Harry heard her first, a soft humming and the rhythmic pitter-patter of feet skipping along the stone floor, the sound too soft to be made by hard shoes. He moved around a corner and felt a heavy impact on his chest.
"Oof." He exclaimed as the smaller blonde-haired girl barrelled into his chest.
Harry caught the girl before she could tumble back, she was lithe, delicate even. He extended his arms and helped her regain her sense of balance. Looking her up and down he frowned, confused about who she was. She wasn't a first year and he had no less than a passing familiarity with second years and up. He should recognize this Gryffindor but he didn't.
She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and her gaze seemed to stare right through him.
"Hi Harry." She said, an airiness to her voice.
"Hi…" He looked down at her and wracked his brain to figure out who she was. She must have been resorted, he would at least recognize the other Gryffindor students her age.
"Oh!" She tilted her head and seemed to perk up, her eyes gaining clarity. "How silly of me, we haven't met, of course." She had a serene smile on her face and deftly touched her forefinger to her chin, using it as a point to pivot her head around so it was tilted the opposite way.
The odd way she moved her head didn't help him from feeling that there was something off about the girl. It was made worse by how she looked around him, not merely at him. Her eyes would move, slowly following unseen things just off his head. It was peculiar, to Harry, unnerving.
"I'm Luna Lovegood, no longer Looney, and not a Ravenclaw anymore. Reformed best friend of Ginny Weasley, not destined to introduce you to Thestrals and fly away to London on one." She sighed, "It would have been grand."
Harry took a half step back and adjusted the placement of his wrist so his wand would be more readily able to come out of his holster.
"I- it's nice to meet you." He said trying to keep the hesitation he felt out of it.
The normal response that a person would have after he'd said that, never came from her. She was staring off above his right ear, awkwardly. Harry took a moment to look at her more closely, trying to study her and figure out why she was acting so peculiar. It was early, breakfast had not yet started in the Great Hall, and he'd been on his way to find Flitwick, he wanted to speak with him. With what McGonagall had setup for him, and the promise of what Transfiguration was capable of, he wanted to hear what Flitwick might be able to help him with.
Harry noted the oddest thing, as he looked at her more closely. "You're not wearing shoes." He said, breaking the silence that had stretched between them.
She took an exaggerated look down and then wiggled her toes, starting from the pinky toe on the right foot and working, in order, all the way to her left pinky toe, one right after another was wiggled and lifted.
"I found I've missed it. It used to make me so cold and lonely but now that you've changed things, the castle is far warmer, friendlier and this freeing." The soft delivery of her words had an ethereal quality to them. Her voice was almost unnatural with how delicate and light it was. It was almost as if her words could be caught by the wind and carried away.
Harry was, once again, stumped on how to respond to this girl. He just stared at her, blinking more quickly than was natural, trying to piece together some semblance of sanity. He asked about why she wasn't wearing shoes, and not even socks, treading around on the cold stone floors and she talked about companionship and him changing things?
"I would have liked being a close friend of yours, it's nice having friends a year early though." Her finger found her chin again and she tilted her head, this time looking up towards the ceiling, pondering the thought.
"I'm glad you have friends." What else was he supposed to say?
"Yes, it is a good change, though I think Ginny would prefer it the other way…"
Harry had been lost in his own thoughts and had missed part of what she'd said. "What was that about GInny?" He asked, though he wasn't as close to the Weasley family as he had once been, he still cared for them.
Luna had not noticed him saying anything. She was still staring off, as if she wasn't engaged in a conversation with him.
"Albus Severus… It is good that is being avoided." She added airily, seemingly to nobody.
"Dumbledore and Snape? What does this have to do with them?" Harry asked, somewhat leery, this conversation was starting to wear on him.
Luna snapped back to reality. "I thought you were looking for Flitwick?" She tilted her head on the axis of her finger again.
"I am. How did you know that?" Harry asked with narrowed eyes.
"The wrackspurts told me." She answered immediately as if it was the only possible answer and Harry should have known such an obvious answer.
"Wrackspurts?" He blinked then questioned in reply.
"Yep." Luna chirped back in reply, bouncing a little as she answered.
Harry shook his head. That wasn't something he wanted to get into. The longer this conversation got, the less he was understanding. He didn't need a headache this early in the morning.
"Okay. Do you know where Flitwick is?" He figured he would be in his office but it wouldn't hurt to ask the peculiar girl.
"In his office, of course." She answered his query as if it was a silly question.
"Right." He muttered. "I'll go there then."
She nodded and then bounced toward him. "Can I give you a hug goodbye?" The blonde-haired girl with her wand tucked behind her ear asked.
"Sure?" He'd never met her and might be concerned about some kind of seduction attempt, Lucia having filled his head with that idea but he knew it wouldn't be. Not from this odd, cute and innocent little girl.
She jumped into him and squeezed him for all she was worth, her small arms wrapped around his chest. "I'm saddened we won't be close friends but it's better.. For both of us. I didn't want to go to the Malfoy home." She shuddered in his arms, he had reached around her to hug the lithe girl.
"Goodbye Harry." She said heavily, a tear slipping down her cheek.
Harry watched her start skipping, barefoot, down the hall, humming a little ditty as she went around the corner, out of sight.
"Mister Potter, come in, come in." Flitwick said. "Take a seat." He offered up either chair that was in front of his desk.
Harry came in and sat. "Thanks for seeing me this morning." He said, trying to be polite and respectful. The diminutive professor had always been a favorite of his, so helpful and happy to be teaching students.
"What can I do for you this morning, Mister Potter?" He asked, getting right into it.
"Well, sir, I had talked with the headmaster and he'd suggested I talked with you and McGonagall, specifically, about continuing to learn while at Hogwarts, beyond the NEWT curriculum.
"Ah. Minerva had mentioned that." Flitwick responded not giving anything away.
"Yes, she had known I would be coming and had an idea of what she wanted to teach." Harry hoped it was the same. He'd have absolutely no issues if Flitwick did the same thing here.
The reaction he was looking for wasn't found with Flitwick. The venerable Charms Master looked saddened by whatever was going through his mind.
"Many have come to me over the years Mister Potter. I'm a retired duellist who won six major tournaments and numerous smaller ones. Many have requested my tutelage in the subject and my style is not something that can be taught to one so young." He genuinely seemed upset at the let down he had to give to his student. Harry dropped his head in disappointment.
"But, I am a Charms Master, and quite a good one, if I do say so myself. I can help you towards that, if you are a diligent student."
