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A cool breeze drifted through the empty classroom's windows as Harry, Fleur, and Hermione gathered around an old desk, their heads bent over a seemingly blank piece of parchment.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Harry whispered, tapping his wand against the parchment. Ink spread like veins across the surface, revealing the intricate map of Hogwarts.
"It's fascinating," Fleur murmured, her finger tracing the moving dots. "Your father and 'is friends were quite brilliant to create this."
"Indeed, I don't think even Professor Flitwick would be able to understand how they managed to make this map," Harry said with a burst of pride in his chest.
"Look for anything unusual," Hermione said, her eyes scanning the various corridors and rooms.
"Wait," Harry interrupted, pointing to a specific spot. "There – in Moody's office. That can't be right."
Fleur leaned closer, her silvery hair brushing against Harry's cheek. "Barty Crouch? But why would 'e be there?"
"He's supposed to be ill," Harry frowned. "Percy mentioned in his last letter that Crouch hasn't been to work in weeks. Even skipped the second task."
"Maybe 'e's recovered?" Fleur suggested, though she didn't sound convinced.
Hermione shook her head. "It doesn't make sense. If he's well enough to be at Hogwarts, why not make an official appearance? He's still a tournament judge, after all."
They watched as the dot labeled 'Barty Crouch' moved around Moody's office, it seemed like he was talking with Mad Eye Moody since he was nearby.
"Could be discussing the third task," Hermione offered. "Extra security measures, perhaps?"
"Then why all the secrecy?" Harry countered. "And why meet in Moody's office instead of somewhere more official, like Dumbledore's?"
A familiar soft hoot interrupted their discussion as Hedwig glided through the window, landing on Harry's shoulder. She held out her leg, revealing a slightly crumpled letter.
"It's from Sirius," Harry said, quickly untying it. Hedwig helped herself to some owl treats from his pocket while he unfolded the parchment.
"Dear Harry,
First things first – is it true? The Daily Prophet arrived this morning with quite the interesting front page. You and Fleur Delacour? Your father would be proud – he always did have a thing for brilliant, powerful witches.
As for Moody. Your instincts are right – something's very wrong. Your father NEVER told anyone about the map except us four. Not even Lily knew about it until after Hogwarts.
As for Alastor – the Moody I know would never ask to borrow something. He's paranoid about using magical objects he hasn't personally verified. Plus, he and your father weren't close during the war. They respected each other, but they weren't sharing secrets.
Be extremely careful. Watch the map closely – especially around Moody. I'm closer than you think. I want to meet you tomorrow, come to Hogsmeade, and take your girlfriend with you. I would like to meet the girl who stole my little godson's heart.
Be careful who you trust. Keep your map close and your wand closer.
-Padfoot
P.S. Your mother would have loved your singing voice. James couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.
P.S. Any chance you could bring some of those excellent French pastries I've heard about? Prison food was terrible for my refined palate."
"'E wants to meet me?" Fleur's voice held a note of anxiety. "Your godfather – ze escaped prisoner?"
"Innocent escaped prisoner," Hermione corrected automatically.
Harry took Fleur's hand. "He'll love you. Though he might try to embarrass me with baby stories."
"Oh, I 'ope so," Fleur's worry transformed into a mischievous grin. "I want to 'ear everything."
"Brilliant," Harry groaned. "My girlfriend and my godfather, ganging up on me already."
"Speaking of ze Daily Prophet," Fleur said, "my sister sent me twelve copies. She's framed ze picture."
Hermione laughed. "The one where you're kissing after the second task? It was quite dramatic – Harry all wet and heroic, you looking like some water goddess..."
"At least Rita Skeeter couldn't spin it negatively," Harry said. "Though not for lack of trying. What was that line about 'foreign enchantress stealing our champion's heart'?"
"I rather liked zat part," Fleur smirked. "Though she forgot to mention your singing voice that made all ze merpeople swoon."
"Don't remind me," Harry buried his face in his hands. "Fred and George are still doing dramatic reenactments in the common room."
"Better than Ron's reaction," Hermione muttered. "I can't believe he's still not speaking to you."
"'E is jealous," Fleur said matter-of-factly.
They fell silent as movement on the map caught their attention. Crouch's dot was now pacing rapidly back and forth in Moody's office.
"Something's definitely not right," Harry said quietly.
"We'll tell Sirius everything tomorrow," Hermione assured him. "Maybe he'll have some insight."
