TWENTY TWO - Summer Days


It's been three days, and Dudley Dursley didn't know how to feel. His father, however, sure did. Vernon had been overjoyed at the news that his waste of space, freak of a nephew, had left them for good.

Perhaps it was the fact that he'd not said goodbye, even if they hadn't been on the friendliest of terms. It still felt cold. His cousin was just gone, the room left empty, as if nobody had ever lived there at all.

It wasn't as if Harry was around all the time, spending the bulk of the year at that boarding school of his. He spent the bulk of the year at a boarding school for Pete's sake. But this was different, it felt quieter, it was the first time since Harry's first year that his absence had really been felt. And if Dudley were entirely honest with himself. He didn't like it.

These were the thoughts going through his head when he left his room well into the dead of night to take a leak. He'd been out with Piers and the others for a pint, and while they were not old enough to drink, it had never stopped them before.

Coming out of the bathroom, the sound of flushing behind him, he yawned and noticed the dryness of his lips and throat. He made his way downstairs to get a drink from the kitchen when he paused at the base of the steps. The living room light was on, accompanied by the flicker from the TV screen.

"Mum?" he called out to her in confusion. She was sitting alone on the sofa in her gown with a cup of steaming tea in her hands. The TV was on with the sound muted. He couldn't help but think she looked noticeably older than the last time he'd properly looked at her.

"Dudley?" she responded, surprise spreading on her face.

"Are you alright?" He checked, giving her a quick glance before he looked at the rest of the scene meaningfully. "What are you doing down here?"

A melancholic smile found its way to her face, albeit a tired one. "I'm fine, I couldn't sleep."

He looked down at her hands that remained around the warm cup as they tried to get some warmth back into them. He frowned and looked back at her face. "It's Harry, isn't it?"

A small, barely noticeable twitch travelled along Petunia's body, before she put down her cup of tea and reached for something on the coffee table. He hadn't noticed it until she grasped it. It was an old, leather-bound photo album that was in pristine condition. As if she had noticed his curiosity, she moved to make enough space for someone else to sit.

She palmed the album, her fingers tracing the skin of the leather, a sad care to their motion. "It looks new. I've never seen this one," said Dudley, not recognizing it. And he would know, he'd spent years suffering through his mum showcasing the old albums to whoever she could wrangle into it. A quick glance to the shelves showed they were still there, some in a well-worn state.

"No, it's not new. You were a child the last time I brought it out," explained Petunia. She opened the album to the first page, where a photo of two little girls stood in a park. The older of the two was maybe five or six with brown hair and hugging the smaller redhead who was at most three years old and more than a head shorter. Dudley didn't need to be a genius to realise who he was looking at.

"That's Aunt Lily, Harry's mum?" He asked and she nodded softly as she turned the page. There she was again, even younger, trying to feed Lily, who was still a toddler. She kept turning the pages, every photo was of one or both of them, some had a kindly looking woman and a portly man who Dudley recognized as his grandparents. He never knew them, they'd died before he was born, but he had seen them in the other albums.

He sat silently as his mum revisited her memories, when she trembled, and to his shock, small sobs escaped her, fighting tears that would break her completely if she let them.

"Mum, what's wrong?" His words were the final straw that undid her resolve. Her hold on her emotions collapsed, and her tears broke free. Dudley was left stunned and floundering, he had never seen his mother cry before, and had no clue how to comfort her. So, he did the only thing that made sense. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around her, and in that moment realised that he could not remember the last time he'd hugged her. It filled him with hot shame.

Her tears wet his t-shirt, but he didn't care. A bully he may be, but it could never be said that he didn't love his mother.

She eventually composed herself and he let go of her. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Her throat was parched, so she reached for her tea, and held the cup shakily as she took a sip.

"I'm a horrible person," she admitted softly, more to herself. "Lily would have loved you."


Harry awoke to the sound of incessant tapping on his window. He opened his eyes and immediately covered them with his hand to shield them from the bright sunlight. His head throbbed and his mouth felt dry. He recalled the night before and groaned with regret. He remembered laughing and the taste of alcohol, of the wine he'd consumed with their dinner the night before. Either he had drunk an irresponsible amount for someone his age, or he was an extraordinary lightweight. He suspected both.

