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The smell of Christmas incense was getting mixed with the delicious smells of the dinner being prepared in the humble abode of Fleur Delacour, aged nineteen. She and her good friend and boyfriend, Harry Potter, had decided to prepare a mix of French and English food for their first Christmas together. He was quite glad to leave the castle for the holiday, especially when the company was so brilliant. While he certainly had appreciated her numerous letters over the years since the end of the Tournament, seeing Fleur in person was just incomparable.
Right now he was cutting bacon into thin slices while Fleur worked on spinach soufflé. He had to chuckle upon spotting a smudge of flour on the very kissable tip of her pert nose. She looked up, a question in her eyes. Harry just smiled and pointed at his own nose tip. She blushed, realising what he meant, and quickly rubbed her nose with her dainty fingers.
“Perfect image of a Champion?” Harry teased her with a raised eyebrow.
Fleur just looked down her nose at her boyfriend of the last four months, clearly enjoying the two inches she had on him in height.
“Of course. But I did not expect you to understand, being English, tsk.” She retorted. Both of their mouth’s corners were now twitching.
“So, any new stories from your job? Have they finally let you into a tomb?” Harry asked her after a short snicker.
“Pfft, non,” Fleur answered him, the undignified sound and overly sad face she made were almost too adorable for Harry to resist. “I am still learning proper procedures , and Bill is still pouting.”
Harry finished cutting a particularly thin and even slice and shook his head with disbelief.
“Still? It’s been months since you told him no.”
“What can I say?” She shrugged her shoulders with her head held high. “I am irresistible.”
The effect was somewhat spoiled by the messy plait her hair was in, and the dirty apron she was wearing.
“Well, I couldn’t resist you.” Harry’s quip brought a satisfied smile to Fleur’s full lips.
“I am glad our bouts of wordplay ‘ave ‘ad an effect on you, mon chéri.” She winked at him, delighting in the blush that sprung up on his cheeks. “What of the other Weasleys?”
“Oh?” He shrugged. “It was a bit awkward at first with Mrs. Weasley. I think she was unsure whether to be annoyed that you told her son no, or happy for me.”
She pointed at him with a dirty spoon. “And the others? Your friend?”
“Ron? Well, he clapped my shoulder and asked for tips.” He gave a rueful chuckle.
“And what wisdom ‘ave you shared with ‘im, ‘Arry?” She raised a perfectly maintained eyebrow.
“Well,” He scratched the back of his head, “to save the life of the girl’s beloved cute little sister, of course.”
“‘Arry!” She dissolved into giggles.
“Also to talk to their face, not to their chest, and to actually put some effort into writing letters.”
His deadpan delivery made Fleur smile again, but she quickly schooled her features. “Remember to keep the dinner today light. Maman and Papa invited us for tomorrow. Their Christmas cooking is delicious.” She sighed in remembered bliss. “You do not want to get too full today.”
Harry just smiled and nodded. He had been looking forward to this visit for a long time, having been charmed by Fleur’s vivid descriptions of their cosy home in the countryside, always suffused with warmth, laughter and affection.
They continued preparing food in relative silence, Harry took the prepared bacon to the pan and put it on the stove. Fleur, meanwhile, mixed the ingredients and humming merrily, swinging her hips to the rhythm of Christmas carols. Harry noticed that every time she swung left, he could see her womanly curves out of the corner of his eye. It was a distracting, tantalizing sight, reminding Harry of some of the racier dreams in which his lovely girlfriend had starred. He felt his face grow hot, hotter, perhaps, than even the pan in which the bacon was merrily sizzling.
How did he ever get so lucky? Maybe Parvati was right, and there was a balance in the world. He certainly felt he was due some good luck after all the misfortune. Having to fend off Voldemort’s attempts at his life was proving ever harder. Still, this year, the Headmaster seemed to be making headway into not only helping Harry defend himself, but also dealing with Voldemort in a more permanent fashion.
Again, he was distracted by Fleur’s pendulous movements and so he started sneaking in glances, drinking in the sight of her swaying behind. A strange niggling sensation was trying to distract him from his admiring observation.
He blinked, a sound tore him from his daze, and a smell joined in. The bacon! He frantically turned off the stove and moved the pan from the fire, quickly waving his hand over it, trying to fan the smoke away.