Harry lifted his head to see the sympathetic smile on the professor's lips.
"I'd appreciate that professor. Though, I wasn't truly aware of your accomplishments… I don't really know anything about professional duelling, nor any details of your accomplishments."
"Is duelling something that doesn't interest you?" The Head of Ravenclaw asked inquisitively, nothing in his tone betraying the nature of what he was trying to ascertain by asking it.
Harry shrugged. "I don't really know. If duelling helped me in combat situations then yes. If it was more showmanship that doesn't translate into actual life and death fights, then I'd be less inclined to consider it. Truthfully, I just don't know anything about it."
"What do you know of it?" The professor followed up quickly, his hands folded in front of him, resting on the desk as he gave his full attention to Harry.
"Nothing really. LIke Quidditch, I know it is a profession but I don't know anything about it." Again, Harry really didn't know. He knew Ron cheered for the Chudley Cannons and that they were orange and terrible. He'd seen the World Cup but had no idea how teams qualified for it. He saw some followed the scores, and listened to games on the wireless radios in the common room, but he didn't and had no idea how things worked. Just because he played the sport didn't mean he followed it, few seemed to grasp this.
"I'll answer your earlier question. Duelling is very different to actual combat. But, those who do well at it have traditionally been the strongest in actual conflicts." There was a graveness to the last part of his explanation.
The seriousness made Harry inquisitive. "How so? Are you able to give me an example?"
Flitwick didn't have his cheery demeanor as he considered Harry's request and a quick answer wasn't forthcoming.
"Let me come back to that. Bear with me as I explain."
Harry nodded, keeping quiet, he'd let Flitwick explain away.
"The professional duelling circuit has four major tournaments and numerous lesser ones. The four major one's each have their own flavor. The first one in the duelling calendar is the Transfiguration Tournament. As the name suggests, you only can duel with transfiguration. Headmaster Dumbledore won it at 17 and remained undefeated until he stopped participating at 21. He remains the youngest competitor to ever win a major tournament."
Harry raised his eyebrows at that, he couldn't hide his surprise. In his NEWT year he won a Major tournament. That was insane. Harry would have guessed early twenties….
Unaware of what Harry was thinking, and not saying, Flitwick carried on. "Next is the Charms Tournament. Again, it is a singular field of magic used."
Harry jumped in when he paused. "Did Professor Dumbledore win that one as well?" He was trying to compete with the magical skill of Dumbledore and yearned to know if the man had won that too, in his youth.
"No," Flitwick shook his head side to side, "he never competed."
"Err, wot?" Harry asked intelligibly.
"Albus only ever entered the Transfiguration tournament, winning it five consecutive years before retiring from the circuit." He supplied further information to Harry.
"Oh." That seemed a bit odd to Harry. Harry had heard he was good at DADA and that required him to be good with charms as well. It puzzled Harry.
"When Albus was active, in the duelling circuit, so was the man many consider to be the best who ever was, in the field of charms. He competed in the other major tournaments, all except the Transfiguration tournament.." Harry thought he was going to add a little more but he appeared conflicted on what to say.
"Who was it and do you consider him the best there ever was at charms?" Harry shifted in his chair, leaning forward, he wondered what Flitwick might say.
"Gellert Grindelwald." He said after a moment of hesitation and deliberation. "He was a legend in the duelling circuit before he started his war. At seventeen, a couple months older than Dumbledore's age when he won his first Major, being the second youngest, ever, to do. He first won the Charms Tournament, the Championship Tournament and the was the runner-up at the year-end Masters Tournament."
"Wow." Harry breathed out. He didn't know exactly how difficult it was to win the tournaments, but he could well imagine winning a professional tournament at seventeen would be incredible. Dumbledore and Grindelwald were the two youngest to ever achieve it. That Grindelwald won two of the four Major tournaments, and runner-up on a third, boggled his mind.
"Did Dumbledore and him ever meet in the duelling circuit?" Harry had no idea about it. The closest thing he'd ever heard of, about the professional duelling circuit, was back in second year when Lockart wouldn't shut his gob about how great he was before he was embarrassed by Snape. Harry didn't recall them even talking about a professional circuit then, nor had Flitwick been involved, that he could recall.
"No, no, no," he answered quickly, "most everyone called for it but they only fought once, one clash of the all-time undisputed Transfiguration Master and the man who'd crushed the duelling circuit for years, heralded as the greatest there ever was. It was the event that ended the war. Grindelwald was defeated and his forces surrendered, knowing the end was inevitable."
"Merlin." Unbidden, Harry breathed out a verbal response upon hearing that. He knew it was supposedly an epic duel but the added perspective really put it into a new light for him.
Harry thought about it more, remaining silent. He didn't glance up or look to see if Flitwick was occupied or not. The battle would be amazing to have witnessed. It would be a good waymark for him to strive for.
Fltiwick clapped his hands together. Gaining Harry's attention he began speaking, "Regardless, I'm sorry that I'm not able to help you with duelling, I've never taken a student." He actually looked upset at that, as if he'd wanted to have passed on his style but hadn't had the opportunity.
"Would you be able to explain why, if you don't mind, sir?" If the man was a former champion some would have sought it. Harry wondered why his style was so unique.
Fltiwick gave him a flat smile. "It's best to demonstrate. Please stand and draw your wand."
Harry got up out of his chair and stepped back a couple paces.
The charms professor flicked out his wand and brought forth a dummy before he turned to Harry. "Cast an offensive spell at the dummy, silently and without wand motion if you are able."
Harry nodded, a little annoyed that his ability to cast without a proper wand motion was in question but he stuffed down the frustration and did as requested. With a cutting charm in mind, he sent it at the dummy's chest.
The spell left his wand, which he ensured didn't have any flourish other than a straight jab, and he watched his spell rush ahead, closing the distance quickly.
WIth speed that was difficult to see, Flitwick's wand whirled out and he shot a spell, or something, directly into Harry's cutting charm. The two pieces of magic collided and dissipated.
"What?" Harry had no idea what had just happened. He'd never heard of two spells collide and cancel each other out.
"How about five more, in rapid succession and feel free to make them five different spells, or mix and match as you'd like." The professor said, his tone amused.
Harry didn't respond. He cast five simple spells, all silent and without moving his wand a single iota. A disarming charm, cutter, blasting hex, severing spell and he ended with his penetrating spell. They shot out of his wand as quickly as he could imagine, less than a second between each one.
