True Love Isn't Always Conventional

Back in Business

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, or anything even remotely related to it. All of that belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Last time, Harry finds himself at odds with the man-who-isn’t-Moody, and tries to signal Fleur for help as he watches the effects of polyjuice potion wear off an extremely familiar man. He manages to get out of bed and stumble back, but Barty Crouch Jr. is on him quickly, and manages to slice into his arm and steal his blood before Professor McGonagall and Fleur burst onto the scene. Fleur and Harry have a moment, and elsewhere Barty Crouch Jr. delivers the blood of Harry Potter to the returning Lord Voldemort...and did I mention that there are now many people who think Harry himself is a dark wizard, after what he pulled with the Goblet of Fire?


It was decided that Harry needed more time to rest before being fully interrogated, though he was required to produce a memory-despite Madame Pomfrey’s displeasure-to satisfy the Ministry during his recovery. Madame Pomfrey herself, thankfully, was fine. She had only been knocked out; no other harm had been done to her, and she continued to care for him.

Because the burns Harry had sustained were magical in nature, it was not a simple matter to repair the damage. Madame Pomfrey worked tirelessly to restore his ruined flesh, but in the course of a week all she had managed to do was keep the pain at bay. There was talk of sending him to St. Mungo’s, though no one wanted him to leave Hogwarts until the threat from He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named (Voldemort to Harry and his friends) was determined. Although, as far as Harry knew, his only danger currently was from the man who had cut him. While he stayed in the Hospital Wing, Dumbledore directed the professors to take turns watching over him. This, Harry felt secretly relieved about. Ron and Hermione visited whenever they could, and Fleur, for her part, had not left Harry’s side again. Mostly she watched him sleep and, when he woke, they didn’t speak much-too emotionally drained. Or, that was what the professors thought. In fact, they were speaking mind-to-mind, sharing what they knew telepathically. The first thing Fleur shared, of course, was exactly why she hadn’t been at Harry’s side...


Cornelius Fudge, British Minister for Magic, paced with great agitation before her. Around them was the Minister’s entourage-two Aurors, whose names she did not know, someone who was acting as a scribe, and a mysterious old trunk that caused a nervous shiver to pass through her every time she looked at it. So she didn’t look at it. Fleur sat bolt upright in her seat, face the picture of cold aristocracy. The old facade came back in this situation. She desperately wanted to be with Harry, but she knew that letting herself act as she wished would be unwise right now. She sent out a tendril of feeling toward her bondmate, and struggled to keep her face flat as she felt almost nothing in return.

“Minister,” she finally broke the tense silence, keeping her voice steady, “I have already told you everything I know. Harry has been badly injured-I would like to be allowed to see him.” She broke off as Fudge whirled toward her, his face stormy as he stomped across the space between them. He had her in an empty classroom, and the room felt tight as he got closer to her.

Fudge stopped a foot from the French witch. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To see your co-conspirator?” Fleur opened her mouth to respond, but Fudge cut her off angrily, his voice rising. “What did you possibly think to accomplish? If your plan was to discredit Britain, girl, well I hate to tell you it will take more than this...this...” He waved his hands in frustration as he failed to come up with a word. Had the situation not been so serious, Fleur might have found him funny. “This childish prank!” He paused and stared hard at her. “Unless this was a more sinister plot altogether.”

Fleur shook her head. “No, Minister, as I’ve tried to tell you-” Fudge cut her off again with a thoroughly ridiculous gasp.

“Ohhhh-this is a plot. A plot, I tell you!” He turned to one of his Aurors. “Kingsley! It is worse than we thought. Potter has clearly gone off his head, with this...creature’s...help”-Fleur was unable to stop the flash of appalled anger as it crossed her face-“we’ll need to restrain her for further questioning. She’s clearly being deceitful. We must discover their true intent!” Kingsley, for his part, offered a cautionary word to the Minister.

“Sir, I ask that we try not to jump to conclusions. Especially considering that Miss Delacour is the daughter of a Minister for Magic herself. Surely she would never be involved in a plot to endanger the magical community?” Fleur shot him a grateful look, but Kingsley ignored her, focusing on the Minister.

Fudge considered him, and then waved his hand. “You may be right, Kingsley, but we cannot leave these things to chance! Next thing you know, and people will be claiming that You-Know-Who is back!” Fudge still would not acknowledge that Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Riddle, was still very much around despite the encounters that Harry had faced over the years.

