Chapter 1: The Bass Drop of Hogwarts

He had to do it now. The trip to the Burrow took place today. If he went along with the rest... then he wouldn't be able to do it again. He stood on top of the balcony over-looking the vast expanses of the Forbidden Forest and the lake that housed the giant squid; glittering as if a thousand, sparkling diamonds were spread out over its surface, scattering about the first rays of morning light.

A soft wind caressed his forehead and pressed down onto his rounded glasses making them dig into his nose to clearly see the long, long drop down to the grounds below. The only thing that obstructed his own fall was a small stone railing that barely grasped his waist; its crumbling, dusted remains sticking to his fingers in soot patches that drew across his pale skin.

It would be so effortless. So simple to just put one leg over the other and finally fly without a broom out into the morning sky. He would be able to see his mother and father, Cedric, Sirius...

He gave a sigh. Why wasn't he jumping? One would think that he would imagine the sadness of his friends and those that he practically considered family if he were to die... but that just wasn't right. He knew in his heart that it wasn't the sorrow that was stopping him in this moment of indecision. He cared for Ron and Hermione dearly but he would do what must be done. This was his choice – his alone.

If not friends and family, then maybe love? But that couldn't be it either. Cho... it just wasn't meant to be. If he had feelings for her before then they had vanished in the wake of her betrayal. Ginny on the other hand... who was he kidding here? It would be a miracle for anything to happen on that front.

The dementor's shawl of enlightenment closing in around his heart washed away his stupor. He must hesitate because of Voldemort, who should by all accounts be one of the reasons why he needed to put one shoe over the other and fling himself out of one of Hogwarts' tallest towers.

A common barrow owl spread its wings in the distance, the only source of movement in the otherwise tranquil morning. He could be free. No responsibilities, no more fights to the death, no prophecies, no Chosen One, no more having to witness those close to him murdered in cold blood. He took a hold of the plain stone railing and lifted his right foot.

How many would follow him to his death?

He stopped cold. If he gave up now; many others, unquestionably including the Weasleys, would face torture and death. Magical Britain would be ruled by a tyrannical Dark Lord that would kill muggles by the thousands and cause untold pain and suffering. But of course a school-boy was the only one that was needed to stop the blood-thirsty psychopath. Screw them.

He lifted himself up and had both of his feet planted on the narrow stone railings. He swayed slightly in the wind. One strong gust of air and that would be the end of the-boy-who-lived. He wondered if many people had jumped out of Hogwarts towers in the past – If he would be unique in his death or just one among many. As his stare set upon the first smoke escaping the chimney of Hagrid's Hut, he realised that he wasn't sure which statement he would prefer more.

He just stood there, feeling the unending pressure barrelling into his form but his body didn't budge an inch. Why was this so hard? Why couldn't he just jump? Was he scared?

He spread his arms out, welcoming the silent applause of fallen Death Eaters and others who had long desired his death. He closed his eyes to the everlasting darkness that was always there when he awoke and there when he fell to inciting sleep. He took in his last sharp breath of air. Now slowly, as if he were walking, he lifted his left foot forward...

A gale slammed into him, making him lose his balance and fall. His eyes flew open. He screamed at the sudden movement. The world moved at a snail's pace as he fell through the empty air, hands outstretched, his fingers curling around something to catch onto. Within moments that had seemed an eternity, his back crunched against the stonework of the ancient balcony sending angry pulses all across his torso.

He closed his eyes. Not today, maybe not ever and definitely not by jumping off of Hogwarts' tallest tower on the eve of morning. To think that if he had actually jumped, then the gale would have had him decorating the walls of the tower with every ounce of his blood as he would have undoubtedly crashed into the structure a half-dozen times while flailing to the ground. If only Bellatrix could suffer such a fate.

Hogwarts's bell rang seven gongs, heralding the coming of the sun. He would need to smile at Hermione's face, scoff at Ron's pointed looks and pretend that there was nothing going on – that there was nothing wrong with him. It's not as if he had a half-filled letter containing a short message to everybody that he cared about resting in the hem of his robe. He pulled out his wand and had an Incendio on the tip of his tongue when he realised that he didn't have the letter on him. It was gone.

He barrelled off to the Gryffindor dorms as fast as his feet could take him, the worst scenarios already filling up his mind. He would arrive too late – Ron would be slack-jawed, Hermione would cry rivers of tears and by the end of the day everybody would know of his predicament. He could already imagine that not even the Quibbler would be able to top the Daily Prophet's headlines: 'Suicide at Hogwarts!', 'The Boy-Who-Learned-To-Fly' or most melodramatically of all, 'The Fallen One'. Why did he even decide to attempt the bloody thing?

