Crystal Harmony
She disappeared into the back room, and Crystal-Harmony found herself alone with Fleur. The silence that settled between them felt weighted, like the pressure at four miles deep but less comfortable.
Crystal-Harmony studied the other girl carefully. Fleur sat with perfect posture, her hands folded gracefully in her lap, her expression pleasantly neutral. She was beautiful--obviously, painfully beautiful in a way that made Crystal-Harmony acutely aware of her own awkward legs, her too-human face, her complete lack of surface-world elegance.
And she'd kissed Harry's cheek. Twice. In front of her.
"So," Crystal-Harmony said finally, because someone had to break the silence and it clearly wasn't going to be Fleur. "You and Harry seem very close."
Fleur's expression remained pleasant. "We are friends, yes. Good friends."
Friends who kissed each other's cheeks and held hands during constellation shows and spent entire days together touring magical schools. Crystal-Harmony had heard every detail from Harry during their walk to the rose garden--his voice warm with affection when he described Fleur's help, her intelligence, her kindness.
"He talks about you often," Crystal-Harmony continued, keeping her tone light and conversational even as something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. "About how you helped him last year, taught him to dance. How you showed him Beauxbatons."
"And he talks about you as well," Fleur countered smoothly. "The brave princess who came to the surface despite knowing the transformation would be painful. Who wants to understand a world she's never known."
Brave. The word felt wrong. She wasn't brave--she was desperate. Desperate to understand why she'd been born wrong, why her body carried human features no RSH should have, why she could create ice but not manipulate water like everyone else in her kingdom. Desperate to see if maybe, possibly, she belonged to the surface world instead of the deep.
Desperate to see Harry again and understand why thinking about him made her chest feel strange.
"Mutual admiration, then," Crystal-Harmony said with a small smile that felt more fragile than she wanted it to.
"It would seem so."
Another pause. Crystal-Harmony watched a nearby mirror suddenly decide to show her reflection in reverse, because apparently surface objects had opinions about everything. In the ocean, coral grew where it grew. Kelp swayed with the currents. Things had their place and stayed there, reliable and constant.
"Do you like him?" Crystal-Harmony asked, abandoning subtlety because she'd never been good at it anyway. "Harry, I mean. Beyond friendship?"
Fleur was quiet for a long moment, her fingers smoothing an invisible wrinkle in her dress--a nervous gesture that made her seem suddenly more human, less like the perfect surface princess who did everything right.
"That is a complicated question," Fleur said finally.
"Is it?" Crystal-Harmony met her eyes directly, using the same steady gaze she employed during council meetings when nobles questioned her right to speak. "I find feelings are usually quite simple. Either you do or you don't."
"Perhaps in your world," Fleur said carefully. "In mine, there are many considerations. My father's position, my family's reputation, the fact that I am part Veela and people always question whether my friendships are genuine or influenced by magic."
Part Veela. Harry had mentioned that, though he'd stumbled over the explanation in a way that made his face turn red. Some kind of surface creature with seductive magic, though the details had been vague.
"But Harry is immune to your allure," Crystal-Harmony pointed out, remembering that much clearly.
"Exactly," Fleur said softly. "Which makes him... rare. Someone who sees me as myself, not as what I am."
The words hit harder than Crystal-Harmony expected. She knew that feeling--intimately, painfully. Being seen as the princess with human features instead of Crystal-Harmony who loved ice sculptures and deep-water philosophy. Being evaluated for what she lacked rather than what she could do.
"I understand that," Crystal-Harmony said, and meant it. "Being seen for who you are rather than what you represent. It's precious."
For a moment, real understanding passed between them. Then Madame Lysette returned with an armful of gowns, shattering the moment like ice under pressure.
"Try this one first," the dressmaker instructed, holding up a flowing creation in midnight blue.
Crystal-Harmony stared at the garment with growing confusion. "How... how does it go on?"
"Through the top, dear. Arms first, then we'll manage the fastenings."
Fastenings. Of course, there were fastenings. Because surface clothing couldn't simply exist--it had to be assembled like some kind of elaborate puzzle.
She disappeared behind the changing screen, struggling with buttons that refused to cooperate and laces that seemed designed to tie themselves into knots. In Abyssantica, you wrapped sea-silk around yourself and the water pressure held it in place. Simple. Logical. Not requiring three hands and the flexibility of a sea serpent.
"Do you need help?" Fleur's voice came from the other side of the screen.
