Summer's End: Part One
A/N
Another in the books for you here :)
This Friday will mark episode 8 of the podcast!
Since I have dedicated myself to this full time, I have been unbelievably busy with writing, podcasts, editing and recording other things and I would just like to thank those that are making this dream of mine a reality.
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Enjoy :)
TBR
This chapter is dedicated to Zachary Braunstein, my first Gryffindor tier member x
It was past lunch time when Harry arrived back at the Delacour home, his thoughts occupied by what had taken place during his impromptu trial. It irked him that such a thing had occurred but felt equally fortunate that he had happened upon the portrait of Arcturus Black the previous evening. Had he not, he would have found himself in a bind and had to rely on Dumbledore for assistance in dealing with the matter, likely at the expense of his own credibility. Magic, he was well-versed in, but politics was something he would freely admit he knew nothing of.
He released a deep breath as he entered the house, relieved he had not only survived the morning without repercussion, but aware that he could have been much less fortunate. Were it not for his own need to see an end to Voldemort and his apprenticeships, he would see no reason to return. He despised the political climate, he despised the bigotry of the purebloods and he loathed the fame he had been burdened with.
A deep, thoughtful frown marred his features as he pushed the kitchen door open, only for his wand to be flicked into his hand as a collective shout rung out.
"'APPY BRITHDAY, 'ARRY!"
His heart raced as he looked upon the Delacours, the balloons and banners that adorned the walls and the enormous cake that rested on the table amongst a collection of other plates.
"Merlin, you scared the hell out of me," he huffed as he slid his wand back in its holster. "What's all this?"
"It is a birthday party, of course," Apolline explained, indicating the decorations around them.
"Oh, I've never been to one," he replied. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble."
They simply stared at him dumbly for a moment before Sebastien shook himself from his thoughts.
"Nonsense, 'Arry. It is something we do for every birthday in this 'ouse, so whilst you are 'ere, you will get them same."
Harry shook his head as he smiled, the gesture warming him and lifting his mood considerably.
"It's not necessary but thank you. I really do appreciate it."
Apolline brightened as she took him by the hand and sat him in a chair. She proceeded to cut him a large slice of cake before placing it on the plate in front of him.
"Eat," she instructed.
"Erm, I'm not an expert in how this works but doesn't the cake come later?"
Sebastien snorted amusedly.
"Not in this 'ome, 'Arry. Between the three of them," he continued, indicating his wife and daughters, "it 'as now become tradition to eat cake first. They are insatiable. Enjoy the piece you 'ave there, it is likely all you will get."
Harry laughed as the man dodged the swat aimed his way courtesy of his wife who was glaring playfully at him.
"I do 'ope you are not implying something, Sebastien Delacour," she warned.
"Not at all. I was simply explaining that yourself, Fleur and Gabrielle enjoy cake," he replied, his eyes full of mirth, content that he was safe with the length of the table between himself and the veela.
Apolline hummed as she stared at her husband for a moment before turning her attention back to Harry.
"You are still not eating."
"See, the second you take a bite, the cake is what I believe you call, fair game, 'Arry," Sebastien chuckled, nodding towards Fleur and Gabrielle who each had a plate and fork ready.
He didn't know what to expect to happen when he took his first mouthful of the sponge. A small part of him considered that the three females might transform and attack the cake as a wake of vultures would a carcass. It took considerable effort not to laugh at that thought which, thankfully, remained merely that.
Although each of them took a portion most would consider excessive, they did so in a dignified manner.
"Ahh, the flock are feasting," Sebastien sighed as he took a seat next to Harry to enjoy his own, much smaller piece of the dessert.
The three females narrowed their eyes at the man in an eerily similar way from across the table and Harry shook his head.
"Is that a veela thing?" he asked, nodding towards them.
Sebastien chuckled.
"Non, 'Arry. Those three just 'ave a love of cake."
That, he could see. Not a word was had from any of them until their plates were clear, something that took surprisingly little time considering the size of slice each had cut themselves.
"Wait for it," Sebastien whispered as Gabrielle finished her final bite and pouted at her empty plate.
Slowly, her wide blue eyes found her father's, silently pleading.
"It is not my cake, Gabby," he said dismissively.
The eyes shifted to Harry who found himself almost enthralled by the stare. It was not magic but the need he saw within them and the sadness that she may not get what she wants that drew him in.
"What is she doing?" he muttered, unable to look away.
"She is playing you," Sebastien snickered.
"Bloody hell, how do I make it stop?"
"I 'ave found it easier to give 'er what she wants. If she does not get it this way, there are a dozen others she will try."
"All this for some cake?"
Sebastien nodded.
"I do not condone it, but she only does it for silly things like this. Besides, it is nice to see someone else on the receiving end of it for once."
When it appeared that the girl would really cry, he caved, not knowing what else to do.
"Would you like some more cake, Gabrielle?"
Her demeanour changed immediately as she nodded, a bright smile replacing the sadness as she stood and offered a smug grin to her older sister and mother who were not impressed by her tactics. Nonetheless, Fleur turned her attention to Harry, her own eyes adopting the same look the younger veela's had only a moment before.
"Not you too," Harry despaired as he made the mistake of meeting them. "Merlin, have some cake, you too Mrs Delacour."
