Chapter 29
"So you're telling me you beat everyone without breaking a sweat?" Calum leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised skeptically. "Sounds like proper bollocks to me."
Harry rolled his eyes, reaching for another biscuit from the tea tray. "I didn't say it was that easy. Just said we won."
"Right, but according to Mum, you demolished the competition." Calum's grin widened. "Even took down some much older students like they were nothing. That's got to feel good."
"It felt surreal more than anything," Harry admitted. "One moment we're first years trying to figure out basic dueling stances, next we're representing Britain at the European Championships."
They were all gathered in the Greengrass Manor's sitting room, the late afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows. The space was elegant without being ostentatious, much like the family that owned it.
Rose beamed from her spot on the settee next to Stuart. "We're incredibly proud of you both."
Daphne smiled, sitting close to Harry on the loveseat. She was wearing a simple blue summer dress that, in Harry's humble opinion, looked like the sexiest piece of clothing ever, which was basically everything she wore. She looked perfectly relaxed and comfortable beside him.
"It's been overwhelming. The attention, the expectations, all of it."
"But you're handling it brilliantly," Evelyn said warmly. She sat beside her husband Gareth, who'd been quieter than usual since everyone had arrived. "Both of you are."
Astoria, perched on the arm of her parents' sofa, stared at Harry with undisguised curiosity. "So what's it like? Dueling at that level, I mean. Is it scary?"
"Sometimes," Harry replied honestly. "But the training helps. You learn to trust your instincts, adapt quickly."
"And having a partner you trust completely makes all the difference," Daphne added, her hand finding Harry's.
Calum made a gagging sound. "Christ, you two are sickeningly sweet together. How long have you been dating now?"
"Almost a year," Daphne said primly.
"Almost a year and still making googly eyes at each other. Tragic, really." Calum said teasingly, although his eyes held genuine warmth as he gazed at them. "But then I guess if you're going to be stuck with someone at a fancy French estate for three weeks, might as well be someone you can stand."
"The Flamels' estate," Andromeda interjected from where she sat with Ted near the fireplace. "I still can't quite believe Nicolas Flamel personally invited you both to study with him. Do you understand how extraordinary that is?"
"We're starting to," Harry said. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned Flamel doesn't take students often. Actually, he said Dumbledore himself was one of the last people Flamel agreed to teach."
Stuart whistled low. "That would've been what, over a century ago? Flamel's standards for accepting students must be incredibly high."
"Which makes your invitation all the more impressive," Gareth spoke up, his voice measured. "Nicolas Flamel isn't just the world's foremost alchemist. He's one of the most accomplished wizards in history. If he's interested in teaching you both, it means he sees potential worth cultivating."
"No pressure though," Calum deadpanned. "Just the greatest magical mind in existence deciding you're worth his time. Totally casual."
"What will you be studying?" Evelyn asked, leaning forward with interest. "I know alchemy is his specialty, but surely there's more to it than that?"
"According to his letter, we'll be covering advanced magical theory, wandless magic, and yes, some introductory alchemy," Daphne explained. "But he also mentioned something about understanding magic at its most fundamental level. How it interacts with the world, with living things, with reality itself."
"Heavy stuff," Stuart observed. "Sounds more like philosophy than spellcasting."
"The best magic often is," Andromeda said softly. "True mastery comes from understanding not just how to cast a spell, but why it works. What makes magic possible in the first place."
Astoria's eyes had gone wide. "That sounds absolutely brilliant. I wish I could learn things like that."
"You will," Daphne assured her sister. "Once you're at Hogwarts, you'll have plenty of opportunities to explore advanced magic."
"Not the same as studying with Nicolas Flamel though, is it?" Astoria's tone held a hint of envy. "You two get all the exciting opportunities."
"We also get all the terrifying responsibilities," Harry pointed out. "The Championships aren't exactly a holiday. We'll be competing against the best young duelists in Europe."
"You'll be fine," Calum said confidently. "From what Mum's told me about your training with that Moody bloke, you've been preparing for months. Plus, you've got each other." He paused, then added with a wicked grin, "Though if you do lose horribly, at least you'll have each other to recover your wounded pride."
"Calum," Rose chided fondly.
"What? I'm being supportive!"
The afternoon drifted into early evening as they talked and laughed, the conversation flowing easily between tournament speculation, summer plans, and some good-natured teasing. Calum proved especially skillful at needling both Harry and Daphne, and Astoria also gave as good as she got when it came to embarrassing her older sister.
"Remember when Daphne tried to brew a beautification potion in her room a few summers ago?" Astoria said innocently. "And it exploded all over her?"
Daphne's cheeks flushed. "That was one time, and the instructions were unclear."
"You had purple spots for three days," Astoria continued mercilessly. "Mum had to call in a specialist to fix it."
"At least I didn't accidentally transfigure my homework into a flock of origami birds that attacked the poor cat," Daphne shot back.
"That was an accident!"
"Oh, it was, was it?" Daphne's smile was wicked. "Because you seemed pretty pleased with yourself when Mum praised you for creative spell application."
Harry and Calum exchanged amused glances as the sisters bickered playfully.
"They always like this?" Calum asked.
"Looks like it," Harry replied. "Daphne tells me she usually wins."
"Oi!" Astoria protested. "I win plenty of our arguments."
"Name one," Daphne challenged.
"That time I convinced you to let me borrow your blue dress for—" Astoria stopped abruptly. "Never mind."
Daphne's smile turned sly, but she said nothing.
Andromeda cleared her throat gently.
"Perhaps we should discuss the other matter while we have everyone together?" she suggested, her tone becoming more businesslike.
The mood in the room changed subtly. Rose and Stuart sat up straighter, and Gareth's expression grew more serious. Evelyn glanced over to where Harry and Daphne sat together.
"Right," Ted said, reaching for his briefcase. "The betrothal contract."
"So this is really happening, huh?" Calum looked between Harry and Daphne with a small smile.
"It's important," Gareth said quietly. "Given the circumstances."
Andromeda pulled out several documents, spreading them on the low table between the seats. "We've drafted a standard betrothal contract with several specific provisions to protect both parties. The primary purpose, as we discussed previously, is to establish the Potter-Greengrass union as the primary marriage should Harry be unable to nullify the Black family contract."
"And if he can nullify it?" Rose asked.
"Then the betrothal stands as a formal agreement between the families, to be fulfilled when both parties complete their education," Ted explained. "Either way, it protects their relationship and ensures Daphne's position."
Stuart leaned forward, studying the documents. "These provisions about property and inheritance seem standard enough. What about the timeline? When would the actual marriage take place?"
"That's flexible," Andromeda replied. "The contract specifies completion of magical education as a minimum requirement, but the exact timing would be determined by Harry and Daphne themselves."
"So nothing immediate," Rose said.
"God no," Harry said quickly. "We're nineteen. We're not getting married until we're actually ready for that."
"Though we are committed to each other," Daphne added, squeezing his hand. "This just makes it official in the eyes of magical law."
Calum shook his head slowly. "This is mental. I mean, I knew the magical world had some archaic customs, but betrothal contracts? That's properly medieval."
"Welcome to pureblood society," Daphne said dryly. "Where everything is unnecessarily complicated and bound by ancient traditions."
"The alternative is letting the Black family contract take precedence," Gareth said, his voice hard. "Which would mean Daphne becoming a secondary wife, subordinate to whoever Harry would be forced to marry through that contract. This way, at least she has equal standing, protection, and legal recognition."