Fleur stared in bewilderment. Was this man really Britain’s Minister? Yes, she had encountered him a few times during her father’s term in office, but she had never really spoken to him herself. She couldn’t believe that a man as narrow-minded and ignorant as Fudge could possibly have secured the post of Minister. How was she ever going to get back to Harry? “Enough.” She said, cutting into the conversation. Fleur put as much steel into her voice as possible. “Minister, I must remind you that I am sitting here answering your questions as a courtesy. As the daughter of Jefferoi Delacour, I have ambassadorial status in your country. You may not keep me here against my will, and right now my will is to be with Harry. I have cooperated with you as much as I am able.” Fleur got to her feet, maintaining her outward composure despite her racing heart. She was determined to get to Harry, though she worried what trying to invoke her status would cause.

The Auror behind her, she had forgotten about. The man raised his wand silently, and suddenly Fleur felt herself being yanked back into her seat. Looking down in startled confusion she found that ropes had sprung from the sides of the chair and wound themselves around her. Her face creased in anger even as her heart sped up in panic. “What is the meaning of this?” Flashes of another time she had been restrained went before her mind’s eye, and it was all she could do to force those memories down.

Fudge, for his part, had turned around and watched the proceedings with a smug smirk on his face. “Girl, you will not leave here until I say that we are finished. You are holding out on me.” Fleur tried to lunge at him in her fury, and Fudge actually flinched back a half-step, uncertainty on his face. He glanced up at the other Auror behind her. “Max, she can’t get free, right?” Though she heard no reply, she guessed that the other man had nodded or given some other affirmative because Fudge relaxed slightly and resumed some of his previous confidence. “You will tell me what you know. I even have a new friend who might help persuade you.”

Fleur flashed a look at Kingsley, but the other man was frowning in uncertainty himself. Fudge caught her look and laughed. “Not Kingsley, you’ve already met him.” Fudge walked over to the trunk and waved his wand over it. She heard a series of clicks as it unlocked. Fudge stepped to the side, wand still held over the trunk. “Tell me girl, have you ever met one of the guardians of Azkaban?” Fleur’s eyes went wide, and icy realization dug into her even before Fudge opened the trunk. She knew now why she hadn’t wanted to really look at that trunk before. Unconsciously she had begun to lean as far back in her chair as she could, the unyielding wood dug painfully into her back, but she was too preoccupied to notice.

Fudge threw open the top and immediately a black shadow flung itself out and into the room, tattered cloak unfurling as it went and skeletal appendages extending toward her from open sleeves. Frost spread across the stone floor before it rapidly, and the temperature of the room plunged. Fleur choked back a scream even as she heard the startled exclamation of Kingsley on the other side of the room. The Dementor blocked her view of him, but it didn’t matter because she could feel the icy, draining effects of the creature before her. Every horrible memory was dragged to the surface, and Fleur had many. Under the onslaught, she could find no happy thoughts. It was all she could do not to pass out right then. Dimly, she could hear Fudge’s voice demanding answers even as one of his Aurors yelled at him for bringing a Dementor into Hogwarts. She felt herself slipping, and struggled only weakly against the ropes that bound her. She reached out to Harry, searching for strength, and found emptiness. A scream began to build in her.

White light flooded the room, blinding everyone temporarily with its brilliance, and then Fleur could make out the shape of a griffon before her, defending her. The Dementor wailed before it and strove forward anyway, but the griffon opened its beak and released a shriek. Immediately the Dementor retreated and dove back into the trunk, the lid snapping closed after it followed by a series of clicks as the locks reset. Fudge looked furious, Kingsley looked relieved, and Fleur...she still felt herself slipping until she felt a hand on her shoulder, and a familiar voice mumble a spell as the ropes fell away. Sluggishly she lifted her head, “Papa?” Her eyes found Jefferoi’s, and then she was in his arms. Fleur sank into him, sank into the feeling of comfort, safety, stability. Gradually the effects of the creature in the trunk began to wear off, and the world came rushing back with voices raised in anger. She stepped away from her Papa, and realized that he was arguing heatedly with Fudge.

