Fleur De Lis Chapter 20.

Content Warnings: Massage, Oral, Teasing.

“Three days to go.”

“Don’t remind us,” Fleur grumbled. She concentrated on the pebble on her palm, her brow furrowed in concentration. The smooth stone quivered but stubbornly sat on her palm. She gave up after a minute and closed her fist.

“Still nothing?” Hermione asked.

Fleur shook her head wordlessly. Going from being able to do wandless magic without breaking a sweat to struggling to levitate a small stone had been… eye-opening. 

“I saw the stone shift. That’s not nothing,” Harry murmured. He leaned in and gently loosened Fleur’s grip on the pebble. “That’s enough for one night.”

“The Third Task is in three days, Harry,” Fleur growled and tried to snatch the pebble from her boyfriend. “I need to be ready!”

“You are ready.” Harry tossed the pebble into the fireplace. It skipped over a few burning logs and landed between the smoldering embers of the dying fire. The heat slowly transformed the gray of the stone into a dull red. Harry fixed his attention on it as the Common Room slowly emptied around them, trying his best to ignore the growing feeling of dread within his chest.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it. All he had were his resurgent dreams to go on. Not that they amounted to much either. A flash of green and high-pitched laughter? 

Harry shook his head. He could lose his mind after he’d survived the final task. He needed to prioritize dangers and the Triwizard Tournament was a much more pressing matter than whatever Voldemort was up to.

He looked down at Fleur. She was between his legs, her back resting against the couch he was sitting on. The blonde Veela had retrieved another pebble from her satchel. It stayed on her palm and steadfastly refused to move no matter how hard she stared at it. 

“We need to talk,” Harry said softly. 

“I can banish any amount of water that’s present in the maze, Harry. It’s water bodies like the lake that I have trouble with,” Fleur replied, pre-empting his argument. It was all they had talked about ever since their lesson with Hagrid. Blast-Ended Skrewts, Sphinxes… she could handle everything the maze threw at them with the exception of the Grindylows. Their presence meant water. Their skin was fire-resistant. “Stop being a… what do the English call it? A worry brat?”

“A worry wart,” Hermione chuckled. “He has a point, you know? Gabrielle’s out there trying to figure out a way into the maze so she can intervene if needed.”

“Nobody needs to intervene.” Fleur crossed her arms over her chest and glared first at Hermione before directing her ire at Harry. Hermione responded with a bemused shrug but Harry kept staring at her intently, refusing to look away. “I am not a damsel that needs saving.”

“No?” Harry whispered. His finger pushed through her silvery curls and rested on her neck. He slowly ran the digit down her spine.

It was a simple gesture. A claim laid on her being that would have been obvious to anyone well-versed in Veela etiquette. Fortunately, her sister wasn’t around or she’d never hear the end of it.

“Not here,” Fleur breathed. She shivered and took a deep breath. “You know I can’t keep my Allure in check when you do that.”

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing,” Harry said, pulling his hand away from Fleur in one fluid motion. 

“What’d she mean about not being able to keep her Allure in check?” Hermione pressed. She nodded to the men and women closest to them. Most of them had abandoned what they were doing in favor of staring at Fleur with glazed-over eyes. 

Harry snorted. A seventh-year Gryffindor he’d never talked to before was drooling, actually drooling over his girlfriend. 

“See what I mean, mon amour?”

Harry let Fleur lean into him before wrapping an arm around her shoulders, shielding her from view. 

“Her Allure is out of control whenever she thinks about winning the Tournament and gets excited.”

“So the Allure is powered by every strong feeling? Not just romantic?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” Fleur said. 

“Interesting,” Hermione murmured as she chewed her lower lip, deep in thought. “I wonder why Gabrielle didn’t tell me this?”

“My sister isn’t what you would call… traditional. She doesn’t care much for her heritage.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” Harry muttered under his breath. He grinned when Fleur responded by slapping his knee. 

“Do you think she loves me?”

Fleur blinked. She looked up at her boyfriend, only to receive a confused shrug in return.

“Love is complicated for Veelas, my dear. When we do love, we love deeply and passionately. That is why we guard our hearts until we are certain we have found the right mate.”

“Like Harry.”

“Like Harry,” Fleur agreed, shivering again. Having one’s mate close by was intoxicating. She turned her head and kissed Harry’s hand. 

