothes from my trunk. I want to go for a walk and it's rather chilly outside."
His request was met with a face scrunched in thought. "Madam Pomfrey's not be happy…"
"I just really want some fresh air… Please? You can tell her when she wakes up, if I'm not back yet."
"Fine, but don't be's too long!" Maisy vanished, and barely a few moments later returned with a bundle of his clothes… and a plate with a warm, toasted egg sandwich and a steaming mug of coffee. He smiled gratefully at her thoughtfulness.
"Thank you."
Maisy just nodded seriously and fixed him with a piercing stare. "Not's too long!" she ordered once more, before vanishing again.
Harry finished his sandwich with a speed that would have left his aunt outraged. There was always something about the hospital wing that left one unbelievably hungry. Before he walked out, he stopped at Fleur's bedside, his beautiful girlfriend had the covers pulled up all the way to her nose in her huddled attempt at avoiding as much of the cold Scottish air as possible.
His heart ached at just how close he'd come to losing her. Before leaving, he placed a loving kiss to her head and left her in bed with a mellow warming charm cast over her blanket, leaving her tucked in her little veela ball beneath the covers, it honestly reminded him a bit of how Crookshanks curls up, and no doubt Hermione was tucked safely in her bed up in Gryffindor Tower. Even if Madam Pomfrey had to force her out of the hospital wing earlier in the night.
The castle was so incredibly peaceful at this time of the morning. It was one thing he'd really come to love since he'd begun running at the start of each day. It was partly to blame for him even being awake, when you're up each morning at nearly the same time, months on end, it becomes increasingly difficult to sleep in.
With no destination in mind, he just walked. Hogwarts was an enormous castle, and an easy place to get lost in. He knew that for a fact, it had happened numerous times to him in his first year. Wandering while his mind drifted, he drew himself short when he found himself faced with a familiar door, it opened with the creak of old wood and unoiled hinges.
The smell was musty, and the floor was damp with the remnants of another of Moaning Myrtle's tantrums. A single faucet still leaked water. Closing it, he felt the engraved snake on the side, and while he knew he should just go back to the hospital wing, he couldn't help himself and hissed the command to open the heavily barred entrance.
He stared down the ominous hole, remembering the way it scraped and bruised on the way down. While that was fixable, he didn't fancy a repeat, and now that he thought of it, there was no chance Salazar Slytherin would have suffered the indignity of sliding down.
"Ssstairs," he hissed, and to his surprise, it worked. Narrow stone steps pushed out from the sides of the hole, barely wide enough to walk on, but a welcome improvement, nonetheless. Eagerly, he descended the stone steps, a strange sensation to do without the fear that accompanied him when he entered the first time.
The cavern ground below was still littered with countless bones of rats, and the air was as stale as he remembered. Careful not to hit his head, he walked through the dimly lit cavern, the crunch and snap of small bones echoed loudly in the otherwise deathly silence.
Everything was the same as two years ago, the circular steel door with the snake lock, the cave in and the small gap Ron had made which he'd needed to enlarge and reinforce before risking a squeeze through, and to his surprise, even the Basilisk had barely begun rotting. Despite the damage time had done to it, the massive snake was as terrifying dead as it was when alive – it was certainly better dead, though.
Getting closer, he found that the extent of the decay was worse than he'd first thought. The mouth was all bone, and the eye sockets were empty. He suspected it was much the same throughout. Thankfully, there was no smell.
"That you faced such a beast as a child and defeated it, is amongst my greatest shames, and prides."
Harry startled and turned at the sudden voice which echoed through the chamber behind him.
"Professor Dumbledore? How?"
The old man gave him an amused look. "A rather excitable house elf had intended on forcing you to return to the hospital wing, imagine her surprise when she watched you go down a mysterious hole in the second-floor girl's bathroom. The poor dear panicked and came barging into my quarters."
"Ah… I should apologise to her," he gave a sheepish grin, "I did say I wouldn't be long."
