15 - Fleur's Sorrow

They say that ignorance is bliss, and Fleur could not disagree with the sentiment. She felt bad for cornering Harry as she had two days prior, but after hearing the Dursleys mentioned in the interview – and gathering that Dumbledore was involved with them somehow – she could not stop herself. And now she knew beyond doubt what his childhood was like, and was horrified.

Of course, it had not all been Harry's doing. She recognized early on that he had not truly said much – only enough to confirm her suspicions, and to clue her in that he was still deeply affected by his past – but rather than press him for details, she had spoken with her father. And what she learned was far worse than anything she could have imagined.

After trying to dissuade her, he finally gave in and told her some of what he witnessed in Vernon's mind. Tale after tale of slavery and torture flowed from his mouth, and she found herself wondering how Harry could even have survived it. Her only consolation was that her father flat out refused to show her the memories – which she was now very thankful for after hearing the stories.

How anyone could live through that, and still be as kind and gentle as Harry, was a complete mystery to her. It only underscored how special he was, and just what Fate had blessed her with in their upcoming marriage. She no longer had any doubt that he would give her a happy life; it was simply who he was, down to his very soul.

But that left her wondering what exactly Fate was giving him in return.

Near as she could tell, she was getting the better end of the deal by far. Sure, she was beautiful, and perhaps even smart, but that was the only special thing about her. She did not have the same noble streak that he did, nor his unparalleled strength and bravery. She was just an ordinary person with a lot of social baggage.

Harry deserved so much more, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her only alternative was to accept death, and that was no longer an option. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was actually willing to do so for his sake – which frightened her – but her death would utterly destroy him, simply because knew that he could have prevented it.

His whole life had been stolen away from him from the very beginning. After losing his parents, he was placed in a home that was not merely loveless, but instead full of hatred toward him. He had no pleasure in his childhood like most children did, and it was a miracle that those people had not outright killed him, to hear her father tell it.

And now he was having his future stolen away as well, and that did not sit well with her, especially since she was the one who was stealing it. Never would he have the opportunity to go out in the world and find love for himself. Never would he have the joy capturing the heart of some lucky woman. He no longer had a choice.

He would already be married when his friends were out cavorting in bars and taverns, "chasing tail" as the Muggles would say. He would be facing family issues while they lived carefree lives, and would only be able to watch from the sidelines. His fate was sealed, his choices made for him by some unfeeling cosmic force.

Fleur would offer him everything she could, but would it ever be enough to make up for what he was sacrificing?

These thoughts had been running through her head for two days now, and she couldn't shake them. It was all she could do to keep them off her face during meals, which were almost the only times she could see him. So far her efforts appeared to have been successful, but she wouldn't have been surprised if Harry knew that something was bothering her; he was perceptive that way.

Nothing was different when Friday morning rolled around, and once again she did her best to push her dark thoughts to the side as she approached the table for breakfast.

Hermione smiled when she caught sight of her, and Ron's reaction was the same as it always was. The twins were chatting quietly with each other – probably up to some prank – and Neville kept his gaze fixed firmly on his girlfriend, most likely to avoid the pull of Fleur's allure. And then Harry turned around, and a small, shy smile lit his face.

"Bonjour, ma belle déesse fleur," he greeted quietly.

Fleur smiled delightedly, and gave him a peck on the cheek in greeting as she slid into the seat next to him. "Beautiful flower goddess?" she echoed back in amused English.

"Sounded good at the time," he shyly shrugged. "It's true, isn't it?"

Fleur chuckled, pleased by his good mood. "Per'aps," she replied noncommittally. And then she added, "mon beau héros."

His forehead scrunched up in concentration, before– "My handsome hero?" he asked tentatively, even as a blush suffused his cheeks.

Fleur's eyes widened. "Oui, I am impressed!" she said with a bright smile.

"Me too," smirked Hermione, "but I think he's only looking up terms of endearment."

Fleur snorted, grinned at Harry, and gave him another peck on the cheek; the compliment he'd given her was easily worth the reward.

And then Ron had to go and ruin the moment again by making gagging sounds.

Harry turned to glare at him, and Fleur closed her eyes, her lips tightening into a thin line. The boy was getting on her last nerve; she was rapidly reaching her limit. If he wasn't careful, he would earn a dose of her temper rather than merely her usual attitude, which would not be fun for him. She could only hope that Harry wasn't too put out with her when it happened.