"Speaking of tomorrow," Fleur bit her lip. "What should I wear to meet an escaped convict? Is there a proper dress code for such things?"
Harry couldn't help but laugh, pulling her close. "Just be yourself. Though maybe leave the part about making that Ravenclaw wet himself out of the introduction."
"'E deserved it," Fleur sniffed. "No one insults my 'Arry."
"Your Harry?" he raised an eyebrow, grinning.
"Oui, mine," she kissed him softly. "Unless you object?"
"Not at all," Harry murmured against her lips.
"If you two are quite finished," Hermione interrupted, though she was smiling, "we should probably head to dinner. People might wonder where we've disappeared to."
"Let them wonder," Fleur said, but she pulled away from Harry with a resigned sigh.
As they packed up the map and headed for the door, Harry couldn't help but feel both excited and nervous about tomorrow. Introducing his girlfriend to his godfather wasn't exactly a normal teenage experience – but then again, nothing in his life ever was.
"'Arry?" Fleur's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "What kind of pastries does your godfather like?"
"Knowing Sirius? Anything that isn't prison gruel."
"Then I shall write to Maman tonight. She knows ze best patisserie."
Tomorrow - Morning
The three of them were in the library, trying to do some early studying. According to Hermione, they needed to prepare for the Tirwizard Tournament. Harry knew that was important, but they had no idea what the third task would be, so it felt pointless unless they decided to study everything, and he was sure a day didn't have enough hours for that to happen.
Fleur's new look had distracted Harry from the beginning, but he eventually noticed that Fleur seemed a little nervous. He could not understand why she would be nervous about anything, so he asked what was bothering her.
"You're wearing your hair differently," Harry noted. Her silvery-blonde hair was pulled back in an elegant but severe bun rather than its usual flowing style.
"Oui," Fleur touched it self-consciously. "I thought... perhaps it looked more serious? More respectable?" She smoothed her clothes for the tenth time. "Do you think the blue is too much? Maybe I should 'ave worn something lighter? But then it might seem too casual, and 'e is your family after all, and—"
Harry couldn't help it – he started chuckling.
"What?" Fleur demanded, a hint of her usual fire returning. "What is so funny?"
"You," Harry said fondly, stepping closer. "You remind me of someone who was absolutely terrified about meeting his girlfriend's parents – especially her father, the French Minister of Magic."
"That was different," Fleur protested, though her lips twitched. "My parents are perfectly normal people who—"
"Who could have had me thrown in a French prison for dating their daughter?"
"We don't throw people in prison for dating," Fleur sniffed. "We feed them to ze dragons."
"Much better," Harry grinned, then softened his expression. "Fleur, Sirius is going to love you. You're brilliant, brave, and you've been there for me through everything. Plus," he added with a wink, "you actually like my singing."
"I more than like it," Fleur murmured, relaxing slightly as Harry pulled her closer.
"I know," he said softly, before capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. Fleur melted into it, letting out a moan, her earlier tension dissolving as she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hermione's exasperated voice broke in. "Could you two possibly get a room?"
Fleur pulled back just enough to smirk at Hermione, her eyes twinkling. "We already did, chérie. Several times, in fact. The Astronomy Tower 'as such a lovely view at night..."
"Fleur!" Harry's face turned scarlet as Hermione made a show of covering her ears.
"What? It's true," Fleur said innocently. "Though ze Shrieking Shack was quite memorable as well..."
"Please stop," Hermione groaned. "I do not need these mental images."
"Says the one who keeps staring at Neville during Herbology," Harry countered, recovering from his embarrassment.
"I do not—" Hermione started to protest, but Fleur cut in.
"Oh yes, you do. Especially when 'e rolls up 'is sleeves to handle ze more dangerous plants. What was it you said? 'Is technique is very... impressive?'"
Hermione's face now matched Harry's in color. "I hate you both."
"Non, you don't," Fleur laughed, finally letting her hair down from its severe bun. "You love us."
"Unfortunately," Hermione muttered, but she was fighting back a smile.
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The morning sun sparkled off the Black Lake as Harry and Fleur circled each other, wands at the ready. A light breeze carried the scent of spring flowers across the grounds, ruffling Fleur's silver-blonde hair as she watched Harry with intense concentration.
"Ready?" Harry called out, a playful glint in his green eyes.
"Always," Fleur smirked. "Try to keep up, mon amour."
Harry struck first, sending a rapid series of stunning spells her way. Fleur moved like water, deflecting each one with elegant precision before retaliating with her own barrage of hexes.
