After Shadows

by notApples

After the war, things never felt quite the same. Now in his final year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter faces a new threat that could destroy the school itself. Amidst Quidditch rivalries, ancient rituals, and growing feelings, he must figure out how to protect his home— before it's too late.

9. Chapter 9

NINE

---

As a rule, Harry didn't usually put a lot of thought into his appearance, usually because he had more important things to think about. Today, however, happened to be an exception to that rule.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the frost-covered windows of the Gryffindor Tower, casting long shadows across Harry's dorm. He stood before the mirror, attempting for the third time to flatten his perpetually unruly hair. His reflection stared back at him, green eyes betraying a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

Dennis' snoring from the adjacent bed provided a steady backdrop to Harry's thoughts as he adjusted his crimson and gold scarf. The common room below was already buzzing with activity – excited chatter about the upcoming Hogsmeade visit floating up through the floorboards. But this wasn't just another trip to the village for Harry. This was different. This was… well, he wasn't quite sure what this was.

"Harry, you've been at that mirror longer than Lavender before the Yule Ball," Neville's sleepy voice cut through Harry's reverie. His brown-haired friend was propped up on one elbow, hair tousled from sleep, watching Harry with barely concealed amusement. "It's just Hogsmeade."

Harry's reflection flushed slightly. "It's not just Hogsmeade, Nev. It's…" He trailed off, adjusting his collar for the fourth time.

"A date?" Neville asked, now sitting up fully. "I didn't know you were going on a date. Do the others know you're going on a date?" he asked, gesturing to the sleeping forms of the boys around.

"No," Harry muttered. "I'm trying to keep it that way."

"Alright then," Neville grinned, tossing his head back into his pillow. "I hope you have a good one!"

"Thanks, Nev," Harry grinned, then scowled again as his hair again fell flat on his face.

The past week had been a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and responsibilities. The investigation into the artifacts had taken a backseat, as much as Harry wished it hadn't, to the mounting pressure of NEWT preparations and prefect duties. Even Hermione, usually the first to pursue any hint of wrongdoing, had been forced to prioritize their academics. Harry's mind was nearing its wits end after hours of slogging over essays everyday, and he was more than happy to take the break.

Then there was Fleur.

Now, as he made one final attempt to tame his hair, Harry couldn't help but wonder about the implications of today's outing. A professor and student visiting Hogsmeade together – it was unprecedented, as far as he knew. Though technically, as an assistant professor assigned specifically to Ravenclaw house, Fleur wasn't directly responsible for his education. Still, he could already imagine the whispers and stares they would attract. But it didn't matter horribly- he was used to the stares.

A quick tempus charm showed it was nearly time to meet Fleur in the entrance hall. Harry's stomach performed an uncomfortable flip as he realized he'd have to walk through the common room, past all the curious eyes of his housemates. Seeing Harry Potter was enough for someone to stare- Harry wondered how they'd react to him dressed up.

"Right then," he said, straightening his jumper one last time. "How do I look?"

It had taken almost a half-hour of thinking. After several fails, Harry had finally settled on a simple but well-fitted outfit – dark jeans that Hermione had helped him pick out over the summer, paired with a forest green cable-knit pullover that Mrs. Weasley had given him for Christmas. The color, she'd insisted, brought out his eyes. Over this, he wore his usual black winter cloak, though he'd taken extra care to make sure it was freshly pressed with a charm Hermione had taught him.

Neville pretended to study him critically. "Like someone who's spent way too much time in front of a mirror," he said with a grin. Then, more seriously, "You look fine, Harry. Just try not to overthink it."

Harry nodded, grateful for his friend's support. Sometimes he missed bantering with Ron every morning as they woke up in the dorms, but Neville was a great friend too. Besides, Ron and Hermione seemed to be enjoying the additional privacy, and Harry couldn't begrudge them that of all things.

"Wish me luck!" he called back to Neville, as he quietly plodded down the stairs, hoping to avoid detection. Of course, he had no such luck.

"Oi, Potter!" Seamus called out as Harry reached the common room. "Looking sharp! Hot date?" The Irish boy was sprawled across one of the plush armchairs, a knowing grin spread across his face.

"Leave him be, Seamus," Ginny interjected from nearby, though she too was smirking. "Though I have to say, Harry, you clean up nice when you actually try," she added with a wink.

Harry felt his cheeks warm but managed a casual shrug. "Just Hogsmeade," he said, trying to sound nonchalant and probably failing miserably. The common room was bustling with students preparing for their own trips to the village, but he could feel several curious glances being cast his way.

Just then, the portrait hole swung open, and Hermione climbed through, already dressed in her Head Girl robes. Her eyes lit up when she saw Harry. "Oh good, you're wearing the pullover! I told you green was your color." She approached, giving him a quick once-over before reaching up to adjust his collar. "Now remember, Harry, while technically there's no rule against—"

"—professors and students socializing outside of class, we should still be mindful of appearances," Harry finished for her, having heard this particular speech twice already. He looked around to make sure no one was listening into their conversation. "I know, Hermione."

She smiled softly, her expression warming. "I just want you to be careful. Both of you." She lowered her voice. "And Harry? Try to enjoy yourself. You deserve some happiness."

"Alright, 'Mione," Harry smiled. "Thanks, by the way. For the help, I mean."

Hermione's expression softened as she gave him a fond and almost exasperated smile. "Don't mention it, Harry."

The walk to the entrance hall seemed simultaneously too long and too short. Harry's stomach was doing somersaults, and he found himself obsessively checking his reflection in every suit of armor he passed. One particularly cheeky armor actually whistled at him, causing several nearby portraits to titter with amusement.

As he descended the grand staircase, he finally caught sight of Fleur waiting below, and his breath caught in his throat.

She was wearing a pale blue dress that seemed to shimmer with her movement, paired with elegant winter robes in a deeper shade of blue. Her silvery-blonde hair was partially pulled back, the rest falling in gentle waves past her shoulders. She was speaking with Professor McGonagall, her hands moving expressively as she talked, and Harry felt his heart skip several beats.

When she turned and saw him, her face lit up with a radiant smile that made his knees weak.

"'Arry!" she called out, her accent lilting with pleasure. "You are looking très handsome this morning."

Harry nearly missed the last step, catching himself just in time. "I… you… wow," he managed eloquently, causing Fleur to laugh – a melodious sound that made several passing students turn their heads.

"I see I 'ave rendered ze famous 'Arry Potter speechless," she teased, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

Harry felt his face flush, but held her gaze. "You look beautiful," he said simply, honestly. "Really beautiful."

It was Fleur's turn to blush, a delicate pink tinging her cheeks as she ducked her head slightly. Professor McGonagall, who had been watching their interaction with a carefully neutral expression, cleared her throat.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Delacour," she said, her tone precise but not unkind. "Do enjoy your visit to the village. And remember—"

"—to maintain appropriate decorum," they finished in unison, causing McGonagall's lips to twitch slightly.

"Precisely," she said, before turning to leave, though Harry could have sworn he saw a hint of amusement in her eyes.

The carriages were waiting outside, their thestrals pawing gently at the frozen ground. Harry could see them clearly now, their skeletal forms somehow less disturbing than they had once been. He noticed Fleur's expression soften as she looked at them – she could see them too, of course.

"Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm in what he hoped was a gentlemanly gesture. Fleur's smile widened as she took it, her touch sending warmth spreading through his entire body despite the winter chill.

They walked slowly to the carriage, and Harry made sure to help Fleur in, because Hermione had told him that was how gentlemen behaved. She gave him a pleased smile, assuring him he'd done the right thing. The carriage rocked gently as it began its journey toward Hogsmeade, the thestrals' hooves making soft crunching sounds in the snow. Fleur sat across him, and Harry tried not to stare at her or her dress, the way it complimented her figure.

"So…" he started, then immediately felt foolish. "Er… nice weather?"

Fleur's laugh was like windchimes in a summer breeze. "Are we really going to talk about ze weather, 'Arry?"

"Well, what would you prefer to talk about?" Harry grinned, relaxing slightly. "Advanced Charms? I've been told I'm quite knowledgeable about those now, thanks to certain someone's tutoring."

"Oh? And 'oo might zat be?" Fleur's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Not zat incredibly beautiful assistant professor I see you making eyes at during class?"

Harry nearly choked. "I do not make eyes!"

"Non? Then per'aps I imagined you walking into ze door last Thursday when I wore zat new teaching robe?"

"That was… there was something in my eye!" Harry protested, though he couldn't help laughing. "Besides, I seem to remember a certain professor dropping her wand when I did that Quidditch dive practice last week."

"It was slippery!" Fleur huffed, but her lips twitched. "And you were showing off."

"Maybe a little," Harry admitted, his hand inching toward hers on the seat, then retreating uncertainly.

Fleur noticed. Of course she noticed. With an exasperated but fond sigh, she moved to sit beside him, taking his hand and placing it firmly in her lap. "'Arry Potter," she said, leaning into him slightly, "for someone 'oo defeated ze Dark Lord, you can be remarkably timid."

Harry's breath caught as her familiar scent – something floral and distinctly Fleur – enveloped him. "I'm not timid," he managed. "I'm…cautious."

"Is zat what they call it now?" She squeezed his hand gently. "Is this because of ze argument? If so, zen I truly am sorry about our argument, 'Arry. I should not 'ave—"

"If you apologize one more time," Harry interrupted with a smirk, feeling unusually bold, "I might have to kiss you to make you stop."

Fleur's eyebrows shot up, a delighted surprise crossing her features. "Is zat so?" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And what makes you think I would allow zat, Monsieur Potter?"