Flitwick was ready, standing off to the side of the dummy and each spell was neutralized before it could reach its target.
Harry was awed by the display, his jaw hung a little low, his lips parted because of it. "H- how?"
"Magic" The diminutive professor responded, chuckling at Harry's scowling response to his non-answer. "I can sense the magic. I've learnt how to neutralize it, I know what spell it is by the feel of the magic, and then I counter each spell."
"Incredible." Harry was really amazed. It was another display of magic he had never known was possible. "How do you learn it?" He thought it may be one of the most useful abilities he'd ever seen. To be able to feel magic to that degree.
"For normal wizards and witches it takes decades, centuries even." He said regretfully. "I'm half goblin, being part goblin, my magic is far denser meaning I'm more in tune with the magic around me. It's not taught easily."
Harry considered those words. Part of his rituals were done to make his body more saturated in magic. Perhaps it would help him pick up the skill?
"You said 'not taught easily', which infers that it can be taught?" Harry wasn't too hopeful as it would be very difficult if Flitwick had never taken a student, even when it was easy to tell he'd wanted to, still wanted to.
"It can be, yes. Those that learn spend years around heavy concentrations of foreign magic, magic that is not their own. It allows for easier recognition and allows them to begin to discern what the intent of the heavy concentrations of foreign magic are."
Harry nodded along, that is the same as his experience so far. Hope began to pool in the bottom of his stomach, maybe he could learn this.
"It takes decades though to get to this stage. Master Curse Breakers would be an example of a profession that will pick this up. Most of them are in their forties and fifties before they become moderately skilled at it." Flitwick had gone into more of his lecturing mode as he patiently explained this to Harry.
"Err… professor, I can do that already." Harry said, a little tentatively. He wasn't completely certain he was as advanced as what the elder man had explained in his example.
"That's good. If you keep at it, you may be able to pick out spell instead of powerful wards, like what we have around Hogwarts." He ruefully replied.
"No, sir, I meant that I can already feel spells when they are cast. I've been trying to pick out what they are without knowing. It's something Fleur got me working on earlier this year." Again, he had never been tested on it but it was a skill he had begun to develop in earnest. The thought was if he could feel harmful spells being cast around him, when he couldn't see the caster, it may save his life one day. He'd never imagined neutralizing spells and using the skill to build a duelling strategy around it.
Harry had the distinct impression Flitwick didn't believe him. "Close your eyes and turn around."
Harry acceded the request, doing exactly what he was instructed to do.
"Tell me when a spell has been cast."
Harry frowned. That should be rather easy, he could feel spells. The difficulty was figuring out their purpose, feeling the intent of it.
He kept his eyes shut tightly, he didn't need his sight to be able to complete this exercise.
Harry waited, only hearing his breath as the room was silent. He concentrated but did not feel anything had been cast yet. Seconds continued to tick by and no magic was cast that he could tell.
He concentrated harder, worried that he may be missing the spell, or the magic was cast so softly he didn't notice, like if he'd cast a lumos charm with almost no magical power and had been slowly increasing the power so Harry didn't notice any sudden build ups, like a more powerful spell leaving the wand would give off.
Harry did his best to feel his surroundings. He couldn't confirm anything had been cast yet with his senses so he kept silent, maybe it was how he weeded out those that couldn't. Giving a false positive occasionally might get one right, by chance alone, and make it seem like the person had at least some potential.
After he'd counted to thirty, ten sets of un, deux, trois, he finally felt a spell. He called it out and then focused on the task, Flitwick hadn't told him when to stop and had not asked him to now.
Harry felt more confident. He knew he hadn't missed any normal spells, now that he'd felt that one, an offensive spells, perhaps one that cut or severed things, would be his guess.
It didn't take long for more frequent spells to be cast, one every five to ten seconds. Harry thought he was perfect so far.
"Tell me what you think the spell is when you believe one is cast." Flitwick called out, amending the instructions.
Harry felt another one, it was static and giving him vibes of protection. "Shield Charm?" He questioned, he really wasn't certain but it had been similar to his shieling charm, in the presence it let off.
It continued with Harry trying to pick out a myriad of spells. Sometimes he had gotten confused about what the intent of the spell might have been and other times he'd felt quite confident in what he had been sensing.
"Enough. Please take a seat again, Mister Potter."
After they had both sat down Flitwick informed him how he'd done. "You are very advanced for your age, far too advanced. You shouldn't be capable of this. I know your parents were not, this shouldn't be possible."
Harry listened to that and pondered if he should inform the professor of his rituals. It was the only thing he could think of that would possibly be the reason behind it.
"My tutor has me following a plan for rituals." Harry cringed as he admitted that but if it was possible to learn to do what Flitwick had done, it would be worth it. Plus Dumbledore already knew he was doing rituals, he didn't expect it would spread far. Given his ability to sense spells, he may have already picked up on the fact that Harry was dabbling in ritualistic magic.
"Even then, it wouldn't account for your disparity between your youth and skill level. You're far too advanced for a teen, even prodigies take another decade to get near your level…" Flitwick was rubbing his chin, deep in thought.
"You'd have needed to have been exposed to heavy foreign magic for practically your whole life and that's simply not possible." The perplexing situation was visibly bothering the professor.
"There were protections around my muggle residence." Harry offers up the only real source of magic that he could think of that would of been around him in the muggle world.
Flitwick shook his head immediately. "No wards or protections, legal or not, would be enough." Harry watched silently as the man was working through ideas within his own mind.
"Nevertheless, you've shown significant progress and the way you were surprised earlier tells me you've not been formally trained in it?"
"No," Harry let him know, "Fleur showed me how to do it with the wards at her family home."
"Just in the last few months?" Flitwick's face was awash in disbelief. "Miss Delacour has shown an ability for it too, you say… hmm…"
Harry just sat back in his seat, awaiting the professor. His thoughts ran towards Dumbledore. The man suggested he meet with McGonagall and Flitwick. His former head of house had a clear path to teach him and he thought the curriculum was probably suggested by the man. With that in mind, sending him to Flitwick, where he had this ability that he apparently should not have was too convenient to be coincidence. Dumbledore knew about his rituals and he was more than likely aware of what had caused this sensitivity to magic. He wanted Harry to learn from Flitwick, to learn something the former champion had failed to find a student for.