"Is that all?" she teased as Harry dodged, rolling smoothly across the grass. "I thought ze famous 'Arry Potter would be more challenging."
"Just warming up," Harry grinned, suddenly switching tactics. He transfigured nearby rocks into birds that swooped at Fleur while simultaneously casting a leg-locker curse.
Fleur's shield charm expanded in a brilliant blue dome, vaporizing the birds. She spun away from the curse, her own counterattack already forming.
"Impressive," she acknowledged. "But watch this—"
Her next spell chain came so fast Harry barely had time to react. Shield charm, counter-curse, dodge, strike – they moved in an intricate dance of magic, neither gaining the upper hand.
Finally, they both paused, breathing heavily but exhilarated.
"'Arry," Fleur said slowly, lowering her wand. "Did that feel... different to you?"
"Yeah," Harry wiped sweat from his forehead. "I've never moved that fast before. And my spells—"
"They're stronger," Fleur finished. "Much stronger. Watch." She aimed at a fallen log near the lake. "Reducto!"
The spell didn't just break the log – it obliterated it, sending splinters flying in all directions.
"Merlin's beard," Harry breathed. "That was..."
"More powerful than it should 'ave been," Fleur nodded. "Your turn. Try something."
Harry pointed his wand at the lake's surface. "Glacius!"
Instead of just freezing a small patch of water, a sheet of ice spread out nearly thirty feet across the lake's surface.
"Well," Fleur said after a moment. "That's new."
"It's not just the spells," Harry added, running a hand through his messy hair. "Did you notice how we were moving? I've never been that quick or... coordinated."
"Oui. I felt like I could predict your movements somehow." Fleur stepped closer, her blue eyes thoughtful. "Almost like..."
"Like we were dancing?" Harry suggested, remembering their Yule Ball practices.
"Exactement. But more than that." She raised her wand again. "Shall we test it further?"
Harry's response was a swift disarming charm that Fleur countered before it was fully formed.
"'Ow did you know I would do that?" Harry asked, impressed.
"I just... felt it coming," Fleur shrugged, sending her own spell his way. "Like I could sense your magic gathering before you cast."
They continued sparring, but now they were paying closer attention to their movements and reactions. Every spell seemed more potent, every dodge more precise.
"This is incredible," Harry said during another break. "But why is it happening?"
"Perhaps..." Fleur bit her lip thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should try something else. Cast your Patronus?"
"Expecto Patronum!" Harry called out, thinking of their first kiss in the Shrieking Shack. Prongs burst forth from his wand, but the silvery stag was almost blindingly bright, its form more solid than ever before.
Fleur cast her own Patronus, and EtoLia soared into existence, the eagle's wingspan nearly twice its usual size. The two Patronuses circled each other in a mesmerizing dance before fading away.
"Definitely stronger," Harry concluded. "But it doesn't make sense. We haven't been doing anything different."
"Non?" Fleur stepped close enough that Harry could count her eyelashes. "Nothing has changed recently?"
"Well," Harry smiled, pulling her closer. "There is this amazing French witch who's been stealing kisses between training sessions..."
"Only ze kisses?" Fleur raised an eyebrow suggestively.
"Among other things," Harry felt his face heat up, but he didn't look away. "Though I don't see how that would affect our magic."
"Magic works in mysterious ways, mon coeur," Fleur traced a finger along his jaw. "Especially when love is involved."
"Love, huh?" Harry's heart skipped at the word, even though they'd said it before.
"Oui. Unless you'd prefer to credit your improved performance to something else?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Perhaps all those private 'singing lessons' we've been having?"
"Is that what we're calling it now?" Harry laughed, then grew serious. "But really, Fleur – we should probably figure out what's causing this. If our magic keeps getting stronger..."
"We will figure it out," she assured him. "But first..." She raised her wand with a challenging smile. "Show me if you can keep up with a Veela, Potter."
"Always so competitive," Harry shook his head fondly, taking his stance. "Though I seem to remember keeping up quite well last night in the Astronomy Tower."
"Behave yourself," Fleur scolded, though her cheeks pinked slightly. "Or I'll tell 'ermione exactly why we were late to breakfast this morning."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me," she winked, then launched into another spell chain that Harry met with equal force.
They continued training until the sun was high overhead, their magic dancing between them like visible threads of light. Neither noticed the small symbol that occasionally flickered on their skin when their spells connected – a woman standing before a sun, glowing briefly before fading away.