"Well, I am the Chosen One," Harry deadpanned, making Fleur snort most unladylike. She recovered quickly, giving him a wink that made his heart skip several beats. "Per'aps later, if you behave yourself." Her thumb traced circles on his palm. "After all, we 'ave all day, non?"

The carriage hit a bump, causing Fleur to press closer against Harry's side. Neither made any move to create more space between them.

"You smell nice," Harry blurted out, then immediately wished the ground would swallow him whole. "I mean… er…"

"Merci," Fleur chuckled. "It is a perfume from France. Though I must say, your cologne is quite… interesting."

Harry blinked. "I'm not wearing any cologne."

"Ah, zen it must be ze three bottles of Sleekeazy's 'air Potion I can smell?"

"It was only two bottles, thank you very much," Harry retorted, then caught her grin. "Oh, you're horrible."

The carriage began to slow as they approached Hogsmeade, the village coming into view through the frost-covered windows. Fleur squeezed his hand one last time before releasing it, though the warmth of her touch lingered.

"Ready to face ze music?" she asked, straightening her robes.

"With you? Always," Harry replied, then groaned. "Merlin, that was cheesy, wasn't it?"

"Oui," Fleur agreed cheerfully. "But I liked it anyway."

As they stepped out of the carriage, Harry took in the fresh air and felt it ease his nerves. Hogsmeade stretched before them, its snow-covered cottages and shops looking like they'd been plucked straight from a holiday card. Students dotted the main street in small groups, their laughter and chatter carried on the crisp winter breeze.

"I need to visit Scrivenshaft's," Fleur said softly, her breath visible in the cold air. "My quills are becoming quite worn from all ze essays I must grade."

Harry nodded. "I could use some new parchment too. Hermione's been insisting we need extra for NEWT revision."

They fell into step together naturally, their feet crunching in the fresh snow. Harry was acutely aware of the curious glances they drew from passing students and villagers alike, but somehow, with Fleur beside him, it didn't seem to matter as much.

Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop was warm and dimly lit, smelling of ink and fresh parchment. Fleur moved through the aisles with graceful purpose, her fingers trailing along displays of elegant quills. She'd clearly been here before.

Harry found himself watching her more than the merchandise, mesmerized by the way she bit her lower lip slightly when considering a particular eagle-feather quill.

"What do you think of zis one, 'Arry?" She held up a beautiful white quill with silver flecks. "Not too ostentatious?"

"It suits you," he said honestly, then added with a small smile, "Though I'm not sure the students will appreciate their corrections coming from such a fancy quill."

Fleur's laugh was soft and genuine. "Per'aps it will inspire them to work 'arder." She selected several other items – ink in various colors, rolls of parchment, and a small leather-bound notebook that caught her eye. As they waited in line to pay, Fleur leaned closer to Harry, speaking in a low voice. "You know, I never thought I would find myself 'ere like zis." Her eyes met his, filled with something that made his heart skip. "With you."

Harry swallowed hard. "Good unexpected or bad unexpected?"

"Définitivement good," she murmured, her hand finding his for a brief moment. Harry smiled and pulled her a little closer, grinning when she squeaked in surprise.

They visited Honeydukes next, where the sweet-scented air and colorful displays provided a welcome distraction from the cold outside. Harry watched in amusement as Fleur examined various candies with interest.

"We don't 'ave anything quite like zis in France," she commented, holding up a Fizzing Whizzbee. "Though I must admit, I've become quite fond of your British sweets."

"Try this one," Harry suggested, reaching for a chocolate frog. "Though be careful – they're rather lively."

Fleur's delighted laugh as the chocolate frog made a bid for freedom was worth every curious stare they received. She caught it deftly, raising an eyebrow at Harry's impressed look.

"How did you catch-" Harry began, but Fleur rolled her eyes.

"Mon cher, you do know I was the champion duellist from my school, oui?"

Harry smirked. "Of course. I didn't expect any less."

"You cheeky boy!" Fleur swatted his arm, but laughed anyway.

They emerged from Honeydukes with a shared bag of treats, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the snow. The streets were less crowded now, many students having already headed back to the castle. Most of the students who'd come on dates lingered, passing the time together, but Harry noticed the younger students and the more scholarly ones were already heading back. He definitely didn't want to head back yet, of course.

"Maintenant, 'Arry?"

"What does that mean?"

Fleur pursed her lips. "What would you like to do now? I am not 'ungry…yet."

Harry paused for a moment, scanning the village around. In his head, he'd thought og a lot of things, but somehow, right now, he didn't really feel like any of them would be the best idea.

"Would you like to walk a bit?" he finally asked, gesturing toward the quieter end of the village. "There's a nice view of the mountains from there."

"Good idea," Fleur nodded, falling into step beside him. "We shall walk, zen."

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, their path taking them past the outskirts of the village. The Shrieking Shack loomed in the distance, its dilapidated form a stark contrast to the picturesque village behind them. Harry couldn't help but reflexively touch his scar, remembering years of sneaking around and hiding in that old hut. It was all so different now, especially with a pretty veela woman by his side. He wondered what his dad would think right now.

"You are thinking very loudly," Fleur observed, her voice gentle.

He started slightly. "Sorry, I just- this is nice. Being here with you, I mean. Without having to worry about…" He gestured vaguely.

"Everything else?" Fleur supplied, understanding in her eyes. She stopped walking, turning to face him. "I feel ze same way, 'Arry. It is… 'ow do you say… refreshing?"

A gust of wind caught her hair, sending silvery strands dancing around her face. Without thinking, Harry reached up to brush them away, his fingers lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary. Fleur's eyes widened slightly at the contact, but she didn't pull away. Harry felt his eyes close as he just enjoyed Fleur's presence, moving his hands around her hair that fell around his fingers like soft silk.

"I believe we 'ave some more way to walk?" she asked.

Harry jerked his hand back, realizing he'd been caressing Fleur's hair for the last minute without realizing. "Erm, yeah," he turned beet-red. "S-sorry about that-"

Fleur laughed; it sounded musical, like bells tolling in the distance, reminding Harry of his family. "I do not mind," she chided. "You do not 'ave to apologize."

"Alright then," Harry grinned, offering his arm, which Fleur took with a smile.

"You are learning quick," she complimented.

"I have a great teacher," he replied, winking.

The path was familiar to him – he'd walked it occasionally during his previous years at Hogwarts when the weight of being The Boy Who Lived had become too heavy to bear. Now, it offered a different kind of sanctuary.

They began their ascent in companionable silence, their footsteps leaving paired impressions in the pristine snow. The path wasn't steep, but it wound lazily upward, each curve revealing a new perspective of the village below. The sound of voices and laughter grew fainter with each step, replaced gradually by the whisper of wind through bare branches and the soft crunch of snow beneath their feet.

Harry found himself hyper-aware of Fleur's presence beside him – the whisper of her robes against the snow, the gentle cadence of her breathing, the way she occasionally reached out to steady herself against his arm when the path grew slightly treacherous. Each point of contact, however brief, sent warmth spreading through him despite the winter chill.

"Watch your step here," he murmured as they approached a particularly icy patch. Without thinking, he offered his hand for balance. Fleur's fingers slipped into his naturally, as if they'd done this a hundred times before. They didn't stop holding hands after that.

The path opened onto a small clearing, where a fallen log, preserved by countless freeze-thaw cycles, offered a natural place to rest. Below them, Hogsmeade spread out like a picture in a storybook – smoke curling from chimneys, windows glowing with warm light, tiny figures moving through the streets like pieces on a distant chess board. Harry had to admit- some parts of Britain were really magical, even without the whole, well, magic part.

"It is beautiful," Fleur breathed, her accent thicker with emotion. She hadn't released his hand, and Harry found himself studying their intertwined fingers – her elegant, long fingers against his quidditch-calloused ones. The contrast felt right somehow, like two pieces of different puzzles that unexpectedly fit together.

A gentle breeze stirred the trees around them, sending a shower of snow crystals dancing in the afternoon light. Some caught in Fleur's hair, and Harry was struck by how the tiny ice crystals seemed to mirror the natural silver in her blonde tresses. She turned to look at him then, perhaps sensing his gaze.

"You're staring, 'Arry," she said softly, but there was no reproach in her voice. If anything, there was a gentle warmth there that made his heart stutter in its rhythm.

"Sorry," he replied automatically, though he didn't look away. "It's just… the snow in your hair…" He trailed off, not sure what to say.

Fleur's free hand rose to touch her hair self-consciously, but Harry caught it gently with his own. They sat together on the fallen log, close enough that their shoulders touched. Harry pulled out the bag of sweets from Honeydukes, fishing around until he found what he was looking for.

"Chocolate frog?" he offered.

Fleur smiled and shook her head. "I think one escape attempt was enough for today." She reached into the bag instead and pulled out a sugar quill. "These are much safer."

As they ate, Hogsmeade provided a pleasant source of entertainment. The afternoon sun caught the snow-covered roofs, making them sparkle. Harry could see groups of students making their way back to the castle, their scarves bright spots of color against the white landscape.

"Do you miss France?" he asked suddenly.

Fleur was quiet for a moment, twirling the sugar quill between her fingers. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But England… it feels different now. Like 'ome, in its own way." She glanced at him. "Though the weather is 'orrible."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, well, can't argue with that." He popped a Bertie Bott's bean in his mouth and immediately regretted it. "Ugh. Soap."