Crystal-Harmony wanted to say no, wanted to prove she could manage this basic surface task without assistance. But the dress had more buttons than she had patience, and her fingers didn't quite work right yet after the transformation.
"Yes, please," she admitted, hating how small her voice sounded.
Fleur appeared around the screen, and her fingers moved through fastenings Crystal-Harmony couldn't even see. This close, Crystal-Harmony could smell something floral and sweet--perfume, probably. Another surface affectation that served no practical purpose but somehow made Fleur seem even more elegant.
"Thank you," Crystal-Harmony murmured.
"Of course," Fleur replied, her tone genuinely kind rather than condescending.
Crystal-Harmony emerged from behind the screen, and both Fleur and Madame Lysette made appreciative sounds. The dress hugged her torso in a way that felt restrictive but not uncomfortable, then flared into a skirt that actually moved like water when she walked.
"Oh, that's lovely," Fleur said, and she sounded like she meant it. "The color brings out your eyes."
"You think so?" Crystal-Harmony turned to the mirror--carefully, because turning still required conscious thought and balance she didn't quite have.
Then she froze.
The reflection showed someone regal and ethereal, someone who looked like they belonged in this bright, dry world of aggressive mirrors and self-organizing wardrobes.
"This is..." she touched the bodice carefully, afraid to disturb the magic. "I look like I belong here."
"You do belong here," Madame Lysette said firmly. "At least for tonight."
Crystal-Harmony felt like someone had just gripped her heart and squeezed it without mercy.
At Least for Tonight.
Three more dresses followed, each beautiful in different ways. Crystal-Harmony tried to pay attention to Madame Lysette's explanations about necklines and sleeve styles, but the words blurred together. Surface fashion had so many rules, so many considerations that seemed designed to make everything as complicated as possible.
Why couldn't they just weave sea-silk and call it done?
Then came the fifth dress, and everything else stopped mattering.
The gown seemed to shift between silver and blue depending on how the light hit it--like looking up through water at the sun, watching it refract and dance across the surface. The bodice featured intricate crystal beading that caught light like the bioluminescent creatures that drifted past her bedroom window at night. The skirt fell in layers, and the sleeves were sheer fabric that created the illusion of water flowing down her arms.
"That's the one," Fleur breathed. "Absolutely the one."
Crystal-Harmony turned slowly, watching the dress move with her. For the first time since the transformation, she felt like herself--not a princess struggling with foreign legs, not a girl caught between worlds, but Crystal-Harmony who could create beauty from ice and water and light.
"I feel like myself," she said wonderingly. "Like I brought a piece of the ocean with me."
"Because you did," Madame Lysette said with satisfaction. "That's the secret of good design--enhancing what's already there rather than covering it up."
As Madame Lysette made minor adjustments--pinning and tucking with fast movements that made Crystal-Harmony nervous because the woman wielded very sharp needles very close to her skin--she found herself studying Fleur again.
The other girl watched the alterations with focused attention, occasionally offering suggestions about hem length or sleeve positioning. She understood this world in a way Crystal-Harmony never would--the unspoken rules of surface fashion, the subtle distinctions between appropriate and improper, the complex social dance that accompanied every interaction.
Madame Lysette stepped back, satisfied with her work. "There. Perfect. The dress will be ready for tonight--I just need to finish the hem and add a few more crystals to the sleeve edges."
Crystal-Harmony carefully changed back into her regular clothes, grateful that they required significantly fewer fastenings. When she emerged, Fleur was still sitting in her chair, looking thoughtful.
"Can I ask you something else?" Crystal-Harmony said quietly.
"Of course."
"Do you want him to choose Beauxbatons? To stay in France?"
Fleur was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing patterns on the chair's armrest. "I want him to have opportunities. To not be limited by a system that doesn't appreciate what he can do."
"That's not an answer."
"No," Fleur agreed, meeting her eyes directly. "It's not." She took a breath. "Yes. Part of me wants him here, where we can be friends without an ocean or a country between us. Where he can access the resources he needs. But I also know he has people in Britain who matter to him."
Crystal-Harmony nodded slowly, understanding settling heavy in her chest. Fleur wanted Harry close, just like she did. But Fleur could actually offer him something--better education, superior resources, a future that made sense. What could Crystal-Harmony offer? A few hours on land before she had to return to the deep? A friendship that existed in stolen moments between transformations?