“Oh, ‘Arry, burning bacon, really? ‘Ave you paid so much attention to my derrière that you forgot to watch the pan?” Fleur’s tone was lilting and her eyebrows raised. The edges of her mouth were twitching, obviously, she was fighting a smile.
She expected him to fire back, a return salvo as usual, but Harry instead paled and clenched his jaw. She could see the muscles in his cheeks twitching, the pan clanging against the table as his hand shook.
“‘Arry?” She asked with a worried frown, “put the pan down, mon chéri, please.”
It took him several tries due to his shaking hands while Fleur turned off the stove. She gently guided him to the sofa and poured him a cup of tea.
While he was sitting and holding the cup in both hands, trying to absorb the heat from it like it was comfort, Fleur finished the preparations and put the soufflé into the oven.
Harry barely reacted when she sat down next to him, putting her arm around his shoulders. They sat there for a few minutes, him sipping the tea and her gently rubbing his shoulder.
“I-I’m sorr...,” He began, but she just squeezed his shoulder and shushed him.
“It is fine, mon chéri,” She whispered in his ear. “No ‘arm done. Do not apologize.”
Harry shrugged in response and put down the now empty mug. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a sigh came out, followed by him slumping down. Fleur, however, would have none of it. She kissed his temple and Harry shivered when he felt her hot breath on his ear.
“What did I say wrong, ‘Arry?” Both her breath and hair that got away from her plait tickled him and he leaned into her embrace.
“It, it’s nothing really.” He sighed. “It’s silly.”
She reached to his cheek and cupped it. Just this simple gesture helped Harry relax more. He melted into her.
“It did not seem silly to me.”
He turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand.
“I don’t deserve you, you know?”
“And yet ‘ere I am, ‘holding you, ‘Arry.” He didn’t even need to see her satisfied smile, it wasn’t the first time he said such to her. And her response never changed.
“It just reminded me,” He began, “of when I burned the bacon at the Dursleys.”
She stiffened at that admission. “Did your uncle?”
“No,” He shook his head, “it, hm, it was aunt Petunia.”
Her embrace got even tighter, she tried to press him into her, to offer him her warmth.
“She would always get so angry.” He got out of himself, “She’d scold me for spoiling the food for her husband and son.” After a fortifying breath, he continued. “Even when I burned myself, she would just, she’d only care about the food, never tried to help, not even ask if it hurt.”
“Oh ‘Arry, I am so sorry,” Fleur whispered, doing her best not to let any tears fall. She let go of his shoulder and clasped his hand, their finger entwining. “Look at me, please.”
He turned to her, expecting many things, unsure even of what he expected to see in her eyes. Her look was undecipherable for a moment, but then she leaned in, touching her forehead to his. The sight of her glistening silver-blue eyes drew him in, mesmerizing him.
“I am sorry, ‘Arry,” she began, “for teasing you like that.” She was still whispering and Harry could hear the tears being held back in her faint, breathy voice.
“No, Fleur, I… I should apologize…” He whispered too, wrapped up in the intimacy of the moment. “I’m a mess, I… I am mostly over it.“ He sighed and shrugged. “I shouldn't have frozen like that.”
“Non, ‘Arry,” Her whispers grew in intensity, “You ‘ear me? It is not your fault.” Harry was sure, had she not grasped him with both hands, there would be sparks flying between her fingers. “It was those… those… Dursleys.” She got the name out with a grimace, the name itself becoming a curse.
Seeing the anger in her eyes, Harry hastened to speak, “Yeah, but I’m... I’m mostly fine, love.” He took a deep breath. “I put it behind me, almost.” Here he smiled self-deprecatingly. “Just one short summer, until I’m of age.” A smile lit up both their faces. “Then I never want to see them again, never want to speak to them.”
“Never?” She frowned, “after all they did…”
“Never.” Harry stated resolutely, “Why take revenge on them?” He shrugged. “The best revenge will be something they couldn’t manage in all the years.” At her raised eyebrow he elaborated. “I will live well.”
A broad smile shaped Fleur full lips. “With me?” Her tone was high, teasing, as suggested by the spark in her beautiful eyes.
He ducked, blushing brightly, but smiled at her. “If you’ll have me?”
Her petal-soft lips found his and they were joined in a long, tender kiss. Seconds went by and Fleur sighed contentedly. They separated again and simply sat, her head crowned with silvery-gold lay on his shoulder and his rested on top of hers. Everything was quiet and, in that instant, peace reigned. They enjoyed the moment, trying to absorb as much of the other’s heat as they could, their hands still clasped, their fingers entwined.