"Serves you right for being so brave," Fleur teased. She leaned against him a little more, and Harry felt warmth spread through him despite the cold air. "You know, I used to zink you were just another foolish boy trying to prove 'imself. During the Tournament."

"I was," Harry said simply. "A foolish boy, I mean. Still am, sometimes."

"Non." Fleur's voice was soft but firm. "You were never just that." She broke off a piece of her sugar quill and offered it to him. "Though you still 'ave your moments."

Harry took the offered sweet, his fingers brushing against hers. "Like asking a professor to Hogsmeade?"

"Like waiting so long to do it," she corrected, and Harry's heart did a funny little jump in his chest.

A gust of wind made Fleur shiver slightly. Without thinking, Harry shrugged off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. She looked at him in surprise.

"Won't you be cold?"

"Warming charm," he said, though he hadn't actually cast one. "Plus, you know. Gryffindor bravery and all that."

Fleur rolled her eyes but pulled the cloak closer around herself. It was too big for her, and something about seeing her wrapped in his cloak made Harry's stomach do backflips.

"You're a terrible liar, 'Arry Potter," she said, but she shifted closer to him anyway, until they were sharing warmth. "But sweet."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sharing sweets and watching the sun sink lower in the sky. The wind rustled through the trees, making the branches creak softly. It was peaceful up here, away from the whispers and stares. Just them, the snow, and the quiet.

"We should probably head back soon," Harry said eventually, though he made no move to get up.

"Probably," Fleur agreed, sounding equally reluctant. She was still wearing his cloak, and her hair smelled like vanilla and something distinctly French that Harry couldn't name. Neither of them moved, choosing instead to savor the moment.

A crow called from a nearby tree, making them both look up. The black bird hopped along a snow-laden branch, sending tiny crystals falling around them like diamond dust.

"Are you hungry?" Harry asked softly, not wanting to break the peaceful quiet that had settled over them.

"Mmm. A little." Fleur turned to look at him, her blue eyes bright in the winter light. "The Three Broomsticks might still be serving lunch."

Harry nodded, but waited for Fleur to make up her mind that she wanted to leave first. He spent the time just looking around, noting the way the years had slowly eroded the rock formations around them.

Finally, Fleur sighed and stood, offering her hand to help him up. When he tried to pull away, she held on for a moment longer than necessary, her thumb brushing across his knuckles.

The walk back down to the village was slower than their ascent had been. They took their time, stopping occasionally to point out interesting things - a rabbit's tracks in the snow, an icicle that had frozen in a perfect spiral, a patch of winter berries glowing red against the white landscape.

"Look," Fleur said suddenly, pointing to where a shaft of sunlight had broken through the clouds, creating a golden path across the snow. "'Ow do you say… a sun… beam?"

"Yeah, sunbeam," Harry confirmed. He watched how her face lit up at the sight, her usual composure softening into something more genuine. "You really love beautiful things, don't you?"

Fleur looked at him, her expression thoughtful. "I think… when you 'ave seen so much darkness, you learn to appreciate ze light more." She squeezed his hand gently. "You understand this, non?"

Harry nodded. "I think I'm seeing the most beautiful thing right now," he admitted, honestly. "And I don't mean the sunbeam."

Fleur smiled, and it seemed much brighter than even the Sun.

---

The Three Broomsticks came into view as they rounded the last bend in the path. The pub looked warm and inviting, golden light spilling from its windows onto the snow outside. Most of the lunch crowd had already gone, leaving it quieter than usual.

"I should give you your cloak back," Fleur said, starting to shrug it off.

"Keep it," Harry said quickly. "At least until we get inside. It- it suits you."

A faint blush colored Fleur's cheeks, visible even in the winter air. She pulled the cloak closer around herself, and Harry felt something warm bloom in his chest at the sight.

They paused outside the pub's door, reluctant to rejoin the world of other people just yet. In the quiet of the afternoon, with most students already headed back to the castle, they could pretend they were just Harry and Fleur. Two people, who cared for each other. They weren't perfect, they had their faults.

But they were together.

"Ready?" Harry asked softly.

Fleur nodded, but then caught his hand again. "'Arry… thank you. For today. For…" She gestured vaguely with her free hand, seeming to struggle for words. "For making me feel like just myself."

Harry understood completely. He squeezed her hand once before letting go, and together they stepped into the warm glow of the pub.

The warmth of the interior wrapped around them like a blanket as they stepped inside. The pub was quieter than usual, with only a few patrons scattered among the wooden tables. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The smell of warm bread and roasted meat filled the air.

Madam Rosmerta looked up from wiping down the bar and smiled. "Professor Delacour, Mr. Potter! Almost thought we'd missed the lunch crowd entirely."

"We were… walking," Harry said, suddenly aware of how that might sound. But Rosmerta just nodded and gestured toward a cozy corner booth, partially hidden behind one of the pub's thick wooden support beams.

"Still serving food for another hour," she called after them. "Take your time."

They slid into opposite sides of the booth, and Harry immediately missed Fleur's warmth beside him. She carefully removed his cloak and folded it on the bench, smoothing it with careful fingers before looking up at him.

"I 'ave always liked it 'ere," she said softly, her eyes taking in the pub's worn wooden beams and brass fixtures. "It feels… 'ow do you say… lived in?"

Harry nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. "It's got character," he agreed. "History." He watched as she traced a finger along one of the deep scratches in the wooden table top.

"Fred made that years ago by accident," he blurted out. "He was trying some sort of mustache coloring charm or something. I have no idea how he managed to get the spell so wrong though."

Fleur giggled. "Of course."

Rosmerta brought them each a butterbeer without being asked, giving them a knowing smile that made Harry's cheeks warm. The familiar drinks steamed gently in their tankards, the foam creating perfect white clouds on top.

"The shepherd's pie is good today," she suggested. "Made fresh this morning."

They both ordered it, and Harry found himself studying Fleur's face in the warm light of the pub. A strand of her silvery hair had once again escaped its arrangement, falling across her cheek. His fingers itched to brush it back, but he kept his hands wrapped around his butterbeer instead.

"You 'ave something on your mind, 'Arry?" Fleur asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Just… thinking." He took a sip of his drink, gathering his thoughts. "About how different things are now. From the tournament, I mean. When we first met."

Fleur's expression softened. "Ah, oui. I was… 'ow do you say… quite full of myself then."

"I mean," Harry took a sip of the butterbeer. "You still are sometimes-"

"Oh la-"

"Just kidding! We both had a lot of growing up to do," Harry quickly added, making her laugh softly.

"Some things 'aven't changed, though," she said, her eyes twinkling. "You still 'ave impossible 'air."

Harry grinned, running a hand through his eternally messy locks. "And you're still…" He stopped, suddenly unsure.

"Still what?" Fleur leaned forward slightly, genuinely curious.

"Still the most beautiful person I've ever seen," he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

A blush crept across Fleur's cheeks, but she didn't look away. "Even with my accent that makes everything sound silly?"

"Especially with your accent," Harry said firmly. "It's… it's just you. It's perfect."

Their food arrived then, steaming hot and smelling wonderful. For a while, they ate in comfortable silence. The shepherd's pie was indeed excellent, rich and warming after their time in the cold, and Harry kept wondering why he'd taken so long to revisit the Three Broomsticks.

"Try this bit," Fleur said suddenly, pushing her plate slightly toward him. "The crust 'ere is extra crispy."

Without thinking, Harry leaned forward and took a bite from where she indicated, only realizing afterward how intimate the gesture was. But Fleur just smiled, looking pleased.

"Good, non?"

"Yeah," he managed, his voice a bit rough. "Really good."

They shared the rest of their meal that way, offering each other choice bits and favorite bites. It should have felt awkward or forced, but somehow it didn't. It felt natural, like they'd been doing this for years instead of hours.

The pub had grown even quieter, the afternoon light taking on the golden quality that meant evening wasn't far off. Their empty plates sat pushed aside, but neither made a move to leave. Fleur had her chin propped on her hand, listening as Harry told her about his first time trying butterbeer, and how he'd nearly choked when Fred and George had convinced him it would make him breathe fire. Her laugh at his story was interrupted by a small yawn, which she tried to hide behind her hand.

"Tired?" Harry asked softly.

"Mm, perhaps a little. It is ze fresh air, I think." She blinked slowly, looking more relaxed than he'd ever seen her. "But I don't want to go back yet."

"We don't have to," Harry said. "We could just… stay here a while longer."

Fleur's smile was warm enough to chase away any remaining winter chill. "I would like that very much."

They emerged from the Three Broomsticks into the late afternoon light, where the sun hung low and golden over the snow-covered village. Long shadows stretched across the street like reaching fingers, and their breath formed delicate clouds in the crisp air. The last of the student carriages were visible in the distance, making their way back toward the castle.

"We should probably head back soon," Fleur said, though she made no move toward the carriages. Instead, she tucked her arm through Harry's, a gesture that felt both bold and perfectly natural.

"We could stay a bit longer," Harry suggested, his heart beating faster at her touch. "I've got my invisibility cloak with me. We can sneak back whenever we want."

Fleur's eyebrows shot up, and a mischievous smirk played across her lips. "Monsieur Potter," she said, affecting an exaggerated version of her teaching voice, "are you suggesting we break ze school rules? As a professor, I should report such behavior immediately."

Harry laughed, but then the word 'professor' hit him like a bucket of cold water. His step faltered slightly, and Fleur felt it. The easy comfort of their afternoon together had made him forget, just for a while, about the complications of their situation.

Fleur stopped walking, turning to face him. Her blue eyes were sharp and knowing. "'Arry? What is wrong?"

