Chapter 37
Coming Together
Draco Malfoy's exodus from Hogwarts was all anyone could talk about for the week. The berk had been lording it over everyone in the castle for four years running, and now he was suddenly gone. And even better, it was all down to his own stupidity.
Who else would have had the immense arrogance required to make a lethal run at someone right there in the Great Hall in front of everyone?
And then, adding fuel to the fire, there was Albus Dumbledore's abortive attempt to keep the matter out of the legal arena. It was one thing to excuse a minor schoolyard fracas, but a literal attempted murder? The students were suddenly seeing the Headmaster in a very different light.
Between Snape and Malfoy, they were left wondering if their esteemed Headmaster had ever given even the slightest damn about the well being of the innocent children he was responsible for.
It was likely that their sentiments were winging their way back to their parents attached to a veritable parliament of owls, and as far as Fleur was concerned, that could only help. Many of the students had family who were on the Wizengamot. Some even had parents who were involved. Every little hit to Dumbledore's reputation among the members strengthened their ability to deal with him when the time came.
And then Malfoy's surprisingly rapid conviction was reported, and that took over as the topic of choice for the week following.
Unlike his father, Draco did not get life in Azkaban – but he didreceive a ten year sentence. The difference was down to his age, and the fact that he did not successfully cast an Unforgivable. Of course, from what Fleur knew of Azkaban, he would be very lucky to survive it, let alone with his sanity intact.
The British Wizengamot, like Madam Bones, apparently did not want that sort of person running loose in society. Who knew?
And once more Albus Dumbledore managed to shoot himself in the foot, as the Muggles would say. Specifically, he chose to act as defense barrister for the younger Malfoy, and failed miserably. Draco Malfoy was convicted on his own words; a lifetime of arrogance learned at his father's knee led him to believe that his money would get him out of anything — money that he didn't seem to realize he no longer had, at that — and thus he saw no issue with admitting his intentions, fully and openly.
Dumbledore's defense was sunk before it could even get started, and he was left with nothing more than egg on his face.
The Daily Prophet took great delight in rubbing his nose in it over the course of the week. This was, again, all to the good: if the public thought that Dumbledore was losing it, then anyone continuing to support him would be seen in the same light. They weren't there yet — Dumbledore had a lot of nearly fanatical supporters that they would have to convince — but every little bit helped.
The old man took to glaring at the Potters at every available opportunity, but as before they simply ignored him.
But while all this was going on amongst the Hogwarts contingent, Harry was getting more and more unsettled by the lack of news regarding a trial for his godfather. Fleur could understand this; the man was completely innocent of the crimes he was accused of, and they had handed the Minister an easy way to save face when he corrected it. They were both starting to wonder if the Minister's apparent sincerity had been too good to be true.
Fortunately for all concerned, their fears were put to rest with the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. Fleur sensed her father's hand in the announcement too, as it took yet another not-so-veiled swipe at Dumbledore:
Sirius Black: Guilty — or Innocent?
by Cordelia Chase
In a surprising move late yesterday evening, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge announced that a trial will soon be held for Sirius Orion Black III on the matter of the betrayal of the Potter family to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on that infamous Halloween night in 1981. This has raised a great many questions, not least of which is, "why bother with a new trial for a convicted Death Eater?"
That question has the simplest and yet most shocking of answers: Sirius Black was never convicted of the crimes in question. In fact, he was never even tried in the first place. He was simply arrested and tossed into Azkaban without any investigation whatsoever.
"Black's guilt has been called into question by events that I can't speak of due to the ongoing investigation," stated Minister Fudge. "I can't say which way the trial will go. I can only say that we will get to the truth, and act accordingly to rectify this error by the previous administration if needed."
Error, indeed.
Every single Death Eater had a trial after the end of the war, save one: Sirius Black. Even the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange and recently-convicted Lucius Malfoy had trials. But not Black. Why?
The answer to that question is currently unknown.
The who, however, is well documented. Official records from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement show that the transfer to Azkaban was signed off by three people: Bartemius Crouch, then head of the DMLE; Millicent Bagnold, then Minister of Magic; and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore as Chief Warlock.
One can't help but notice that Albus Dumbledore's competence is once more called into question. What is going on with our esteemed Chief Warlock? Has it been going on longer than we thought?
Perhaps it is time to investigate Albus Dumbledore and find out once and for all if he is fit to hold the positions of power he currently enjoys.
"Yes! It's about time!" crowed Harry, who had been reading over her shoulder.
Smiling, she wrapped an arm around him and drew him close. "Padfoot will be pleased," she predicted. "Zere is no date, though."
"I'm sure your Dad will let us know," he replied.
"Now we just have to hope that the Wizengamot is mostly honest," fretted Hermione.
"It'll be fine," opined Neville. "Malfoy was the source of a lot of bribes according to Gran. Without him, there aren't as many willing to spread gold around. And with House Malfoy sidelined, I can't think of anyone else who would benefit from stopping Black being declared innocent."
"Not to mention that nobody wants to be on Harry's bad side," said one of the twins.
"Once they find out that Padfoot is Harry's godfather, they'll know that they have to be honest or face the consequences," agreed the other.
"Harrykins has a pretty good track record lately," noted the first.
"They won't want to go against that," said the other.
"They're right," agreed Neville. "Harry is popular right now, and they won't want to be seen to be on the wrong side of him."
Harry blinked at this information, and Fleur gave him another squeeze. His aversion to fame was one of his better qualities, as far as she was concerned. It was unlikely he would ever let it go to his head; instead, he would avoid it as much as possible.
===[~]===
Late that night, all four Champions stood quietly just off the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, staring at Ludo Bagman's retreating back. They had just been informed of the nature of the Third Task of the Tournament. It was going to be a maze.
As if they couldn't tell that simply by the state of the pitch.
Harry was not nearly as much of a Quidditch nut as, say, Ron Weasley (even Victor Krum wasn't that obsessive about Quidditch, and that was saying something), but he still thought it sacrilege. Then again, he also thought it horribly unfair for those that wanted to play professionally that they cancelled Quidditch this year in the first place. And all for a Tournament with only a single competitor from Hogwarts.
Shaking his head to clear those thoughts, he turned back to the problem at hand. A maze wasn't so bad, but the fact that it would be full of some of Hagrid's more interesting creatures certainly was. Harry, more than most, had a fair idea of what kinds of creatures might be involved there. But what could he do about it?
Before he could figure that out, though, his train of thought was interrupted — by Cedric Diggory of all people.
"Is it just me," wondered the real Hogwarts Champion, "or is this Tournament a complete joke? The audience will be staring at the outside of the maze for however long. They won't be able to see a single thing!"
Harry thought Cedric was right — on all counts — and his mind started churning. If he and Fleur weren't the only ones who thought this was a useless exercise, then that might open up some options…
"Da," agreed Viktor. "They stared at the vater for an hour in the last task. I vonder who thought of that?"