"It's not ideal," Harry acknowledged. "But it's the best option we have right now."
Astoria had been quiet during this exchange, but now she spoke up. "This is because of that whole lordship thing, right? The one where you inherited from the Blacks?"
"More or less," Harry confirmed. "Accepting the Black heirship came with obligations I didn't know about initially. This is us dealing with the consequences and trying to protect what matters most."
Ted tapped one of the documents. "The contract also includes provisions for mutual consent. Either party can request modifications or delays, provided both families agree. It's not a trap or a cage."
"Just a very formal, legally binding agreement that our children are committed to marrying each other," Stuart summarized wryly. "No pressure there."
"We've had months to think about this," Daphne said firmly. "Harry and I both want this. The circumstances might not be ideal, but our feelings are genuine."
Evelyn smiled softly. "That much is obvious to anyone who spends five minutes watching you two together."
"Right then," Andromeda said, straightening the documents. "If everyone's in agreement, we just need signatures from the heads of both families, plus witnesses."
Gareth reached for a quill, then paused. He looked at Harry for a long moment. "Take care of her."
"Always," Harry promised without hesitation.
Gareth nodded and signed, Evelyn following suit. Rose and Stuart added their signatures as heads of the Wilson household, Harry's magical guardians. Ted and Andromeda witnessed and sealed the documents with their wands, the parchment glowing briefly as the magical contract took effect.
"Well," Calum said into the silence that followed. "That's done then. My cousin's officially engaged. This is weird."
"Betrothed," Daphne corrected. "There's a difference."
"Is there though? You're both locked in now. Might as well start planning the wedding."
"Calum," Rose warned.
"What? I'm just saying what everyone's thinking." He looked at Harry with exaggerated seriousness. "So when do I get to be best man? I assume that's automatic since I'm clearly your favorite relative."
"You're my only cousin," Harry pointed out.
"Exactly. No competition. I win by default."
"You're not even magical," Astoria interjected. "Can you be best man at a magical wedding?"
Calum turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "That feels discriminatory. Just because I can't cast spells doesn't mean I can't support my cousin on his big day."
"I didn't mean it like that," Astoria said quickly, her cheeks coloring slightly. "I just meant, wouldn't there be magical responsibilities or something?"
"Probably," Calum agreed easily. "But I'm sure we can work around it. I'm very adaptable." He flashed her a grin. "Plus, someone needs to provide the non-magical perspective. Keep things grounded."
"That's actually not a terrible point," Astoria admitted.
"See? You get it." Calum's grin widened.
Astoria looked flustered, opening her mouth to respond, but the house elf popped in at that moment to announce dinner was ready.
The meal was relaxed and cheerful, the earlier formality forgotten. Conversation flowed easily, with Calum keeping up a running commentary that had everyone chuckling, and even Gareth seemed more at ease as the evening progressed.
"So what's Hogwarts actually like?" Calum asked as they ate. "You've told me stories from the journal, but I want your live perspective. Is it really as mad as it sounds?"
"Depends on your definition of mad," Harry replied. "There are moving staircases, talking portraits, and ghosts floating through walls. Pretty standard really."
"Don't forget the giant squid in the lake," Daphne added. "And Peeves."
"Who's Peeves?"
"A poltergeist who lives to make everyone's life difficult," Daphne explained. "He's been at Hogwarts for centuries, apparently. No one's been able to get rid of him."
Astoria leaned forward eagerly. "Is it true there are secret passages all over the castle?"
"Loads of them," Harry confirmed. "We've found a few ourselves. The castle is absolutely massive. You could spend years there and still discover new rooms and corridors."
"That sounds amazing," Astoria breathed.
"It is," Daphne assured her. "You'll love it there. Though fair warning, the stairs really do move sometimes. You learn to give yourself extra time to get to class."
"And some of the portraits are proper gossips," Harry added. "They know everything that happens in the castle and love sharing it."
"Speaking of gossip," Calum interjected, looking between Harry and Daphne with barely suppressed mirth. "What's the school's reaction to you two being an item? I imagine that causes some talk."
"Some," Daphne admitted. "But most people have gotten used to it by now."
"We try to keep things relatively private," Harry said. "Not that we're hiding anything, just that we don't need everyone knowing our business."
Calum snorted. "Mate, you qualified for international dueling tournaments together and just signed a betrothal contract. I think your business is pretty public at this point."
"Fair," Harry conceded.
After dinner, they moved back to the sitting room. Calum engaged Gareth in conversation about non-magical sports, which led to a spirited debate about the relative merits of football versus rugby that had Astoria and Stuart joining in enthusiastically.
Eventually, Rose glanced at her watch and sighed. "We should probably head out. It's getting late and we've got an early start tomorrow."
"Are you sure you can't stay longer?" Evelyn asked. "We've plenty of room."
"We appreciate it, but we've got commitments back home," Stuart said apologetically. "But this has been lovely. Thank you for having us."
Goodbyes were exchanged with promises to stay in touch and wishes for safe travels. Andromeda and Ted departed as well, reminding Harry and Daphne they were available if any questions arose about the contract or anything else.
Harry walked with his family to the portkey area where Rose pulled him into a tight hug.
"I'm proud of you," she murmured. "Your mum would be too."
"Thanks, Aunt Rosie." Harry hugged her back, then shook Stuart's hand.
Calum clapped him on the shoulder. "Try not to embarrass Britain too badly at the Championships, yeah?"
"I'll do my best."
"And seriously, good luck in France. Learn everything you can from that Flamel bloke. Those opportunities don't come around often."
"I know." Harry smiled. "Thanks for coming today."
"Course. What are cousins for?" Calum's expression turned sly. "Besides, I had to meet the girl who convinced you to sign your life away. She must be something special."
"She is."
"Yeah, I can see that." Calum glanced back toward where Daphne was approaching with her family. His eyes flickered over to Astoria for a moment, their eyes meeting, and they shared a small smile. He turned back to Harry once again. "You're lucky, you know. Most people don't find that kind of connection."
"I know," Harry said quietly. "Believe me, I know."
One by one, they stepped forward, grabbing hold of the small rope that would take them back home. Harry rejoined Daphne just as they vanished.
Gareth and Evelyn excused themselves to their study to handle some correspondence, leaving Harry and Daphne alone with Astoria.
"Right, I'm off to bed," Astoria announced, stretching. "Long day."
She turned to leave, but Daphne's hand shot out, catching her sister's wrist.
"Not so fast."
Astoria turned back, eyebrows raised curiously. "What?"
"Don't 'what' me." Daphne said with a knowing smile. "You were chatting quite a bit with Calum today."
"Was I? Hadn't noticed really." Astoria replied flippantly, her cheeks pinking. Neither Harry not Daphne missed it, and they exchanged an amused glance.
"Hadn't noticed," Daphne repeated dryly. "You, who notices everything, hadn't noticed spending half the afternoon talking to Harry's cousin."
"I was just being polite to a guest." Astoria tried to pull away, but Daphne held firm.
"Uh-huh. And that bit where you two were debating the merits of Muggle literature versus magical texts for twenty minutes? That was just politeness?"
"It was an interesting conversation topic," Astoria said primly. "He's surprisingly well-read for someone who doesn't attend Hogwarts."
"Surprisingly well-read," Harry snorted.
Daphne's grin widened. "How fascinating. And here I thought you found non-magical people boring."
"I never said that."
"You strongly implied it. Multiple times."
