Dancing in the Rain
Chapter 1: Rain
By Arms of Atlas
Chapter 1: Rain
The gentle pitter patter of rain did little to calm the invisible, wandering form of one Harry James Potter. His father’s cloak provided protection from the drizzle as he trudged over the soggy ground, aimless in direction, the beautiful grounds of Hogwarts providing a backdrop to his illicit nighttime escape. The events of the last few hours replayed again and again as he tried to make sense of his new situation. Halloween had never been easy, it was as if some cosmic force had decided that the thirty-first of October would never let the raven-haired boy enjoy a bit of normalcy, was it not enough that it was the anniversary of his parents’ death?
His anger at this injustice was familiar, it was a scene revisited year after year after all, but it served to provide fuel to the flames of the newest developments. He was the fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament. His friends had all but abandoned him, making it clear that he was unwelcome in his own common room. The fact that his name had come forth in the first place meant that he was a subject of another unwelcome plot that sought to alter the course of his life. And he was alone.
Harry was no stranger to loneliness; it was a feeling that accompanied him throughout the majority of his childhood. But since he had turned eleven, he was lucky enough to have not one, but two best friends that stood by him throughout his ordeals.
Images flashed of the stubborn, brave Ron Weasley taking a blow to the head in a giant chess match in their first year, following Harry into the dark pit leading to the Chamber of Secrets, and being dragged into the crevice of the Whomping Willow by a transformed Sirius Black. Sure, the redhead always had a jealous streak, and an undeniable crudeness about him, but surely their experiences together were worth more than a stupid tournament, right?
And Hermione… Truly it was the actions of his brunette best friend that had hurt him the most. After their time traveling adventure to save his godfather the previous spring, he and Hermione had been inseparable. She was somebody he had always known to have his best interests at heart, someone he could trust implicitly, and if he was honest, somebody he knew he wanted in his life forever. Her words from hours earlier rang out in his head.
They had been in their common room. Harry had found himself the recipient of glares from the older students. Even the Weasley twins had averted their eyes as he entered, yet as he locked eyes with Hermione, he had hoped to find a solace, a person who understood. His hopes didn’t last long.
“I don’t understand… How could you be so foolish, Harry? Do you really think you can compete with the Seventh-Years?” Harry’s bushy haired friend was worked up into a fury, her face red and tears threatening to drop from the corners of her eyes. “People have DIED, Harry! And you… You haven’t even started taking our OWLs seriously! What were you thinking?” Before he could respond, to defend himself from her accusations, she had stormed off.
The rest of his time with his fellow Griffindors was a blur, many older students leered at him in jealousy, and the few congratulations he received felt forced. He had made his way to his dormitory only to be stopped by a certain redhead. After Hermione’s reaction to his predicament, he already knew how Ron would feel.
“You really needed more money and fame, huh you prat?” Even though Harry had been expecting it, the vitriol with which his friend had spat shocked him into silence. Whereas Hermione had traces of fear and disappointment in her fiery visage, Ron’s was pure jealousy, anger, even hate.
“Ron, you of all people should know that’s not true!”
“Bugger off, Harry. My family took you in when you were alone, but I guess we just weren’t good enough for the great Harry Potter?”
That had set Harry off, all the frustration, the fear, the helplessness caused by the last few hours struck him like the beat of a drum.
Eyes narrowed in anger, he drew his wand and with a flash, sent the larger redheaded boy careening through the door of their shared dormitory. Ron skidded across the floor, head thumping against the nearest bedframe.
Harry strode in after him, wand raised ready to stop a counter attack, but as he looked down into the eyes of his best friend, glazed over in a sure sign of a concussion, his fury had quickly turned to shame. He had made an awful mistake.
He slowly put his wand back in his pocket, and with one last glance at his friend, ignoring the shocked looks of his other housemates, he strode quickly to his trunk and gathered the Marauder’s Map and his invisibility cloak. He turned to leave, noticing for the first time that he had been followed into his common room.
