Chanson (Songfic)

Harry and Ron join Fleur for lunch--and something quite simple, and quite small, happens.

Disclaimer: All characters are JK Rowling's, and all lyrics are Stephen Schwartz's.

And then one day, suddenly, something can happen
(It may be quite simple, it may be quite small),
But all of a sudden your stew tastes different,
And you hear the sheep bleat in a different key,
And you see with new eyes,
And the faces you see
Are people you don't know at all.

Fleur was as good as her word, and half an hour found the three of them in Shell Cottage, glasses of good French wine in Fleur’s and Ron’s hands and water in Harry’s. Fleur, of course, had to divide her attention between her guests and baby Victoire, but Harry felt more relaxed than he had in days.

Still, he cast a nervous eye at his flatmate and friend—when Ron drank to excess, his temper also became excessive. But to Harry’s relief, Ron was nursing his wine, never drinking more than a sip at a time, and when he finally finished his first glass, he asked Fleur for a glass of water.

“You can have eet at the table, Ron,” Fleur told him with a smile over her shoulder from the kitchen, “lunch is ready!”

Harry pushed himself off the couch eagerly. Fleur was dishing soup into bowls surrounded by still-steaming brown bread, with butter and jam at the ready. “I thought we would keep it simple this afternoon,” she said. “I hope I have not disappointed?”

“Never, Fleur,” Ron said firmly. “You make the most wonderful food I’ve ever tasted!”

“Now, Ron,” Fleur chided him, but with a twinkle in her eye, “you must not say such things. If your mother were to hear of it, she would be very hurt, and then very angry—and it is not true to begin with. I have some small talent in the kitchen, it is true—but your mother is in a class by herself.”

“Regardless, Fleur,” Harry said, around a mouthful of thick soup, “this is just magnificent. Thank you again for having us over.”

Fleur smiled, and if Harry hadn’t been indulging his gluttony, he would have noticed something peculiar about that smile. “It is no trouble, my dear Harry,” she said. “No trouble at all.”

The soup and bread were demolished in fairly short order. As Ron wiped his bowl with the last of the bread, Fleur got up and strode back to the oven. “I have not forgotten the dessert!” she promised them. She reached inside and produced a delicious-looking pie—probably berry, Harry thought.

Quick as a flash, Fleur put plates, forks, pie, and cups of tea in front of the two men. Harry cocked his head quizzically. “You’re not having any?”

“Pie?” Fleur shrieked. “Harry, it is only just that I have regained my figure after having Victoire—would you have me be fat and ugly?”

“You could never be fat!” Ron protested.

“Or ugly!” Harry chimed in.

Fleur smiled. “You are both very kind, but it is one of the many ways life is unfair. For a man to be considered handsome, he must have big muscles—but for a woman to be considered beautiful, she must look like a twig with legs and arms. No pie for me,” she finished firmly, “but please, please eat!”

Harry and Ron needed no further urging.

But as Harry swallowed his third forkful, something strange began to happen. His face began to feel very flushed, and he was having trouble breathing regularly. He stood up slowly, pushing his plate away.

“Harry?” Fleur asked in a concerned voice.

“You all right, mate?” Ron asked.

“I……I’m not sure.” Harry put both of his hands on the table, to try to steady himself. “I think……I think I’d better go lie down.”

He tried to step away from the table—and half collapsed as he went as dizziness hit him like a hammer. Ron and Fleur were next to him in an instant, supporting him. Slowly, they guided him over to the couch, and Harry sat on it heavily.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Ron asked, clearly frightened.

“I don’t know!” Harry cried. He bent over, his head in his hands, waiting for the dizziness to fade. “I……I think I’d better get back to London.”

“I’m not taking you on the train like this……” Ron began.

“Hush, Ron,” Fleur told him. She stepped over to the fireplace and threw some powder in it, then got down on her hands and knees and leaned into the flames briefly. “The Floo Network is back in service,” she announced, dusting herself off. “Harry, do you think you can use that to get back to your home?”

“Yeah……yeah, I think so,” Harry said. “The antibiotics shouldn’t be a problem with Floo Travel. Ron, a little help?” He held out his hand.

Ron clasped his hand and hauled him to his feet, catching him in his arms as Harry stood.

For some reason, being in Ron’s arms was making Harry feel very awkward.

Ron guided Harry to the fireplace, and spared an arm to hug Fleur. “Say hi to Bill for us, and tell him we’re sorry we couldn’t have stayed later, all right?” he asked.

“But of course, Ron,” Fleur said, with a smile—and this time Harry definitely saw something there. “Give my love to Hermione, when you see her.”

“Will do,” Ron said. As Fleur tossed another handful of powder into the fireplace, Ron shouted, “Bloke Base!”

“That is what you have called your flat?” Fleur asked incredulously as Ron half-carried Harry into the fireplace.

“It’s simple, straightforward, and easy to remember,” Ron said over his shoulder as he vanished.

Fleur shook her lovely head, and smiled. Harry was taken care of. And as soon as Ron drank anything with alcohol, things at “Bloke Base” (Zut! she thought) would get very interesting…….