The Art of Healing (1/)
By Phoenixgod2000
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters and I don't make money off of them. Please don't sue.
Special authors note: this story contains an inappropriate relationship between a teacher and a student. In real life this sort of romantic relationship, even a nonsexual one is not okay. Let me repeat that. It is not okay. Not okay for a male teacher and a female student or a female teacher and a male student. Both are equal violations of trust. This is a fictional story which should never be repeated in real life. However, this not a real life which makes everything okay. End of soapbox.
Second Authors note: I am very proud of this story. Please take the time to review it.
The first day of the fall term at Beauxbatons was a beautiful one. Bright sunshine banished whatever clouds threatened to gather in the morning and glinted off the flawless white stone of the building complex. Students moved about the grassy lawn or passed beneath the vine-covered lattice walkways in that slow languid fashion endemic to perfect days ruined by so something as mundane as classes. It was a day that symbolized the rebirth of the Wizarding world one year after Voldemort's defeat.
Gabrielle Delacour was bored.
Really, really, bored.
She absently tapped out a sharp song on the edge of her desk with diamond hard fingernails, her other hand entwined around a few strands of her long silvery hair. Sitting in the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom alongside the rest of her sixth year classmates, she waited impatiently for the new teacher to show up. Madam DuShae, the new head of Beauxbatons after Madam Maxine had been killed in the war, seemed to be quite excited about who she snared into teaching at Beauxbatons this year, but had flatly refused to announce the name at the feast. All she would say was that his credentials were without reproach and he was foreign. Gabrielle figured that it was a retired auror. Maybe a mutilated hero from the war who wanted to pass along whatever information he had gained in his years of service.
Tired of her hair twirling, Gabby unfurled a scroll she grabbed from her bag and with a charcoal quill began to draw. It would take her some time to finish the drawing but she could easily picture what it would look like when it was complete. It was one of her favorite memories, and she'd drawn it a thousand times, each one slightly different from the last. There was always something to add or change.
Gabrielle loved to draw and paint. Art was in her blood the same way action was in Bill's and wine making was in Fleur's. Her art had provided a solace in the dark days before her magic matured and she was fully able to tap into her powers as a witch. Such maturity came later for Veela than it did for purely human witches and she had spent a very long first year lagging behind her classmates. When everyone was making fun her, making her feel stupid, she had retreated into her canvasses.
Later, once her magical and faerie powers matured, she discovered that by combining her veela connection to emotion and her talent in the visual arts, she could elevate her skills to a new, nearly inhuman plateau. A true artistic prodigy, the fey witch was able to infuse her work with emotion in a way that muggle artists could not and few wizards would ever duplicate.
With swift, certain strokes the scene unfolded on the parchment. The first figures drawn were vague and indistinct, the impression of a crowd of people with singular focus on an event that was more important than they were. The figures that would be drawn next were far more detailed. Her sister, resplendent in a beautiful white dress would stand next to a handsome man several years older than her. He would wear his hair in a ponytail and cut quite a dashing figure in formal dress robes. With strokes that drew emotion from ink, Gabrielle saw clearly in her minds eye the look of love and adoration on Bills face and the answering look on her sister's. With the flourish of a truly great artist she added the twinkling eyes and great bearded figure of the man who had wed them, Albus Dumbledore. The last thing that would appear on the parchment was the rose-entwined archway they married under. The scene was so clear because it was one Gabrielle's most cherished memories. After all, her beloved sister's wedding to a good man deserved to be cherished. Gabrielle knew better than anyone alive how difficult it was for a part-veela woman to find real love.
Often, she despaired of ever finding it for herself.
Her reverie was disturbed by the loud echo of footsteps outside the classroom. It seemed that the mysterious new teacher had finally deigned to arrive, and only fifteen minutes late.
Her irritation with the new teacher disappeared when she saw who it was.
The teacher dropped a few scrolls onto the surface of the desk at the front of the class before moving directly in front of his new students. He hadn't spoken, yet commanded the class with nothing more than the sheer power of his presence.
He was not a tall man; at several inches shy of six feet he was barely taller than Gabrielle herself. Despite his youth, his black hair was dusted with silver, speaking of a hard life. His face had a chiseled, rugged handsomeness and a raised lightning bolt scar was centered over his forehead. His flat green eyes flickered around the room missing nothing, the rote movements of a person who no longer needed to be reminded to observe his surroundings. His body possessed tightly coiled lean strength wrapped in a black muggle tee-shirt, dark jeans, and black boots. A tattooed runic band was coiled around his right arm from wrist to elbow. Everything about the new teacher screamed power and danger.