"I just… I forgot for a moment that you're…" He gestured vaguely, feeling foolish. "You know. Staff. I mean, I remembered it in the morning, but spending time with you was so great and natural and-" he paused, not sure what to say.

The sun caught in Fleur's hair as she tilted her head, studying him. Then, to his surprise, she smiled. "Good," she said simply.

"Good?"

"Oui." She took his hand, her fingers warm against his. "If you could forget that, it means… this, between us, it feels natural, non? Like it should be?"

Harry nodded slowly, relief flooding through him. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

"Then continue to forget it," she said firmly. "After all, I am barely two and a half years older than you. It is not so much."

"I don't know," Harry said, his grin returning. "Two and a half years… that's practically ancient. Should I be worried about your hip giving out on the walk back?"

Fleur gasped in mock outrage and swatted his arm. "Brat! I will 'ave you know that I finished my schooling early because I was advanced several years."

"That's incredible," Harry said, his teasing tone giving way to genuine admiration. "Really, Fleur. To be that clever, to work that hard… it's amazing."

He watched in fascination as a blush crept across her cheeks, turning them pink in the cold air. She ducked her head slightly, a strand of silvery hair falling forward to partially hide her face. "It… that is kind of you to say," she said softly. "Most men, they do not… they are not interested in that part of me. They see ze Veela, ze pretty face, and that is all they want to know."

"They're idiots then," he said firmly. "You're brilliant, Fleur. Anyone who can't see that isn't worth your time."

As they walked along the snowy street, Harry became increasingly aware of the stares following them - or more specifically, following Fleur. She was right, of course. She did draw eyes, even more than Harry.

A group of wizards outside Zonko's weren't even trying to be subtle about it, their eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made Harry's blood simmer. Two elderly witches by the post office were whispering behind their hands, shooting disapproving glances their way.

The final straw came when a particularly bold wizard started to move toward them, his expression making Harry's protective instincts flare. Without conscious thought, Harry slid his arm around Fleur's lower back, drawing her closer to his side. She stiffened for a moment, surprised by the sudden contact, and Harry immediately worried he'd overstepped.

But then Fleur's gaze swept the street, taking in their audience, and understanding dawned in her eyes. A devious smile curved her lips as she settled against him, fitting perfectly into the curve of his arm.

"Ah," she murmured, her voice low and amused. "It bothers you, non? Ze way they stare?"

Harry's arm tightened slightly around her waist. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have… I mean, I can move my arm if you want…"

"Non," Fleur said firmly, reaching up to straighten his collar with deliberate slowness. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "In fact, I think perhaps we should give them something else to stare at."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, leaning down slightly to hear her better over the evening breeze.

He never got his answer - not in words, at least. Because suddenly Fleur's hand was sliding into his hair, pulling him down those last few inches, and then her lips were on his. The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, but then Harry made a small sound in the back of his throat and Fleur pressed closer, deepening the kiss with a confidence that made his head spin.

Time seemed to stop. The world narrowed down to the softness of Fleur's lips, the way her fingers tightened in his hair, the small sigh she made when his arm pulled her even closer. She tasted like butterbeer and something sweeter, something uniquely Fleur, and Harry's mind went completely, gloriously blank.

Nothing existed beyond this moment - not the gawking onlookers, not Hogsmeade, not even the cold winter air. There was only Fleur, warm and real in his arms, kissing him like she'd been wanting to do it all day.

Maybe she had been. Maybe they both had.

When their lips finally parted, Harry found himself staring into Fleur's eyes, which had darkened to the deep blue of twilight seas. Her breath came in small puffs of white in the winter air, mingling with his own. The world around them seemed to have fallen away entirely.

"Per'aps," Fleur whispered, her accent thicker than usual, "we should find somewhere more… private?"

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice. His heart was thundering so loudly he was sure she must be able to hear it. Without hesitation, he took her hand and led her toward a hidden path he remembered from his many wanderings around Hogsmeade - a narrow track that wound behind the shops toward a small, sheltered grove of trees. He'd seen many couples snogging here, on accident of course, when he took the short cut through the trees to reach the Shrieking Shack.

"'Arry," Fleur murmured as they walked quickly, her hand in his, "I 'ave wanted to do that for… quite some time now."

"Me too," he managed, his voice rough with emotion. "Merlin, Fleur, you have no idea how long…"

They reached the grove, where ancient oaks created a natural sanctuary from prying eyes. Their branches were heavy with snow, forming a glittering canopy above them. Harry cast a quick warming charm around the area, melting a small circle of snow beneath their feet.

"'Ow long?" Fleur asked softly, stepping closer until they were barely inches apart. Her hand came up to rest against his chest, right over his racing heart.

"Since that day you helped me with the Shield Charm variations," Harry admitted. "When you got so excited about the theory, your eyes lit up, and I just… I couldn't stop thinking about you after that."

"Ah," Fleur's lips curved into a gentle smile. "For me, it was when you stayed late to 'elp me sleep. The way you listened, truly listened, when I spoke about my home, ma famille…"

Harry's hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. "I always listen to you. Everything about you is fascinating."

This time when they kissed, it was slower, deeper, filled with months of unspoken longing. Fleur's fingers tangled in his hair as Harry's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer.

"We should 'ave done this months ago," Fleur moaned against his lips between kisses. "'Arry… mon coeur…"

They moved backward until Harry's back met the trunk of an ancient oak. Fleur followed, pressing against him as if trying to eliminate any space between them. Her lips traced a path along his jaw, making him shiver despite the warming charm.

"Fleur," he gasped, his hands sliding up her back. "You're incredible. Beautiful. Brilliant. Everything…"

She silenced him with another kiss, this one fierce enough to make his knees weak. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily. Fleur's silvery hair had come partially undone, and Harry thought she had never looked more beautiful.

"Je ne peux pas respirer quand tu me regardes comme ça," she whispered, her forehead resting against his.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, his fingers playing with the loose strands of her hair.

"It means I cannot breathe when you look at me like that." Her eyes met his, vulnerable and intense. "Like I am your whole world."

"You are," Harry said simply, honestly. "You have been for a while now."

They sank down together onto the snow-free ground, Fleur settling naturally into his lap. Her head found the crook of his neck, both of them breathing heavily, hearts racing in tandem. Harry's arms wrapped around her, holding her close as if afraid she might disappear.

"This is real?" he murmured into her hair. "Not just another dream?"

Fleur lifted her head, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Very real, mon coeur. Though I must admit, I 'ave dreamed of this too."

Gradually, the heated intensity of their kisses began to ebb, like waves retreating from shore, leaving them both breathless and dizzy with the enormity of what had just transpired. Fleur was the first to pull back slightly, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath. The fading sunlight caught her skin at an angle, creating a halo effect that made Harry's heart clench with an emotion he couldn't quite name.

"'Arry, I…" Fleur's voice trembled slightly, and Harry felt her body tense against his. "I should not 'ave… that is… mon dieu, I am so sorry."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "Sorry? For what?"

Fleur wouldn't meet his eyes, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. When she spoke again, her accent was thicker than usual, betraying her distress. "Ze Veela… sometimes it… I… we can become… 'ow do you say… overwrought? Especially with… with things like this."

"Fleur, look at me," Harry said softly, reaching up to cup her cheek. She resisted for a moment before allowing him to tilt her face toward his. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I did not mean to rush you, to be so… aggressive," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Sometimes ze creature part of me… it takes over, and I…" She swallowed hard. "I do not want to ruin this by being too… too much."

Harry couldn't help it – he smiled, which only made Fleur's frown deepen. "This is not funny, 'Arry Potter!"

"No, it's not," he agreed, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. "But you thinking you could ruin this? That's a bit ridiculous."

"But—"

"Fleur," Harry interrupted gently, "I don't care if it was the Veela or just you or both. I've wanted to kiss you for months. The only way you could ruin this would be by stopping."

She blinked at him, her lips parting slightly in surprise. "'Arry…"

"In fact," he continued, his smile turning playful, "I wouldn't mind if you kissed me like that again. You know, just to make sure I really don't mind."

Fleur stared at him for a long moment before letting out a watery laugh, rolling her eyes even as she leaned closer. "You are impossible," she murmured against his lips.

"I'm Harry Potter," he whispered back, and then she was kissing him again, softer this time but no less passionate.

When they finally separated, Fleur shifted, turning so she could settle between Harry's legs, her back pressed against his chest. Harry's arms wrapped around her waist automatically, pulling her closer until she was fully cradled against him. He rested his chin on top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair.

"This is nice," he murmured, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her arm through her sleeve.

"Mmm," Fleur hummed in agreement, melting further into his embrace. "Though you are still terrible at expressing yourself, mon coeur. Just 'nice'?" she teased, tilting her head back to look up at him.

Harry pretended to think about it, his hands continuing their gentle exploration of her arms, her sides, anywhere he could reach. "Perfect?" he suggested. "Amazing? Life-changing? Earth-shattering?"

"Better," Fleur laughed softly, catching one of his wandering hands and bringing it to her lips. She pressed a kiss to his palm that made his breath catch. "Though perhaps a bit dramatic."

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon. The sky was painted in brilliant streaks of orange and pink, the colors reflecting off the snow around them and creating an almost ethereal glow. Harry's fingers continued their gentle exploration, tracing the curve of her shoulder, the line of her collar bone, the delicate skin of her throat. Each touch was reverent, careful, as he mapped territory he hoped to memorize forever.

"Your 'eart is beating very fast," Fleur observed quietly, her own hand coming up to cover his where it rested against her sternum.