"You're thinking very loudly," Fleur observed.
"Sorry. That's apparently something I do."
"Harry mentioned it. He said you think in ice sculptures."
"He told you that?" Crystal-Harmony felt warmth spread through her chest despite everything. Harry had noticed, had remembered, had thought it worth mentioning.
"He talks about you often," Fleur said gently. "About your ice magic, your intelligence, how you understand him in ways others don't."
"He talks about you the same way," Crystal-Harmony admitted.
They looked at each other, and the moment felt fragile--two girls who cared about the same confusing boy, who were trying to navigate impossible situations with grace they didn't always feel.
"Truce?" Fleur offered.
"Truce," Crystal-Harmony agreed. "At least until after the ball."
"What happens after the ball?"
"I return to the sea."
"Ah," Fleur said softly. "That kind of truce."
"Exactly that kind."
Madame Lysette returned with the finished dress, wrapped carefully in fabric that shimmered with preservation charms. "All done! Princess, you'll be the most stunning woman there tonight."
"Second most," Crystal-Harmony corrected, glancing at Fleur. She might be many things--confused, out of place, struggling with basic surface tasks--but she wasn't delusional.
"Oh, I like her," Fleur said to Madame Lysette, her smile genuine. "She has excellent taste."
And despite everything--the complications, the confused feelings, the knowledge that after tonight she'd return to four miles of water and Fleur would still be here with Harry--Crystal-Harmony found herself smiling back.
Maybe she'd found a friend. Even if that friend was also sort of a rival. Even if they both knew that after tonight, everything would get infinitely more complicated.
For now, they had a truce and a beautiful dress.
Harry Potter
The royal suite felt too large after the intimate dining room—all vaulted ceilings and excessive space that made Harry think the French Ministry had never met a room it couldn't make unnecessarily grand. His formal robes hung on a magical rack near the window, deep emerald with silver threading that probably cost more than most families spent on housing.
At least they're not lime-green, Harry thought, remembering Minister Fudge's fashion disasters. Small mercies.
"I still can't believe Nicolas Flamel just... talked to you like that," Nymphadora said, pacing the suite. "Like you were colleagues. Like you weren't twelve—"
"Almost thirteen," Harry corrected automatically.
"—years old and he wasn't literally the most legendary artificer in existence."
"He was nice," Harry replied casually with a smirk, causing Tonks to gasp at him. "And he talked about snoring charms, which made him seem more human and less like a walking historical monument."
Ted laughed from his position near the fireplace, where he was attempting to charm his dress robes into something resembling presentability. "That's the secret to surviving high society, Harry. Remember that everyone's just people pretending they're not terrified of looking foolish."
"Some people pretend better than others," Andromeda observed, settling into one of the absurdly plush armchairs with a leather folder Harry recognized as her political intelligence notes. The ones she compiled before any significant social event, full of names and connections and carefully documented grudges that could destroy careers if mishandled.
She's going into battle mode, Harry realized, seeing the particular focus in her eyes. Which means this ball is going to be more complicated than anyone's letting on.
"Right then," Andromeda said, opening the folder. "We need to discuss who will be attending tonight, because there are several surprises I've learned about since we arrived."
"Good surprises or 'someone's going to try to poison my drink' surprises?" Harry asked.
"The latter is always possible at international gatherings," Andromeda replied with a grimness that suggested she wasn't entirely joking. "But specifically, House Greengrass will be attending. Cassiopeia, Charles, and both daughters."
Harry felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Daphne's here?"
"And Astoria," Andromeda confirmed. "Along with their mother, who I'm certain will find opportunities to remind you that her offer remains open."
Of course she will, Harry thought sourly. Cassiopeia Greengrass doesn't do subtle. She does elegant manipulation wrapped in expensive silk and delivered with a smile that could cut diamonds.
"At least Daphne will be there," he said aloud, trying to find the positive angle. "She's good at making complicated social situations slightly less awful."
"True," Andromeda agreed. "Though I suspect her mother will be monitoring her interactions quite carefully. Cassiopeia doesn't bring her daughters to international events without purpose."
"What purpose?" Nymphadora asked, finally stopping her pacing to lean against Harry's chair. Her hair had settled on anxious yellow-green, which clashed spectacularly with everything in the room.
"Political education," Ted supplied. "Showing them how high society functions, who matters, how to navigate diplomatic waters. It's what pureblood families do—raise their children in the machinery of power so it feels natural rather than foreign."
