How do you tell someone, anyone something that will not only change the world they live in, but also change the way they look at themselves. Harry had seen it happen to so many people. Those he called friend, brother, sister. He had lived through it once, surviving physically more than mentally. He knew the pain, the rage, and the emotions it brought. He knew how it felt. Bu there was no way for him to truly feel and understand what it was like for Fleur.
When she woke, the following morning, she knew instantly that she was different, and not different in a good way. Any lingering doubts she had were banished the moment she looked in to Harry's eyes, felt the raw churning turmoil of his emotions through their bond, "Non," she said quietly, "C'est ne pas possible."
"Fleur," he said hesitantly, he stared helplessly at her, across her, out the window, wondering where he should begin, where he should start, "I'm not… going to lie to you," he reached out, taking her hand gently in two of his, "what is the last thing you remember before waking up?"
"The archway," she said quietly, "You, me, and Blake, falling." she was breathing fast, and he could feel her magic, powered by rage, begging for a release of some kind. Destructive release. Her Veela side was close to the surface.
There was no escaping it, and he was resigned to whatever fate threw his way, "I'll, start at the beginning." He did explaining everything, leave nothing out. Everything he saw in his fall, how it scared him to be all alone. And then his meeting, his conversation with Death, and she listened to everything, partly incredulous, partly disbelieving him, but at the same time, knowing that he was not lying.
"Mais" she interrupted, "what has this to do with… our child?" she read it in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped and his hands shook, "You bargained with Death," she whispered, "her life for ours?"
"No," he said quietly, "Yours. Mine… my return was paid for, in part. I have to kill Voldemort. Only in his death, is my own debt paid."
"You accepted those terms?" she asked quietly, "Our child, my daughter, my child for me?" he could feel her anger, the rage inching closer to the surface.
"Yes."
He could see the anguish in her eyes, the anger in the clenching of her fists, and the pain. He felt the pain as the wave of magic erupted from her with a scream, one that threw him across the hospital wing, shattering windows, mirrors and the glass of Madame Pomfrey's small office.
Having been thrown around, beaten, and generally abused Harry was unfortunately, accustomed to being thrown around like a rag doll. In his experience, it was never the sailing through the air or down the stairs that hurt. It was always the landing and the stopping part. There was no exception here. He landed with a bone shattering crunch and gasped, as he felt a number of his ribs collapse.
She had risen from her bed, hands sheathed to the wrists in flames. Her features had altered: There was the glimmer of something, above her shoulders, like long black scaly wings. Her eyes were cruel slits as the fire in hands seemed to pulse with her breathing. Harry was suddenly reminded of Mr. Weaseley's last words on the subject of Veela from the Quidditch World Cup the year before: "And that, boys, is why you should never go for looks alone!"
She stalked across the hospital wing towards her. Madame Pomfrey emerged from her office, having taken refuge beneath her desk when the glass started to fly. Looking out that scene of devastation, finding Harry upon the floor with Fleur stalking him, she knew she had no choice as she raised her wand and aimed a sleeping spell.
"Don't!" he shouted, "You can't take her in a straight fight!" He looked up at her, taking a breath, instantly regretting that as pain lanced through his side. One on one, few could take a half Veela in a straight fight, especially an angry one.
The wrath of woman is nothing compared to the wrath of a Veela, "I had no choice! I had to choose between you and our child, or just our child! Did I have a real choice?" He knew she could very well kill him, but by the same token, knew that she needed an outlet, a target for the emotions she felt. At least in this, she had chosen the right target, "I know the choice you would have made, but how could I save an unborn child without saving the mother first?" A flicker of emotion crossed her face, "I love you," he said, quietly, "I did what I had to do, to save you. I would do the same thing. The. Same. Thing. Again." The quiet yet firm conviction would have erased anyone's doubt, "What would you do?"
She faltered, "Did you ever, really love me, Fleur Delacour? If you ever did, you'd understand." The shadowy outlines behind her faded, as the flames died away. "I had to choose between you and nothing. I chose you." The last of the flames flickered as she fell to her knees next to him. Knives of broken glass, scattered across the floor cut in to the flesh of her knees, but she didn't care as she slumped in to his arm, tears flowing down her cheeks in silence.
"Aimée," she whispered between sobs.