Whatever was happening to their magic, one thing was certain – Harry Potter and Fleur Delacour were becoming a force to be reckoned with. And they were having entirely too much fun discovering it together.
"One more round?" Harry suggested, eyes bright with challenge.
"Winner gets to choose where we 'practice' tonight?" Fleur proposed innocently.
"Deal," Harry grinned. "Though I should warn you – I've been saving my best moves."
"Oh, mon amour," Fleur's smile turned predatory. "So 'ave I."
Later
The path to Hogsmeade was crowded with students enjoying the spring weather, their excited chatter filling the air. Harry, Fleur, and Hermione walked slightly apart from the others, their bags laden with food from breakfast.
"All I'm saying," Hermione continued their ongoing debate, "is that Dumbledore should know if a professor is acting suspiciously."
"Ze same Dumbledore who let someone put 'Arry's name in ze goblet?" Fleur arched an elegant eyebrow. "Very reassuring."
"She has a point," Harry adjusted the bag of food. "It's been what, six months? And we're no closer to knowing who did it."
"But surely—" Hermione started.
"Half the school still thinks Arry did it himself," Fleur cut in. "Including some of the teachers, I bet. And Dumbledore's done nothing to stop those rumors."
"Not to mention," Harry added, "He is close friends with Moody. He would probably just hand over the map without question."
"Well, well," a drawling voice interrupted their discussion. "If it isn't Potty, his pet bookworm, and the French tart."
Harry's hand tightened around his wand as Draco Malfoy stepped into their path, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Pansy Parkinson lurked behind them, shooting venomous looks at Fleur.
"Malfoy," Harry said coldly. "Shouldn't you be writing another article for Rita Skeeter? Or does your father handle all your publicity now?"
"At least my father's around to handle things, Potter," Malfoy sneered.
Before Harry could react, Fleur stepped forward, her eyes flashing dangerously. "You should choose your next words very carefully, little boy."
"Or what?" Pansy cut in, though she took a slight step back when Fleur's gaze landed on her. "You'll throw your hair around? That's all you're good for, isn't it? Just another pretty face trying to—"
"Trying to what, exactly?" Fleur's voice was deadly soft. A slight silver glow began emanating from her skin. "Please, finish zat thought. I so rarely get ze chance to demonstrate why Veela are considered... dangerous."
Crabbe and Goyle shifted uncomfortably, while Malfoy's pale face grew even paler.
"You wouldn't dare," Pansy said, but her voice wavered. "Not with all these witnesses."
"Non?" Fleur smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant expression. "Ask your friend there what happened to ze last person who insulted 'Arry in front of me. I believe 'e had to change his robes rather quickly, non?"
Several nearby students who had stopped to watch snickered, remembering the incident with the Ravenclaw boy.
"Is there a problem here?" Hermione asked innocently, her wand casually pointed in the general direction of Malfoy's group. "Because I'm sure Professor McGonagall would love to hear about any... disturbances."
"Come on," Malfoy muttered to his cronies, backing away. "They're not worth our time."
"That's right," Harry called after them. "Run along to daddy, Malfoy. It's what you do best."
Once they were gone, Fleur's dangerous aura faded, replaced by her usual grace. "'E reminds me of a small yapping dog," she observed. "All noise, no bite."
"You were brilliant," Harry grinned, pulling her close. "Though I thought Pansy was going to faint when you started glowing."
"Served her right," Hermione huffed. "Calling you a 'pretty face' when you could probably outcast her blindfolded."
"And ze way she looks at 'Arry," Fleur wrinkled her nose. "As if she thinks she 'as a chance."
"Jealous?" Harry teased.
"Of 'er?" Fleur scoffed. "Please. I've seen more attractive garden gnomes."
"Speaking of attraction," Hermione cut in as they resumed walking, "that reminds me of something I read about Veela magic. Apparently, it can be affected by strong emotions, especially—"
"'ermione," Fleur interrupted gently. "While I usually love your academic curiosity, perhaps we should focus on ze meeting ahead? Unless you want to explain to Sirius why we're late because we stopped to discuss Veela mating habits?"
Hermione turned bright red.
"That's not what I— I mean, I wasn't going to—" Hermione spluttered.
"Though if you're really interested," Fleur continued innocently, "'Arry and I could tell you all about—"
"No!" Hermione clapped her hands over her ears. "No, no, absolutely not!"