When, not if, of this she was certain.

"Knock it off, Ron!" scowled Hermione. "How would you like it if we did that to you?"

And Fleur just couldn't resist. "Zat would require 'im to 'ave a girlfriend first, 'ermione," she said archly, pinning the idiot boy with a stare. "I do not zink 'e will evair 'ave to worry."

Ron flushed in anger and scowled at her, seemingly at a loss for words, even as several nearby girls nodded their agreement. The twins sniggered loudly and winked at her for her troubles. Hermione and Neville both smirked, the former nodding sagely. And Harry–

Well, Harry focused stubbornly on his breakfast.

He did this frequently when she came out with a nasty comment for Ron, and now that she understood his past a bit better, she understood why. Her father hinted that the Dursleys never allowed him to have friends, and his cousin chased off the other children at school. The baby whale even bragged about it to his parents, and they praised him for it!

He was completely friendless his whole life, and then he had the mixed fortune of meeting Ron Weasley.

Simply put, Harry did not want to lose his first friend. Never having had one prior to Hogwarts, he viewed all friendships as precious, something to be cherished. And though it was likely that this one was doing more harm than good at this point, she suspected that it would be a while before he was finally willing to cut his losses.

The saddest part of the whole thing was that Ron actually had a fair amount of potential. By all accounts, he was a good friend to Harry in the early years, and the roughness around the edges was easily excused because of his age. But he stubbornly refused to grow up, and the constant jealousy and insensitivity was quickly eroding their relationship.

It was no surprise that he had not yet been informed of their predicament. The moment he learned of it, his jealousy would likely soar to new heights, and that would be disastrous. She was uncertain how Dumbledore might react to the situation, and she did not want to find out – but there was no doubt that he would learn of it if Ron was told.

But before she could get any farther in that train of thought, she was startled out of her reverie by a condescending voice, speaking in her native language.

"Why are you sitting with these losers?"

The stream of French – or the actual question, depending on who was doing the listening – halted all conversation at the table, including Hermione's current argument with Ron. Hermione herself turned narrowed eyes on the girl standing behind Fleur, though she remained silent. The twins and Neville simply watched, while Harry continued eating, though a frown did appear on his lips.

Margeaux, the girl who issued the question, was very angry over the loss of the opportunity to become the Beauxbatons Champion, and never failed to let it be known. She wasn't bad looking – tall, with blue eyes and long blonde hair that made her look like a wannabe veela, and possessed of an attractive figure – but her expression usually ruined her appearance.

Of course, the entirety of the Beauxbatons contingent at Hogwarts was now firmly on her side. With Fleur's dismal performance in the Tournament, and the fact that she had been avoiding them completely for more than a week now, they would all quite happily tar and feather her given half the chance. Not that she cared; none of the students at Beauxbatons had ever been friendly with her in the first place.

She was finding more acceptance among Harry's small group than she had since she was twelve.

"Zey are better company zan you are, Margeaux," she replied in English without turning.

"Why must you speak in that horrible language?" the girl scowled.

Fleur sighed; Margeaux was spoiling for a fight, and it looked like she would have to oblige. Unfortunately, she knew what this was really about: Harry Potter. Her schoolmates were upset not only that she was dating an opposing Champion, but also that she had somehow managed to snag the most desirable boy in the entirety of the Wizarding world. His age mattered not; it was the principle of the thing.

Cursing softly to herself, she finally turned in her seat to spear the girl with a look, unsurprised to see several other Beauxbatons girls standing around her.

"Because it would be impolite not to," she said flatly. "Or did your muzzer not teach you proper manners?"

"These idiots are no more polite," snarled Margeaux, still in French. "They're barbarians! They can't find the proper end of a wand! And you sully yourself by sitting with them?"

"Hush, little girl," said Fleur condescendingly, stubbornly refusing to match her language. "Someday you will understand ze true nature of ze world, but it will be many years before you will be ready for such adult concepts."

Harry eyed the girl with distaste and finally spoke up, his voice as soft as ever, but with a slight patronizing edge. "Maybe we should offer classes in spoken English," he mused. "She seems to understand it well enough, but I don't think she can speak it."

"You are so pathetic," Margeaux spat at Harry, and then she turned back to Fleur. "Too bad you're limited to dating little boys!"

Harry snorted and, to Fleur's surprise since the girl was still speaking French, responded without missing a beat. "Pathetic?" he echoed bemusedly. Turning to Fleur, he continued, "Is that really the best she can do?"