He knew exactly what she was talking about, "Our daughter," he whispered back, "Aimée Potter Delacour."
"Aimée Delacour Potter," she corrected him, "She would have had your name, and we would have been family." It was not just the words, but also the way she said. He knew her, as well as, if not better than most. Just as she knew, and could read his every emotion with ease, and sometimes even read his thoughts. He tensed over so slightly, as she said it again, perhaps for his benefit, "We… would have been family."
"We still can be," he ran his fingers through her hair; "I can't make this choice alone."
"There, is no choice to be made," said Fleur sadly, even as tears continued to fall, soaking his robes, "You took our child, and used her as a bargaining chip for my life. You should have saved hers." Though knives of glass had rained down all over the hospital wing of the school, Rowena had ensured the safety of all of the patients, all of whom had watched the confrontation in silence. But all of them had known Fleur was pregnant. And it was clear to all of them, that she had lost the child, just like it was clear that she blamed Harry, and though she hated him, she still loved him.
The young couple did nothing but hold each other. She cried he kept his gaze fixed firmly upon the ceiling. He was holding back his tears with force of will alone. She needed his strength, and he was not going to fail her, not now. Fleur knew he had never failed her, and though she blamed him, a part of her knew he'd done the right, the only thing he could have done under the circumstances. Harry would blame himself and he would never stop blaming himself. She knew that it wasn't his fault, not directly. But convincing him of that fact was something she could not do, because she still blamed him for what had happened to her, and she wanted to forget, the events of that afternoon, not relive them.
They stayed together, on the floor for countless hours, but they were both there in time to witness Luna get out of bed, a little shaky, but able to walk, gaining confidence as her strength returned. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Colin hugged her and then helped her leave the hospital wing, leaving Fleur and Harry alone. Finally, he persuaded Fleur to get back in to bed, to sleep, and in return he promised to take a walk and clear his head.
All he found was a copy of the latest Daily Prophet.
The rest of the Wizarding World was still coming to grips with the fact that Voldemort had returned, but a recent change in ownership at the Daily Prophet had ground the workings of the Prophet to a halt. Griphook, had been true to his word and Harry was now the majority owner of the Daily Prophet, the staff were in a word, purged. From Editor-in-Chief down to the janitorial, almost forty witches and wizards found themselves unemployed, including one Rita Skeeter. The few survivors of the purge were Penelope Clearwater, junior reporters Fenetre and Braithwaite who had been with the Prophet for less than a month, the four staffers who were the brains and voices of the various advice columnists and three photographers. On Luna Lovegood's recommendation, Penelope Clearwater had been offered and accepted the position as Editor-in-Chief and the rest brought on board understood that they were to report facts and the truth, not fantasy and fiction. The first edition of the new Daily Prophet would break all sales records:
HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS
"In a brief statement on Friday night, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that Lord Voldemort has returned to this country and is once more active. "It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord, You-know-Who is alive and among us again,ʺ said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. ʺIt is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the Dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministryʹs employ. We believe the Dementors are currently taking direction from Lord… Thingy. We urge the magical population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense which will be delivered free to all wizarding homes within the coming month.ʺ
"The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was ʺno truth whatsoever in these persistent rumors that You‐Know‐Who is operating amongst us once more.ʺ Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, though it is believed that He Who Must Not Be Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening.
Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has so far been unavailable for comment. He has insisted over the past year that You‐Know‐Who is not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but is recruiting followers once more for afresh attempt to seize power. Meanwhile, the ʺBoy Who Lived ‐"
'Of course,' Harry thought contemptuously, 'Suddenly I'm hope and savior again. No longer a deluded show-off, am I?' He scanned the rest of the article and snorted derisively as phrases leapt out at him, ' lone voice of truth… perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story… forced to bear ridicule and slander… ʹ he said, frowning, 'Considering they were doing the ridiculing and slandering…'
"Voldemort ʹs Last Attempt to Take Over, pages two to four, What the Ministry Should Have Told Us, page five, Why Nobody Listened to Albus Dumbledore, pages six to eight, Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter, page nine…"
Harry crunched the newspaper in his hands and tossed it aside. Dumbledore's return to Hogwarts had been relatively quiet and subdued, and while Umbridge still prowled the hallways of Hogwarts, she had been effectively neutered for the moment. If she was here next year, Harry vowed silently, she would find herself looking for employment elsewhere in a specific ward of St. Mungos.