He slowed down as he approached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. He whispered as loudly as he dared to the snoring Fat Lady upon realising that most Gryffindors were still asleep in bed, "Griffin's Roost!"

The Fat Lady yawned and waved her hand before swinging open for him to enter before she was drifting off back to sleep in mid-mutter about annoying early-risers. He hurried past the common room, leaping up to the landing of the sixth year dorms where he took every precaution to quietly enter the room. Ron's snoring drowned out any footsteps that he made and it looked like everybody was still asleep. He quickly tip-toed over to the parchment that lay on his desk.

"What are you doing up so early, 'Arry?" Neville moaned.

By Morgana's… it was too early to swear. How could he forget that Neville was a light sleeper?! It was frankly a miracle that he could sleep with Ron's snores at all, never mind hear anything else.

"Go to sleep Neville. Everything's alright. I just needed to use the loo."

"Oh," and Neville dropped down dead in slumber – a Gryffindor through and through.

Wiping out the imagined sweat that literally couldn't be achieved in this freezing cold weather, his hand extended past the scuffs of the Weasley Jumper that he was wearing and tightly gripped the offending piece of parchment. He pulled it open. There they were… his own words. He crumpled the parchment in his fist. Only when he was sure that he would not gnaw his own skin did he slip the ball into his pocket; lungs bereft of all breath.

The drops of a light drizzle that had gone through the night coating the outsides of the windows in drops of liquid water. His corpse would have been drenched in rainwater to the bone in its mud grave. He covered his face with his hands. He needed to get out of here. He needed to breathe.

The dormitory's candlelight remained far behind in his trek out of the tower, the Fat Lady's dialogue dulled to uselessness the instant it crashed against his ears. Narrowly avoiding Mrs. Norris with the help of the Marauders Map, he had snuck beyond the premise of Hogwarts using the secret passage under the Whomping Willow that left him stranded at the Shrieking Shack where he could let go lay down his guard.

The forlorn window frames lay credence to the freshly drenched glades of grass rippling in September dance to the battering strong winds that took their toll on the decaying sanctuary offered by the Shack. He was not forlorn in being denied a place to sit, to calm his mind for whereas he had never possessed a physical persona, layering the walls in punches was worth the pain that it brought to his wrists a hundred fold.

"Oi! Wotcher Harry! Shouldn't you be at school or something?" Tonks' voice had him jumping out of his skin, "What are you doing up there in the Shrieking Shack? Did Remus not tell you that you mustn't give the wood such a hard time or it might break? Your pounding can be heard all the way from Hogsmeade and there are other things that I would rather wake up to then a teenage boy in his prime! Cat got your tongue Harry? Was I wrong to consider the issue to be with wood and instead you have a girl up there with you, you naughty, naughty boy? Well? Speak up! Don't be shy!"

His mouth hung speechless from his jaw. His brain just couldn't fathom how to get out of this. Tonks was fine and all but she would surely bring him to McGonagall if not Dumbledore himself which would definitely not bode well for him. He cursed his own tardiness. Constant Vigilance indeed.

"Why are you not speaking Harry? Is something wrong? Did you get stuck up there?" Tonks inquired before she unveiled her wand, "Alright, I'm coming in! Tell your lady-friend to cover herself up!"

Mortifying horror did not begin to cover his emotional state when Nymphadora Tonks Alohomora'd the front door and stepped into the Shack. He would forever claim that it was the Gryffindor in him that had him leaping out of the second story with no regard for his own life. Most likely he just wanted to finally off himself but running away from a pursuing metamorphmagus was a good excuse as any.

He landed with a thud feet first before he was pulled down onto all fours into the dirt. With the ground swirling around him, he picked himself up and ran for all that he was worth. He could distinctly hear an, "Oi!" reverberating from the Shrieking Shack but he didn't turn around to check in his flight for freedom. The Forbidden Forest didn't exactly sound lovely this time of year. In fact, he would wager that the Forbidden Forest never sounded lovely at absolutely any time of the year so his feet carried him onwards towards the only other alternative.

Maintaining his pace throughout the wide open streets of Hogsmede was the right gamble to take up with fate as it proved crucial to him in avoiding far-flung spells from crashing into his back on his way to the nearest outlet maintaining a Floo connection. An Alohomora of his own allowed him to burst into the deep-scented delicacy of Honeydukes whose hanging chocolates nearly caused him to halt in his advance as he realised that he had missed last night's dinner. A yelp of 'Diagon Alley!' in conjunction with a fistful of scattered Floo powder that he nabbed from a nearby table-top ushered him away in bright green flame.

