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The War was over. Voldemort lost. But the wounds he had inflicted had yet to heal. Even so, Wizarding Britain seemed to be thriving again. Diagon Alley was bustling with activity, crowds of children gathering around the outrageously coloured Weasley shop.
Fleur, a Delacour once more, a widow at only twenty one, having lost her husband to a stray curse at the Battle of Hogwarts, watched the hub of activity that was Diagon Alley, enjoying her well-earned break. The Goblins paid well but were harsh taskmasters, so she gladly took the chance to leave their premises and enjoy a bit of people watching and musing. She found herself doing that increasingly often nowadays.
Though she had buried her husband over a year ago, she remained single still, feeling the pang in her heart every time some overconfident fool propositioned her. Even Molly, bless that woman, was gently prodding her, reminding her that she shouldn’t remain alone. Gone were the times when the two women were antagonistic to each other, the older woman accepting Fleur into her heart and, whenever she wanted, into her home as well.
Many of her friends and comrades had found their purpose in the vigilant peace and rebuilding. Ron was helping his brother with the shop, having found his calling in showing children how the various joke items worked.
Hermione was doing her best to climb the ranks at the Ministry, her drive to excel serving her well in her quest to eliminate discrimination and bigotry. She was proving an excellent advocate of House Elf rights.
Alicia, Katie and Angelina joined their old captain, Oliver Wood, making Puddlemere United into a truly formidable team, having won the British Championship again.
Yet, now she couldn’t help but smile, as she finally spotted one Harry Potter hurriedly walking down the Alley. He was a mystery, many thought he was gathering influence for an entrance into politics. He was spotted approaching many different people, having hushed conversations with them that they never repeated to anybody. It was a diverse group that Harry kept in contact with, yet they had one thing in common. All were especially skilled at various aspects of magic.
Nobody knew what Harry actually did. And today, she was determined to find out the truth. She was quite unnerved, however, watching Harry heading to the Diagon Alley entrance of St Mungo’s Hospital. Was he ill? Questions danced in Fleur’s mind, conjuring images of Harry suffering from old curse wounds in secret, looking quietly into the possibilities of a cure. She spotted him leaving the hospital, looking around quickly and disapparating.
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The next time she caught him, Harry merely shrugged and invited her for a tea to his home. They apparated together and Fleur had to admire how Grimmauld Place changed. Gone was the oppressive atmosphere of the Black townhouse and it looked to be in a fine condition. Even the portrait of Walburga Black was missing, having succumbed to the magic of the new owner of the house.
“Take a seat,” Harry told her, pointing at a comfortable looking armchair. “I’ll bring the tea.”
And the armchair truly was comfortable, stuffed just right. Fleur busied herself looking over the room, noting the repaired and newly painted walls, the colour chosen to nicely fit with the furniture. All in all, the room, even the home, had a pleasant, warm feel to it as if it had adapted to Harry’s nature.
And there was Harry again, offering her a simple cup and bringing a steaming kettle of tea. It was one drink Fleur had grown accustomed to while living in Britain, and she had to appreciate the subtle taste of the blend Harry chose.
“Do you like the taste?” Harry asked, noting her taking a sniff before sipping.
A slight smile and a nod was her answer, so he took a sip himself before setting the cup down. “You are not here just for tea, are you?”
“Perceptive, ‘Arry.” She nodded. “Though the tea is delicious. I may just come more often.”
“I’d appreciate the company, just let me know beforehand.” Harry smiled gently, his green eyes seeming to twinkle. “I have to warn you, though. My cooking may not be to your standards.”
She turned her head up, looking at him down her nose. “Nobody is perfect. I will have to bring civilised food.”
“You mean French,” Harry noted, with one corner of his mouth twitching.
“Of course.” She nodded. “Good to see you are aware of facts.”
“Indeed,” Harry sighed. “So, what really brings you here, Fleur?”
She closed her eyes briefly, to fortify herself, then she took a deep breath.
“I-” She hesitated, now that she sat opposite the man for whom she had questions. “I, ‘Arry, I saw you going to St Mungo’s. Are you fine? You meet strange people. If it’s some curse, I can help.” She ended up blurting out and blushed.
Her outburst was met by Harry taking another sip of tea, a delaying tactic that Fleur recognised for what it was, and it did not help settle her nerves.
“Thank you for your concern, Fleur.” He gestured for her to keep sitting when she started to rise, alarmed. “No, I am fine.” He sighed. “So you saw me.”
“Oui. I thought you helped train Aurors in duelling. Was there an accident?” She was still worried.
“Well, there always are.” He chuckled. “But nothing really serious.”
This time, it was Harry’s turn to visibly steel himself and take a deep breath.