Dumbledore and Flitwick had taken a single look at the swamp conjured by Fred and George Weasely and agreed that it was an outstanding piece of magic. It took them swishes of a wand to restore the corridor to its original form, barring a small portion that was left as a monument to them. It was about the only thing that Harry had laughed at, as he read the plaque that had been defaced by someone, deliberately misspelling the names of the twins:
"Gred and Feorge Weasely, Hogwarts Captains of Mayhem. For outstanding Charms work."
Filch was of course, beyond miserable as many of his new powers and punishments were revoked including his dream punishment of whipping. Divination was being taught by Firenze and Trelawney jointly, but he had strong suspicions that class was going to be a battleground between two very different and unique approaches to the subject. He almost wondered if he would be able to take NEWT Divination, just to watch the Centaur and Witch battle it out.
The castle seemed very quiet even for a Sunday. Everybody was clearly out in the sunny grounds, enjoying the end of their exams and the prospect of a last few days of term unhampered by revision or homework. Harry walked slowly along the deserted corridor, peering out of windows as he went; he could see people messing around in the air over the Quidditch pitch and a couple of students swimming in the lake, accompanied by the giant squid.
Harry had just descended the last marble step into the Entrance Hall when Malloy, Crabbe and Goyle emerged from a door on the right that Harry knew led down to the Slytherin common room. Harry stopped dead; so did Malfoy and surprise, surprise, Ron Weasely was with them too. The only sound was the shouts, laughter and splashes drifting into the Hall from the grounds through the open front doors.
Malfoy glanced around ‐ Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers ‐ then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, "You're dead, Potter."
Harry raised his eyebrows, "Funny" he said, "You'd think I'd have stopped walking around," Malfoy looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him; he felt a kind of detached satisfaction at the sight of his pale, pointed face contorted with rage, "But seeing as you can walk and talk at the same time, the inbreeding that produced you has not totally corrupted your bloodline. Shame really. Some muggle blood would do you a lot of good."
"You're going to pay," said Malfoy in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "I'm going to make you pay for what you've done to my father…" Malfoy already had his hand in his pocket. Harry just grinned. So that's how this was going to play out? Excellent.
"Well, I'm terrified now," said Harry sarcastically. "I s'pose Lord Voldemortʹs just a warm‐up act compared to you four fuckwits?" he added, pretending he was about to swoon as all four of them had looked panic stricken at the sound of the name. "He's a mate of your dad, isn't he? Not scared of him, are you?"
"You think you're such a big man, Potter," said Malfoy as he led his goon squad forward, "You wait. I'll have you. You can't land my father in prison –"
"You know," interrupted Harry, "I always wondered where you got such a…pretty mouth from. Must be your dad's…. you get a lot of practice at home Malfoy? Betcha your dad's really popular in prison. He'd make a lovely prison bitch, I'm sure."
Malfoyʹs hand flew out his robes, clenching his wand. Harry swept his hand through the air and Crabbe on Malfyo's right rocked back as blood spurted from his nose. From right to left, blood spurted from the noses of Malfoy, Ron and Goyle. His wand sprang in to his hand and he had summoned their wands and halted them in mid air. With a quick twist of his wrist, the wands flew to the ceiling and glued themselves there with a sticking charm.
"Potter!" The voice rang across the Entrance Hall. Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt towards Malfoy, "What are you doing, Potter?" said Snape, as coldly as ever, as he strode over to the five of them.
"I'm trying to decide which curse would be appropriate to use on four would be Death Eater wannabes, Sir" he said mustering as much sarcasm as he could.
Snape stared at him, "Put that wand away at once," he said curtly. Harry twitched, as if somebody was whispering in his ear. He hesitated for a moment then lowered his wand. "Ten points from Gryff‐" Snape looked towards the giant hour‐glasses on the walls and gave a sneering smile, "Ah. I see there are no longer any points left in the Gryffindor hour‐glass to take away. In that case, Potter, we will simply have to ‐"
Rowena interjected, not verbally but with a simple spell of her own. The Potions Master vanished, without a sound. Harry grinned at the three Slytherins, and the oath breaker, "Anybody else?" The four fled, sans wands and Harry had made his way back to the Infirmary. The time was better spent with Fleur than anywhere else. But he could not help but wonder what Snape would make of his disappearing act. He bit back a smile as Rowena explained that he would wake up inside the only number 10 sized cauldron in Hogwarts, wondering how he got there - again.