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Time flew by and it was time to eat their dinner. This time, Harry focused on the bacon the whole time. While he may have not told the whole truth to Fleur, he truly was getting over the memories of his childhood. Aside from bacon, he roasted a few carrots too, to put them into a lettuce salad with a tarragon dressing. As Fleur mentioned, the dinner was to be light, consisting only of the salad with crispy bacon and the delicious soufflé.
“...and then Maman entered the kitchen, there was just a big cloud of flour and Gabby was sitting in the middle of the room with wide eyes.” Fleur relished telling the story.
Harry, who never experienced such family stories, was paying rapt attention, his eyes wide, “And what did she say?”
“What are you doing?” Fleur comically deepened her voice, doing an exaggerated impression of an angry Apolline. “And Gabrielle just peeped up: ‘C-cookies?’”
“Really? Ha-ha-how could she make an he-he-explosion when making cookies?” It was quite difficult to understand Harry, who was losing the fight with uncontrollable laughter.
“Gabby was always talented.” Fleur quipped, her lips curved in an affectionate smile.
They finished their glasses of sparkly champagne and put their plates, glasses and silverware in the sink. Harry watched Fleur carefully as she waved her wand, muttering an incantation in French. The dishes, guided by magic, started moving and being washed.
“I love magic.” Harry breathed out, once again expressing the sentiment. It was true, magic could do so many wondrous things, but it was the simple everyday charms that he truly enjoyed. Fleur nodded at hearing this with a smile.
“Mhm, magic is wonderful, no?” She took his hand again and dragged him to the table. “Sit, sit, now is the time for the walnuts!”
“Walnuts? What do you mean?” Harry asked her, confused.
She stopped and covered her mouth. “Oh, oh, I cannot believe I forgot to tell you.” She blushed at the admission. “It is a tradition in our family, mamie taught it to me and her mamie to her.”
She handed him a walnut, a knife, and a candle.
“Every member of the family opens a walnut.” She smiled, seeing his protest before he could put it into words, and silenced him by putting a finger to his lips. “Yes, that also means you, ‘Arry.”
This little conversation, so open and intimate, made him feel as if his soul would glow. Surely, a Patronus fueled by this memory would be his brightest yet.
“Then everyone puts a candle into the empty walnut shell. And then we fill a large salad bowl with water, light the candles and let the walnut shells float on the water like boats.” Fleur’s eyes were lit up with excitement as she shared her family’s tradition with Harry.
“It is… ah, divination, see? You heat one end of the candle with your magic.” She pointed at Harry’s wand, “It… resonates with you for a bit. And then, if the boats float together, the family will stay together.” She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. “And if a boat separates itself, the person will leave the family, like a daughter getting married.”
“But Fleur,” Harry began, doubtful, “divination…”
“Non, mon chéri,” She shushed him, “it has worked every year. You just push your magic into the candle.”
And so they did. First they carefully pried the walnuts open, each getting a nice, empty shell. Harry then tapped the bottom of his candle with his trusty wand of holly and wedged it firmly into his shell. He couldn’t help but notice Fleur showing off a bit, both heating up her candle and later lighting it without using her wand. It was a far cry from how she used to behave in Britain just two years prior. No longer was she trying to hide her heritage, and Harry was happy for her. While they encountered a few surprises from time to time, he was determined to accept Fleur as she was. Her smiles, now free of the shackles of trying to suppress a part of herself, were a thing of beauty, each time causing his heart to flutter, heat to rise into his cheeks.
The shells were now floating, each started at a different side of the bowl and, hand in hand, Harry and Fleur watched as they steadily made their way to each other.
“See?” She asked, her nose turned up, “It works.”
And it did. The two miniature boats were now floating side by side, the twin flames burning bright. And as they did, Fleur waved her wand at the wireless. Music filled the room and Harry recognized the melody.
Hand in hand, smiling warmly at each other, Harry and Fleur sang softly, their voices intertwining, rising together in harmony.
-------(/\)-------
It always amused him greatly to watch his beautiful wife grumble about the weather. They had finally married, after four years of being together. Their engagement was an adventurous one, marked by the war against Voldemort. But that was finished and they had finally found the time to get married. His wedding ring was radiating a gentle warmth, resonating with the warmth of the feelings Fleur held for him in her heart. And he knew that its counterpart kept her warm too. Any grumbling, he knew, was done for his benefit, as it gave him the excuse to take her into his arms. Which he gleefully took.
