Disclaimer: Rookie, get the coffee!

A/N: Well, here is chapter nine! Has it really been two months since an update? Time flies - writing time, doubly so. Sorry about the wait, folks, I got raped by real life and uni exams and what have you. Nice 11,000 words here to get you back into the swing of things. Harry gets a much needed break this chapter, and a fair helping of Harry/Fleur interaction, but his break won't last long. Oh no - he'd find that boring.

Thank you very much to all who have read, and a special thank you to my many reviewers - awesome response to this story. Thanks to the gang over at DLP for giving me thoughts on this chapter pre-posting it. Above all, enjoy,

--Joe

*~*~*~*

Harry Potter and the Wastelands of Time

Chapter 9 – High Up Above

Baby, do you remember when?

Fireworks at Lake Michigan…

Now I’m coming home again,

Maybe we can start again…

~Chris Martin

I felt weak and dizzy under the warm cloudless sky, my back to the Delacour family home and a pitcher of sparkling ice tea sitting between me and the girl I would (had) set the world ablaze for. The chequered picnic blanket beneath me was large enough for two, and Fleur looked radiant in the sun, her legs folded carefully beneath her, her toenails painted a deep red, and the strap of her summer dress slipping just off the peak of her shoulder.

I sipped casually at my drink, my pale face a mask of indifference, disguising the swooning discomfort I felt. I’d lost a lot of blood, I supposed, more than usual, and the sight of Fleur sent what little blood I had left pumping all the faster.

“Nice tea,” I said. “Nice day. Nice view.” A large swath of French countryside, a meadow in full bloom, stretched towards the distant hills before the horizon. Nothing disturbed the serenity save the gentle breeze and the calm bubbling of the fountain in the swimming pool away to my left.

We could have been alone in the whole world. A large, empty world of nothing but sunshine and meadow flowers – I’d give eternity for something so simple.

Fleur tilted her head and gazed at me through a curtain of golden hair, her eyes sharp and curious, as if trying to pierce my mind. “Are you being purposefully blasé, ‘Arry? I tell you now, I will ‘ave none of it!”

I grinned. “Forgive me, it has been a busy few days.”

“You do not look well.”

”I’ll be fine – tea is working wonders on me. So is the fresh air.”

“Blasé, ‘Arry.”

“Sorry.” I took a deep breath, stretching the stitches in my side. I winced and let my breath out slow. “Really though, I’ve been stuck in stuffy old libraries and such – its nice to get out.”

“You were stabbed in a library?” Fleur’s cool indifference, that aspect of her that was all at once cruel and beautiful, gave way to surprise.

“Nope, I was stabbed in a hotel lobby in Italy, by a… well, by a goddess, if the evidence so far is to be believed.”

Fleur blinked. “I’m not sure I follow you, ‘Arry.”

I shrugged. “I’ve no real explanation for it, Fleur. Did you- have you heard anything about the Death Eater who tried to kill you the other day?”

Fleur nodded. “Oui, yes. I received a missive from your Ministry only yesterday, demanding my return to England immediately.”

“Safer to be here,” I said.

“My father agrees – he has friends in our Ministry who will sort this matter out. In ze mean time, I will not be returning to Britain.”

“That’s probably for the best,” I replied honestly, half a dozen memories of the path the future could take spinning through my mind. None of them were good for Fleur if she returned to England, yet a few of them were terrible here in France, as well.  That’s where I stepped in and saved the feckin’ day.

“I suppose so, yes.”

A comfortable silence fell between us then. I had been expecting a little more awkwardness than had so far presented itself – what with my unexpected bloody arrival and my lack of adequate explanation, yet Fleur seemed content to simply gaze out at the expansive countryside, sipping her tea and respecting my privacy. That was all to the good – how could I explain Saturnia without brushing the eternity my life had become?

I’m Harry Potter, fifteen years old (a week and a bit away from sixteen) and yet I’ve memories of older men, of older Harry Potters burning through my mind. A thousand, thousand images and half-forgotten fuzzy glimpses of futures that had come and gone, and come and gone again and again and again…

How old could I claim to be, really? I felt fifteen-nearly-sixteen. I was fifteen-nearly-sixteen. And yet… men who were not me and yet were Harry Potter had angered gods and demons in the future and brought those troubles crashing down upon my younger shoulders. I was them and I was me, and they were me too…

And then there was Voldemort at the head of it all. Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Shadowy players so far this summer… yet they were out there, the greatest threat facing the world, and then some. In a few days, a week at the most, I should catch up to them all.

That was a lot of responsibility for fifteen-nearly-sixteen, especially with the power of the Lost City of Atlantis thrown into the whole turbulent mix. Like trying to build a house of cards in a sandstorm, I could feel the foundations of the whole world buckling…

Fuck it – I was hurting and all on my own for the most part, this afternoon I was going to enjoy the goddamned ice tea and the precious company of Fleur Delacour.

“You make it ‘ard to ‘ave a normal conversation, ‘Arry,” Fleur said, tilting her head and gazing at me from within an air of regal dignity. Cruel and beautiful. “You were thinking dark thoughts just now, I could see it on your face. Was it ze Death Eaters that attacked you?”

“Nope, that’s still to come, once I reach Atlantis.” I switched subjects. “Has Albus Dumbledore been in contact with you, Fleur?”

“Non,” she replied, crinkling her nose at the mention of Atlantis. “Should I expect him, hmm?”

“Possibly – he doesn’t like me running around on my own – and he knows we left England together day before yesterday.”

“Are you asking me to lie for you if he comes calling?”

“No, not at all.” I drained my glass of ice tea in one long swallow and for a moment felt a refreshing and cool burst bite into the raw heat in my side. “He knows I’m after Atlantis – he doesn’t understand why or how, or where this has all come from – but he knows. “

Fleur frowned in mock-frustration. “I do not understand how or why either, ‘Arry. Forgive me, but zere are more important things happening in our world, that you seem to be a part of, than old treasure hunts for mythical cities.”

“Hmm… you would think so,” I replied, and leaned back on the picnic blanket, stretching my chest and resting my head on my hands. Sitting up was playing bloody murder on my stab wound. “What’s today? July 16th? Voldemort stumbled upon Atlantis two days ago, and he’s already there, Fleur, unravelling its secrets and… protections. I’m going to stop him.”

“Just like that?”

I yawned. The summer-sun and dizziness from the blood loss were making me drowsy. “That, or something like it. Trust me, it’s a good plan – tearing all the power and wealth of the ancient world out of the hands of the monster that murdered my parents.”

“You must realise how hard this is to believe, ‘Arry. You speak of fairytales, of myth, and not of the real world.” Fleur brushed a few loose strands of her golden hair behind her ear, gazing at me with those clear blue eyes, waiting for me to divulge all the secrets of time and space – if she only knew.

“Voldemort and I share a… connection,” I said, yawning again. It was so damn relaxing, and being near Fleur lowered my guard, made me feel safe. “Through the scar on my forehead. It’s awful, but I can see into his mind, and sometimes he into mine.” I wasn’t any more forthcoming than that. I didn’t want Fleur knowing how… tainted I was. “Anyways, Death Eater activity isn’t what it should be because he’s distracted at the moment on the power he’s found – or thinks he’s found.”