Nothing was ever straightforward with the headmaster. Manipulation and plans within plans were his norm. He had no problem congratulating him when he found a way around Dumbledore's attempt to block his emancipation, Harry had been congratulated, almost as if it amused the venerable old man. The question that wracked his mind was what were Dumbledore's motivations? What was the goal he was working towards? He'd been approaching all of his Light sided allies, he was setting up training with two world-class professors in material beyond NEWT and both combat orientated…
The headmaster had talked to all of those on the Light side who were around him. He'd pushed them to ensure he wasn't going Dark. WIth his training being done by some of his closest allies he could keep tabs reliably on his abilities, or anything he showed the two professors.
Did he want to go along with it?
No, the knowledge was too good to pass up, the training too valuable. Dumbledore had put a carrot in front of him that he couldn't pass up, the man would have known that.
"Are you interested in professional duelling?" Flitwick's question broke him out of his thoughts.
"I may be. My end goal was never focused on duelling though. There have been multiple attempts on my life and I want to be able to protect myself… and those close to me." He added the last part after a short pause. If he was going to get serious with any of the girls he would want to be able to protect them.
Flitwick nodded "Duelling will give you finesse and experience and develop skills that will transfer over to life and death situations." He rubbed his chin again, lightly. "Perhaps a demonstration and example will allow you to experience what I mean first hand." He stood up and walked out of the room, returning shortly thereafter, with a black box.
Harry's curiosity piqued as he wondered what the box was.
The half-goblin put it down in front of him. "This is what is commonly called a Duelling Pensieve. Do you know what a pensieve is?"
Harry shook his head, his eyes no leaving the box.
"A pensieve is a magical artifact that you can place memories in. You are then able to re-experience the memories from a third person point of view, with multiple people at the same time. They are highly coveted artifacts and incredibly rare."
That was understandable and he'd have to see if the Black or Potter holdings had a pensieve.
"A Duelling Pensieve, however, is more limited. It only works for no more than two persons at once and is a first person point-of-view. You are able to relive someone else's experience, though it is not fully realistic. You won't experience the person's emotions or know what they were thinking. You can use your magical senses to feel what they felt, magically."
"That sounds quite useful, for duelling." Harry commented the obvious conclusion.
"The first memory will be of Gellert Grindelwald dueling, his last in the circuit.. The second will be a memory collected from hs first foray against France. Are you capable of witnessing death, multiple, horrible, gruesome deaths?" The professor asked with a grave seriousness he'd never witnessed from the charms master.
Harry swallowed. "Yes sir." He responded resolutely.
"I would not normally show a student such a thing but knowing what happened with Quirrell, the dementors, and, most recently, the Second Task, I believe you are mentally capable of handling it. It may even be beneficial to experience a memory like this before you ever have to live one."
Flitwick took his wand and put it up against his right temple, when he withdrew it, a ghostly substance held onto the tip of his wand as it flailed about before being deposited into the Duelling Pensieve.
"When you are ready, place your wand into the slot and channel magic into it, your consciousness will fade into the memory and return you to normal once it has played itself out."
Harry snaps his wrist, his wand jumping into his hand. Slowly, deliberately, he placed his wand wand where he'd been indicated to do so. He channeled magic and waited for the device to do its thing.
The world around him had changed. He was standing at the end of an arena, Harry could see people all around, standing and watching him and the other person in the arena. It was his opponent for the duel, Gellert Grindelwald. Harry recognized him from the pictures he had seen.
The person, the one who had given the memory, crouched and readied himself for the fight.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, distinguished guests and all who have come to watch the final match of the Masters Tournament between the reigning champion, Gellert Grindelwalllllllld!" A booming voice announced the man across from him. No smirk, no smile, no indication he cared at all. His sharp eyes rested on him with an intense focus that was unnerving, even with Harry knowing this was a memory.
"And the challenger, Booooooris Petroooooooooooov!" Harry now knew whose memory he was in, Boris Petrov, the man Harry assumed would lose this.
Boris bowed and then went back into his ready position.
Harry ignored the voice of what he assumed to be the referee, he'd learn about rules and stuff later. His focus was on the opponent. Grindelwald stood there in an utterly casual matter, like this wasn't the finals of a grand tournament. There was a confidence that this match was a foregone conclusion, if anything, he thought the man was bored.
Looking closer at the rest of his person, he noticed Grindelwald was clad in black robes with golden accents, in fact, everything he wore was black with gold. Well, Harry noticed, that wasn't fully true, his wand wasn't black, though it was of a dark hue. Harry didn't know what kind of wood it was but it was a cruel and twisted thing. He could see thorns on it, its length curved and gnarled.
The words of Olivander came back to him, 'the wand chooses the wizard' and Harry could see how such an ugly thing would choose the young man that went on to instigate a war that resulted in the deaths of so many.
Harry had missed whatever else had been going on. He was brought back when his sightline changed, Boris had bowed to his opponent and was standing ready, once more.
"Begin in three, two, one." Harry heard the announcer state with a canon-like sound giving start to the duel.
Boris jumped to the right and shot a stream of fire at Grindelwald, a torrent that went out of his wand like a funnel, Harry couldn't see Grindelwald, a wall of fire, at least six feet across and ten feet tall, blocked his view.
Harry could feel the spell Boris was channelling, he could feel the intent, to burn everything it touched. It wasn't malicious, and he doubted it was anything like Fiendfyre. It felt weaker than the draconic flames Cuddles was able to spout out of her maw. Regardless, it was impressive.
The heat must have been overwhelming, the power and precision strong. He kept holding the flames, trying to burn the reigning tournament's champion to a crisp.
Harry felt the presence of another magic, one that was calm, cooling, fluid. He kept his eyes sharp and ahead. The wall of flames was shrinking. Ten feet had become eight in a hurry, and the six foot diameter was now less than four.
Watching the flames get smothered, Harry tried to sense what was happening to them. He felt an overwhelming sense of magic building up behind the wall of flames. While the fire was trying to burn, consume and overwhelm the other presence, of magic, that he felt, was becoming the antithesis of it, cold, collected and protective.
Harry watched in awe as he could finally see what was building behind the flames, what had been protecting and suffocating the torrent of fire.
A gigantic ball of water surrounded the edges of the funnel of flames. The front of the sphere of water was pushing into the middle of the funnel. The water was crystal clear and spinning forward, pushing the flames down.
Second by second the channelled flames were giving ground to the translucent water. Harry saw beads of sweat drop off the man's face, he could tell Boris had to change tacts or he'd be overwhelmed.