"Can you blame it?" Harry murmured into her hair. "I'm holding the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Flatterer," she accused, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Just honest," he corrected, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Though I should warn you – if you keep making that little sound you make when I kiss your neck, we might have to find somewhere more private than these woods."

"What sound?" Fleur asked innocently, then demonstrated exactly what he meant when his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear.

"That one," Harry whispered against her skin, feeling her shiver in his arms. "Merlin, Fleur, you're incredible."

She turned her head to capture his lips again, the angle awkward but neither of them caring. When they broke apart, her eyes were dark with desire, but there was vulnerability there too.

"'Arry," she breathed, "I… this feels…"

"I know," he said, understanding completely. "It feels like everything."

The sun had nearly disappeared now, painting the snow around them in deep purples and blues. The warming charm still held, creating their own little bubble of comfort in the winter evening.

"We should probably head back soon," Harry said reluctantly, his arms tightening around her as if contradicting his own words.

"Probably," Fleur agreed, making no move to get up. Instead, she snuggled deeper into his embrace, her head finding that perfect spot in the crook of his neck. "In a minute."

Harry smiled, pressing another kiss to her temple. "In a minute," he echoed, content to hold her for as long as she would let him.

They stayed that way until the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing warmth and whispered words and gentle touches. The world beyond their little grove could wait. For now, this was everything they needed.

"Je t'aime," Fleur whispered so quietly Harry almost missed it.

His heart soared even as he asked, "What does that mean?"

She turned in his arms, facing him fully, her eyes bright in the gathering darkness. "I think," she said softly, "that you already know."

And as Harry pulled her in for another kiss, he realized that he did.

---

"We should head back," Harry said finally, helping Fleur to her feet. The stars had emerged fully now, scattered across the winter sky like diamonds on velvet.

"Oui," Fleur agreed, straightening her robes with slightly trembling fingers. "Though I find myself… reluctant."

Harry pulled out the invisibility cloak, its fluid material catching the starlight. "Well, at least we can avoid the stares on the way back."

"'Arry," Fleur said suddenly, catching his hand before he could unfold the cloak. "Before we go… I need to know that you are certain about this. About… us."

He turned to face her fully, noting how she held herself now – more professor than lover, though her eyes still held warmth. "I've never been more certain of anything."

"Ze school, ze rumors…" She shook her head slightly. "It will not be easy."

"When has anything in my life been easy?" Harry's attempt at humor earned him a small smile.

Fleur studied his face for a long moment before nodding. "Then we should be careful, non? Professional."

"Right," Harry agreed, though he couldn't resist sneaking one more kiss. "Professional."

They walked in silence under the cloak, mostly to avoid detection. The village had emptied considerably, making their journey easier, though they still had to pause occasionally to let the odd late-night patron stumble past.

"Tell me something," Fleur whispered as they passed the post office. "What made you finally ask me to Hogsmeade?"

Harry considered this. "Honestly? Ron told me I was being ridiculous, mooning about like a firstie with their first crush."

"Ah, so I should thank Monsieur Weasley?" Her tone was teasing, but softer now, more contained.

"Please don't. His ego's big enough already."

Their quiet laughter mingled in the night air as they made their way toward the castle gates. The grounds stretched before them, moonlit and peaceful, but Harry could feel the subtle shift in Fleur's demeanor as they approached the school.

"From 'ere," she said softly, "we must be more… circumspect."

"I know." Harry's voice was equally quiet. "Though I don't have to like it."

"Non," Fleur agreed, her hand finding his under the cloak. "But we must respect ze boundaries. At least, for now."

They walked in silence through the castle corridors, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. The portraits were mostly sleeping, though a few opened curious eyes as they passed.

"This is where we part," Fleur said when they reached the staff quarters, stepping out from under the cloak. Her posture was straight now, professional, though her eyes still held something softer.

"I suppose it is," Harry replied, removing the cloak as well. They stood facing each other, the distance between them like an entire world to Harry.

"Today was…" Fleur paused, searching for the right words.

"Perfect," Harry finished for her. "It was perfect."

"Oui." Her smile was gentle but restrained. "Though tomorrow…"

"Tomorrow we go back to being Professor Delacour and Mr. Potter?"

"In public, yes." She reached out, straightening his tie in a gesture that could appear professional to any passerby. "But 'ere…" Her fingers lingered for just a moment longer than necessary. "In private moments…"

"We can be just Harry and Fleur?"

"Exactement." She stepped back, her hand falling away. "Bonne nuit, Monsieur Potter."

"Goodnight, Professor," Harry replied, understanding the game they would now have to play. But just before she turned to her door, he added softly, "Sweet dreams, Fleur."

Her smile, quick and bright, was worth everything. Then she was gone, the door closing quietly behind her.

---

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower felt longer than usual, each step a reminder of the complex dance he and Fleur would have to perform while in the school. But Harry couldn't bring himself to regret a single moment of their day together.

"Password?" the Fat Lady asked drowsily when he reached the portrait hole.

"Phoenix feather," Harry replied, his mind still on Fleur's parting smile.

The dormitory was warm and familiar when he entered, filled with the usual sounds of his roommates getting ready for bed. Dean was sketching something in his notebook while Seamus attempted to juggle what appeared to be three Remembralls, and Neville was carefully tending to a small plant on his windowsill.

"Oi, Harry!" Seamus called out, promptly dropping all three Remembralls, which bounced harmlessly on his bed. "Had a good time in Hogsmeade, did you?"

Harry couldn't quite suppress his smile. "Yeah, it was… nice."

"Nice?" Dean looked up from his sketch, his eyebrows raised. "Must've been more than 'nice' mate, considering you've got about half a dozen love bites on your neck."

Harry's hand flew to his throat, his face flooding with heat. "What? No, I don't—"

"Oh yes, you do," Seamus crowed gleefully, abandoning his juggling attempts to bounce over to Harry's bed. "Merlin's pants, some of these are properly impressive! Ron, did you know about this?"

Ron, who had just entered the dormitory, tried and failed to look innocent. "Know about what?"

"That our Harry's been out getting his neck mauled by some mystery girl!" Seamus was practically vibrating with excitement. "Come on, mate, spill! Who is she?"

Harry shot a desperate look at Ron, who shrugged helplessly. "I, uh… it's complicated."

"Complicated?" Dean repeated, now fully invested in the conversation. "Complicated how? Oh Godric, please tell me it's not a Slytherin."

"No!" Harry said quickly. "No, definitely not a Slytherin."

"Ravenclaw then?" Neville suggested, joining the growing crowd around Harry's bed. "You have been spending a lot of time in the library lately…"

"Not exactly…"

"Hufflepuff?" Seamus guessed. "Though I can't imagine a Hufflepuff leaving marks like that. Bloody hell, mate, that one's practically purple!"

Harry's blush deepened as he frantically tried to adjust his collar. Ron was watching the scene unfold with poorly concealed amusement.

"Come off it, Harry," Dean pressed. "We're your dormmates! We have a sacred right to know who's been sucking on your neck like a vampire!"

"I really don't think—"

"Wait a minute," Seamus interrupted, his eyes going wide. "Wasn't there a rumor about you and that French professor? The fit one who's been helping with Charms?"

The absolute silence that followed his words was deafening. Harry's face felt hot enough to fry eggs on.

"No way," Dean breathed, a slow grin spreading across his face. "No bloody way!"

"Merlin's saggy left—" Seamus started, but Ron cut him off. "Oi! That's still a professor you're talking about!"

"A professor who's been snogging our Harry senseless, by the looks of it!" Seamus shot back, practically bouncing with glee. "Mate, you absolute legend! A Veela! An actual Veela!"

"She's more than just—" Harry started hotly, but caught himself.

"More than just what?" Dean prompted, grinning. "More than just the most gorgeous witch in the castle? More than just every bloke's fantasy?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly, surprising them all with his tone. "She's brilliant, and kind, and funny, and…" He trailed off, noticing their knowing smirks. "Oh, shut up."

"He's got it bad," Ron stage-whispered to Neville, who nodded sagely.

"You have no idea," Neville replied. "Should've seen him this morning, spent ages on his hair."

"Not that it made any difference," Seamus observed, reaching out to ruffle said hair and earning a swat from Harry.

"So," Dean said, settling cross-legged on his own bed, "how exactly does one end up on a date with a part-Veela professor? Asking for a friend, of course."

"Well, first you have to defeat a Dark Lord," Ron supplied helpfully. "Then maybe save the world once or twice-"

"Prat," Harry muttered, throwing a pillow at his best friend.

"But seriously," Seamus pressed, "how was it? I mean, apart from the obvious." He gestured to Harry's neck with a waggling eyebrow.

Harry flopped back on his bed, staring at the canopy. "It was… perfect," he admitted softly. "We just talked, and walked, and-" He touched his neck self-consciously. "Other things."

"Other things that left you looking like you've been attacked by an amorous Grindylow?" Dean suggested innocently.

"Oi!" Harry threw another pillow, which Dean caught easily.

"You know what this means, right?" Seamus said suddenly, his face serious. "You're officially our hero now. I mean, you were before, with the whole saving-the-world thing, but this? This is different level heroics."

"It's not like that," Harry protested. "She's not some… some trophy or conquest. She's just… she's Fleur."

The softness in his voice when he said her name made even Seamus pause in his teasing. For a moment, the dormitory was quiet.

"Well," Dean finally said, "at least now we know why you've been rubbish at Quidditch practice lately. Too busy daydreaming about someone, eh?"