“I go to St Mungo’s regularly. You know they helped put me together after the battle, right?” His tone grew serious. At her nod, he continued, “While they were checking me over and keeping me for observation, it was… hectic.” He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling these times. “No healer was spared, none could rest. It was bad.”
Fleur sipped the tea, watching him intently, looking for any twitch.
“Everyone who could, helped. I noticed the children’s ward. It was full, Fleur.” He sighed wearily. “So many children, sick, wounded, cursed.” With a shake of his head, Harry visibly calmed down. “Whatever misfortune could happen to a kid, there it was. There were orphans too, or as good as, with their parents lying in the hospital too. So I went there. I played with some, talked to others.”
A smile bloomed on Harry’s face, tender and wondrous.
“It was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. So I helped out where I could. The healers were grateful.”
“You did a good thing, ‘Arry.” She took his hand into hers, trying to reassure the man.
“A bit later, when everyone was busy rebuilding, one of the healers came to me.” Harry squeezed her hand. “Told me that the kids remembered me, kept asking after me. So he asked me if I could find the time to come and visit.” He raised his gaze, looking directly into her eyes. “Do you understand? He sounded like he was used to rejection. Nobody outside the hospital bothered to care for the kids.” His breathing quickened, but he calmed himself down with visible effort. “So I went, of course. Spent most of the day talking to the kids. Telling stories, showing nifty spells. Talking.” He sighed wearily again. “Aside from the overworked healers, many of the kids had nobody. Some of them wouldn’t get to leave the hospital at all.”
Fleur gasped and covered her mouth with her hand and Harry nodded grimly.
“Maledictions, blood curses, dark magic that nobody could cure, they were there. The healers did what they could, but with many of the kids, it meant just making them comfortable.”
Tears sprung into Fleur’s eyes. “Non…”
“Yes, unfortunately.” He hesitated. “The kids, they’re brave, and strong, they’re amazing. But dying, they’re scared of it too. Of being alone, not knowing what’s next, some were scared of their parents.” He looked down to conceal his own tear. “I-I know death. Dying alone…” His soulful gaze met hers.
At that moment, she felt even a Dementor would not cause such a chill to run down her spine.
“Dying alone is horrible.” He chuckled ruefully. “Well, to most, dying is horrible, but alone… So I went to them, kept them company. We talked, and whispered.” Another deep, shuddering breath tore itself out of his body. “And there you have it. I help out at St Mungo’s, keep the kids company.”
At that moment, only propriety kept Fleur from launching herself at the man and engulfing him in the fiercest hug she could muster, so she settled for a tremulous smile.
“I was right about you years ago.” At Harry’s raised eyebrow, she elaborated. “You are a good man, ‘Arry.”
Still uncomfortable with accepting praise, Harry shrugged. “Why complain about how horrible the world is? It’s better to try to make it better.”
“Oui,” she agreed and finished her cup of tea. “There is still one thing…”
“Hm?”
“You come and go, visit all these people,” Fleur spoke, hesitant now, weighed down by the revelations of the day. “It is all, how do say it, ‘ush-’ush.”
“Ah.” Harry smiled. “Some of the kids are fans of Quidditch, so I went to Ollie, asked him if he’d like to visit them. He agreed, pro bono. The kids loved him. A few girls have a crush on him now. The next time, he took Lish, Angie, and Katie with him. The kids had a blast with them. Other times, well, sometimes I ask people to make some toys, or donate books, or potions.” He shrugged. “Mostly, I ask friends, but sometimes, I have to ask as ‘The-Man-Who-Won’. I guess even the fame can be good for something.”
“But, why keep it so quiet, ‘Arry?”
A frown was her answer, but Harry elaborated. “I don’t want to bring in messes like Skeeter or politics.”
“Ah.” Fleur’s face contorted itself in a grimace of sympathy. She too had the dubious pleasure of meeting Rita Skeeter.
Harry watched Fleur’s expressions, able to read them quite well, and observed her thought processes, moving from distaste to a bit of a vengeful fantasy, until she settled for resolute determination.
“‘Arry, when are you going next?”
-------(/\)-------
The next time turned out to be in two days. It was an overcast day, looking like it was going to start raining at any moment. The entrance into St Mungo’s was busy, as was usual.
“Ah, Mr Potter, welcome back.” Smiled the receptionist. “And with you is?”
“Hello, Mrs Townley.” Harry nodded at her. “This is Fleur Delacour, she’s agreed to help me out today.”
The receptionist’s face brightened at that. “Thank you, Ms Delacour. Bless you.” It was one of the friendliest and most genuine smiles Fleur had ever received from somebody who was not a family member or a close friend.