"You all know who I am." Harry Potter began in flawless French.
Gabrielle's heart fluttered. She had carried a torch for Harry since meeting him at the Tri-Wizard tournament six years earlier. Later, he had been the one to teach her to meld her veela and artistic talents into a greater whole. He had even comforted her when her sister was kidnapped by Voldemort's forces during the war. He was the new teacher? Why here? He was a living legend, a walking myth; people would fall over themselves to get him to teach a seminar on defense, let alone a full class. Why would he come all the way to France? Two time Order of Merlin First Class recipient. First non-French person to win the L'ordre de Croix Dorée (the highest award in the French ministry) in one hundred and sixty five years. Winner of the United States Congressional Medal of Freedom. Destroyer of Voldemort. Slayer of the Dracula. Hero of the Battle for Hogwarts. Gryffindor's Assassin. There were probably even more honors and titles that she was totally unaware of. Harry Potter was quite possibly the most honored and respected Wizard on the planet.
And he was here.
Harry pointed his finger at a sixth year sitting in the front of the class. "You, what is your name?"
"Alexander Legrand, Professor. You can call me Alex if you'd like, sir." The student answered respectfully, very much in awe of his instructor.
"Mr. Legrand, if I wanted to kill a vampire, what would be the most effective spell to do so?"
The boy looked around as if to try and see the answer written on someone's face. "I and the rest of the class are waiting for the answer, Mr. Legrand." Surprising venom laced Harry's voice.
"I don't know, sir." Alex ventured hesitantly.
The young professor laughed in derision. Then in flash Harry raised his hand and shouted "Solaris." One of the runes on his arm flared and a golden ray pierced the unsuspecting student in the chest.
Panicking, Alexander threw himself away from the desk shouting and slapping his chest. He stopped when he realized he hadn't actually been injured.
Harry smiled bitterly. "A Sunlight spell that a good friend of mine invented. Harmless to humans and lethal to vampires. Unless you're keeping a certain blood drinking secret, you don't have anything to worry about." He looked around the room. "The spell creates a three meter ray that lasts as long as you can concentrate on it—which, since the spell is so tiring, isn't long. By the time this year is over you'll be able to keep this spell up for over a minute and hit anything you aim it at. For that matter, any spell that creates light in the ultraviolet spectrum such as the spell Luminos Solarem is also particularly effective, although the incantation is slightly longer, which can get you killed in a fight. The theory and wand movement are in your text…Well," he snapped, when no one moved, "Why aren't you writing anything down?" The sound of pens scraping on parchment filled the classroom.
Harry paced back and forth. "This is defense against the dark arts. This class isn't fun, and it isn't something you can sleep through or waste your time in. You aren't going to learn cheering charms or play transfiguration games. This class is about life and death, and if you don't do well in this class you could face consequences far worse than a failing grade."
Gabrielle was soaked in sweat by the end of class, and she was far from the only one. Harry had been merciless, drilling them endlessly with spells and conjurations designed to measure their current proficiency at DADA. With a no small amount of pride, the silver haired teenager noticed that she was one of the better students in practical Defense.
When the ending bell mercifully rang, most of the students filed out of the class rapidly, having no desire to stay with their famous teacher any longer than necessary. Gabrielle saw her friends waiting by the door, but she waved them on. Drawing a deep breath, she approached Harry, who was seated at his desk.
"Yes, Miss Delacour, can I help you with something?" Harry asked without looking up.
Miss Delacour? When did I stop being Gabby?
"I was very surprised to see that you were the new teacher that was so highly touted by the headmistress." Gabrielle began nervously. She played with a long strand of her silver hair and the faintest hint of rose tinged her cheeks. "I haven't seen you in a few years. You haven't made it to any of the Christmas's at the Burrow since your seventh year."
The year you made me love you
Harry looked up, his dull green eyes burning into Gabrielle. She was suddenly buffeted by emotions strong enough to nearly make her stagger. "I never found what I was looking for and I couldn't go home. This came up. Anything else?" He asked tightly.