"Dumbledore or Bagman, probably," mused Harry absently.
They all fell silent for a moment, and he continued to turn over the problem in his head. He had an idea that he thought would be fitting, but he wasn't sure how the others would take it. Well, Fleur he could predict, but Cedric and Krum?
"What if we stuck it to the Tournament for this task?" he blurted before he could stop himself.
"Vut do you have in mind?" asked Krum curiously.
"Non, not 'ere," frowned Fleur, who was studying Harry intently. "I know zis look. Let us take zis somewhere more private."
Surprisingly, both of their fellow Champions were amenable, and they quickly made the trek to the Beauxbatons carriage, which the other two had never seen the inside of before. Had they waited even just another minute or two before leaving the pitch then something more interesting might have happened, but as it stood they arrived without incident. Fleur led them all into their suite, which thankfully had a reasonably sized sitting room.
While she went to gather some drinks, Harry settled into an armchair and ignored the others while trying to think things through. There were no rules against his idea so far as he knew; it was just a matter of selling it to his fellow competitors. And then they would have to deal with the fallout, which was much harder to predict.
He absently took a swig from a butterbeer that his wife handed him and thought for a moment longer before she finally prodded him.
"Now zen, mon amour," she said, "why don't you tell us what is putting zat expression on your face?"
Harry shook himself and focused back in, first on Fleur's beautiful face, but then he took a hard look at Viktor and Cedric. He didn't know either of them well, but he knew them well enough to think that they would hear him out. Their expressions were serious ones, so he started talking.
"One of the points of this Tournament is to — how did they put it? Improve international cooperation, right?"
"Not the words they used," said Cedric, "but yeah, that's a big part of it. Why?"
"I was just thinking that competing against each other isn't very cooperative, is it?" Harry grinned.
Fleur got it instantly — her eyes widened, and a malicious sparkle appeared there. She, like him, was very angry with the Tournament organizers. Madam Maxime only got a pass because she had nothing to do with the Task selection, and also had genuinely apologized to Fleur shortly after their wedding for getting her mixed up in it.
Cedric was a little slower, but then he blinked and a smile slowly appeared on his face.
Krum was apparently more of a thinker than Harry had given him credit for. He stared off into space for a long moment, the gears almost visibly turning in his head, before he turned a focused, interested expression on Harry.
"Vut did you have in mind?" he asked simply.
"We work together," said Harry simply. "We all wait for everyone, and go in together. We beat the maze together. And then we all take the cup together, and win the tournament together."
Were Harry anyone else, such a suggestion might have seemed utterly self serving. But this was Harry Potter – who was currently legitimately tied for first place, and with only a fraction of the education the other three had. That he was known to be almost completely selfless to begin with certainly didn't hurt either.
"Oh my," breathed Fleur. "Zat would be merveilleux!
Harry grinned tightly at her.
"I hate to say it, but I'm really liking this plan," admitted Cedric with a growing smile. "Especially given the kinds of creatures Hagrid is likely to put in that maze."
Krum, who had been studying Harry intently, raised one bushy eyebrow at Cedric. "Vill they be that bad?" he wondered.
"Oh yeah," nodded Cedric. "Hagrid has no idea what is actually dangerous to normal people."
"Then I like it," nodded Krum.
"Are we all in then?" asked Cedric. "I am."
"Da," nodded Krum.
"I no longer care 'oo weens," shrugged Fleur. "I am een."
There was a brief silence. Harry, for his part, was busy staring off into space. Another idea had occurred to him that could make the task trivially simple to accomplish. A poke from his wife brought him back out of his thoughts, though.
"Huh?" he blinked. Then he mentally replayed the conversation in his head. "Oh, yeah, I'm in."
"What were you thinking about?" wondered Fleur. "Your mind was elsewhere."
"Oh, I just had an even worse idea is all. We'd have to check the rules to see if it would work, though."
Cedric studied him for a moment, before he finally leaned back and raised his butterbeer in salute. "You've had one good idea tonight," he said. "Why not try for two? I've got the time."
"I have novhere else to be," smirked Krum.
"And I am already at 'ome," grinned Fleur.
Harry smirked and explained his idea.
And they laughed long and hard, each of them envisioning the scene. Only a a few very minor tweaks were needed to flesh it out, and – presuming the rules allowed it – they were ready to go.
And so it was settled: they were going to work together — and they were going to make an absolute mockery of the Tournament.
===[~]===
"Did you look at the rules?"
"Yup. There basically aren't any."
"What?"
"We can't start with anything but our wand, but that was the only restriction."
"Bon."
The Third Task was going to be very interesting indeed.
Chapter 38
Violent Dreams
Not much happened over the next few days, a fact for which Fleur was grateful. Things in Harry's life tended to move rather rapidly by her standards, and she occasionally felt like she might get swept away. The calmer things were, the happier she was.
Harry felt no differently, but he was clearly much more accustomed to the pace that fate forced upon him.
Another thing that helped her mood was that they knew exactly what to do for the last task — and Cedric and Viktor would be joining them. It was so simple and so obvious, that it really wouldmake a total mockery of the Tournament. She could only see that as a good thing.
And it required no training time, which was even better!
When Monday rolled around, they went right back to their normal schedules. For Fleur, this meant sitting around in the Beauxbatons carriage and studying on her own; Harry and Hermione did so about half the time. They had just sat down for the afternoon session, in fact, and were happily studying.
Fleur noted that Harry looked sleepy, but ignored it. It had long since become clear that he was a very hard worker, and that he occasionally overdid things. One extra nap wouldn't hurt anything if he fell asleep, and might help in fact, so she didn't see the need to bother him.
While one might expect that Hermione might be annoyed be his lacking attention, she wasn't. She had noted the extreme improvement in his grades since joining the Delacour family, and so kept her own counsel. She didn't care how he studied, as long as he studied enough to do well in classes.
Fleur only knew this because they had discussed it a few weeks prior. It was a very new sensation having a friend at all, let alone a female one, and she certainly wasn't complaining. She also easily saw why Harry liked the girl; while she had her quirks to be certain, she was also extremely intelligent, and her morals and ethics were right where they should be.
She'd had to nip S.P.E.W. in the bud, though. Fortunately, however, the proper information had taken care of that very quickly. Elves were not slaves; they were symbiotic. Once Hermione understood that, it was fine. Well, that and calling her out on the name.
For such an intelligent girl, she could occasionally miss the blazingly obvious, and Harry was too overly polite at times to mention it.
Smiling faintly to herself at the thought, she moved aside her Arithmancy work and pulled her Runes book over. Ancient Runes was a favorite of hers, so she almost always saved it for last. She was just getting into it though, when she was interrupted.
Harry let out a pained scream, and suddenly sat bolt upright, wild-eyed and breathing heavily, one hand over the famous scar on his forehead.
Both girls moved like lightning; Hermione took to his side and put an arm around him, clearly thinking that he might have had a bad dream. This was far from impossible — he'd had more than a few since they started sleeping in the same bed — but some deeply-rooted instinct told her otherwise.