Astoria's blush deepened. "Calum's different. He's actually intelligent and has interesting perspectives on things. Plus, he's funny."
"Oh, he's funny now? My, my, Tori. This is quite the character development."
"You're reading too much into this," Astoria insisted, finally managing to extract her wrist from Daphne's grip. "We just had some nice conversations. That's all."
"If you say so." Daphne's tone made it clear she didn't believe a word of it.
"I do say so." Astoria lifted her chin. "Goodnight, Daphne. Harry."
She swept from the room with as much dignity as she could muster, which was rather undermined by the speed of her departure. Daphne watched her go, smirking.
"She's absolutely smitten," she declared once Astoria was out of earshot.
"Sure you're not looking too much into this?" Harry asked with a chuckle. "I mean, they only met today."
"And?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. "Didn't we start fancying each other, even if a little bit, the day we first met?"
"Well, when you put it like that…" Harry smiled. "Still, I didn't notice them getting that cozy with each other."
"Of course you didn't. You can be a bit oblivious about these things." Daphne settled back against him. "But trust me, there was definitely something there. The way she kept looking at him, how animated she got during their conversations. And did you see how flustered she got when he complimented her?"
"You're having too much fun with this, aren't you?" Harry asked teasingly.
"You bet I am," she grinned, pressing her lips against his.
Meanwhile, the Wilsons had arrived in a secluded clearing not far away from their home and were making their way through Muggle London.
"So," Stuart said casually as they walked. "You and Astoria seemed to get on well."
Calum didn't look at him. "She's nice enough. Smart too."
"Uh-huh. That why you spent half the day talking to her?"
"We had interesting conversations," Calum said defensively. "She's actually got opinions on things beyond what's the latest fashion or celebrity gossip. Makes a change from some of the girls I meet."
"She's eighteen," Rose pointed out gently.
"So? I'm nineteen. That's hardly a massive age gap." Calum shoved his hands in his pockets. "Not that it matters. She's magical, I'm not. Bit of a fundamental incompatibility there."
"That didn't stop me and your dad," Rose said softly.
"Yeah, but you're actually magical, Mum. You just can't use it. I literally have zero magical ability whatsoever." Calum's tone was matter-of-fact rather than bitter. "Can't exactly date a witch when I can't even see half the world she lives in."
"True enough," Stuart agreed. "Though for what it's worth, I don't think Astoria cares about that as much as you might think."
Calum shot him a look. "And how would you know?"
"Because I was paying attention while you two were deep in discussion about whether Shakespeare would've made a good wizard." Stuart grinned. "She was definitely interested, lad."
"You're seeing things."
"Am I? Because I'm pretty sure she blushed when you called her clever."
"That's just— she was probably warm or something."
"Right." Stuart's grin widened. "Face it, Calum. You fancy Daphne's little sister."
"I barely know her!"
"Doesn't mean you don't fancy her."
"You're being ridiculous," Calum muttered.
"If you say so. Though when you're writing letters to her next month, I want full credit for calling it now."
"I'm not going to write to her."
"Sure you aren't."
"I'm not!"
"Whatever you say, Cal." Rose interjected finally, chuckling. "Though if you did want to write to her, I'm sure Harry would probably arrange for owl post delivery. You know, since you're non-magical and all."
"Shut up, Mum."
"I'm sure he'd love to help his dear cousin navigate the complexities of magical romance."
"He's my only cousin, and he's terrible at this."
"And yet he's the one who's betrothed to a beautiful, brilliant witch. So clearly he's doing something right."
"That's— that doesn't— oh, sod off."
Rose chuckled, linking her arm through Stuart's. "You'll learn soon enough, Cal."
"He'll get it soon," Stuart agreed, watching his son kick a pebble as they walked. "Good for both of them, I think."
XXXXX
Three hours later, Harry and Daphne found themselves back in France, ready to spend three weeks learning from some of the greatest minds the world had ever known.
"Ah, our young champions arrive," Nicolas said warmly, rising to greet them. "Congratulations on your victories at the qualifying tournament. Most impressive."
"Thank you for having us," Daphne said respectfully.
"Polite as always," Perenelle smiled, gesturing for them to sit. "Come, we have much to discuss."
They settled at the table, accepting tea and the pastries.
"Your letters have been fascinating reading," Nicolas continued. "Particularly your questions about advanced magical theory and the nature of spell construction. You've clearly moved beyond rote learning into genuine understanding."
"It's an interest we developed quite early on," Harry said. "To think about why spells work, not just how to cast them."
"A practical way of thinking." Nicolas's eyes twinkled. "Always preserve your curiosity and dedication. They'd take you a long way ahead."
"Speaking of advancement," Perenelle interjected, "Albus mentioned in his last letter that you've both begun work on becoming Animagi. Is that true?"
"We can transform," Daphne confirmed. "Instinctual transformations are still beyond us, but we're getting closer."
"At your age, that's remarkable progress," Perenelle said approvingly. "Animagus transformation is considered risky and advanced for good reason. It requires not just technical skill but genuine emotional depth and self-awareness."
"Which brings us to one of the primary focuses for your time here," Nicolas said, his tone becoming more serious. "Advanced Occlumency."
Harry and Daphne exchanged glances.
"We've done some work on mental defenses," Harry said carefully. "Shielding techniques, organizing our thoughts."
"That's a start, but not sufficient," Perenelle said calmly. "Not for what you may face in the future. True Occlumency isn't just about keeping others out of your mind. It's about understanding your own mind so thoroughly that you can shape and control it at will."
"When I took Albus as my student," Nicolas continued, leaning back in his chair, "the first thing I insisted upon was mastering Occlumency before we progressed to anything else. He was frustrated by the delay, eager to learn alchemy and advanced magic. But I was immovable on this point."
"Why?" Daphne asked. "I understand mental defenses are important, but why make it a prerequisite for everything else?"
"Because advanced magic requires you to interact with forces and energies that can influence your mind in subtle ways," Perenelle explained. "Alchemy particularly so. You're dealing with fundamental transformations of matter and energy. If your mind isn't properly shielded and organized, those transformations can affect you in unexpected ways."
"Additionally," Nicolas added, "true mastery of any magic requires absolute clarity of thought and purpose. You cannot achieve that clarity if your mind is a chaotic jumble of unexamined thoughts and emotions. Occlumency teaches you to understand yourself, which is the foundation for understanding magic."
"How long did it take Dumbledore to master it?" Harry asked.
"Three months of intensive daily practice before I was satisfied with his proficiency," Nicolas replied. "Albus was exceptionally talented and highly motivated, but even so, it took time. You have three weeks. We won't achieve mastery, but we can significantly improve your current capabilities."
"We're willing to work hard," Daphne said firmly.
"I know you are." Nicolas smiled. "You've demonstrated that clearly enough. Now, let me explain what we'll be doing..."
The rest of that first day was spent in theory. Nicolas explained Occlumency not as a single technique but as a philosophy of mental organization and control. He described the mind as a castle, with different rooms holding different memories, emotions, and knowledge.
"Most people leave the doors to all these rooms wide open," he explained as they sat in his study surrounded by books that were probably older than some countries. "Their thoughts flow freely, which is fine for daily life but leaves them vulnerable to external intrusion or manipulation."
"Occlumency teaches you to close and lock those doors," Perenelle continued. "Not to block out your own thoughts and feelings, but to control access to them. To decide consciously what you wish to think about and when."