The three were much less dignified this time as they hacked away at the cake as though it would be the last they would ever have. Harry could only look on in disbelief as the remainder of it was divided three ways, the trio jabbering in French as they argued who had the biggest piece.
"Their true nature shows," Sebastien mumbled. "Come, 'Arry, this will take some time and likely get uglier before they are finished."
Harry followed the man who had stood and began making his way out of the kitchen, both pausing briefly to take in the spectacle unfolding in front of them. The final thing he saw as he exited was a rather irate Gabrielle smearing a glob of icing across Fleur's face.
"It never fails to amuse me to see them that way," Sebastien sighed as he stepped onto the decking by the pool, into the summer sun. "I apologise if that was overwhelming, 'Arry."
"No, it was nice, just, unexpected."
Sebastien nodded.
"I do not wish to make comparisons between yourself and I, but I understand. Not a single birthday of my own was celebrated until I met my wife. I suppose that is why she makes such a big deal of them. The way I was raised upsets her."
"The way you were raised?"
"Oui, I did not 'ave an 'appy childhood. My father was the most unpleasant of men and my mother feared 'im so. I always promised myself that I would be different, that if I ever had children of my own, they would not suffer the things I did or see what I did. Anyway, it is your birthday, 'Arry, we do not want to dwell on things that matter no longer."
Harry frowned slightly as he took in his surroundings. They did not tell the story of a man who had suffered as he said.
"How did you deal with it? No offense, but you have done well for yourself."
"I worked very 'ard to not be my father," Sebastien replied with a shrug. "My family 'as always been influential, but 'e let it go to 'is 'ead. As far as he was concerned, 'e was untouchable and could treat people 'owever 'e wanted."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories."
"Non, 'Arry, it is good to talk. Apolline taught me that. When I first met 'er, I was angry about so many things and was slowly becoming what I promised I never would. She saw more in me than what I was and she 'elped me more than she will ever understand. I fell for 'er quickly, not because she was a veela, but because of who she is. My love was all I 'ad to give and that was all she wanted. This," he continued, gesturing to the house and expansive grounds, "means nothing to me. I just wanted my children to 'ave all the things I never did."
Harry pondered the man's words as he was seemingly lost in thought for a moment before he shook his head.
"Anyway, 'ow did your trip to the ministry go?"
Harry released a deep breath.
"Well, it turned out to be more a trial I front of the Wizengamot than it did the questioning I expected."
"A trial?"
Harry nodded.
"The letter you received mentioned no trial, when did that change?"
"According to Fudge, they sent the notification to my relative's house this morning."
The man cursed under his breath in his native tongue, his nostrils flaring.
"'Ow dare they?" he seethed.
"I handled it," Harry comforted. "You might even be amused by the whole thing if you saw it."
"I do not think much will amuse me," Sebastien mumbled. "What they did would not 'appen 'ere in France. The very thought sickens me, but I would like to see 'ow you managed to come away from there unscathed and in quite good spirits. Come, my pensieve is in my study."
Once more, Harry followed the man through the halls of the Delacour home until they reached a door on the far side. Sebastien unlocked it with a tap of his wand and bid him entry.
The room he found himself in was not like the rest of the house. In lieu of the neutral colours throughout, this was painted a forest green, the walls lined with bookshelves and complete with a mahogany desk facing out of a large window onto the grounds.
"This is where I escape to," Sebastien announced proudly. "If I 'ave no need to go to the office, I do my work 'ere."
"It's nice," Harry observed.
"Thank you, 'Arry. The pensieve is on my desk. If you could add your memory to it, I will take a look."
The boy did so, and Sebastien entered a moment later leaving him to enjoy the peace the office provided. It was a very serene room and the view from the window only added to it.
He was pulled from his thoughts a short while later when the man emerged from the stone bowl, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I cannot even say 'ow proud of you I am. Under the circumstances, they deserved much worse than they got. 'Owever, if Apolline were to see this, she would box your ears for the language you used, but I see no reason to tell 'er," he finished with a wink.
"I was angry about being misled…"
"As you should be 'Arry," Sebastien cut in. "It is something that I will look into though there is likely little I can do. That is not for today, non. Today is your birthday and we should be safe to return to the kitchen now the cake will be all gone."
"I didn't think I would ever see people who love cake that much," Harry commented.
"You get used to it, 'Arry. It 'as been this way since even before Gabrielle was born and Apolline 'as always loved it, something she passed on to them both. Now, it 'as turned into a competition to get as much as they can."
"I can't imagine getting in between the three of them."
"Non, I would not advise it. The one time I did, I narrowly avoided a fork being stabbed in my 'and."
Harry laughed as they entered the kitchen where the Delacour females were seated at the table staring morosely at the empty plate the cake had once been.
"I feel sick," Gabrielle groaned.
Harry found it hard to sympathise with the girl who had icing stuck to her chin and the front of her dress. Fleur, though not as messy, was suffering the consequences of the bingeing as she released a deep, laboured breath.
Apolline was the only one who remained smiling as she licked her fork clean and sighed contentedly.
"That was delicious."
"Then it is a good thing I got another one," Sebastien announced as he summoned an identical cake from one of the cupboards.
Apolline's eyes widened as both Fleur and Gabrielle shook their heads.