"Your loss," Fleur shrugged, winking at Harry. "It's quite fascinating, really. Especially ze part about—"
"Look!" Hermione said loudly, pointing ahead. "We're almost at Hogsmeade! Isn't that exciting? Let's talk about that instead!"
Harry couldn't help laughing at Hermione's desperate attempt to change the subject. "You started it," he reminded her.
"And I deeply regret it," Hermione muttered. "Can we please focus on what we're going to tell Sirius about Moody?"
"Of course, chérie," Fleur agreed, though her eyes still sparkled with mischief. "Though perhaps later we could continue our educational discussion? I'm sure Neville would be fascinated..."
"I hate you both," Hermione declared as they entered Hogsmeade.
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The Three Broomsticks was unusually quiet for a Hogsmeade weekend, though Harry suspected Sebastian Delacour might have something to do with that. The French Minister of Magic had a way of ensuring privacy without being obvious about it.
"'Arry!" Gabriella squealed the moment they entered, launching herself at him with all the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old who'd been forced to sit still for too long.
Harry caught her with ease, spinning her around once before setting her down. "'Ow is my favorite little sister?" he asked, his French accent making Gabriella giggle.
"Your accent is terrible," she informed him solemnly in perfect English, then beamed. "But you are getting better!"
"Thanks to you," Harry ruffled her hair affectionately. "Though your sister might disagree."
"My sister is biased," Gabriella declared. "She thinks everything you do is perfect."
"Is that so?" Harry glanced at Fleur, who was already being pulled aside by her mother, Apolline, their heads close together in discussion.
"Come, Harry," Sebastian called from a corner table. "Let me order you a proper drink. Butterbeer is fine for students, but you're practically family now."
"Papa!" Gabriella protested. "I want to show Harry the new trick I learned!"
"After drinks, ma petite," Sebastian promised. "Let me steal him for a moment."
Harry sat across from Sebastian, noting how the older man's kind face lit up when Madam Rosmerta approached.
"Ah, the finest firewhisky for myself and young Harry here," Sebastian ordered smoothly. "And... what was it you liked, Gabriella? Hot chocolate with extra cream?"
"And sprinkles!" Gabriella added, climbing onto the chair between them.
"Of course, how could I forget the sprinkles?" Sebastian winked at Harry. "They're very important."
Once their drinks arrived, Sebastian leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me, Harry, have you ever seen a proper French Quidditch match?"
"No, sir," Harry admitted. "Though I've heard they're quite different from British games."
"Different?" Sebastian's eyes sparkled. "My boy, they're revolutionary! The French style emphasizes strategy over brute force. And this summer, Paris is hosting the European Cup qualifier between France and Bulgaria."
"Bulgaria?" Harry perked up. "With Viktor Krum?"
"The very same," Sebastian nodded approvingly. "I've already secured top box tickets for the family. And you, of course."
"Me?" Harry blinked in surprise.
"Unless you'd rather spend the summer with those... relatives of yours?" Sebastian's tone made it clear what he thought of the Dursleys.
"No, sir!" Harry said quickly, making Gabriella laugh.
"Good," Sebastian smiled. "Because I've been looking forward to showing you real Quidditch. I heard from Fleur, and the way you fly. I know you are good at it."
"He's the best!" Gabriella interjected. "He was amazing when we flew together above Hogwarts. We could touch the clouds." Gabriella announced proudly.
Sebastian laughed at Harry's panicked expression. "Relax, my boy. Besides, any man who can make my little girl feel safe on a broomstick hundreds of feet in the air is clearly trustworthy."
Across the room, Harry noticed Fleur and her mother still deep in conversation, Apolline gesturing animatedly while Fleur nodded seriously.
"Watch this, Harry!" Gabriella's voice pulled his attention back. She was holding up her empty hot chocolate mug, concentration etched on her small face. Slowly, tiny sparkles began to dance above the rim, forming shapes in the air.
"Wandless magic?" Harry asked, impressed.
"Veela magic," Sebastian corrected proudly. "It manifests early in some. Though usually not quite so... sparkly."
"I made them sparkly on purpose," Gabriella informed them. "Because Harry likes shiny things. Like Fleur's hair!"
Harry felt his face heat up as Sebastian roared with laughter. "She's got you there, my boy! Though I can't blame you – all Veelas have that effect. Why, when I first met Apolline..."
"Papa!" Gabriella covered her ears. "No love stories!"