"I'm certain she will forgive you, but really, Harry? Of all the places, the Chamber?" asked Dumbledore as he stared at the large stone face of Salazar Slytherin. "Well, you're here now. There's not much we can undo about that. I must say, of all the founders, Slytherin was certainly the most dramatic."
Harry couldn't help but laugh. "I didn't exactly intend on coming here. It just happened, and–" he glanced at the founder's visage– "You have no idea Professor."
He paused before snickering to himself as he explained, pointing at the face. "The command to open the mouth and release the Basilisk is 'Speak to me Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four.' Though, having to stare at that face is still better than being trapped in a hospital bed."
Dumbledore chuckled, "I've only had the displeasure once during my tenure as a student."
"What happened?" asked Harry.
"It was during my first year, Melinda Grisham hexed me with a rather nasty tongue wrinkling jinx. You see, she was under the impression, wrongly so I might add, that I'd stolen her pumpkin pasties."
"Wrongly?" prodded Harry, amusedly.
"Of course not, I would never steal," he paused, before grinning mischievously. "I merely borrowed them."
Harry couldn't help it, he laughed at the image. He quieted when the headmaster began inspecting the Basilisk.
"Truly, a magnificent creature. Terrifyingly dangerous but a marvel nonetheless," said Dumbledore. "Since we're here, would you like to have the remains salvaged? It's not dragon skin but I wager you could get a nice pair of boots, and those teeth could be of use to you. Mind you, there aren't many uses but when you need them, a basilisk's teeth are rather capable."
Blinking owlishly, Harry realised he'd never considered it. "You're asking me, Professor? Doesn't it belong to the school?
"Nonsense, my boy," Dumbledore assured him. "While it may have belonged to Slytherin, I believe you have the strongest claim, having been the one to best it after all. It is that they say, 'spoils of war'."
Harry turned to look at the Basilisk once more before he let the size of his prize sink in. "All of it?"
"Yes, all yours to do with as you please," the headmaster nodded with amusement. "On that note, I hope it's not inopportune of me to ask to purchase one of the teeth from you, if you're willing?"
"Purchase? Professor, you can have one," said Harry, but Dumbledore shook his head.
"No, I appreciate your generosity, but they are quite valuable, and while I wouldn't suggest selling them, dangerous as they'd be in the wrong hands, I'd still prefer to see you adequately compensated."
Harry smiled sheepishly. "If you insist, Professor."
"Splendid, now," Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Would you be opposed to relocating to a less 'moist' part of the castle, it is still early, and I would enjoy a nice cup of coffee someplace more suitable."
"I've already had some, but I wouldn't say no to another cup," said Harry.
"Outstanding. Do follow me, then."
…
Harry sat down in the courtyard nearest to the hospital wing, the bench damp with morning dew but not enough so that it could be felt through his trousers.
The cup of hot coffee in his hand warmed his fingers and each sip tasted so much more satisfying as it contrasted to the cold air he breathed in.
Dumbledore waved his hand over the bench in a carefree manner, drying the spot windlessly before sitting down with a sigh of relief. "I'm getting too old for all of this running around…"
"Sir?"
"I'd only just returned when Maisy barged into my quarters."
"Uh, why were you returning so late? If you don't mind me asking, sir," Harry questioned respectfully.
"By all means, I might not always answer but never be afraid to ask," replied Dumbledore. "At least, in this matter you're entitled to it regardless, it does involve you after all."
"Igor Karkaroff was arrested attempting to flee the country," he explained. "It was he, who acted in the place of Barty Crouch Jr. and tampered with the cup, as well as placed Mr. Krum under the Imperious."
Surprise drew on his face. "—But why?" stammered Harry.
"Absolution– Fear," explained Dumbledore. "From what we gleaned; it appears Barty had approached him with an offer he couldn't refuse."
"An offer, you mean a bribe?"