“What’s wrong, my love?” He whispered in her ear while she tried to burrow into his chest. He now stood taller than her and often made use of the fact, usually by kissing the silvery crown of her head.
She snuggled even more to him, enjoying his arms around her waist, and planted a quick kiss just below his jawline.
“You know my opinion of winter, ‘usband.” Her hushed voice made his blood flow quicker.
“Ah,” He chuckled, “but it was your idea to have our honeymoon in the Alps.” He kissed the tip of her ear, just barely visible under her thick woollen hat. Overall, Fleur was almost literally wrapped in layers of clothing, with a thick silver fur coat being the top layer. “You told me that the beauty of the mountaintops in winter was something we had to see, remember?”
A misty cloud rising from her face was a sign of the deep breath she took.
“Careful when teasing your Veela wife, ‘usband.” Though she sounded serious, Harry knew there was a playful smile adorning her lips.
“Teasing? Really?” His chuckle sent very pleasant shivers down her spine, pressed against his chest as she was. “And I was just about to agree with you.”
“Hm? About what?” He just knew her eyebrow was elegantly arched.
“It really is beautiful here, seeing sunlight reflecting from the icicles, the trees and mountain tops covered in snow.” He sighed and drank in the sight. “Why, their beauty almost matches yours.”
She patted his cheek gently. “Good answer, ‘usband. I think I will keep you.”
“Good.” He kissed her smooth, red cheek. “I plan on sticking around.”
“And you ‘aven’t even burned the bacon, mon cœur.”
“You wound me, dearest.” He squeezed her tighter, “That was only that one time.”
“Mhm, you ‘ave got better, the yule log looks delicious.”
“Only the best for you. I’ve noticed you hiding away the present, by the way.”
“Truly?” She turned around in his arms and looked up at him. “And what about you? Or ‘ave you forgotten about a present for me?”
“Never!” He declared and stole a quick kiss. “It’s just well hidden.”
Not even her devastating pout could move him, though he quickly covered her lips with his.
“Now, there is still time before the sun sets.” Harry pointed at the horizon. “Let’s look around a bit more. The owner of the cottage said that the landscape here deserves to be admired.”
“‘E would ‘ave said the same either way, just to get your money,” She pointed out. “But ‘e was right. I am glad we rented this cottage.”
Harry released his wife from their embrace and wanted to lead her on a tour around, but her out and large, glistening eyes gave him a pause.
“You would leave me at winter’s cruel mercy?” Though he knew her teary look was fake, it did not lessen its potency. And so, with a pretend weary sigh, Harry went inside the cottage and, after a bit of rummaging in a chest, brought out a thick white cloak. To a muggle, it would be surprisingly warm, but to Fleur, it was brimming with Harry’s magic. She almost tore it out of his hands and wrapped it around herself with a contented sigh. Her glowing smile was all the answer he needed to know he made the right choice.
Harry smiled indulgently and, taking her around her shoulders, led her on a nearby trail. The view was indeed as breathtaking as was promised. Here, surrounded by the quiet majesty of the snow-covered mountains, passing snowed-in trees and glistening icicles, he felt as if they were separate from the world outside.
After such a long time, so many struggles, tragedies and losses, it was here, in the mountains, with Fleur in his arms, that Harry felt truly at peace. They trekked to a nearby lake and watched the sun’s reflection on the frozen surface for a while, cuddling all the time. It was on the way back to the cottage that Fleur pointed somewhere between the trees.
“Look! Over there!”
And as Harry looked over to see what she pointed out, he felt an impact on his back. He quickly turned around to see an amused, smirking Fleur Potter preparing another snowball.
“Oh, really?” Harry ducked to the left and rolled his own snowball. His first throw went over her head and he avoided her next attempt while forming another snowball. Things escalated from there as their laughter filled the air. Snow flew around and soon, both combatants were brandishing their wands, creating walls and ramparts of gleaming white. Armies were raised and snowmen marched, rank after rank.
Fleur’s left flank went forward in a daring maneuver but it was countered with a quick lunge by Harry’s units. While the centers of the armies clashed and snowmen on both sides valiantly battled for the glory of their leaders, a hidden detachment of Harry’s circled around and attacked Fleur’s forces from the back. The siege was then short and Fleur was forced to raise the white flag as her fortress crumbled around her.