“And you just came up with this all by yourself? Atlantis? This plan to challenge You Know Who and rewrite wizarding history?”

I nodded, my eyes heavy and the warm sun inviting dreams and forgetfulness. The pain in my side was almost a dull ache, much akin to the unrelenting headache between my eyes. Over my heart, that time-scar from my death in Diagon Alley was burning with a deep itch.

“All by myself,” I said. “The why and the how of it, Fleur, is not something I can explain…” My eyes were really heavy – I was drifting into sleep, into blissful rest. It was only early afternoon, just gone lunch time, yet I’d done a lot of adventuring and time-travelling, a lot of fighting and drinking, over the last two days. “For the why and the how, sweetheart…” I was mumbling, on the edge of sleep. Fleur looked down upon me, her radiance haloed by the sun up in the endless blue sky. “To understand the why and the how of this mess… you’ll have to come with me.”

If there was a reply, I didn’t hear it, as my eyes blinked closed and sleep overcame even my tempered resolve.

*~*~*~*

So there I was, drowning in an ocean of memories and… fire.

I’d watched countless enemies, countless friends and allies, fall screaming into the jaws of Oblivion.

Along with empires and nations – swept away in a maelstrom of insanity and high-pitched laughter.

Sometimes I don’t know where I’m heading, where I’m going with my life (don’t we all, hmm), yet why do I still fight the inevitability of Time?

I struggle to even remember what time (Time… TimE… TiMe… TIMe)  is these days. What it means to me, and what it used to mean.

Where am I?

*~*~*~*

“Time’s up, Harry.”

I laughed. “Oh, Time is never up.”

“You ran a fair race, boy – from Godric’s Hollow to my father’s gravestone, from the shores of Atlantis to the ruins of Hogwarts. No one can fault your resolve, your will, at the end.” A heavy pause. “Despite my best efforts, you will be remembered as the greatest threat to my power.”

I gazed unblinking into the crimson eyes of Lord Voldemort – my nemesis, my equal – and laughed again. It was laugh or scream. That’s what it always comes down to in the end; the right kind of insanity. Overhead, a sharp bolt of clear blue lightning sizzled through the clouds, cutting my abrupt laughter short with a clap of thunder. “Maybe yes… maybe no. There’s not many left to remember this time. You win this round, Voldemort.”

“Well, you and I both know there was never any doubt as to who would emerge triumphant.”

“I’ve not given up yet, you know,” I replied, almost conversationally, as if over drinks. I guess I might have sounded a little regretful.

“You are dead, Harry – the race is run. It is futile to resist now. There is no one left to die in your place.”

I had fallen against a steel bracket supporting the remains of the Ministry. It was cold and it was dark, and I was alone. Thick railroad spikes of rusted iron were punched through the flesh of my wrists, and two more through the meat of my thighs. I was literally nailed to a cross. It would be rather symbolic if there was anyone left alive to appreciate that crap.

“I guess I’ll see you in another life then…” I whispered.  

I awoke with a start, for a moment forgetting where and when I was. I sat up quickly, too quickly, and regretted it just as fast as a fierce lance of pain shot through my side and across my heart. I sucked in a deep breath and put a hand inside my shirt, checking to see if I’d just popped my stitches.

“Ooh…” Fleur said, wincing. “That looked like it hurt.”

The sun was still bright in the sky and my stitches were still good and tight. There was a little blood, but it was hardly anything. “Stung a little, yeah,” I said. “I –er- fell asleep?”

“Just for a half hour, ‘Arry. Do you know you frown in your sleep?”

I reached behind me and removed my wand from my pocket. My back was aching from where it had been digging into me as I slept. “Really?” I smiled. Fleur still looked gorgeous glistening in the sun in her summer dress. She held her book in one hand marked with her finger. “Can’t believe I fell asleep.”

Fleur nodded. “You are terrible company, ‘Arry Potter, or you must find me simply dull. You arrive here shoeless and wounded and then promptly fall asleep during conversation.” She tsked. “Jeunes magiciens!”

I laughed, ignoring the throbbing in my side. “You’re not dull, you make me smile, and this is just an inconvenient scratch.”

“Oh, oui,” Fleur replied, smiling herself now. It was nice to feel young. “A cursed scratch that cannot be healed with magic? I may forgive that, however eet does not excuse your lack of shoes.”

“Will a rose?” I asked, twirling my wand between my hands. Wordlessly, working along a memory I scarcely recognised from the future, I conjured a flawless white rose from the tip of my wand in a shower of silver sparks. I handed it to Fleur with a flourish. “Mind the thorns.”

Fleur shook her head, but accepted the flower with a smile. “No, no, ‘Arry. I expect ze heroes that save my life to be properly attired at all times, come Death Eaters or Dark Lords. This rose does not forgive you.”

“Ah, a pity…” It was nice to feel young, yet I felt older than I was. Fifteen-nearly-sixteen going on two hundred. Talking to Fleur, however, almost flirting with Fleur, made me feel old enough to know better yet too young to care. It was nice to grasp these small moments where I could forget about Atlantis and Voldemort, and horrifying dreams of the end of the world.

“It is quite beautiful, however,” Fleur conceded, bringing the dew-soaked petals to her nose. “And it smells all too real. Impressive magic, ‘Arry, yet I fear you do zis for all ze girls, no?”

“White roses? No. Something far too special about white roses – they’re just for the girls who give me ice tea and a place to stitch myself up.” I placed my wand on the picnic blanket between us, against the now-warm pitcher of tea and stretched my arms out as far as I could without tearing my side open.

“And a place to fall asleep.”

“And that.”

Fleur had picked up her own wand and prodded mine with it. Her wand was slender and elegant, recently polished and untarnished. Mine was faded and chipped in a few places, grooved and worn. She shook her head. “Even your wand is scruffy, ‘Arry,” she said, and placed the stem of the white rose between the pages of her book and put it aside. “You are charming and scruffy.”

“That wand’s seen me through the last few years,” I said, leaping to its defence. “Watch this…” I raised my hand and, concentrating really hard, clicked my fingers and smirked as my wand flew up off the blanket and into my waiting hand.

Fleur raised her eyebrows. “A touch of wandless magic?”

“Lots and lots of practice went into that.” I took a deep breath and rose to my feet, collecting my briefcase full of cash and that all-too important manuscript. “I’m going to head into town – Carcassonne, wasn’t it? – and pick up some new shoes, maybe another of those fancy suits seeing as how bad guys broke the last one.” I met Fleur’s eyes. “It was nice seeing you again, Fleur.”

Fleur rose as well. “You are leaving so soon, ‘Arry? The day is still young. I was going to ask if you would like to stay for dinner.”

I paused, searching the memories I could recall of today. There weren’t many, and as always they were fuzzy and mostly incomplete, yet this felt new. This hadn’t happened before. Change was sometimes good – was it because of my bloody arrival? Or the subtle changes that were rippling outwards from my contact with the demons and Saturnia? Either way…

“Romantic candlelit dinner for two, huh?” I said, and nearly ruined it with a blush as Fleur regarded me with that look of cruel beauty. A look that had sent many men running scared before me.

Then she smiled, and I very nearly bolted. “A few friends from Beauxbatons that I ‘ave not seen in some time, zere partners and such. Six of us, seven including you.”