Of course, the Infirmary was a crowded place with the Legion's core members and two Goblins. Harry mind flashed back, to the end of his fourth year, where they had all sat around, drinking butterbeer late in to the night, and then Firewhiskey early in to the next morning. The pattern of the previous year played itself out, this time with Griphook and Marinashka as well. The adults didn't object when the Firewhiskey made its appearance.
"You're kids," said Remus quietly, "But you have demonstrated courage, maturity and a sense of responsibility well beyond your years." He poured another round of drinks, before handing the bottle to Harry. They toasted the fallen:
"To Sirius Black," said Mad Eye, his normally harsh, gravelly voice, softer, almost cultured.
"Blake Wolf," said Tonks, her voice almost cracking as she spoke. She held the glass in her left hand as opposed to her right given the weakness in her still sore shoulder. But then, had Bella's curse been on target, she knew they would be raising a glass to her as well.
"Brother in Pranks," echoed the twins
"Godfather," said Harry, feeling the pain of his loss.
"Friend," continued Fleur.
"Fellow Marauder," said Moony, his eyes red from too many shed tears.
"Man of many tastes and talents," said Ginny quietly.
"A man who placed loyalty and honor before profit," said Griphook.
"Battle-Brother." said Colin. His words stopped everyone for a moment as they stared at the youngest of those gathered, holding his second ever measure of Firewhiskey. They stared at him for a long moment, and he shrugged, uncomfortable at being the center of attention, "He was a brother sort of, to most of us wasn't he? Fought alongside us… died alongside us too. I think it is fitting." In a flash he found that he understood why Harry hated being the center of attention. He felt Luna take his hand, "I've been working on a little something," he handed Harry a scrap of parchment, "Would like to know what you think."
He made copies and distributed it amongst the rest of those present, "I like it."
"Nice," agreed Neville. "Don't think it needs any work."
"Share this with the Legion?" asked Ginny.
"When the time is right," agreed Harry.
They were all released from the hospital wing the following morning, and with Fred and George amongst their number, they passed the semi final day of the school year in quiet reflection and contemplation. The leaving feast was something none of them felt like attending, and Fleur wasn't interested in it at all. She made an excuse, citing fatigue and departed. Harry was no fool, but he let her go. He would have rather spent the evening sleeping, reading, doing anything other than sit in a roomful of sheep, but some things, one simply has to get done.
Needless to say, when Harry walked in to the Great Hall, surrounded by his friends, he was vaguely amused, but also extremely pissed off when a lot of the students began to clap and then cheer. But as he looked round, he noticed it was not just a large number of senior Slytherins that remained in their seats. At every table there were students who remained defiantly in their seats. Legionnaires, he realized each and everyone a member of the Legion.
"Looks like we have a lot of testing to do," remarked Fred quietly.
"I agree," said George. The twins had left Hogwarts but had not actually been expelled or even suspended for their actions. They might have missed their NEWT examinations, but that did not preclude them from attending the feast as they were still registered students of Hogwarts.
"Ah Mr. Potter!" called Dumbledore from the head table, "We are gathered here to honor the achievement of you and your friends! You have revealed that you were the voice of truth that Voldemort has returned!" Harry's eyes narrowed as he took in the expressions on the faces of those closest to him. Vapid, sheepish, fawning looks. "You have proven this beyond –"
"Really?" he stated icily, "this the same group of people that said I was mentally unbalanced, unstable psychopath? Suspected I murdered a friend and my girlfriend to win some damn trophy? The same group of people who three years ago thought I was Heir of Slytherin?"
Dumbledore hesitated, "Yes," he admitted, "but they, like the wizarding world at large, have come around, and realized their folly." Harry snorted and made his way to the Gryffindor table, where he and his friends took their seats as silence reverberated through the Great Hall, "Harry?" called Dumbledore, "Are you not going to accept the gratitude of your friends? Of your peers? Of a grateful nation?"