A small, amused smile crept on the old headmaster's lips. "Not exactly. I think a bit of context is necessary. When Igor was apprehended as a Death Eater years ago, he struck a deal. Names, valuable ones, in exchange for leniency. One of those names was Barty himself, he was revealed and caught right there at the trial."
"So, because he spoke out, they just… let him go?
Dumbledore sighed. "It wasn't ideal, I agree but the choice for the Ministry was made also easier by the fact that Karkaroff was not a British citizen. So, while they did pardon him, he was ordered to leave Britain. It wasn't until the talks began for the tournament; did he step foot on these isles."
"Out of sight, out of mind, I guess," commented Harry, cynically. "I imagine there were loads of people who wanted him to pay for what he did. From both sides."
"Oh, very much so, I assure you. But anyway, I believe you understand now just how valuable Tom's forgiveness would be to a man like Igor."
Harry sighed resignedly. "Forgiveness… Seems stupid to expect that from Voldemort. He'd have been far better off preventing him from coming back."
"Yes, but it's a coward's way to choose the easy path and while dangerous, helping the Dark Lord is far less terrifying than to act against him."
"What now, Professor? Fudge didn't seem like he'd change his mind last night when he stormed out of the Hospital Wing, and I doubt anything you learned from Karkaroff would have convinced him."
"Alas, our esteemed Minister is an example of a different breed of– politician. Cornelius is far more willing to believe a convenient lie, over a difficult truth. Thankfully, he is not the only person with the right sort of power needed. Madam Bones may not be able to use the testimony and the memories of three barely of age young minds to declare the return of Voldemort, but she can use it to justify whipping her force into shape, unofficially at least. Better to be safe than sorry, as they say."
Harry let out a breath of relief. "But— Pettigrew—"
"Gone by the time the auror's arrived, and I have good reason to believe that the Dark Lord had not succeeded in returning this night. Make no mistake, I'm certain he will try again, and within the coming days, or weeks, and with a different victim too, but last night you robbed him of something he desperately desired. Think, you mentioned hearing him as you left. There was a reason he needed you there, something he wanted from you?"
Harry glanced at his arm, the one which had been wounded. "My blood? But I was hit… I bled?"
"Yes, but any of your blood gained in that way would not work in the end. Come Harry, you've been studying, tell me, what do rituals that require blood all have in common?"
It took a moment for the answer to make itself known. "A—A blade," he whispered in realisation. "You can't use magic to draw blood, it would interfere."
"Precisely, ten points to Gryffindor. I'm sure that Peter Pettigrew suffered terribly for his mistake; Tom is not one to easily forgive such failure. However, it is only a temporary setback and while the Dark Lord might have lost out on his ideal choice, I don't believe your blood is an absolute necessity. He will return, and likely soon."
"Ah," commented Dumbledore suddenly as he noticed someone up ahead," I believe this is where we part ways, you have some company."
Harry followed his gaze and smiled softly, he'd recognize that flash of platinum-blonde hair anywhere, she was searching the entrance hall near the hospital wing, likely for him.
"I will leave you here," said Dumbledore but stopped once more. "One last thing, before I go. It is my hope that you will leave dealing with things to me. That you won't desire to get involved—"
"I think I'm already involved, Professor Last night made that clear."
Dumbledore in that moment truly appeared his age. "Will you then promise me something, Harry? Don't lose sight of yourself and remember. Help—"
"—Will always be given at Hogwarts, to those who ask for it." Harry finished for him with a smile.
The old man nodded with a kind smile of his own. "Never forget that." And with that, Dumbledore bid him a farewell.
"Fleur," he called out warmly once the headmaster had left. She turned abruptly toward his voice and her shoulder visibly relaxed the moment she spotted him. He felt a pang of guilt arise in his chest. He'd made her worry.
"Arry," came her reply, the breathless relief audible as she walked towards him with a brisk pace. It wasn't long before she embraced him in a gentle hug, her fingers rubbing at his back while her cheek warmed his neck.