The annoying tapping on the window continued, each tick on the glass felt like a canon being fired right next to his head. He removed his hand from his face and opened his eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light. He searched for the tapping sound and found the peeved form of his favourite owl right outside his window, pecking the glass.

"Hedwig," he said in recognition and was about to get up and cross the short distance of the guest room when he realised that he had no need to and instead grabbed his wand from the bedside. He gave it one flick and the latch on the window unlocked and swung open, allowing his beautiful snowy owl into the room. She flapped her wings and landed on his bed's headboard in one fell swoop.

She pecked his head once in greeting with a hoot.

Hedwig looked up at the closed door, her superior hearing recognising the coming visitor before the first knock at his door.

"Arry?" Fleur's voice sounded through the wood before the handle turned and the door opened slowly. "Aaaarry?" she called again, as she peaked in hesitantly in case he was still asleep.

"Hey," she greeted with amusement when she saw his bed hair and the owl perched directly above him. "Bonjour 'Edwig, why don't you 'ead down, maman is making breakfast."

Hedwig bobbed her head once and hooted before taking off to leave.

Fleur stepped aside to let Hedwig past before she moved into the room. As she came closer, he couldn't help but observe her light blue silk pyjamas, the first few buttons of her top left loose, letting him see just enough of her cleavage to be distracting. His eyes didn't leave her exposed skin until she sat down next to him on his bed. She looked at him, studied him, licking her lips in anticipation while he still fought the memories of sleep, trying to draw back beneath the cover. When a few moments passed and her anticipation turned into impatience, he realised his mistake and decidedly sat up straight. A smile of satisfaction spread on her face, and she kissed him. He could taste the peppermint of her toothpaste and suddenly felt self-conscious of the fact he'd yet to brush his teeth. He gingerly attempted to break the kiss but was soon pulled back into it by her insistence. She clearly didn't mind, going as far as to slip her tongue into his mouth.

He slid a hand up her side and under her silky top to hold her smooth waist, the muscles beneath the skin moving in tandem to Fleur's wants. He gave her a firm but gentle squeeze.

"Good morning," he greeted once he had caught his breath, almost certain he might have suffocated had she held on longer.

She pecked his lips and then his face, followed by his jawline to his neck. "Zhey are waiting for us. Ma mère wants to go into zhe town."

"Sounds lovely," he said, amused by her incessant need to mark him anew. That aside, he liked the idea of exploring a little French town with her family.

"It's so hot," complained Harry, as he held the chilled bottle of iced tea against his face as they walked through the streets of Avignon.

Fleur chuckled at his plight. "I believe zhe saying is, zhe shoe is on zhe ozher foot?"

"Nobody likes a smart ass," he quipped, making her laugh.

"Honestly, how do you and Hermione handle this?"

He was an Englishman who spent the majority of his year in the Scottish Highlands. He was not built for temperatures over the thirty-degree mark. Fleur of course was completely unperturbed by the scorching sun that went for her mother and sister who shrugged off Helios's wrath without so much as a drop of sweat.

"I know a little trick zhat would 'elp, not zhat I need it for myself."

"What is it?" he asked hopefully.

Fleur saddled up beside him, and held onto his arm, discretely palming her wand, and tapping it to his chest. He shivered as he felt chilly air whisp over his skin. It was such a stark change that he felt goosebumps on his arms.

"Better?" she asked.

"Loads."

"It will not last long, but you can use it when zhe 'eat becomes too much. I'll show you 'ow to cast it later."

Without the heat to oppress him, he was able to better appreciate the sights. Avignon was far larger than he'd expected but it was no less beautiful. The city was encircled by an old stone wall like those of a castle, there was also a river that bordered the city which Fleur had said was called the Rhône River. Behind those medieval fortifications, the streets were a mix between older narrow cobblestones and newer wide paved roads. The buildings were similar, a substantial portion had existed for ages, short buildings with stores and bistros at the ground level and French style balconies on the second and third floors.

They simply strolled through the streets, occasionally stepping into one of the little boutiques clothing stores and perusing the shelves. Apolline, Harry learned, was a very picky clothing shopper. Where Fleur would buy something if she found it cute or flattering enough, Apolline would try on several different items before eventually deciding on the best one.