“Do you think it’s the same for me and Gabrielle?”

“That is a question only my sister can answer. But I will say this, I know that she cares about you,” Fleur said kindly. “More than I’ve seen her care about anyone. She’s slept with half the witches of Paris-”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Hermione muttered, angrily poking her thigh. 

“Well, it’s true. The fact that you’re the only one who has ever made my sister smile is true too,” Fleur chuckled. “She’s leaving everything she knows to a place where she hates the weather, the food, and most of the people. Just to be with you. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

“Oh no. Oh, no! I made her move to Hogwarts. What if she hates it here next year? What if she blames me?! Oh no no no no!”

“Hermione, relax,” Harry said with an amused smile. “It’s not a death sentence. If she doesn’t like it here she can always go back to Beauxbatons.”

“And then we’ll be apart!” Hermione yelled shrilly.

“How is it that we’re the more mature couple here?” Harry whispered to Fleur.

“With age comes wisdom, mon amour. Besides, I have you to keep me warm, Dobby to cook me food, and all the friends I need. I am not concerned about living here.” Fleur grinned and kissed Harry’s hand again. “Perhaps I shall make some more friends in the village. The owner of the bar, maybe?” 

“Madam Rosmerta can’t be much older than you. I bet she’d appreciate a friend her age.”

“You two are assholes,” Hermione growled, jumping to her feet. “All your attention is focused on the tournament but once it’s over you’ll realize all the tiny things one needs to worry about in a relationship.”

“Where are you going?” Harry asked, watching his best friend stomp across the room with a frown.

“I’m going to find my girlfriend and beg her not to leave me!” Hermione shouted back. She ignored the stares she was garnering from the people in the Common Room. She grabbed her cloak from the stand, wrapped it around her shoulders, and ran out of the room. 

“Gabrielle’s not going to-”

“Oh, I know,” Harry chuckled. “Hermione’s being melodramatic. Love drives you crazy.”

“And how would you know?” Fleur closed her eyes and bit down on her lip. Her Allure flared the second Harry’s finger returned to her spine. She focused all her attention on controlling it. The last thing she wanted was to reduce half of Gryffindor Tower to slobbering idiots.

“This may be news to you, Miss Delacour, but I am in love.”

Any clever retort she could have come up with died in her throat the minute Harry’s finger reached her lower back.

“You must stop,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Why?”

“Y-You announce your intention to mate with me in front of everyone!”

“They don’t know,” Harry whispered. “Most of them can’t even see what I’m doing.” 

“Giving you those books was a mistake.”

“So you say,” Harry chuckled. “But you never ask me to return them.”

Fleur blushed and ducked her head to hide her face behind her platinum curls. 

Veela courting rituals were supposed to be conducted in private. If they were in the presence of her clan, the Matriarch would have censured them for their brazen disregard for decency and proper etiquette. But nobody in the castle understood what Harry was doing and there was something quite delightfully taboo about him announcing his intention to claim her to a roomful of unsuspecting people. 

The more she focused on Harry’s finger, the harder it became to control her Allure. By the time it neared the waistband of her skirt, her breathing was ragged, her legs were spread, and she was certain she would spontaneously combust.

“It’s getting late,” Fleur squeaked in a desperate attempt to stave off disaster. Her Allure was a coiled ball of tension in her belly, ready to explode. The pressure was unbearable. She needed to be in the safety of her bed before she lost control. 

“It is.”

“Can you escort me back to my carriage, sir?”

“It’s surely too late for that,” Harry murmured with a perfunctory glance at the window. The stars twinkled merrily in the cloudless night sky and light from the full moon covered the distant half of the Common Room with a pearly glow. “The grounds aren’t safe. Professor Dumbledore asked us to be careful. Spend the night here.”

“With you?”

“Well, there is only one bed,” Harry teased. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to tolerate my presence.”

Fleur considered his proposal. The last time she had spent the night with him, she’d woken up on top of him with his magnificent erection nestled between the lips of her womanhood. It had taken her a week to ensure that mental image didn’t dominate her thoughts every single moment she was awake. 

Harry’s finger pushed underneath her skirt. He reached her tailbone and pressed on it, completing the first half of the ritual. That was the only part they ever did but it was more than enough. Fleur gulped. Resisting him was a lost cause. 