Harry eyed his friends for a moment, but his gaze lingered on Colin and Luna's for a long moment, and then he rose from his seat, "I do not need the gratitude of my friends," he said, "Because my friends have stood by my side, shed their blood and endured sacrifice that few could understand. I am grateful, to them for standing by me!" He rounded on the Great Hall, on the students of Hogwarts, "Legionnaires aside," he said acidly, "My peers are mostly mindless sheep incapable of an original thought. Those capable of an original thought ignored me when I spoke the truth. I don't want their platitudes, their praise, or their thanks. Perhaps some of these sheep will learn that rash impulses have lasting consequences."
"But you have to forgive us!" cried someone.
"I don't do forgiveness," said Harry coldly, throwing the remark over his shoulder, "Redemption can be earned. I don't give it." It made Harry, perhaps all of them realize something important: Magic can undo so many things that they had either forgotten or never learned that actions have consequences. It was a lesson that was only sinking in now.
"Mr. Potter-" began Dumbledore
"No." Harry interrupted, not even bothering to look up at the Head table. "A Legion is born of those who pledged their lives, to live free of chains," he said, "borne to life upon wings of honor," Dumbeldore fell silent, wondering just what Harry was doing. It sounded like poetry, but nothing he had heard before, "Oath sworn and honor bound, Legionnaires will stand and be recognized when the shadow of Darkness falls."
"Legion!" shouted Colin suddenly understanding – at least hoping he did – what Harry was doing: The right time, was now: "Stand and be recognized!"
Ginny rose to her feet, "I stand ready," she shouted.
Neville rose a moment after her, "I stand ready," he echoed.
Harry's closest friends rose to their feet, and looked round, seemingly challenging the rest of the students as they echoed the sentiments of Ginny and Neville. It took a moment for Luna to stand, still stiff from her injuries. Harry stopped, to help her and Colin gave voice to the next line:
"For each year past, and one year more,"
Their voice merged, and blended in a harmony as their seven voices spoke as one,
"Legionnaires stand forever against the Dark!"
Susan Bones was the first to rise to her feet, followed closely by Hannah Abbot. Then Terry Boot, Ernie Macmillan. Across the Great Hall, they rose to their feet, one student after another, not saying a word, ramrod straight.
"This, our oath, and our vow,"
Forty, fifty, seventy, and then a hundred students were on their feet. There were flashes and pops of apparition as the house elves distributed parchment to the standing students, and the fifteen voices swelled as more and more picked up the refrain.
"By spell, by blade or by bare hand,"
At the head table, Umbridge stared in shock. She had known of Harry's illegal defense group and had thought there were only twenty some students involved. But this boggled her mind: Her mind simply refused to process that there were this many of them. Worse, in a move she had not anticipated Fudge had revoked every ministry decrees, meaning that she was just the Defense Professor and that there was nothing she could do about this!
"We stand for the Light and uphold the Legion's honor."
Over two hundred students were on their feet, reading from the parchment distributed by the Dobby, Winky and over a dozen other house elves. Two hundred and thirty seven students, from lowly fourth years who had yet a year before they would sit their OWLs, to the Seventh years who had only just completed their NEWTs, and about to graduate, took a moment's breath:
"This, our oath and our vow, from now till death
By old age, sickness or battle
Legionnaires forever we remain
Loyal to the Light
Honor to those who battle alongside us, our brothers and sisters
Courageous against any foe, human, Death Eater or otherwise
I am of Legion, ready for when war is waged!"
Their voices died away, and those that remained in their seats, stunned by what had just transpired, realized that something critical had just happened as a web of magic rose from the gathered teenagers, and with a flash of light faded. Dumbledore was left astounded by the act he had just witnessed, that so many had just pledged their lives to the defeat of the Dark Lord and more importantly, that they were prepared to follow Harry James Potter in to battle, and perhaps beyond that if necessary. He managed to catch the young man's eye and gave him the slightest nod, of respect and approval. Harry glared back, refusing point blank to give an inch of ground to the headmaster.
"Next school year," said Harry, "Things will be different," he let his gaze linger on Umbridge and without hesitation he sent a hard jab with his Legillimency. She visibly started and he gave her a smile that would have made a Goblin's blood run cold, "Instructions will follow. Enjoy your feast - I've lost my appetite." With that he spun on his heel and exited the Great Hall.