"Now, you can enjoy as much cake as you wish without the feeding frenzy," Sebastien chuckled to Harry.
Harry nodded as he cut himself a modest slice and took the seat next to Fleur, eying her warily as she stared at his cake.
"Am I safe to sit here?"
She nodded.
"I could not eat another bite."
He snorted lightly as he took a mouthful, enjoying the taste of vanilla and strawberry.
"Sebastien, would you please cut a slice for my mother? She will not be 'appy if she arrives and we 'ave eaten it all."
The man's face fell.
" Grandmother is coming?" Fleur asked excitedly.
Apolline nodded as she aimed a sweet smile at her husband.
"She will be 'ere tomorrow and will be staying for a week."
Fleur and Gabrielle cheered as Sebastien sunk into a chair.
"I think I will 'ave a slice of cake 'Arry," he decided. "It may be the sweetest thing I enjoy this week."
"What's wrong with Mrs Delacour's mother?"
Sebastien shook his head.
"Our personalities…clash. Despite all I 'ave done, she sees me as the same boy she met the first time. Let me tell you, 'Arry, if you think these three are 'ard work, you 'ave seen nothing yet."
"Why do I suddenly feel cold?" Harry whispered.
"It is a sign, 'Arry, a sign of impending doom."
Harry chuckled as Apolline raised an eyebrow in her husband's direction.
(Break)
It was later that evening that he found himself seated with Fleur by the pool, the two of them simply enjoying some time together. For some time, they had remained silent, though it was not an uncomfortable one. Both were merely revelling in the presence of the other.
The rest of the day had been much better than it had begun. He had been amused greatly by what he would refer to now as 'the cake incident' and he had been gifted with a wizarding tool set from Apolline and Sebastien.
He was uncertain what he would use it for, but the man assured him he would one day find serenity by doing tings by hand. He understood this as far as cutting his own wood went, so he took the man's word for it. There was indeed something satisfying about completing things without resorting to magic all the time. Not only did it help keep im physically fitter, it made him feel accomplished and even appreciate his ability with a wand all the more.
Gabrielle had given him a rather large box of chocolates that she seemingly parted with reluctantly. Knowing she had a sweet tooth, he promised he would keep it under lock and key, though he had no doubt she would get some out of him eventually.
There was just something about her that made it too difficult to say no.
Fleur's gift had been one he would treasure and make great use of when he wasn't here. Initially, he had wondered just what the two glass orbs were until he held one and felt the magic radiating from it. The spells and enchantments were nothing short of incredible; a complex web of magic that most would struggle to dissect.
"Can we communicate through these?" he asked, thinking of no other use for something such.
Fleur had nodded shyly.
"I will miss you when you go, 'Arry."
He smiled at the thought and effort that went into creating them. He knew that his father and the other Marauders had mirrors that did something similar, but he doubted they were so intricately put together as these.
"They must have taken a long time to get right."
"I worked on them for almost three months," Fleur explained, "I finished them just before you arrived."
The thought and the lengths she had gone to simply to talk to him when they were not together warmed him. He couldn't remember a time when anyone had gone to so much effort on his behalf.
"I don't know what to say. Hedwig will be furious."
Fleur giggled.
"I would still like you to write to me. 'Edwig likes visiting too."
"It must be a bird thing," he mumbled.
Sebastien had roared in laughter as the three veela had looked at him with varying degrees of shock and faux disapproval.
"I could always keep them…"
Harry had snatched the box away from her, shrunk and pocketed it before she could follow through with her threat. He had no intention of giving up that gift in a hurry.
His thoughts were intruded upon as Fleur stretched and rested her feet in his lap as she laid across the sofa.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
She nodded.
"My talons need resting," she replied with a raised eyebrow as she wiggled her toes.
He snorted in response. He had missed her dry sense of humour and the back and forth they would have between them. It felt so long ago that they had shared any moment like this.
"Maybe I should buy you a perch," he returned as he stretched. "You and Hedwig could roost together."
"Hmm, she would be better company…"
"Oh, straight for the jugular."
"I can be just as mean as you, 'Arry Potter."
He nodded appreciatively.
Most would not understand their verbal spars, he didn't entirely but it felt right for them to be able to make light of the things people would judge them for. She was not entirely human, something that did not bother him. What would bother him, however, was is if he heard people refer to her as such in a derogatory way. She had endured enough of that.
She shot to her feet suddenly and rushed towards the house.
" I almost forgot; I have something else for you," she called.
He watched her go, confused. There was nothing else she could give him that would outdo what he had already received from her, though when she returned clutching a familiar length of silvery cloth, it was a very close call.
"My cloak," he whispered as she handed it to him. "I thought I'd lost it."
He had despaired over all he had left of his father for days when he had returned home. He thought that it had been destroyed or lost in the graveyard. He hadn't mentioned it to her as he did not want her to feel responsible, as she undoubtedly would, for the loss of one of his most treasured possessions.
"I meant to give it back to you sooner, but you left and then the Ministry thing…"
He shook his head.
"It's fine," he assured her.
"Where did you get it?" she asked.
It was not often he demonstrated emotion as he was in this moment, especially not for inanimate things. The only time he had done so was when he had shown her the photo of his parents, the edges worn from where he had likely stared at it for lengths of time.