Gabrielle studied Harry silently and closer up she noticed a number of things which disturbed her. His bloodshot eyes were lifeless and lacked the spark she remembered fondly from the past and were set into a slightly puffy face. Bags darkened his eyes and his hand shook with a slight tremor. She saw that his leanness was more than just the result of athletic strength. Veins and muscles were in such sharp relief that it was plain Harry wasn't eating as much as he should. Worst of all, to her sensitive veela nose he reeked of fire whiskey, and worse.
Gabrielle realized it was a testament to his power and presence that he had held himself together for the duration of the class, because he was plainly a shattered remnant of the man she had crushed over.
"It's good to see you again." She answered in a whisper, after a long moment of study.
"Gabrielle, what do you want? Do you have a question to ask me about the class, because I have a lot of work to do?" Harry interrupted abruptly.
Gabrielle flinched. "I just wanted to say hello, Harry. I haven't seen you in ages."
"I'm busy, Gabrielle."
The student took the quiet statement as the dismissal it clearly was and fled from the classroom.
She met with her friends who were waiting outside for her. Rubbing wetness that was forming at the corner of her eyes, Gabrielle smiled weakly at Dominique, Jean, and Alexander.
"Are you alright?" Dom asked softly.
Gabrielle nodded sadly and Jean asked, "Why did you stay after class? I couldn't leave fast enough."
Dominique answered for her friend. "She knows Master Potter personally. Through her sister and her husband."
"He helped me when I was depressed about school." Gabrielle added. "I was really lost my first year and having a hard time. He showed me how to have fun with my magic. It's because of him I learned how to fuse my art and magic together."
"Him?" Alexander said incredulously. "How could he help you?"
"He wasn't always like this." Gabrielle answered quietly. "The Harry I knew… his eyes twinkled."
Flashback
Gabrielle was having the worst Christmas of her life.
What made it worse was that everyone else was having a grand time. For once, the whole family was present at the Burrow. Ginny, in her sixth year at Hogwarts, and Fred and George, fresh from their weapon manufacturing job for the Order, made a special trip home laden with gifts. Bill and Fleur (who eagerly showed off her Egyptian-cut diamond engagement ring), who spent much of their time on overseas missions for the Order were there. So was Charlie, who happened to be one of the orders heaviest hitters, thanks to the discovery of his dragon Animagus form. Also there was Ron, his girlfriend Hermione and best friend Harry. Harry had brought his girlfriend of a year and half, Luna Lovegood.
The Burrow had been decorated with all the frenetic Christmas spirit of a home that desperately needed a respite from the ongoing war. Pixie lights conjured by Molly and Arthur adorned the doors and windows. Bill and Charlie had summoned the largest evergreen they could find. Fred and George dressed it with a variety of Wizarding ornaments that sparkled, twinkled, and exploded with amusing regularity. And everyone was safely cocooned within ironclad, but temporary, wards of Albus Dumbledore, who crafted them solely for the use of the family who formed his most strident supporters so they might enjoy a well deserved holiday. The mismatched home was filled with joy and laughter in every corner and drenched in the fragrances of Christmas cooking.
It was all making Gabrielle sick.
The silver haired first year sat outside the burrow, feebly waving her wand at small stones in an attempt to skip the stones using a basic levitation charm. She desperately wished Fleur hadn't dragged her along. She dropped her wand arm when she heard the crunch of approaching footsteps.
"Why aren't you inside, Gabby?" Harry asked softly. "Even with the wards you shouldn't be alone."
"I can handle myself." Gabrielle muttered under her breath. "I just wanted to be alone for awhile." In a louder voice, she shot back "Anyway, what are you doing here?"
"I'm sure you can." Harry agreed placidly, "but still, there's no need to tempt fate. As for what I'm doing here, Luna thought the crowd was making me snippy."
"I don't think you're snippy," Gabrielle added with a blush and a whisper.
Harry ran his fingers through his short hair. "It's probably for the best I stepped out anyway. I'm not really used to crowds. Besides," he added in a mischievous grin, "My favorite person is out here anyway."
Gabrielle let out a quiet giggle in spite of her mood.
The lean seventh year plopped himself next to the younger girl. "What's really wrong, Gabby? No one really wants to be alone when there's a great Christmas party going on."
The silver haired girl stared off into space for a few minutes. "I'm a terrible witch," she whispered. "I can't make any of the spells work the way they're supposed to. Everyone else my year is doing a lot better than me and I try and talk with my teachers but they won't do anything and I tried to talk with Fleur and she just said that I would get better once I got a little older and my magic got stronger, but everyone is making fun of me now and I want it to stop."