I hesitated. “Anyone likely to recognise me?” I asked, feeling slightly embarrassed.

Fleur frowned. “Oui, yes. Emilie and Grace from ze Tri-Wizard Tournament, if nothing else. You are in ze papers here more often these days, ‘Arry. Is eet a problem?”

I shrugged and weighed up my options. There were goblins and goddesses, demons and Dark Lords, who might make it a problem. Yet Saturnia had what she wanted, my blood, but the way she had spoken made me think she wasn’t working alone – there was someone who had taken me seriously – and he had sent those blasted ugly fuckers Tweedledum and Tweedledee after me… Voldemort and Death Eaters weren’t a concern, not for a week or too, but the goblins could create trouble if they tracked me down… What to do, what to do?

“You frown a lot more than you should, ‘Arry,” Fleur said, pulling me from my thoughts and resting her hand gently on my arm. A shiver ran through me from her touch that I hope she didn’t notice. “You should spend some time resting, you know, you were just stabbed!”

“Just a scratch…” I said.

“I am heading into Carcassonne myself, to buy some ingredients for dinner. You could help me prepare – if you can cook as well as you charm all ze girls then I may never let you leave.”

It was a joke, some mild flirting, and yet her hand was still on my arm.

“Why not?” I said a moment later, and saying it felt really good – like relief.

“Magnifique! Wait here, I will just get my purse.”

I watched Fleur head back into the large château, her hair as bright as the sun and the hem of her dress swaying about her legs. She was beautiful, gorgeous, and happy to know me. I let out a slow breath.

Damn it all, if Voldemort had even an ounce of Veela-charm I would’ve been dead a long time ago…

When Fleur returned we walked to the edge of her garden, just outside of the wards, and Apparated a few miles east to the outskirts of the fortified, medieval town of Carcassonne. We had been here just two days ago, and a lot had happened to me since then, yet it was only just beginning…

Our first stop was the expensive suit shop I had been fitted in only two days ago. The tailor remembered me, and thankfully did not ask any questions as I bought the same style of Armani wool-cut suit again, and a few pairs of socks as well as a pair of shiny black shoes.

Straightening my overcoat in the mirror, I saw Fleur looking at me pensively in the reflection, still in her summer dress and feet clad in simple white high heels. I think she was marvelling at the sweeping change that came over me when I slipped on something presentable like this. I think, to her, I looked more like the reluctant hero I was supposed to be.

Hero… I thought. No, not at all. I’ve failed far too many times to be called a hero.

I slipped my wand into the inner pocket of my suit jacket and put both my worn clothes back into my briefcase, along with the modified Time-Turner still stuffed into my jeans. I was definitely short on living space, but I crammed them in there alongside half of the most important book ever written and nearly a million pounds in various Muggle denominations.

 

“Tout bien, monsieur?” the old tailor asked, brushing my new silk overcoat free of dust with a tiny brush.

“Merci,” I said, holding Fleur’s eyes with mine in the mirror for a moment. Still searching for that something special, I don’t think I saw it, yet eye contact was a good sign, wasn’t it? Priorities, Harry, I thought. It was still early days, and I was reading way too much into a casual glance in the mirror. I did look good, damn it.

I parted with several thousand more American dollars for suit number two, and hoped I managed to make it last more than a day and a half this time. Our next stop was a pharmacy near the fresh food markets for some Muggle medicine including bandages, rubbing alcohol, and disinfectant, that should see my stitches last and latest wound heal without infection. The last thing I needed was to be laid out in a hospital somewhere with blood-poisoning or worse for a few days. Thank you very much, Saturnia, whatever you and your demons are.

My greatest concern in regards to Saturnia and her demon entourage was their seeming ability to negate magic as I knew it. Wizarding magic, wand magic, the kind I kinda relied on to stay in the game, could be severed in close proximity to these unknown players… It was disturbing, to say the least. And thoughts for another time.

Although my little finger-clicking trick with my wand was a good sign. Magic I had spent lifetimes learning, magic I had died for time and time again, seemed to be coming back to me. It was still too early to have gained all my power, for my mind to have sorted all of my new knowledge of lives gone by – but that was to come. Again, thoughts for another time.

Fleur and I spent the next half an hour wandering all the open stalls of fresh food, tasting bits of everything and purchasing several large salmon on ice and two dozen or so fat Swiss mushrooms. I wasn’t a flash cook, unless it came to frying meat and/or tomatoes and eggs for breakfast, but I could help carry.

“It’s a nice day,” I said gently, as we browsed the heavy markets. Part of me, the older time-weary part, was still getting used to being around so many people again. Where I’d come from, a world a few years away, not too many people were left to group together like this. “S’good to be out in the sun.”

“You are my apprentice this afternoon, ‘Arry Potter,” Fleur said. “We just need some herbs and lemons and we can head home and straight into ze kitchen.” Her tone softened. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I said, a little breathless. My side was burning something fierce, and yet I wasn’t quite ready to give up this sunny afternoon just yet. There was something so normal about all of this that I clung to it almost as desperately as a drowning man would a life vest. On the outside, however, I guess I looked a little uncomfortable what with my old stab wound screaming for attention.

Oh well. The world could wait an afternoon. We soon found lemons so fresh they stung the eyes, and herbs with roots still clinging to the earth they had grown in.

Dressed for the occasion, carrying enough food for seven, Fleur and I Apparated back to her family home to do some cooking for the next few hours, and after that… socialise. I felt out of sorts, as if I were encroaching upon a new world. A world where I didn’t honestly belong. A world where I could look and act the part, but only on the surface.

Yet I was with Fleur. After years away, after years at the end of the world living under a tortured fiery sky, after years that hadn’t happened, I was with Fleur. All too soon I’d be back to Voldemort and the hunt for Atlantis, back to war and fighting and innocent people dying.

I just wish that the whole ‘people-dying’ thing didn’t feel more comfortable than a small dinner party with a group of eighteen-year old French girls, one of whom was part-Veela, that might all be impressed with the Dark Lord-duelling English boy.

*~*~*~*

Time seems to me, at times, to be a neutral force. A force of balances.

Nothing changes, the past is so far away, the universe can course-correct…

Fate has blocked all the exits and more and more often I feel as though I’m fighting a futile battle against inevitability. Oh well…

Time and tide wait for no man.

*~*~*~*

Could I cook? Well, maybe yes and maybe no…

The large kitchen in Fleur’s home, complete with shiny marble bench tops and hanging silver pans looked like a bomb had hit it. Flour was powdered over much of everything, hanging in the air, and three pots of boiling water let off a steady stream of steam which condensed on the windows looking out into the gardens in heavy, warm drops.

“Did you chop ze onions, ‘Arry?” Fleur called from the oven.

“Oh yeah,” I sniffed, the damn bulbs making me cry. I haven’t cried in bloody years. “One more to go.”

It had been a busy few hours, the sun was low on the horizon nestled between the peaks of the distant hills, and warm twilight coated our little part of the world. I was still wearing my new suit pants and black shoes, however I’d taken off my jacket and rolled my sleeves up. Fleur had provided a chef’s apron and a bandana to tie my hair back.

“The salmon is a leetle too crumbly – more lemon juice! Or perhaps we should ‘ave you sew it back together, ‘Arry, non?”