As if the man could sense his thoughts, even though it was a memory, Boris cut off the flames and shot spells at the sphere of water, blasting or exploding spells of some sort. Angry red magic leapt out of the wand and raced behind the last vestiges of flames that had been spawned by Boris Petrov.
The spells connected and Harry could see Grindelwald looked supremely unconcerned by it. His competitor, on the other hand, was breathing heavily and had wiped his face with his forearm and face.
The result of the spells impacting the sphere was to send water everywhere . The shielding setup around the arena flared as water was touching everything. The ground had a thin layer of water and Harry had a sinking feeling about how this was about to go.
Suddenly he felt it. All around him Grindelwald's magic permeated the water. All of it. He could feel it, below, above, behind and clinging to the man whose memory he was reliving. The entire arena was awash in water, water that Grindelwald had conjured and had now now retaken control of.
Harry felt it before he saw it, spears of water, show at him from the front. He felt a strong shield flare in front, the magic directed by Boris' wand, and it flared as the hardened spears of water smashed into it.
The shield held, barely, if Harry was correct in his instant analysis of what he was seeing.
While his shield was protecting his front, the water clinging to him began to freeze. Harry could see the frantic spellwork Boris was casting on himself, to try and stop the water from freezing on him.
Whie he was preoccupied with that, small balls of water were collating together and were sent careening towards him. Some missed and others hit. Harry could hear the heavy impacts he was taking. One hit Boris' hand, shattering it. Harry could see the bones had been pulverized. Whatever spells were on the water had made it sturdy enough to shatter the bones in his hand. There was no way he was going to recover.
While Harry's eyes focused on the shattered hand, he felt the magic make headway as no further resistance came to Grindelwald's control of the water.
Water froze over Petrov's face and a blurred ball of water, the size of his head, blasted toward him, leaving Grindelwald's wand. It got closer and closer, it was closing rapidly and going to hit him square in the face.
Harry mentally braced himself for the impact but suddenly felt disoriented. He opened his eyes and was moemntaliy lost until he realized he was back sitting in Flitwick's office.
Damn. That had been fast. "Are all duels that short?" It couldn't have taken more than a couple minutes. Petrov had only fired a single spell and then was overwhelmed by Grindelwald's response. How do you even fight that?
"No." Flitwick told him. "That was the final duel of Grindelwald's career. He outclassed all the competition by a wide margin. Petrov knew it and expelled as much magic into an attack. The fire you saw was actually a Petrov family spell. It's not ordinary, flame freezing charms will be eaten by it, it burns hotter than the standard fire spells."
Even this short fight was something that had a lot of information Harry was ignorant of.
"Gellert summoned charmed water. It resisted the fire, extinguished it and then was used offensively to overwhelm his opponent, not that Petrov had a chance at defending himself there, he was exhausted and low on magic, the shield he formed didn't even cover him fully." Flitwick was clinical in his short analysis of the fight. Harry could well appreciate the man was knowledgeable.
"How was it possible to do that with the water?" Harry wanted to know. Was it similar to the transfiguration? Applying multiple spells at the same time?
"Just wait until the next memory before asking about that." He told him somberly.
"You might be interested to know Petrov was one of the top duellers in his generation. He'd have stood against the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, or any of the other top followers of You-Know-Who. The Petrov family had a long history of excellence in professional duelling."
Harry frowned at that, "Had?" He questioned.
Flitwick sighed, "Yes, had. Grindelwald wiped out their family early in the war."
There wasn't really much that came to his mind to reply. He didn't know the family.
The head of House Ravenclaw took the memory out of the Duelling Pensieve and then placed another one in. "I'll warn you, Mister Potter, there is graphic death in this. It is brutal and you'll have no trouble figuring out when this happened. It was the opening salvo against France. There are duplicates of this memory. The young man who was spared was meant to distribute it and strike fear into the hearts of all those that considered resisting Grindelwald and his forces."
Harry was resolute, he was going to see this, no matter how ugly it might get. Harry let his determination show in his gaze as he kept his eyes locked with Flitwick's until he channeled his magic and was immersed in the memory.
Harry looked around him. There was a group of wizards, possibly witches too, standing around. Concrete bunkers, pillboxes and massive fortifications were all around him. It was dark, meaning it must be night time, and the heavens were opened upon them, rain was falling, massive droplets of water pounded down upon the earth. The downpour was so heavy that makeshift streams were being created by all the excess water that wasn't being absorbed into the ground.
Visibility was limited though there were large muggle lights ranging around.
A man walked up to him, or the person's memory he was reliving, and said some french words Harry couldn't translate. The man walked away, Harry guessed he had passed along some information as the man began staring down the hill, following the spotlights. Harry assumed there was a water repellant charm on the man's jacket as no water flowed down the hood of the jacket, the man was wearing.
A minute went by before a flare went up and the spotlight was shone onto a solitary figure, a single man, walking up the hillside, straight at the impregnable fortifications.
Harry heard shouting and saw helmet men exit a fortification, rifles pointed toward the solitary figure and it was hard to see what they were wearing but he thought they were combat fatigues, of some sort, as he could see helmets on their heads.
A group of four men approached the figure. Visibility was terrible and it was hard to tell that it was just four. The advancing troops were yelling in what Harry assumed was french. They kept getting closer, their yelling increased in both volume and urgency.
The single person kept moving forward, not looking the least bit concerned with the four men approaching.
They were within a hundred yards now and the figure kept walking towards the soldiers he was approaching. Lightning flashed in the sky, bolts struck the ground, far off in the distance. Thunder followed, giving an ominous feeling to the night.
The rain kept pouring, everything was wet, so, so, very wet.
The man walking uphill, by himself, didn't seem to notice. Nothing appeared to bother him. The soldiers within fifty paces weren't a concern. He kept walking, hands by his side. The scene was barely within visible range, the rain greatly reducing visibility.
Harry tried to strain his eyes before realizing it wouldn't matter. He wasn't there. He was reliving a memory of this night.
The men were close now. The front two had dropped down to one knee and had their rifles on their shoulders, levelled and aiming at the man. Harry couldn't see, to tell for sure, but he'd bet money the safeties were off for all four of them.
The front two got close, their rifles in his face, he could tell their mouths were moving but he couldn't hear them over the downpour leaking from the heavens and the rolling thunder that followed the lightning.
Harry kept his eyes focused on the altercation. Given what Flitwick said, the man was more than likely Gellert Grindelwald and, if he had to guess, he'd say this was the Maginot Line. The infamous French defensive fortifications setup to repel any hint of the German invasion, everyone knew the Ardenne Forest was impassable and no German advance would be coming from there. Harry recalled learning about it during his education in the muggle school system.