"I woke up and you were gone." The events of the night had left her reluctant to let him out of her sight. Hermione was much the same.
They separated but found one of their hands softly holding on to the other's. "I just went for a walk to get some fresh air… You were sleeping so peacefully, so I didn't want to wake you."
Harry only just noticed that her robe shared a striking resemblance to the hospital wing's blankets. He snickered. "Is it just me or did you transfigure those?"
Fleur blushed prettily and avoided his eyes. "I couldn't find my own, and I was in a rush."
"It's good," he complimented. "Far better than my past attempts. The fabrics always went all stiff, a bit of an issue when you're wearing them while transfiguring."
She giggled. "It's easy."
He rubbed her hand with his thumb as he laughed along with her. "Let's go back inside, and you can show me then."
"You can come in, Severus."
The sturdy door of the headmaster's office slid open with barely a sound to reveal the resident potions master, his customary black robes without a single crease despite the relatively early hour. Dumbledore looked up from the pensieve he had been observing and with a wave of his hand, the stone basin and its eery light disappeared behind a nondescript cabinet.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Your summons sounded urgent." The mild irritation would have been missed to anyone not wholly familiar with the man.
"Yes, my apologies for taking you away from your important duties but time is of the essence. Things have changed, there are paths open to us now that were out of reach before."
Snape didn't say anything, waiting instead for the old man to continue. Dumbledore sat down at his desk and reached into a drawer, removing an old, ink-stained journal with a hole in it. He handed it to Snape, who inspected it with a curious expression; his eyes landed on the name, and they hardened instantly.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle. This was his. I take it this is far more than a piece of the Dark Lord's stationary?"
Dumbledore paused for a moment, seemingly weighing his decision for a few breaths.
"What you hold in your hand, are the remains of a Horcrux."
Severus Snape had never been a man to easily startle, but the revelation that within his hands was what remained of a phylactery, shook him to the core. The tattered book suddenly seemed far more sinister, when the knowledge that it once held a piece of the Dark Lord's soul within was known.
"That was the cause of the Chamber of Secrets' opening two years ago," explained Dumbledore.
Snape turned it over and opened it but found merely a collection of empty or stained pages. He closed it again with a loud thud and raised his head to look at the headmaster. "Why now? You've held on to this all this time, why wait until now to tell me?"
"I always intended on informing you once I had more pieces to the puzzle. But events last night have inspired me to move things along. Have lit a fire beneath my breeches, as the muggles would say."
"The Dark Lord's return approaches then? We knew this, my mark has continued to darken, I've told you."
"True, but that is not why I called you here. You were there in the Hospital Wing. There was something else in their recounting worth mentioning."
Snape paused to think, he recalled everything Potter and the other two had said.
"The Killing Curse? Delacour and Diggory claimed Potter was struck by it but—"
"And he was," added Dumbledore.
"Then Pettigrew must have not cast it correctly. He's always been—"
"I know what you think of him and in spite of your views on the man, Peter Pettigrew was never a slouch. He was a much more competent wizard than you ever gave him credit for. He was an accomplished member of the Order — before things changed…"
Snape's jaw tensed at being lectured like he was a mere student but voiced no disagreement and decided to move the conversation along. "So, you're saying Harry Potter survived a second killing curse? That's not possible."
"While improbable, it is what happened and it brings us back to that," Dumbledore pointed to the book in Snape's hand.
Snape's eyes snapped to Dumbledores with a stormy glare. "Explain."
"There's a reason Harry can speak to snakes, Severus, a reason his scar would burn in Quirrell's presence. You're no fool, I'm sure you've made the connection. Fourteen years ago, on that night in Godric's Hollow, when Voldemort's body was destroyed. It was my suspicion that Voldemort had left more than a mere scar on Harry. It wasn't until two years ago, when he stepped into this office, bloody, with a sword in his hand and that diary, that I was sure what it was."