“How dare you, how dare you! I will have the International Council convened for this. You have brought a creature of death into a school and, not only that, used it unlawfully on a young witch barely 17!” She could feel her father trembling with rage, and it was then she spotted Harry’s Professor McGonagall standing quietly behind them, her wand held on the other Auror. Her free hand held his wand. Fleur felt her eyebrows raise, impressed. This Professor was tougher than she looked if she had disarmed an Auror with barely an effort! She refocused on the conversation between the Ministers, and all at once felt her connection to Harry spring open as emotions that weren’t her own flooded into her. She staggered under the sudden onslaught, and her father instinctively put an arm around her even as he argued-no doubt thinking it was a lingering effect of the Dementor. Steadying herself, she sensed Harry’s question and sent back her regret, but also her joy that he was awake! Soon, she would be there. She hoped even sooner now that her father was here. Who had contacted him? Surely not Madame Maxime? She glanced over her shoulder again and met Professor McGonagall’s eye. The older witch winked at her, and offered a small, conspiratorial smile. Yes, she thought, she really liked this woman.

The argument between her father and the British Minister continued for a few more minutes before Fleur felt another sudden wave of emotion from Harry-FEAR PAIN NEED. The feelings were so intense she could almost put words to them and Fleur was driven to her knees with a cry, the cold stone floor caused only a distant pain. Discussion stopped immediately, and even as her father was kneeling beside her Fleur was leaping to her feet. “Harry’s in trouble!” She gasped, voice strained. She turned for the door even as Fudge exclaimed “Now just a minute!” She heard her father threaten him as she came even with Professor McGonagall. “Please, we must hurry! He’s in danger!” The Professor didn’t need telling twice. She pocketed the Auror’s wand even as he complained with a “Hey!“, and exchanged nods with Jefferoi-he would keep the Minister occupied-before following Fleur out of the room.


Harry had been enraged to learn what Fudge had done to Fleur, and it was only through Fleur’s soothing efforts that he subsided with his intent to leave the Hospital Wing in search of the Minister. What he could feasibly do in his current condition was a mystery, but Harry was sure he would think of something. He and Fleur had commiserated about dementors for a while, until they mutually decided that the topic needed dropping, if they were to every feel cheerful again.

It had been a week when Harry had finally had enough of the Hospital Wing, and generally being stuck as an invalid.

“Madame Pomfrey!” He called, catching Fleur’s hand with a reassuring squeeze when she stirred beside him. She had taken to sitting up in the bed with him, and had dozed off while they had been talking earlier. Harry hadn’t wanted to wake her; her stress levels were such that she hadn’t been sleeping much. When the older witch appeared, Harry offered her a weak smile.

“Madame Pomfrey, please, have you thought of anything yet? I’d imagine you’re just as anxious to get rid of me as I am to be up and around again.” Harry managed half a smile, and covered as much of his frustration at his situation as he could. The healer smiled at him sympathetically.

“I’m sorry Mr. Potter, but I’m afraid that I am still looking for something to properly heal you.” Her expression became stern. “But you’ll just have to wait. There is no reason for you to have sustained an injury like this in the first place, Mr. Potter. Now you will just have to deal with the aftermath.” Harry tensed a little at her words, but she wasn’t wrong. He had done this to himself. Not intentionally, of course, but it was a direct result of his own actions. His hand unconsciously clenched into a fist beside him, sheets trapped between his fingers and palm. Not a second later, he relaxed it.

Harry sighed. “I understand that Madame Pomfrey, I just want to get back to...” Normal, he almost said. As if “normal” was something he’d ever had. “...school, and everything.” Madame Pomfrey eyed him silently, the faintest glimmer of sympathy detectable in the tilt of her mouth.

“Rest assured, I am doing everything I can for you, Mr. Potter. I won’t stop trying.” She turned to leave him again, when an idea struck him.

Nerves flooded through him at the thought, but he had to voice it. He felt Fleur waken more fully beside him as she felt his sudden spike in heart rate. “Wait. What about...Skele Gro?” The older witch turned back to him with a perplexed look on her face.

“Young man, you know very well that potion is meant to grow your bones back. It won’t do a thing for your back.” The healer rested a hand on her hip as she appraised the young wizard in her care. Harry’s eyes slid to the professor whose turn it was to babysit him, to find that Snape was watching him intensely. Harry swallowed, and forced his eyes back to Madame Pomfrey.