"But how else will Harry learn the proper way to court a Veela?" Sebastian teased.
"He doesn't need to learn," Gabriella said matter-of-factly. "Fleur says he's perfect just as he is. Even if his French is terrible."
"Thanks for that," Harry laughed, then turned serious. "Though your father might disagree about the perfect part."
"Now then," Sebastian clapped his hands. "Gabriella, why don't you show Harry that new dance you've been practicing? The one with the ribbons?"
"Oui!" Gabriella jumped up excitedly. "Harry, you have to see! I've been practicing for weeks!"
As Harry watched Gabriella twirl around their corner of the pub, magical ribbons of light trailing from her fingertips, he caught Fleur's eye across the room. She smiled at him, soft and warm, before returning to her conversation with Apolline.
"She's happy, you know," Sebastian said quietly. "Happier than I've seen her in years."
"She makes me happy too," Harry replied honestly.
"I know," Sebastian squeezed his shoulder. "That's why you're perfect for her. Now, about this summer – how do you feel about learning to play Quidditch the French way?"
"I'd love to learn," Harry grinned. "Though Gabriella might have to help me with the French terms."
"I will!" Gabriella promised, pausing her dance. "But only if you take me flying again!"
"We'll see," Sebastian chuckled. "Perhaps somewhere closer to the ground this time?"
"But Papa," Gabriella pouted, "how else will Harry practice catching me if I fall?"
"Catching you if—" Sebastian spluttered, turning to Harry with wide eyes.
"I would never let her fall," Harry assured him quickly. "Besides, Fleur was with us the whole time."
"Ah," Sebastian relaxed. "That's different then. My eldest has always been excellent with safety charms. Unlike her father at that age..."
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The afternoon sun filtered through the trees as Harry, Fleur, and Hermione made their way up the winding path outside Hogsmeade. Harry kept glancing at Fleur, who seemed lost in thought.
"Everything alright?" he finally asked. "You've been quiet since we left your parents."
Fleur blinked, emerging from her reverie with a soft smile. "Oui, just... thinking about something Maman and I discussed. We will talk about it later, mon coeur."
"Good talk with your parents, then?" Hermione asked, joining them.
"Very good," Harry grinned. "Though Gabriella might have mentioned our flying adventures to Sebastian..."
"Including ze loop-de-loops?" Fleur's eyes widened.
"Not yet, thankfully. Your father might have had a heart attack."
They fell into comfortable silence as they climbed higher, entering the forest. A twig snapped nearby, and Harry's face lit up as a large black dog emerged from behind a tree.
"Padfoot!"
The dog's tail wagged furiously, and its mouth opened in what could only be described as a doggy grin. It turned and led them deeper into the forest, occasionally looking back to make sure they were following.
"'E seems... 'appy," Fleur observed.
"Happier than last year," Hermione agreed. "Though living off rats can't have been pleasant."
They emerged into a clearing where a small, roughly-built cabin stood. Near it, Buckbeak the hippogriff was contentedly gnawing on what appeared to be a bone.
Harry started to warn Fleur about hippogriff etiquette, but before he could, something remarkable happened. Buckbeak looked up, fixed his fierce gaze on Fleur, and... bowed deeply.
"That's... unusual," Hermione said slowly as Fleur gracefully returned the bow.
"Usually it's the other way around," Harry added, watching in amazement as Buckbeak actually trotted over to Fleur, allowing her to stroke his feathered neck.
"Perhaps 'e recognizes a fellow magical creature," Fleur suggested, scratching under Buckbeak's beak. The hippogriff made a sound suspiciously like purring.
"Or perhaps he just has excellent taste in witches."
They turned to see Sirius emerging from the cabin, looking far better than he had the previous year. His face, though still gaunt, had more color, and his eyes sparkled with life. His clothes were shabby but clean, and he'd managed to trim his wild hair.
"So," he continued with a roguish grin, "you must be Fleur Delacour, the lady who stole my godson's heart."
"Sirius!" Harry rushed forward, embracing his godfather tightly.
"Hey, kiddo," Sirius's voice was thick with emotion as he hugged Harry back. When they separated, both their eyes were suspiciously bright.
Fleur stepped forward, her usual confidence tempered with respect. "Monsieur Black, it is an 'onor to meet you."
"Please, just Sirius," he smiled warmly. "Anyone who can make my godson smile like that is family." He paused, studying her with curious eyes. "Though I must say, the papers didn't do you justice. You're far more impressive in person."