The tension broke as Harry launched yet another pillow across the room, leading to an all-out dormitory war that only ended when Neville's plant got knocked over and started emitting purple smoke.

Later, as they were all settling into bed, Seamus's voice drifted through the darkness: "So… does this mean you can get us better grades in Charms?"

The sound of multiple pillows hitting him was his only answer.

Harry lay awake long after the others had fallen asleep, his fingers absently tracing the marks on his neck that he still hadn't seen. He should probably be embarrassed, he thought, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care. Each spot tingled with the memory of Fleur's lips, and despite his dormmates' teasing, the marks felt less like badges of conquest and more like secret promises – reminders of a perfect day that had somehow been real.

Besides, he thought with a small smile as he drifted off to sleep, he could always learn a concealment charm tomorrow. Or maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't bother.

---

Monday morning started with Peeves dropping water balloons outside the Gryffindor common room. Harry, having years of practice, managed to avoid the worst of it with a quick Shield Charm.

"Nice one, Potter!" called out Dennis Creevey, who hadn't been so lucky and was now wringing out his robes. "Think you could teach that to the rest of us?"

Harry sleepily nodded, already changing into his robes to head down for breakfast. The Great Hall was already buzzing with activity when he reached there. Monday mornings at Hogwarts always had a particular feel to them – a mix of lingering weekend cheerfulness and resigned acceptance of the week ahead. Today, though, the air felt different. Lighter somehow.

Harry slid onto the bench beside Ron, who was methodically working his way through a stack of toast while reading a Quidditch magazine propped against a jug of pumpkin juice.

"Morning," Harry mumbled, reaching for the coffee.

"Someone's looking chipper," Ron commented without looking up from his magazine. "Good dreams?"

Before Harry could respond, Hermione dropped into the seat across from them, her hair slightly frizzed from the morning's humidity. "Oh, Harry! You just missed Fleur – she was looking for you."

Harry's head snapped up so fast he nearly spilled his coffee. His eyes scanned the staff table eagerly, only to find no trace of the french witch. The burst of laughter from his friends made him realize he'd been tricked.

"That's not funny," he grumbled, though his lips twitched despite himself.

"Your face though," Ron chuckled, finally setting down his magazine. "Priceless."

"I hate you both," Harry said without heat, buttering his toast with perhaps more force than necessary.

"So," Hermione said, helping herself to some porridge, "are we watching the match later? After Charms?"

"Yeah, Hannah's saved us seats in the Hufflepuff section," Ron replied. "Though I reckon some of us might have other seating arrangements in mind." He shot a meaningful look at Harry.

"I need to watch Ravenclaw's formations," Harry defended, steadfastly avoiding his friends' knowing grins. "For strategy."

"Strategy. Right." Hermione's voice was thick with amusement.

"Speaking of assistant professors…" Ron's voice took on a sing-song quality that made Harry immediately wary. He glanced up at the staff table again, but this time his friends didn't laugh. "There's nobody there, Ron."

"I know. Just wanted to see if you'd look again."

Harry threw a bit of toast at him, which Ron caught and ate with a triumphant grin.

"Honestly, you two," Hermione sighed, though her eyes were sparkling. "Though I have to say, Harry, yesterday must have gone well. You haven't stopped smiling since you got back."

"It was… nice," Harry said carefully, trying and failing to suppress another smile.

"Nice?" Ron repeated incredulously. "Mate, you came back looking like you'd won the Quidditch World Cup and found all the Deathly Hallows again."

"Shut up," Harry muttered, but he couldn't quite manage to look annoyed. "Don't we have class to get to?"

"Smooth change of subject," Ron laughed. "But yeah, we should head to Charms. Then we've got the rest of the day free for the match. Or for a snog, eh mate?"

Harry grabbed his bag, ignoring his friends' continued teasing. But as they made their way out of the Great Hall, he couldn't help one last glance at the staff table, even though it was empty.

The corridor leading to Charms was filled with the usual Monday morning traffic, students shuffling between classes with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Harry had just turned a corner when he nearly collided with Seamus and Dean, who were examining what appeared to be a complicated diagram for their Arithmancy homework.

"Watch it, lover boy," Seamus grinned, steadying himself. "Bit distracted this morning, are we?"

Dean rolled up the parchment with a knowing smile. "Can't blame him, mate."

Harry was saved from responding by movement in a quiet alcove nearby. Emma Dobbs emerged from behind a suit of armor, clutching her Transfiguration textbook to her chest. Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and her tie was slightly askew. To be more precise, it was barely in once piece.

"Morning, Harry," she said quietly, then surprised him by adding with a small smile, "Had a nice weekend?"

Harry blinked at his usually reserved Chaser. "Emma- what?"

She ducked her head, but not before Harry caught the mischievous glint in her eyes. "Sorry, but… well, you are sort of the talk of the common room. More than usual, I mean."

"Brilliant," Harry sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Just brilliant. Is there anyone in this castle who doesn't know about my private life?"

Emma seemed to consider this seriously. "Well, maybe Mrs. Norris? Though I wouldn't bet on it." She hesitated, then added, "Some of the fourth-years are actually quite upset with me, you know. Apparently being your Chaser makes me 'suspiciously close' to you."

There was something so absurd about this that Harry couldn't help but laugh. Emma – shy, dedicated Emma who could barely look him in the eye during their first practice – was teasing him about his love life. "The world's gone mad," he declared, but he was smiling as he said it.

"Mate, the world went mad ages ago," Dean pointed out reasonably. "You're just catching up."

They parted ways for their respective classes, Harry making his way to Charms with a weary sort of resignation. The classroom was already half-full, and he could feel several pairs of eyes following him as he took his usual seat. The air hummed with barely contained excitement – not for the lesson, but for the Quidditch match to come.

Professor Flitwick seemed to sense the restless energy in the room. His lecture on Advanced Atmospheric Charms barely held anyone's attention. Even Hermione's note-taking seemed perfunctory, her quill moving across the parchment with less than her usual enthusiasm. Harry watched with amazement.

It was incredible. Ron's love of Quidditch had somehow spread to a part of her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only forty minutes, Flitwick cleared his throat. "Well," he squeaked, glancing at the window, "perhaps we should end a bit early today. Please review chapters seven through nine for next week-"

The rest of his words were lost in the sudden rustle of bags being packed and chairs scraping against stone. Harry took his time gathering his things, aware that he probably wasn't fooling anyone with his deliberate slowness. Finally, after a few minutes, he shouldered his bag, letting the familiar weight settle against his back as the last echoes of chairs scraping stone faded from Flitwick's classroom. His fingers absently traced the strap's worn edge. The morning light streamed through the high windows, casting long rectangles of warmth across the flagstones.

"Going to change before the match?" Ron asked, already halfway to the door.

"Yeah, meet you there?" Harry's eyes instinctively swept the corridor outside.

Ron's knowing grin was met with an eye-roll. "She's probably already at the pitch, mate. Setting up those fancy French protection charms she was telling us about last week."

"Who?" Harry asked. Ron gave him a did-you-really-ask-that look. Harry started, then caught himself. "Just go, you prat."

The walk back to the Tower was quieter than usual, most students having already made their way to the pitch. The dorm was empty when he arrived, sunlight streaming through the windows and catching dust motes in its beam. One of Neville's plants was singing a song in the background.

Harry moved to his trunk, fingers finding the familiar wool of his team pullover. The gold lettering – POTTER – gleamed as he pulled it over his head, the fabric carrying the faint scent of broom polish and leather.

"Looking good, dear," the mirror offered as he passed. Harry nodded a thanks, as he walked past, entering the quiet corridor that hummed with the familiar nervous energy he felt before every match. Harry's feet carried him toward the lesser-used route to the grounds, partly from habit and partly from a half-formed hope of avoiding the main crowds.

He was just rounding the corner near the old Charms corridor when a voice called out, "Oh! Harry Potter!"

Harry turned to find a girl in Ravenclaw robes hurrying toward him, her dark hair swinging in a neat ponytail. There was something familiar about her features – the same delicate bone structure and graceful movements he remembered from-

"You're Andria, right?" he said, watching recognition light up her face. "Cho's sister?"

She nodded, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "I didn't think you'd know who I was."

"Course I do. Cho mentioned you made Beater last term. Said you've got a wicked aim with those Bludgers."

Andria's blush deepened, but her smile grew more confident. "Well, I learned from watching us eagles play against you, actually. All those times you'd dodge at the last second? I started practicing that timing."

Harry leaned against the window ledge, amused. "So you're using my own moves against me? Should I be worried?"

"Maybe," she laughed, then bit her lip.

Harry laughed. "Not playing today?"

"No," her face fell. "One game suspension for mouthing off Madame Hooch last time."

"That's brilliant," Harry snorted, trying and failing to hide his laughter. "So, just coming to watch then?"

"Actually… I was hoping to ask you something. About Defense? Professor Vector was saying you sometimes help younger students with practical work."

Harry nodded. I wasn't unusual for younger students to ask him for help with spells, even though he kept telling them Hermione was probably a better spellcaster. "Having trouble with something specific?"

"Shield Charms," she admitted, fidgeting with her wand. "I can cast them, but they're not very strong. And with OWLs coming up-"

"Here, show me?" Harry straightened, professional interest piqued. When Andria hesitated, he added with a small smile, "I promise not to throw anything too nasty at you."

She raised her wand, determination replacing nervousness. "Protego!"

The shield that formed was technically correct but wavered slightly at the edges. Harry circled it slowly, noting the weak spots. "Not bad, actually. But you're holding back on the power – see how it's thinner here?" He pointed to the upper left quadrant. "Try it again, but this time.."