"It belonged to my father and his father before him. It has been in my family for generations."
"It must be a very special cloak to last so long. Invisibility cloaks are rare, are difficult to make and do not last."
He nodded.
"The magic in it is very different to anything I have ever felt. It's almost cold to the touch and strong. I don't think it will ever fade."
"It kept me safe," Fleur replied. "There were times when I was 'idden under it I thought I would be 'it."
"It has kept me out of trouble for the last four years. Thank you for giving it back."
"I never would 'ave kept it. As amazing as it is, it belongs to you, 'Arry."
He smiled at her sincerity.
She was a difficult girl to understand in a lot of ways, but beneath her haughty exterior, she had proven herself to be more than he had ever expected from anyone.
To him, people were self-serving, selfish fools that would step over everyone in their way to get what they wanted. Fleur Delacour was different. She was not perfect, and neither was he, but she cared deeply for him. He did not need legilimency to see that.
Here they sat, two flawed people that had perhaps unwittingly grown closer over the passing months, had grown to care for another beyond what either had ever likely thought possible, yet, here they sat, caring and closer than any that knew them would believe.
Without thought, he pulled her into his arms and held her to him, the gesture of returning his cloak and the gift she had given needing no words. Instead, he wished only to hold her, to enjoy the happiness he had denied himself for so long.
(Break)
The tips of his fingers glided against the smooth skin of his waxen cheeks, his red, almost serpentine eyes taking in his reflection in the mirror. He found himself here more often than he cared to admit, his features unfamiliar, though they were now undoubtedly his own.
He stood a far cry from the charismatic and handsome man he once was; both having been a boon in his early days of recruiting his Death Eaters. Now, he was little more than what most would consider monstrous, in mind and body. He cared little for the aesthetics when compared to the alternative he had experienced, but there was part of him that would always lament the loss of his body.
It was not a sense of vanity that gave him pause, such things were frivolous, after all, but his sense of self was difficult to feel beneath what he and others could see. In many ways, he felt like a whole new person, and he was, somewhat.
He was still the feared dark lord, the very same that still haunted the dreams of those that were old enough to remember his first rise to power, the chaos, the destruction, but still, he was different.
He was quicker to temper now, quicker to a violent response than he had been before he had carried his attack out on the Potters in 1981. It was as though the final part of him that could exercise restraint was gone, the part of him that allowed consideration when pondering what action to take had been ripped away from him that night.
He shook his head at the thought as a gentle knock upon the door to his inner sanctum sounded. As such, he vanished the mirror with a wave of his wand and took a seat behind his desk. It would not do for one of his followers to see him indulging in his own appearance.
"Come in," he called.
There were few that would seek him out unless called for and Lucius was one of them. Although he was a coward beneath his arrogance, his mind was sharp and he was not an ungifted man, though he was not the same man he remembered from some fourteen-years-ago. He had calmed over the years, the vigour in which he all but demanded he be sent on every attack against muggles and mudbloods giving way to a more cautious approach.
At first, he believed the man had lost his passion for their cause, but no, he was simply more considerate of his actions than he had been as a young idealist. Perhaps avoiding a stint in Azkaban had matured him.
"Lucius, what news do you bring me?"
The man took a knee and bowed before him before standing.
"My Lord. I bring you news on Potter."
The Dark Lord frowned. The boy was an enigma and his thoughts had been occupied by him more than even his own personal woes. A mere -fifteen-year-old should be the least of his concerns when compared to his goals, but it wasn't so.
Harry Potter was a problem unto himself, one that needed to be dealt with. Not only for himself but for his cause. Those that had witnessed his rebirth had equally witnessed the threat the boy possessed. Pettigrew, Yaxley and Avery had fallen to his wand, the former being a useless duellist. The latter two, however, were not so.
He had believed Potter had been lucky when he had encountered him as a first year, had grown to learn that he was not without skill during the previous year and the boy had ultimately proven himself far beyond that the night he had risen.
Potter was dangerous, skilled and ruthless. He saw much of his younger self in him; how he carried himself, how he spoke and even how he fought. Was it possible that what happened on Halloween 1981 had shaped and influenced him in some way? He was a parselmouth and had at least a rudimentary grasp on legilimency and likely its counterpart. The similarities between himself and the teen were too uncanny to ignore. It was something he would have to ponder further.
His nostrils twitched at the thought.
He believed him dead, had been assured by those that had witnessed it that his spell had hit true before he had vanished with the French girl. The boy had arrived back at Hogwarts dead, his body in plain view of the hundreds in attendance at the tournament. Yet, he somehow still lived.
He would be a fool to admit that it was not concerning. Twice he had survived an inevitable demise. Once could be attributed to the old magic he had not considered, to his own detriment, but twice? There was more to it than that and the need to hear the prophecy in full became ever pressing.
"What of him?"
"He attended the Ministry today for his trial, My Lord."
"And what was the outcome?"
Lucius shook his head.
"Not favourable, My Lord. Perhaps you should see for yourself," he suggested, nodding towards the pensieve on the desk.
The Dark Lord nodded.
"Very well."
He watched as Lucius carefully extracted the memory and placed it within the basin and took a respectful step back so that he could enter.