"What do you zhink of zhis one?" asked Fleur as she stepped out of a dressing room with a sunflower yellow blouse and a white pleated skirt.

"It looks nice," he said honestly with a mild-mannered shrug.

Over the course of the day, they had discovered that Harry shared the same ailment that many other blokes his age befell. He was unequivocally pants at offering any inkling of valuable fashion advice. The added challenge being that Fleur looked magnificent in pretty much any outfit she tried on. As far as Harry was concerned, she would look amazing wearing a dirty burlap sack.

Fleur chuckled softly, having already realised that with Harry, words weren't the only form of communication on which she could rely. His eyes did most of the genuine talking. She only had to observe the movement of his eyes to notice what he liked and with what he didn't quite agree. When they widened, she knew he really liked what she wore, and it was definitely an outfit she was buying.

"Come on, you two," said Apolline, "If we're too late, we won't 'ave a table at La Colette."

"We should 'urry. If we miss La Colette's, maman will spend zhe rest of zhe day wizh zhe look of someone who's puppy 'as died. Zhough, per'aps zhen we will finally eat somewhere else for a change."

At Harry's curious look, she explained. "We 'ave eaten at zhe same place for lunch when in Avignon for zhe last zhree years."

Gabrielle began to giggle and said something in French which made her mother give her a look of amused disapproval.

"She said maman can just ask someone for zheir table," explained Fleur. "Usually, I would say she would not do zhat, but when it comes to La Colette's, maman loses all sense of self restraint."

"Ah, like you after you discovered Honeydukes," commented Harry, causing Fleur to sputter.

"Zhat is not zhe same!"

"Is it not?" grinned Harry as they left the clothing store. "I remember some poor Hufflepuff was halfway through purchasing the last box of Honeydukes Finest, when you asked him 'oh so nicely' to hand it over. Bloke probably made it halfway to the castle before he felt safe again."

Fleur hmph-ed and crossed her arms. "I zhink, you and I are remembering zhis very differently. I did ask 'im very nicely."

"Oh, trust me, I'm not, and 'nicely' doesn't work when you're glaring at them, or me for that matter, stop that," he chuckled and poked her in the side.

The walk to La Colette was barely a few minutes, Harry suspected they were following a set route throughout the day, perfectly timed to bring them closer to the small café by the time lunch rolled in. The eatery didn't appear to stand out from any of the others he'd seen so far. It had a few tables on the outside, a nice airy interior with summer décor.

He did, however, understand Apolline's sense of urgency. The seating area was fairly limited and of the available seats, most were already occupied.

He was about to enter when Fleur stopped him. "I should warn you; Colette can be a bit—" She was cut off by a loud greeting.

"Bonjour! Apolline, comment ça-va? Ça fait trop longtemps!" A pretty middle-aged woman rushed over to hug Apolline and place a kiss on each cheek. The French had been too fast for Harry to make out, but he could figure it out based on the context.

"It has not been that long," protested Apolline with a laugh. "Barely a month."

"Exactly, that is two weeks too long!"

"It couldn't be helped; we were visiting England with my husband." She gave a half-truth as they took their seats at one of the outside tables.

"Oh, what is this, Fleur? Do my eyes betray me, have you finally brought a boy into my little café?" The woman turned her attention to Harry, who had been watching the exchange, pleasantly surprised at how well he understood them.

"This is Harry," answered Apolline, happily before switching to English for his benefit. "Fleur's boyfriend, zhey 'ave been seeing each ozher for several months now, and it's not just zhe two of zhem. Zhere's a young lady involved as well."

Fleur's mouth dropped, shocked that her mother would throw them into the deep end.

Colette palmed her scandalised face and giggled. "Ooh la-la, un ménage à trois!"

She leaned in closer like a shark that smelled blood in the water, causing Harry to lean back. "So bold, Fleur ees all grown up now, and you, young man, lucky one you are. Tell me, 'ow did you win zhis Flower's 'eart?"

"Dumb luck and plenty of chocolate," replied Harry in awkward French, drawing a carefree laugh from Collete.