Hermione Granger stood in the doorless opening to the dormitory, tears running down her face as she gazed at Harry. “I… I had come to apologize…” She slowly walked into the room, past Harry’s downtrodden form, and to the side of their mutual redheaded friend. Helping Ron to his feet, she continued, “but now I know exactly what my friend has become.” She fixed Harry with a glare that was all too similar to Ron’s. “You’ve changed Harry, you could have seriously hurt Ron!” To emphasize her point, the redhead dropped down to a knee and scowled dazedly at Harry.
Harry’s voice was hoarse as he tried to explain, “Hermione, you know that…”
“I knew that you wouldn’t do anything to hurt us, but I was wrong about that too, Harry!” Her anger from earlier was nothing compared to now, and though tears stained her face, her chocolate brown eyes filled with determination as she helped Ron out the door. “You should stay away from us for a while, Harry. I hope you remember what is truly important.” With that they were out of sight, but as they walked away Harry could hear Ron’s slurred voice.
“I told you Mione. He don’t really care about us. He’s acting… like a git.”
Harry stared into space for a few moments, until he bowed his head, tears filling his eyes. He stood like that for a minute, before a voice caused him to look up.
“You really fucked up there, huh Potter?” The coarse language accompanied by the Irish brogue could only belong to one person.
“…Shut up Seamus.”
He spared a glance around the dormitory and saw that none of his housemates had any sympathy for him, though Neville looked like he was going to cry as he avoided Harry’s gaze. He was truly alone. With that, he had made his way out of the shared bedroom, throwing on his father’s cloak as he left. He barely noticed as he passed a struggling Ron and Hermione, and the Fat Lady gave a gasp as she opened and closed with seemingly no student in sight.
Harry had hurried down to the entry hall, making sure to stay clear of the patrolling prefects and professors. He had never noticed how empty the castle was- aside from the dozen classrooms utilized by the professors and the various living quarters, there had to be dozens of empty rooms and corridors one each floor that remained empty except for the odd tutoring session.
The great hall was empty as well, the great floating candles seemed to blur as before he knew it, Harry was slipping out of the giant wooden doors. Absently, he wondered if Dumbledore had any way of knowing who entered and left the castle. It seemed like it would be an easy ward to conjure, but then again, he didn’t know too much about wards other than what he felt when crossing the boundary of the grounds. Hogwarts always had a welcoming air about it, even now in his less-than-ideal mindset he could acknowledge how homey and cozy it felt, the wards must have something to do with that as well, he could feel it.
As the night’s memories faded from his mind’s eye, that lingering final thought gave him pause, his feet coming to rest in the sandy shores of the Great Lake. The drizzling rain had begun to pour in earnest, the raindrops and cloudy night sky obscuring his view of the majestic mountains that lay across the water. Sighing, Harry made his way to a tree close to the beach and sank down to take a seat under its thick branches. Somewhat shielded from rain, he took off his father’s cloak and rested his body against the thick trunk.
He had never really thought about the feeling of magic, but even now he could sense a difference from when he had been under the invisibility cloak. For some reason, the cloak dampened his awareness of the outside world, just as the world around him could not sense the cloak’s master. But now, as he closed his eyes, he could feel the magic surrounding the nearby castle, a bastion of energy that gave off the faintest of hums, like when his uncle left his VHS player on overnight.
On the shoreline opposite the castle itself, he could feel a blip of light that must originated from the Beauxbatons carriage. His thoughts turned to the condescending, yet beautiful French champion, Fleur Delacour. Speaking of magical energy, Fleur’s was unlike any other he had felt. Sure, there was the obvious veela aura that had enraptured many of his classmates, but that was not what caused her to stand out. The vibrant fire of her magic simply danced around her, a stark contrast to her cold, haughty demeanor. It would be easy to dismiss her as a spoiled brat whose beauty was a ticket to an easy life, yet even with his limited interactions with the blonde witch, her magic was among the most potent he had ever felt, if his instincts were to be trusted anyway.
That was what made her attitude after his name had been announced by the cup so infuriating. He could tell there was more to the witch than met the eye, but he himself had been quickly dismissed as a ‘leetle boy.’ However, he had more to worry about than the thoughts of a girl he barely knew, not with the challenges he was sure to face in the coming months.
The other champions had been noteworthy as well- Viktor Krum was a silent but intense young man, his magic coiled around him like a pacing tiger, he was sure to be fierce competitor if his quidditch reputation was to be believed.