For once he arrived normally after travelling by Floo and he couldn't even boast about it for such was the life of the Chosen One. The street was near congested at this time of day, allowing him to easily slip by the tame groups of people ascending or descending down the cobbled pathways. That was when he heard the, 'Oi! Where has that brat gone off to?' of his nightmares.

His heart lifted into his throat. He was already in so much trouble that he couldn't afford to go back to Hogwarts until this entire charade died over but to survive in the open world he would need money to sustain himself. Path predetermined, he legged it towards Gringotts before Tonks could track him down. The engraved doors sporting their thieving riddles folded in to allow him entrance to the bank proper, the distant reflection of pink bubble-gum heading in his direction speeding up his pace.

Tellers in three rows criss-crossed the main hall of marble where goblins weighed jewels and counted Galleons in front of lines that formed up even in the early rays of sunlight. Amid the ordered chaos that had him twisting on his heel to find an open booth, the shining allure of blond hair that dangled in mesmerizing locks drew him into an ambushing smile that left him torn asunder. His heart raged in drumming beats resting atop his shoulder, bare for all to see. Whatever he had hoped to find at Gringotts, it was certainly not the lithe form of Fleur Delacour.

"'Arry? It 'as been too long! What are you doing 'ere so eearly? Are you not supposed to be at 'Ogwarts?"

"Holiday," was the first thing that popped into his smitten mind. "Listen Fleur I need help. There is an auror coming by the name of Tonks looking for me. Can you hide me until she leaves?"

It seemed that she sensed the urgency in his voice because she guided him to an opening in the row of counters where he squeezed through to come face to face with Fleur herself. The primeval allure that he felt when standing so near to her was indescribable for it made him feel like a fish in water or the tree that willowed in the breeze. Alas there was no time to vent out such emotion since a flash of pink had him ducking beneath the cover of the barrier, heart permanently stuck within the confines of his throat.

"Where could that miscreant be?" Footsteps collided with the marble and came to rest just outside of the booth that Fleur was manning. "Watcher!"

He could not see anything above Fleur's legs but he could imagine that she was still smiling, "Good morning auror Tonks. How may Gringotts 'elp you today?"

"Huh, I thought only goblins manned the desks?"

Fleur seemed to shrug, "Finishing off my night shift mam. Eeven ze poor critters need zeir sleep. So what will it be, transfers or wizdrawals? An eexchange perhaps?"

Tonks drummed on the desk with her fingers, popping chewing gum indiscriminately. "I am looking for Harry Potter. You seen him by any chance?"

Fleur stood straight but her left foot fidgeted by the slightest degree. "Non."

Tonks sighed, as if she didn't want to do this, "Well then it seems we have a problem Miss..." she seemed to peer at Fleur's name-tag, "...Delacour because passer-byes have seen him entering this establishment. I am asking for the last time: Where is Harry Potter?"

Fleur sank her head and he caught her blue eyes. "I do not know what you are talking about but I 'ave never seen 'Arry Potter in ze London Branch of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. If zat will be all?"

"I will find out the truth about what is going on around here," the terse reply followed in the wake of retreating footsteps.

Tonks' steps blended in to become an undecipherable echo among many such others in the marble hall averting certain disaster. While Fleur treated with various customers in case Tonks came back to check on her work, her right arm discreetly twisted with wand in hand to touch his forehead. He shivered at the egg yolk that slipped down from the top of his head down his clothes to the tips of his toes – the tell-tale signs of a Disillusionment Charm.

The moment that the façade of a teller became unnecessary, Fleur slipped her mink coat back over her shoulders in the staff room before motioning for him to follow her out of the bank through the back exit. Fleur grabbed his hand, running comforting circles over his palm as if sensing his discomfort before disapparating without a warning, him following right along with the eye-squeezing and mind-numbing vortex of apparition hitting him at full blast.

He remembered little of landing on the outside of the apartment in London's busy streets and even less of losing yesterday's lunch in the corridor of the first floor but regardless the issues were resolved quickly and it was not long that he was seated down on a velvet armchair in Fleur's living room, drinking something strong that reminded him heavily of firewhiskey, Fleur lounging back next to him in her cosy apartment along the Thames. If there was one thing to say about Fleur, it was that she was a gracious host.

"So 'Arry," Fleur savoured his name as if he were a fine French wine, "Mind eexplaining why zat 'aughty woman was up in my business zis morning?"

