Chapter 18: 18 - Breaking
After seeing her father off, Fleur wasted no time in tracking down Harry and Hermione. She found them sitting side by side on what she thought of as his favorite rock down by the lake. Harry had his knees drawn up to his chest, with his chin resting on them, and Hermione was talking softly to him, though it did not look like she was making any progress.
She approached them slowly, not wanting to startle them, even as she worried over what to do. It was well known to his friends that Harry was extremely reticent when it came to his problems, and she doubted that it would be any different where she was concerned. After all, why should he tell her, when he would not even talk to Hermione?
But then, she was about to marry him, and this would likely be her responsibility for a long time to come; she supposed she had better get used to it.
Hermione looked up at her as she hauled herself up on the rock, and she paused for a moment, considering what she should do. In the end, however, the decision was easy to make: yes, Hermione was his best friend, but Fleur was to be his wife. Some things were private, and while she did not know him well enough to say with any certainty, she felt that this was one of those things that he would not want to share.
And so she smiled apologetically at the girl. "Will you please excuse us, 'ermione?" she requested quietly, trying to convey her thanks for the girl's efforts with her eyes.
She was relieved when Hermione smiled an understanding smile at her. "Take care of him, Fleur," she said quietly.
Fleur nodded, and she stood there for a few moments, watching as Hermione made her way back to the castle. Then, turning back to Harry, she examined him more closely – and did not like what she saw. He had not reacted at all to her presence – or to Hermione's departure – and that was not a good sign.
He was tense, his muscles taut, and had an unnatural stillness about him. His eyes had drifted shut at some point in the last few minutes, though she did not know whether that was a good thing or not. The look on his face was one of despair.
Realizing that talking to him would not get her anywhere – yet – she instead sat down beside him, occupying the spot that Hermione had just vacated. Cautiously, she leaned up against him and put her arm around him, hoping to wordlessly convey her support. It was a relief when he did not flinch away from her; she almost expected that the contact would not be welcome.
Silence reigned for a long while, and she watched worriedly as his expression morphed further into desperation. She could see the signs of his internal struggle in the way his eyes were screwed tightly shut, and the way the lines of his forehead deepened with each passing moment. It was not long before a single tear ran down his cheek, and it was then that Fleur realized what was happening.
He was fighting for control of himself, and losing badly.
She knew from her father that the Dursleys did not allow him to show his emotions; it always earned him a beating. He spent his years in that house learning to suppress them, and she suspected that it was finally catching up to him. After everything that had happened in the past two weeks, this was hardly a surprise.
Harry stiffened when she removed her arm from his shoulders, almost as though he expected her to leave, but she had no such intention. Instead she turned around to face him and carefully maneuvered him so that she could pull him close, gently cradling his head against her chest. And that was all it took to push him over the edge.
He choked back a quiet sob, and his tears began to flow more freely.
Fleur said nothing, and merely held him as the dam finally burst. Thirteen years of pent up tears finally boiled over, and he could do nothing to stop them. She doubted that he had ever cried like this before; from her father's description, even broken limbs did not elicit a tear from him. He had bottled it all up, and could no longer hold it inside.
A quickly cast privacy spell ensured that nobody would bother them – or even know about it – and she waited patiently while he quietly cried himself out. In many ways, she was honored that he was allowing her to see him like this; where mere ego kept the tears at bay for most boys when they were around others, for him it was a survival instinct. It was an subconscious gesture of ultimate trust that she would not forget any time soon.
Many minutes later he finally quieted, and his arms came tentatively around her, probably unconsciously. She silently soothed him, running her fingers through his hair in the way he liked so much, and simply waited. He would speak when he was ready; no amount of questioning would make him talk if he did not want to.
And sure enough–
"What's wrong with me?" he asked faintly, his voice hoarse and pained.
Fleur closed her eyes against the sympathetic pain that welled up inside at the question, and she rested her chin atop his head. "Zere is nuzzing wrong wiz you, 'Arry," she whispered back.
"Then why does everyone automatically assume I did something wrong?"
Fleur blinked in surprise at the unexpected question. She had thought that he was referring to the fact that he had finally broken down, but obviously she was wrong. What really bothered her, though, was that she had no good answer for him.
"I do not know," she admitted quietly, rubbing her thumb gently across his cheek. "But it is zey who are wrong, not you."