On the other hand, Cedric’s eyes were filled with pity for the youngest champion. Harry’s closed eyes slightly clenched, Cedric knew firsthand Harry’s competitive spirit from their own years playing quidditch together, and though the Hufflepuff was compassionate and friendly, his pity struck Harry harder than Fleur’s open derision.
After a moment of frustration, Harry took a few deep breaths and settled back into his impromptu experiment.
He could feel the rigid magic of the Durmstrang ship as it sat atop the lake, though he suddenly realized that the ship was somehow silent in the pouring rain- he could only hear the splash of water upon water. Dismissing that observation for the moment, he instead focused on lake itself. He felt the strange squirming magic of the giant squid, ancient and surprisingly friendly. Somehow, he knew the beast had just been slumbering under the surface of the water, and he could sense its faint irritation as the downpour of rain had interrupted its rest.
Opening his eyes in amusement at the surprisingly human thoughts of the great beast in the lake and using the strange silence of the Durmstrang ship as inspiration, Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at the lake itself.
“Silencio”
The sparks of Harry’s spell danced along the choppy surface of the lake, and slowly but surely the sounds of splashing water began to vanish from the night air, leaving only the thuds of rain against the ground and leaves. Harry sighed from weariness as the immense scope of the silencing spell drained him slightly, but he could feel the great cephalopod’s contentedness as a single tentacle broke the surface of the lake and waved lazily in his direction, before sinking back into the depths. Harry was startled, he had somewhat believed he was imagining the whole thing, but to have his senses confirmed by the creature itself was appreciated.
This turn of events had lightened his heart a bit, magic had never ceased to be, well magical to the emerald-eyed teen. He gazed at his wand fondly, it was hard to gauge what his own magic felt like sometimes, just as it was hard to put a finger on what he smelled like. His magic had been a part of him for his whole life, even if he hadn’t known about it for the longest time, but in his seclusion, he could focus on the energy that lay inside him. It was a sparking, electric current that felt like the rain around him smelled, fresh and energizing. Closing his eyes again, he could feel a ball of vitality in his diaphragm, pulsing like a heartbeat, feeding the connection to the holly wand in his hand.
Struck by the sudden need to feel his magic in action, and his previous weariness forgotten, Harry sprang to his feet, wand in hand and eyes glowing in excitement. Pointing his wand at the sky, he began to cast any spell he could think of; disarming charms and knockback jinxes, “Expelliarmus! Flipendo!” blasting and fire charms, “Bombarda! Incendio!” lit up the sky in a multicolored firework display, and Harry could feel his magic hum with eagerness within him.
As he cast however, he still felt an itch inside that was not satisfied by these basic schoolyard spells, and Hermione’s words echoed in his head again. “Do you really think you can compete?” Pausing his casting and taking deep breaths to fill his tired lungs, shame and anger fought within him.
He had been rash when dealing Ron, he knew that. He had been frustrated at his helplessness at being forced into this tournament, but now his magic rebelled at that thought like a proud lion, and those negative emotions were replaced by something else entirely- determination.
He may not have chosen to compete in the bloody tournament, just like he had never chosen to be left with his abusive relatives, never chose to have his school threatened by all manner of threats over the past few years, and never chose to have the most dangerous wizard of all time following him like an obsessed bloodhound. But like all those other instances, he would rise above and conquer, he would show the world, his friends included, the other champions included, what it meant to mess with Harry James Potter. He. Would. Win.
His magic hummed with approval and rushed like a river through his body. Harry, exhilarated by his personal declaration and fueled by instinct, raised his wand into the air once more and gave shout like a war cry as electricity sparked around his body. A bolt of lightning burst from his wand as his magic danced for joy in the rain, the light in the sky almost matched by furiously determined emerald eyes.
As if to answer his salutation to the heavens, the sky thundered a response, as a second bolt of lightning struck the first, connecting Harry to the peerless strength of nature. For a moment, he could feel the power of the rain itself and the intentions of the clouds to saturate the ground with its deluge. He had never felt anything like it, and as his power dwindled, he was disappointed to see it go, but he regretfully weakened his connection to his magic until the lightning storm had dwindled. All that was left was the taste of ozone in the air, and the sound of the pouring rain, gentler yet more energetic than before, seemingly content to be understood at last.
