Champions

Point, counterpoint

Fleur woke the following morning to the wonderful warmth of Harry's body pressed up against her. They were facing each other, his head pillowed against her chest as he slept, their arms wrapped around each other and their legs tangled up together. All told, she felt like she had lost a Muggle game of Twister.

As she looked upon his face, she noted the lack of worry he exhibited as he slept. He was almost always tense during the day – either because he was nervous by default in social settings, or because something important was preying on his mind – but right now he was completely at peace. It reminded her pleasantly of the morning after her father told him of his predicament.

Harry did not know it yet, but the photo of him and Gabrielle sleeping on the couch together was already perched on the mantel at home.

A warm smile came over her as she continued to observe him, and she could not resist the urge to pet. His hair, though permanently messy as they found out during the wedding preparations, was soft as silk, and she loved the feel of it. Even better, he loved it when she played with it, so it worked out perfectly for both of them.

It was only unfortunate that he was not yet comfortable enough in their relationship that he would do the same to her. She felt that it would come eventually, but it would take time. He had many deep-seated fears to work through first, and hopefully seeing a mind healer over the summer would help somewhat with that.

He shifted slightly under her hand a few minutes later, and his eyes finally fluttered open. She could see his confusion: this was his first night with her at school, and he was quite surprised to find himself there. It cleared quickly enough, though, and her favorite smile appeared.

"Morning," he rasped.

"Bonjour," she smiled, kissing his forehead.

Harry stared up into her eyes for a long moment before his hand found its way to her face, the tips of his fingers cautiously probing, lightly touching her cheek. Morning time, before he was completely awake, was the most vulnerable she had ever seen him, or probably ever would. He had not yet had time to raise his usual barriers, and with nothing to interrupt and force them up, he was an open book.

"I could get used to this," he whispered quietly, his voice still gravelly with sleep. "I think–" He paused and swallowed thickly. And in a quieter whisper, he added, "I think I'm falling in love with you."

Fleur's breath caught. That was no small admission, and it came straight from his heart. True, he was still half in dreamland and barely aware of what he was saying, but that he said it at all was astounding. He was not one to be loose with his emotions, or to speak such profound words when he did not mean them.

A happy tear came to her eye, and she smiled warmly down at him. "Je t'aime aussi, ma chérie," she whispered back.

Fleur scooted down and kissed him, and as he woke more fully, it soon devolved into tender, tentative lovemaking. He was still very nervous about physical intimacy – he would not initiate, and she doubted that he would for a long while yet – but she would take what he gave. And what he gave was so full of emotion that she really couldn't care less if it never changed.

They rested for perhaps half an hour after that, but unfortunately they had school today, and both had skipped the previous day in the wake of Dumbledore's interference in their lives. They needed to get up, but she did not want to move. His presence was a comfort that she could easily grow accustomed to.

"It's time," he finally sighed. "I really wish we didn't have to go."

"Oui," she replied in a husky voice, "but there is always tonight, mon amour."