He shook his head in obvious denial. "I don't know how much more I can take, Fleur," he admitted faintly, his grip on her tightening as he thought about it. "All this, it's– It's just too much."
Fleur closed her eyes again, and her heart bled for him. That he would willingly admit that to her only underscored how much pressure he was under. Few would be able to endure what he had and still be sane, and yet somehow Harry had survived, and kept it from changing him. He still had a heart of pure gold.
Truly, he was the most amazing man she had ever met – and he could no longer be properly called a boy, if ever he could have been. He had survived horrors the like of which few could even imagine, and somehow kept going. Most of would have turned Dark after all that, if they had managed to survive at all.
She wanted nothing more than to take that pain from him and allow him to live the life he deserved, and swore that she would help him in any way that she could. Here was a man who had agreed to marry her to save her life, and he had done so before he truly knew her – and when he had not liked who he thought she was. He deserved far more than anyone could ever give.
And as she thought these things, Fleur came to a startling realization: Hermione had been right; she was in love with Harry Potter.
But really, how could she not be? Even without the fame and fortune, she genuinely enjoyed his company, and had come to believe that she would equally enjoy their life together. Her only regret was that he was forced into it; she would much rather that it had been his choice, as so few things had been in his life. But he had accepted it, and she would make the most of it – for both of them.
"You do not 'ave to do zis alone anymore," she told him softly. "I do not know 'ow long it will take, but we will get through it togezzer. I will be zere ze 'ole time."
Harry stiffened for a brief moment, and then slowly extracted himself from her arms just far enough that he could look her in the eye. The pain visible in his own broke her heart. He searched for a long moment, giving no clue to what he was looking for, and then–
"Promise?" he whispered, an edge of desperation leaking through.
"I promise, 'Arry," she told him seriously. "I will never leave you."
Harry stared at her for a long moment, his confusion evident. For once, Fleur could easily read what he was thinking: he was wondering why she would so willingly make such a declaration; his problems were enormous, and he felt that nobody else should have to deal with them. He did not understand the effect he had on others around him.
His hand came up tentatively, and he cautiously touched her cheek, wonder blooming behind his eyes. Her heart stopped at the gentle contact, and she had to make a concerted effort not to suck in a breath at the depth of feeling that it evoked in her. And then he did something that she never in a million years would have expected from him.
He leaned in, slowly and cautiously, and pressed his lips to hers.
Fleur was initially so surprised by it that she didn't react, but she was shaken from her shock when he started to pull away again, probably in disappointment. She brought her hand to the back of his head to prevent it, and kissed him back. His relief at her reaction was so profound that she could almost feel it.
It was very different from their first kiss, which she had instigated on a whim. Neither of them were experienced in the arts of romance, but whatever it lacked in technique was made up for by the sheer power of the emotion behind it. She doubted that Harry understood what he was feeling – it was clear that he did not at all understand matters of love – but for the first time, she found hope that she could earn those feelings from him.
When the kiss ended, Fleur did not bother to open her eyes again; wanting to savor the moment, she simply drew him close and wrapped her arms tightly around him. Neither broke the silence, and she was surprised to note that the tension had run out of him, and he was allowing himself to relax fully into her embrace. It was an unusual showing of vulnerability on his part.
"Thank you," she whispered emotionally.
"For what?" he asked bemusedly.
Fleur smiled faintly at his lack of understanding. "For all of zis," she explained quietly. "For sharing yourself wiz me. I love you, 'Arry."
Harry stiffened in surprise at her unexpected declaration, and her smile turned sad. This time she was not surprised when he pulled away from her; it was doubtful that he would have expected to hear such a thing. He searched her eyes for quite some time, before–
"You mean that?" he asked hesitantly.
And she truly did. The situation was unfair, but it was Harry that was taking the brunt of it. What woman who truly knew him would not love him, or wish that she could have him? True, he came with all sorts of problems, but they were minor in comparison to what he gave in return.
"Wiz all my heart, mon amour," she told him, gently brushing his cheek. "I love you, and I will tell you zat for ze rest of your life."
Harry blinked at her for a long moment, his eyes tearing up once again. "No one ever said that to me before," he told her faintly.
Fleur's heart lurched painfully at the admission. If anyone deserved to be loved, it was Harry! That he had been so deprived was nothing short of criminal, and she resolved in that moment that Dumbledore would pay for it, no matter what she had to do. But Harry himself came first, and she could easily sense that he needed reassurance that he was not dreaming.