She knelt in front of him and looked him in the eye, noting the way that he locked onto her gaze, drinking her in as he slowly settled.
"'Arry?" she prompted.
"Vision," he grunted. "Voldemort. Not fun."
Fleur furrowed her brow in worry. "You 'ad a vision?" she echoed. "What did you see?"
"He was mad about something," he explained, his voice still pained and breathy. "Don't know what. Wormtail screwed up somehow, but they fixed it. He put the Cruciatus on him to punish him. That was when I woke up." His voice got even smaller as he added, "It really hurt."
Fleur left it to Hermione to offer him physical comfort for a moment, and closed her eyes as she contemplated the possible ramifications of this. She did not know how it was possible, but she was certain that his curse scar had something to do with it. They were going to have to figure this out, and soon.
The fact that Voldemort might be active was, frankly, terrifying. They had discussed his vision over the summer, and she had no doubt that he would not lie about such things. This meant that they had a serious problem: they could not fight both Voldemort and Dumbledore at the same time by any stretch of the imagination, and she was certain that Voldemort would target Harry for the mere fact of his survival so many years ago.
What concerned her more immediately, though, was the way he shuddered when he mentioned the Cruciatus Curse. He was not one to give into pain – he'd experienced far too much of it in his life for it to hold much sway over him – and so to admit that something hurt spoke volumes. And since she had been taught what to look for, she was even more concerned.
She had never seen it before, but from what they had been taught, he was showing all the signs of exposure to that awful curse.
"You need to see a 'ealer, 'Arry," she told him quietly. "Zis should not be 'appening, and I do not like eet."
"I'm fine," he said with a shake of his head.
Fleur shook her head. "Non, you are not," she retorted, and then snorted at Hermione, who grinned wryly back, having echoed her sentiment at the same time.
"You are suffering from zat curse," she continued, "but zat is not what I meant. Zey need to examine your scar, 'Arry. We must know 'ow zis ees 'appening in case eet ees a problem."
Harry groaned and leaned forward, and Fleur gently wrapped her arms around him so he could rest his head on her shoulder. She knew that this was not an act of physical pain or exhaustion, but rather his dislike of healers speaking. The Hogwarts Healer had not done him any favors, constantly shoving nasty-tasting potions down his throat, and it was something she was deeply annoyed by: potions did not taste bad unless the maker wanted them to (or was a rank amateur).
This was Magic, not chemistry!
"She's right, Harry," Hermione chimed in. "It's worth getting it checked out. If Madam Pomfrey was the best there is, she'd be working at St. Mungo's or something, not in a school."
"Fine," he mumbled.
Fleur couldn't help the smile that overcame her at his petulance.
It took about ten minutes to track down Maxime and get a Portkey made to take them to the Chateau — Harry was still obviously pained, and she doubted that a Floo ride would do him any good — and then they were away. Hermione couldn't accompany them, much to her dismay; Fleur was an adult, and Harry had his guardian's permission, but Hermione did not have either advantage.
Moments later, Fleur was steadying Harry in the entryway, and had just helped him get his precarious balance back when her mother came bustling into the room. Her expression turned alarmed when she saw them.
"Fleur?" she prompted urgently, even as she rushed forward and hugged Harry, only to pull away again and examine him critically.
"Eet is complex, Maman," she said. "Is Papa 'ere?"
Arienne shook her head. "Non, 'e is at work. What do you need?"
"We must take 'Arry to a 'ealer," she said heavily. "'E is suffering from Cruciatus exposure, and I think 'is curse scar could be a problem. 'E 'ad a vision of Voldemort."
Arienne's eyes bugged out and she immediately conjured a rope and turned it into a Portkey. "Zis will take us to ze 'ospital," she said, gently forcing Harry take hold of it. His eyes were starting to droop.
Fleur nodded and grabbed hold, and next thing they knew, they were standing in the lobby of Hôpital Magique de Paris, and an attendant bustled over. Arienne quickly gave the name of their family Healer and noted that it was an emergency – and on realizing who they were, the woman bustled quickly away to find her. Harry's weight was falling more and more on Fleur, and she doubted they had much longer before he passed out in sheer exhaustion; the vision had taken a lot out of him.
The attendant returned a moment later and led them to a private room on the second floor, where Fleur lowered him onto the edge of the bed. He looked dejected and quite embarrassed, but she tried to ignore it. He hated showing weakness, but he needed to learn when it was necessary to admit that he needed help.
His relatives had made him think that he was somehow unworthy of care, and that annoyed her to no end. She intended to do all she could to ensure that he knew that he was far more worthy than most. It would probably take a lot of effort, but the sooner she succeeded, the better as far as she was concerned.
It wasn't long before a young American woman that Fleur recognized as the Healer entered the room. She had no idea why an American Healer had chosen to work in France, but she genuinely liked the woman. She was pleasant and caring.
And her eyes widened when she saw who she was dealing with, though it only lasted a moment before she turned to Fleur's mother.
"On m'a dit il s'agit d'une urgence, Arienne?" she said.
Arienne waved a hand. "Eenglish please, Naomi," she requested. "And yes, it is an emergency. My son-in-law..." She suddenly frowned and turned to Fleur, who sighed.
"'E 'ad some kind of vision," she explained. "'E witnessed Voldemort casting ze Cruciatus, and I think 'e experienced ze effects of it. 'is curse scar ees eenflamed, and 'e grabbed it when ze vision struck."
Harry blinked up at her. "I did?" he asked blankly.
Fleur smiled patiently at him. "You did," she told him.
"Oh."
The Healer stood there for a moment in thought, and then nodded a few times to herself. "Alright, let's take a look," she decided. "I'm not sure what could cause that, so I'll need to do a full series. It won't take too long."
Harry winced, and Fleur stroked his damp hair, as Arienne responded. "Give 'im a full examination while you are at it, Naomi," she requested. "I do not believe 'e 'as 'ad a proper one, so eet ees long past due."
"I'm okay, ma'am," he said weakly, his obvious fear forcing him to unconsciously revert to more formal behavior.
Arienne cast an understanding smile on him and brushed his hair back from his forehead, revealing the livid red of his scar. "You know better zan zat, 'Arry," she said gently. "You are not in trouble, but I must insist on zis. We should 'ave 'ad it done when we took custody of you. Zere was so much going on zat we just missed eet."
Harry studied her for a moment before finally nodding and closing his eyes. "'E ees exhausted," whispered Fleur.
"I'll make it as quick as I can, Fleur," smiled Naomi. Then she smirked and asked, "Or do you prefer Mrs. Potter?"
Fleur smirked in amusement. "You know better," she retorted. "But at least you can remember, unlike zat bâtard 'ogwarts calls a 'eadmaster."
Naomi snorted and motioned for her to lay him out on the bed. "One day you'll have to tell me that story," she smirked. "I have to admit, I'm mighty curious what's got you so pissed off at him. But let's get this done and we can talk later."