"You're not affected by 'er allure," Harry noted with surprise.
"Twelve years in Azkaban gives you a certain... resistance to mental influences," Sirius explained. "Though I suspect that's not the only remarkable thing about Miss Delacour."
"Fleur, please," she insisted.
"Hermione," Sirius turned to the bushy-haired witch with a fond smile. "Still keeping these two in line?"
"Trying to," Hermione laughed. "Though they make it difficult."
"Come inside," Sirius gestured to the cabin. "We have much to discuss. Though first..." he eyed the bags they carried. "Please tell me you brought food. I love Buckbeak, but I'm tired of sharing his hunting spoils."
Inside, the cabin was small but cozy. A fire crackled in a rough stone fireplace, and mismatched furniture was arranged around it. Harry noticed several Daily Prophet clippings pinned to one wall – most featuring him and Fleur.
"The press has been having a field day," Sirius commented, following Harry's gaze. "Though I particularly enjoyed the one about 'foreign enchantress stealing Britain's champion.' Rita Skeeter always did have a flair for drama."
"She's awful," Hermione scowled, unpacking their food onto a small table.
"But entertaining," Sirius grinned. "Especially when she's wrong. Though I notice she got one thing right – you two do make quite the pair."
Harry and Fleur exchanged glances, both smiling.
"Now then," Sirius sat in a worn armchair, accepting a sandwich from Hermione. "Tell me everything. Starting with this business about Moody and the map."
As they explained recent events, Sirius's expression grew increasingly serious. He asked questions, particularly about Moody's behavior and the mysterious appearance of Barty Crouch on the map.
"And you're certain about the trembling hands?" he asked. "The frequent drinking?"
"Oui," Fleur confirmed. "Every hour, almost exactly."
"Like clockwork," Harry added.
Sirius leaned back, his face troubled. "The real Moody would never ask for the map. Not only because James never told him about it, but because Moody never uses magical objects he hasn't personally verified. Too paranoid."
"That's what we thought," Hermione nodded. "And with Mr. Crouch appearing in his office..."
"When he's supposedly ill at home," Sirius finished. "Very suspicious indeed." He turned to Harry. "You were right not to tell Dumbledore yet. Much as I respect him, he tends to play things too close to the chest. We need more information first."
"What should we do?" Harry asked.
"Keep watching. Keep the map safe. And..." Sirius hesitated, looking at Fleur. "Perhaps it's time to bring in some additional help."
"My father?" Fleur asked shrewdly.
"The French Minister of Magic might have resources we don't," Sirius nodded. "Especially since this tournament involves his daughter."
"I'll speak with 'im," Fleur promised. "Discreetly."
"Good," Sirius smiled. "Now, speaking of discretion... Harry, your singing?"
Harry groaned as Fleur giggled. "You heard about that?"
"The Prophet had quite the article about your underwater performance," Sirius's eyes twinkled. "Though I'm more interested in how you kept it secret so long. James couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, and Lily... well, let's just say your talent must have skipped a generation."
As Harry reluctantly explained about his childhood experiences with singing, Sirius's expression darkened.
"Those muggles," he growled. "If I ever get my hands on them..."
"You won't have to," Fleur said firmly. "'Arry will be spending ze summer with my family in France."
"Will he now?" Sirius's mood lightened considerably. "Sebastian Delacour's estate, I presume? Beautiful place – I visited once, during the first war. Excellent wine cellar."
"You know my father?" Fleur asked, surprised.
"We met briefly. Good man, excellent duelist. And his wife..." Sirius whistled. "No offense, but your mother was the most terrifying witch I'd ever seen in action. In a good way."
"None taken," Fleur smiled. "She still is."
The conversation flowed easily after that, with Sirius sharing stories about Harry's parents, careful to keep them light and funny rather than dwelling on darker memories.
As the afternoon wore on, Buckbeak stuck his head through the cabin's window, clearly hoping for treats. To everyone's continued amazement, he seemed particularly fond of Fleur.
"Lady Fleur and Lady Hermione, can you two feed Buckbeak? I would like to talk with my grandson." Sirius requested with a smile, but it was clear he was hoping they would listen.
Hermione and Fleur did so without saying anything; Fleur grabbed a few sweets and walked outside. Harry heard the sound of Buckbeak as he approached the two witches and turned to face Sirius.
"So," Sirius settled back in his chair, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Tell me about her. Really tell me."