He emerged some time later, his brow creased in thought. Although there were undeniable similarities between them, the differences were glaring. He would never have comported himself in such a way at that age. He would have been quiet, respectful and only answered questions asked of him. Potter had simply dismantled any case Fudge thought he had against him with a sharp tongue and wit.
"What do you think of him, Lucius?"
"He is a disrespectful brat that needs putting in his place."
"No, Lucius. That is your mind clouded by anger for the threats he has made against you and your family."
Lucius released a deep breath as he nodded.
"I apologise, My Lord."
Voldemort waved away the words dismissively.
"He is brilliant, Lucius," he whispered. "I have come across wizards of talent, many of whom I have taken great pleasure in killing for one reason or other, but Potter is different. His brilliance is only matched by his determination and passion. He is admirable, my friend."
"Admirable, My Lord?"
"You saw for yourself the danger he possesses, the excellent form of his wand work, yes?"
Lucius nodded reluctantly.
"What you likely missed, which is forgivable, is his understanding of magic. He is knowledgeable, nuanced and simply spectacular in what he does. He has earned my respect and admiration, Lucius. Albeit for me to say as he is a foe, but he has been taught well and dedicated himself the art."
"Dumbledore?"
Voldemort shook his head.
"The old fool would not allow him to wield such magic. I know not who, but it is someone else of superior talent. I wish for you to investigate it, Lucius. I want to know how Harry Potter has risen beyond the norm as he has."
"Of course, My Lord. I will begin immediately."
"Good, now leave me. I have other matters to attend to."
The man offered a bow before taking his leave to carry out his latest task and the Dark Lord leaned back in his chair.
He had meant what he said. He did both respect and admire Harry Potter for all he was and what he could one day become if allowed. Such a thing, however, would not come to pass. For his own peace of mind and for those that still doubted him, the boy had to die.
It truly was a shame.
The world needed more wizards and witches as brilliant as himself and Potter, those who had dedicated themselves to learning and understanding the intricacies of magic as they had.
For now, it was not meant to be. The world would have to wait to be blessed by another like them. This one could not be allowed to live.
(Break)
Harry stood back with Sebastien as Fleur, Gabrielle and Apolline greeted the elder veela, though she appeared to be only a few years older than her daughter.
"How old is she?"
Sebastien shook his head.
"The damned woman is eighty-four and acts as though she is twenty-four," he replied. "I love 'er very much, 'Arry, but she is difficult."
"Eighty-four?"
Sebastien snorted.
"Veela are renowned for their beauty, even in their advanced years. Look at me and then Apolline. She is five years older than me and she looks ten younger."
It was not something he had considered but he could see it now Sebastien had pointed it out. He did not look old by any stretch. Apolline just looked younger than she was.
He was pulled from his thoughts as the older woman approached and kissed her son-in-law on the cheek.
" I would say it is good to see you, but it would be a lie," she greeted him with a smile.
" I would say the same but then I would be subjected to your ire for the next days for lying also."
Her smile widened as she handed him a muggle suitcase and turned her attention to Harry who felt decidedly uncomfortable as her gaze swept over him. Her eyes were those of her daughter and granddaughters though these ones were not so guarded as theirs had been when he first met them.
" You must be 'Arry."
He nodded; his mouth suddenly dry as the magic of the woman threatened to overwhelm him. She was strong and it took great effort to keep it at bay.
" I am pleased to meet you…"
" Aline. You may call me Aline, 'Arry," she almost purred. "Your resistance is very good, but you must work on your French. Your harsh language butchers our own, more refined one."
Harry swallowed, doing his best to ignore the lilt in her voice and the alcohol on her breath.
" Maman!" Apolline chastised.
Aline offered him a grin as she stepped away.
" I was only teasing the boy. Am I no longer allowed to have fun?"
Apolline offered him a look of apology as he took a deep breath. That woman was quite the force to be reckoned with.
"I'm sorry, 'Arry. She was told to behave but grandmother does not listen to anyone," Fleur huffed as she approached and threaded her arm through his own.
"She's quite terrifying," he muttered.
Fleur giggled as she nodded.
"You 'ave seen nothing yet."
With the ominous warning ringing in his ears, he was led back into the kitchen where Apolline was fussing over her mother who was quickly becoming irritable with her daughter.
" Do you wish to wipe my backside for me also?" Aline asked as she slid a pink cigarette into her mouth and lit it with the end of her wand.
" Maman, I thought you gave those up?"
The woman shrugged as she blew out a thick plume of smoke and sighed contentedly.
" I did but I started again."
" Well, they are not good for you."
" And me not having them is not good for anyone else," Aline returned.
Apolline shook her head in exasperation, the matter apparently closed.
" Ah, before I forget, I brought gifts," Aline announced as she reached into her robes and removed several shrunken boxes.
She resized them with a flick of her wand and handed the first to Gabrielle who was bouncing on her chair with excitement.
The girl squealed in delight as she tore into the package and a crystal butterfly emerged. It flew laps around the kitchen before settling on the little veela's shoulder, its wings shimmering as they flapped gently.
" Thank you, grandmother," Gabrielle murmured as she stared at the enchanted insect.
" This one is for you, my little flower," Aline said as she offered the next box to Fleur who accepted it with a fond smile.