Flushed and smiling, the happy couple noticed how dark it was getting, and so they returned to the little wooden cottage. Dinner was cold this time as they had prepared it beforehand, a colourful salad, Christmas ham and soft white bread, mince pies and the yule log. They ate hurriedly, being quite hungry after their foray outside, and in silence, happy to just be together with no interruptions, no emergencies. A glass of sparkly champagne was the last part of the dinner and then Harry went to take care of the dishes.
Fleur, meanwhile, prepared the now familiar bowl, fishing out a pair of walnuts, knives and candles. Just like the years before, Harry joined her with a smile and soon they pried their nuts open. It took a few tries, but both had a perfectly shaped empty walnut shell in the end. After a quick tap of his wand, Harry put his candle into the shell and soon, a pair of boats carrying bright lights were floating on water in the bowl. Unlike the previous years, they have set the boats next to each other from the start, signifying their official bond of matrimony. During the entire little ceremony, their rings glowed with warmth.
Much like the previous year, the pair clasped their hands and snuggled, watching the floating lights silently.
And then, suddenly, Harry’s head jerked to the side, looking directly through the window. Glasses he may need, but Harry had an excellent peripheral vision.
“What is it?” Fleur asked her husband, quite unhappy with the interruption of one of her favourite activities, snuggling her Harry.
“Look! A falling star!” Harry’s excited voice brought a smile to her face.
Quickly throwing on his coat, Harry grabbed Fleur and dragged her outside. It was close, but she at least managed to grab the enchanted cloak. Very soon they stood out, surrounded by quiet darkness, the steam of their breath rising to the starry sky. And then Harry was pointing upwards. She looked alongside his arm and… There!
“Let us make a wish, ‘Arry.”
They both bowed their heads. What the young couple wished, they would never divulge, yet they never needed to, their shared smiles and warmth in their rings were always enough to quell any questions.
However, it was getting late and Fleur shivered slightly. It was getting very cold, after all.
“Ah, the magic ‘as run out, mon cœur.” She shivered theatrically again. “The cloak is now quite cold.”
“How fortunate then,” Harry quipped with a smirk, “that I have another way to warm you up, darling.”
And having said that, Harry lifted her chin with his left hand and snaked his right hand around her hips. The kiss that followed, while not involving fireworks, had a magic of its own. Her arms flew around his neck and she melted in his embrace.
Tenderness, passion, love, all those and more Harry put into the single kiss. And Fleur knew and understood, she accepted his feelings for her, accepted the heart he offered her with open hands. And she put forth her own, her heart, her love, her passion.
And their passion indeed grew, just as the air around them grew warmer. And akin to the moon and stars, there was light on the Earth, the glow brought forth by her husband’s love and meant for his eyes only. Her silhouette changed too, silvery feathers, luminescent in the dark, covered her arms, even her hair, Veela’s pride, changed into the glorious plumage.
And finally, a radiant pair of silvery wings, resembling the imagery of celestial messengers, emerged from her back, covered in soft, elegant feathers. And like her arms, the wings too enveloped her husband, obscuring the pair from view.
However, as every good thing, even this kiss had to come to an end. And so, very reluctantly, the pair separated for a bit, very definitely out of breath. Harry’s eyes grew wide. It wasn’t the first time he beheld Fleur’s wings and he had noticed subtle differences about them. When Fleur had transformed one time in the middle of a battle, her wings had been sleek, the feathers razor sharp. And in the privacy of their bedroom, in the throes of passion, her wings were silvery tinted with red, the feathers softer than silk.
Now, however, Fleur stood before him bearing a pair of wings larger, more radiant and softer than he had ever seen. With a wondrous expression and at Fleur’s indulgent smile, he softly petted the wing, marvelling at the gentle touch, at the warmth and radiance.
Seeing his awed expression, she went on to gently explain. “You know, mon cœur, that our wings change to fit the emotion that brought forth the change.”
He could only nod, still struck dumb by the heavenly sight of his wife.
“Then it is only natural that when brought forth by my ‘usband, my wings would be unique, non?”