The hole in the diary drew Snapes attention, beckoning him to realise something. Snape stood and fought the urge to pace. "The—The only way to destroy a Horcrux… is to… You're saying Potter survived, because of—but then, he's no longer a—"
Dumbledore nodded. "I confirmed it myself last night and this morning, Harry is free of Voldemort's soul."
Snape's shoulders sagged in relief before they suddenly stiffened to a greater degree than before. He placed a palm hard onto the wood of Dumbledore's desk. "What were you planning before? How were you going to deal with the Horcrux inside of him?" he asked with an accusatory growl.
Dumbledore paused long enough for Snape's eyes to widen. "You were planning to gamble with the boy's life, and if it failed, after everything… Harry Potter dies…"
"Do you think so low of me that I would not at least attempt to find an alternative! In the end, someone must make the hard decisions." Dumbledore stood and walked to the window without looking at Snape.
"But it matters not, what you believe of me is immaterial, what matters is that Harry Potter does not need to die in order to defeat the Dark Lord. He does not need to die…" The last was whispered so low, that Snape could not hear it.
Snape stared at Dumbledore's back with a stern expression. "Your apparent disregard for the boy's life aside, what happens next? Do you have a plan?"
"I do. I've already asked Alastor to reconvene the Order, but first. A pair of muggles by the name of Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop attended Wool's Orphanage with Tom Riddle, those two have a memory I require. Alas, despite my efforts, I have been unable to locate them, and I do believe at the very least, Miss Benson still lives. Whether she still goes by that name, I am unsure."
"This memory, what am I looking for?"
"A cave. As a child, during a field trip, Tom took a young Miss Benson and Mr. Bishop to one somewhere along the coast. Whatever it was he did to them was so terrible, that both children never spoke of it again. I believe that cave could hold a significant meaning to Voldemort."
Snape stood, ready to leave. "I'll get started immediately." He wanted to get away from Dumbledore. He was stopped right before crossing the threshold of the office.
"What we spoke of; it remains between us until such time that I see fit to inform Harry."
There was no response from the potions master before he left the office. The door closed by itself, leaving Dumbledore with a heavy weight on his shoulders.
Hermione turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel before making her way back to her room to dress. She yawned heavily, and her head and shoulders felt sluggish, not surprising as she'd barely slept a wink all night. While she was a rational person and knew there were no immediate dangers, and that Harry and Fleur were alright in the hospital wing, she couldn't help but let her mind wander to all the ways the night could have gone wrong. She almost lost them; it was no small miracle that both Harry and Fleur had managed to make it back pretty much unharmed.
No, not unharmed, Harry had died…
Sure, he came back, as impossible as that sounded but somehow, she just knew Fleur was not mistaken, as Fudge and even Madam Bones believed. How it could be? She didn't understand, but then again, the rules always did take a backseat around Harry. Once finished dressing, she hastily made her way down the stairs to the common room and halted in surprise.
"Ron? Fay?" Her friends were sitting on a couch near the fireplace. It was only now that Hermione realised Fay hadn't been in her bed in their dorm room.
"Hermione," greeted Ron as he stood, followed by Fay, who grabbed a basket that was on the small coffee table.
"Hi Hermione," Fay spoke, "Ron wanted to go see Harry and Fleur in the Hospital Wing and I asked if I could join. I know I'm not as close as you all are, but—"
"I don't mind," cut in Hermione, "But it's so early— Everyone's still asleep…"
"It's already ten," said Ron. "And… it is Sunday, no surprise there."
"—What?" Hermione checked her watch. "Oh. I thought it— I couldn't fall asleep until— I…"
"I offered to go up and wake you. Ron asked me not to—" Fay glanced at her boyfriend. "What was it you said?" She directed the last part at him.
Ron shot a cheeky grin at Hermione. "I said, 'Hermione never sleeps in, so she must be beat'."