Now it was Fleur’s turn to squeeze his hand. He felt grateful. She didn’t even know what he was thinking, and was supporting him. “I know that-I couldn’t likely forget. What I meant was, do you have a...a kind of Skin Gro or something? What if you grew my skin back, the way you grew my bones back in my second year?” Harry raised his eyebrows, though inwardly his heart was pounding wildly. Fleur’s grip on his hand suddenly tightened, and he felt her answering alarm. Yes, what he was proposing did not sound pleasant at all. In fact, it sounded excruciating. Harry’s eyes slid to Snape once more, shivering when he saw the sudden interest in his Potions Professor’s dark eyes. “I’m sure, ” Harry broke off a moment, before continuing, “I’m sure that Professor Snape could assist you in making a potion that regrows skin-maybe using the Skele Gro as a base?” His green eyes focused back on Madame Pomfrey-he felt safer looking at her.

The healer had a pensive look on her face, and she appraised Harry with a new eye. Perhaps there was more to Harry Potter than being an accident-prone Quidditch player, she thought. “Mr. Potter, for something like that to work, you would need to be missing the skin that was to be grown back. I would have to perform a severing spell that would take the damaged skin from your back, first.” Harry swallowed hard, but didn’t interrupt her. Madame Pomfrey tapped her chin in thought. “That might work. It would be extremely painful for you, but it might work.” She turned and focused on Snape. “Severus, would you join me in my office for a moment?” The Potions master followed after her, black cloak trailing after him as he did so.

Once they were out of earshot, Fleur rounded on him. “Harry, this is a crazy idea! Letting her strip off your skin? No. I absolutely won’t allow it.” She folded her arms and set her face grimly, as if already mentally preparing to do battle. Harry frowned at this sudden display of stubbornness.

“Fleur-I have to get out of here. I want to know what is going on! This may be the only way. Or maybe it’s the fastest-I don’t care. We’ve been stuck in here long enough.” Harry met her worried blue eyes with his own, and sent her soothing emotions. He hid his own worry from her. “Sure it’ll hurt, but if it works? Then it’ll be over and I’ll be out of here.” Fleur just shook her head. She didn’t know if she could stand to see Harry in that kind of pain, and she was still confident that there must be another way. She felt Harry tugging at her arm, trying to get at her hands to hold them. Reluctantly, she allowed him to do so. He gave them a gentle squeeze and, against her will, she felt comforted.

Harry waited until she looked at him, but when she didn’t, he continued. “Okay, so you don’t agree.” She turned and met his gaze then, wondering where he was going with this. “You don’t have to. I just need you to respect my decision. I trust Madame Pomfrey. I don’t exactly trust Professor Snape-” She bristled at Harry’s nemesis’ name, “But, as much as I loath him, he is the best potions maker in the castle, and he hasn’t actually tried to hurt me.” He didn’t add the silent yet. “If anyone can help Madame Pomfrey figure out a potion like that, it’s him.” Fleur definitely didn’t trust this Professor Snape, but she did trust Harry. Even if it was hard right now, she had to trust him with this. It was really his decision anyway.

She searched his emerald eyes for a few long, silent moments. “Alright Harry.” She said finally. “But I will be here when you go through it.” Her tone brooked no argument, and now Harry smiled.

He slipped a careful arm around her, trying not to jostle his back as he drew her into an embrace. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He murmured. Fleur rested a hand on his waist a moment, wishing she could put her arms around him in return. When they parted, she got up from the bed and smoothed her skirts as she turned back to him.

“I’ll go get us some lunch,” she said, “and see if I can’t find Hermione to come and talk to us about the risks of this venture.” And hopefully talk you out of this foolish plan, she didn’t add. She carefully shielded her thoughts so he wouldn’t get that errant thought. Fleur studied Harry lying in his hospital bed, and felt a pain in her heart at the sight. As if he felt it-and maybe he had-Harry held out a hand to Fleur. She took it, and reveled in the silent strength of their connection. Without meeting his eyes again, Fleur turned on a heel and walked quietly along the stone floor of the Hospital Wing. Once outside, she rested her head against the cold stone wall of the corridor and sighed deeply. At this distance, she was much more able to shield herself from Harry. She was so worried about him-particularly worried about his reckless nature. She was terrified he would end up in worse shape than this one day, because he impulsively jumped into a situation with an idea of what should happen, but less of an idea of how to make that happen. After a few more moments, Fleur had collected herself sufficiently and headed down to the Great Hall. It would be lunch time soon, and she knew Harry was tired of food from the Hospital Wing. She felt so very useless now that the idea of fetching food actually appealed to her. Fleur scoffed quietly to herself.