“Ha ha,” I said, dicing the onion into fine little cubes. “Those mushrooms smell delicious.”

Fleur gazed into the wood-fired oven, casting a critical eye over the main course. “That iz all ze salmon juice they are soaking up. Twenty more minutes or so…”

I had streaks of flour in my hair along with one or two stains on my five hundred dollar silk shirt, yet Fleur had managed to avoid all of the mess, and danced all-too gracefully about the kitchen. Fairly early on she had stuck me in one place to do all the manly chopping of onions and such. I definitely got in the way, but we were having fun.

I was having fun, but Atlantis and Voldemort were preying heavily on my mind. With things changing this time around, and not for the better, I didn’t want to delay my one-man expedition any longer than necessary. Easier said than done though, what with Fleur Delacour wanting to spend time with me, and the burning in my side sapping me of any desire to jump back into the maelstrom of war – a maelstrom that I was, in part, creating.

“You are frowning again, ‘Arry, and I will ‘ave none of it in my kitchen!”

“Sorry,” I said, turning that frown into a smile. “Onion’s all done.”

“Place eet in the marinade, please.”

I picked up my chopping board of diced onion and moved over to the steaming pots in front of the window, looking out on the back gardens. I scraped the onion into the pot on low heat with some olive oil and a smattering of chopped herbs.

There was a tapping on the window.

Through the condensed steam I caught sight of a familiar pair of amber eyes and a hooked beak, all attached to a snowy-white plumage. A genuine smile crossed my features. I put down the knife and chopping board and moved to the heavy-oak back door.

“Hedwig,” I said, opening the door and holding out my arm for my owl. The bird hesitated, and then with an annoyed squawk leapt up onto my forearm. “Okay, what’s the matter?”

She nipped my ear, hard enough to sting.

“Ow, what was that for?” I said, as Fleur laughed – clear and beautiful – from across the kitchen.

“Ah, your charm has run out, ‘Arry. Enfin! How far ‘as she ‘ad to fly to reach you?”

“Heh, I’ve been moving around a lot, haven’t I?” I asked Hedwig, and she bobbed her head up and down. Uncannily like a nod of agreement. “Well, it’s better than being cooped up back in Surrey, isn’t it?” The blasted owl nipped my ear again. “Oh, okay, so that’s how it is?”

Hedwig squawked and flapped her wings, clearly not impressed.

“I’m happy to see you, you know. And isn’t the south of France lovely to fly through?”

Hedwig hooted in a way that could almost be mistaken for a concession of agreement.

I picked up the spare crust from the loaf of bread that Fleur had ground into crumbs for the salmon and offered it to my owl. She accepted it gracefully in one talon with a trill of forgiveness, and nipped at my ear – affectionately this time.

“There we go, honey,” I said softly, stroking Hedwig’s neck. “It’s always good to see you arrive safe, you know.”

Fleur giggled. “Aw, ze rumours say ‘Arry Potter is single - clearly he is spoken for.” She stood with one hand holding a sieve, and the other resting on her curvaceous hip, gazing at me with a small smile playing about her lips. “Perhaps I should feel ‘eart-broken and jealousy, non?”

Hedwig took flight from my arm and back out into dwindling light of the day, tearing into her crust of bread. I closed the door behind her and from the window Fleur and I watched her disappear up into the branches of one of the large trees bordering her family’s chateau.

“No, no, I’m painfully single,” I said, with a touch of bitterness. “Any girl that gets me gets a war and a death sentence, as well.”

Fleur scoffed. “A foolish reason to be alone. Zere is no one special to you?”

Oh, this was hard. My resolve could transcend the boundaries of time, yet I was never strong enough to turn away from Fleur Delacour… or Nymphadora Tonks. Time diverges down so many alternate pathways – all the time – that my memories, what I perceive of the future, are forever uncertain. Have I had this conversation before? Will I have it again? Not if travelling back in time became harder, became closer to killing me – as it showed all signs of doing.

“In the future… there might be,” I offered by way of compromise. It was better than stating the alternative.

Fleur opened her mouth to speak and then decided against it, biting her bottom lip. I watched her fight with herself for a moment, before she came to some decision.

“Eet is just as well, ‘Arry, I suppose. Dating, relationships, and love are such ‘ard work zese days.”   

Was there truth in that? Definitely yes… and definitely no. Relationships were dangerous. Love in relationships, doubly so. Men had been tearing civilisation apart for millennia in the name of love. The way she looked, the way she was, Fleur probably knew that better than most – even if she didn’t know she knew… that she knew.

Yeah.

“Well, you’d know…” I said, a second before my tiny brain realised how insulting that sounded.

“Oh I would, would I?” All at once Fleur’s expression became closely guarded, and her glare was fit to freeze the blood in my veins.

“Only that you’re beautiful,” I recovered quickly. “Gorgeous, even… you have this-this charm, about you, Fleur.” Damn, still not really the best choice of words.

”I am part Veela, ‘Arry – you knew this, no? The charm you see iz both a blessing and a curse. You seem little affected by eet, yet men can become… aggressive, for my attentions…”

“I am affected,” I said quietly, a near whisper. Why were the memories of eternity swirling through my mind? Burning through my mind? “By you, Fleur, not by some charm.”

A heavy pause. Perhaps I’d gone too far – too soon. Things were becoming vastly different this time around.

Fleur’s lips twitched. “Well, I am very nearly blushing…”

I nodded. I needed some space to think, to catch my breath. “You’ll be all okay here if I go clean my stitches? Do you mind if I use the shower?”

“Non,” Fleur replied softly. “Zere are plenty of towels in ze cupboard.”

Untying my apron and bandana, I grabbed my jacket and briefcase and made a quick getaway as Fleur returned to the wood-fired oven, the picture of elegance and grace. Had I made an ass out of myself? Did I look as inadequate as I felt? Only three days ago I had been a kid without a clue, now I was a kid who knew how badly he could fail, and yet here I was making the same old mistakes in brand new ways.

Because time was running out.

If nothing else, I felt that in my very bones. Time was running out. But for what? And for who? For me? For the world?

Time was running out. And it had barely been three days since I had begun to plunge the world into war. What was that old saying? Society is only ever two days and three meals away from collapse. That or something like it – hits home hard.

My stitches held together some very tender, very raw, and very bloody skin. I had taken my shirt off, and in Fleur’s bathroom, looking at my reflection in the mirror, I pondered just what I’d do to that maniacal bitch Saturnia when I caught up with her. No one did this to me and got away with it. No one could use Time against me – Time was mine. I wrapped it around my little finger… and commanded it to change the world.

I was grateful for the hot shower – I turned the water on near-scolding – and filled up the bathroom with steamy air. I began to feel a little drowsy again in the steam, yet after hopping out of the shower, towel wrapped around my waist, I applied the disinfectant and alcohol swipes to my stab wound and the pain of that woke me up rather fast.

I scourgified the minor stains on my shirt from the cooking adventure and slipped back into my suit – the only set of clothes I had with me save for the bloody jeans and shirt at the bottom of my briefcase – placing my wand firmly inside my jacket on the left side. It felt comfortable there, poking out of the deep inner-pocket.

The Ring of Concealment felt heavy on my index finger, yet it was doing its job well – and still had work to do before Atlantis – and all that was missing was the Time Turner around my neck. I opened my briefcase and dug through the pockets of my jeans until I found it.