The journey home on the Hogwarts Express next day was eventful in several ways. Firstly Malfoy, and his three henchmen, who had clearly been waiting all week for the opportunity to strike, attempted to ambush Harry halfway down the train as he made his way back from the toilet. The attack might have succeeded had it not been for the fact that they unwittingly chose to stage the attack right outside a compartment full of Legionnaires, who saw what was happening through the glass. By the time Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Justin Finch‐Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot had finished using a wide variety of the hexes and jinxes Harry had taught them, the four would be assailants resembled nothing so much as three gigantic slugs squeezed into Hogwarts uniform. They were levitated on to a luggage rack and left to ooze.
"I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing Malfoy's mother's face when he gets off the train," said Ernie, with some satisfaction, as he watched Malfoy squirm above him. Ernie had never quite got over the indignity of Malfoy docking points from Hufflepuff during his brief spell as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad.
"Goyle's mum'll be really pleased, though," said Neville, who lead the pack who had come to investigate the source of the commotion. "He's loads better looking now… anyway, Harry, the food trolley's just stopped if you want anything…" Nodding his thanks, he made his way back to his compartment where a stack of cauldron cakes and pumpkin pasties were piled high on a free seat and they whiled away the hours, playing chess as Colin struggled to teach Luna and Ginny poker.
"It hasn't really started yet," sighed Harry, taking a break and scanning through the prophet, "But it won't be long before this becomes open warfare." He stared out the window on to the corridor for a long moment, lost in thought. Cho passed by, Marietta Edgecombe a half step behind, still wearing a balaclava pulled low over her forehead. Harry signaled the pair and stepped out to speak with them.
"Cho, Marietta," he said politely, "Come with me please." They followed him to a deserted stretch of corridor, and ducked in to a compartment where a group of first years stared at them in silence, but at Harry with a sense of awe. He looked at them six young witches and wizards, "Could I borrow your compartment for a couple of minutes?"
They gladly gave him the space, filling in to the corridor. Wand in hand, he ensured their privacy and turned to Marietta, "I think you've learned your lesson," he said quietly, pushing the hood back. Some of the boils had healed completely and most had shrunk, but you didn't have to play connect the dots to read what was still spelled out. Marietta trembled as he held his wand up to her forehead and incanted the spell. Cho had never heard a spell that sounded like it, or took so long to cast. It took over a minute before Harry lowered his wand. "As far as I am concerned, this matter is closed. I won't mention it, so long as you don't bring it up. But understand this: You are not welcome in the Legion, until I believe that I can trust you, and frankly, I may never trust you again. We, may never trust you, ever."
She nodded whispered a thank you and fled.
Cho sized him up, "Thank you, for that," she said, "I take it, given your, our performance yesterday, the Legion meets again next year?"
"During the summer," he corrected her, "At least three or four times. The storm comes, and the Ministry," he shrugged, "It is mostly corrupt, and has probably been infiltrated across the board."
"Ministry, and Dumbledore be damned, you're planning to fight the war," she said quietly.
"I'll fight it, alone if I have to," he agreed, "But it should not fall to children to fight this war."
"It shouldn't, but it has. Yesterday over two hundred students took an oath that they would fight." She said, "And you will need every wand you can bring to bear." She slipped from the compartment and went her own way, leaving Harry to chew on that as he walked back to his compartment on the Hogwarts Express.
Hours later, the train slowed down in the approach to Kingʹs Cross, he was amongst the last to get off the train, and to his surprise, the platform was still crowded, and as he made his way through the press of bodies, he could hear the crowd buzzing. More than one person stopped to say something, pass a few words of encouragement, of support. The Legion in all its glory, and Harry, didn't want to leave the platform, the parents all stared confusedly at him, at the way so many students, children acted towards him. They could see that these kids all looked up to him, respected him, and that lead to a certain amount of concern. But Harry ignored it as he passed through the barrier and back in to King Cross station. There was an alley close by he could use to apparate home.
Fleur had wanted space, and time. He had given it to her, making the residence his home, even though it was the last place he wanted to be, given the memories it brought up every time he walked through the place. There was no way he trusted Dumbledore enough to sleep in the dorms - especially in the same room as the Gryffindor Pariah, Ron Weasely.
Casting all that aside however, he had not see Fleur in almost two days.