And so it began. Naomi started by giving him a potion for the effects of Cruciatus – which immediately relieved some of his pain — and then began casting spell after spell, starting with the most common medical diagnostics and going from there. Fleur was not surprised to see her expression go from pleasant to positively thunderous as she worked: Harry was not in the best of shape, and definitely needed care.
Fleur herself had been intending to handle that issue over the summer, but now it was a moot point. He would get the best care possible, of this she was certain. There was a reason they liked Healer Parks: she was very good at what she did.
Finally, she put her wand away and sat down on the edge of the bed, where Harry had actually fallen asleep. Fleur was mildly surprised when she reached out and brushed his cheek with her hand, looking deeply troubled. Finally she sighed and returned her attention to the Delacour women.
She considered her words carefully for a moment before– "How much do you know about his past?" she asked bluntly.
"Too much, Naomi," said Arienne sadly. "'E was badly abused, of zis we are aware. Eet ees why we now 'ave 'im."
Naomi nodded slowly. "Then you won't be surprised by what I'm going to say," she sighed. "He's had more broken bones than I care to count, and it's probably only his magic that forced them to set right. Bruises, cuts, scars... The boy must have one hell of a tolerance for pain, or he never would have survived it all."
Fleur abruptly realized that Harry was sleeping for a reason: she had cast a sleeping spell on him. There was no other way she would have discussed this in the same room with him. It wasn't the way things were done.
And she was clearly very disturbed.
"If that were all it was," she said slowly, "I would give him some nutritional potions and let him go with a recommendation to see a Mind Healer. That we'll still do, but there's more that I don't think you're aware of."
"What is it?" asked Fleur, reverting to French since Harry was asleep.
Naomi sighed. "Were you aware that he has a block on his magic?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
Fleur instantly paled. Blocks were not only immoral, they were highly illegal in every civilized country. The only place they could be used was on dangerous criminals. To forcibly cut off any part of a wizard's magic could cause all sorts of problems.
"What?" hissed her mother.
Naomi nodded sadly. "It looks like it was placed approximately ten years ago," she said heavily. "And it's powerful. I'm frankly amazed that he can cast magic at all. It will be extremely painful to remove, but it absolutely must be done if you ever want him to have full access to his magic. The longer it's there, the more problematic it will be to remove, until it becomes permanent in maybe another year or two. We're already at the limit of what I think he can handle."
Fleur surged to her feet and walked away, trying desperately to keep her avian side in check. "That bastard!" she spat. "I am going to kill him!"
"Hush, Fleur," admonished her mother. "We will deal with Dumbledore later, but we must deal with 'Arry now."
Fleur closed her eyes for a moment and reigned in her temper. That man was going to pay! Every time she turned around he had done something else to make Harry's life that much worse. And this would be a big issue, because he would have to completely re-learn control of his magic!
"Go on," she growled.
"He will need to learn control of his new power levels, and it's impossible to say how difficult that will be. Some people get it almost instinctively, and for some it takes years. It won't be too much of a problem though, so long as he's careful about what he casts, when, and on what."
"I already know zis," nodded Fleur, not unkindly. "What else?"
"Other than several tracking charms that I removed?" mused Naomi, causing Fleur's hackles to rise again. "Put simply, you're right that something is wrong with that scar of his, but that's all I can tell you. Dark Magic is not my area of expertise, and the thing is soaked in it. My recommendation would be to bring in a curse-breaker, and I know of only one who I would trust with this."
"Who?" asked Arienne.
"I doubt you've ever heard of him, but he works for Gringotts and comes highly recommended. His name is Bill Weasley."
Chapter 39
Fixing Harry
William "Bill" Weasley was not a person who one could consider normal, at least if you were to ask his mother. Not only did he wear an earring – almost unheard of for men in Wizarding society – but he had a distinct love of danger. His career as a curse-breaker was legendary among the goblins because he took big risks and came out ahead.
But even his love of danger could not make him turn down a direct request from Director Ragnok himself!
It would have been his first inclination were it any other goblin that made this request. He had been ordered to Paris on an immediate basis — pulling him out of an important dig in Egypt — and Ragnok had come in person to deliver that order. The problem was, all he had to go on was that he was to assist a Friend of the Goblin Nation. He had no idea what the job entailed.
Being a Friend of the Goblin Nation was no small thing for a Wizard, so he was quite curious who he would be dealing with, and more than a little apprehensive. Worse, Ragnok had then produced a Wizard-made Portkey and told him to go immediately. He didn't say it, but his message was clear: no delay would be tolerated.
Whoever this person was, they were held in very high esteem indeed.
He arrived in the waiting room of the Parisian hospital without fanfare, and before he could even approach the desk, he was whisked away by a rather cute Healer. She said nothing – not even her name – and led him to an elevator that took them to the second floor. He wanted to flirt, but sensed that it would not be well received at the moment.
She led him down a hall and into a room near the end, and Bill stopped dead in his tracks when he found himself facing a very attractive Veela. He would have put her age at about twenty in a human, but for her he guessed it might be more like fifty. She was incredibly beautiful, as were all Veela, and he couldn't stop himself from peeking at her left hand.
Damn, he thought. Married.
"You are Beel Weasley?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," he nodded, thankfully unaffected by her allure. "Director Ragnok sent me. What can I do for you?"
The woman didn't bat an eye at the reference to the Goblin leader. "You can take an Oath, Monsieur Weasley," she said seriously, "zat nothing you see or do 'ere will leave zis room wizout our consent. Zis ees very serious, and I give you my word zat eet ees nuzzing illegal or immoral."
She's nothing if not direct, he mused to himself.
It was definitely a risky proposition. If he took the oath and found something untoward in the job, he would have no recourse. Then again, he did love danger, and the request came from Ragnok himself, so it was damned if you do, damned if you don't. He elected to do.
He drew his wand and held it in the air. "I, William Arthur Weasley, do hereby solemnly swear on my magic that I will keep the secrets entrusted to me by the people in this room on this day, barring their permission to speak. So mote it be."
He felt the magic take hold, and fought down a sense of foreboding.
"Thank you," she nodded, her voice softening slightly. "We 'ave requested your assistance to deal wiz a matter of Dark magic. My son-in-law ees affected by something, but we do not know what eet ees. We need to find out, and take whatever actions are necessary."
Bill nodded his understanding; it seemed a reasonable request. "Well, I can't say what I can do until I see him," he said honestly. "What's your name?"
"You may call me Arienne."
Not recognizing the name, he just nodded again. "And what are we looking at?" he asked.
"A curse scar," said the Healer next to him. "And I'm Healer Naomi Parks, Mr. Weasley, I know your brother Charlie if you need a reference. In any event, we believe that the scar is somehow connected to a Dark wizard, resulting in an occasional merging of consciousness. We don't understand it beyond that. All I can tell you is that the patient had a vision this afternoon, seeing from the eyes of the wizard in question, and was subjected to intense pain when the wizard cast the Cruciatus Curse."