“Is that my daughter, I hear?” She heard her father before she saw him. Minister Jefferoi Delacour stepped from around the corner, a smile on his face. She immediately felt lighter upon seeing him.

Fleur smiled back. “Papa.” She put her arms around him, and felt his encircle her in return. She had seen him the day previous, but it still felt good to see him now. She allowed herself to take comfort in his embrace.

“How is Harry doing?” He murmured into her hair. At her sigh, he drew back and looked down at her in concern. “What’s going on?” Fleur gazed up at her father in a mixture of worry and relief. It would feel good, she decided, to talk to her father about it. He would understand her fears, she knew. Steering him in the direction of the Great Hall, Fleur began laying out the situation to him.


Harry had drifted back to sleep by the time Madame Pomfrey returned, with Professor Snape following closely behind.

“Get up, Potter.” Snape’s voice, filled with disdain, cracked like a whip.

Harry woke with a jolt, disoriented. “Wha-?” Before he could finish his question, Snape cut him off.

“Silence, Potter. Madame Pomfrey and I have finished the potion.” A smirk quirked his lips up, “I imagine it will not be a pleasant experience for you.” Harry had managed to sit up in bed by this point, a grimace on his face partly from the pain in his back, and partly from Snape’s odious presence.

Madame Pomfrey broke in with a sharp look at Snape, “Mr. Potter, as I stated before, for something like this to work we will first need to remove the damaged flesh from your back. You will need to lay on your stomach, and it will take several hours for your back to regain its skin. Are you sure you want to do this? I cannot knock you out, as this is a procedure I have never tried. In fact, I will give you something akin to the Muggles’ caffeine to help keep you awake. Having you conscious will be safer. It will also rule out any other magic interfering with the potion, since it hasn’t been tested.” She worried her lip, an unusual tic for the formidable woman. “I would much rather send you to St. Mungo’s, Mr. Potter. In fact-” Harry had come sufficiently awake to be following what was said, and immediately held up a hand to forestall Madame Pomfrey.

“Madame Pomfrey, I do appreciate the risk. I feel much safer here in Hogwarts, however, and I trust you.” His eyes slid to Professor Snape once, before sliding back again. He couldn’t bring himself to say he trusted any part of Snape. “I’ll deal with the pain. I’m no stranger to it, after all.” He gave her a rueful smile, and she winced in return. He could see she was still hesitant, so he added, “And just think-having tested it once, this could be something the medical community remembers you for discovering. I don’t have any family to disagree with you, so this is really-”

“No family?” A pure, strident voice cut across the discussion, and Harry’s head snapped around to see that Fleur had returned, and with Jefferoi, who quickly took the tray of food from her hands and set it on a side table. At first he smiled to see her, though he was surprised he hadn’t felt her presence right away. Then he saw the look on her face, and his smile withered. “Harry, that may have been true for you a few months ago, but you have family now, whether you like it or not.” Fleur crossed the space between them in a few, long strides. Her silvery hair was thrown back over one shoulder, and her blue eyes were intense. Jefferoi stayed near the door, preferring his daughter handle this. She sat down next to Harry, the bed dipping slightly beneath her weight, and gave him a fierce glare. “And I, as your family, disagree with this procedure. It’s too dangerous.”

Harry, for his part, stared at her, speechless. His brain had fairly short-circuited. Fleur had just announced that she was his family now, and what was more, he could feel it in the core of his being. He really wasn’t alone anymore. True, he had had Ron and Hermione in years past, and they were wonderful friends. But not having a family, not having anyone who really had a right to care in a way that other people didn’t-that was something he’d always had to deal with. And here was Fleur, in all of her radiant glory, proclaiming that the truth he had accepted for so long was no longer true. Harry felt quite overwhelmed. He swallowed hard as emotion welled up in him, and let out a hard breath as a tear escaped him. He was momentarily angry with himself for allowing even that weakness in front of Snape, but found it hard to care. He now had family.