They spent several minutes working on her technique, Harry offering gentle corrections to her stance and wand movement. Andria proved to be a quick study, her shield growing notably stronger with each attempt. She was really smart, Harry had to admit. Just like Cho.

"Much better," he nodded a few minutes later as her latest shield shimmered solidly before them. "Though your sister was right about your aim being your real talent. That Bludger last match we had nearly took my head off."

Andria's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, so you noticed that was me?"

"Hard to miss," Harry laughed. "Though I suppose I deserved it, after how things ended with Cho."

"She's actually dating a Muggle now," Andria offered. "Some university student she met in London. Much less complicated, she says."

"Smart of her." Harry glanced out the window, where students were already streaming toward the pitch. "Speaking of which, I should probably head down. Match starts soon."

"Right! Of course." Andria gathered her books, then paused. "Thanks, Harry. For the help, I mean. And for being so… normal about everything."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Normal?"

"You know," she gestured vaguely. "The whole famous Harry Potter thing. Most people get weird about it, but you're just… nice."

Something in her tone made Harry study her more carefully. There was admiration there, certainly, but also something else – a hint of that same starstruck look he'd seen too many times before. He felt a familiar discomfort settle in his stomach. "Well," he said carefully, "being famous for surviving something terrible isn't all it's cracked up to be. Trust me."

Andria's expression shifted, understanding replacing the earlier look. "No, I suppose it wouldn't be." She smiled, more genuinely now. Harry watched her disappear down the corridor, ponytail swinging, before turning toward the grounds.

The Ravenclaw stands rose before Harry like a wall of blue and bronze, alive with the buzz of pre-match excitement. Scarves fluttered in the crisp morning breeze and the familiar scent of wood polish and leather drifted up from the pitch, mingling with the sharper notes of early spring.

As Harry approached, the buzz of conversation dimmed noticeably. He could feel the weight of dozens of eyes tracking his movement, could hear the whispers starting like ripples in still water.

"Is that Harry Potter?"

"What's he doing in our section?"

"Did you hear about him and—"

The whispers grew, spreading through the stands like wildfire. Harry felt his shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. This was a mistake. He should have just stayed with the Gryffindors, where at least the staring was familiar-

"Leaving so soon, 'Arry?"

The voice behind him sent warmth spreading through his chest despite the morning chill. Harry turned to find Fleur watching him, her silver-blonde hair caught in the breeze, her eyes dancing with barely contained amusement.

"I, uh…" Harry's hand found the back of his neck, a nervous habit he'd never quite outgrown. "Wasn't sure where to—"

"GOOD MORNING, HOGWARTS!" Lee Jordan's magically amplified voice boomed across the pitch, making several first-years jump. "Welcome to today's match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff!"

Fleur's hand found Harry's, her fingers intertwining with his naturally. "Come," she said simply, tugging him toward the staff section. "I saved you a seat."

The whispers followed them up the stairs, but somehow they mattered less with Fleur's hand in his. She led him to a row near the front, where the view of the pitch was unobstructed. The wooden bench was slightly wider here, more comfortable than the standard student seating.

"AND HERE COME THE TEAMS!" Lee's voice rang out as they settled in. "Ravenclaw in blue, led by Captain Wilco Davies…"

Seven blue-robed figures shot onto the field in perfect formation, their entrance met with thunderous applause from the surrounding stands. Harry felt Fleur shift closer, her shoulder pressing against his.

"Thank you," she said softly, her words nearly lost under the crowd's roar.

"For what?"

"For choosing to sit with me." Her eyes met his, sincere despite her smile. "I know your friends are probably wondering where you are."

"HUFFLEPUFF TAKES THE FIELD! Captain Herbert Fleet leading what might be their strongest lineup in years…"

Yellow robes streaked across the pitch now, weaving between the Ravenclaws in an impressive display of precision flying. The crowd's energy swelled, the very air seeming to vibrate with anticipation.

"Trust me," Harry said, leaning closer so she could hear him over the noise, "you're definitely worth the company."

A faint blush colored Fleur's cheeks, but before she could respond, Lee's voice cut through again: "AND THE SNITCH IS RELEASED! We're underway at Hogwarts!"

The crowd surged to their feet as fourteen players burst into motion. Harry and Fleur rose with them. The morning sun caught the players' robes, turning them into streaks of blue and yellow against the clear sky.

"FLEET WITH THE QUAFFLE! Nice dodge around Smith there, but watch that Bludger—"

Harry felt Fleur tense beside him as the iron ball whistled past the Hufflepuff captain. "Not a fan of Bludgers?" he teased, remembering their own match years ago.

"Zey are barbaric," she sniffed. "Zough I suppose zey make things more… interesting."

"RAVENCLAW SCORES! Ten-zero to the eagles!"

The stands erupted around them, students leaping and cheering. Someone behind them started a chant: "RAVENS! RAVENS! RAVENS!"

"You know," Fleur said during a lull in the action, her thumb tracing small circles on Harry's palm, "I never understood ze appeal of Quidditch before coming to 'Ogwarts."

"No?" Harry turned to look at her, momentarily distracted from the game. The wind had pulled strands of hair loose from her elegant twist, making her look somehow softer, more real.

"HUFFLEPUFF ON THE ATTACK! Smith breaks through, he's got support—"

"Non," Fleur continued once the cheering died down. "In Beauxbatons, we 'ad other sports. More… refined, per'aps." She gestured at the pitch, where a Bludger had just sent a Hufflepuff Chaser into a spiral. "Less violent."

"But now?"

"ANOTHER GOAL FOR RAVENCLAW! Twenty-zero!"

Fleur's response was lost in the crowd's roar, but her smile said enough. She leaned closer, her breath warm against Harry's ear. "Now I think I understand ze passion. Though perhaps," her eyes met his meaningfully, "I 'ave found other things to be passionate about."

Harry's heart skipped a beat, but before he could respond, the stands erupted again.

"IS THAT THE SNITCH? Both Seekers diving, this could be it—"

The entire crowd seemed to hold its breath as two players plummeted toward the ground. Harry felt himself tensing, years of Seeker instincts kicking in.

"SPECTACULAR FEINT by Davies! Summerby completely fooled there…"

Relief and excitement mingled in the crowd's response. Someone started up a new chant, this one in what sounded like badly accented French. Harry glanced at Fleur, who was trying and failing to hide her amusement. "Your accent is better," he told her, earning a soft laugh that somehow carried over the noise of the match.

"Flatterer," she accused. "Though please, continue."

"RAVENCLAW CALLS TIMEOUT! We're forty-twenty to the eagles with no sign of the Snitch-"

The players descended to the pitch for a brief respite, and the crowd's energy shifted. Around them, students began pulling out snacks and drinks, settling in for what could be a long match.

"'Arry?" Fleur's voice was soft, meant only for him despite the noise around them.

"Hmm?"

"I am glad you came to sit with me today." Her eyes met his, serious despite her smile. "Even with… everything else."

"Me too," he said simply.

The whistle blew, calling the players back to their brooms, and the match resumed its frenzied pace.

"SMITH WITH THE QUAFFLE! Breaking through the Ravenclaw defense…"

"Forty points to thirty!" Lee's voice rang out across the pitch. "BEAUTIFUL DODGE by Davies! The Quaffle's back in Ravenclaw possession and—"

The rest of Lee's commentary was lost in a deafening CRACK that seemed to split the very air.

For a fraction of a second, time seemed to slow, crystallizing into perfect clarity: the way Fleur's head jerked up, her eyes widening; the sudden silence as every voice in the stands fell silent at once; the strange, burning smell that filled the air.

Then the world exploded.

The nearest goalpost shattered in a blast of white-hot light, sending splinters of wood and metal raining down like deadly confetti. The sound hit a heartbeat later – a roar so loud it felt like a physical blow. Harry's ears rang as screams erupted around them, no longer the excited shrieks of spectators but something primal, terrified.

"Move!" Fleur's voice cut through the chaos, her hand yanking Harry sideways just as a chunk of debris crashed through the spot where they'd been sitting. The bench splintered on impact, sending wooden shards flying.

A second explosion rocked the stands, and this time Harry saw the flash of spell-light that preceded it. The entire section to their left began to collapse, wood groaning and snapping like bones.

"Help!" The cry came from somewhere beneath the wreckage. "Please, we're trapped!"

Harry's body tensed, every instinct screaming to rush toward the voice. But before he could move, Fleur's grip on his arm tightened.

"'Arry, wait!"

"There are people under there!" He tried to pull away, but her fingers dug in harder.

"Look!" She spun him around, forcing him to see what panic had blinded him to: the stands around them were descending into chaos. Younger students were being crushed against railings as others pushed forward in blind terror. A group of first-years huddled against the back wall, tears streaming down their faces as older students shoved past them.

"If we don't control this now," Fleur's voice was sharp with urgency, "more will die in the panic than from the attack."

She was right. Harry could see Professor McGonagall and Flitwick already rushing toward the collapsed section, their wands moving in complex patterns as they began to stabilize the wreckage.

"EVERYONE REMAIN CALM!" Lee's voice boomed across the pitch, though Harry could hear the strain in it. "ALL STUDENTS ARE TO RETURN TO THEIR COMMON ROOMS IMMEDIATELY! PREFECTS, GUIDE YOUR HOUSES—"

Another explosion cut through his words, closer this time. The stands swayed ominously.

"Emma!" Harry spotted his young Chaser pressed against a railing, her face white with terror. He fought his way toward her, Fleur at his heels.