The torrent of words came out in a rush and Gabrielle blushed brightly when she realized she had just vented in front of her crush.
Harry just stood up and extended a hand towards the sitting first year. "Stand up."
Gabrielle stared doubtfully at Harry. "What for?"
Harry smiled lightly. "Don't you trust me?"
The girl took Harry's hand and he pulled Gabrielle to her feet. "I want you to close your eyes and feel your wand. Really feel it." He instructed.
Gabby nodded and tightly shut her eyes. "Does your wand feel warm and kind of tingly?" Harry asked.
The young girl nodded.
"Good. Now I want you to take that feeling and push it out. Try and make the air around you feel the same, and the ground under your feet. Can you do that?"
The tiny first year screwed up her face and sweat shone on her forehead despite the coolness of the evening. After a few seconds she gasped.
"I feel it!" she said excitedly. "It's like a warm blanket covering everything."
Harry smiled and patted her on the shoulder companionably. "If you can feel earth magic then you have a whole heap of talent. Your sister and Bill are some of the only wizards I know besides me and Dumbledore who can feel it. You'll get better with time, Gabby. In fact, I'll bet you're going to get so good that all your friends will be jealous of you."
"Really?" Gabrielle asked doubtfully. "I'm good at magic?"
"You don't believe me?" Harry asked in mock outrage. "Fine then, I'll show you a spell that will once and for all convince you that you have real talent. Close your eyes and stick your wand straight up into the air."
Gabrielle dutifully followed the emerald eyed boy's directions. She squeezed her eyes shut and pointed her yew wand straight upwards.
"Do you remember the first time you ever saw a rainbow, Gabby? What it looked like hanging in the air?"
"Yes."
"Concentrate on that. Concentrate on the colors, Gabrielle. Red, Green, Blue, all the colors in the rainbow. Feel the colors, feel them twisting around inside you right over your heart. Feel them pushing free. Now say the words, Aurora Aerthum."
"Aurora Aerthum!"
Gabrielle sagged against the older boy as the force of the spell left her. Harry steadied her with his arms and the young girl shivered slightly at his simultaneously strong and gentle grip. "Open your eyes, Gabby." She knew she had succeeded with the spell. She could hear her success written in the pleasure of Harry's tone. Gabrielle opened her eyes and nearly fainted in amazement.
The sky over the Burrow was lit up like the aurora borealis painted with all the colors in a rainbow. Blues and greens swirled and warred with reds and oranges. They flowed and twisted without bleeding into each other. And it stretched like a ribbon in every direction as far as Gabrielle could see.
It was the most beautiful thing Gabrielle had ever seen.
"You did that, Gabby. You made the sky light up with the power of your magic. All by yourself. The next time one of your friends or your teacher makes you feel bad, just remember this." Harry smiled at the young silver haired beauty. "You make the heavens shine."
It was the best Christmas Gabrielle ever had.
End Flashback
It was always worst at night.
When the work of the day was done and the sun had set, memories could creep up on a person. They could seep into your thoughts like a slow leak that was held at bay by the seal of the daily grind.
Harry wandered through his apartment like a man lost. He searched and paced, looking for… something, anything to drive off the spirits that followed him like a pack of braying hounds.
I miss you Luna. Moonshine. My sweet Moonshine.
The room that Beauxbatons had provided for him was every bit as beautiful one would expect from the aesthetically pleasing school. It consisted of a large sitting room/library, a small dining area, and a bedroom. The rooms were brightly colored and decorated with inanimate paintings, blooming plants, and hand carved furniture. His room was on the second floor of the teacher's dormitory and he had an impressive view of the school grounds from his balcony—the one he reached through a set of huge double glass doors. He even had a small muggle kitchen added so he wouldn't be bothered by the House elves. All in all it was a beautifully appointed room, one that any teacher could be proud to live in.
But Harry saw none of it.
Sagging into a deeply cushioned chair, Harry let his thumb slide over the very warm bottle of fire whiskey held in his hand. The magical beverage was hot to the touch but Harry had long since grown used to its searing warmth. Popping the cork, Harry poured the blazing liquid down his throat and felt the sear as the magic worked on him. Leaning back, Harry closed his eyes.
Damn you old man. You taught me everything but how to live with the afterwards.
This wasn't the way things were supposed to be. This wasn't supposed to be his afterwards. He was supposed to be married to Luna now, and a father to the next generation of Potters. That was why he had pushed himself so far during his training sixth year: The promise of an ended war and a life of blissful peace with the woman he loved and his best friends at his side was to be his reward.