Bill frowned deeply as he listened to the explanation. There were very few ways to create a connection with those properties, and none of them were good at all. He was liking this less and less, but at least the people involved so far seemed to be on the level.
"That's not good," he admitted. "You should be prepared for bad news on this one. I'll do what I can, but something that works like that is the Darkest of Magic, and I only know of a few things that can cause it, all of them heinous."
Arienne closed her eyes, and a pained expression crossed her beautiful features. "You must do what you can, Monsieur Weasley," she said softly. "'E as been through too much, and I do not think 'e will be able to take much more."
Bill's own expression softened at her obvious compassion, and he nodded his understanding. "Then let me see him, Arienne," he said gently. "I'll do everything in my power. This request came from Director Ragnok himself, and if it's important to the leader of the Goblin Nation, then it's important to me."
Arienne smiled at him. "Then come," she nodded.
She led Bill to a curtained off area in the corner and motioned him inside. But when he entered, his heart leapt into his throat. Whoever he expected, it was most certainly not the two people that were in the small area.
It was Harry and Fleur Potter!
"Oh boy," he breathed.
"Monsieur Weasley," nodded Fleur quietly. "Will you 'elp us?"
Bill didn't react at first. He had learned of Harry's abrupt marriage from his sister's letters, and also of the falling out between Ron and Harry — and just how well deserved it was on Ron's part. On top of that, he was aware of the Howler that his mother had sent — and he knew his mum well enough to know what that was likely to entail, even if Ginny hadn't known the exact content.
His little sister had a lot to say about the idiocy of certain family members. And the less said about her opinion of the Potter marriage, the better. Bill felt for her — he really did — but she needed to get over it; Harry Potter was married, and that was that.
The boy could still be considered a friend of the family. Not only was he a good kid by all accounts, but he was still friends with the Twins and, at least theoretically, even with Ginny. But he wasn't entirely sure that Harry would so easily accept help from him given the situation with Ron and his mother.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Mrs. Potter?" he asked slowly. "I like Harry well enough, but I'm not sure how he'll feel about me being the one to do this."
Fleur frowned up at him. "I do not know eizzer," she admitted.
"Then let's wake him up," he suggested. "I won't do anything unless I have his permission."
Bill had to admit that, forced marriage or not, Harry had done well for himself. Fleur was gorgeous, even for a Veela. Had she not already been married, he would likely have asked her out — and the cute thoughtful frown on her face did not do anything to dissuade him from that opinion.
"Very well," she sighed. "'ealer Parks?"
"There's no reason not to," shrugged the Healer. "And don't you dare get all formal with me, Fleur."
Fleur snorted cutely in amusement.
The Healer waved her wand over Harry, and it was only a few seconds before his eyelids fluttered open, and then immediately tracked to his wife. His confusion was apparent in the way his forehead scrunched up. He yawned widely before going back to staring at her.
"Fleur?" he asked sleepily.
"We 'ave brought a curse-breaker to look at your scar, mon amour," she said softly. "I think you know 'im."
Harry frowned slightly and turned his head to stare at Bill. He probably couldn't see without his glasses, because – rather amusingly – his eyes flicked to Bill's head for a moment. He almost couldn't suppress his chortle at that.
"Bill?" he called tentatively.
"Heya, Harry," he greeted. "Ragnok asked me to check you out, but I wanted your permission before I do anything. I'm not real sure how you feel about our family right now."
A sad look passed briefly over Harry's features. "It's fine, Bill," he said in a quieter tone. "Ron has his own problems. It's not your fault."
Bill noticed the lack of mention of their mother, but let it pass. Obviously, Harry wasn't going to hold it against him, which he could only count as positive. Now all he needed to do was pray that he didn't find something horrific.
"I'll tell you the same thing I told them," he said seriously. "I only know of a few things that can connect two people like they described, and they're not pleasant. I want you to be prepared to hear bad news, alright? I'll do whatever I can to help you, but I don't want you thinking there's a miracle cure here."
Harry nodded. "There never is, Bill," he sighed simply.
Bill grimaced at his fatalistic attitude, but put it aside for the moment and turned to his wife. "Mrs. Potter, I'll need to ask you to step away from him. On the off chance that something goes wrong here, I don't think he'll want you getting hurt."
"Fleur weel do," she said quietly.
And then Bill watched as she turned to have a quiet moment with her incredibly young husband, and was blown away by the depth of emotion he saw passing between them. He was not a particularly romantic man – he was more partial to the wild side – but he could recognize true love when he saw it. They were in deep, and he doubted they would ever surface again.
Finally she leaned over and gave him a gentle peck on the lips, and moved off to the side of the enclosure. Bill took that as his cue and moved forward to stand by Harry's head, contemplating the best way to approach it. He really hoped this wasn't as bad as he thought.
"I'm going to cast some detection spells," he explained. "You shouldn't feel a thing, but be prepared just in case. Let me know when you're ready."
Harry nodded immediately. "Go ahead."
Bill took a deep breath, raised his wand, and set to work. Curse breaking was not really as much about breaking curses as it was about determining which curses needed to be broken. He had an impressive arsenal of detection spells to work with, and only rarely did he need a special spell to break something. More often than not, it was just the application of standard spells along with a great deal of finesse.
But this was not going to be one of those times.
He hit on the answer in a matter of mere minutes, and he did not like it in the slightest. It was one of the Darkest forms of magic, and how Dumbledore had failed to notice it for four years running was a complete mystery. To say that he was unhappy would be an understatement, especially given the other implications.
After casting a few more specific spells to get the details, he sighed and pulled up a chair by Harry's bedside.
"Bill?" prompted Harry.
"Is everyone here who needs to know this?" he asked.
"My 'usband is working," frowned Arienne. "I will tell 'im later. Please tell us."
Bill nodded, closed his eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath before speaking. "There is a little known Dark object called a Horcrux," he began, noting the blank looks on every face in the room. "They're used by wizards trying for immortality. In simple terms, the wizard splits his soul through an act of murder, and then uses the Horcrux ritual to encase the split fragment in an object of some kind. So long as that fragment exists, the Wizard cannot leave this plane of existence."
"Voldemort," breathed Parks, obviously quick on the uptake.
Bill nodded. "That would be my suspicion," he agreed, "but I don't think this was intentional. From what I can tell from the fragment that's lodged in that scar, Voldemort must have made five or six others. His soul is probably so unstable at this point that the rebounded Killing Curse ripped off a shard, and it went the only place it could."
"Eet must be removed," growled Fleur. "Surely there ees a way?"
Bill closed his eyes and bobbed his head from side to side as he considered the options. He had only come across an actual Horcrux once before, and it was extremely difficult to destroy. Of course, he hadn't known how at the time, but still. They were remarkably resilient buggers.
"There are two ways I can see to do this, those being the dangerous way, and the unlikely way. The dangerous way is to use an exorcism spell to remove the fragment, and then hope we can destroy it before it attacks and possesses one of us."