"Right, that's quite enough," cut in a blushing Fleur, shooing the older woman away from Harry, who shot her a discrete smile of relief.

Once a healthy distance away, the older woman then turned to Gabrielle who was content to watch Fleur and Harry squirm. "And you, my Angel? Any boys at school pique your fancy? Any broken hearts?"

Gabrielle giggled and shook her head proudly. "The boys at school are all so stupid."

"Oh, that won't change," laughed Colette, giving the young girl a knowing look. "But there'll come a time where you won't mind."

"And that better not be for a long time, or I fear your father's heart will give out," cut in Apolline with amusement.

"He will be fine," said Collete. "You've raised two wonderful daughters with good heads on their shoulders."

Apolline glanced proudly at Fleur and Gabrielle.

Colette called for a waitress who then scurried over. It was a girl, barely older than Fleur with a friendly demeanour, and a plain but pretty face. She appeared slightly self-conscious when she saw the table with the Veela.

"This is Claire, she's new but very hardworking," introduced Colette with a smile. "Now, what can we get you? The usual?"

"Please," beamed Apolline. She turned to Harry who was inspecting the menu curiously, while Colette asked their orders and Claire jotted them down. "Might I suggest zhe same as myself? Zhe vichyssoise to start wizh, followed by zhe salmon."

Harry nodded, "Sounds wonderful." He wasn't too worried and suspected it all to taste great regardless. And it did, the vichyssoise he discovered was a potato and leek soup that was served cold, and was absolutely perfect for the intense summer's day, and the salmon, while a touch herby for his liking, was still light and easy.

He did try some of Fleur's meal, a pan-seared lamb which was also a touch herby but went amazingly well with some roasted vegetables.

Several hours later, when it was well into the evening, Harry found himself walking through the small vineyard with Fleur's father. Gabrielle had caught sight of a garden gnome which had quickly scurried back into the thicket before Apolline could catch it.

Having had plenty experience dealing with the little buggers at the Burrow, Harry had offered to help de-gnome. Though, he had expected them to wait until the next day, Fleur's father had pushed to do so immediately. Apparently, the tiny creatures reproduced at an alarmingly quick rate. That did make sense to Harry, why else would the Weasley's have such a continual struggle.

Fleur and Gabrielle had tried to join but were turned down by Alain. One look between the father and his daughters and it was clear that there was more to it than plain dismissal. It didn't take a genius to realise that the older man wanted some alone time with Harry.

"Relax, there's no need for you to look so worried, you're tenser than a bowstring. I'm not going to grill you," assured Alain, putting Harry at ease.

"You thought I wanted to speak about you and my daughter and about whatever it is you two get up to when you disappear? If it's alright with you, I'd rather not discuss and find out. I do, however, trust you to be responsible? I consider myself forward thinking but I'm quite a few years too young to hold a grandchild yet."

Harry spluttered, his face bright red. "What? No, we haven—"

Alain held up a hand to stop him. "No, no, I don't want to hear any of it. Ignorance is bliss, and all that. Now, as I said, that wasn't why I wanted to speak with you."

Right then, a scurried sound came from their left and Alain's wand was swiftly pulled and pointed low in that direction, a spell having already left its tip. They heard a weird grunty yelp and found a gnome wrapped up in ropes. They really were odd-looking creatures, like dumpy potatoes with short arms and legs.

"You mentioned having some experience dealing with these blights, mind doing the honours?"

Harry picked up the gnome by the feet and loosed the ropes so that it would be able to free itself once released. He did make sure to avoid getting his hand close to its face, gnomes had wicked sharp teeth, and did bite. He remembered how the Weasley's taught him to get rid of them and spun the gnome to make it dizzy and then threw it as far as he could. It did put him at ease to know that they were seriously tough, and doing so didn't hurt them.

"Quite the arm you got there," complimented Alain. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Tell me, Harry, do you know what a pensieve is?"

Harry nodded, recalling what he knew of it. "Hermione's mentioned it once or twice. They're for viewing memories, I think?"

Alain nodded in return. "Precisely While I don't own one myself, I am able to acquire one for a short period of time. I've done so on rare occasions. One of the few benefits of being in my line of work."