That was why he'd undergone the awesomely painful Pensieve learning process and tattooed himself with war runes. That was why he suffered the bruises of dueling training and the months of spell craft under the tutelage of Dumbledore and other hand picked teachers. It was why he joined the Order of the Phoenix on the eve of his seventeenth birthday.
He'd wanted a life with Luna Lovegood more than anything in the world. He could still her titter when they talked about the future. She always laughed off his concerns.
"We need to worry about the now, Harry. The future will attend to itself. It always does"
And the future had. It decided to write Luna out of Harry's life completely. Steal her from him.
Harry took another long pull from the neck of the bottle, the red whiskey spilling around his mouth and tracing burning paths along his skin. It hurt like hell.
Good.
Luna had saved his sanity after he'd lost Sirius. Her perfect serenity, as powerfully cultivated as her oddity, was an anchor for Harry. She was a grove of bamboo in the storm of his life. He could rage at her, rant at her, cry on her shoulder, and she handled it all with the equanimity of a saint.
Her long and rambling letters to him over the summer before his sixth year had seemed like stream of consciousness nonsense at first, but on rereads Harry discovered a profound wisdom in his new friend. It was as though she knew exactly what he needed to hear in order to survive the summer.
It was only later when Harry discovered she was a Seer that he realized it could literally have been true.
God! He wasn't numb enough. He felt thick. His flesh was dulled, but still he hurt. Harry shook the bottle and discovered it was empty. Stumbling to his feet, he drunkenly wove to the cabinet to fetch another bottle of the sixty year old Fire Whiskey. Fumbling the bottle with his numbed fingers, he drank it straight as he wove his way back to the chair.
Luna would hate this, he realized. She would hate seeing him this way, drowning like this. She would never have wanted him to feel sorry for himself. So he did what he did whenever he thought about Luna.
He drank until he couldn't feel much of anything.
Several weeks later
Harry knocked on the door that led in the headmistress's office. He had been less than pleased about receiving the summons, but he went.
"Come in, Harry." A lilting French voice called out from the other side.
Harry opened the door and walked into the Spartan but attractive office. The headmistress of Beauxbatons sat behind her desk shuffling paperwork.
Sofia DuShae was as tiny as Madam Maxine had been large. The wraithlike woman looked young, impossibly so, to be the head of a famed magical institution. But then, she also looked impossibly young to be one of the most dangerous witches on the face of the planet, but she was that too. Sofia wore ornate ivory hued robes and her ebony hair was placed in a complicated twist, exposing a slender, swanlike neck. As always, Harry was slightly awed by the woman who was many decades older than he, but appeared young enough to be a student at the school she ran. Calmly taking the seat in front of her, Harry waited for his employer to begin speaking.
She didn't start right away. Her stormy grey eyes considered Harry for several long moments.
"I've been hearing disturbing things about your class, Mister Potter." She began.
So it was to be formality.
Her voice was unusually husky and commanding for a petite woman and she worked it for all it was worth. "Students have been approaching me about how hard you work them and the pressure you put them under. Normally I would dismiss the allegations as simply students blowing off steam about a stern teacher, but after so many I had to enquire Do you know what I found?"
"I have to push them. Defense isn't a joke, Sophie. You know that." Harry retorted. "They have to learn what's out there and what to do about it."
"Sixteen injuries in your class in the past month, Harry." The headmistress spat as though she hadn't heard him. "Sixteen! And seven children had to be put in the hospital ward for magical exhaustion. I would have heard about it earlier but for the school healer being besotted with you." She shook her head. "My god, Harry. What are you doing to them?"
"I'm teaching them how to be strong. What they need to know in order to protect themselves."
"The War is over, Harry." Sofia rejoined in a quiet voice. "They don't need the same boot camp that you did."
"They have to learn, Sofia. Learn about how dangerous the world is. Learn about all the dark groups out there." Harry shot back just as quietly.
"This isn't training for the future, Harry!" The headmistress bellowed, shaking the parchment of grievances at Harry. "You are putting my students in danger and I want you to stop."
Harry stood up abruptly. "Then fire me." He retorted in deadened tone. Harry turned and began walking towards the door, only to be called back by his friend's voice.