"It sounds exhausting," Daphne observed.
"At first, yes. Like any skill, it becomes easier with practice until it's second nature." Nicolas pulled down an ancient tome and opened it carefully. "But the benefits extend far beyond simply keeping Legilimens out of your mind. Enhanced memory, better emotional regulation, clearer thinking under pressure. All of these come from proper Occlumency."
They practiced basic techniques before dinner: meditation, visualization exercises, constructing mental frameworks. Stuff they'd already done before, but pushed to another level by the Flamels. They found it challenging but oddly satisfying, like organizing a cluttered room until everything had its proper place.
"You're both naturals at this," Perenelle commented as they wrapped up for the day. "Many students struggle with the visualization steps, but you've grasped them quickly."
"We've had some experience with mental discipline from our training," Harry explained. "Moody drilled into us the importance of staying calm and focused during combat."
"That will serve you well here." Nicolas closed the book they'd been using. "Tomorrow we'll begin even more advanced techniques. For now, rest. Occlumency practice can be mentally taxing."
Dinner was a relaxed affair, with conversation ranging from their time at Hogwarts to observations about magical theory to amusing stories from the Flamels' extremely long lives. It was strange, Harry reflected, sitting at a table with people who had lived for over six centuries, discussing magic like it was the most natural thing in the world.
After dinner, they had the evening to themselves. They had the same room as before, and they settled in rather easily.
Harry was examining a particularly interesting text on wandless magic when he heard the bathroom door open with a soft click.
Daphne entered, having changed into a comfortable nightdress, her hair down. "How are you holding up?"
"Good. You?"
"Mentally exhausted but satisfied." She settled onto the bed beside where he sat. "Nicolas wasn't exaggerating about this kind of Occlumency training being taxing."
"No, he wasn't." Harry set aside the book and took her in his arms. "But I can see why he insists on it. The mental clarity even from just today's practice is noticeable."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the windows open to let in the warm evening air and the scent of the gardens.
"Can I ask you something?" Daphne said eventually.
"Always."
"Are you doing okay? With everything? The betrothal contract, the Championships coming up, all of it?"
Harry considered the question seriously. "Yeah, I think so. It's a lot, but it doesn't feel overwhelming. Maybe because we're in it together."
"Good." She leaned against him. "I worry sometimes that you're taking on too much."
"Same to you," he replied, cupping her face and pulling her closer. "We're in this together, remember?"
"Together," she agreed, kissing him softly. As she pulled back just enough, she tilted her head upwards to grin at him, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. "You know," she murmured, her voice low and playful, "we never really celebrated our betrothal properly. No champagne, no cake… no wild night to seal the deal."
Harry's eyebrow arched, that familiar spark lighting in his green eyes. "Wild night, huh? You saying the contract isn't official until we christen it?"
"Not really, but I say it needs celebrating." She shifted in his lap, the silk of her nightdress sliding up her thighs as she straddled him fully. "And since we're doing it the old-fashioned way, I can think of no better way to make it stick. Think you're up for making it binding?"
He laughed, his hands settling on her hips, thumbs brushing the hem of the nightdress. "Oh, I'm up for it." His voice dropped, rough with want. "Question is, how loud are you planning to get?"
"Depends how good you are tonight." She leaned in, nipping his lower lip. "Show me."
Harry didn't need telling twice. His mouth crashed against hers hungrily, and Daphne moaned into it, grinding down on the growing bulge in his shorts. He was already hard, had been getting there since she'd climbed into his lap, and the friction made him groan.
"Fuck, Daph," he muttered against her lips, his fingers digging into her hips.
She reached down, palming him through the fabric, feeling him twitch under her touch. "You're so hard already."
"Whose fault is that?" He tugged the straps of her nightdress down her shoulders, exposing her breasts. No bra, never one when she wore these things to bed. He cupped one of her tits, thumb flicking over her nipple until it peaked, and leaned down to take it in his mouth.
Daphne's head fell back, a sharp gasp escaping her. "Yes—right there." She rocked against him harder, the seam of his shorts rubbing her clit through the thin silk of the nightdress. "Harry, I need—"
"Need what?" he teased, switching to the other breast, teeth grazing just enough to make her shiver. "Tell me."
"You," she breathed. "Inside me. Now."
He pulled back, his eyes dark. "Bossy tonight."
"You love it." She slid off his lap just long enough to yank his t-shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Her hands went to his shorts next, shoving them down. His cock sprang free, thick and throbbing, and she wrapped her fingers around it without hesitation, stroking once, twice.
Harry hissed, hips bucking into her grip. "Fuck, Daph."
"Bed," she ordered, pushing him back until he was sprawled across the sheets. She hiked her nightdress up to her waist, revealing she wasn't wearing anything underneath. "Been thinking about this all day."
"Dirty girl." He grabbed her waist, pulling her down so she straddled him again. The head of his cock nudged her entrance, slick and ready. "You're soaked."
"For you," she said, sinking down slowly, taking him inch by inch. They both groaned as he filled her, stretching her just right. "Fuck, you feel good."
Harry's hands gripped her ass, guiding her as she started to move. "Ride me, baby. Just like that."
She did, slow at first, rolling her hips, savoring the feel of him inside her. But slow never lasted long with them. Soon she was bouncing, her breasts jiggling with each thrust, her hands braced on his chest. "Harder," she gasped. "Harry, fuck me harder."
He sat up suddenly, wrapping an arm around her waist and flipping them so fast she yelped. Now she was on her back, her legs spread wide, and her nightdress bunched around her middle. Harry hooked one of her knees over his shoulder and drove into her, deep and relentless.
"Yes—oh Harry, yes!" Daphne's nails raked down his back, leaving red trails. "Right there, don't stop—"
"Like that?" He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. "You're so fucking tight, Daph. Love how you take me."
She clenched around him intentionally, and he cursed, his pace faltering for a second. "Do that again," he growled.
She did, grinning wickedly even as pleasure coiled tight in her belly. "Make me come, Harry. I want it."
He reached between them, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Come on my cock, Daph. Let me feel it."
That pushed her over. Daphne arched off the bed, crying out his name as her orgasm crashed through her, her inner walls pulsing around him. "Harry—fuck, I'm coming—"
He didn't let up, fucking her through her climax, drawing it out until she was trembling. "Good girl," he praised, his voice strained. "So good for me."
"Your turn," she panted, pushing at his chest until he pulled out and rolled onto his back. She climbed over him again, this time facing away, sinking down reverse so he had a perfect view of her ass. "Like this?"
"Fuck yes." His hands gripped her hips, guiding her as she rode him hard and fast. The angle was deeper, and she moaned loudly with every bounce.
"Look at you," he rasped, one hand sliding up her spine to tangle in her hair. "Taking me so well. You love this, don't you?"
"Love your cock," she shot back, breathless. "Love how you fuck me."
He slapped her ass lightly, the sound echoing in the room. "Louder."
"I love it!" she cried, slamming down harder. "Love you fucking me—Harry, I'm close again—"
"Do it," he urged, thrusting up to meet her. "Come again. Milk me dry."
She did, shattering a second time with a broken moan, her whole body shaking. Harry followed seconds later, groaning her name as he came inside her, his hips jerking with each pulse.
They collapsed together, sweaty and spent, her nightdress twisted around her waist, his shorts somewhere on the floor. Harry pulled her close, kissing her shoulder.
"Betrothal officially celebrated?" he asked, voice hoarse.