Harry sank to his knees and gasped for breath, still in awe of what had just happened. He had never imagined that nature itself could be conscious in even a limited form, but as he thought about it, the more it made sense. What was nature other than an expression of the Earth, and one of the most basic laws of magic stated that magical energy was tied to the Earth itself and its ley lines. Did that mean world itself was conscious, was magic merely a byproduct of its intent to change and grow?
If that observation were true, what did that mean about his own magic? He had been taught many times that intent was all important when it came to directing his magic, but could his magic itself have its own intent? He felt a connection to his Patronus when he cast it against the dementors on this very lake, it even seemed to have a will of its own, but it still took direction from Harry’s own intent.
Harry was more exhilarated pondering the essence of magic in this natural setting than he ever had in one of his classrooms, and there was only one way he knew how to manifest his happiness. Rising to his feet once more, his exhaustion nearly forgotten, Harry called out to his magic a final time, and it responded to his passion with a resounding roar, filling him once more with seemingly boundless energy, until they exploded with one voice, one being.
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”
Fleur Delacour awoke with a start as a flash of lightning lit up her small yet cozy bedroom in the magical Beauxbatons carriage by the lake. It was followed by a towering boom of thunder a millisecond later that would have shaken the whole room if it had not been charmed against such inconveniences.
“Typical British weather, I hate rain,” she mumbled to herself in her native French.
To be fair, she thought, she didn’t particularly dislike the rain, it was more the fact that it was British rain. So far, her experience at Hogwarts had been uncomfortable to say the least. The dark castle did have its charms, literally and figuratively, but it was chilly, surprisingly empty, and was nothing compared to the casual elegance of Beauxbatons and its surrounding countryside.
The people in Britain had been lacking so far as well. Back home the Veela peoples, though rare, were much more accepted than in this backwards island, thus the magical French populace were raised learning how to handle the potent Veela aura. Of course, there were certain families that were prejudiced against her race- people in general will find any reason to judge those who are different- and there were still some that did not have enough magical power to resist her allure, but those exceptions had become the norm at Hogwarts.
Fleur sighed as she sat up in her bed, running her hands through her soft blonde hair to help calm her nerves. There had been something strange about the storm outside her window, at least, it felt that way to her, but then again, she had been on edge since arriving to take part in the tournament. She could deal with the stares of inexperienced hormonal teenage boys, and even the lackluster state of her environment, but it was the tournament itself that had been forefront on her mind.
She was anxious, but in a good way. The French champion knew as soon as she had been chosen to take part in her school’s delegation that she would be its chosen competitor. To put things bluntly, she was head and shoulders above the talent level of her fellow students, not even considering the powers inherited by her magical nature. Her skill for transfiguration and charms were unmatched by any in the school, and though she struggled with the practical execution of certain curses, she had a certain instinct for dueling that was simply beautiful to watch. In her humble opinion anyway.
Thankfully, none of her fellow competitors seemed to be the type to ogle her without restraint. Even the Potter boy had been respectful, even before he had been chosen as the fourth champion. The night of her arrival she had seen him eating with a redheaded boy that had been particularly disgusting, as he stared at her obtusely with gravy running down his face. The black haired champion-to-be had the decency to elbow his friend when he noticed what was happening, and Fleur remembered being momentarily grateful for the action before she had turned her attention elsewhere.
Despite his decent nature however, the tournament was no place for a boy three years her junior. She had seen the look in his eyes as he entered the room with the other champions, and he was simply shaken, caught off guard. After reflection, she knew that he probably had not entered himself, and she had begun to feel sorry for the boy. That would not stop her from beating him along with the other champions, but she would feel a little bad about it just the same.
A knock at her bedroom door shook Fleur from her thoughts and she recognized the voice of her best friend at the other side.
“Fleur, are you awake?” her voice sounded slightly shaky. Eloise had always been a gentle soul, she and Fleur had been friends since they were toddlers and had spent many nights taking shelter from thunderstorms.