"What happened to you, Harry?" Sofia asked in a whisper. "What happened to the best teacher I've ever seen? What happened to the man who could reach any student, whose eyes sparkled with life every second he instructed others?"
Harry cast away his eyes, unwilling to meet Sofia's gaze for the first time during the confrontation. "You learn to hate teaching, Sofia, when your students do nothing but die."
Harry, we need to talk…
No, that's not right.
Harry, this is me, Gabby. Talk to me, please.
Better.
Gabrielle stood in front of Harry's door. It had been weeks and so far he had dodged all her attempts to talk with him. She had fire-called Fleur, but the older Veela couldn't provide any insight into what was wrong with him. All she would say was that days after the defeat of Voldemort, Harry had disappeared from the Wizarding world, using all of his formidable skills to evade everyone who searched for him. Gabrielle, who had been at school during the waning days of the war, asked her sister what he had been like before he disappeared. She would never forget the response.
"'E was as zee living dead, Gabrielle. Zere was no more fire in 'im. 'E had been broken by ze war, and 'e simply did not realize it till after it was over."
Her stomach twisted into knots. I'm not strong enough for this Luna. Why did you lay this on me? The idea of confronting Harry terrified her. Not because she thought he would ever hurt her, but because there were things—secrets—that not even Harry knew, and those secrets could break him further in the state he was in. The young Veela drew a deep, steadying breath and raised her hand to knock on the door. Before she could, a terrible crash sounded from the other side of the door.
Morganna, Harry!
Gabrielle whipped out her wand and blasted the door open. She ran inside, praying that Harry was alright.
She found him lying semi-conscious in a pool of fire whiskey, the shattered bottle of liquor beginning to scorch the carpet. The Man-Who-Killed-Voldemort moaned and tried to move.
"Ish all rish, I'sh okay." Harry mumbled. "Jush need some help to stand." He pushed himself to his hands and knees and stayed in that position for a few moments before rolling onto his side, unconscious. Gouges and cuts covered his face and arms and the front of his robes were smeared in blood.
Gabrielle was amazed at his strength. A quick glance at the empty bottles told her that he had already imbibed far too much of the alcoholic beverage. Considering his size and weight, as well as the strength of the drink, he shouldn't even have stayed conscious for as long has he had.
Grunting, she dragged him over to the couch and a swift levitation charm later, Harry was nestled on its soft surface.
Gabrielle removed the top of Harry's robes to examine him for wounds. The young girl was amazed by Harry's chest. For someone of his reputation, Gabrielle would not have been surprised to see his upper body covered with scars. But his thin, sculpted torso was completely unmarked by scar tissue. Even as she watched, his wounds were already scabbing over. The only permanent marks on his otherwise nearly hairless chest were a pair of tattoos that coiled together over his heart. The artist in Gabrielle noted the exquisite red lily and small, rearing stag were rendered in loving, almost photorealistic detail, and as she leaned over for a closer look, she found dozens of tiny runes imbedded in both tattoos. Conjuring a wet cloth, Gabrielle began drying the blood that covered his chest.
With smooth, even strokes she cleaned up every trace of the red fluid which marred Harry. As she did so, Gabrielle examined his features, in a futile attempt to divine what was wrong with him, what was wrong with the man she considered to be one of the greatest influences on her life, despite their minimal contact over the years.
Finally reaching his face, Gabrielle cleaned out the wounds that were already starting to heal. The alcoholic rest had smoothed out the lines of his features, granting him a peace he evidently could not find while awake.
"What's wrong with you, Harry?" She mumbled to herself.
She hated seeing him like this. More than that, it was almost physically painful to see Harry this way. She remembered being much younger and begging her sister for news about the war, specifically anything Harry was doing. And the stories Fleur told!
They were almost impossible to believe, some of stories Fleur told about Harry, but Gabrielle knew they were all true. Harry Potter had been a one man army, sometimes clearing entire cities of Death Eater cells. He killed Voldemort's vampire delegation single handedly, including the enigmatic vampire king who had taken the title of Dracula. Fleur told Gabrielle one amazing story of Harry holding off an army of Dementors alone as he fought to keep them from kissing an entire children's ward in a muggle hospital. Harry's deeds weren't the work of one man, even a legendary man.
They were the work of a living myth.
Gabrielle brushed loose strands of his hair away from his scar and frowned. He didn't deserve to feel this way, she mused. No one did, but Harry more than most. He had done so much good for the world, saved so many lives. He deserved to have his happy ending more than anyone else. That's what heroes were supposed to get.
