Champions

The breakdown

After seeing her father off, Fleur wasted no time in tracking down Harry and Hermione. She found them sitting side by side on what she thought of as his favorite rock down by the lake. Harry had his knees drawn up to his chest, with his chin resting on them, and Hermione was talking softly to him, though it did not look like she was making any progress.

She approached them slowly, not wanting to startle them, even as she worried over what to do. It was well known to his friends that Harry was extremely reticent when it came to his problems, and she doubted that it would be any different where she was concerned. After all, why should he tell her, when he would not even talk to Hermione?

But then, she was about to marry him, and this would likely be her responsibility for a long time to come; she supposed she had better get used to it.

Hermione looked up at her as she hauled herself up on the rock, and she paused for a moment, considering what she should do. In the end, however, the decision was easy to make: yes, Hermione was his best friend, but Fleur was to be his wife. Some things were private, and while she did not know him well enough to say with any certainty, she felt that this was one of those things that he would not want to share.

And so she smiled apologetically at the girl. "Will you please excuse us, 'ermione?" she requested quietly, trying to convey her thanks for the girl's efforts with her eyes.

She was relieved when Hermione smiled an understanding smile at her. "Take care of him, Fleur," she said quietly.

Fleur nodded, and she stood there for a few moments, watching as Hermione made her way back to the castle. Then, turning back to Harry, she examined him more closely – and did not like what she saw. He had not reacted at all to her presence – or to Hermione's departure – and that was not a good sign.

He was tense, his muscles taut, and had an unnatural stillness about him. His eyes had drifted shut at some point in the last few minutes, though she did not know whether that was a good thing or not. The look on his face was one of despair.

Realizing that talking to him would not get her anywhere – yet – she instead sat down beside him, occupying the spot that Hermione had just vacated. Cautiously, she leaned up against him and put her arm around him, hoping to wordlessly convey her support. It was a relief when he did not flinch away from her; she almost expected that the contact would not be welcome.

Silence reigned for a long while, and she watched worriedly as his expression morphed further into desperation. She could see the signs of his internal struggle in the way his eyes were screwed tightly shut, and the way the lines of his forehead deepened with each passing moment. It was not long before a single tear ran down his cheek, and it was then that Fleur realized what was happening.

He was fighting for control of himself, and losing badly.

She knew from her father that the Dursleys did not allow him to show his emotions; it always earned him a beating. He spent his years in that house learning to suppress them, and she suspected that it was finally catching up to him. After everything that had happened in the past two weeks, this was hardly a surprise.

Harry stiffened when she removed her arm from his shoulders, almost as though he expected her to leave, but she had no such intention. Instead she turned around to face him and carefully maneuvered him so that she could pull him close, gently cradling his head against her chest. And that was all it took to push him over the edge.

He choked back a quiet sob, and his tears began to flow more freely.

Fleur said nothing, and merely held him as the dam finally burst. Thirteen years of pent up tears finally boiled over, and he could do nothing to stop them. She doubted that he had ever cried like this before; from her father's description, even broken limbs did not elicit a tear from him. He had bottled it all up, and could no longer hold it inside.