Hermione's smirk was audible as she added, "And if she thinks Fleur can't get any date she wants, then she's dumber than she looks. Little boys! Honestly!"

"Too right!" gushed Ron, usefully for once.

"I think she's just jealous–" began a twin.

"–because Harrykins is the ultimate prize–" inserted the other.

"–and Fleur is the only one–"

"–he even looks twice at–"

"–even though he's completely–"

"–immune to her charm!"

Margeaux was positively mortified when she realized that the British students understood her language perfectly – or so it appeared – and were unaffected by her comments. She clearly had not been willing to risk offending their hosts, but had badly miscalculated. Her jaw dropped open in horror as she stared back at them.

"Now run back home to your muzzer, little girl," said Fleur in her best condescending tone. It was an art form to stare down your nose at someone standing while you were still seated, but she had long ago perfected it. "Zese people are far above trash like you."

"Et apprendre quelques insultes décent!" smirked Hermione.

The girl paled, and then whirled and pushed through the small group of students, who looked uncertainly back at Fleur for a moment before following in her wake. Fleur smiled faintly; that girl needed to be taken down a few pegs, and it was even better for their British hosts to do it. She'd been beaten by people she looked down upon.

"What did you say, Hermione?" asked a grinning Harry.

"I told her to learn some decent insults," Hermione grinned back.

"Nice," he snorted. "We should use that on Malfoy next time he bugs us."

Fleur shook her head and went back to her food, amused by the idle banter.

The incident with Margeaux made Fleur's day a little easier at least. The girl was embarrassed by her error in judgement, and was therefore leaving well enough alone for a change. Other students were not so kind, but she was the worst of the lot, so it was a definite improvement.

Unfortunately, though, her mood could not last. Thoughts of Harry frequently distracted her in classes, always coming back to that same question. He was an amazingly sweet boy – how many would bother to learn any French, even if it was only terms of endearment? – and that just made her feel that much guiltier because he was trying so hard for her.

He obviously cared how she felt, even though he was the one that was paying the price.

After somehow managing to make it through her classes for the day, she took to wandering the grounds of Hogwarts and allowing her mind to wander. There was no solution to this, and she did not know what to do. Her mind kept whirling, trying to figure out how to make it up to him, but nothing was forthcoming.

She eventually looked up to find herself standing next to the very same rock where they first discussed their newfound relationship. With a snort at the irony, she levered herself up and sat down facing the water, drawing her knees up under her chin. Her emotions were very near the surface, and she could not stop a tear from escaping.

Images whirled through her head, imagined events that took place in that house in Surrey, and she could not stop them. Had he survived it only so he could have the rest of his life taken away from him as well? Was he merely Fate's whipping boy, created solely so she could have somebody to torture?

It was appalling, and Fleur felt completely trapped. She could not call off the marriage because that would destroy him. She could not go through with it because it would take his choices away completely. What was she to do?

It never even occurred to her that she was just as much a victim, but that was neither here nor there.

She had no idea how long she was sitting there before she was finally interrupted. The rhythmic sounds of the lake had meshed with the looping horrors in her thoughts, blinding her to all else, freezing her where she sat. But then–

"Fleur?" called Hermione's tentative voice. "Are you alright?"

Blinking a few times to pull herself out of her daymares, she turned to see the girl standing at the base of the rock, staring worriedly up at her. Hermione was something of an enigma; where other girls would have been terminally jealous within days, she had gone for almost two weeks without seeing Fleur as a threat. And now she wanted to help?

It was not something she was accustomed to, and a ray of hope surged through her – not for Harry, but for herself. She had long since given up on having female friends the way other girls did, but was it possible that this girl might be the first? And she really did need someone to talk to who wasn't her parents...

"Non," she forced out, shaking her head.

Hermione's brow creased in concern, and she climbed up without invitation, one hand holding her skirt against the light breeze. Her bushy hair blew about her face, a strand catching under her nose. It was her eyes that caught Fleur's attention: speckled brown, full of genuine concern for someone she barely knew.

"Is this about that girl?" she asked cautiously. "You really shouldn't worry about her. We can always turn the twins loose if she gives you anymore trouble."

The comment startled a choked laugh of out of Fleur, but there was no joy in it. "Non," she said again. "It is zis 'ole situation, 'ermione."

Hermione's frown deepened. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Are you having second thoughts?"