Daphne laughed breathlessly, turning to nuzzle his neck. "Think we need a few more rounds to be sure."
He grinned against her skin. "Give me five minutes."
Five minutes turned to three.
Daphne's laugh turned into a moan the second Harry's fingers found her again, sliding through the slick mess between her thighs. She was still sprawled across his chest, her nightdress twisted around her waist, and her legs tangled with his. "Three minutes," she corrected breathlessly, "you're getting faster."
"Complaining?" He circled her clit slowly, teasingly, watching her hips twitch. "Because you're still dripping for me. Makes me want to add more."
She pushed up on her elbows, her hair falling in a curtain around them. "Then stop teasing." She reached down, wrapped her fingers around his half-hard cock, and stroked once, firmly. "I want you on your knees behind me. Now."
Harry's eyes flashed. He was fully hard again in two strokes. "Really bossy."
"You love it." She rolled off him, her nightdress slipping down her body and pooling on the floor as she crawled to the edge of the bed. On her knees, ass up, she looked back over her shoulder. "Come on, Harry. Don't make your fiancée beg."
The word lit up something fierce inside him and he was behind her in a heartbeat, his hands spreading her open. "Fucking hell, Daph." Two fingers dragged through her folds, pushing their combined release back inside her. "Look at you. Fucked open and still greedy."
"Less talking," she gasped, pushing back onto his fingers. "More celebrating."
Harry lined up and thrust in to the hilt in one smooth stroke. They both groaned, Daphne's head dropping to the sheets as he filled her completely. "Fuck—yes. Just like that."
He didn't ease into it. His hips snapped forward, hard and fast, the slap of skin echoing in the room. Daphne braced her forearms on the mattress, taking every thrust, her moans rising with each deep stroke.
"Harder," she demanded, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I want to feel you tomorrow, Harry. Mark me."
He growled, leaning over her, one hand sliding up her spine to fist her hair. He tugged her head back gently, arching her spine. "You will," he rasped against her ear. "Gonna leave you sore and dripping with me for days."
Daphne clenched around him intentionally again, and he cursed, his hips stuttering. "Keep doing that."
She did, over and over, until his rhythm faltered. "Gonna come," he warned, his teeth grazing her shoulder.
"Not yet." She pulled off him suddenly, spinning around to face him. Before he could protest, she shoved him flat on his back and straddled him facing forward. "Not turning me around this time."
She sank down slowly, letting him watch every inch disappear inside her. Harry's hands gripped her hips, guiding but not controlling. "Fuck, look at you," he breathed, his eyes locked where they joined. "Taking me so deep."
Daphne rolled her hips, grinding down hard, then started bouncing, her breasts jiggling with each thrust. "Touch me," she ordered, her voice wrecked.
Harry sat up, his mouth latching onto her nipple, sucking hard while his fingers dug into her ass. She rode him faster, her head thrown back, and her moans spilling freely. "Harry—fuck, you feel so good—"
"Love watching you fuck yourself on me," he rasped, switching to the other breast, his teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. "Come on, baby. Use me."
She did, slamming down over and over, chasing her third orgasm like it was a drug. Harry thrust up to meet her, the angle perfect. When his thumb found her clit again, rubbing tight circles, she shattered.
"Harry—fuck, I'm—" Her words dissolved into a scream as she came, pulsing around him, her nails digging into his shoulders. He kept moving, drawing it out, until she was trembling and oversensitive.
He flipped them one last time, pinning her beneath him, pounding into her through the aftershocks. "Where?" he gritted out, close.
"Inside," she gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist. "Fill me up again. Want to feel you leaking out of me all night."
That did it. Harry buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, his hips jerking as he emptied into her a second time. Daphne clenched around him, milking every drop, her own aftershocks rippling through her.
They stayed locked together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on their skin. Harry's forehead dropped to hers, both of them shaking. "Fuck," he panted. "Think I saw stars."
Daphne laughed weakly, her fingers tracing the red marks on his back. "Good. Means I did my job."
He rolled off but pulled her with him, tucking her against his chest. "Contract's definitely sealed now."
She nuzzled his neck, still catching her breath. "Might need to renew it weekly. Just to be sure."
Harry grinned, already hardening against her thigh. "Shower's still on the table for another round."
She was up and dragging him toward the bathroom before he finished the sentence.
Chapter 30
The following weeks fell into a comfortable rhythm. Mornings were dedicated to intensive Occlumency training with both Nicolas and Perenelle taking turns as instructors. They taught techniques for constructing mental defenses, organizing memories, and maintaining clarity under stress.
Harry found himself particularly focused during these sessions, knowing the importance of strong mental shields given what resided in his mind. He didn't mention the Horcrux to anyone during practice, but he was acutely aware of it.
Afternoons were spent on other aspects of advanced magic. Nicolas taught them about magical theory that wouldn't be covered at Hogwarts for years, if ever. He explained the fundamental nature of magic itself: how it flowed through the world, how wizards channeled and shaped it, why some spells worked and others failed.
"Magic is not merely something you do," Nicolas explained one afternoon as they sat in his workroom, surrounded by alchemical equipment and diagrams. "It is something you are. The magic inside you is connected to the magic of the world around you. Understanding that connection is key to advancing beyond simple spell-casting."
He demonstrated wandless magic, not the basic levitation charms they'd practiced at Hogwarts, but complex transfigurations and conjurations performed with nothing but focused will and understanding of magical principles.
"The wand is a tool, a focusing device," Perenelle added, performing her own wandless magic. "But it's not necessary if you truly understand what you're doing and why. The magic responds to your will shaped by your knowledge."
They practiced diligently, making progress that surprised even their ancient instructors. By the end of the second week, both Harry and Daphne could perform basic wandless magic reliably: summoning objects, lighting fires, simple transfigurations and charms.
"Remarkable," Nicolas said, watching Daphne wandlessly transfigure a stone into a bird that promptly flew away. "Most students take years to achieve what you've done in two weeks."
"We're motivated," Harry replied, successfully conjuring water into a glass without his wand.
"And capable," Daphne added.
"Indeed you are." Nicolas's expression grew thoughtful. "Which brings me to something we need to discuss."
It was evening on their sixteenth day at the estate. They were in Nicolas's study, the windows open to the garden where fireflies danced in the twilight. Perenelle sat beside her husband, both looking unusually serious.
"We need to discuss the matter that brought you to us initially," Nicolas said quietly. "The Horcrux."
Harry felt his stomach tighten. They'd been expecting this conversation, but that didn't make it any easier. When his scar had flared painfully back in December, Dumbledore had brought them here immediately. The Flamels had examined him thoroughly, confirmed the presence of the soul fragment, and promised to research solutions.
"Have you found anything?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "Any way to remove it without... without killing me?"
Daphne reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. They'd discussed this between themselves countless times since that initial discovery, always coming back to the same terrifying questions with no answers.
"We've explored several theoretical approaches," Perenelle said carefully. "As we told you when you first came to us, Horcruxes are incredibly dark magic, and removing one from a living host presents unique challenges."
"The primary issue remains what we identified initially," Nicolas continued. "The soul fragment has anchored itself to your life force. It's sustained by your magic, your vitality. Most methods for destroying Horcruxes would also destroy the host."
"Most methods," Daphne seized on the word. "But not all?"
"There are theories," Nicolas said slowly. "Ancient texts that mention similar situations, though never quite identical. Possibilities that might work if properly adapted."
"But nothing certain," Harry concluded, his heart sinking.