“What to make of you…” I said softly, staring at the sparkling hourglass before the mirror.

Saturnia had changed it so that it could not only reverse time, but accelerate it. That was something new – that was a change, a skewed pathway of what I had experienced of times before. I could think of no conceivable reason I would have to travel forward in time. I needed all the time I could get. Although I wondered if I could travel forward, and then back again – heh, I could know the future…

That was a dangerous idea – I slipped the Time Turner over my head and hid it well under my shirt and against my chest.

With my track record, I’d probably do more harm than good.

*~*~*~*

I saw you smiling at me.

Do you know what the trouble is with doing something right the first time? Nobody knows how had it was. For everyone but me, this was the first time – and for no one save me, it is also the last time.

We don’t have a lot of time; in fact, we have no time.

*~*~*~*

The salmon dishes were wrapped in tinfoil and the vegetables and sides were simmering on the stove at a low heat when I returned to the kitchen. The first thing I noticed was that Fleur wasn’t there.

A moment of unease gripped me – just for a moment – until I heard soft footsteps on the floorboards down the hall. I followed the sound to its source, and found Fleur within one of the large rooms at the front of the house, twilight pouring in through the windows.

It was her father’s study, and the family library. The room was big, and three of the four walls were devoted to towering bookcases packed with leather-bound books of all shapes and sizes. There were thousands of spellbooks, novels, history tomes, and works of non-fiction. There was a large mahogany desk and several long sofas and standing lamps. Fleur sat on the arm of one of these plush sofas, thumbing through a thick book with a creaky spine.

“I remembered something zat you may be interested in, ‘Arry,” she said, gesturing me into the room.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Fleur smiled – it lit up the room more than the pale twilight ever could. “My mother used to read me stories from zis book as a child. I remembered one in particular just a moment ago.”

This seemed familiar – déjà vu – and yet, I couldn’t place any particular future-memory to this moment. Maybe it was new, maybe not…

“Fairytales?” I asked.

“Oui,” Fleur shrugged self-consciously, and her nose twitched. It was so goddamn cute. “Here we are, this story – Ze King of Roses and ze Shambling Bone-Men.”

The house was warm and I was still feeling comfortably hot from my steamy shower, yet I felt a chill rush through me as Fleur spoke the words of that title. I had learnt to trust my instincts over the long years, and I proceeded with caution… books were very dangerous things, after all.

“What’s it about?” I asked.

“I will read to you,” Fleur replied. “Hear, sit with me.”

She moved down into the sofa proper and I, my heart beating a little faster, sat down next to her, close enough to place my arm around her shoulders and pull her close. I resisted the urge.

“I remember zis being one of my favourites. It is not that long, but it might make you smile.”

“Why’s that?” Fleur was wearing some sort of perfume – yet all I could smell was strawberries and fresh rainfall, the scent that was her. I felt dizzy.

“Just you wait and see.” She opened the book on her lap. “Ze King of Roses and ze Shambling Bone-Men. Once upon a time…”

Once upon a time, far away and long ago, in olden times when wishing still helped one, there lived a king. He was the wisest, oldest, and kindest king in the entire world, and the sun shone down brightly on his kingdom of Atlantis, and brightest of all upon the king’s royal garden of elegant roses.

Fleur looked up at me and I smiled. “Atlantis, is it? Keep going.”

“After many long years under…”

After many long years under the king’s wise rule, the kingdom of Atlantis was greater and grander than any that had gone before it, or any that would come after it. Great sea-ships as tall as mountains rested in harbours of marble-stone, sea-ships that could take to the sky and fly amongst the cities in the clouds. Rare metals and ore, precious jewels and gemstones, were so plentiful that the cobblestone streets of Atlantis were paved with gold and rubies. Yet the greatest treasure and marvel of Atlantis was the king’s rose garden, which people would come from halfway across the world to see.

Now on one occasion, as the king was tending to his roses, his heart grew heavy, for a great storm had been brewing on the horizon for many days, and had become a burden on his old shoulders. He feared the storm’s ferocity would damage his gardens and undo the work of more than fifty years.

“I shall weep to make the very stones pity me,” the king said as night fell, “should anything happen to my roses.”

“We will stay and protect your gardens, sire,” the Captain of the King’s Guard said, stamping his spear against the golden steps of the castle. “One hundred good men to see the storm through.”

For a moment the king’s burden lightened, and yet as the storm clouds rolled in and fierce claps of thunder shook the very towers of Castle Atlantis, the king’s troubles returned. Before long thick and heavy raindrops began to fall in a shower as heavy as a waterfall. It was the greatest storm the old king had ever known.

“This will not do at all,” the king muttered to himself, pacing in his chamber at the top of the topmost tower. “Surely, this storm is the work of a dark magician.”

Icy fear gripped the king’s heart as bolts of tremendous blue lightning tore down through the sky, cutting right through the rain. In between clouts of thunder, the harsh sound of metal striking metal, and cries of battle drifted up and through the great arched windows of the king’s tower.

“Why, there is fighting in my gardens!” he exclaimed, stepping quickly over to his royal table and grasping for his crown.

The wise old king ran down the thousands of steps of his tower in the greatest haste of his life. He paused only once to remove a sword of shiny silver from a suit of armour, and thrust open the large doors of his castle with a cry. Outside in the gardens, the king knew his fears of a dark magician had been correct.

“My king!” cried the Captain of the Guard. “The Shambling Bone-Men have come. They ride the lightning of the storm!”

The Captain and his men were standing strong before the length of the rose gardens, swords and spears held grimly before the darkest creatures of the night. The old king beheld the shambling and ungainly shapes threatening his soldiers and his gardens, and his brow furrowed into a deep frown.

“Be gone!” he commanded of the Bone-Men. “Be gone from this land!”

The Bone-Men laughed and jeered at the old king. Their entire bodies were thin grey skeletons, with two eyes of sickly yellow light. They held crude rusted swords and when they moved a sound of grating nails sent a shiver through the Guard of Atlantis.

“Merry-old-king-on-his-golden-throne,” the Bone-Men sang. “Wise-old-king-grew-old-alone… Roses-white-and-red-will-protect-you-no-more, for-the-Shambling-Bone-Men-have-come-to-wage-war…”

“Be gone, I command,” the king cried. Only half a dozen feet away a bolt of lightning struck the ground, blinding to the old king’s eyes, and when it faded another three Bone-Men were left in its place. “You demons of the lightning be gone! You will spare my roses this night!”

“The-Master-dances-in-the-dark-places,” the Bone-Men jeered as one, louder than even the thunderstorm. “Gardens-of-sickly-sores… Mean-old-king, you-will-defy-no-more…”

“We will attack, my king,” the Captain of the Guard said grimly, yet his eyes were downcast. The Bone-Men were many thousands, with more and more in the lightning.

“Stay your spear, Captain,” the king said. “For there is no more battle here.”

And the old king was correct. For he knew the weakness of these Shambling Bone-Men, and why they had attacked his royal gardens. In his youth, before he was king, the old king had happened upon a weary magician alone at night aside the road to Atlantis. The magician was gravely ill, and the king offered his fire and his food. The next morning, in full health, the magician granted the future-king one wish for his kindness.