Grimaces went around the room, and Parks asked, "And the unlikely way?"
"Well," said Bill slowly, "Unless you have a basilisk and a phoenix handy, it's basically impossible. I suspect I know where we can get the basilisk venom—" he shot an amused look at Harry, who grinned sheepishly back at him "—but I'm not sure about the phoenix. I know Dumbledore has a phoenix companion, but I've heard you're not on good terms with him at the moment."
To Bill's surprise, Fleur and Harry exchanged amused looks at the comment, and Harry responded. "Erm, Fawkes likes us, Bill," he smirked. "Actually, he kinda moved in with us. I'm sure he'll be willing."
"But 'e just burned," frowned Fleur. "I am not sure eef 'e can travel."
Harry frowned for a moment before– "One way to find out, I guess," he shrugged. "Fawkes?"
Bill had no idea what Harry's point was, until a small ball of flame erupted over the bed, revealing a slightly smaller than usual crimson phoenix. And, to Bill's utter amazement, it first landed on Fleur's shoulder and nuzzled her cheek, and then quickly relocated to Harry, where it curled up in his armpit and laid its beautiful head on his shoulder.
Harry smiled softly at it and gently scratched its neck. "Hi, Fawkes," he smiled. "I hope we didn't put you out too much. We were hoping you could help us get rid of a slice of Tom I apparently have in my scar." Turning to Bill, he asked, "What would he have to do?"
Bill snorted in amusement as the phoenix flipped over on its back so Harry could rub its tummy. He had never seen such an affectionate bird before, let alone a phoenix. But that was beside the point; they had more important things to worry about right now.
"We'd have to put some basilisk venom on your scar," he sighed. "That would destroy the Horcrux, but it would also kill you in short order. The only way to prevent that is for Fawkes here to cry some tears on you afterwards to neutralize the venom. And even then, it's risky."
"What are the timeframes?" asked Naomi.
"Probably five to ten seconds to destroy the fragment," he frowned, "and so long as his skin is unbroken, I'd guess maybe thirty to forty-five before the venom is fatal, but you would know better than me on that score."
"Risks in partial completion?"
"None that I can think of," shrugged Bill.
Naomi then turned a questioning look on Arienne, who – to Bill's amusement – turned a similar one on Fleur. They were passing the buck! Not that he could blame them; he wouldn't want the responsibility either.
Fleur thought for a moment and then turned to Harry. "I think you should try eet," she told him.
Harry nodded. "I don't like it," he admitted, "but better that than keeping Tommy alive."
Bill snorted. "I'll also record the signature," he told them. "The goblins have ways of tracking things like this down, so hopefully we'll be able to take away his anchors pretty quickly. If you had a vision of Voldemort, then I have to assume he has some form of body back, which isn't good. The sooner we get rid of these, the better."
"Definitely," nodded Harry.
The next hour was spent getting everything ready. Fawkes apparently decided that they didn't need to go down to the chamber and flashed away, returning shortly thereafter with a fang, presumably from the basilisk – and the thing was huge! Upon seeing it, Bill found new respect for Harry.
Fleur paced nervously for most of the intervening time, while Arienne and Naomi sat on the periphery and had a quiet conversation. Bill and Harry enjoyed watching the women, both quietly amused. The women were more nervous than the men, including the one this was about to be done to.
Finally Bill sat down and asked something that was bothering him. "Harry," he said slowly, "what's going on with you and Dumbledore? This kind of thing is right up his alley, so I don't understand why you wouldn't have talked to him about it."
Harry snorted grimly. "He probably already knows, Bill," he sighed. "Bastard stuck me with abusive guardians and then kept me there on purpose, and on top of that he stole over eighty million Galleons from my estate, which I didn't even know existed. I think it's pretty obvious why I wouldn't trust him after that."
Bill paled at the content of Harry's matter-of-fact recitation. If that was true, then they had serious problems. Although, it went a rather long way toward explaining how Dumbledore ended up thrown out of Gringotts on his arse. Even all the way out in Egypt, Bill had heard about that one through the Gringotts Grapevine. And the goblins didn't like it when people stole from their clients, let alone one of the ten largest, which he knew Harry to be.
"You're serious?" he breathed. "You have proof?"
"We do," nodded Arienne. "Zat man will pay for 'is crimes, Monsieur Weasley. Of zis you can be sure. 'E 'as already made it much easier for us by being so foolish wiz ze trials. 'is reputation is not what it once was."
Bill had no idea what trials she was referring to, but it really didn't matter; he would find out later. He nodded slowly and turned his gaze back to Harry. "Let me know if I can do anything to help," he said seriously.
Harry just smiled. "Thanks, Bill," he offered quietly. "That means a lot to me."
"To both of us," smiled Fleur.
Her smile was breathtaking, and Bill had to admit he was a bit jealous, but he wasn't as stupid as his brother apparently was. "You know, for a scary bird woman, you're not what I was expecting, Fleur," he said with a boyish grin.
Harry snorted in amusement, and to Bill's relief, Fleur grinned toothily back at him. "Your bruzzer 'as a very different opinion, I assure you," she retorted.
"She transformed in the middle of the Great Hall," said Harry. "Literally scared the piss out of him."
Bill sadly noted the pain in Harry's eyes. What was Ron thinking? This kid could easily grow up to be one of the greatest Wizards in history, and Ron threw his friendship with him away like so much dirty laundry. The kid was an idiot! And what was there to be jealous of, anyway? Fleur was pretty as hell, yes, but what he had to go through to get her...
Shaking himself, Bill put those thoughts aside for later. "Let's get this done," he said finally. "It should only take a few minutes, but it'll hurt like hell, Harry. You sure you're up to this?"
"If it gets rid of Tom?" he asked. "You're damn right I am."
"Then let's do it."
Chapter 40
Calm Before The Storm
The Potters arrived back at the gates of Hogwarts very late that night. Harry was so utterly exhausted by then that it was a wonder he was still up and moving at all. Fleur took most of his weight as they trudged through the gate and up to the carriage.
They entered their suite to find Hermione passed out in a chair with a book on her chest. She popped awake immediately, though, and her eyes widened as she took in the tableau. Fleur shook her head at the girl, and silently indicated that she would be back shortly.
She then hauled Harry into their bedroom, relieved him of his clothes, and tucked him in. She could read his vague disappointment that she would not be joining him immediately, but also his understanding; Hermione was worried, and needed to hear what happened. She figured he was probably just glad not to have to tell the story himself.
With a gentle peck on the lips, she told him to get some sleep – and it wasn't like he needed telling twice.
She was tempted to crawl in after him, Hermione or no Hermione — partly out of worry for him, and partly because she, too, was exhausted — but duty won out. Hermione was waiting for her when she arrived back in the other room, practically bouncing in her chair. Most would have interpreted it as impatience, but Fleur could see it for what it really was.