Had his heart not already belonged to her, the smile she gifted him with at that moment would have melted it and stolen it away in an instant. Brighter than the sun and tender beyond compare, her smile brought tears in his eyes, the same tears he had shed when he had seen her in her wedding dress. What else could he do than rush into her embrace again? Dimly, he was aware that they now stood on dry ground, in a circle of melted snow, but his attention was entirely focused on the divine being whose arms encircled his neck again.
“This is nice, mon cœur,” She murmured into his ear, “but you promised me warmth.” Now she winked at him. “This was a good start, but a good ‘usband finishes what ‘e starts, non?”
And with those words Fleur Potter proceeded to drag her husband into the cottage and into their cosy bedroom.
The only witness to their passage was the water bowl and the pair of lights floating close to each other, side by side.
-------(/\)-------
Their own Winter Retreat, that was how they called it, their own mountain cottage built in the French Alps. They had worked on it together one summer, their magical prowess making the building process quite a bit easier. And so, in a record time, there was a new, cosy, wooden cottage on a mountain slope, overlooking a beautiful, hidden valley with a glacier lake.
The sloped roof was now covered in a generous coverage of snow and even the dark logs of the walls were almost invisible under the thick layer of the cold, white snow. And looking out of the windows did not bring much hope for improvement, Fleur noted, for the snowstorm was going strong and wasn’t showing any signs of letting up.
Still, she was not complaining, it gave her that much more time to be inside, cuddled with her husband on their comfortable sofa. Five years it had been since their marriage. She had heard from friends and acquaintances about how it was quite natural for passion to vanish from marriage after a time. But, looking at his handsome features, she could still feel the flame of desire growing heated in her, just as it had on their wedding night.
Oh, they had both changed since then, Harry sported a neatly trimmed short beard which also incidentally hid the long pale scar he had earned in three years ago during a raid on a necromancer coven. His eyes burned bright as ever, deep green, and brimming with tenderness whenever he looked at her. He had grown up, his face now gaining sharp features that she loved to kiss and caress when they were on their own. And on his left temple, going into his hairline, another curse scar was noticeable, the only mark the elimination of a dark wizard group known as the Deadly Dozen left on him. She kissed his temple, rousing him from the nap he took, his head resting comfortable on her chest. She had to giggle when she saw him blink blearily. This adorable man of hers, her favourite teddy bear and essential bed-warmer, was considered among the most fearsome wizards in Europe, his glare potent enough to make even the likes of Rita Skeeter pale and fall silent.
“Wake up, darling,” She smiled beatifically at him.
“Hm?” He grunted softly. “I was having the best of dreams, my heart.”
Kissing his forehead and leaving a pink mark there, she winked at him. “Oh? About what?”
“I have been resting in an angel’s embrace.” He snuggled closer to her bosom.
“Indeed, my love?” She raised her eyebrow, “That must have been some dream.”
He turned to look at her and caressed her right cheek, the one that was scarred when she stood by his side while they were dealing with the incarnated and therefore corporeal Demon Lord Valak, just this winter. There was another reminder of that particular mission of theirs. On the table there was an issue of the Daily Prophet. And on the front page, there they were, Harry and Fleur stood side by side, looking quite intimidating in their ICW issued combat robes, both still bearing their injuries from the incident. And above them, the headlined proudly proclaimed:
Potters Disintegrate Dreaded Demon!
Harry got up from his rather comfortable position and when his eyes fell on the newspapers, he sighed wearily.
“And once again, there is more idle speculation than facts in the Prophet.”
His wife's hand found its way into his own and he felt the familiar weight and comforting warmth of her head on his shoulder.
“The Prophet does ‘ave an amazing talent for it.” She leaned into him. “I ‘ope you ‘ave sent ‘Ermione a proper thank-you present for the spells she developed for us.”
“Heh,” Harry snorted, “even now she does her best to save our hides.” He smiled fondly, remembering Hermione’s bright smile as she had talked about her work, and about Iosif, her fiancé she had met at work. The Durmstrang graduate had joined the Magical Research Institute in Belgium right out of school. He was truly brilliant, if he managed to stay focused on one idea.
“She never changes.” He leaned his head so his cheek touched the crown of Fleur’s head. “Even when she has her hands full with keeping Iosif on track.”
She nudged him in the chest. “They fit so well together.”
“I’m not saying they don’t,” He caressed her side, “In fact, I think they’re brilliant together, they’re going to be very happy.” And he truly did. “I sent her a new confectionary set, enchanted dicta-quills and a pair of tickets for that new wizarding musical.”