He met Harry's eyes. "Your birthday is fast approaching, and Fleur had an idea. I'm sure you've realised where I am going with this. I haven't given her an answer yet on whether I would help arrange for one to be brought but I probably can. The reason I'm telling you this is to inform you that while Fleur intends to use the pensieve to share things with you, you may be asked to do so in return."

"Nothing too personal, I'm sure," he added quickly. "But would you be comfortable with it, sharing that is? If you're not, I'll simply let my daughter know that I was unable."

Harry paused to ponder; he appreciated Alain's concern not only for his daughter, whom he treasured above all else, but also him. He trusted Fleur, and her family to an extent. He knew nobody would force him to share anything that he did not want to. As long as it kept away from his time at the Dursley's, it wouldn't be an issue.

"I think I'd be alright with sharing," he said when a sudden thought came to him.

"By chance, are muggles able to use a pensieve?" he asked eagerly.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Alain nodded slowly. "They are, the magic's within. They can't manipulate it but simply using it to view a memory is possible. You're thinking of Miss Granger's parents?"

A smile appeared on his face, glad that Alain connected the dots. "Hermione's always wanted to show Hogwarts to her parents. We've sent them photos, but—"

"It's not the same," said Alain, finishing his sentence for him.

"Exactly, it would mean a lot to her if we could let them see it, or well, her memories of it."

"You know, this is your birthday," commented Allain amusedly. "We're supposed to be showing you things."

"Well, yes, it is my birthday," confirmed Harry seriously, "And for a change I'm able to spend it exactly how I want to. What's better than using it to make the people I love happy?" He grinned.

"I see why my Fleur's so smitten," chuckled Allain. "You've got a good heart, you and Miss Granger, if what I've heard from my daughter's any indication."


A pained groan emanated from the lump that laid face down on one of the single beds in their cabin.

"Whose idea was it to take the ferry, again?" voiced the lump.

"Yours, Dan…" answered Emma from where she sat on the other bed with her daughter while they watched a movie on the little TV in their room. "Just think, if we'd flown, we'd be halfway to France by now."

Her answer prompted another queasy groan from the man.

"Is there really nothing we could do?" asked Hermione as she stared worriedly at her father.

"Nope," replied her mum, popping the P sound. "I warned him, you don't remember it, you were too young, but there's a reason we never travel by sea. Your dad has gotten seasick every single time we've done so."

"Then why…?"

"Some nonsense home remedy he read about in one of those health magazines. Clearly it hasn't worked very well."

"I love you," she called out to her husband. "But you brought this on yourself."

Another groan.

"It's a shame I don't have my potion things, there's a remedy for nausea. There may even be a charm for it, I'm sure I've read about one."

"You know," began her mother "Before modern medicine, many believed diseases were caused by evil spirits. Leprosy was even considered a curse by God, and that only he could heal it. Many of the cures used in the past were… interesting."

"We're partly to blame, I'm afraid," explained Hermione. "Often what was done with potions were tried by muggles, often with varying degrees of success. Though, I have to say, some of it was certainly a result of all the opium, and mercury used."

There was a loud noise, a musical tune of barely a few notes which signified the intercom system for the ferry. An announcement followed first in Italian, then English. The contents didn't bode good news for Dan. The wind had picked up, a trait of the region, but it meant their boat trip was about to get significantly rougher.

"I meant to ask," said her mother. "Those books you had us get for Harry. Your letter mentioned a student with leukaemia?"

"Astoria," answered Hermione despondently. "It's not leukaemia, there were some parallels, but she has a blood malediction. That's not even the true name for it, just a general one for curses of the blood."

Emma's eyes widened in surprised curiosity. "A blood curse? Oh dear, that sounds serious. I assume they're not easily cured?"

"From what I've read of curse breaking, it varies. Some are as easily cured as a simple ritual and a potion regiment. Other's…"

"This, I mean, Astoria's curse, it's of the latter?"

Hermione nodded. "It's horrific and cruel. She doesn't deserve it." She pulled her legs up and hugged them to her chest. "She's younger than me… and such a sweetheart. I've only met her once or twice, she's very quiet and really nice."

