It was Saturday morning, exactly a week since the wedding, and Fleur had still not written to Harry. Every day she readied a piece of parchment and a quill, only to stare at it in frustration, words refusing to coalesce from her chaotic emotions. How could she possibly tell him about the bond in a way that he might accept or understand? It was laughable.

Her quill was hovering over the parchment, reflecting her internal state of limbo until, slowly, a droplet of ink fell onto the blank piece. Fleur sighed. I'm being ridiculous. Not writing isn't going to help anything. Still, worry plagued her.

She could already feel an itch at the edge of her awareness, a feeling of something extra. Something that had not been there before. Linked souls did not care about distance, it seemed, and she wondered what would happen if the tether between them had time to strengthen.

The image of Harry feeling the same itch, not knowing what it was, replaced her hesitancy with a sudden urgency. What am I doing?! There's no time for this. She could figure out the perfect words later, in person. Blinking and shaking her head, she cleared the rogue ink blot and dipped her quill once more.

Dear Harry,

It has come to my attention that we have not spent nearly enough time together and would like to rectify that if you would be willing.

She immediately removed the end of that sentence, scoffing at herself. It didn't matter if he was willing, there was no reason to pretend otherwise. She continued.

You were surprisingly good company at The Burrow – massive ego not withstanding; you clearly remember the dragon differently than I do – and I was hoping you'd join me on a trip to Diagon Alley to buy some supplies. Since moving near the main Alley, I have found some interesting shops that we could look at.

Fleur eyed the parchment dubiously for a moment, then removed the information about living near the Alley. Where she lived was no one's business and putting the information in an owl message would be foolish.

If not, I would settle for a simple dinner. We have years to catch up on!

Hope you are well,

Fleur

It was not a work of art, but it would do. Besides, I don't know enough about Harry to make it more personal. She was rationalizing, but she rolled up the letter for sending anyways before stiffly standing up at her desk that was tucked into the corner of her flat.

Her barn owl stared inquisitively at her as she made her way over to his window perch. Tying the letter to his leg, she instructed him to take it to Harry, watching until he disappeared into the sky. Now that the letter was sent, Fleur closed her eyes and mentally prepared for what she had to do next. Part of her wondered if taking a week to write a letter had been her subconscious attempting to put off the coming talk.

Still in front of the window, her fingers tapped at her hip, stopped, flexed, and repeated the motion in a choppy rhythm until she forced herself to cut it off. The view outside, filled with houses and the odd converted flat, did nothing to tide her growing anxiousness. There were people she hadn't told about her situation, and Fleur could not imagine her family's reactions when she came home with such news. They had all thought – hoped – that the consequences of that night two years ago were behind them.

There was nothing for it. Fleur turned towards the fireplace, saying goodbye to the peaceful scene behind her. Quiet would soon be in short supply.

With a quick straightening of the shoulders, a fortifying breath, and a firm - she'd like to believe – "Delacour Residence!", she was off. After spinning through a whirl of fireplaces and noise, she stepped out into the waiting area of her childhood home, its familiar colours and decor injecting her anxiousness with a dose of comfort. "Maman? Gabrielle?" Better to start with them than her father, if possible.

A moment later a cry of "Fleur!" reached her and her little sister ran into the room, trying and failing to look graceful about it, white sundress whipping around her. Gabrielle's lack of elegance did not slow her down at all, because she was soon holding onto Fleur with the kind of careful yet aggressive hug that only she could pull off. It was certainly different than the gentle embrace of her mother or the quick squeeze of her father.

"What are you doing here? I didn't think you were visiting until next week!" Gabrielle slipped away just as quickly as she'd come, stepping back to look up at her – barely, she was only an inch shorter than Fleur, now – with happiness.

That happiness quickly transformed into a sharp look as she took her in, either noticing something off or simply so used to worrying that it was second nature at this point. "Did something happen?"

Fleur smothered the flash of annoyance that her sister's tone sparked. She had known and prepared for her family's reactions, but she hadn't even told them what had happened yet, and they were already worrying. "I'll tell you everything once Maman is here. Is she home? And Papa?" Just a natural question, nothing to indicate that a life altering event had occurred.

Gabrielle appeared to humour her after another moment of scrutiny. "Maman is baking in the kitchen and Papa is in his study." A knowing grin formed on her sister's face. "To the kitchen, then?"

Fleur sighed. "Yes." The two of them began walking through the halls side by side. Fleur felt a pang of nostalgia when she remembered the times when little Gabby would follow behind her wherever she went, excited to be around her older sister. Those days were long gone.