Harry felt warmth spread through his chest, the way it always did when he thought about Fleur. "She's... amazing, Sirius. Not just beautiful – though she is – but brilliant and brave and..." He ran a hand through his messy hair. "When I'm with her, I feel like I can breathe properly for the first time. Like everything makes sense."
"Even when the whole school thought you'd cheated your way into the tournament?"
"Everyone thought I cheated, even my friends in Gryffindor thought the same, except Neville, and Hermione. She thought the same, but after the first task, she came to me and apologised for how she was, at least she apologised unlike the rest. They have yet to, and I don't expect one from any of them. Then we started meeting, getting to know each other. Saw me, just Harry, not the Boy-Who-Lived or the fourth champion or any of that rubbish. And when she apologized for doubting me at first..." He smiled at the memory. "She was so genuine about it. Not like everyone else who suddenly decided I was their hero after the first task."
Sirius leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. "You've got the look, you know."
"What look?"
"The same one James had whenever he talked about Lily," Sirius said softly. "Like you're seeing colors no one else can see, hearing music no one else can hear. Your father used to get this exact same expression – like he couldn't quite believe his luck, but he'd fight anyone who tried to take it away."
Harry felt his throat tighten. "Really?"
"Oh yes," Sirius chuckled. "Though in your case, it seems the fighting might be more on Fleur's side. I heard about that incident with the Ravenclaw boy who insulted you?"
Harry groaned. "She made him... well..."
"I know," Sirius grinned wickedly. "The story reached even my humble forest abode. Quite creative use of Veela allure, I must say. Lily would have approved – she had quite the vengeful streak when someone upset James."
"Tell me more?" Harry asked eagerly. "About them?"
"Well, there was this one time in seventh year when some Slytherin called James a blood traitor..." Sirius's eyes grew distant with memory. "Lily hexed him so that every time he tried to speak, he could only quote Muggle love poetry. For a week. Your father was completely smitten – more than usual, I mean."
Harry laughed, trying to imagine it. "And Mum?"
"Oh, she pretended it wasn't her, but she had this little smile every time the poor bloke started reciting Shakespeare in the Great Hall." Sirius's face softened. "They were perfect for each other, Harry. Just like I think you and Fleur might be."
"You really think so?"
"I do," Sirius nodded seriously. "The way she looks at you when you're not watching – it's the same way Lily used to look at James. Like you're something precious she never expected to find."
Harry felt his face heat up. "I feel the same way about her. Sometimes I wonder if I'm dreaming all of this."
"Not a dream, kiddo," Sirius reached over to squeeze his shoulder. "Though speaking of dreams – France for the summer, eh? Sebastian Delacour's estate no less. Moving up in the world, pup."
"You could visit," Harry said hopefully. "The grounds are huge, lots of places to hide..."
"Funny you should mention that," Sirius's eyes sparkled mischievously. "France does have some lovely beaches. Perfect for a big black dog to go for swims. And if that dog happens to wander near certain magical estates..."
"Really?" Harry perked up. "You'll come?"
"Try and stop me," Sirius winked. "Besides, someone needs to teach you proper French appreciation of wine before Sebastian gets his hands on you. Man has absolutely no taste – thinks anything less than a hundred years old is barely worth drinking."
Through the window, they could hear Fleur's laughter mixing with Hermione's as Buckbeak apparently did something amusing.
"You really like her, don't you?" Harry asked quietly. "Fleur, I mean."
"Harry," Sirius's voice was gentle. "I like anyone who makes you smile like that. The fact that she's brilliant, powerful, and absolutely terrifying to your enemies is just a bonus. Though I do enjoy that she seems to have inherited Apolline's talent for creative hexes..."
"You really did know her parents?"
"Met them a few times during the war," Sirius confirmed. "Remarkable people. Sebastian was already making waves in French politics, and Apolline... well, let's just say there's a reason certain Death Eaters avoided France entirely."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the girls outside.
"Sirius?" Harry said finally. "Thank you. For everything."
"That's what family's for, pup," Sirius pulled him into a rough hug. "Now, tell me more about this singing business..."
As Harry launched into the story, he felt completely at peace. Here, with his godfather's warm acceptance, Fleur's love, and the promise of a summer far from the Dursleys, everything felt right in his world.
Even if Sirius was now trying to convince him to serenade Fleur with increasingly ridiculous song choices.
"I'm just saying, 'Who Let the Dogs Out' is a classic..."
"No, Sirius. Just... no."
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