"Nothing certain yet," Nicolas agreed. "Which is why we've been continuing our research these past months. We've made some progress in understanding how the fragment sustains itself, but translating that understanding into a viable extraction method..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
They sat in heavy silence. Outside, the fireflies continued their dance, oblivious to the seriousness of the conversation happening inside the house.
"Is there anything we can do?" Daphne asked. "Anything that might help?"
"The Occlumency training we've been doing," Nicolas said. "That's crucial. Not just for your protection against Legilimency, but also relevant to the Horcrux situation."
"How so?" Harry asked, though he suspected he already knew part of the answer.
"The soul fragment is separate from you, but it exists within your mind nonetheless. Strong Occlumency won't remove it, but it can help you maintain clear boundaries between your thoughts and any potential influence from the fragment."
"You think it could influence me?" Harry felt a chill run down his spine. This was a fear he'd harbored since learning about the Horcrux but hadn't wanted to voice.
"We don't know for certain," Perenelle admitted. "There's simply not enough information about living Horcruxes. But better to be prepared for that possibility than to be caught unaware."
"That's why you pushed the Occlumency so hard from day one," Daphne realized. "Not just for our general development, but specifically for Harry's protection."
"Partly, yes," Nicolas confirmed. "Though everything I said about Occlumency being fundamental to advanced magic remains true. This was simply an additional motivation for ensuring you mastered it as quickly as possible."
Harry processed everything that was being said, trying to organize his thoughts the way he'd been taught over the past two weeks. Fear wanted to overwhelm him, but he pushed it aside, locked it away in its proper mental room. Panic wouldn't help. Clear thinking would.
"So where do we stand?" he asked. "What are our actual options right now?"
"Continue researching," Nicolas said. "Both Perenelle and I will keep looking into the ancient texts, exploring any possibilities that might lead to a solution. Albus is doing the same from his end. Meanwhile, you focus on your training, your tournaments, and your life. Don't let this thing define your existence."
"And the Occlumency practice?" Daphne asked. "Anything particular regarding that?"
"Nothing special, but you should continue it as priority," Perenelle emphasized. "Daily if possible. The stronger your mental defenses, the safer you are from multiple threats, the Horcrux included."
"We'll help however we can," Nicolas added. "You're not alone in this. If there's a solution to be found, we'll find it. That much I can promise you."
Harry wanted to believe that. He wanted to trust that these brilliant minds would find an answer. But he couldn't shake the feeling that they knew more than they were sharing, that there was some piece of information they were deliberately withholding.
Daphne clearly sensed the same thing. After they'd left the study and were walking through the gardens in the cool night air, she voiced what they were both thinking.
"They're hiding something."
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I caught that too."
"The question is what and why." Daphne's brow furrowed. "They're clearly trying to help, so it's not malicious. But they know something they're not telling us."
"Maybe they're not confident enough to share," Harry suggested. "Nicolas said they've made progress understanding how the fragment sustains itself. Maybe they have theories about extraction but nothing concrete enough to mention yet."
"Maybe," Daphne murmured but she didn't sound convinced. "But it felt like more than that. Like they actively didn't want to discuss something specific. Did you notice how they carefully avoided talking about anything beyond your Horcrux? Like there might be others but they steered away from that topic?"
Harry had noticed. "You think Voldemort made more than just the accidental one in me?"
"It would make sense, wouldn't it? If he was willing to tear his soul once deliberately, why stop there? Especially if he was trying to make himself immortal."
"That's a horrifying thought."
"It is," Daphne agreed grimly. "And maybe that's why they're not telling us. Too many unknowns, too much speculation. They want to focus on what they can actually help with."
They walked in silence for a while, the gravel path crunching under their feet. The gardens were beautiful at night, illuminated by softly glowing magical lanterns that cast gentle light without harsh shadows.
"Are you scared?" Daphne asked quietly.
"Terrified," Harry admitted. "There's a piece of Voldemort's soul in my head. That's nightmare fuel right there. But I'm also weirdly calm about it? Like, yes it's horrifying, but panicking won't fix anything. So I'll focus on what I can control: getting stronger, learning everything I can, and staying vigilant."
"That's very mature of you."
"Or very compartmentalized. Hard to tell the difference with the Occlumency sometimes." Harry smiled wryly. "Thank Merlin for the Occlumency training though, right? At least now I can put the terror in a mental box and only open it when necessary."
Daphne laughed despite the gravity of the situation. "That's definitely not the traditional use of Occlumency, but I'll allow it."
They found a bench near a fountain, the sound of running water peaceful in the darkness. As they settled, Daphne leaned against Harry, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"We'll figure it out," she said softly. "Whatever's going on, whatever the Flamels aren't telling us, whatever it takes to get that thing out of you. We'll figure it out together."
"Together," Harry echoed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Always."
Above them, stars moved in the summer sky, ancient and indifferent to the problems of the mere mortals below. But Harry found comfort in Daphne's presence, in the knowledge that whatever came next, he wouldn't face it alone.
XXXXX
The remaining days at the Flamel estate passed quickly. They continued their Occlumency practice with renewed focus, both understanding its importance on multiple levels now. Nicolas and Perenelle taught them more about wandless magic, about understanding magical theory at fundamental levels, and about seeing the world through the lens of someone who'd spent centuries studying its mysteries.
On their final evening, the four of them shared dinner in the garden under strings of fairy lights that Perenelle had conjured. The meal was excellent, the conversation warm and ranging, touching on everything except the darker topics that had occupied their mid-visit discussion.
"You've both made remarkable progress," Nicolas said as dessert was served. "I'm genuinely impressed with how much you've absorbed in such a short time."
"We had excellent teachers," Harry replied.
"And we're incredibly grateful for the opportunity," Daphne added. "This has been transformative. The things we've learned here will serve us for years."
"Just remember," Perenelle said, her expression serious despite the festive atmosphere. "Magic is a tool. How you use it, what you use it for—that's what matters. Power without purpose is meaningless. Power without ethics is dangerous."
"We understand," Harry assured her.
"I believe you do." Perenelle smiled. "Which is why we were happy to teach you. You both have good hearts alongside your considerable talents. That combination is rare and precious."
"The Championships begin in two days," Nicolas observed. "Are you prepared?"
"As prepared as we can be," Daphne replied. "We've trained hard all year. Now we just need to trust in that training and do our best."
"You'll do more than your best, I suspect." Nicolas raised his glass. "To Harry and Daphne. May they bring honor to Britain and themselves in the coming competition."
They toasted, and the evening drifted into comfortable conversation and eventually fond farewells. The Flamels promised to continue their research into the Horcrux problem and made both Harry and Daphne promise to write regularly regardless of how busy they became.
"Our door is always open to you," Perenelle said as she hugged them both goodbye. "Should you need advice, assistance, or simply a place to think clearly away from everyday pressures. Remember that."
"We will," Harry promised. "And thank you for everything. Not just the teaching, but for looking into... the other matter."
"We won't stop searching," Nicolas assured him. "There is a solution. There always is. We simply need to find it."
The next morning, they departed via portkey, the Flamel estate disappearing in a swirl of color.
The portkey deposited them in a marble-floored arrival chamber deep within the French Ministry of Magic.
Harry steadied himself immediately while Daphne landed gracefully beside him. The room was circular and elegant, with high arched windows that let in streams of late morning sunlight. Several other portkey arrival points ringed the space, though theirs was the only one active at the moment.