“O-our clothes stay on, mon amour,” Fleur said with a shaky breath. “We need to concentrate on the Third Task.”

She had come to Britain to win the Tournament and make a name for herself. She refused to stumble this close to the finish line. More importantly, she needed to do everything in her power to make sure Harry got out of that maze unhurt, even if that meant making decisions that physically hurt.

She ignored the dull ache in her chest and stood, offering her hand to Harry. She helped him to his feet once he had grabbed it. 

“If you say so. Besides, nothing exciting in our relationship happens in bed. We leave that to broom closets,” Harry teased. He laced their fingers together and tugged on their enjoined hands, pulling her to the staircase that led to the Boys' Dormitories. 

Her blush deepened. She had carefully stored that cloak in her trunk, casting a preserving charm on the stains left by his seed. It smelled of him. She wondered if her seamstress back in Paris would make her an edible cloak so she could taste him as well.

Harry pulled her up the stairs to his dormitory, completely unfazed by the stares he was garnering. He’d taken Gabrielle’s advice and stopped caring about people’s interest in his relationship a long time ago. As the fiery Veela had pointed out, since there was no stopping gossip, the best thing one could do was give people something to gossip about. Even Skeeter’s articles about them barely bothered him anymore.

They opened the door, only for a loud moan to make them stop dead in their tracks. Seamus and Dean’s beds were empty and Neville was downstairs playing with his pet Mimbulus Mimbletonia which could only mean…

Harry rolled his eyes as he walked over to Ron’s space and poked the foot poking out through the drawn curtains.

“Oi!”

“I told you this wouldn’t work!” Ron groaned. The foot disappeared. 

“Sorry!” Lavender gasped breathlessly. “It looked really fun in the book!”

“Guys. Silencing charms, yeah? You also have a nice large bed. You don’t need to use the bit of the carpet right next to the curtains.”

“Sorry, Harry!” Lavender squeaked. 

“No worries.” Harry grabbed Fleur’s hand and pulled her to his bed. He managed to keep a straight face until he had drawn the curtains. Once he was certain the silencing charm had been engaged, he burst out laughing. 

“They are young and in love,” Fleur scolded. The effect of her glare was ruined by the faint smile on her face. “And they read it in a book,” she giggled.

“I think I’m reading the wrong kind of books. Maybe I should go to your sister and Lavender for reading material.” Harry shrugged off his cloak and carelessly tossed it over the ottoman in front of his dressing table. He took Fleur’s hand and led her to the ottoman, waiting for her to sit before he kneeled behind her. 

“If you think I’m doing anything that requires me to be on the floor when we have a perfectly nice bed right there-” Fleur nodded to Harry’s bed “-you’re out of your mind, mon amour.”

“I thought our clothes needed to stay on.” Harry’s nimble fingers made short work of ties securing Fleur’s blue cloak. It pooled around the legs of the stool. Harry moved to Fleur’s hair, carefully removing the pins that secured her curls in place. 

“There’s a lot we can do with our clothes on,” Fleur hummed. She closed her eyes and leaned back in Harry’s arms. “And the tournament won’t last forever.”

“That it won’t. I suppose I can survive until you beat me.” Harry dumped the pins on the dressing table, then stood and stretched. 

“Do you promise not to take it easy on me?”

“I promise,” Harry said solemnly. “Do you promise to tap out before you’re seriously hurt?”

“You know, I should be asking you to make that promise,” Fleur teased. She turned and winced as the sprain in her neck sent a current down her spine. Harry had finally stopped holding back in their duels. His raw talent more than compensated for her knowledge and experience. 

“I promise. Are you alright?”

“I think I hurt my neck trying to dodge your stinging hex in our last match,” Fleur replied, rubbing her neck tiredly. “Maybe I should go take a hot shower. I’m covered in bruises.”

“That’s a good idea. Take this.” Harry undid his tie and tossed it to her. “Tie it over your eyes. You have no idea what you’ll see out there.”

“Silly,” Fleur snorted. She hopped to her feet and kissed Harry’s cheek before slipping out through the curtains. She was back within seconds, giving Harry just enough time to take off his shirt. “Here, let me help you with that,” she murmured as she walked through the curtain and chanced on Harry struggling with his belt.

“No shower?”

“Seamus is in the bathroom.” Fleur lowered her voice and whispered conspiratorially, “he’s singing.”