What a colossal mistake that had been for the muggles.
An angry red flash of magic left the solitary man. It cut through the four soldiers, the two on their knees no longer having their heads attached to their body and the two closest being split in half with the single spell, a ribbon cutter, if Harry was correct in his identification of the magic.
All hell broke loose. Gun nests opened fire, artillery and mortar fire zero'd in on the approaching figure's location, launched at the man. Harry could hear, when the thunder wasn't clapping off, the small firearms, as the muggles tried to avenge their fallen soldiers.
It was all for naught. Bullets were stopped, mortar rounds were exploding well past him and artillery shells were being blasted back at the fortifications. The flurry of activity further reducing visibility.
Harry knew this was going to end horribly but he was still in awe at the display of magic. No muggle weaponry could penetrate whatever shielding he'd setup and, while he seemed content to defend for the moment, Harry knew that wouldn't remain the case, he'd not remain on the defensive long.
As if Gellert was reacting to his thoughts, the man's wand rose in the air, his wand arm perpendicular to the ground, raised high in the air. He swirled it around in a circle repetitively.
There wasn't much, at first. Each circle of the man's wand built the feeling, the presence, his magic was saturating the hillside, the entire environment. It was similar to what he'd sensed when he was in Boris Petrov's memory.
Except it was different. More primal.
The very air was saturated with the magic he was casting. There seemed to be a lack of intent to it. There was a purposeless feel to it. It was just spreading, interacting and permeating the surrounding area.
That changed. In an instant the magic felt vile, purposeful and unquestionably under the command of the advancing person.
Harry could see it, he could feel it, the shift in the air, the change in the weather.
The rain that had been pouring down was now under his control. The wind, which had just been far too calm, picked up, whipping up the hill in great gales. Rain droplets hardened, froze.
Harry felt it, pure terror go through the wizards and the muggles. The weather wasn't right anymore, wasn't natural.
The rain drops froze, but not into drops, they lengthened, flattened. Each molecule was frozen and turned into large needles of ice. The gale force winds picked them up and brought a flurry of death to all those who were looking at him.
The pill boxes, they didn't matter.
The fortified bunkers with a perfectly crafted viewpoint for kill boxes that would stymy the Wehrmacht, they didn't matter.
The thick layers of rebar and concrete designed to prevent the Luftwaffe from bombing the defenders into retreat, they didn't matter.
The impregnable fortress designed to make any who dared approach pay dearly for each foot of land they advanced, they didn't matter.
None of that mattered when faced with a foe like Grindelwald.
Icicles found their way into the bunkers and cries of terror broke out, screams of death and carnage were heard all around. Grindelwald was slaughtering them. His magic taking control of the very elements, bending them to his will and then unleashing a storm of unimaginable terror upon the muggles.
Harry watched horrified and fearful, not for his life but for the level of magic the foe of the French could wield.
Harry caught movement out of the corners of his field of vision. The French Magicals began spellcasting, Statue of Secrecy be damned.
The person, whose memory he was experiencing, was at the back of the lines, a reserve or possibly a reinforcement. From the place he was bunkered down, he watched it all unfold. Magic was cast at Grindelwald and a shift in the air came.
The change to icicles and needles of ice continued, with the wind whipping them into deadly projectiles but they now also joined together to block attempts to attack him.
Unstoppable offense and unbreachable defense.
The wizards sending attacking spells were doomed. It was as if they were throwing buckets of water at a tidal wave, it doesn't matter how big the bucket, their efforts were futile and the tidal wave was still coming for them.
Harry could barely watch. Grindelwald wasn't even at the first fortification and he could already see death. He could hear the screams of dying men. He could see the futile french defense collapsing.
Wizard after wizard were being impaled by ice, not just one icicle either, dozens, even hundreds. Each drop of rain became a small lance of death. Every magical that stopped firing offensively meant more fuel for the advancing wizard's offense, less was used to defend. But as the blizzard of death got closer, the more they had to shield and defend themselves. Each defense faltering under the sheer volume of attacking debris. Even walls of dirt and stone were crumbling under the onslaught.
Harry could see it. There was a line that rolled forward, as Grindelwald advanced, and each step brought the killzone forward. Anyone close was butchered.
The thunderstorm raged on. The small arms, mortar and artillery fire had all but ceased. Harry had no idea what the muggles planned to do now but they were as useful as lambs in a slaughterhouse that had already been sheared. They could move around and make some noise but they were already in the final moments of their lives. He didn't doubt Grindelwald would butcher them. To run was death, to fight back was to meet one's maker, and to hide was to await the angel of death that had descended upon them, massacred them.
The wizards had more coordination now. They worked in teams of at least three. Two were shielding from the deadly storm and the rest were trying to find any kind of spell that would work. He saw cutting spells, blasting spells and he was certain even unforgivables. Nothing got through the thick storm.
It wouldn't matter. The suffocating power of Grindelwald had descended upon them. His power unchallengeable, his wrath unquenchable.
Harry felt sick to his stomach. The man was ruthless and didn't have a shred of mercy. Anyone foolish enough to raise their arms in surrender was torn apart by ice.
Bodies littered the hillside.
Screams blended together, a gruesome symphony of slaughter.
If Harry could make himself deaf he would have, in that moment. He could already sense the magic, the despicable power that overwhelmed the defenders. It was like an ocean of magical power had descended upon.
The killzone was no more than twenty feet ahead. Ice punctured the ground everywhere. It looked like a dart board but after a hundred, or more, darts were impaled in it. It wasn't designed for that kind of punishment. The earth couldn't take anymore blood, it couldn't keep it's form, the magically enhanced storm was devouring the landscape, scarring it, changing it.
Harry watched as the team of four was ripped to shreds, literally, by the ice. Blood splattering the ground, body parts being torn off as hundreds of pieces of ice impacted them.
Harry couldn't throw up, he couldn't even dry heave, he was in the memory. Whatever warning Flitwick had given wasn't enough. This wasn't war. This wasn't a battle. This was slaughter, a massacre.
Harry shut his eyes, but he saw everything still. He was reliving the ghastly memory.
His mind frantically worked to find a way to no longer have to watch this carnage unfold. His mind supplied the loophole, and just because he was in the memory, it didn't mean he had to watch anymore. He couldn't block the noise but he didn't have to look where the memory was fixated, he could look up at the sky, hoping the heavens would give him reprieve.