“Well,” said the future-king of Atlantis. “What does a man wish for?”

“Peace in his time,” the magician replied, stroking his curled beard. “Roses while they last, a draught of Elysium spring water, or lordship over his domain.”

“A man can wish for all of that?”

“In return for a promise, good sir, I will grant all of your heart’s desires. You must promise not to dance in the darkness, and be gentle and kind to all you meet. The more just you are the greater the roses will grow, until one day when the night closes in and you must give up that which you heart has desired.”

“I promise,” the future-king said, for he lived his life much like that already.

The magician smiled. “That which you promise, you must perform.”

And now the Shambling Bone-Men were here, and the promise would be fulfilled. It was the roses they feared, more than anything else. Yet the old king was deeply saddened, as he knew his poor gardens would never be the same.

“Fire-and-ice-and-rage, old-king, we-are-the-Bone-Men-of-the-lightning!”

The old king’s silver sword was sharp, and he cut a heavy swath through the long stems of his old roses, rosy-red and limestone-white and sun-splashed-yellow and champagne-pink. With his free hand the king scooped up a dozen roses and threw them through the rain at the yellow-eyed Bone-Men.

The jeering and mocking song turned to cries of distress and fear as the roses struck the nearest Shambling Bone-Men and turned them to nothing but old dust. Old mucky dust and a pile of rusted old swords.

“The roses, Captain,” the king said, the tears on his face hidden behind the rainfall. “Use the roses.”

And so with the roses cut loose the wind of the great storm turned against the Shambling Bone-Men, and a flood of petals took to the air around the gardens and spread across the army of Bone-Men, scattering them all to dust.

In the morning the storm had passed, and the kingdom was saved. Yet the old king despaired before his roses, for they had all gone. He looked out from his tower at gardens of grey dust and lifeless storks, a briar patch of twisted thorns and weeds marked all that remained of the dark Shambling Bone-Men.

The king turned from his window with a heavy sigh, and was surprised to see standing before him the very same magician he had saved upon the road to Atlantis all the long years ago.

“That which you promised, you have performed,” the magician said. He looked no older, and his smile was no less for the passage of time.

“Yet my gardens, the heart and soul of my kingdom, are lost. I will not live long enough to see the roses return.”

“Despair not, old king, for that is why I have come.” The magician flourished his robes and offered to the king a small vial of crystal clear liquid. “A draught of Elysium spring water – enough to replenish your gardens. What more can a man wish for?”

“Nothing, kind sir,” the old king cried, overcome with happiness.

And so the wise, old, and gentle king spent the morning carefully placing drops of water amongst the ruined soil of his garden. By the time he was finished, the first roses had begun to grow, and the thorny briars disappeared.

In time, the roses of the Royal Gardens of Atlantis were larger and more beautiful than ever before, able to withstand the wrath of any storm. The old king spent his last years walking amongst the warmth of his gardens, and he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days…

The sky was a wash of navy-blue and star-speckled lights.

Fleur’s voice faded away and I shook my head, as if disturbed from a dream. I was caught in a storm of my own, a storm of memories and glimpses of the future. I’d never heard this story before, and yet there were parallels between what it was about, and what I knew of the true Atlantis.

The Bone-Men, for one, sounded eerily like the demons that had torn the world apart all those millennia ago, and plunged the greatest nation to have ever existed into a very, very dark place. I had destroyed a creature of bone (of bone and shadow and fire) alongside Dumbledore just yesterday far beneath the streets of Rome. Were they one and the same?

How had I not heard this story before?

“What ‘ave I told you about ze frowning, ‘Arry?” Fleur said, closing the book of fairytales.

I blinked. “That was one of your favourite stories, huh?”

“Oui. It has a happy ending.”

A happy ending, I thought. There is no such thing. Atlantis’ real end was drowned in enough blood to sink the Titanic and flood a continent. “Well… fairytales are made of happy endings, aren’t they?” I said softly, a touch bitterly.

“What else would you read to a child?” Fleur asked, bemused.

I shook my head. “Children… children are left to find out for themselves that there’s no such thing as a happy ending, and most of them figure it out very quickly.” I was the godforsaken voice of experience in that department. “Even Muggle children – especially Muggle children – know that dragons and demons are real.” They live inside of us, and sometimes they win. “Fairytales exist to show children that the evil Dark Lord, the troll under the bridge, the demons and the dragons… can be killed.”

Fleur was awkwardly silent for a moment. “They also exist to put children to sleep.”

I half-laughed, half-sighed. “Yeah… I also don’t think there are any roses in Atlantis these days…”

Fleur held my gaze. We were so close together on the sofa that I could see myself in her eyes. “Atlantis is just a fairytale, ‘Arry. Yet you really believe you can find eet, don’t you?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “Do you believe me?”

Fleur shrugged. “Seeing iz believing. That iz what I believe. I also believe ze vegetables will need to come off ze heat now.”

“It was a nice story,” I said, as Fleur stood up. “Thank you for telling it to me.”

She smiled. “You are welcome, ‘Arry. Now come, we will ‘ave guests soon, and ze proof of ze pudding iz in ze eating.”

*~*~*~*

That which you promise, you must perform.

Oh I fucked myself up big time.

*~*~*~*

It was full dark when Fleur’s guests arrived via the floo.

Fleur looked at me a touch apprehensively and offered me a nervous smile as we heard the fireplace roar into life from down the hallway. My hands were full draining the carrots and pasta into china serving dishes, as voices speaking fluent French and the odd bit of English arose from the living room, loud and full of good humour.

“Dans ici!” Fleur called down the hallway from the kitchen. In here.

“Bonjour, Fleur!” came the reply.

Now I had no memories of this dinner, of any of this at all, which meant it hadn’t happened before, or that it had happened so many lifetimes ago that it was beyond recollection. I didn’t like to think that, as I wasn’t that certain how many lives I had lived and died, but it couldn’t have been that many, really… The trouble with trying to remember memories of another life was that those other lives had still happened to me. Most of the time with these memories I just had to hit and hope, and say what came to mind. It wasn’t a flawless system – that was for-fucking-sure.

Anyway, I hadn’t met Fleur’s friends before – not so soon, only Day Three of my Harry Tries to Save the World remix – yet I was expecting elegance and beauty from the women, and undoubtedly three tall, dark, and handsome Frenchman. So I wasn’t disappointed when I turned out to be the shortest person of the evening.

Growth spurt. January. Set your watch by it.

“Hello Grace, Emilie,” Fleur said, excited and smiling, as they exchanged kisses on their cheeks.

I vaguely recognised the two women – both brunettes, both extremely attractive (although absolutely nothing on Fleur) – from my fourth-year and the Tri-wizard Tournament. They were amongst the visiting Beuaxbatons students, having graduated by now. The three blokes – handsome bastards that they were – I hadn’t met before, of that I was sure.

“C’est, Alain,” Grace said, and Fleur graciously took one of the tall bloke’s hands and kissed his cheeks. He was a little red in the cheeks after that and Grace looked mildly irritated, yet she shook it away.

“Et c’est, Matthieu,” Emilie said, and the second bloke got the same treatment as the first. Fleur hadn’t kissed me on the cheek as I’d stumbled bleeding into her backyard that afternoon…

The three blokes were dressed much like I was, in fancy expensive suits, only they seemed to wear it better than I could. And the last bloke, tallest of the lot of them, didn’t seem to have a partner… I was frowning again.