“Oui, Eloise. Come in you little scaredy cat.” Despite her teasing words, Fleur had a gentle smile on her face as the door opened and welcomed her friend with a warm hug.
Eloise blushed indignantly, “Fleur, I haven’t been afraid of thunder since we were children.” Fleur gave her a pointed look with a smirk on her face until Eloise relented. “Mostly anyway. But that’s not why I came in. Did you see that man outside?”
Fleur blinked at her in confusion, “A man? Who would be crazy enough to be out in this storm?”
“It wasn’t raining this hard until recently. I haven’t been able to sleep tonight, and when that lightning struck, I could have sworn I saw a man out by the lakeside” Eloise took Fleur by the hand and dragged her to the window. “Do you see anything?”
“Non, Eloise, I can’t see anything through this accursed rain!” It was true, with the lightning faded it was too dark to make out anything, let alone mysterious or perhaps imaginary men in the storm.
“Fleur, you love the rain,” said Eloise with a pointed smirk of her own. They left the windowsill and settled on the bed together, the strangeness of the storm fading into the background as the two friends lightly bantered.
“Non, I’ve decided that I hate it. Until we make it back home anyway, where the raindrops are civilized and don’t stare at me like I’m a tasty morsel of meat.” Despite her harsh words, an unabashed grin was growing on Fleur’s face. Eloise always knew how to put her at ease.
“Of course, I am assuming that the raindrops here taste too greasy and heavy, and that the thunder speaks in an ugly classless language as well.”
“Naturally, I’m ever so glad you understand.” The two friends laughed together, they had shared many of the same sentiments since arriving, and Fleur was suddenly grateful that she had a wonderful friend by her side. After settling down, Fleur continued “So my dear Eloise, tell me about this man that you saw outside. Was he handsome, perhaps like your brave darling Stephan?”
Stephan was a shy, curly haired boy one year their junior. Eloise was quite taken with him, but she had only trusted her best friend with this sacred information.
Eloise turned slightly red but giggled all the same. “First of all, shut your mouth. Second of all, I wish, I could bring him a towel and offer to dry him off, perhaps invite him in for a cup of hot coffee…”
Their musings were interrupted by a flash of silvery blue light that lit up the interior of Fleur’s room.
The two witches looked at each other in surprise before Fleur shakily quipped “That had better be your imaginary man, because that is most definitely not lightning.”
Together they rushed back over to the window to look outside and were astounded by what they saw.
A magnificent glowing stag pranced upon the water, igniting the whole lake in an ethereal glow and seemingly filling the world with a sense of levity and peace.
Eloise stared incomprehensibly and muttered, “It’s magnificent.” She turned to her friend and noticed that Fleur was even more enraptured than she was.
“It’s impossible.” The stag continued its dance atop the water, waltzing in tune with the natural rhythm of the wind and the rain, its enchanting presence a gift to the lucky few to have borne witness. Despite the otherworldliness of the magical steed outside their window, Fleur knew exactly what she was looking at. More importantly, as she reluctantly tore her eyes away from the spectacle, she found who she was looking for.
“Eloise! Look! It’s your fantasy man!” Indeed, underneath a tree on one of the far shores of the lake, they could both make out the shadowed figure of a man, his features obscured by the sheer amount of light being produced directly in front of him, but unmistakably a man. A mesmerizing, powerful man at that.
Together they squinted against the light to no avail, it was like trying to locate a football in the air while your eyes were blinded by the sun. Eloise turned to Fleur, “I can’t see him, do you know what spell he is casting?”
“Yes Eloise, that is a Patronus. The spell designed to carry messages and repel dark creatures. It’s very advanced, it must be one of the professors indulging in a bit of late-night practice.” It was the only explanation that Fleur could think of that made sense.
“Ah, so that is the Patronus charm, I’ve never seen one in person before. Can’t you cast one too, Fleur?” Eloise looked even more impressed, though knowing exactly what she was seeing took some of the mystique out of the situation.
Fleur tried to scowl, but the powerful aura of the Patronus chased any negativity from her thoughts, so she replied simply and honestly, “Not really, I have been able to produce a shield, but the form of my guardian eludes me,” she admitted. As she said these words, however, she felt a touch of confidence, and she instinctively reached to her bedside table for her wand. “Eloise, I’m going to try something stupid.”