He didn't know how long it went on for, how long ice continued to pelt the hillside. He kept his focus away from all of that the best he could. It wasn't until he heard a voice that he looked around again, he couldn't comprehend the spoken language.
The person who had donated this memory stood shaking in front of Grindelwald. The man was in black clothes with gold highlights, like he'd been in the duelling memory, but his gnarled wand was missing, instead a long wand with familiar looking beads was in his hand. It flashed at him and Harry felt it was a spell limiting mobility. Given the way the person wasn't moving now, no longer shaking in total terror, he assumed a petrification spell.
More words were said toward him, again he had no idea what they meant but it was fair to assume it was a message, or perhaps a warning.
Harry watched as the man walked away, the storm returned to its regular, natural, destructiveness. Streams of water mixed with blood creating rivers of fluid running down the hillside.
Grindelwald didn't care, or didn't notice, his boots trudged through the blood of those he felled. He went to the closest fortification and a great firestorm was created by his wand. The locked doors melting to the unnatural firestorm. Screams of unimaginable pain rang out, the chorus of them loud enough to be heard over the rolling thunder.
Harry felt sick again.
He wished he could throw up, that his body could rebel.
His wasn't pleased to know his earlier instinct had been correct. Gellert Grindelwald was torching the muggles in their hideouts. He kept casting fire into the fortification. After seconds, minutes, hours, after who knows how long, fire came bursting out off the pill boxes, out of the bunkers. It was working through and destroying, devouring, desecrating everything in its path, Harry doubted there would be anything left inside but charred remains and ash.
The body of the person who'd given the memory was petrified, stuck watching, the eyelids wouldn't close and give any reprieve from seeing such horrid images, such depravity of the human soul.
Harry did his best to unfocus, to be present in the memory but as unaware as possible as to what was going on. He didn't need to experience this anymore, he didn't need to get a measure of the power the defeated Dark Lord had wielded.
He was shaken to his core. This was the kind of monster he might have to fight one day. This was the type of titan he'd have to one day match, not just match, but defeat. What a terrifying display of power. His performance in the Second Task was that of a baby, an infant, a child. He couldn't stand against that. He couldn't have survived if he'd been a defender of the Maginot Line. He'd have been swept away in the storm, his body torn to shreds and his lifeblood washed away, down the hillside and joined with the rest of those that dared to defy Gellert Grindelwald on that stormy night.
He'd be a number, a statistic, a single name amongst the great many that died at the actions of a single man.
Harry plopped down onto the Hufflepuff bench beside Fleur. He looked at the food in front of him with revulsion. He wouldn't dare to eat any food after what he'd witnessed, even now his stomach was tied in knots and he knew it couldn't keep anything down.
Harry put a piece of toast on his plate and buttered it. When he couldn't eat before quidditch he at least had some toast, something to give him energy. He'd been hungry before he went to talk with Flitwick and he knew he should eat.
"'Arry? Are you okay? You look… pâle?" She wrinkled her nose, unhappy with not having the correct english word known to her, even though the word translated the same. Normally Harry would find it cute, endearing even, but right now that barely registered, it was a vague thought that was discarded before it was fully formed in his mind.
"No, not really. But I will be." Mechanically he kept buttering his toast. He'd intended to try and catch up with Daphne this morning and set another time to escort her to the Chamber of Secrets but his feet had carried him to sit at the Ravenclaw table beside Fleur.
She put her hand on him and recoiled.
Harry barely registered it, she must have felt some of what he was feeling.
"Wh- what happened to you, 'arry?" She was shaken, not having expected to feel anything like that from him.
"I saw it. The Maginot Rouge." He whispered. He hadn't lowered his voice because he hadn't wanted to be overheard but because he could scarcely say the name the French gave for the extermination of the French forces at the Maginot Line on that fateful day.
Fleur dropped her cutlery; it clattered loudly on her plate. She stood immediately and pulled Harry up by the arm. Quickly she escorted him out of the hall. Harry's feet mechanically followed her wherever she was leading. In short order, he found himself in Fleur's room and she had him sit in a large chair by a fireplace.
The warmth felt nice as did the warmth of Fleur's touch. It felt human, normal.
What he'd seen was inhuman, depraved, immoral and a perversion of the human soul. There was not a shred of doubt in Harry's mind that Grindelwald was not as wicked, vile and brutal as Riddle had ever been. It just hadn't affected England like Riddle had.
What he'd seen, what he'd witnessed, was suffocating power mixed with superb skill. What he'd been able to accomplish against Boris Petrov was but a sliver of a precursor to Maginot Rouge.
Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply, counting each breath in turn, un deux trois, un deux trois.
"'Arry, take zis." He opened his eyes and saw a highly concerned Fleur thrust a mug into his hands.
She held his hands and helped lift the cup towards his mouth. "Drink." She commanded in a calm pleading manner.
Harry did so, the chocolatey drink filling him with warmth, reminding him of when Lupin gave him chocolate on the train after he'd met a dementor for the first time.
Harry drank some more down and found himself draining the mug quickly. Fleur was ready with another one and put another hot drink in his hand.
"Feeling better?" She asked and put a hand on him, this time she didn't recoil.
"Yes." He honestly answered, he really was feeling better.
"Bien." She said before sitting down on him.
"Now, tell me why you saw that effroyable memory."
Harry closed his eyes and breathed in Fleur's scent. He wasn't sure what it smelt like but it was definitely Fleur. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, he needed her warmth, the comfort of her embrace.
He had idea what effroyable meant but given the context he didn't need to guess.
"I talked with Flitwick. I asked him if duelling is useful to actual life and death combat and he made a highly effective point. I saw Grindelwald destroy Boris Petrov in a sanctioned championship duel, in the Masters Tournament. He did a really mild version of what he did at Maginot Rouge. A match to a bonfire in difference but still a skilled developed for dueling."
Fleur snuggled into him, her head falling onto his shoulder, her lips tantalizingly close to his ear. "Why did you need to see that? 'Ow could 'e show that to you?"
Harry shrugged, thought not effectively with Fleur half sitting and half lying down on him. "I've seen death before Fleur. I've killed in self defense. He thought I could handle it, that it would be good to see the kind of monsters I may need to put down one day."
Harry couldn't see her face but it was obvious she wasn't happy with the answer.
"Why did you talk to Flitwick about duelling?" She questioned, diverting away from the previous question.