"That," Fay nodded before lifting the basket to show it to her. "So, we went down to the Great Hall and packed some breakfast. Ron even agreed to wait until we reached the Hospital Wing before eating."
To say Hermione was stunned, would be an understatement. "Thanks Ron, that was… sweet."
Fay giggled at Ron's sheepish squirm. "He can be sweet, surprised me too."
…
Entering the hospital wing, the sight that met Hermione's eyes renewed vigour in her steps. Harry and Fleur were sitting on his bed, with their legs off the side.
"You're both awake," the relief in her voice washed over Harry and Fleur like a pleasant breeze. She greeted them both with a soft and quick kiss, pouring as much of her feelings into it as she could.
Ron and Fay came in far more leisurely to give Hermione her moment.
"How are the two of you feeling?" asked Hermione, a hint of worry creasing her brow.
Harry grinned. "Better, now that you're here."
"Non, cheesy 'Arry," scolded Fleur with a laugh.
"When's Madame Pomfrey letting you go?" asked Ron curiously.
"Should be any minute now," answered Harry, peering at the door which led to his teacher's quarters.
Fay held up her little basket. "We brought breakfast— wait, you can eat right? I know some potions—"
"Merci, Fay," Fleur stopped her. "Oui, we can eat, 'Arry's 'ad somezhing already, but I am sure 'e is already 'ungry," she finished with an amused glance to her side.
Harry let out a good-natured huff. "I'll have you know, I'm a growing young man."
"You definitely have been eating a lot more this year," teased Hermione. "If you aren't careful, it's going to wind up here," she poked his stomach.
"With all the running the three of you do, I'd lose all hope for my future if you still got fat," reasoned Fay. "Ron, on the other hand…"
"Oi!" They all laughed at his expense, himself included.
You can't like, let yourself out, can yer?" asked the only Weasley in the group.
"Healer-in-training or not, I don't think Madame Pomfrey will be very impressed if I discharged myself."
"Very right you are, Harry," His teacher's voice called out from the direction of her office. The school's matron walked over with her signature brisk pace. "I see you've amassed quite the little group here."
"Sorry, Ma'am, we couldn't wait," apologised Hermione.
"I expected as much, at least you were all somewhat quiet. Mr. Krum is still asleep."
'I'd have thrown up a silencing charm but thought it better that we could hear if he woke," said Harry. "Is there any news about Cedric?" he asked.
Madame Pomfrey shook her head. "Nothing, but Mr. Diggory will be alright, while rare with portkeys, injuries like what he sustained are not unheard of. Unless his parents decide against it, he'll likely be back with us within a day or two. Now, any pain? Discomfort?" She shifted the conversation to her task at hand.
Fleur and Hermione watched on in amusement as the Matron waved her wand over him while he shook his head. "I'm fine," he chuckled under his teacher's accusatory glare.
"You certainly seem fine if you're this peppy already. And you, my dear?" she turned her attention to Fleur, going through the same wand motions.
"Ça va bien, no complaints," answered the French girl.
"Then scoot! Off with you two, and Harry?"
"Yes?"
"You've got today and tomorrow off; I want to see you back here by Tuesday."
He paused. "That's not really neccess—"
"It is, and it's done," she cut him off. "If I'm right, you're going to have a busy day ahead of you, regardless."
"Take ze break, 'Arry," scolded Fleur while Hermione gave him a look that clearly said she agreed with their girlfriend.
He sighed. "I'll see you on Tuesday, Ma'am."
"So, you listen to these two, instead of me?" she accused with a mischievous glint in her eye.
"You know you'll always be first in my heart," teased Harry while he laughed.
"And now you sound like your father, go now. I've got other patients to care for," she waved them off.