All too soon, they crossed the kitchen threshold and Gabrielle sat down at the island, probably to watch the coming drama. Well, she won't be disappointed. Her mother turned when they entered, an array of baking sheets and ingredients behind her and a smile lighting her face when she saw Fleur, before striding over to enclose her in a deep hug. "You're back early. You should have said something, we would have had food waiting."

Maman pulled back with another blinding smile and ushered her to a seat next to Gabrielle at the island, but Fleur shook her head before she could lose control of the conversation. "Actually, I didn't really plan on coming. Something... Well, something happened." And there it was, the flicker of fear and concern she couldn't escape since the incident. Her mother's eyes flickered over her quickly, looking for any sign of pain or trauma.

"You don't look hurt." Her mother looked up from her search, hesitant. "Is your apartment safe? You weren't attacked?" The "again" was left unspoken.

Fleur's jaw clenched. "No, I wasn't attacked." Her voice sounded muted to her own ears and she let out a breath. Moving the conversation along, she turned to Gabrielle. "You should be happy. Harry is involved. In fact, you'll probably be seeing a lot more of your hero." Assuming he'll having anything to do with me. The voice rose unbidden, overriding her attempts to keep it quiet.

Gabrielle's eyes lit up. "What do you mean? I know you went to that Weasley wedding." Her eyebrows rose suggestively. "Did you two get to catch up?"

Merlin save me from little sisters. Fleur gave Gabrielle a flat look. "Oh, we certainly did that. It was quite life changing." Her sibling's eyes widened, a hand rising to her mouth, whether in shock or to smother a giggle, Fleur wasn't sure. It was her mother's reaction that would stay in her mind for a long time as a happy memory.

Her mouth had fallen open, expression cycling between scandalized and amused, clearly stuck on whether to scold her daughter or laugh. Fleur was thankful once again that her father was not in the room.

Finally, she managed a choked "Fleur!" before falling speechless again. Amusement had won, Fleur thought, because her smile had returned, a rye tinge added in. "Stop teasing your sister. I assume you didn't come home early just to share your latest rendezvous, as unique as this one may be." Fleur reddened at the statement, and her mother paused. "Did you?"

"I wish that was all we had done," she muttered, sobering. Her sister and mother exchanged alarmed looks.

"What could you two have done beyond that?!" Gabrielle was leaning forward, now in interrogation mode.

Fleur leaned back from the proximity, thinking quickly how to word this, what she had come here to say. She quickly discarded the blunt approach, deciding on a more subtle easing in. "You know I don't always do well in crowds, since the attack." They nodded. "My allure doesn't always stay contained, when I get like that." More nods. Her family had seen first-hand how she could get. She could already feel the pity in her mother's gaze. Fleur resolutely ignored it.

"I reacted poorly at the wedding, and Harry managed to calm me down." She stopped for a moment in remembrance of his own reaction. "I don't know what happened to him during or after the war, but whatever it was must have affected him deeply. He didn't just calm me down. He did something, reached out." Her lips twisted as the emotions came flooding back at what she was about to say out loud, the fury and hope mixed with helplessness and self-loathing. "My allure reached back."

Her mother was frozen, eyes searching hers for confirmation of whatever idea – most likely correct - had taken hold, and her expression crumpled at what she found as understanding settled. "You deserve so much more than what this world has given you." Fleur stood still as her mother held her, fruitlessly trying to protect her from what had already happened, while Gabrielle looked between them at a loss.

"What do you mean it reached back?" There was something indecipherable in her voice, a small waver, perhaps another piece of her shattered faith in Fleur slipping through.

Still within her mother's arms, bitter at being forced to spell it out, Fleur answered without thought. "What I mean is that something inside of Harry is fundamentally damaged, and whatever it is found something equally damaged inside of me. We're stuck together because our souls are so unstable that they latched on to the closest thing they could." Fleur's fists were clenched now, whole body taut, and her mother had backed away. "What I mean is that I'm now permanently connected to Harry Potter and neither one of us can do anything about it!" Her voice had risen, great breaths heaving in and out.

Gabrielle's expression had closed off, her body hunched slightly as if to ward off a blow, and Fleur felt a trickle of guilt flow in. None of this is her fault. Before she could apologize, though, her sister straightened and strode out of the kitchen. Fleur noticed her mother's chastising look and the guilt grew to a flood. "She has never forgiven me for being weak."

"If you truly believe that, then you haven't had a proper talk in too long," her father's voice rang from the doorway. She closed her eyes, body drooping. He must have heard the whole rant, childish as it was.

"Hello Papa." She looked at him, forcing a smile. "I didn't mean for you to find out like this. I had hoped to be tactful about letting the three of you know." Then, under her breath. "Clearly my execution was lacking."