"I talked with him to see about learning beyond the NEWT curriculum, as I had with McGonagall. It seems I'm an ideal candidate to learn from him, though my style won't be the same as his." Harry said that more cheerfully.
He'd worked it out with Flitwick that he'd get advanced training. The Charms Master, former Duelling Champion, would help hone his magical sensing skills and prepare him to enter professional duelling circuits, not that it had been agreed he would enter. They'd work together until the end of the school year and then reassess, that was the agreement.
Harry liked the result. It gave him tutelage, very valuable tutelage, but left all of his options open. He wasn't sure he should go into professional duelling but he saw the benefits now. Duelling wouldn't make him into a powerhouse but it would develop skills which were helpful and applicable.
"'E's going to teach you to duel?" She asked somewhat not in disbelief but more in astonished surprise. She lifted her head up and pushed her body so she was sitting directly on him, her eyes boring into his.
"Yep." He chirped. How is it possible that it was just breakfast time? It felt like this day was already done.
"That's amazing!" She told him, excited for him.
"It's thanks to you." He knew she wouldn't know why and he told her, "You taught me to sense magic and I'm very skilled at it for my age."
She smiled at him, "I'm glad I could 'elp."
"I"ll need more of it, if you're willing."
"Oh?" She raised her eyebrow delicately, in question, as she responded.
"I need to work on identifying different categories of spells. Offensive, defensive, and recognizing magic being cast around me. Willing to work with me on that?"
"Oui, of course I will." She told him.
"Want to help me with one more thing?" He asked, a hungry look coming into his eyes.
"With?" Her eyes were a little narrowed, as if she felt something was a little different about this request.
"I'd like to get the Maginot Rouge out of my mind. Help me focus on something else?" He deliberately lowered his gaze to her lips, puckering his to make the request obvious.
Harry had hoped she'd just kiss him, or agree and then kiss him. He hadn't expected to hear her musical laughter.
It didn't feel like she was laughing at him, nor rejecting him, so he let her regain her composure. She hadn't moved off of him or anything and his arms were still around her.
"It ees a bad, 'ow do you say, pick 'er up phrase?"
Harry smiled at her light frustration. "A pickup line, that's what you meant to say?"
"Oui" She told him. "You want to kiss me so you won't think of the worst day in Magical France's history in the last 'alf century? You really know 'ow to charm a lady." She teased him, clearly not upset, just finding it funny.
"I'd like to kiss you, and more, it's just a convenient excuse." He grinned at her.
Fleur responded how he'd hoped this time. Her lips closed on his and Harry felt their soft touch against his.
He closed his eyes and just enjoyed the tactile feel of her body on his. Their lips stayed locked and Fleur's tongue probed his lips, not demanding entrance, she'd never been overly forceful as they kissed as the french do. Harry parted his lips further and brought his tongue out, using it to probe, play and explore her mouth.
He knew, with her sitting on him, that she'd feel his arousal. It was a natural reaction and any embarrassment he might have felt was beaten out of him by Lucia. He had to keep his mind and be wary of being taken advantage of. As long as he was able to do that, he was encouraged to thoroughly enjoy these moments, he was certainly loving this right now.
Harry's hand began roaming her body. He started running them up and down her back, his hands gliding along her smooth blouse while their lips moved in tandem with each other.
Harry did something he wouldn't have had the confidence to do before. He slipped his hands under her blouse and slid it up her back. If the moan from Fleur was any indication, she had no issues with this escalation.
He kept his right hand working up and down her back, he marvelled at how smooth and warm her skin was. His left hand slid down her body and began groping and squeezing her amazing derrière, his actions elicited a gasped "Arry' to escape from her mouth.
As Harry kept up his ministrations she began pushing her body against him, working her hips to press into his hand when he squeezed her arse. Pushing her spine back against his hand as he moved it up and down.
WIth his minor escalation of their physical relationship being appreciated, he got more daring. His left hand joined his right, under her blouse and he started running them up and down the sides of her body, they even moved to her stomach and skirted the edges of her bra.
She hadn't given any indication that she didn't like it, if anything, she heartily approved. She swung her leg over so both of hers were outside of his, her body straddling him in the chair, her hips rocking back and forth.
Harry kept up with his ministrations, he was rock hard and not fully lost to the ecstasy he felt. It was Fleur who wanted more, he assumed she was emboldened by his actions. She had mostly initiated the physical aspects of their relationship but he'd asked her to kiss him and then used his hand to explore her body.
She broke the kiss and sat up, her eyes half lidded over. Her blue eyes sought his and searched Harry's green ones. He didn't know what she was doing, or looking for, but he rolled with it. This silver-blonde haired goddess was sitting on him and he wasn't going to complain. He'd ran his hands all over her body and even over her bra a few times. Nothing was on his mind but her . If she wanted to stop here, he'd not have a problem with that. He respected her. He'd pushed the boundary a little but he'd not do anything she didn't approve of.
Fleur blinked her eyes slowly, the movement had to be deliberate. He saw resolution in them, when they opened and could see she'd made a decision, the basis for which he had no idea, let alone what decision she'd made.
He didn't have to wait long to find out. Her hands left his body and moved up to the top of her shirt. Slowly, as if he was watching a block of ice melt in one degree celsius, she began to unbutton her top. Her delicate fingers undoing each button in a tantalizingly slow manner.
Harry swallowed. He could handle this. He was entranced though. Button after button came undone until the bouse hung apart, off her body, exposing her chest. She shrugged the shirt off and only had a bra covering her chest now.
Her right hand slipped behind her and it reached up to the middle of her back.
Harry held his breath. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, trying to break through his ribcage. He heard the clasp come undone and it began to fall, her breasts were about to be on full display, inches away from his face.
That was until her left hand came up and held it in place. Her right arm came back around and her index finger was put on his lips.
"No further. Just this. Okay?" She whispered to him.
Harry nodded his head in an exaggerated fashion. He felt disappointment, having thought she'd let the bra come off but he resigned himself to accepting that she'd just teased him.
She smiled at him, mischief was written on her face. Her right index finger went under his chin and it tilted his head upward. She descended down upon him, their lips meeting again. Her mouth opened and her tongue came back out. Harry reciprocated and closed his eyes, loving the feeling of their kissing, not snogging, sessions.
They kept it up for a minute before Harry felt something drop onto his lap.
A bra.
Fleur's bra.
The day could be as long as it wanted so long as he got the opportunity to never leave this situation, for all he cared.