The girl was deeply worried.
It was written all over the crease in her forehead, and in the way her intelligent brown eyes followed Fleur's every move. Or maybe it was just the fact that she remained silent; a truly impatient Hermione talked a mile a minute. Whatever it was, Fleur could practically feel her concern over her best friend.
"Is he okay?" she finally asked.
Fleur started at the question. She had leaned back in a chair and closed her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts — or at least that was the intent. In actuality she had started to drift off herself.
"He is now, 'ermione," she sighed, in French since it was easier and she was tired. It was convenient that Hermione was fluent. "But that bastard that calls himself a Headmaster has a lot to answer for."
Hermione frowned. "What did he do this time?" she asked.
"He left a piece of Riddle's soul in the scar on Harry's forehead," Fleur said bluntly.
The manner in which Hermione's jaw dropped open would have been comical under other circumstances, but the subject was too serious for Fleur to find any humor in it. That Dumbledore would allow such a thing to stand was outright insane. She was really starting to wonder what exactly the old man's motives were when it came to her husband.
"A piece of his soul?" echoed Hermione faintly. "You mean that literally?"
Fleur confirmed the girl's supposition, and that led to a brief description of Horcruxes. While she admonished the girl to tell nobody of the situation, she didn't mind Hermione herself knowing (and knew that Harry wouldn't either). Hermione Granger was probably one of the most trustworthy people anywhere in the vicinity.
"So we have to find and destroy these things to kill Voledmort?" she finally asked. "I don't know where to even start with that. I guess I'll need to do a lot more research on his history."
Fleur felt a warm glow ignite at the implied offer. And she knew that offer wasn't just because Voldemort had to go. No, it was because Hermione cared about Harry, and would help in whatever way she was able. But fortunately, in this instance at least, it was unnecessary.
"No, 'ermione," she smiled. "In this case we leave it to the Goblins. Bill said they hate these things, and will happily track them to the ends of the Earth. And with 'Arry being a Friend of the Nation, the problem will get top priority. He will keep us updated."
Hermione slowly nodded. "We can trust them?" she asked tentatively.
"Yes," confirmed Fleur. "The goblins are many things, but 'honest' and 'honorable' figure very highly on that list for the average one."
Hermione was clearly relieved at that fact, and Fleur wasn't surprised. She had actually sat in on what passed for a History class at Hogwarts. The ghost that taught the class had droned on about a Goblin rebellion the entire time, and worse, was teaching outright lies.
But that was a topic for another day.
"We will need to help him, though," she sighed at length. "He also had a binding on his power, and I am starting to think that 'orcrux may have had… side effects."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Okay, let's take the side effects later. What about his power? I don't know much about bindings, but I know he would need to relearn control."
But Fleur shook her head. "We tested him at the Chateau before we came back. He will need to practice, but he has very good instinctive control. I do not think that will be a problem."
"Figures," snorted Hermione. "He might have been light on the theory for a long time, but he has never had a problem with the practical."
Fleur grinned and stifled a comment that would probably only serve to make Hermione jealous.
And Hermione, being the perceptive girl she was, caught it and rolled her eyes. "And what about these side effects you mentioned?"
That wiped the grin off Fleur's face.
It was truly just a guess of hers right now, but there were subtle changes in him that she was actually rather concerned about. Not because they were bad, but because he may have issues learning to deal with the situation. She wasn't sure of much on that score, and hadn't noticed it until after they left the hospital.
"I think the 'orcrux may have affected his mind somehow," she frowned after a moment. "He seems… different, slightly. Not in a bad way," she added hurriedly at Hermione's alarmed look, "just… subtly. And I think it has to do with emotion."
"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.
"My best theory is that it might have been blocking some of his positive emotions perhaps," Fleur slowly replied. "I only noticed the difference after we left the hospital, but he seems… lighter somehow."
Fleur closed her eyes for a moment to recall. There was no specific incident. No specific words that were said. No actions taken. It was just a raw impression that she couldn't shake.
Finally, she shook her head again. "I might be wrong," she admitted, "It's just an impression right now, but please keep an eye out. If his emotions were suppressed by that abomination, then he may have difficulty dealing with them now. Or at least with the intensity of them."
Hermione nodded in agreement.
Neither girl knew then just how prophetic Fleur's words were.
===[~]===
The truth of Harry's issues surfaced first thing the next morning. Harry couldn't even say what started it, or even what he was truly feeling. He had awoken next to Fleur as usual — he had no idea when she'd come to bed, as he'd been dead to the world at the time — and for some reason was simply struck by her beauty.
He couldn't stop the tears from coming, and they only came in greater force when he thought about just how lucky he was to have her in his life.
His reaction woke her, and she simply held him for nearly an hour that morning.
Harry was, in many ways, unemotional under normal circumstances. Not that he didn't feel emotions, of course, but he rarely let them affect him, and nor did he usually feel them very strongly. To find himself losing control and needing that kind of emotional support so randomly — especially because of a happythought — was extremely unsettling.
When she explained it, Fleur's theory made a whole lot of sense to him. Time would tell if she was right, but he had a very strong suspicion that she was. He felt different, and it wasn't his magic. That left only one real conclusion.
While the Horcrux had also been suppressing some of its magic due to its leech-like properties, he suspected that the dark miasma was also affecting his mind.
It made him hate Dumbledore all the more, though he was relieved to note that the intensity of that emotion hadn't changed unduly. If he suddenly found himself hating more strongly, he would probably have to leave Hogwarts entirely, tournament or no. If he felt much stronger negative emotions against his former Headmaster, he might not be able to stop himself from pulling a Malfoy.
That was not a pleasant thought, but so far it seemed to be a non-issue.
The real problem, though, started during breakfast. Hermione met them there, and while his reaction to her was a little stronger than usual, it was easily dealt with. He was happy to see her as always, it was just a little more intense than usual.
And then the mail arrived, and he received his copy of the Daily Prophet. The headline article instantly caught his attention:
SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT!
Wizengamot In Uproar Over Miscarriage Of Justice
by L. McDonald
To the shock of all who witnessed it, Sirius Orion Black III, Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, was declared innocent of all charges in his trial for the betrayal of James and Lily Potter in October of 1981. He was also cleared of the charge of membership in the terrorist organization known as the Death Eaters.
To the surprise of most, the trial was expedited through the use of Veritaserum at the request of the accused. The results of the questioning made it abundantly clear that an innocent man was locked up in Azkaban prison for over a decade. Sirius Black was never a Death Eater, nor did he betray the Potters.
This reporter was able to ask a few questions of Black as he left the courtroom, and it quickly became clear just how significant the miscarriage of justice actually was.
"I swore the godfather Oath," he told me, when asked about his relationship with Harry Potter, 14. "I couldn't have harmed Harry if I'd wanted to, even indirectly like that. Not that I would ever want to."