"Ah, there you are!" Professor Flitwick's cheerful voice carried across the chamber. The diminutive Charms professor hurried toward them, his robes billowing slightly despite his short stature. "Right on time, right on time. Excellent."
"Professor," Harry greeted warmly, extending his hand. The professor shook it enthusiastically before doing the same with Daphne.
"I trust your time with the Flamels was productive?" Flitwick asked as he led them toward the chamber's main exit. His eyes twinkled with genuine interest. "They're remarkable individuals. I had the privilege of meeting Nicolas Flamel briefly when I was younger. Changed my entire approach to magic, that experience did."
"It was incredible," Daphne said. "We learned more in three weeks than we could have in a year at Hogwarts. No offense intended, Professor."
Flitwick let out a high squeak of laughter. "None taken, Miss Greengrass. Nicolas Flamel has forgotten more about magic than most of us will ever know, and he's had centuries to perfect his teaching methods. Though I like to think we do reasonably well at Hogwarts with our comparatively limited time."
They passed through ornate double doors into a bustling corridor. French Ministry workers hurried past them in various directions, their robes noticeably more fashionable than their British counterparts. Harry caught snippets of rapid French conversation, most of which he couldn't follow despite having picked up a few phrases during their stay with the Flamels.
"The tournament accommodations are in the Latin Quarter," Flitwick explained as he navigated them through the Ministry's labyrinthine passages. "The French have arranged for all competing delegations to stay in the same building. Promotes camaraderie, they say, though I suspect it also makes security considerably easier to manage."
"Have many teams arrived yet?" Harry asked.
"Most of them, actually. You two were among the last, what with your extended training. Germany arrived yesterday, Spain two days ago, and the Italian contingent has been here nearly a week. Apparently they wanted extra time to acclimate." Flitwick's tone suggested he found this slightly amusing. "The Swedes are already making quite an impression. Very serious bunch, those Scandinavians. All business."
They reached a large fireplace marked with official-looking plaques in French. Flitwick produced a small pouch of Floo powder and gestured for them to go first. "After you. Just say 'Résidence des Champions' clearly."
Daphne went first, her pronunciation perfect despite never having used French Floo addresses before. Harry followed, stumbling only slightly over the accent, and emerged into an elegant lobby that looked more like a high-end hotel than magical housing. Flitwick appeared moments later, brushing ash from his robes.
"Impressive, isn't it?" the professor said, noting their expressions. "The French do love their creature comforts. Now, your suite is on the fourth floor. I'm on the third, so if you need anything at all, don't hesitate to knock."
A witch at the reception desk provided them with keys, speaking rapid French that Flitwick translated with ease. They took a brass-gated lift upward, the mechanism rising smoothly through the building. Through the gates Harry could see each floor they passed, glimpsing other competitors moving about.
"I should mention," Flitwick said as they ascended, "that while I'm here primarily as your advisor and chaperone, I won't be interfering with your preparations or strategies. This is your tournament. I'm here to provide guidance if asked, to help with logistics, and to ensure nothing untoward happens. But the actual competing? That's entirely in your hands."
"We appreciate that, Professor," Harry said. "Still, we'd definitely welcome any advice you're willing to share."
"Oh, I have plenty of that." Flitwick's expression grew thoughtful as the lift settled at the fourth floor. "I competed in these championships for seven years running during my youth. Won three times, placed in the top two three times total. They were some of the most formative experiences of my life."
He led them down a richly carpeted hallway to a door marked with the British flag. With a tap of his wand, the door swung open to reveal a spacious suite. The main room featured comfortable seating, a dining area, and large windows overlooking Parisian rooftops. Two bedrooms branched off from the main space, each prearranged with quality furniture and attached bathrooms.
"The French have outdone themselves," Daphne observed, moving to inspect one of the bedrooms. "This is nicer than some pure-blood manor guest quarters I've stayed in."
"They take these championships very seriously on the Continent," Flitwick said. "More so than Britain, I'm afraid to say. We tend to view them as academic exercises, opportunities for talented students to test themselves. But here? They're celebrations of magical excellence, sources of national pride. The winners of the singles divisions especially receive quite significant recognition."
Harry set his trunk down and moved to the window. From this height he could see the Eiffel Tower in the distance, along with other Parisian landmarks both magical and mundane. The city sprawled in all directions, vibrant and alive even from this faraway vantage point.
"You mentioned competing for seven years," Daphne said, rejoining them in the main room. "What made you stop?"
"I took a position at Hogwarts." Flitwick settled into one of the armchairs with a small sigh. "I could have continued competing while teaching, technically, but I felt it was time to move on. I'd proven what I needed to prove, both to myself and to others. And I found that I enjoyed teaching more than I'd expected to."
He paused, his expression growing distant with memory. "The circuit can be intoxicating, you know. The competition, the recognition, the constant drive to improve and defeat the next opponent. I've seen many talented witches and wizards lose themselves in it, competing year after year past the point where it was healthy or productive. They became so focused on winning that they forgot why they started competing in the first place."
"We'll keep that in mind," Harry said, though he couldn't quite imagine becoming obsessed with tournament dueling. He had too many other concerns demanding his attention.
"See that you do." Flitwick's tone was gentle but serious. "I'm not saying you shouldn't be competitive. Competition drives excellence, pushes us to heights we might not otherwise reach. But remember that these championships, impressive as they are, are ultimately just one part of your magical education. They're not the sum total of your worth as wizards."
Daphne sat on the sofa, crossing her legs elegantly. "Did you ever compete in the tag-team division?"
"Once, in my final year. My partner and I placed second, losing to a French pair in the finals who had been competing together since childhood. The synchronization required for tag-team dueling is extraordinary. You're competing as individuals, but you must think as a unit. Every decision affects your partner. Every risk you take is a risk you're taking with someone else's performance as well."
"We've been practicing together for months," Harry said. "Working on combination spells, coordinated strategies, that sort of thing."
"Good, good. That will serve you well." Flitwick nodded approvingly. "But remember that practice and actual tournament conditions are quite different. The pressure changes things. The knowledge that you're representing Britain, that people are watching, that one mistake could cost not just your own advancement but your partner's as well. It affects people in unexpected ways."
"How do we handle that?" Daphne asked.
"Trust." Flitwick's answer was immediate and firm. "Trust in your partner, trust in your training, and trust in yourselves. When the pressure mounts and everything seems to be falling apart, that trust is what will keep you functional. I've seen partnerships with superior technical skills fall apart because they didn't truly trust each other. And I've seen partnerships with less raw talent succeed through sheer faith in one another."
Harry met Daphne's eyes across the room and saw understanding there. Trust wasn't something they lacked.
"The opening ceremonies are tomorrow morning," Flitwick continued, shifting to more practical matters. "Full formal robes, British colors. The actual first rounds begin in the afternoon. You'll both be competing in your respective singles divisions that day, Harry in the men's bracket and Daphne in the women's. The tag-team competition starts on day two."
"How many competitors in each division?" Harry asked.
"Sixty-four in both singles brackets, following standard tournament structure. That means six rounds to reach the finals, assuming you keep winning. The tag-team division has thirty-two pairs. The whole tournament runs for two weeks, with the finals for all three divisions happening on the last day."
"Two weeks of constant dueling," Daphne murmured. "That's going to be exhausting."
"Hence why physical conditioning matters as much as magical skill," Flitwick agreed. "Stamina, focus, mental fortitude. These things separate the champions from the merely talented. You can know every spell in existence and still lose if you can't maintain concentration through six consecutive duels."