Within the box was a red dress that Fleur held up against herself and smiled.
" I love it, thank you."
Aline smiled warmly and slid the next towards Harry.
"I was not 'ere for your birthday and I apologise if it is not to your taste, but I saw this and thought it would be something you would like."
The woman appeared nervous as he unwrapped the package to reveal a painting. Within the frame was a beautiful silver-haired woman sat by a lake, her angelic wings wrapped around herself to protect her modesty as she stared longingly up at a full moon. Adorning her shoulders was a large cobra that looked towards the heavens as it hissed gently.
It was not only the beauty of the piece that called to him, nor the snake. It was the woman. She was almost identical to his patronus and he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. It had been some time since he had seen her.
"You do not like it," Aline's voice broke into his thoughts.
"No, it is amazing," he replied. "Hello, little one," he hissed.
The snake and woman turned to him, the former hissing excitedly and the latter smiling sadly.
" Are you the one she seeks?"
Harry frowned as he shook his head.
" I do not think so. Who is it she is looking for?"
" Her lost love. He said that she should look to the moon and he would return to her."
" I'm sorry, it is not me."
" Then our watch continues."
The snake and woman turned back towards the moon and Harry gave them both a final look before turning his attention to those in the kitchen, their eyes on him questioningly.
"She is waiting for someone," he explained. "It is a beautiful painting, thank you."
Aline smiled.
"I am pleased you like it. Tell me, 'Arry, what kind of magic can you do with parseltongue?"
He was taken aback by the question. None had ever asked him what use the language was in terms of magic. Pondering it for a moment, he nodded thoughtfully.
"It is good for creating wards and for defence. Transfiguration is not affected by it as far as I can tell. It's not much else than another language, one that I will get little use of unless I'm speaking to snakes."
"Do you 'ave any snakes?"
He chuckled at the question, his thoughts wandering to his spy network he had left at Hogwarts. He briefly pondered how they were doing without him.
"I have thirty of them and one very special friend."
Fleur choked as she stared at him wide-eyed.
"Thirty?" she gasped. "Did you bring any 'ere with you?"
He shook his head.
"No, they're all at Hogwarts."
She breathed a sigh of relief, apparently fearful of serpents.
"And your special friend?" Aline probed.
"Her name is Serana. She is a thousand-year-old basilisk."
The woman snorted in disbelief.
"The one who likes to 'ave 'er nose petted," Sebastien said knowingly. "Dumbledore mentioned 'er."
Harry nodded.
"That's her."
"A basilisk? A real basilisk?" Aline scoffed.
"She's very real," Harry confirmed. "I will need to check on her when I get back to school."
The woman shook her head.
"You keep strange friends, 'Arry Potter."
"Can I see the basilisk?" Gabrielle asked.
"Non," Apolline said firmly.
The girl pouted unhappily, a frown forming as she turned to her father.
"Your mother is right, Gabrielle. 'Arry can speak to 'er. It is different."
"I could get you a smaller snake, if you like," Harry offered, laughing as he felt Fleur stiffen next to him. "You could have a python or maybe even a cobra like the one in the picture."
Gabrielle's eyes lit up excitedly.
"Non, 'Arry, you will not give 'er a snake," Fleur interjected. "She would only use it for nefarious deeds."
Gabrielle narrowed her eyes at her older sister.
"I would put it in your bed when you are sleeping."
"And that is why you are not 'aving one," Apolline intervened. "Let us leave the snakes to 'Arry, oui?"
The girl nodded reluctantly as Aline looked on in amusement.
" Ah, I 'ave missed you all," she declared. "Even you, Sebastien, I suppose."
The man grimaced.
"So, what would you like to do whilst you are 'ere?" he asked.
"Hmm, I would like to spend time with my granddaughters and get to know 'Arry better. I 'ave 'eard much about 'im."
Fleur blushed as she glared at the woman.
"Well, we could always go to the beach. The weather is nice enough and it will be good to get away from 'ere for a few days," Sebastien suggested. "I think 'Arry could do with a 'oliday."
"The beach would do my old bones good," Aline agreed.
"Then we shall go tomorrow. A few days in the sun would do all of us some good after this year."
(Break)
Albus Dumbledore exited his pensieve for the fourth time that evening, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he took his seat behind his desk, the mountain of notes in front of him making no further sense. He had been taking them for two years now, ever since the events of the Chamber of Secrets.
Had the diary survived, he had no doubt that he would be closer to understanding just how Tom had continued to exist when he should not have. Without it, he had nothing to examine other than his memories and a plethora of tomes he had been consulting. Still, despite his efforts, he was no closer to reaching the conclusion that continued to elude him.
Since the incident in the graveyard, he had switched his focus to the boy of the prophecy. Harry had become a concern, not immediately so, and perhaps he had been dismissive of his mannerisms, his aptitude for magic and even his looks, but he could ignore them no longer. Over the years he had been in the castle, all the small details about him had accumulated into a pressing urgency to understand him.
The similarities between him and Tom could no longer be ignored.
What did strike him most, however, was how dissimilar they were also. Tom had sought power at the earliest possibility, had exercised enormous influence over his peers by the time he had entered his fourth year.
Harry had done so, though not intentionally, and he had not sought the reputation he had. He wanted nothing of the sort, and it brought a sense of peace to the headmaster.