And no one was a bigger hero than Harry Potter.
Ugh
Harry opened his eyes and immediately closed them again. Cautiously, he reopened his eyes. Good. The room had stopped spinning. From the other side of his couch Harry heard the sound of dishes being washed.
Slowly, so as to not cause the orchestra in his head to start playing again, Harry lifted his head over the couch and saw Gabrielle in the kitchenette. The young witch had pushed up her sleeves and was cleaning his dishes the old-fashioned way.
What the hell is she doing here? Did I call her? Did she hear me do something? Did I say anything while I was drunk?
Harry stared at the girl while he frantically tried to organize his thoughts. He took the opportunity to really study the girl he'd known in one way or another for almost her entire life.
Gabrielle Delacour wasn't the little girl he first met during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. She was taller, taller than even her sister, with long coltish limbs that seemed to convey grace and youth all at once. She had Fleur's enviously perfect cream skin and large sapphire eyes set into a face with cheekbones that any model would envy. Unlike her sister, who had stunning waist length white-blond hair, Gabrielle's hair was the color of platinum, a silvery white color that was as breathtakingly beautiful as it was exotic.
"Oh, good, you're awake." Gabrielle turned around and flashed white teeth from behind a perfect smile. A smile that flickered slightly with uncertainty as the bloom of a blush spread across her cheek. She lifted a hand to her face. "Do I have a smudge on me?"
Harry shook his head in wonder. "No, I was just looking at you and wondering when you grew up," he rasped in a sandpapery voice.
"It was a while back, Harry." Gabrielle chided softly.
Stopping what she was doing, Gabrielle walked back over to Harry and sat down across from him.
"So…" she began uncomfortably.
"Thank you for helping me out Gabrielle," Harry said ruefully. He ran his hand through his silver speckled ebony hair. "I appreciate it, but now I think you should go."
Harry stood up as a signal for Gabrielle to leave. The veela stayed were she was and crossed her arms in indignation.
"We need to talk about this, Harry." She shot back. "You're falling apart. You're clearly drinking too much and Merlin only knows what else you're doing to yourself." Harry flinched at that. "You're a shadow of the teacher you used to be. The students are grumbling all the time—and I know that you're better than you've shown so far." Her expression softened. "Everyone misses you during the holidays. Mrs. Weasley worries about you so much. Last Christmas I caught her crying alone… over you."
Harry looked down. "It's complicated, Gabby," he explained, lapsing unconsciously into the familiar nickname.
"I… There… people care about you, Harry. Do you know how many people would help you if you would just ask?"
"I don't deserve any help!" Harry shouted hoarsely. "I don't deserve it! After everything… after Hermione…. Luna, I don't deserve to be helped!"
"None of those deaths were your fault. It was a war. People died." Gabrielle shouted back. "Blame Voldemort and all the stupid death eaters that followed him."
Harry crossed his arms. "You just don't get it, Gabrielle. Luna was my fault. She wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for me."
Gabrielle was shocked nearly into silence by Harry's declaration. There was more than just survivor's guilt talking. There was something deeper.
"What do you mean?" The teenaged veela asked softly.
Harry looked away from her. "Nothing, Gabby. Just forget it."
"No! I won't forget it. You are my hero Harry. You need to talk to someone about what's going on and I am going to be that someone. If I have to dose you up to your eyeballs with my veela charm to get you to talk then I will."
Harry gave Gabrielle a thin-lipped smile. "I don't want to talk and do you really think Veela charm will work on me if I don't want it to?"
Gabrielle tightened her features. "I don't want to try, Harry. Don't make me try." She whispered. "Just talk to me please. Let go of your burden."
"No."
"Then I don't have a choice." Gabrielle whispered. Gathering all of her strength in the blink of an eye, she blasted Harry with the strongest dose of her charm that she could muster.
It shouldn't have worked.
Harry Potter possessed one of the strongest wills on the planet. He was trained in a half dozen mental techniques for fighting foreign influences and his raw magical strength and sheer stubbornness protected him even further. Some of the mightiest mindbenders in the world had tried and failed to defeat his will. But Harry had also spent more than a year abusing his body and mind with alcohol. Grief that had gone on longer than a year withered his stubbornness and sapped the edge of his skills. Still, Harry was an incredibly powerful wizard, and no charm from an immature quarter-veela should have been able to pierce his mental shields. It should not have worked.
But it did.
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