Harry chuckled. 

“Why don’t I give you a massage?” Harry asked. He padded to his nightstand and picked up his wand, using it to retrieve a dirty sheet from his trunk and spread it over his bed. “That way you don’t have to go to bed sore.”

Fleur raised an eyebrow.

“Just a massage, I promise. You want me to concentrate on preparing for the Third Task, don’t you? How can I do that if I’m worried about you being in pain?”

“You are a wicked, wicked man,” Fleur smiled. Her nimble fingers undid the buttons of her blouse within seconds and she gracefully shrugged it off. Her skirt was next, leaving her in a white lacy lingerie set. 

“You might want to take that off too. I know it’s your favorite set and I don’t want it to get ruined,” Harry said, holding up the vial he had pulled out from his trunk.

“I’m not-” Fleur narrowed her eyes. “What is that?”

“Part of the Christmas gift from Gabby. Heated, scented massage oil. It’ll help you relax.”

“You need to spend less time with my sister. You’re picking up on her bad habits,” Fleur grumbled. But she went ahead and slipped out of the lingerie, carefully placing the set on the dresser. He had claimed her and she had allowed him to do so. Obeying was second nature to her now. 

Three days, she reminded herself. She only had to hold out for three tortuous days. A Veela’s Allure affected men in strange ways and she had no desire to expose him to the power she had the potential to unleash if they made love before the tournament was over. 

She climbed onto the bed and laid on her belly, her legs clamped firmly together. 

“I am closed for business, monsieur,” she declared, her voice muffled by the pillow. 

“Damn,” Harry huffed. “I was hoping for a little treat.”

“No treats!”

Harry chuckled and climbed onto the bed. The mattress creaked under his weight as he crawled across it and climbed on top of Fleur, straddling her waist.

Fleur planted her face firmly in the pillow to stifle the needy whimper building in her throat.

“You allowed me to claim you,” Harry observed. He uncorked the vial and slowly dribbled the warm jasmine-scented oil onto Fleur’s back. 

“Your choice of location was a bit suspect but was there any doubt I would reject it, Harry Potter?” Fleur asked, her heart thumping in her chest. Her palms, nay, her entire body was uncomfortably warm. “I burn for you. I dream of you when I sleep and look for you when I am awake. I am yours even if you did not wish to claim me.”

“But I do.”

“Then I am yours in thought and action,” Fleur sighed. Harry’s strong hands moved from her neck to her shoulders and then to her back, carefully working out the tension in her muscles as he massaged the oil into her supple skin.

“Not until the courtship ritual is complete. A man wishing to claim a Veela as his mate must trace her tree of life-”

“You did that. Right there in the Common Room, in full view of everyone,” Fleur pointed out nervously.

“And taste her nectar,” Harry finished. “Will you offer it to me, Fleur Delacour?”

It took her a minute but she finally worked up the courage to wordlessly spread her legs. She could not have timed it better, for Harry’s hands were on the swell of her ass and he was perfectly situated to admire the hint of pink that peeked through the glistening petals guarding her core.

Harry’s gasp brought her crashing back to reality.

“Is it unpleasant? Different from other women? I haven’t had the opportunity to compare myself with others-”

Harry silenced her with a kiss. An unbridled moan escaped her lips as Harry’s mouth made contact with her hot, wet core. His hands were on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. She was trapped in place. Her hands flailed until they latched onto the headboard for support. Her nails dug into the wood, leaving thin, white scratches on the light brown wood. 

“H-Harry!”

The tension in her belly kept building with every lazy stroke of his tongue. He used it to trace her puffy lips before pushing deep inside her pussy. He caressed her wet walls with languid strokes, lapping up her arousal. 

“Please! Harry!”

Harry refused to acknowledge her desperate pleas. He kept going deeper and deeper, his tongue darting in and out of her pussy like a viper savoring its prey. 

The tightness in her chest grew and the knotted ball of power she had kept suppressed for years finally came undone. 

“Harry!” A strangled shriek escaped her lips. “I - can’t - control - my -”

Her Allure exploded in a shockwave that rattled the curtains around their bed as she came. Harry kept lapping away without a concern in the world. Her arousal gushed out of her, coating his tongue and lips and dribbling down his chin onto the old sheet covering the bed. Her grip on the headboard loosened. Her arms lifelessly dropped by her sides, lacking the strength to hold on any longer.