Emma nodded and gave her daughter's arm a gentle rub. "Why would someone curse her?"

"They didn't, not directly, at least. It's not genetic, but it is hereditary, in a sense. Someone or something cursed one of her ancestors, and for generations they've had to live with this sword hanging over their necks. It doesn't affect everyone either, only the girls and seemingly at random. Her older sister, Daphne doesn't have it, but their grandmother did."

"What exactly does it entail? Having this curse? Fatigue, weight loss, bleeding easily and prone to bruising?"

"You'd have to ask Harry for a proper breakdown, but I assume yes. It's more, though. There was an incident. Her curse flared up, while Harry was present. While they treated her, they were afraid she wouldn't be able to handle the pain, so Harry did something unbelievably brave. There's a piece of magic that lets you feel what someone else feels, but in doing so, you take it from them. Madam Pomfrey asked him if he'd be willing to do it. As her apprentice, it's partly his duty but he could refuse. She wouldn't have held it against him. But Harry, the noble git that he is, agreed without a second thought." She couldn't mask the pride, even if she was calling him a git.

"He took on her pain and pretended that it hadn't been that terrible. I knew better than to take his word for it, he does that you know. So, I asked Madam Pomfrey. She told me that the only reason they had resorted to it, was that Astoria would have suffered so terribly that she'd have gone into shock otherwise."

Emma paled considerably, as a medical practitioner, she understood the severity of what Harry must have experienced. "Jesus…"

"Do you know what makes him so amazing?" asked Hermione softly. "Even after experiencing all that pain, for what must have felt like hours. It was enough that he'd passed out as soon as they'd finished. You'd think he'd rest, but no," she shook her head as a soft smile graced her lips. The kind of smile that always took Harry and Fleur's breath away.

"I found him in the common room in the early morning, still wearing his clothes from the day before. He was studying blood curses. I doubt Astoria even knows how hard he's working on finding a way to save her. I wouldn't be surprised if he was doing so right at this moment."

Hermione wasn't wrong. Harry was sitting comfortably on the long sofa in the Delacour's living room with a book in his hand. Fleur's half sipped on glass of red wine sat on the dark wood side table, while she was currently fast asleep with her head on his lap. He ran his fingers through her platinum-blonde locks, which she clearly enjoyed if the frown that formed on her face when he stopped was an indication.

"Corp criadhach. The clay-body," Harry read aloud as a floating piece of parchment and a self-writing quill dictated his words. "An effigy of clay is moulded in the form of the accursed. Placed within a stream or beneath flowing waters. The clay slowly washes away, and as it does so, the affected person wastes away. The only way to break the curse is to sever the link, or to preserve the clay-body."

He placed a finger at the point in the page where he'd stopped as he added some notes from memory.

"Sympathetic curses such as the clay-body, while curious in function, are rarely capable of affecting magical beings. On the occasions in which they do, blood is needed to bind them. Though doll-like effigies have been known to work with hair to a weaker extent, unless the first hair is used. Certain cultures have been known to preserve a lock of hair from the head of a newborn."

"Hmm, must you read somezhing zhis dark?" mumbled Fleur.

He looked down and was met by her sleepy blue eyes. "Hmm, I thought this one was rather light to be honest." He closed the book and showed her the cover. It had an etching of a rather creepy looking voodoo doll dancing on top of a man's corpse.

Fleur gave him a one-eyed blank stare which he held for several moments before chuckling. She joined him, relishing in the sound. "Veela do zhis wizh zhe babies," she said.

"Hm?"

"Zhe 'air, we cut zhe 'air from babies and we let it go into zhe wind. It's to let zhe wind know zat a new Veela 'as been born and to ask for protection."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful," he praised. "You really should tell us more about Veela traditions, you've never gone into detail before."

"I will, but later," said Fleur as she sat up and stretched before she straddled him and took his book from his hand and tossed it onto the couch. She smiled seductively and met his eyes in approval when he took a hold of her hips.

"For now," she leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. "I want to feel your lips on mine."


END CHAPTER TWENTY TWO


23, 24, 25 (Draft) available at / Office_Sloth if you want to read ahead. I hope you'll support me, it helps me to devote more time to this. Thank you!