Understanding at once, Eloise stepped back from the window and said softly, “Fleur, are you sure?”
Without responding, Fleur waved her wand and opened her bedroom window, ignoring her friend’s protest as the cold wind and rain began to blow into the room. Steeling herself, she closed her eyes and focused on the positivity emitted by the graceful stag on the water. She thought of her best friend, laughing with her, as they ambled across the beautiful Beauxbatons grounds. As she gathered her magic, she had one final thought. Fleur Delacour would be competing in the tournament, and none would be her equal. She had the strength to destroy the competition, and she would do it with all the natural grace that only a veela could. She would bring pride to her family, to her people, and pave the way for her own future, one full of adventure and fulfillment. She. Would. Win.
Fleur Delacour opened her eyes and her cerulean gaze was full of determination as she spouted the words.
EXPECTO PATRONUM!
Harry had lost track of time after Prongs had come rushing out his wand like a cannonball, larger and more powerful than he had ever been. He kept the connection to his corporeal guardian going for much longer than usual, still fueled by his communal with the sky, and the positivity radiating from his father’s animagus form chased away the negativity that his long day had wrought.
It felt good to see Prongs again, and as the stag bounded across the water, Harry absently thought of his godfather Sirius and his friend Lupin. Perhaps he wasn’t alone as he thought; he wouldn’t want to risk having his Godfather out in the open with his name still at large, but his former professor should be able to come support him. At least there would be one cheering figure in a crowd full of jeers, Harry thought with a tinge of dark humor, but Harry was ready to prove the crowd wrong. He definitely had some work to do, there were less than two months before he would have to be prepared to outclass the older and more experienced competition.
His experiment with the lightning had been eye-opening, he now knew that he could feel and control the power within him- he somehow felt even more energized after casting the lightning than the overpowered silencing charm earlier! Now it was just a matter of practice.
An unexpected burst of magic tore his attention away from his wayward thoughts, and his gaze flew to where the Beauxbatons carriage had been sitting peacefully just moments before. At first, it was too bright to make out exactly what was happening, but after a moment, a silvery form seemed to explode into the night sky, soaring high above the castle grounds and disappearing above the clouds. Before he could comprehend what had happened, Harry felt Prongs rear and toss his head in delight as the stag let out a silent bellow in welcome.
In the next instant, an enormous, ethereal silver eagle dove through the clouds, its wings tucked into its side, feathers as if carved from individual rays of starlight. Its trajectory put it on a direct path of Prongs, and as if sensing the intentions of the new creature, the stag sprang forward across the lake. The great eagle was right on his tail, both a florescent blur in the night air, the rain seemingly absorbed by their bright forms.
Both Patronus guardians had reached the far end of the lake in seconds and they rounded the corner like two competing racing cars in an F1 competition. Harry could only watch in awe- he hadn’t felt this wonder since he had first met Prongs and had the desperate hope of his father’s survival. The eagle was gorgeous and powerful, the stag majestic and inherently unbound, and together they were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
The two creatures arrived at the center of the lake at precisely the same time, slowing to a canter as they danced in circles in delight. Prongs had never had a friend before, after all, and his joy reverberated through his connection with Harry. The wizard could only smile as the two creatures played together, the eagle playing keep away as it around and between the stag’s two antlers. Finally, however, the eagle was caught as Prongs reared on his hind legs and brushed it with his nose. The great bird gave a silent shriek in protest, but soon gently settled and perched on the stag’s antler, and together they ambled across the water, enjoying each other’s company.
“Well Prongs, maybe you have a mind of your own after all,” Harry muttered. It seemed his previous musings on the nature of magic had been on the money when it came to Patronuses at the very least. After all, he hadn’t directed Prongs to interact in any certain way, the stag had even known what was coming before Harry himself could comprehend. He watched the two familiars interact, enjoying the luxury of a peaceful yet ludicrous night.