“Sébastien,” he said, his voice low as he leaned in to kiss Fleur’s cheeks.

It may have been my imagination, but I thought he lingered a touch too long. I drained the rest of the damn carrots a little aggressively, slamming the bottom of the colander against the sink, breaking Sébastien’s opening move and drawing everyone’s attention to me.

Fleur took a step back from her guests and smiled at me as if she knew exactly what I’d done. It was nice to be noticed, and I saw flickers of recognition in the eyes of Grace and Emilie. Oh yes, I’m Harry Potter, ladies.

“Zis is, ‘Arry,” Fleur said, introducing me. “He is quite ‘andy about ze kitchen, and if you find yourself without a wand, he iz also quite adept at sewing.”

I laughed. Fleur was speaking English for my benefit, yet I understood the French just fine. “Nice to meet you all,” I said. “Hope you’re hungry. Fleur and I have been cooking all day.”

“You look remarkably like…” Matthieu began, but paused.

“’Arry Potter,” Grace said, glancing at Fleur for confirmation.

I saw the other two blokes – Alain and Sébastien – recognise the name. Sébastien’s first look of dismissal, as if I were his waiter for the evening, flickered to something else – he was sizing me up.

“That’s me.”

“It iz… surprising to see you here,” Emilie said into the silence, with a nervous little giggle.

“’Arry saved my life and ‘ad my employment at Gringotts terminated only two days ago,” Fleur said, with an enigmatic smile. She was enjoying this. “He is ze reason I am home.”

“Well, ze English weather is far too sticky zis time of year,” Emilie replied. “It iz good to see you home, Fleur, and meet you properly, ‘Arry.”

“And you.”

“We brought a bottle of Blanc de Noire – champagne verres, Fleur?” Alain said, holding up a large bottle of expensive-looking champagne. “Would you like a drink, ‘Arry? Or is it juice for you tonight?”

I grinned. “I could drink any of you French lads under the table.”

Sébastien returned my grin, showing a lot of teeth. “If you are sure then… we don’t want you getting an upset stomach before bedtime.”

Dinner was served in the Delacour’s dining room, on a large mahogany dining table that could sit about twenty people, below chandeliers of fine sparkling crystal. Wizarding portraits adorned the walls and a warm fire crackled softly in the fireplace. Two large windows looked out upon the dark French countryside. There were few stars, and unexpected clouds obscuring the sky.

Fleur and I had spent a considerable amount of time preparing dinner – and her ability in the kitchen was first class. The salmon was swimming in mushrooms and dressing, and the vegetables and pasta, rice and salad, were all completed by a selection of exquisite sauces. There was the champagne too, as well as a few bottles of white and red wine. The whole scene was warm, warm and relaxing.

I felt out of place.

We were all seated at one end of the table, close to the fireplace and the windows. I sat next to Fleur with no one on my left, and around the head of the table sat Sébastien, Grace, Alain, Matthieu, and Emilie – all laughing and talking happily, slipping easily between French and English almost too fast for me to follow. It had really only been three days since I’d ‘learnt’ French, after all.

“I attend the Supérieur de Magie University,” Sébastien said, speaking to the group yet with his eyes on Fleur. “I am studying experimental portal creation under Madam Dabbón for the summer. Minister Chevalier personally recommended me to her elite academy.”

“That sounds intriguing,” Fleur replied, sipping her champagne.

“Oui, it is, mon cherié,” he replied, with a charming smile that I hope Fleur saw as an arrogant smirk. “Between Madam Dabbón and myself, we are close to a breakthrough that could one day replace the discomfort of floo travel and portkeys.”

“That’s neat,” I said. The salmon was great. I’d eaten more than anyone at the table, yet there was a lot of food, and I was still feeling a little weak from the exertions of the last few days. Funny thing was, I knew a little about portal magic. “I heard that the problem with creating a portal to step through is that it can’t really exist in two places at the same time.”

The knowledge in the Magnus Fontis, and moreover the knowledge of Lost Atlantis, had bestowed me with lifetimes worth of reading. Another funny thing – I have lifetimes. Had lifetimes. Of that I was not so sure anymore.

Sébastien frowned. “Yes, that iz a problem.” He cast an eye around the table. “Yet with temporal magic, space can be curved around a specific axis to… open a pathway between two points. In theory, that is – the spellwork and runes are nowhere near complete enough to test.”

“But what about Time,” I said, perhaps a little fast. “You have to account for Time on your axis or any traveller through your portals could arrive before they left – or worse, years after they stepped through.”

Sébastien scoffed. “You are a student of magical physics and limits, ‘Arry Potter? As well as relativity? I thought you were a schoolboy.”

“I am – and on weekends I hunt Dark Lords and slay dragons, mate.”

“And on weekdays you also thwart Dark wizard attacks,” Fleur said, offering me a stunning smile.

“From what I can follow, ‘Arry makes a fair point, Sébastien,” Alain said, rubbing the coarse stubble on his cheeks and leaning back in his chair. “I do not pretend to know much about this, but time would present a problem, would eet not?”

“Time always presents a problem…” I muttered. Fleur heard me, her brow furrowing.

Sébastien was looking a little flustered, perhaps being pushed out of his depth. “Hypothetically, time could be suspended within the axis… that would negate any detrimental effects… hypothetically.”

“How can you kill time without wounding eternity?” I asked. “I reckon you’d just end up back where you started.”

“Well, should you solve these problems, ‘Arry, be sure to let me know,” Sébastien cut me off there, draining his champagne flute and reaching for the bottle.

I nodded, his words bringing up swirling, fuzzy memories. I didn’t think the problems could be solved. The time-travel I did back to the beginning was technically through a portal – a portal for my immortal soul – and that suspended time for, at a maximum, eight years. I could die right now and, without any say in the matter, I would wake up three days ago to such pain that it might very well break my mind. And eight years from now that would happen anyway so long as Voldemort was alive – in any way, shape, or form.

Tap-tap-tap-tap… It had begun to rain, heavy drops striking the large windows, which was odd for this time of year. It was pitch-black outside, not even any stars peeking through the clouds, yet this was the countryside – there were not many streetlamps.

“And how are you spending your summer, ‘Arry?” Grace asked, a little shyly. “Are you in France for long?”

“No, not long,” I replied. I felt a little off – like the salmon wasn’t agreeing with me.

How was I spending my summer? Geez, where to begin… Find Atlantis, battle Voldemort for control of the greatest source of power in the world, and keep everyone alive for the grand finale that, if everything fell into place and there were no more divine or demonic interruptions, would take place just on or before the new school year began.

“I’ll bother Fleur until she kicks me out. My back-up summer plan is to not get dead.”

Fleur laughed. The strap of her dress slipped from her shoulder again, and even Emilie and Grace’s eyes were drawn to that curve of bare flesh. “You are very unpredictable, ‘Arry,” she said.

“Ah, well, that keeps all those Dark wizards on their toes, doesn’t it?”

But not goddesses or demons, it seems, I thought. Saturnia, whatever she truly was – something different, something new – was a step or two ahead of me so far. And the fact that she had my blood only added to the worries I wore like a death sentence.