When asked what he would do about the Delacour family having guardianship of the now-married Boy Who Lived, Black's response was enlightening: "If Harry is happy with them, which I fully expect, then I have no intention of changing it. They stepped in when I couldn't, and I'll forever be grateful for that. No, I'll simply do what I can for him, maybe as a favorite Uncle. He'll always know I'm there for him if I have any say in the matter, but I'll never work against his wishes or best interests."
The passion with which Black spoke on this matter was inspiring; it is clear that he is very protective of his Godson.
The court indicated that Black will be justly compensated for his illegal imprisonment. The full nature of that will not be known until the next legislative sitting of the Wizengamot. It will likely be significant, however; Black lost more than a decade of income rotting in Azkaban.
An arrest warrant has been issued for Peter Pettigrew, who is believed to have faked his death that fateful day. He should be considered armed and dangerous, and should not be approached. Instead, notify the Aurors if Pettigrew is spotted.
The shock that he felt was immense. Nobody had told him that they had set a date, let alone that the trial was happening. He wasn't sure why that was, though he imagined that they wanted to surprise him or something.
Or maybe Sebastian hadn't known; it wasn't like he was part of the British government.
But then, as the shock cleared and he re-read the article, he began to feel something he couldn't recall ever feeling before. He was happy. Very happy. But this was a happiness so intense that he wasn't sure what to do with it. He was giddy!
And if he stayed where he was, feeling like he was, he was probably going to burst into song right there in the Great Hall. Not that he knew any songs really, but he certainly had something to sing about! Even if he no longer needed a new home, he still wanted — and now had — his Godfather!
Recognizing that he was about to lose it and start dancing in the aisle or something equally inane, Harry had just enough presence of mind to bolt.
Hermione and Fleur exchanged a glance — and promptly tore out of the Hall after him.
===[~]===
It took nearly another week for Harry to gain any kind of real control over his headier emotions. A consultation with Healer Parks also confirmed what they suspected — the Horcrux had probably had a detrimental effect, dampening any positive emotions he could feel. The situation was annoying, but a few more Occlumency lessons with Sebastian in the evenings had helped him regain some semblance of control.
Well, outwardly at least. He was all too aware that much of that control was currently illusory, aided by his fledgling Occlumency. It would take time to get used to the new dynamics of his emotions, and to actually be able to handle it without that crutch.
At least he could walk by his friends without bursting into tears of happiness simply because he had them, though.
If there was ever a time he was glad for the exodus of Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy, it was definitely now. Had he had such issues with emotional control while they were still in the school, it would have been positively unbearable. He couldn't help but think that Fate had done him a rather massive favor there.
As the Third Task neared, however, his thoughts turned largely to the future. The end of the year was almost upon them, and then he would be leaving to live with his new family in France. It was something he hadn't really contemplated much; there was too much to do at school.
Now, though, as he lay there watching Fleur get ready for bed, his mind for some reason turned in that direction. He was struck anew by the fact that this beautiful woman would be in his life forever. She wasn't just going to vanish when the year ended.
Sure, he had friends at Hogwarts, but in every year previous, he had endured the summer months all alone in the personal hell that was Privet Drive. There was nobody there to talk to in any kind of friendly way. And there was certainly nobody there to protect him from the abuse.
This summer would be different, though. He would never again return to Privet Drive. He would never again sleep all alone on a mattress so ratty that even a homeless man would turn his nose up at it. Instead he would be living in luxury with this beautiful woman.
"'Arry?" frowned Fleur. "Are you alright?"
He blinked and shook himself free of his imagination. "I'm fine," he nodded. "Just thinking about the future."
The fact that they were speaking French, as was becoming their custom when they were alone, barely even registered. Harry had to get fluent is quickly as possible, and Fleur was more than happy to help. From his perspective, it was about to replace English as his "native" language anyway.
"Oh?" she smiled, leaning up against the armoire behind her and crossing her arms over her chest. "And just what about the future were you thinking?"
Harry couldn't help but smile back. "Nothing in particular, really," he admitted.
Fleur raised an eyebrow in his direction, clearly wanting a better answer than that, but Harry was being honest. And his mind had already gone off in another direction anyway. In fact…
"We probably do need to talk, though," he frowned. "With you graduating, and me not coming back to Hogwarts, I have no idea what next year will look like." Frowning more deeply, he added, "I don't even know what you plan to do after school, now that I think about it. What does that say about me?"
Rather than answer him, Fleur pushed away from the armoire and came to sit on the edge of the bed, where she could reach over and brush his cheek. He had to clamp down on his Occlumency again; those small, loving touches meant more to him than even she would likely ever know. It was such a little thing, but it was something he truly craved.
"It says only that we have been extremely busy, love," she said quietly. "We have not known each other that long."
"I suppose you're right," he sighed. "It's been, what, three months since the wedding?"
"And the Task was less than a month before that," agreed Fleur. "We did not know each other at all until then."
They lapsed into silence, and Harry took a moment to consider that. His entire life had changed drastically since this situation came about, and it was really quite shocking. A lot had happened in the last few months.
He was brought out of it by another gentle touch from Fleur.
"Most couples, they date for many months before marrying, 'Arry," she continued. "And they do not have the demands on their attention that we do. I hope we will have much more time this summer to spend on each other, rather than on all of this."
She gestured vaguely, and he could sense her frustration with the situation — and indeed, he shared it. His life was a nightmare, and it all seemed to center around — or be caused by — Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The sooner they could get away from him, the better. And the answer to that, at least for now, was to get away from Hogwarts.
But there was little they could do beyond what they were alreadydoing.
"What do you plan to do next year?" he wondered after a while. "I mean, given our finances I really don't care if you work or not, but I can't really see you wanting to be a housewife or something."
Fleur snorted and then started laughing. "Oh, definitely not," she grinned. "Perhaps for a few years when we decide to have children, but otherwise, no. I am thinking about applying to Gringotts as a curse breaker, though I have not decided yet."
Harry deliberately let her comment about children pass him by. He desperately wanted to build a family, and that she seemed to want it as well was amazing, but he didn't want to get mired in that feeling right now. Occlumency only went so far in dampening his newfound emotions.
Instead he focused on the rest of her statement.
"I could see that," he nodded after a moment. "I'll probably worry because it's dangerous, but I'm not enough of a hypocrite to not support you." Tilting his head in thought he added, "Hell, I might want to to go that way, too. Maybe we'd like working together."
"Perhaps," she smiled as she finally stood. "Or perhaps you will find something else. You have a few years yet before you must make your decision, and I will support you in whatever you do."
As Fleur spoke, she slowly brushed her robe from her shoulders, and allowed it to fall and pool at her feet. Harry couldn't help but lick his lips; while her allure didn't affect him in the slightest, the sight of her beautiful body most certainly did. And then she reached for her panties and slowly sent them to join her robe.
"Of course, there are things that we already know we like to work on together, my love," she smirked as she slunk toward him. "Perhaps I should remind you?"
And that was something that Harry Potter was hardly going to say "no" to.
The rest of the conversation could wait.