"I love you," she whispered again, staring back into his eyes. "Papa loves you; Maman loves you; Gabrielle loves you; Even Grand-mère loves you. We will all tell you and show you, 'Arry. You will nevair live wizout zat again. We will not allow it."
The tears that fell from his eyes were ones of relief this time, and in that moment, she knew that he would be alright. No problem was too big for them to face together as a family; the worst possible outcome was that they would whisk him away to France, where the people who wanted to use him could no longer get to him. They would no longer let him suffer.
She wrapped him in another warm hug, and put every ounce of her belief into it. As far as Fleur Delacour was concerned, he would never be alone again. All he had to do now was realize it.
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They remained on the grounds until late in the evening, and only just returned to the castle in time for dinner. Harry was dried out; he could not remember ever having been so emotional before. In the end, though, while he was exhausted, he felt lighter somehow. And then he thought about Fleur's words to him.
He wasn't lying when he said that nobody had ever told him that, and even more amazing, he could sense her honesty.
He wanted to say it back, but he didn't know how. He was not familiar with love, never having truly experienced it, and those words were precious to him. He would not tell her until he was certain that he truly felt it, for they were not words that could be idly shared.
She understood this, though, and that was just one more thing that he liked about her.
They sat down for dinner a few minutes late, and the looks he got from his friends were predictable. Hermione, of course, was the most direct: she was deeply worried for him, and he had to smile at her in reassurance. That earned him a relieved one in return, and he was amused when she turned a thankful and slightly questioning look on Fleur.
He was thrilled that they got along, and had no doubt that they would be talking later.
Ron, of course, was oblivious to his earlier distress, and that bothered him. Instead he received a calculating look that he didn't much care for. He had a feeling that this was the beginning of the end; the cat was out of the bag, and Ron would be a handful. Hopefully he could at least last the week, as after that they would announce it and it wouldn't matter anymore.
Neville and Susan were clearly curious, but also kind enough not to ask. They needed to be told; it would be safer if they had all the information. He trusted both of them to a surprising degree; they were solid friends, and he wasn't worried.
And the twins, of course, were their usual jovial selves, though he caught the occasional looks. They knew more than they should, and while they appeared oblivious to his earlier distress, he knew better. They were just subtle about it, in that way that always made people severely underestimate them. He liked that about them.
Dumbledore was absent from the Head Table, so Harry glanced inquiringly at Fleur. Understanding his meaning without words, she drew her wand and cast another privacy bubble. All conversation stopped, and with the exception of Hermione, everyone unconsciously leaned in to hear the story.
"I'm guessing you all want to know what that was about?" he asked tiredly.
"Only if you want to tell us, mate," said Fred seriously.
"You don't have to," agreed George.
Ron looked like he disagreed with that, but wisely remained silent.
Harry rubbed his face, taking a moment to summon the energy he needed to get through the discussion. "No, you need to know," he sighed. "Just try not to yell, I've got a bit of a headache."
Taking one more deep breath, he met each set of eyes in turn, impressing on them the seriousness of the situation. They knew him well enough to be able to tell that he was not joking, and that it was not a prank. Hermione gave him a supportive look, which he genuinely appreciated, and Fleur's presence was a great comfort.
"You all know that Fleur is veela," he began. "Problem is, veela and life debts don't mix. If a veela owes someone a life debt, their magic will call it due in roughly thirty days."
Neville and Susan reacted the most visibly: their eyes widened in alarm. Fred and George just nodded sagely, and of course Hermione already knew. Ron looked plum confused at why he was telling them this, but Harry ignored him.
"I saved Fleur's life during the Second Task when she was attacked by a pack of grindylows," he continued. "She owes me a life debt, and if she doesn't pay it back, she loses her magic, and that's a surefire way to kill a veela."
Susan sucked in a breath. "But the only way she can pay it back is–"
"–to marry me, yes," nodded Harry. "The wedding is this weekend. You're all invited, which was why I got that howler from Mrs. Weasley earlier. I guess she didn't get the memo. And no, this is not a joke."
Fleur's hand moved to the small of his back, and he smiled at her briefly before taking in the reactions. Fred and George looked thoughtful, but not surprised. Neville and Susan were stunned but supportive, just like he expected. And Ron...
...Ron looked both impressed and jealous as hell.
Lovely.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Fleur," said Fred.
