When is Harry arriving, Fleur?' Gabrielle asked, bouncing down into the kitchen in search of her morning, and first hot chocolate.
'Soon,' she answered nonchalantly, trying her best to ignore the look her parents exchanged at the other end of the kitchen. Fleur had spoken with Harry through the locket a couple of times, but her mother had insisted that she help out at the shop in Carcassonne while she was suspended, which left her too busy to be able to meet him.
Neither of them had mentioned the last article in the Daily Prophet, but her parents had done it enough for both of them. Always bringing it up, always slipping little, unnecessary remarks into their conversations.
'In ten minutes,' their mother specified. 'It will be nice to talk with him a little more, it's hard to really get to know someone in such a short period of time.' And another.
'Not for me,' Gabby chirped happily, wielding hot chocolate powder, milk, cream and spoon to a disastrously messy affect nearby.
'That's true,' Fleur smiled, taking more cunning approach like Harry would. 'Gabrielle would be able know a little about what he was like just from touching his magic.'
Her mother gave her a stern look. 'Gabrielle's empathetic magic is not something that should be used lightly, just as your stronger allure should not be either. I don't want to hear of either of you using them on anyone who doesn't understand what it means and hasn't given permission.'
'Harry's magic is really powerful.' Naturally her baby sister chose that moment to speak up. 'His wand felt completely different to any of yours,' she finished whimsically. A series of expressions ran across her mother's face, ranging from outrage to curiosity. Eventually her need to know won over her anger at Gabrielle betraying the existence of her ability without consulting her mother first.
'What did it feel like?' She asked stiffly, still disapproving. In the background Fleur's father listened in with interest.
'Not telling,' Gabby declared, stirring her spoon and sending small waves of hot chocolate froth over the sides of the mug. Fleur tried and failed to hide her smile. Gabrielle was fond of Harry. She didn't say it outright, but her little sister gave off enough signs for Fleur to know that she definitely approved of her choice.
Harry had given her Clafoutis, after all, and that was certainly going to win him points with her sugar addicted younger sibling. Fleur was a little put out that he had never bought her something so tasty, but then they'd only really managed a few dates, it was risky to go anywhere with Harry being so well known.
'Gabrielle,' her mother sighed. 'We just want some assurance that what the papers are saying about him is not true.'
'And obviously my word wasn't enough,' Fleur commented.
'Harry is perfect for Fleur,' Gabrielle agreed. 'If she didn't love him then I would steal him instead; he saved me from the lake. If he'd kissed me and woken me up it would have been the perfect moment.' Fleur scrunched her face up in disgust at the idea of Gabby kissing her Harry. They might be the same age, but Harry was hers, and Gabrielle was her baby sister, she shouldn't be kissing anyone, let alone Fleur's beau. 'You know you weren't in any danger,' Fleur admonished, burying her distaste.
'But you didn't, did you,' Gabby giggled, mischief bright in her eyes. 'You told me what happened, your enchanted veil got torn and you couldn't get to me, so you sent one pleading look at Harry and he went and saved me as well. He was coughing up blood from straining himself to swim with me and the other girl.'
Fleur turned away from her sister and her mother, both of whom were watching her, one gleefully the other thoughtfully.
'Is that true?' Her mother asked, her tone far less sharp, but still slightly disbelieving.
'What does it matter,' Fleur snapped, feeling her face partially shift. 'I chose him, that is the first and last statement you need on the subject.' Her mother flinched and recoiled instinctively from the sharp spike of Fleur's veela magic. Gabrielle shivered slightly and took a sip of her hot chocolate, she was attuned to the magic of those she spent a long time with and could no doubt feel Fleur's anger.
'Sorry,' Fleur apologised guiltily, letting her face slide back into its usual shape. For all her attempts to be a good, strict mother her magic was unexceptional for a veela. Her mother's strength sat in the middle of the spectrum, her allure, form and empathy were unremarkable. Fleur was stronger. Her allure and her shifted form were much more powerful than her mother's.
'I don't like the way you constantly question Harry. You do not understand him like I do. Nobody does.'
'We don't like you being with someone so dangerous,' her father finally spoke up. 'We have discussed this before, whether the rumours are true or not does not matter, either way you will be targeted by someone who could hurt you.'
'Veela are always targets and I am more than powerful enough to look out for myself,' Fleur told them proudly. 'I am a stronger and better dueller than either of you, maman, papa.'
'Better than the Death Eaters of Britain? Harry Potter is not the enemy of ordinary wizards.'
'Harry is not an ordinary wizard and I am not an ordinary witch,' Fleur retorted. Her father gave her the look she had once given Harry.
He is fifteen, it said.
'I am going to meet him now,' she decided, striding angrily from the room. 'Fleur is right,' she heard Gabrielle say in one of her rare, serious moods. 'Harry is going to be very powerful, and he's nothing like what the papers say. Fleur chose well.' She felt a rush of gratitude towards her younger sister who never openly risked defying their parents over many things.
'We hope she's right,' Fleur caught from her mother, as she paused near the door to put on shoes. 'We're just afraid of what might happen if she's wrong.'
She apparated away, not caring about the rest of what they said. The same conversation came around again and again. Her parents would make their little comments to try and make sure she was always watching for things that might show her Harry was lying, then they would argue, saying they only wanted to know that he would not get her hurt, but never accepting her word on the matter. Harry was already at the willow, dressed in normal, muggle clothing as the wizards and witches of more forward thinking magical countries often did. He looked very nervous.
The article, Fleur remembered suddenly, and then he was babbling.
'I'm sorry,' he apologised, the words rushing over his lips so fast they disappeared into one another. 'I wanted to talk about it, but I kept being afraid that you would be angry with me. None of it's true, I would never do that, I could never -'
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