After dinner, we moved into the cosy living room opposite the dining room with another large warm fire. Fleur and her friends were talking quickly and happily in French about their years at Beauxbatons, and the three French blokes were discussing the local Quidditch League, of which I knew nothing. I was in an armchair off to the side, saying little and thinking of tomorrow, of the future I had to get back to shaping.

I knew I had delayed here at Fleur’s too long. There was work to be done – wars to be fought. Yet as I watched her with her friends, her eyes alight and lips smiling, her slender hands folded on her lap, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Was that stupid? Selfish? It was both – and for reasons that could unmake the world.

Still…

The rain was really coming down hard, slamming into the windows in fat, heavy drops. I felt a rush of unease at the wildness of it. It was low and steady, but streams of wind were howling around the house. There was nothing but darkness beyond the windows. I saw Fleur looking out and frowning more than once at the storm.

“This weather is unexpected,” Matthieu said. “Eet is really coming down out there.”

I had a thought. “I’ll just be a minute,” I said, standing up and heading out of the room.

I moved quickly down the hallway and into the kitchen. There was a fair amount of mess from the day’s cooking and the smell of juicy mushrooms still hung in the air. I stepped over to the back door and flung it open against the storm. As I did, a clap of thunder shook the heavens and a flash of lightning absorbed the darkness. Rain splattered into the kitchen against me and a drenched owl came flying in from outside.

Hedwig landed on my shoulder and began to shake herself dry as I closed the back door against the furious elements.

“See, I didn’t forget about you, did I?” I asked her. Her amber-eyes flashed in the soft light, and she nipped my ear – affectionately, gratefully. “Good girl, Hedwig.” I headed back to the living room.

“I thought that was where you’d got to,” Fleur said, upon my return.

Hedwig was drying herself on my shoulder, using my jacket and the side of my head. “Hope you don’t mind I brought her inside.”

“Not at all, ‘Arry.”

“Aw, she iz beautiful,” Emilie exclaimed. “I keep meaning to buy an owl – a lovely one like that.”

Hedwig hooted contently, shaking her feathers, as a second and much louder – much closer – clap of thunder shook the windows in their frames. Grace jumped, startled, and raised a hand to her chest. A flash of lightning tore down through the sky, highlighting the world beyond the large windows in a blanket of blue light.

My feeling of unease hadn’t gone away. If anything…

Behind Fleur on a thin table of old sandy wood, next to an empty clear vase, was a radio-box, a Wizarding Wireless, with a bronze gramophone firmly attached. It crackled to life in a buzz of static.

“Oh, some of ze energy in that last strike must have come down through ze house,” Sébastien said, looking up at the ceiling. His fists were clenched hard against the arms of his chair.

“No I don’t think so,” I said, staring at the gramophone – it was pointed toward me like the widened maw of some dark beast. The crackling static began to sound like throaty laughter.

“Iz that music?” Grace asked, tilting her head to the side.

“I don’t hear—“ I began, but fell short.

“Hey Jude, don’t make it bad… take a sad song… and make it better – remember, to let her into your heart, then you can start, to make it better…”

Thunder crashed again in what felt like the next room, the crystals dangling in the chandeliers clanging together.

“Aw hell,” I said, listening to the Wireless. The wound in my side seemed to throb with the rhythm of the words.

“’Arry, what is the matter?” Fleur said, standing up. “You look unwell…”

Too long, I thought. I shouldn’t have spent the day here. Hedwig squawked in what could have been dismay.

 “So let it out, and let it in, hey Harry, begin, you’re waiting for someone to perform with… And don’t you know that’s its just you, hey Harry, you’ll do…”

I blinked. “Did that thing just sing my name?”

“It did, oui,” Alain said, looking disturbed. “I heard it.”

“As did I,” Fleur said. She looked unnerved herself now. “’Arry, what iz ‘appening?”

A bolt of lightning lit up Fleur’s front garden so brightly that it had to have struck the ground nearby, or right on top of the house if not closer. The eerie blue light took more than a few seconds to fade. I frowned – that wasn’t right.

I met Fleur’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Fleur, I’m so sorry.”

I turned and ran from the room, heading for the front door. I didn’t wait to see if any one was following me. Out in the hallway I tried to shake Hedwig from my shoulder, but she dug her claws in tight and refused to be budged. I smiled grimly. “You’re looking out for me then?” I asked her as we reached the front door.

Hedwig, possibly the most intelligent owl in the whole damn world, hooted agreement, and I grasped the ornate brass handle of the door and pushed the lock, throwing the door open inwards.

A gust of wind knocked me back a step and ruffled Hedwig’s feathers. However fierce the storm had been just minutes ago when I’d opened the back door, it was worse now. Rain lashed in through the door against me hard enough to sting, and blew the hem of my jacket up and around my back. I raised my arm to protect my face and stepped out into the night.

The first thing I noticed was that there was a strange – foul – smell on the air. It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Either way, it made me feel as if all at once I wasn’t alone in the darkness of Fleur’s garden.

That’s not a nice feeling to have… not on a night like this.

Thunder shook both the skies and the earth, and the rain clouds overhead were pulsating with blue light – lightning within the storm. I felt very small against the power I could feel up in the sky, and yet I was Harry-fucking-Potter. Whatever was happening, I was up for the challenge.

A good gust of wind nearly knocked me down, but I rolled with it, breathing in more of that awful smell. It hit me. Sulphur, I thought. That’s what I can smell. Bloody sulphur!

Sulphur was bad news. Sulphur was demonic. It was far too early in the summer for demons wreathed in the fires of Hell to be walking the world. No, that came later, after Atlantis. So who, what, had changed the rules again…?

A flash of lightning tore down through the sky and struck the ground just metres away – and stayed there. I took a reflexive step back, a grin of amazement on my face, as a sizzling column of electric-blue energy dug a trough into the rain-soaked grass. All at once I wanted to be closer to it, to the mile-high column of lightning that cast the garden in pale light.

Hedwig was screeching into my ear but I couldn’t really hear her – not well enough to care.

It was strangely beautiful, and hot. I could feel the heat like a blast of desert air. I reached out my hand towards the dazzling light, the power sparking at my fingertips. I wanted to touch it, to be a part of this raw energy—

“Are you insane, ‘Arry!” Fleur cried, grasping my wrist and pulling my arm away. “Zat will kill you or worse!”

Insane? Oh, I had to be by now, didn’t I? But goddamn, Fleur looked good in the rain, her hair wet and her dress damp against her skin.

A second bolt of lightning joined the first, boring a hole into the ground and pooling clear blue power into its base. Fleur pulled me another few steps back, the thick forks of lightning very hot, and the smell of that fiery sulphur nauseating.

“’Arry, what iz…?” she began, taking a step behind me as a third and equally powerful bolt of fiery blue force struck the earth just an arm’s length away, loud enough to wake the dead.

My wand was clenched firmly in my right hand. I didn’t remember drawing it. “Do you believe in Shambling Bone-Men, Fleur?” It was a funny question – the stench of sulphur was overpowering, acrid and harsh – a fucking hilarious question, but an important one.

“’Arry…” Fleur grasped my upper arm.

I began to laugh, and above the thunder, I roared, “Because I think they believe in us!”

*~*~*~*