Harry pulled away. He ignored her protests and gently flipped her over, grabbing her chin to make sure she couldn’t look away.

“You don’t distract me. You don’t weaken me,” he growled, breathing heavily. His emerald eyes were darkened with lust and a promise of something more. A primal yearning that transcended base sexual desire. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” Fleur said hoarsely. 

Harry grinned and leaned in and pecked her lips. She could taste herself on him. She wanted to ask how she tasted to him but couldn’t work up the courage.

So she retreated to safer waters.

“How do you feel?”

“Fantastic,” Harry grinned. He trapped his lower lip in his mouth and sucked the arousal clinging to it. “You?” 

“Fantastic,” Fleur echoed shyly. She waited for Harry to lie down before wriggling over to him and nuzzling against his chest.

                                                                                      ---

Harry slipped out of bed, taking care to ensure he didn’t wake his girlfriend. Fleur was on her belly, a faint smile playing on her lips as she snored cutely. Her hair was arranged like a halo around her head on the pillow with a few curls running down her bare back. Harry leaned over and pulled the blanket to cover Fleur’s legs and bare ass. Fleur mumbled and buried her face deeper in the pillow. He grabbed his shirt from the dressing table and buttoned it up quickly. Once he had confirmed his wand was still in his pocket, he retrieved his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk and wrapped it around his shoulders.

Harry smiled and slipped through the curtains before Fleur’s perfection tempted him back to bed. He was inexplicably restless and full of energy. Staying in bed would only ensure that Fleur didn’t get any sleep. He needed a walk to clear his head. 

Harry crossed the dormitory silently. Everyone was asleep. He smiled as he spied Lavender cuddling Ron through a crack in the curtains. He, Ron, and Hermione had all found love in the most unexpected of places. It did mean less time for each other but he was glad they’d all found true happiness.

That’s just part of growing up, he reminded himself. He slipped out of the dormitory and silently closed the door behind him. The Common Room was deserted, with only the dying embers in the fireplace and the moonlight streaming through the open windows providing any illumination. He considered pacing around the Common Room to work off some steam but the prospect of being interrupted by someone was unwelcome. He wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. All he wanted was a quiet walk so he could focus on the memories of Fleur’s angelic beauty. 

The Fat Lady was fast asleep when he exited the Common Room into the dark and drafty hallway. Most of the torches had gone out and the flames in the ones that remained lit struggled against the wind blowing through the corridor. 

Harry walked aimlessly from floor to floor. He had no specific task or purpose and he didn’t have the Marauder’s Map to see who else was out and about. He wondered if Professor Moody had made any progress in catching the murderer lurking in the castle. He knew he needed to be careful but a nagging feeling deep within him told him that Voldemort didn’t want him dead. Not yet. 

The tasks in the Triwizard Tournament had been too easy. Everything had happened at exactly the right time for him to chalk it down to sheer coincidence. If Voldemort’s hidden follower had wanted to kill him, a task was the most obvious time to do it. So he wandered fearlessly through the hallways until he chanced upon a window that afforded him a clear view of the maze. 

He stared at it, lost in his thoughts until a voice broke him free of his reverie. 

“A magnificent achievement is it not? A good thing Professors Hooch and McGonagall are eager to have their Quidditch pitch back or I’d never get around to getting rid of it,” Dumbledore said. He walked over to stand next to Harry and turned to look at his pupil, his electric blue eyes twinkling merrily. 

“You want to keep it?” 

“I think it adds a certain panache that our grounds sorely need.”

“I’d much rather have my Quidditch pitch back, professor,” Harry grinned.

He didn’t question the man’s presence. The Headmaster was probably the only man who enjoyed roaming the castle at night more than he did. What he did want to know-

“How did you see me? Do your eyes work the same way as Professor Moody’s fake eye?” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

“They do not,” Dumbledore chuckled. “Why do you ask, Harry?”

“They’re the same color and he could see me when I was under the cloak too. I presumed both of you used the same charm on your eyes.”

“Unfortunately, Alastor’s fake eye is much more able than my eyes when it comes to spotting hidden dangers. I just have a connection with your cloak.” Dumbledore’s left hand disappeared under his cloak and he pulled out his wand. “Powerful artifacts are drawn to each other, Harry.”

“Your wand and my cloak are connected? Is that how you see me when I’m under my cloak?”