"Lovely," Harry muttered. "So I get to network while being evaluated by a woman who thinks I'm a profitable investment and watched by her daughters who are learning how to become equally terrifying."
"You forgot the other surprise," Andromeda said, and something in her tone made Harry look up sharply.
"There's worse news than Cassiopeia Greengrass?"
"House Malfoy will also be attending."
For a moment, Harry thought he'd misheard. Then the words processed, and he felt anger surge hot and immediate. "Why the hell are the Malfoys here? This is France, not a Dark Wizard reunion."
"Language," Andromeda said automatically, but without much force. "And the answer is complicated but entirely logical from a political standpoint."
"I'm listening," Harry said through gritted teeth, "but I reserve the right to be furious regardless of logic."
Andromeda's lips twitched slightly. "House Malfoy's roots run deep in French aristocracy, Harry. Very deep. The family spent centuries in these halls before they relocated to Britain one hundred and nine years ago. Lucius may wear British titles now, but his bloodline is French nobility. Minister Delacour couldn't exclude them without causing significant diplomatic offense."
"They're Dark Wizards," Harry protested. "Or were, until Voldemort conveniently disappeared and they all claimed they'd been Imperio'd."
"They're politically connected pure-bloods with extensive French heritage," Andromeda corrected. "And unfortunately, international politics requires acknowledging even unpleasant histories. The Malfoys have legitimate claim to attendance at any major French Ministry function."
Harry slouched in his chair, feeling thirty rather than almost thirteen. "This is stupid."
"Welcome to high society," Ted said dryly. "Where morality takes a backseat to bloodline politics and everyone pretends yesterday's atrocities are just awkward dinner conversation."
"At least Draco will be miserable too," Nymphadora offered. "Can you imagine? Him having to watch you being celebrated while he sulks in a corner knowing you are everything he would want to be?"
That did make Harry feel slightly better. Marginally. "He's going to be insufferable."
"He's always insufferable," Andromeda pointed out. "Tonight he'll just be insufferable while watching you succeed, which is its own kind of justice."
"And Narcissa?" Harry asked, remembering the cold woman from the Diagon Alley before the second year started.
Something complicated crossed Andromeda's face. "Narcissa will be civil. She's too well-trained to cause scenes at international gatherings. But Harry, if you find yourself in conversation with her, remember—she's extremely intelligent and politically astute. Don't underestimate her just because her husband is a bombastic fool."
"Noted," Harry said. "Don't trust the Death Eater's wife even when she's being polite."
"Don't trust anyone completely," Andromeda corrected. "Not tonight. Every conversation is a negotiation, every pleasantry carries subtext, and everyone wants something from you. The question is whether what they want aligns with your interests."
And people wonder why I prefer dangerous magical creatures, Harry thought. At least with a basilisk, you know where you stand. It either wants to kill you or it doesn't. None of this diplomatic double-speak nonsense.
Newt emerged from the adjacent room where he'd been settling Itisa and Hedwig in his expanded case. His hair was slightly singed, and he wore the expression of someone who'd just survived negotiating with particularly stubborn magical creatures.
"Itisa is extremely displeased about being excluded," he reported. "I've explained that French ballrooms have strict policies about creatures capable of leveling buildings, but she's taking it personally."
"She takes everything personally," Harry said with affection that was probably inappropriate given they were discussing a Nundu. "How's Hedwig handling it?"
"She's mocking Itisa for being confined," Newt replied. "Which isn't helping the situation. I've given them both treats and suggested they work out their differences without destroying my case's internal structure."
"Good luck with that," Ted muttered.
Newt settled into another chair, pulling out his own notes—personality profiles of the key attendees, because apparently everyone came to international balls armed with intelligence reports and strategic assessments.
"Right then," Newt said, adjusting his glasses. "Who should Harry know about specifically?"
"The German delegation," Andromeda replied immediately. "They're interested in Harry's work but skeptical about British political instability. Don't mention goblin rebellions, dragon pox outbreaks, or anything involving the 1847 uprising."
"Why not?" Harry asked.
"The German Staatsminister's family was involved in suppressing it," Newt explained. "Very bloody affair. They're still sensitive about accusations of excessive force."
"What constitutes excessive force in suppressing a goblin rebellion?"