Harry thought about the training they'd done at Hogwarts on their own, with Tonks and Moody, and with the Flamels. The physical workouts, the endurance drills, the sessions where they'd pushed themselves to the brink of magical exhaustion and then kept going. It had seemed excessive at times, but now he understood the purpose behind it.
"One more thing," Flitwick said, standing and moving toward the door. "And this is perhaps the most important advice I can give you. Don't try to be someone you're not in that arena. I've seen too many duelists attempt to emulate famous champions, adopting styles that don't suit their natural abilities. Your strength is in being yourselves. Use what you're good at. Play to your advantages. The judges and the audience will respect authentic skill far more than borrowed technique, no matter how flashy the latter might be."
He paused at the threshold, one hand on the doorframe. "I'll let you get settled. Come find me this evening and we'll go over the bracket assignments once they're posted. Until then, rest, explore the building if you like, but don't overdo it. Tomorrow begins two of the most demanding weeks of your magical careers so far. Conserve your energy."
"Thank you, Professor," Daphne said. "For everything. Your experience and guidance mean a lot."
Flitwick smiled warmly. "It's my pleasure. I see a lot of potential in both of you, not just as duelists but as people. Whatever happens in this tournament, I'm proud to be here as your advisor."
He left, closing the door softly behind him. Harry and Daphne remained still for a moment. Tomorrow it would all begin. All the preparation, all the training, all the hours of practice would be put to the test.
"Well," Harry said finally, breaking the silence. "We've certainly gotten ourselves into something significant here."
"We have." Daphne stood and crossed to where he remained by the window. She slipped her hand into his. "But we're ready. Or as ready as we're going to be."
"The Flamels taught us well. And Moody before that. Not to mention all the private practice."
"And we have each other."
"Always," Harry confirmed, squeezing her hand gently.
They spent the rest of the day settling in, unpacking their trunks and familiarizing themselves with the suite.
As the sun began to set over Paris, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, they found themselves standing at the window together. The city lights were beginning to flicker on, creating a tapestry of illumination across the sprawling metropolis.
"It's beautiful," Daphne murmured, leaning back against Harry's chest as his arms wrapped around her waist.
"It is," he agreed, though he was looking at her reflection in the glass rather than the view.
She turned in his arms, her expression soft in the fading light. "We haven't had much time alone lately. Not as much as I'd like."
"Same," Harry smiled softly. "Between the training and the preparations..."
"And tomorrow everything starts." Daphne reached up, her fingers tracing along his jaw. "Two weeks of constant competition and pressure."
"Which means today is ours." Harry leaned down, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss that quickly deepened.
When they finally broke apart, Daphne took his hand and led him toward their bedroom without a word.
Her back met the wall before Harry even shut the door behind them. He pressed against her, his mouth finding hers again, hungrier now. She tasted heavenly as she always did, her tongue sliding against his slowly, making his pulse hammer in his ears.
His hands were already under her blouse, his palms skating up the warm, bare skin of her back until his fingers found the clasp of her bra. One twist and it gave way.
She exhaled into his mouth as the fabric loosened. Harry dragged the blouse over her head in a single impatient motion, letting it drop to the floor with her bra.
Moonlight from the half-open curtains painted silver across her breasts, her nipples already tight and begging. He dipped his head, closing his lips around one stiff peak, his tongue flicking until she arched with a broken gasp.
"Harry…" It was half plea, half warning.
He answered by grazing his teeth lightly, just enough to make her thighs clench, then soothing the sting with slow, wet circles of his tongue. His hands slid down to the button of her jeans. Two flicks and the denim parted. He peeled it down her hips along with the thin lace beneath, kneeling as he went. Daphne stepped out of the pooled fabric, and he stayed on his knees, looking up the length of her body, taking in her long legs, the soft curve of her stomach, and those lovely breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath.
She was exquisite, and she was his.
Harry pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below her bellybutton, breathing her in. Daphne's fingers threaded into his hair, not guiding, just anchoring herself as he nudged her thighs wider. The first slow lick had her hips jerking, the second drew a low, throaty moan that he felt in his cock.
He took his time, savoring the slick heat of her pussy, tracing every fold until she was trembling. When he slid two fingers inside and curled them, she cried out, her thighs tightening around his arm.
"Please," she whispered, her voice ragged. "Inside. Now."
He rose, shedding his own clothes with none of her grace. The buttons of his shirt scattered and he kicked his trousers aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and aching, the tip already wet. Daphne's gaze dropped to it and her lips parted, hungry.
She reached for him, wrapping her cool fingers around the burning flesh and stroking once, then twice, her thumb sweeping over the head and smearing the pre-cum all over the crown. Harry hissed between his teeth.
He caught her wrist, guiding her backward until her knees hit the edge of the bed. She sank down, pulling him with her. They fell together in a tangle of limbs, their mouths fused together and her legs wrapped high around his waist. He could feel her, slick and open, sliding along the length of his cock but not letting him inside yet, just teasing, coating him in her wetness until he groaned against her neck.
"Stop tormenting me," he growled.
Daphne let out a wicked laugh and angled her hips. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance. He shifted slightly and rocked forward, sinking in, inch by slow inch, making her gasp until he was buried to the hilt inside her.
They both stilled, shuddering at the perfection of it. She was tight, hot, and clenching around him like she never wanted to let go.
Then she rolled her hips, and restraint snapped.
Harry drew back and thrust hard, setting a rhythm that had the headboard tapping softly against the wall. Daphne met him stroke for stroke, her nails raking down his back, and her heels digging into the base of his spine to pull him deeper. The room filled with the sounds of their bodies, wet slap of skin, her breathy moans, and his ragged curses.
He shifted the angle and she cried out, her back arching off the mattress as he hit that spot inside her again and again.
"Touch yourself," he rasped. "Want to feel you come around me."
Her hand slipped between them, her fingers circling her clit in tight, frantic motions. The sight of it, her flushed face, those parted lips, and the way her inner muscles fluttered around his cock, nearly undid him. He slowed just enough to watch, grinding deep on every thrust, sweat beading at his temples.
"Harry, I'm—" The rest of whatever she was about to say fractured into a keening cry as she came, pulsing hard around him, her thighs shaking. He followed her over seconds later, burying himself deep and spilling deep inside her with a guttural groan, his hips jerking through the aftershocks until they were both spent.
They didn't separate right away. He stayed inside her, softening slowly, pressing lazy kisses to her throat, her collarbone, the corner of her mouth. When he finally slipped free, a trickle of warmth followed, and Daphne hummed, utterly sated, tugging him down beside her.
They lay tangled together in the bed, the Paris skyline glittering through the window. Harry traced idle patterns on her shoulder while she rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"We should probably get dressed," Daphne murmured eventually, though she made no move to do so. "Flitwick will be expecting us."
"Probably," Harry agreed, equally unmotivated to move. "Five more minutes."
She laughed softly.
They stayed like that a while longer, comfortable in the silence and each other's presence, before finally rising and making themselves presentable.
They found Flitwick as promised and reviewed the bracket assignments. Harry's first opponent was a duelist from Belgium, moderately skilled according to the professor's assessment. Daphne would face a witch from Portugal in her opening match. Nothing insurmountable, but nothing to be taken lightly either.
They retired early, sleep coming easily in each other's embrace, knowing that tomorrow would demand everything they had to give and then some more.