Madam Pomfrey was not mistaken, Harry and Fleur did have a very tiresome day. The aurors had returned for fresh statements. Apparently, it's a procedure to revisit questions again once you'd rested, on the off-chance you recalled a detail or observation that had been missed in your highly stressed state. Thankfully, it was Auror Shacklebolt who had arrived to question them, the large African man was very easy to deal with. From the looks of it, the press had been forced to stay away, as Professor Dumbledore and Madame Maxime had managed to postpone any interviews until Cedric's return.
Right now, they were saying goodbye to the Delacour's, they'd been present the night before in the hospital wing and had come to check on their daughter. It was a nice little late lunch at the Beauxbaton carriage in Fleur's room. Madame Maxime had been kind enough to suggest it for privacy.
"Are you sure about this?" Fleur's father asked her, his hand on her shoulder in a supportive gesture as they stood outside the carriage under the afternoon's waning bit of sun.
"Oui, Papa."
He pulled her into a hug. "Then you have our support, but promise me that you'll stay safe."
"I promise." She rested her head on her father's shoulder.
Hermione couldn't hold back her curiosity and once the Delacour's had left, she turned to Fleur. "What was that about? I feel like we missed something."
Fleur merely gave them a grin before gesturing for them to follow her. They shot each other a curious glance, before shrugging and going along with it. Once back inside her room, she tugged open a drawer and retrieved a folded piece of parchment. She handed it to them with an almost bubbly level of suppressed nervous excitement.
They gave Fleur an odd look, but the French beauty nudged them to open it, so with a shared glance, Hermione unfolded it and held it so Harry could also read it.
Letter of Acceptance
I, Filius Flitwick do hereby accept Fleur Isabelle Delacour as my apprentice, for a period of three years, or such time as she achieves Mastery of Charms, whichever comes sooner.
Tenure has been agreed upon by all relevant parties including the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, respectively. The apprentice, Miss Delacour, shall be allowed to board at Hogwarts on the condition that she avails herself to operate in the capacity of a teacher's aide.
Commencement of studies will coincide with the start of the Hogwarts academic year.
I look forward to working with you,
Signed, Filius Flitwick
Professor of Charms, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry
Harry gaped and Hermione gasped aloud and before Fleur could react, she was lifted in the air by Harry and spun around. She laughed a joyous, musical laugh which was turned into a muffled moan when he pressed his lips to hers.
She'd barely touched the ground before his lips were replaced by Hermione's who practically threw herself at Fleur, forcing the older girl to catch her.
"This is brilliant," said Harry with breathless excitement. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Fleur smiled gently and shook her head as she met their eyes. "I didn't want to get to your 'opes up, at first, and I wanted to surprise you."
Hermione pecked her cheek. "I think I can speak for both of us when I say, you've definitely surprised us. We were really worried about how we'll meet you next year."
This time it was Harry, who took one of Fleur's hands and kissed her gently, in that way she loved. "Not to sound unhappy, but didn't you want to be an enchantress?" He asked, mildly confused.
Fleur and Hermione both giggled.
"A mastery in charms is the first step to becoming one, Harry," answered Hermione.
"Oh…"
"Oui," Fleur pecked his lips. "Now, I zhink we should celebrate." Fleur grinned seductively before pushing Harry, the back of his knees caught on her bed, sending him falling back onto the soft mattress. Hermione was close enough to him that he'd taken her down with him in an awkward tangle of limbs.
She straddled his waist, drawing a groan out of him before leaning down and kissing him soundly, grinning at the way his lips followed after her once she'd stopped. But she wasn't going to forget Hermione, and Harry wouldn't either.
Said girl leaned up from beside Harry to claim her share of Fleur's lips as the older girl's hands touched the skin beneath her top, "Wait, I don't think I'm ready to go all the way," she whispered between heavy breaths.
"Oui," replied Fleur, before kissing Hermione's nape while she ground herself against Harry, as he ran his hands up her thighs. She leaned back, grabbing her shirt, and began peeling it from her body, relishing in the sharp breaths she heard and the throb beneath her.
END CHAPTER TWENTY
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