“Gotcha,” he said, spinning her around before settling her on his hip.
Gabrielle giggled, bright-eyed. “You were not expecting me, non?”
“Not at all,” he admitted. “I think I’ll keep you.”
Fleur, across the room, sighed as she took a sip of water. “You cannot keep my sœur, ‘Arry.”
“Why not?” He adjusted Gabrielle easily, the little Veela already making herself at home in his arms. “She’s small, doesn’t eat much, and is very portable. I reckon I could smuggle her out of here if I had a big enough coat.”
Gabrielle gasped delightedly. “Ooh, can we try?”
“No,” Fleur deadpanned.
Harry shrugged. “Fine. Guess I’ll have to fill out some paperwork and—”
Fleur’s grandmother, who had been silently tending to her food with the grace of someone who had seen everything, cut in smoothly.
“Why bother with all that paperwork?” she said, not even looking up. “Much simpler to make one of your own with Fleur.”
A knife and fork clattered against porcelain.
Fleur choked. A very undignified, entirely un-Delacour sputtering sound.
Harry, who had been mid-breath, inhaled wrong and very nearly joined her in choking.
Apolline, Fleur’s mother, laughed—soft, elegant, merciless.
“MAMAN!” Fleur gasped, horror-struck. “GRAND-MÈRE!”
“What?” her grandmother asked, looking up at last with a mild blink. “It is the logical solution. No need for adoption, no need for forms. Problem solved.”
Gabrielle, ever the agent of chaos, beamed. “Oh! That would be perfect! If Fleur ‘as a baby with ‘Arry, I would be a very young aunt!”
Harry’s soul left his body.
Fleur, face burning, flung a napkin at her grandmother. “You cannot just—just say zings like zat!”
Her grandmother took the napkin off her lap, neatly refolded it, and placed it back. “I do not see why not.”
Harry, fighting for his life, shoveled food into his mouth in silence, staring hard at his plate. Maybe if he focused really hard, the floor would just open up and swallow him.
Gabrielle patted his arm in what she must have thought was a comforting gesture. “Do not worry, ‘Arry,” she said, very solemn. “You would make a great papa.”
Apolline, still laughing, wiped a tear from her eye. Fleur looked ready to commit crimes.
Her grandmother merely nodded. “Bien.”