Fleur examined her closely, but to her surprise, there was no bite in either her voice or expression. If that was what she was guessing, then Fleur would have expected her to somehow come to Harry's defense, but she did not seem concerned about that. No, her concern at the moment was only for Fleur.

"Not in ze way you mean," she sighed tiredly. "'Arry is wonderful, 'ermione. Zis is just not fair to 'im."

"It's not exactly fair to you either, Fleur," pointed out Hermione. "You're just as stuck as he is."

Fleur sighed and shook her head resignedly. True, she was stuck, but somehow she felt that she had been blessed rather than cursed. And no matter how she looked at it, the same could not be said of Harry; he was paying far too high a price.

"I am ze 'ole reason we are stuck," she countered, unable to keep a bit of her latent anger at the situation from edging into her voice. "'E did not ask for zis, and 'e does not deserve to 'ave to give up 'is life zis way."

Hermione's brow creased in concern, and she shifted to settle in more comfortably, clearly sensing that it would be a long conversation. She turned out to look over the lake for a long moment, her gaze going distant as she thought about the statement, and then–

"I don't think he minds, really," she said slowly.

"'E should," replied Fleur darkly. "What do I 'ave zat can compare wiz what 'e is giving me? 'E deserves better zan to be forced to settle for me."

"Don't sell yourself short," said Hermione earnestly. "You do have something, Fleur, and it's something he needs. I don't think anyone else can give it to him."

Fleur blinked slowly back at her, confused by what she was seeing and hearing. Hermione looked almost desperate to make her point, but it wasn't in that know-it-all fashion that so many of her classmates accused her of. This was something much more important, but for the life of her, Fleur could not even guess what the girl was getting at.

"What do you mean?" she prompted quietly.

Hermione held her gaze steadily, as though to convince her of the truth of her words. "You care about him," she said quietly. "You love him, and you love him for who he really is, not for who everyone wants him to be." In a darker tone, she added, "Even I can't always do that."

Fleur stared blankly back at her. She did not love Harry, at least not how Hermione meant. Did she care for him? Yes, a great deal. But love? That was something much deeper, much more profound, and she did not believe it for a moment.

Before she could retort, however, Hermione looked away again, her gaze going distant. "And he's falling in love with you," she said, barely above a whisper. "I don't think he knows it yet, but I've never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you before. The way he lights up when he sees you coming..."

She trailed off and left the statement hanging, but Fleur was too stunned to notice. Trying to swallow the idea that she could love Harry was one thing, but that Harry could love her? It struck her as preposterous. He had only known her for a mere two weeks, and still did not know much about her. They hadn't even spent much time together.

But she could not deny the memories that flashed in her mind's eye, especially of events that followed their discussion in the kitchens. When he looked at her, his eyes held a different look – a softer, more vulnerable, somewhat more open one – ever since. It was as though he had granted her his trust, and that was not something to take lightly.

But was it even possible that what Hermione was saying was true?

"Per'aps," she admitted grudgingly, still not truly believing it. "But it changes nuzzing, 'ermione. I can do nuzzing for 'im zat will evair compare to what 'e is doing for me."

Hermione shook her head and focused in on her again, a stubborn look appearing in her eyes. "Just love him, Fleur," she said softly. "It's what he needs the most, and the most important thing any of us can ever give."

Fleur blinked.

They both fell silent then, each lost in their own thoughts, and Fleur could not avoid trying to wrap her head around the girl's assertions. It would be wonderful if it was all true – if they could have the loving marriage that they both wanted – but there were no guarantees in life, and honestly, she thought that Hermione was jumping to conclusions.

It was still a nice dream, though, and if there was one truth that she could agree with, it was that love was what Harry needed the most. She did not know how much she could give him, but she would give all that she could. It was the least she could do.

And somehow, that simple decision eased her conscience considerably.

They sat for perhaps ten minutes, neither speaking, and Fleur had the sense that Hermione was simply giving her the time to think about what she'd said. She genuinely appreciated the gesture; having company was a nice change to her usual way of life, especially when that company could respect that she needed to think. Finally, though, Hermione changed the subject – sort of.

"So when are you going shopping for the wedding?" she asked with genuine interest.

Fleur smiled. She had never imagined having someone to talk about girl things with, but here she was. Perhaps she could put her troubles aside, and at least enjoy the moment.

For the first time since she was a child, Fleur had found a friend.