His gaze remained unamused, though it softened slightly as he gave her his customary hug before joining her mother, which, if Fleur was being honest with herself, was a reasonable reaction to what she had just revealed. She had butchered this conversation entirely, despite her plans. At least it was out in the open now.

Her mother was the first to break the silence. "I suggest you talk with Gabrielle after we finish. I think it's time you two cleared up whatever issues you may have. She has graduated and you are both adults, and, more importantly, sisters. Behave like it." It was said with a mild voice, all the easier to slip through her barriers, and Fleur winced, pushing down the urge to object. Her mother was right.

"I do not think it's that simple, but I will speak with her." Fleur watched her father, standing beside her mother in a united front. They were practiced at this. "And Papa? What do you have to say?"

He stayed silent, leaning against the kitchen counter behind him, and she waited for him to gather his thoughts. Here it comes. Stay nimble, Fleur. This could go in any direction. "I understand that knowledge about the magic that Veelas are born with is heavily guarded," he started carefully. "But from what you said I gather it has something to do with the soul." She wasn't sure if she imagined his eyes flickering to her mother and back. Fleur guessed they would be having their own private conversation later about the implications of that knowledge.

"Is there truly no way to break this… connection, as you called it?" Fleur reared back at the idea of tampering with her soul, let alone someone else's, horror surging through her. The feelings were mirrored on her mother's face and their thoughts must have been obvious because he continued before either of them could express their revulsion. "Okay. In that case, how well do you know Harry and what will you two do now?"

Fleur blinked at the sudden shift, unprepared, the swell of emotion disappearing as quickly as it had come. He raised his eyebrows in expectation. Nothing acceptable came to mind, so she attempted to stall by shifting her gaze to the window behind her parents. Nothing. It really was quite nice out, with sunlight streaming into the kitchen and a breeze riffling the trees outside the house. Maybe I'll ask Gabrielle to take a walk with me for our talk.

"Fleur?" He prompted.

What were she and Harry going to do now? This was why I wanted to speak with Maman and Gabrielle first. Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face because her mother, observing, suddenly snorted. Fleur glared at her in accusation before turning to look at her father.

It had been a relatively quiet conversation so far, surprisingly so, but it was not going to last. "I hardly know him at all," she admitted. "Before the wedding, I hadn't talked to him in years. Not since before everything was over, and he was still a child then." Thinking of what little she knew about him, she continued. "In age, at least."

As expected, her parents were not pleased with this answer, her father drawing up in directionless anger and her mother lowering her head in grief, a sharp contrast to her earlier levity. Fleur felt her lips curl at their reactions, as if they had expected anything different, the bitterness taking even herself by surprise. There's no happy ending for them to find. She needed to make them see that.

Setting her shoulders, she met her father's narrowed eyes. She knew his anger wasn't directed at her and no small part was likely from helplessness. "There's no silver lining to this story. My life is different than it was a few days ago, and there's nothing any of us can do about it. I'm not telling you about this bond so that you can try to fix it. I'm telling you because you are my family and Harry is now a part of my life, whether you like it or not, and you need to accept that." She looked away. "We all need to accept that."

A deep breath calmed her shaking enough to focus back on her parents. Her father was no longer leaning on the counter, instead making aborted movements as if stopping himself from pacing, until finally his hands fell still at his side. Her mother, who had always struggled more internally, was watching him for signs of an outburst, ready to intervene. She seemed to have a better handle on the situation, but it was hard to tell with her.

Finally, he spoke. "Harry Potter, one of the most public figures in the wizarding world, and a stranger, is being forced into your life as... as what? A close friend? A prisoner? That's what the world will think when they find out their hero was bound to a Veela against his will. And you're asking me, us, to do nothing?" His body was turned from her, voice strained in a way Fleur had never heard.

"Yes. If resisting the urge to fix what cannot be fixed is doing nothing, then do nothing. Just be here to catch any pieces that fall through the cracks." Harry's emotionless mask and almost-smiles flashed through her mind again. "And do the same for Harry. I don't think he is quite as whole as people think."

He was staring distantly at the kitchen wall, unblinking and unmoving, stuck in some internal debate, but her mother had relaxed, and so Fleur did as well. If anyone could read him, it was her.

Still, after another moment her mother reached out to touch his arm, either in comfort or as a reminder that they were still here, perhaps both. He leaned into the contact with a frown, focused once more on Fleur. "I'm not happy, but I understand. I will try. But my priority will always be you, not him."

His sincerity pulled a relieved smile from her, warmth bubbling up at the love her parents showed her without fail. "Thank you, Papa. Though, I'm not sure how long that distinction will matter."