Harry led her through the maze-like corridors, seeing healers rushing to and fro and paper planes flying through the air. Activity never stopped at St Mungo’s. Finally, they arrived at a door marked ‘Paracelsus’ Ward for Children’s Maladies and Illnesses’. Fleur seemed to hesitate, but Harry stepped forward and opened the door for her. There was a rather large hall with an assortment of chairs, tables and benches, with various toys strewn around, as a heartbreakingly large number of children played and sang, under the supervision of a trio of healers, recognisable in their green robes.
It was a boy of ten who spotted them first and, with a shout of “Harry!” ran to welcome them. He didn’t remain alone for long and soon, Harry and Fleur were surrounded by a gaggle of children.
“Harry!” That was another boy of ten.
“Hello, Mr Harry.” A shy looking girl of nine spoke up.
“Who’s that with you?” The first boy quickly pointed a finger at Fleur.
“Yeah, who’s she?” The second boy, obviously a friend of the first one, also wanted to know.
“Is she your wife?” Another girl, looking between Harry and Fleur, asked with a blush.
“She is pretty.” The first girl added.
“Now children,” began the senior healer in the room, “let Mr Potter in. And he will perhaps introduce his companion?” Even the matron raised a curious eyebrow at Harry, clearly wanting to know just as badly as the children.
“Everyone,” Harry spoke up, raising both his arms and making the children fall silent, “this is my friend, Fleur Delacour.”
“Your friend Fleur?” asked the second girl.
“That’s right, Josie. My friend Fleur agreed to come here today with me. So be nice to her, everyone, alright?” Harry spoke with a firm, warm tone, more affectionate than Fleur could recall.
A round of cheers arose at that pronouncement and the children quickly guided them both to where they could hang their coats. Fleur was quickly dragged off by the pair of girls and found herself sitting down, the newest member of a circle with seven other girls.
Harry, meanwhile stepped off a little bit, followed by three of the boys.
“So,” he began, “how are the Warriors Three doing?”
The first boy, Jacob, spoke up. “Miranda broke her dolly again, but the healers fixed her up in a jiffy.”
“Yes,” the second boy, Adam, chimed in. “We told her it would be fine, but she was really sad.”
“Are her hands shaking again?” Harry asked, remembering Miranda, the seven year old victim of the Cruciatus curse.
“Uh-huh,” the third and quietest of the boys, Martin, spoke up quietly, “she heard about Annie.”
“Oh no,” Harry sighed.
“The healers said that you should go speak to them about Annie, Harry.” There were tears in Jacob’s eyes. As the oldest in the Ward, he knew what it meant when the healers wanted to speak to Harry about a child.
“I will, Jake.” Harry put his hand on Jacob’s shoulders. “I’m sorry about Annie. You’re the biggest here.” He hugged all three boys. “So remember to watch out for each other, yes?”
The three boys nodded.
“Uh-huh.”
“Right.”
“As you taught us, Harry.”
The three boys spoke in unison. “Here, nobody is ever alone. One for all and all for one.”
“Good. Now make sure the other kids are not being too naughty, I will speak to the healers.”
-------(/\)-------
It was quite a surreal experience for Fleur, sitting there in the circle of little girls, feeling their eyes on her. Even during the Weighing of the Wands she felt less nervous than here, facing the judging gazes of seven pre-school girls.
“Why have you come with Harry?” asked the oldest and boldest, the nine years old Josephine.
“We ‘ave not seen each other for some time,” Fleur began, “two days ago I met ‘Arry and ‘e told me about you.” She smiled at them. “And I wanted to meet you all.”
“You are really pretty,” the youngest girl, seven years old Janice, told her shyly.
“Thank you.” Fleur smiled at the girl, noting the very familiar marks on her face, left there by a werewolf.
“What do you want with Mr Harry?” the first girl who spoke to her at the entrance, Rosemary, asked her. It obviously took a lot of effort, but the pale girl watched her intently.
“We are friends, Rosemary,” Fleur answered her patiently, knowing the girl suffered from a malediction.
“I like Harry. Do you like Harry?” Josephine went on the offensive.
Fleur sensed a trap but found herself the target of seven weighty gazes.
“Oui, ‘Arry is very likable, is ‘e not?” she nodded seriously.
“Good,” the most nervous girl, Miranda piped up.
“Mr Harry is nice,” Rosemary spoke up. “He shouldn’t be alone.”
“We keep him company here,” said Miranda.
“But he always looks alone when he comes,” finished Josephine.
“Will you help us?” all seven girls spoke in unison. It was an impressive feat, as were the seven pairs of puppy dog eyes now pinning Fleur in place.
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The room where Harry found Annie was arranged to feel homey, but the atmosphere was oppressive still, the knowledge of what was happening seeming to hang in the room like a curtain. The eight year old girl was laid in a bed near one brightly painted wall, looking small and frail. Harry knew her to be a fighter, abandoned by her parents because of the curse she carried in her blood. In months past, she had always tried to play with all the children, think of new games, learn songs, but now, she just lied there. Her gaze somewhat dull, Harry recognised, due to the potions she was given to relieve her pain. The healers could not help any more than that.