“Mhm,” His wife nodded, drawing circles with her finger on his chest, “Good choice, both practical and fitting. She has really grown to enjoy them when she can go there with Iosif.”
It was time to prepare dinner. As in previous years, Ron had sent them a veritable bevy of food.
“He’s outdone himself this year. Such a spread.” And indeed, Ron had provided them with a variety of pies, hams, puddings and more.
“Morag ‘as been good for him, non?” Fleur chuckled.
“True,” He nodded in response. “Who would have expected the youngest Weasley boy, with his lofty aspirations, to marry into a farming family and find his purpose working the land?” He shrugged lightly. “But he’s the happiest I ever remember him, seeing him move around with Morag, taking care of their anklebiters...”
“Indeed,” Fleur remarked and her voice was drier than a desert, “Who shall save the wizarding world from another pair of Weasley twins?”
Harry moved, so he could embrace her with both arms, incidentally getting her right where he wanted, with her head resting just on the nape of his neck, just in reach so he could nuzzle the crown of her head.
“Maybe their aunty Gabby? Hm?” He whispered while enjoying the flowery smell of her hair.
“I am not sure, mon amour.” She tightened her embrace, squeezing his waist. “She loves the little devils.”
“How is she, by the way?” He took a deep breath, taking in her smell again. “You’ve visited her, no?”
Fleur laughed musically, her joyful tones seeming to dance around the room. “She loves ‘er work under Madame Durand. This year, she will get to sell her first wands.”
“That’s great to hear. Just imagine, a wand-crafter in the family.”
“I know, ‘Arry,” Her smile was brighter than the moon, “Maman and papa are so proud of her.”
She literally vibrated with excitement. Harry had to chuckle at seeing his formidable wife, the scourge of many a trafficking ring in Europe, in such a state.
“Oh, and she brought a man home,” She continued in a high tone. “Antoine Dubois, an ‘erbology prodigy. You’ll like ‘im, ‘Arry, ‘e is a good man.”
“Oh, he better be,” He growled, only half in jest. “If he ever hurts her…”
“They will never find ‘is body.” His wife finished for him with a serious look.
They both loved Gabrielle dearly. In fact, she had even expressed her exasperation with the pair acting too protective of her. Quite a few would-be suitors have abandoned their pursuit of the charming Gabrielle when they noticed the dark looks on the faces of the current Most Intimidating Duo in Europe (voted so by the readership of Witch Weekly three years in a row). Still, Gabrielle had accepted their counter-argument that any man who would quail after a simple look would not be worth her time anyway.
“It doesn’t look good outside, “Harry remarked after a while of further snuggling, “let’s prepare dinner, hm?”
They didn’t have to do much, thanks to Ron’s generosity, so Fleur prepared the plates, bowls and cutlery, while Harry brought out and sometimes heated up the food. Then, they just needed to light the candles and Fleur turned on the wireless. It was to the sound of French Christmas Carols that they enjoyed their private feast. Ham, salad, fresh bread, pies, puddings, the spread was as broad as it was delicious. As was their tradition, they finished the dinner with a glass of champagne from her father’s friend’s vineyard.
They move to the sofa again, gathering the charmed blanket, and rest in each other’s embrace, enjoying the peace and Christmas songs, their bellies full of delicious food. Even the rising stars of the ICW Magical Law enforcement service had to rest, though many a criminal thought them to be ever-vigilant, akin to a pair of vengeful angels.
“Oh! ‘Arry!” Fleur suddenly exclaimed,”We almost forgot! Prepare the walnuts and candles, I will fill the bowl.”
“Can’t miss it this year,” He grumbled good-naturedly. In fact, he enjoyed the little tradition, even if it meant he had to get up at that moment.
And so the bowl was filled with water and they both focused on cracking their walnuts open without damaging the shells. Harry focused on fixing his candle properly, it should touch the centre of the shell, to keep it balanced. Still, after a few tries, he managed just that and accompanied Fleur to the bowl. A flash of magic followed and the wicks were lit, the sight bringing tears into Harry’s eyes.
“F-Fleur? You mean?”
She nodded tearfully too, holding up her arms for him. He took her hands in his, their foreheads touching, and thanked his lucky stars, for he had met one of their own kin, a star in a mortal body that walked the Earth, the one to whom he had given his heart.
In the bowl, three candles burned brightly in the twilight.