"Harry!" Emma's voice cracked. "There's someone under the—"

"I know," he cut her off, gentle but firm. "The professors will help them. Right now, I need you to help me with something more important."

Her eyes were huge with fear, but she nodded.

"See those first-years?" Harry pointed to the huddled group, now in danger of being trampled. "They need a Chaser's precision to reach them. Think you can manage it?"

The familiar language of Quidditch seemed to steady her. Emma's chin lifted slightly, her Gryffindor training kicking in. "Yes. Yes, I can do that."

"Good. Get them to the stairs – the back ones, not the main exit. Fleur and I will clear you a path."

As Emma began weaving through the crowd with the determination of someone approaching a scoring hoop, Harry turned to find Fleur already casting. A shimmer of silver light spread before them, gently but firmly pushing panicked students aside to create a narrow corridor.

"'Arry!" Fleur's voice was tight with concentration. "The barrier won't 'old long!"

"STUDENTS, PLEASE PROCEED CALMLY!" Lee was still trying to maintain order, but his voice shook. "THE SITUATION IS UNDER—"

The rest of his words were drowned out by screams as a third explosion sent tremors through the entire structure. Somewhere below, wood cracked like gunshots.

"This way!" Harry's voice cut through the chaos as he guided another group of students toward the back stairs. Emma had already led three groups down, her Quidditch-honed agility proving invaluable in the cramped space.

"Harry Potter?" A tiny Hufflepuff girl stumbled, her yellow tie askew. "Is it – is it Death Eaters?"

The fear in her voice made his chest tight. "No," he said firmly, helping her up. "And you're going to be fine. Just stay close to—"

Another explosion rocked the stands. The girl grabbed his arm, trembling.

"Potter!" Professor McGonagall's voice rang out from below. "We need help with the east section!"

Harry looked between the professor and the terrified girl, torn. But then Fleur was there, her hand gentle on the child's shoulder.

"Go," she said softly. "I will get zem to safety."

The girl's grip on Harry's arm loosened slightly as Fleur spoke, her terror seeming to ease in the part-Veela's presence. Harry squeezed her hand once before letting go.

"Stay with Professor Delacour," he told her. "She's brilliant at protection charms."

The rubble was worse up close. McGonagall and Flitwick worked in tandem, their wands moving in perfect synchronization as they levitated massive chunks of debris.

"There are students trapped behind this section," McGonagall explained tersely. "We can hear them, but—"

"Help! Please!" The voice was muffled but unmistakable.

Harry's wand was already moving. "Reducto!" The spell hit the wooden barrier, splintering it – but not enough.

"Together, Potter," McGonagall commanded. "On three. One—"

Their spells hit simultaneously, and the barrier shattered. Dust billowed out, along with the sounds of coughing. As it cleared, Harry saw three students huddled in the small space – two Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff, covered in dirt but alive.

"Mr. Potter?" One of them blinked up at him, eyes wide. "You – you came to help us?"

"Course I did." Harry reached down, pulling the nearest student to their feet. "Everyone alright? Any injuries?"

"Sarah's ankle," the Hufflepuff boy said. "She can't—"

"I've got her." Harry cast a quick levitation charm, gentle enough to avoid jarring any injuries. "Professor, where should I—"

"Madam Pomfrey's set up in the Great Hall," McGonagall replied, already turning toward another section of wreckage. "Mr. Weasley! Over here!"

Ron appeared through the dust, his Head Boy badge glinting. "Bloody hell, Harry! We've been looking everywhere for—"

"Language, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said sharply, but her eyes betrayed her relief at seeing them both intact.

"Right, sorry. Hermione's organizing triage near the entrance. Want me to take them?"

Harry shook his head, still maintaining the levitation charm. "I've got it. Where do you need me after?"

"Upper stands," Ron replied grimly. "Some first-years got cornered when that last blast hit. Too scared to move now."

Harry's jaw tightened. "Right. I'll be there soon as I drop them off."

The trip to the Great Hall was slow, careful. Sarah whimpered whenever they hit uneven ground, but her friends kept up a steady stream of reassurance.

"Harry Potter himself came to help us," one whispered, awe mixing with lingering fear. "Just like in the stories…"

Harry pretended not to hear, focusing instead on keeping the levitation charm steady. The entrance hall was chaos – students being helped in by classmates, prefects trying to maintain order, Madam Pomfrey's voice rising above it all as she directed her impromptu medical team.

"Over here, Harry!" Hermione's hair was wild, her Head Girl badge slightly crooked, but her eyes were sharp and focused. "Ankle injuries on the left, Pomfrey's got a system going—"

"Harry!" The cry came from nearby. Dennis Creevey limped toward them, his face streaked with dirt but determined. "Need any help getting back out there?"

Harry carefully lowered Sarah onto a conjured stretcher before turning to Dennis. "Yeah, actually. These three need someone to stay with them, make sure they get treated. Think you can manage?"

Dennis straightened despite his obvious pain. "You can count on me!"

"Good man." Harry clasped his shoulder briefly. "Hermione, I'm heading back up—"

"Be careful," she cut in, her eyes fierce. "The structure's unstable and—"

"I know." He managed a small smile. "When am I not careful?"

Her expression suggested several choice responses to that, but she only said, "Ron's on the north side. The first-years—"

"I'm on it."

The journey back felt longer, each step carrying the weight of time he didn't have. The explosions had stopped, but their echoes seemed to linger in the air, in the way students flinched at sudden movements, in the tight faces of the professors as they worked. He found Ron near a partially collapsed stairwell, his wand illuminated against the shadows.

"They're up there," Ron said without preamble, gesturing to a dark corner. "Won't come down. Can't really blame them, after-"

Harry lit his own wand, letting the light fall soft and steady. "Hello?" he called up. "Anyone there?"

A small face peered out from behind a broken beam. "Go away! It's not safe!"

"You're right," Harry replied calmly. "It's not safe. That's why we need to get you somewhere that is."

"But – but what if it explodes again?"

Another face appeared, tear-streaked but curious. "Is that… are you really Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, I am." Harry took a careful step forward. "And I promise you, nothing's going to explode while we're getting out of here. Want to know why?"

Several heads nodded hesitantly.

"Because I learned from the best." Harry's voice stayed steady, gentle. "Professor McGonagall herself taught me protection charms. And you know what else? I've got Ron Weasley with me – he's brilliant at shield spells. Between the two of us-"

"You fought in the Battle of Hogwarts," one of them whispered. "You saved everyone."

Harry's chest tightened, but he kept his voice light. "Well, I had a lot of help. Just like now. Speaking of which – think you lot could help us?"

"Us?" A small boy frowned. "How?"

"We need to get everyone to safety," Harry explained. "But some people might still be scared. If Harry Potter's team of brave first-years could help show them the way, we could save many."

"We – we could do that," the first girl said hesitantly. "Right, Tommy?"

The boy nodded, his fear seemingly forgotten in the face of having a mission. One by one, they began emerging from their hiding place, drawing courage from each other.

"Brilliant," Ron said warmly. "Now, everyone hold hands – that's it. I'll take the front, Harry's got the back. Just like the DA, eh, mate?"

Harry met his friend's eyes over the children's heads, understanding passing between them. "Yeah," he said softly. "Just like the DA."

Together, they began the careful descent, their wands casting steady light against the lengthening shadows. Behind them, the broken stands creaked in the wind, a reminder of how quickly peace could shatter.

The journey back felt like walking through fragments of a broken mirror – each shard reflecting a different kind of fear. Their small procession moved slowly, the first-years still holding hands, their faces smudged with dust but determined. Harry brought up the rear, his wand ready, thoughts spinning like autumn leaves in a storm.

"Harry!" Neville's voice carried across the entrance hall. His face was streaked with dirt, his robes torn at the sleeve. "Found another group?"

"Yeah," Ron called back. "Any news on—"

A crash from somewhere above made everyone jump. One of the first-years squeaked in terror, but Tommy – the small boy who'd been most afraid earlier – squeezed her hand.

"It's okay," he said with all the gravity an eleven-year-old could muster. "We're Harry Potter's team, remember?"

The Great Hall swam into view, transformed now into something between a hospital wing and a refugee camp. Madam Pomfrey's crisp voice rose above the chaos, directing students and staff alike with military precision.

"'Arry?" Fleur's voice cut through. She stood beside him, silver hair dulled with dust but somehow still radiant. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he said quickly.

"You should rest," Fleur said softly, her hand finding his. "You 'ave done enough for now."

"Just a bit longer," he promised instead. "There might still be people who need help."

Fleur's eyes searched his face, concern evident in their depths. But before she could speak, McGonagall's voice rang out across the hall.

"All students are to remain in the Great Hall until further notice. Prefects, please organize your houses. Head Boy, Head Girl – a moment of your time."

Harry watched as Ron and Hermione hurried toward the Headmistress. In the background, a subtle motion caught his eye, headed towards the Headmistress' Office.

It was Graves. And his face held an expression Harry had seen time and time again.

Guilt.

"'Arry," Fleur's voice held a note of gentle reproach. She must have seen his staring.

"I know what I saw," he insisted, though even to his own ears the words sounded thin. "He's hiding something, Fleur. I can feel it."

She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Per'aps," she finally said, "but right now, there are students who need us. The rest… it can wait, non?"

She was right, of course. All around them, children huddled in groups, some crying, others trying to be brave. The torches flickered, casting dancing shadows across the ancient walls. Harry wasn't sure what to think. What if he was right? And worse – what if he was wrong?