At his confused glance, she continued. "A bond like this may affect people in unexpected ways. It is entirely possible what will be good or bad for one of us will be good or bad for the other, in some way beyond normal empathy among friends. I don't believe much is known about how such connections really work. They are not common, and the soul is not exactly something most would feel comfortable having studied."

She looked at her mother for confirmation, who nodded. "You're right. I know of only a few recorded examples of such a bond, most with a Veela as one partner due to the… unique way our soul manifests. The records are mixed, at best. Some were bonds between those who were already intimate. Others were like you and Harry, accidents, or forced upon them by someone else. Dark wizards eager to experiment with the soul."

Fleur felt disgust at the knowledge that such things had happened, suddenly thankful that whatever could be said about her and Harry's situation, Harry was about as far from a dark wizard as one could get. No one had used either of their souls as test subjects.

A niggling worry about how little she knew the man reminded her that a lot could change in a few years. As she had told her parents, she did not know much about him. Fleur squashed the feeling. He had been there for her, and more importantly, had understood. Secrets and trauma do not make him a dark wizard, she chided herself, preventing the uneasiness from appearing for her parents to see. After all, he could say the same about me.

Returning to the conversation, she watched her father nod his head slowly. "I see," he said. Fleur observed him, thinking that maybe he did see. He had always been good about accepting things for what they were, after the initial storm of emotion. It was surviving the storm fully intact that was the trick. Fortunately, this had been a relatively mild reaction, all things considered. For that reason, she was hesitant to let her guard down.

Perhaps it would be best to end the conversation quickly. "Thank you for not making this harder than it already is." She looked between them, ensuring they knew how grateful she was. They smiled back sadly, then, together, closed the distance between the three of them. Her father reached her first, placing his hands on her shoulders and bending to kiss her forehead like he had when she was younger, before wrapping his arms around her.

Her mother joined a moment later, and Fleur closed her eyes, falling into their comfort. "We love you. You'll figure this out, like you always do," her mother whispered before letting go and stepping back. Over her father's shoulder, they made eye contact and Fleur was suddenly alert at her mother's severe demeanour. "We would, of course, like to meet Harry as soon as possible."

Taken off guard, Fleur reeled back and opened her mouth, then closed it. An amused smile on his face, her father twisted and leaned towards his wife to murmur something in her ear, to which she rolled her eyes and smirked.

Fleur, slightly indignant at their having a private conversation while she watched, one that likely did not bode well for her, shook off her bout of speechlessness. "You can meet Harry as soon as we both agree to it. We have our own issues to figure out. Not the least of which is warn him about you two." Their widening smiles did not make her feel any better about the future meeting.

She winced. "It would, however, be prudent to perhaps have you along when he – we – tell Mrs. Weasley about what's happened." The thought that he already knew about the bond and had told the tyrannical woman on his own was frightening.

His surrogate mother would never let him go and would probably hate Fleur in the meantime. Using the thought as an excuse to escape, she quickly said her goodbyes.

"I'll go check on Gabrielle. I'll visit again when I normally do." Their laughter followed her quick pace out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her sisters' room. She resolved to contact Harry as soon she got home, in person if she had to. No more delaying or waiting for owl responses.

With that in mind she knocked impatiently on the wooden door. When no answer came after a few seconds, Fleur knocked again. When there was still no response, she finally concentrated on the present and her sister. "Gabrielle? I'm sorry I snapped at you. Can we take a walk together?"

Silence.

Then Gabrielle's voice reached her, barely audible. "Not now, Fleur." That was it, silence falling once again.

She looked through the door, uncomprehending. What? Unsure whether to push and knock again, she leaned her forehead against the smooth wood. "I'm trying," she whispered. This was a gap she didn't know how to bridge.

She made her way to the fireplace downstairs, limbs heavy with the memories of every painful word between them, and anger at her own failure to be what her sister deserved.

Murmuring her home address, she disappeared in a flash of green flame and stepped out into her own living room. Unable to contain it anymore, she stumbled to her couch, put her head in her hands and took deep, shuddering breaths. All the feelings she had tried so hard to control during the conversation with her family were boiling over, pushed over the edge by the blow of her sister's rejection.

There was just so much to fix. Images of Gabrielle and Harry flashed through her mind. Fleur glared at the wooden floor, suddenly ashamed of herself for a whole new reason. I only just resolved to find Harry and do what needs to be done, yet here I am doing absolutely nothing because of other mistakes I've made.

This pattern of wallowing in self-pity, that she had fallen into without realizing, couldn't continue. Too much was at stake. She gathered herself, bullying her swirling thoughts back into place before she stood and made herself presentable. There was an emotionally distant man and his overbearing pseudo-mother to find.