“Hello Annie,” Harry greeted her quietly.
“Mr Harry.”
“The healers told me you asked for me.” He approached her, noting the pallor of her skin and brought a chair to her bed.
“Yes.” She beckoned to him. “Come closer. I want to whisper something to you.”
“Of course, Annie.” And so he did, sitting down next to her and leaning over her, so she could whisper in his ear.
“I am scared.” Her voice was quiet and weak, the difference from how she usually spoke breaking Harry’s heart.
“I didn’t want to tell the healers,” she continued, “they are worried. I don’t want to scare them too.”
Harry took her hand into his and tried to smoothen Annie’s hair with the other. Her mousy hair, much thinner than Harry was used to seeing on her, yielded to his hand as he started caressing her head.
“It’s fine, Annie.” Harry whispered too. “It’s alright to be scared.”
“But you are so brave, Mr Harry,” she protested.
“And I am often scared too.” Harry caressed her head one more. “But to be brave, you need to be scared. Because when you are scared, you can be truly brave.”
“Like you?”
“It’s what I learned, Annie.” He winked at her. “It’s the unofficial motto of Gryffindors, passed down from Godric himself.”
“Really?”
“On my honour.”
Annie giggled briefly but grew solemn again.
“I don’t want to leave everyone, Mr Harry,” she whimpered.
“You don’t need to be afraid, Annie.”
“But I know everyone here and nobody there. I will be alone again.” Tears welled in Annie’s eyes.
“You won’t be alone there,” Harry reassured her quickly. “There is somebody nice waiting there for you.”
Annie’s quiet “Really?” almost got lost in her sniffles.
“Oh yes. He has a long silver beard, a crooked nose and the nicest, kindest blue eyes I have ever seen. Grandpa Albus also can tell the best stories, it’s like he can never run out of them.”
“Will he like me?”
“Of course he will, Annie.” Harry smiled, remembering fondly the late headmaster. “Above all else, he loves children.”
“How do you know?” Annie’s voice was still small.
“I knew him for years. But he grew ill and passed on. He called it the next great adventure.”
“How do you know I will meet him?”
“Oh, because I once met him there too. But I had to return, I had to finish something.” Harry’s voice grew more affectionate. “And I had to meet all of you.”
“And,” he went on, “there is not just grandpa Albus. You will meet also James and Lily, and uncle Sirius. You’ll see, James looks just like me, but has hazel eyes.”
Annie’s face scrunched as she tried to imagine the sight.
“I like your green eyes better,” she declared.
“Thank you.” Harry smiled at her. “Then you will like Lily. She is a lady with green eyes, just like mine, and with the prettiest red hair. And Uncle Sirius, well, sometimes he looks like a big, black, fluffy dog. You should give him a scratch behind the ears if you meet him.” Here, Harry lowered his voice and winked, “He and James can act a bit silly. But Lily always straightens them out. You will like her, I think. She is so very kind, well, unless you are a silly boy.”
Annie’s expression brightened, but it quickly fell again. “What if I can’t find them? I will get lost.” She whispered desperately.
“Don’t worry,” Harry caressed her head again, “if you ever lose your way, I want you to call out for Hedwig.” He smiled again in fond remembrance, his smile dispelling Annie’s worries. “She is a beautiful owl, as white as snow, and very smart. She can find anybody. Just tell her that you have a message for James and Lily.”
“But I don’t,” protested Annie, “and lying is wrong.”
“You will give them a message from me. Can you do it for me?”
“Uh-huh.” Annie nodded. “But what message, Mr Harry?”
“Tell them that…” Harry choked down a sob. “That their son Harry loves them very much.”
“I will, Mr Harry.”
“I know you will, Annie,” Harry whispered and watched a small smile appear on her face.
She grew paler and then her breathing stilled. The little heart of the brave eight year old girl finally beating its last and giving out.
Harry moved to gently close her eyes and looked at the only window to the room, spotting a blindingly white bird taking off. He smiled tenderly and closed his eyes for a moment, before whispering.
“Fly free, little dove.”
-------(/\)-------
Fleur met him again when it was time to leave. She watched him with a worried look on her face.
“Are you alright, ‘Arry?” Her voice was tentative. “It must be ‘ard.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before answering. “It’s always hard. But it’s worse for them. If I can use my experience to help make their passing even a bit easier, it’s worth it.”
“Would you like to come to my ‘ome?” She asked, her voice full of warmth. “I will cook.”
At his look, she took his hand into hers, her thumb rubbing circles on his skin.
“As I was told, nobody should be alone.”