Harry swallowed everything in his glass to help him ring up on the inexhaustible pit of courage that took awfully inconvenient vacation days when it really mattered. "I… I ran away from Hogwarts."

"Why?" Fleur asked, leaning in with eyebrow poised.

He took a stab in the dark. "Because I wanted to see you?"

Fleur's laugh rang with the clarity of a bell atop Notre-Dame, "You are terrible 'Arry! Was ze auror zen chasing you because you stole flowers to give to moi and you lost zem in the chase as well?"

He shook his head. "I would never bring you flowers as I doubt that they would be more beautiful than you."

Fleur gave him a smile that melted the heavens. "What did I say? Absolutely terrible 'Arry. I am an eengaged woman. Boys… all of you zink ze same, act ze same. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. A tiny bit of allure after a drink and voila! You've found your true love. 'Ow convenient."

"It's hard not to when there is a quarter veela around to mess with your head. You really did a number on us this summer at the Burrow you know?"

"I am so sorry zat I 'ave been born unnaturally stunning. I will not do so again I promise," Fleur mocked him, chugging away at her own third drink while he was still on his second, "But zere are downsides to zis as well you know. Women 'ave been badmouthing moi behind ze back my whole life. Phlegm is not ze worst that I 'ave been called by far."

He ran a hand through his messy hair. "I'm sure that the girls didn't mean it."

"Oh please 'Arry, save it. I know eexactly what zose vixens meant and when I've been so good to Bill as well! Sometimes I don't understand where all of zis is 'eading. If me and Bill eeven 'ave a future. I love 'im dearly but… 'is mother… eenough about the dreary. Zis is yours I believe?"

His defence in lieu of the Weasley matriarch died on the tip of his tongue. There in Fleur's dainty hand lay the crumpled suicide note that must have slipped from his pocket after the apparition. He outstretched his hand to grab it but Fleur handily snatched it out of his reach at the last moment, her eyes locked on his face.

"Why 'as zis got you so angry? You are positively steaming! What is in it?"

He leapt from his armchair to no effect for Fleur had already unravelled the note and when he snatched it from her hands to shred it into a million pieces, he saw that it was too late. He opened his mouth to deny any allegation that would come from her mouth; however, he did not foresee that the ghastly silence that filled the room would be worse than any sort of outburst.

"Is zis… is zis true?" Fleur's voice shook.

His continued reticence on the matter solidified his guilt. Two hands wrapped around his shoulders bringing him down onto the couch in an enveloped embrace. Soft tears swept down his sweater to no protest from his paralysed form. He hadn't meant for this to happen… this was not what he wanted at all.

He spoke up, "Can we forget about this Fleur… please? You don't need to care so much about me, believe me, I'm not worth the tears. Let's just sweep this under the rug and I'll be off."

Fleur's watershed eyes swivelled around to his own, light make-up running down her face leaving black marks all over her cheeks. Her smile had long thawed away in favour of pursed lips embedded in stone. He tried to leave her grasp but she held on him with an iron grip as if as soon as she would let him go he would fade in front of her eyes. Left with no other option, he relented in hesitantly returning back the hug, apprehension clouding his mind.

Fleur pulled him in. "Why?"

"I was weak," the words felt dirty in his mouth, "But that's in the past. Forget about this whole thing Fleur."

Fleur wholeheartedly ignored him. "You saved Gabrielle. She would be devastated if you died 'Arry. Many people would be devastated."

"I know that."

Her mood changed swung, her tone rising, "Zen why did you write zis?! Why go zrough wiz it?! You are smarter zan zis!"

"It would be over so quick…" he muttered into her blond, cascading hair.

Fleur was back to tears as she hit his back, "Don't you dare die 'Arry. Don't you dare!"

"Death comes for us all," he replied in his best Dumbledore impersonation.

"Oh you silly, little boy. It doesn't mean zat you should be ze first to seek out deaz! Zere is still a lot zat life 'as to offer," she scolded him, holding him even closer to her chest.

He met her dark blue eyes, a bit indignant at being called a little boy but realising that this was probably fair considering he had been about to off himself. "I promise that I won't write another letter like that."

"You better," she sighed. "You better or I will resurrect you and kill you myself."

"Believe me I'm more worried about you turning into a full-fledged Verla with flaming fireballs at your tips. I would rather fight the Hungarian Horntail than stand against a quarter avian that possessed the elements of claws and flame," he shuddered.

He imagined Madame Delacour watching as a child Fleur turned into a fiery creature of hazard, setting the mall aflame during a massive temper tantrum caused by the refusal of her parents to purchase a stuffed animal. He grinned. If he ever met Fleur's relatives, he would need to ask them for this amazing bl– erm... educational material.