What did not bring him peace was the uncanny resemblance between the two. From their posture to they way the duelled, they were almost as one. If he didn't know better, he would say that Harry was his son, such was the closeness in so much of them both.
He released a groan of frustration as he eyed his seemingly useless notes.
Something was missing, there was something he did not yet have that he needed; a final piece of the puzzle if you will.
He picked up a book he had acquired that discussed the perceived effects of the killing curse, though it explained nothing of the impact it could have on one who survived it. Harry was the first and second to do so and no other had replicated the feat.
Was it possible that an imprint of the caster could be left on the victim?
Harry was a parselmouth, so an imprint of sorts must exist. Mustn't it?
He knew not and had no way of replicating what had happened that fateful, Halloween night.
He shook his head as he returned the book. It would only lead to further theories without substance. Instead, he pondered his latest encounter with the boy.
So shocked had he been by the way he had conducted himself that he did not notice one significant change about him. Yes, he looked healthier, had grown but what had not been immediately apparent was the lack of his infamous scar. He had not noticed it until he had revisited the memory.
Was the scar the answer?
There was a distinct possibility it was a contributing factor, that he could not dismiss.
He had studied cursed scars rather in-depth in the hope that he may one day find a way to rid the boy of his. His readings, however, had never mentioned side-effects or the scar impacting the personality of the recipient. If Harry's scar was a factor, it would be no normal curse scar. There would have to be more to it.
"I am at a loss, Fawkes," he huffed.
The phoenix trilled in response.
Whenever he felt as though he was making progress, question upon question that he could not hope to answer would surface, setting him back to where he had begun some two years ago.
He picked up his very first note he had written and looked over the small block of text:
Tom's Diary – Destroyed
A sixteen-year-old Tom was present, not entirely physically so but likely would have become so if he had been allowed to proceed with what he was doing.
Harry specifically asked Severus to destroy it with fiendfyre. Why?
Is it a necessity or just something Harry thought of due to its ability to destroy almost anything?
His explanation of knowledge was sufficient. He is a curious boy and will one day have questions about why and what happened to him, if he does not find answers himself.
Watch Harry closer. His curiosity could lead him down a path I do not wish to see him tread.
He had watched him, and nothing had given him cause for concern. He was a quiet boy, a brilliant boy and not one who had demonstrated any bout of cruelty for cruelty's sake.
Still, he could not deny there was something. Tom and Harry were alike in too many ways for it to be mere coincidence.
But how had such a thing come to pass?
(Break)
Sebastien smiled as he watched Harry adding the finishing touches to the sandcastle that he and Gabrielle had been labouring over for the past few hours. Dutifully, the boy had walked up and down the breadth of the coast gathering bucket after bucket of wet sand under the instruction of his youngest daughter and placed them where asked so that she could shape the enormous construct that sat before them. It was equally heart-warming as it was amusing seeing him so care-free carrying out his task as Gabrielle barked orders at him from where she was seated with the little veela herself taking no part in the menial part of the build.
Fleur had left this morning to attend the Ministry where she would finish her exams and Harry had taken it upon himself to keep Gabrielle entertained in her absence.
" Non, 'Arry, not there!" the frustrated voice of his daughter rung out as the boy placed another pile of sand next to her.
Sebastien chuckled as the two began debating loudly about the final details. Of course, Gabrielle pouted, and Harry folded like wet parchment, muttering under his breath as he did as he was bid.
" Did you know he was out here at five am this morning running lengths along the beach and swimming?" Aline questioned his wife, both also enjoying the spectacle that was the famous teen being resorted to his daughter's personal workhorse. "And yesterday morning he was running across the hills before we came here."
" It is what 'Arry does, Maman."
Aline pursed her lips.
" He is fifteen! He should be sleeping in until noon, not preparing for war."
It was not often he found himself agreeing with his mother-in-law, but he could find no fault in what she said. It should not be Harry's place to fight in a war. The British Ministry should be dealing with the Voldemort problem, but first, they would have to acknowledge it.
He shook his head. Such a thing was unlikely.
" He should, but after what has happened to him, you must understand."
Aline nodded.
" He has suffered much and does all he can to prevent anymore of it. What I want to know is why he has been allowed to live such a miserable life? Why have you not done something about it?" she asked him.
" I wanted to," Sebastien defended. "If I had, it would have only pushed him away. I would rather keep him close and safe than dig through his past."
" But he is not safe and will not be until that monster is gone."
For the second time that day, he agreed with the woman.
She had been terrified to learn how close they had been to losing Fleur and had demanded to see the memory Sebastien had kept from the night of the third task. She had emerged from the pensieve shaken and in awe at what she had witnessed, though she had not mentioned it since, much to his relief.
Harry was slowly dealing with what had happened and it would do none of them any good to revisit it.
" He is not a fool, Maman…"
" Non, but it consumes him. He carries everything that has happened, ready to unleash on those that have wronged him. I have met dangerous people, Apolline, and 'Arry Potter is one of them."
" He is not a monster," Sebastien bit back.
" Non, he is a very sweet boy who will do whatever it takes to keep those he cares for safe. A person like him is dangerous in many ways. If he dies, Fleur will not recover from it, and if he survives, what will be the cost? How many will he have to kill to be safe?" Aline questioned.