"Best not to find out through diplomatic incident," Andromeda said firmly. "Also, the Spanish Minister will be there. She's interested in Abyssantica trade opportunities, so any insights you have about Royal Sea Horse culture could prove valuable."
Harry thought about Crystal-Harmony in the next room, resting in her salt-water pool while her temporary legs recovered from the morning's abuse. She'd talked about her kingdom during their walk—the politics, the trade goods, the careful diplomacy required when your entire civilization existed four miles underwater.
"I can probably help with that," he said. "Though I should check with Crystal-Harmony first. Don't want to share information she'd consider sensitive."
"Good instinct," Ted approved. "Always confirm before discussing someone else's culture or politics. Shows respect and prevents accidentally starting incidents."
"Speaking of which," Newt continued, "Madame Maxime from Beauxbatons will be there. She's interested in your talismans for student safety during practical lessons, but she's extremely sensitive about anything involving experimental potions."
"Why?"
"Student transformation incident three years ago," Newt explained. "Partial conversion into a toad. The lawsuit is still ongoing and she's rather touchy about it."
"Don't mention experimental potions, got it," Harry said, mentally cataloging an increasingly long list of conversational landmines. "Anyone else I should specifically avoid offending?"
"The Romanian delegation gets uncomfortable about dragon pox discussions—they lost their previous Minister to an outbreak," Andromeda added. "And the Russian contingent will probably probe about your political backing and Foundation connections."
"What do I tell them?"
"The truth," Andromeda said. "That you're exploring options but maintaining independence. The Russians respect strength and directness more than diplomatic evasion."
Harry absorbed this information, feeling the weight of the coming evening settle heavier with each additional detail. This wasn't just a party—this was political theater where every conversation carried implications that could affect his future for years.
"And Fleur?" he asked, because she'd be there too, and somehow that felt more complicated than all the diplomatic protocols combined.
Andromeda's expression softened slightly. "Fleur is your friend, Harry. She'll help guide you through the worst of it. But remember—she's also the Minister's daughter, which means her actions reflect on France. She'll balance friendship with diplomatic necessity."
"Right," Harry said, feeling something twist uncomfortably in his chest. "So I can trust her, but not completely, because everyone has obligations that supersede personal relationships."
"Welcome to adulthood," Ted said with grim humor. "Where nothing is simple and everything has conditions."
The door to Crystal-Harmony's room opened slightly, and her voice drifted through—tired but determined. "I will attend. I didn't transform for nothing."
Harry felt his chest tighten. She was in pain, exhausted from hours of walking on legs that weren't meant to exist, and still she'd insist on attending the ball because that's what princesses did. They performed their duties regardless of personal cost.
She's as stubborn as Itisa, Harry thought with a mixture of exasperation and admiration. And about as willing to admit weakness.
"Right then," Andromeda said, standing right away. "Harmony Dear and Nymphadora, with me. We're going to make sure you both look absolutely spectacular tonight."
"Do I have to?" Nymphadora protested. "Can't I just wear my robes and be done with it?"
"You absolutely cannot," Andromeda replied firmly. "Tonight you represent not just yourself but our entire family. We'll be presenting properly or not at all."
She shepherded both girls toward the second room—Nymphadora protesting, Crystal-Harmony moving carefully on legs that clearly hurt—and Harry found himself alone with Ted and Newt.
"This is going to be a disaster," Harry said into the silence.
"Probably," Ted agreed cheerfully. "But at least it'll be an interesting disaster. The best kind."
"I'm almost thirteen," Harry protested. "I should be worrying about homework and Quidditch, not navigating international politics while avoiding multiple girls who apparently have complicated feelings about me that I definitely don't understand."
"Youth is wasted on the young," Newt observed. "When I was your age, I spent most of my time cataloging Bowtruckle mating habits and getting detention for releasing Nifflers in the Headmaster's office."
"That sounds infinitely better than this," Harry muttered.
The next hour passed like a slow moving turtle. Harry tried on his formal robes three times, each attempt making him look progressively more like he was playing dress-up.
Then the door to the second room opened, and Harry forgot how to breathe.
Nymphadora emerged first, and Harry barely recognized her. Her hair had been styled into elegant waves of deep burgundy-brown that looked natural and sophisticated rather than her usual bright pink chaos. Her dress was midnight blue silk, with silver accents that caught the light in ways that made Harry's chest do something complicated. She looked older, more mature, and so beautiful that Harry forgot about diplomatic protocols entirely.