“They are connected in a way, yes. But I do not need it to see you when you neglect to cover your head with your cloak, Harry. A disembodied head is hard to miss. This was the same mistake that often got your father in trouble with Mr. Filch,” Dumbledore said with a sad smile. “But surely we have more interesting things to talk about than the history of magical artifacts.”

“How is Mr. Crouch?”

“You do not wish to talk about the Third Task?”

“It’s pretty straightforward. I’ve been training with Fleur, I think I’ll be alright.”

Dumbledore nodded but his expression was grave. 

“Things that seem to be deceptively simple are often more dangerous than they appear, Harry,” Dumbledore murmured. “You cannot let your guard down. Miss Delacour needs to be careful as well.”

“Yes, professor,” Harry frowned. Why had the Headmaster lumped them together? Was Fleur at risk of being harmed just because of her relationship with him? “Professor, about Fleur-”

“I understand the impulse to pull away from her but that would be a grave mistake, Harry. Doing so will not make her safer. Giving up on love does no one any good. You bring up Barty… well, he is a prime example of what happens to a man who has lost everything he holds dear.”

“What do you mean, professor? Is this related to the attempt on his life?”

If he had learned one thing from his time around Veela, it was that there was nothing more dangerous than a scorned woman. 

“Maybe.” Dumbledore stroked his silvery beard thoughtfully. “I keep stumbling in the dark. I can feel the edges of the puzzle but there is a key piece missing.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Harry said with quiet confidence. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Dumbledore chuckled. “Barty is still incoherent. His mind is shattered but the mind healers at Mungo’s are confident they can heal him. Without the ability to question him there is little I can do.”

“Do you think the person who tried to kill him is the same person who put my name in the Goblet?”

“If that is the case, I have to wonder why they put your name in the Goblet. I have kept a close watch on you during your tasks. You were in danger but there were no overt attempts made on your life. The subtlety shown by the person who put your name in the Goblet is at odds with the rather crass attempt on Barty’s life. They do not appear to be the actions of the same person.”

“Maybe Voldemort has two spies in the castle?”

“A disturbing prospect.” Dumbledore pulled away from the window and sighed. “But you must put the matter out of your mind and concentrate on the Third Task. For all we know, the killer might have decided to wait until you are in the maze to strike. You will be surrounded by dangers and far from those who might help you. After all, you and Miss Delacour will enter the maze at different times. No one, not even the judges will know what is going on in the maze until the victor emerges from within with the Triwizard Cup.”

“What if one of the champions is in serious danger?!”

“Professors McGonagall and Snape… not, not Snape. Alastor suggested it would be better if he were to take Severus’ place last night and I agreed. Minerva and Alastor will be patrolling outside the maze, ready to intervene if necessary.”

“Wouldn’t patrolling be difficult for Professor Moody? You know, because of his leg?” Harry asked with a frown. He had seen the man struggling to walk the past few weeks. The wooden peg on his left leg didn’t seem to fit him properly anymore. He also wasn’t sure who was worse, Moody or Snape. Snape hated him and would probably be happy to see him get devoured by the Skrewt but Moody saw danger everywhere and was just as likely to kill him as he was to help him. “Why did he volunteer?”

“Why indeed. He hasn’t shown any interest in investigating the attempt on Barty’s life either, which is most unlike him. The fact that he has also started to wear a warded amulet when he’s already an accomplished Occlumens… none of this makes sense,” Dumbledore sighed. “Let me worry about the going ons in the castle, Harry. You need to concentrate on that.” Dumbledore pointed at the maze. “Better get to bed before someone catches you.” 

“Yes, professor.” 

Harry pulled away from the window. He slowly made his back up to Gryffindor Tower, lost in thought. 

Professor Dumbledore was right. They were missing a crucial piece of the puzzle and he could only hope they figured it out before it was too late.

Notes:

The powers that be, the white coats, the smart-uns, have figured out what's going on with me. Something something bad lungs, something something take inhaler to feel better. The good news is that my writing brain is working now that I don't have to listen to the sound of my cough (god, it's dreadful, wouldn't wish it on anyone) and I have more delicious Flowerpot for you. Surely you have missed these idiots in love? Which other ships have been on your mind lately? Miss any of mine? PS. The next update on Tuesday involves everyone's favorite bookworm!