" He would say as many as necessary," Sebastien sighed sadly.
" Then he may just survive what it is he faces, if he does not lose himself along the way." Aline murmured.
(Break)
"It's nice here," Harry commented as he looked towards the ocean, the surface illuminated by the full moon on the horizon. "Peaceful."
Fleur nodded against his chest and sighed.
"It is one of my favourite places," she murmured. "Is your 'ome like this?"
Harry shook his head.
"It's peaceful, but in a different way. I have a forest with a stream passing though that leads to the river at the bottom of the mountains. I have a nice garden where I can grow my own food and the villa is beautiful, not as big as your house, but more than enough for me."
"I would like to see it one day."
"I will take you," he promised.
She nodded and yawned, the day having taken much out of her, but she was done with her exams and free until she found what she wanted to do next.
She had received an offer of employment from Gringotts in London but not in a position she wanted. Not that she would have taken it. Britain was not a safe place to be and the bigotry was worse than here in France.
She yawned again and Harry chuckled.
"Maybe you should go to bed," he suggested. "You wouldn't want me to have to carry you."
"Maybe I would like that very much," she returned as she stood and froze. "I did not mean it like that."
Harry snorted at the unintentional inuendo.
"Neither did I. I just meant that I've been carrying sand all day and my back is killing me. I'd probably drop you."
Fleur put her hands on her hips.
"I do 'ope you are not comparing me to a tonne of sand, 'Arry Potter."
"Would I do that?"
"Non, not if you knew what was good for you," she replied with a grin before placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "I will see you in the morning, non?"
He nodded; a smile plastered across his face as she left him to gaze upon the ocean a little longer.
Though it was warm here during the day, the nights were not so forgiving. Without her warmth and presence, it wasn't long before he decided to turn in himself.
He stood and stretched before vanishing the chair he had conjured only to curse as he tripped on something. Lighting the tip of his wand, he picked up the shoes that Fleur had left behind and shook his head.
"She cares about you, 'Arry Potter," a voice spoke, stopping him as he approached the back door. He turned to see the glow of a cigarette partially lighting the face of Fleur's grandmother as she took in a mouthful of smoke, breathing it in deeply and releasing it. "More than I think you understand."
"I know she cares about me…"
"Non," Aline disagreed, "you think you know but you do not. You are only fifteen, you cannot be expected to know or understand."
He frowned in the direction of the woman as she extinguished her cigarette.
"And you care for 'er."
"I do."
An uncomfortable silence fell between the two as she seemingly stared at him through the darkness.
"There is a sadness about you, 'Arry Potter. You smile, but I can see it in your eyes. You carry it on your shoulders with all your anger. Angry people do foolish things."
"And people who have made foolish mistakes learn from them."
He could almost feel the grin tugging at her lips.
"Was saving 'er life a foolish mistake?"
He swallowed deeply as he shook his head.
"No," he whispered.
"Oui, you mean that," Aline sighed after a moment. "I care for 'er too, 'Arry. I share a very special bond with my little flower, and I do not wish to see 'er 'urt."
"I would never…"
"Non, not intentionally, but you may do it without realising. You saw 'ow she reacted when she thought you were dead and I suspect you would 'ave fared no better, non?"
"No, I wouldn't."
"You should not forget that."
He clenched his jaw in irritation.
"I am reminded of it every day. Every time I see her, I'm reminded of it."
Aline sighed deeply.
"I do not say these things because I wish for you to not be in 'er life, it is too far gone for that. I say them as someone who 'as lost someone I cared for the way you and Fleur care for each other. She is a veela 'Arry. She is different to you. She will give you 'er 'eart fully, and for 'er, there will likely never be another. Are you prepared for that? Do you understand 'ow precious that gift is?"
"I understand more than you think," he returned. "I died for her because I didn't understand how much me doing so would affect her. If I would have known, maybe I would have hesitated and the curse would have taken her, but even knowing what I do now, I can't promise that I wouldn't do it again. Call me selfish if you like but I will not watch her be taken as I did my mother."
He took a deep breath to steady himself.
"I can't promise I wouldn't die for her, but I can promise to do all I can to make sure she does not have to face what she did again."
"And that is the person you are, 'Arry Potter. You are a protector, but words are water, they can change with the tide."
"I protect her only as much as she would me."
"And she would do the same as you," Aline muttered. "I do not want to lose my granddaughter, 'Arry."
He deflated as her words sunk in. Before him was not a woman who disliked him or wished him gone, but someone who needed to feel assurance.
"What would you have me do?"
"Nothing. I just needed you to 'ear it from me. I know the words of an old woman will not sway you from your path, but I 'ad to speak with you. I needed to see that you care for 'er the same way she does for you. I do not want to lose 'er, and for that, you must live also."
"You said yourself, words are water."
"They are, but it 'elps to 'ear you speak them. Is it wrong for me to expect so much of you when you already burden yourself? Perhaps, but I 'ave to know. Do you care for 'er enough to see this through and live?"
"I do."
"Then I will believe you," Aline replied as she lit another cigarette. "Sleep well, 'Arry."
"You too," he returned before he entered the house, confused by the conversation he had shared with the older woman.