"What are you grinning about? Do you 'ave any plans at all aside from running away on ze 'olidays?" The subject of his thoughts asked him still clutching onto him without realising that leaping out of towers was kind of on the back-burner of his mind right now.

"I have no idea. Probably go back to Hogwarts –"

"You want moi to let you go back to an eempty castle so zat you can commit... zis!" she vaguely pointed at the crumpled letter. "While I am not looking?"

"No Fleur, I have already tried and –"

"You what?!"

He tried to calm her down, emphasis on the try. "I decided to jump from the tallest tower but there was this strong gale that pushed me back and –"

"– so ze only reason zat you are alive is because of a wind!" Fleur howled, signalling the return of the infamous iron grip that squeezed the life out of him in a manoeuvre reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley.

He should have just kept his mouth closed. No way was she letting him off the hook now.

"Non! You shall never do zis again! Promise me 'Arry. Never again!"

Logically he should have just nodded and said 'Yes' but he hesitated. He didn't like being ordered around and it was his life...

"'Arry! Don't you dare!" Fleur began sobbing even harder.

He tried to untangle himself from her inviting arms. He broke free from her grasp but looking over her, a part of Harry's heart died. Fleur was a mess. Her jumper was crumpled, her make-up ruined, her hands bruised and to top it all off she was still sobbing her heart out with her shoulders slumped downwards. He couldn't just leave her. He wouldn't be able to live with himself and wasn't that ironic?

He grabbed Fleur's body by the waist to heave her to the toilet where he opened the tap water to help her gently wash off the black stains adoring her face. Or well he at least tried to be gentle – it didn't stop some of the tap water from drenching her jumper, mixing in with the make-up that already coated the fabric. Going out on a whim that he blamed on his drink, he took off his jumper. His brave act of self-sacrifice caused Fleur to stop crying. When he began taking off her jumper as well, she began laughing instead.

"'Arry! I'm eengaged!"

He gave her a wink. "Bill doesn't need to know."

She continued laughing but didn't stop him from completely taking off her soaked-through jumper. An exchange later found Fleur comfortably sitting in his own maroon Weasley exotica, a proud 'H' displaying across her chest while Fleur's own jumper rested in the basket. Fleur softly swayed from side to side, dragging him back into the living room onto the couch where he found himself closer to her then he had ever been before with the world shifting on its axis like the deck of a ship in open waters.

"'Arry?" Fleur turned to him, a serious expression on her bedazzled face. "Never do zat again."

"Never again," he promised, not moving his eyes away from hers.

The unusual shifts coming from the fireplace startled them both. Swift as a sweeping stallion, Fleur's wisp-like wand flew from her pocket to bring him into disillusionment in the nick of time. The embers of the fireplace rasped out in cough as twigs moved themselves together to form the face of Bilius Weasley.

"Fleur!" Bill's voice rang throughout the apartment. "Honey why did you leave so suddenly without telling me? You had me worried sick."

Fleur raised herself from the couch to kneel down by the fireplace. "Sorry mon amour but I was feeling so unwell zat I simply 'ad to get away. I guess I might 'ave the pox."

"Well don't worry yourself then darling. I will be right along after the shift and we can take some days off until you recover."

Fleur bit her lip before throwing a guilty glance in his direction. "I would love to Bill but moi maman called zis morning. She wants me to visit 'er and you know 'ow she is."

"Alright sweetheart just be safe and remember that if you start to feel worse than we could always call on a mediwizard for treatment. Do you think that you will be long?"

Fleur hesitated. "A week at most."

Bill's tone dropped in obvious disappointment. "Pity that we won't spend Christmas together but do try to get back by New Years at the least or mother will have both of our hides. On the other hand it is probably for the best that you will be away. She seems to be in it for the long haul in suffocating us in a dozen layers of jumpers! I guess I will see you soon?"

Fleur sent a kiss. "I will be back before you eeven know it."

The cinders from the emerald flames did not have the chance to die down when clumps of clothes burst across the room, piling up neatly into a luggage case sitting snuggly by the doorway. Fleur grabbed him by the arm to drag him out into the corridor, locking the door behind her with a flick of her wand.

He stumbled over his own shoes in the hurry. "What's going on?"

"You are on vacation are you not? Consider zis its start," Fleur said, their forms warping down long-winded tight tunnels before being spit out into snow-addled streets that lay in-between a line of baroque housing, "Welcome 'Arry. Welcome to France!"

Next Up: Les Vacances en France