However, many minutes had passed since Harry had cast the Patronus, and he had finally begun to feel the effects of his escapades. Realizing he couldn’t keep his connection going for too much longer he began to rein in his guardian. The stag sent a tinge of reluctance and sorrow over their link, but he ultimately understood. Motioning the eagle with a gentle shake of his head, the two separated before Prongs lowered his front two legs in an unmistakable bow as he began to fade from existence. The eagle flapped its wings a couple times in response before soaring back above the clouds, before it too faded into nothingness.
Harry stumbled back against the trunk of tree in true exhaustion as the night was again claimed by the gentle pitter patter of rain. The storm had calmed again as the two Patronuses had danced away, Harry thought gratefully, there was no way that he was making his way back to the castle tonight and he didn’t want to be completely soaked in the morning. He pondered the appearance of the eagle Patronus, it had come from the Beauxbatons carriage, of that he was certain, however he could feel the edges of his vision blurring and it seemed that the identity of the caster would remain a secret for at least one night.
With the last of his strength, Harry cast a cushioning charm on the ground beneath him, slipped his invisibility cloak over his prone form, and with one last glance at the Marauder’s Map to make sure he was alone, he finally drifted off to sleep. If he had remained awake a few moments longer, he would have noticed two dots start making their way to his position.
“But did you see that Fleur?”
“Oui, Eloise.”
“Did you know… Did you make… Fleur what exactly happened? I’m honestly still not sure what happened.”
“I know just as much as you do Eloise, now quit your chirping, I am tired.”
“Chirping? You’re the Veela, remember, bird brain?”
“You did not just call me that! Should I call Stephan to keep his woman in line?”
The two friends glared at each other in mock anger before taking an instinctive look out the window again. They were met with the familiar uninteresting sight of the dark rain, a far cry from the otherworldly light show they had been treated to moments earlier. With a sigh, Fleur waved her wand and closed off the room to the night air.
Eloise looked at her friend, still in slight disbelief, “Fleur… All joking aside that was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. I hope you know that.”
Fleur gave her friend a small smile, “Oui, me too. I can’t believe I was a part of it, but it just felt right to try. And then…” And then what exactly? Her eagle, because it was most certainly her eagle, had a mind of its own. It had danced with the stag, and its excitement had sung through her magic.
It was electric.
Some of her feelings must have been showing on her face because her friend prodded her in the ribs with a teasing finger. “All this time we’ve been talking about this being MY mysterious stranger, but it’s YOURS, Fleur! Your magic danced together, you can’t deny it, it’s just like a fairy tale!” Suddenly a sly look crept on Eloise’s face. “You know what that means! We have to find him! We have to find out the stranger’s identity!”
“Eloise…”
“Fleur, you are like the Prince Charming, you must find your Cinderella before midnight!” It was in fact just past eleven.
“Eloise, don’t be absurd.” Despite her protests, Fleur was in fact extremely interested in her magical dance partner. She glanced again out the corner of the window, and though the darkness obscured her vision, she knew exactly where the man under the tree had been.
She allowed her mind to wander back to what had happened moments previously- she had never felt so powerful, yet so vulnerable as well. It was as if her very magic was elated to be joined with another’s. Her eagle had been wonderful, yet she knew it was the stag itself that gave her the strength to bring her eagle into being. She was torn between wanting to thank the stranger and irked that it took someone else’s magic to bring out the best of her own.
Eloise caught the direction of her gaze and after a moment’s contemplation grabbed Fleur by the arm. “Okay, that’s it, now you’re the scaredy cat. We’re going right now!”
“Eloise!” Ultimately, Fleur was too curious to resist her excited friend’s efforts and allowed herself to be dragged out of the bedroom door.
Unfortunately for the two French witches, it seemed as if the mysterious wizard had disappeared. They had searched for an hour in the drizzling rain to no avail, relentlessly teasing each other the entire time. Though they hadn’t found the man they were looking for that night, the two friends were bonded by the sheer strange beauty of their shared experience. Soon they returned to their carriage, vowing to keep their magical evening a secret for the time being.
Eloise and Fleur settled into Fleur’s bedroom, wishing to stay together for the night as they had when they were children. Before drifting off into their respective dreams, a voice spoke into the darkness.
“Fleur?”
“Yes Eloise?”
“Perhaps Britain isn’t all bad, eh?”
“…Shut up Eloise.”
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The Hope Collection 