Fleur watched Harry’s reaction and faltered slightly, at the intensity of his emotions. She hadn’t meant to dredge up old feelings, and the sudden flash of desolation she got from him before he covered it up took her breath away. She’d had no idea he had felt so utterly alone. He saw her words as a ray of light, when she had really only meant that she didn’t want him to make this decision lightly. Now, all she wanted to do was reassure him that she had meant what she’d said-that they were family.

Nearby, Snape was beginning to wind up for another tongue-lashing, and Madame Pomfrey was getting frustrated as well. Harry and Fleur paid them little mind, but Jefferoi saw this as his opportunity to help his daughter and her bondmate. Stepping forward, he took the attention of the other two adults and led them away from Fleur and Harry. While they sorted this out, he might as well make his former studies in potions useful by asking a few questions about this procedure Harry wanted to do.

Harry stared at Fleur, only dimly noting that they were now alone. He had never felt so suddenly vulnerable in all his life-not even in his dealings with Voldemort was he ever left feeling so raw and exposed. And it was odd, because even though he felt those things, he also felt safe. It felt safe to have those feelings, to feel vulnerable, and now, in front of Fleur, he felt safe enough to acknowledge the he really was afraid of what might happen if this procedure went wrong. He didn’t really want to do it-but he still felt that he had to. It was too risky to stay trapped in this hospital bed. Still, as he gazed at Fleur, for a moment he felt his burdens lifted, as he shared them with her. He felt Fleur take one of his hands, and he laced their fingers together. Fleur... He opened wide the link between them. I’m afraid. Fleur responded immediately. The young woman slid forward on the bed and took him into her arms, ever careful of his back, and this time he rested his head on her shoulder. Fleur knew in that moment more than any other that she would do anything for Harry.

I know. Her mind whispered back. Me too.


A few hours later saw Harry white as his sheets and gasping in pain. The muscles in his shoulders clenched, which only caused more white-hot pain to roll through him. “Gah-” He muffled his groan in his pillow. He wished he would pass out. The removal of his skin had been agony enough-this was beyond anything he had ever experienced. He would wager to guess it was worse than anything even Voldemort could inflict. His pained, fevered gaze found Fleur beside him. She was laying in a hospital bed too-her pale face even paler, and her beautiful eyes closed. Her father sat beside her, watching over both of them. Fleur had passed out an hour before, when his skin growth had reached the middle of his back. He had tried so hard to close the link between them so she wouldn’t feel it, but Fleur was equally desperate to give him some relief and had instead pushed the link between them open. For a while, it had been a relief, and the pain was bearable between the two of them. But it had reached a new crescendo-Harry’s thoughts scattered as a new burst of pain rippled through him, and his hands clenched at the sweat-soaked sheets under him-and it had been more than Fleur could take. Harry had been helpless as the pain suddenly doubled on him when Fleur passed out-had it not been for Jefferoi, she would have hit the floor. As it was, her father had caught her and put her into bed.

Harry turned from her and groaned into his pillow. He wished he could pass out.


Harry came back around slowly, his eyes opening blearily and looking around for a moment. He swallowed, and a cough escaped his dry throat.

“Here.” A familiar, comforting voice said, and a straw appeared at his lips. Harry took a grateful drink of cool water, and sighed in relief when a cool hand touched his brow. He hadn’t realized he felt uncomfortably warm. As his faculties were restored, he looked up into the face of his mate, and offered her a grateful smile. “There you are.” She said quietly, blue eyes shining in relief. She looked so beautiful, he thought, and tired. He managed to mumble a thanks.

Then he remembered why they were here, and he immediately checked himself out mentally. His back felt raw and new, and it twinged a bit, but the extreme pain from before was only a fading memory. A hopeful smile tilted the corner of his lips and he looked at Fleur wonderingly. She huffed a laugh at his expression, and pulled a chair up beside him. “Yes, it worked.” Harry beamed. “Madame Pomfrey said if you slept through tonight, you would be able to leave tomorrow.” This was even better than he’d hoped. It would be great to get out today, but he knew he needed more sleep. Harry reached for Fleur, and she caught his hand immediately, holding it in her lap. Words at that point were unnecessary, and Harry didn’t think he had any to say anyway as his mind began to drift back to dreamland.


Next Time: Harry and Fleur find themselves interrupted-but by who? And what is going on with the rest of the school?

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