Behind her came Crystal-Harmony, and if Nymphadora had stolen Harry's breath, Crystal-Harmony made him forget breathing was something bodies required. Her dress shifted between silver and blue like looking up through water at sunlight—exactly the colors of the deep ocean she'd described. Crystal beading caught light like bioluminescent creatures, and the way the fabric moved suggested waves and currents and everything beautiful about the sea she'd left behind to be here.
Harry opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. No words emerged that didn't sound completely inadequate.
"You both look..." He struggled for vocabulary that could encompass what he was seeing. "You look absolutely incredible. Breathtaking. Like... like I don't have words for how beautiful you both look."
Nymphadora's hair immediately flushed pink at the edges, betraying her embarrassment despite Andromeda's careful styling. "Really? You're not just saying that because I'm your....sist...Tonks?"
"I'm saying it because it's true," Harry replied, finally finding his voice. "Tonks, you look like royalty. Actual royalty, not the stuffy boring kind. The kind that makes people forget how to speak because they're too busy staring."
Her entire face went red now, matching her hair's rebellious pink streaks. "Harry, stop, you're being ridiculous."
"I'm being honest," Harry corrected, then turned to Crystal-Harmony, who stood watching him and she looked eager to know his opinion of her dress. "And you... you look like you brought the ocean with you. Like someone captured sunlight filtering through four miles of water and turned it into a dress. It's perfect."
Crystal-Harmony's cheeks flushed—actual color rising in her transformed skin—and she looked down at the dress with something approaching wonder. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Harry said firmly. "Everyone at that ball is going to lose their minds when they see you."
"Both of you," Ted interjected, his voice oddly thick. "Merlin's beard."
Ted approached Nymphadora slowly, as if seeing her for the first time, and Harry noticed his eyes had gone foggy with emotion. Nymphadora's expression shifted from pride to concern.
"Dad?"
"Daughter, you have..." Ted's voice cracked slightly. "You really have grown into a beautiful woman."
Nymphadora's eyes immediately went red and glassy. She stepped forward and hugged him fiercely, her carefully styled hair already coming loose against his shoulder. Crystal-Harmony began clapping with genuine enthusiasm, and her four guards—who'd been standing silent watch in the corner—joined in with their own awkward but sincere applause. Harry felt his own eyes burn, and he looked away quickly, pretending sudden fascination with the ceiling architecture.
Ted whispered something too quiet for Harry to hear, and Nymphadora's eyes widened. She pulled back slightly, staring at her father with an expression of surprise. But she said nothing, just nodded once before Ted gently released her and walked toward the window, ostensibly to examine the view of Paris but clearly needing a moment to compose himself.
Andromeda emerged from the preparation room at that exact moment, took one look at her husband's suspiciously bright eyes and her daughter's emotional state, and her satisfied expression shifted to something softer.
"Edward," she said quietly, moving to his side. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," Ted replied, his voice still thick. "Just realized our daughter isn't a little girl anymore. These things catch you off guard sometimes."
Andromeda rested her hand on his arm, and they stood together by the window for a moment—and Harry felt something heavy in his heart. His own parents would never have that moment with him, would never see him grow up or tell him he'd become a good man. But Ted and Andromeda had given him that family anyway, had chosen him when they didn't have to, and watching them with Nymphadora reminded him that family wasn't just blood—it was choice and love and moments like this.
Andromeda turned back to address the room, her professional composure restored though her eyes remained suspiciously bright. "Well done, both of you," she said, her voice steady despite everything. "Harry, try not to spend the entire evening staring at them like a stunned flobberworm. It's unbecoming."
"No promises," Harry muttered, still trying to reconcile the image of Nymphadora in her elegant dress with the girl who'd taught him to cast Alohamora practice charms while standing on one leg. The girl who'd become his sister in everything but blood, who looked at him now with those bright hazel eyes still slightly red from her father's words. The girl he was growing to love more than just a sister.
Crystal-Harmony had moved closer to her guards, speaking quietly with Reef-Shield about something Harry couldn't quite hear.
As they began final preparations—checking pocket contents, reviewing diplomatic protocols one last time, making sure everyone's robes hung properly—Harry felt the weight of the coming evening settle into something approaching acceptance.
He had his family. He had his friends.
Just another day in the life of Harry Potter, he thought with grim humor. Defeater of basilisks, creator of talismans, friend with a Nundu and a Storm Bird...