"But that sucks pretty hard, Harry," finished George.
"I know," he nodded. "But I could have done a hell of a lot worse than Fleur, and I don't mean because she's pretty."
Fleur ducked her head in embarrassment, which made him smile at her. He had a feeling that it was rare for someone to say something like that where she was concerned, but he would be happy to let her know for as long as possible that he wasn't after her for her beauty. It was the person inside, the one that he was just coming to know, that he liked so much.
"True, that," nodded Fred, still serious.
"I don't think we could have chosen better for you, Harry," nodded George.
"Like we said before, she likes you."
"So don't hack her off."
Fleur snorted in amusement. "When did you say zis?" she grinned.
"Snape night," smirked George.
"First time you kissed him on the cheek," grinned Fred.
"He kinda zoned out."
"So we borrowed him and had a little talk."
"Keep him on the straight and narrow, you know."
Harry snorted. "Like you two are ones to talk," he smirked. "Your straight and narrow is my windy road."
The twins grinned widely at him, and he had a feeling that particular slogan would end up on a tee shirt at some point, though probably creatively reversed. They had a perverse way of looking at life, but he had to admire them: it always worked out well in the end. He wished he could be so carefree.
"I don't see what's so bad about it," said Ron with a faint scowl. "I mean, she's a veela! It doesn't get much better than that!"
Hermione's countenance darkened ominously. "Don't be so shallow, Ronald," she hissed quietly.
"What?" he retorted. "I don't see a downside. He's bloody lucky! He got the best of the lot!"
Harry caught Fleur's narrowed eyes, and shook his head subtly at her to keep her from speaking. He decided he would let the others handle this as much as possible; Ron was an idiot. And Neville seemed to agree.
"You're an idiot, Ron," he scowled. "How would you like it if you were forced to marry, say, Pansy Parkinson?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" scowled Ron.
"Everything, Ronniekins," said Fred seriously, "because that's exactly what happened to Harry."
"The fact she's not Pansy is only luck," nodded George. "Just because she's pretty, doesn't mean it'll work out."
Harry had never seen the twins so serious or insightful before, and frankly it was a bit disturbing. He made a mental note to do something nice for them some time; they had probably done a lot more for him than he was aware of. They were always there in the background, quietly taking care of business, and they paid a lot more attention than anyone knew.
"But she isn't Pansy," scowled Ron.
"So if we force you to marry Parvati Patil next week–"
"–you would jump for joy and go do it?"
Ron blinked.
"They're right, Ron," said Harry quietly, finally deciding to say his piece. "At first I thought I was marrying someone like Parkinson. It was terrifying. Yes, things are working out, but that doesn't make it right or easy. For one, I'll never know who I would have ended up with otherwise."
"I will do my best to make it worth your while, 'Arry," said Fleur softly.
"I know you will," he smiled sadly back. "And we'll both probably always wonder, but I hope we'll never have regrets."
Fleur nodded and brushed her hand through his hair, apparently having figured out that he liked that. It was pleasant, and very relaxing. He wished he could go back and curl up with her in the carriage later to fall asleep; her mere presence soothed him in a way he had never experienced before.
"Well, congratulations, guys, either way," said Neville after a few moments. "You're right, you could have done a whole lot worse. I think you're good together."
"Me too," agreed Susan, "and I'll definitely be there. I think Auntie is planning on going, too."
"Thanks, guys," smiled Harry.
"Yes, Merci," smiled Fleur. "You 'ave all been wonderful."
Harry knew she wasn't including Ron in that, but didn't say anything. "You can't say anything until after it's over," he sighed finally. "There are people who will try to stop it, not to mention the press, and we can't let that happen. We'll announce it after it's all said and done."
"No worries, mate," said Fred.
"Our lips are sealed," nodded George.
The rest of the table nodded their understanding, with the sole exception of Ron. He was too busy staring again, but it was different now. He was looking at her not just with lust, but also with a massive dose of jealousy, and a healthy dose of anger. Harry wondered how long it would take for him to destroy what little remained of their friendship, but doubted it would be long now.
And Fleur noticed.
"Remember my warning, Ronald," she said quietly, meeting his gaze with a dark one of her own. "'Arry is and always will be my mate, and we veela are very protective. Do not release ze secret, or you will deal wiz me."
Ron nodded sharply, but Harry doubted he truly heard.
He was too busy raging internally about the supposed unfairness of his life.
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