AN: Trigger Warning for abuse this chapter.
It had been a long and terrible summer for Harry Potter. It wasn't that long, terrible summers were uncommon for him, but this one had been especially long, and especially terrible.
He'd slept little in the days since receiving Fleur's reply. His broken arm hindered his effectiveness as a tool, and his inefficiency had been duly noted. Alongside his ever-growing list of tasks, the new mutable expectations hit more unexpectedly than any blow. Predictability had once been his savior.
He had been abandoned.
The only rule he had been able to glean was the new expectation of affirmation.
"Yes, Sir," and "No, Sir," had long been second nature to him but the new addition to the rule had been imparted beneath a belt. No matter the outlandish claim or painful twisting lie, he was forced to repeat them, the words growing more and more bitter on his tongue with each passing day.
They had turned to lies about his family, the casual demeaning slurs about his kind having long since lost their luster. His rebellions had been few and short-lived, and it was through burning shame that he was compelled to agree with his relatives' assessments. He hated himself for it.
The most frequent epithet, and by far their favorite, dug into his lungs with pointed barbs each time he drew breath to say the words. It burrowed deep, settling alongside the ever-present pressure on his chest, a black poisonous seed. Each repetition fed it, bolstered the thought until it could whisper to him as he tried to fall asleep.
He didn't know when he had begun to listen to it.
But it was true.
He was a burden, especially to his friends who found themselves in a struggle between life and death just for standing at his side. He was worthless. The only value he had added to the world was the temporary halt of Voldemort's campaign, a feat unmade by the Triwizard Cup and his own traitorous blood.
He could no longer stop himself from agreeing with their comments.
He didn't try.
Nearly a week after receiving Fleur's most recent letter, he finally found the desire to read the painful reminder of his old life. He pulled the torch from its spot, taking care not to let the burn on the back of his hand brush the rough wall. Illuminated by weak yellow light, he pulled a surprising number of parchments from the envelope. He flattened them against the top of his trunk, pushing aside the materials he had grabbed for his reply.
Harry,
Similar to my first letter, I have written a dozen versions of this one in an attempt to try to find the right words. I feel as though I have needed to apologize in every letter I have sent because I do not know how to say what I need to say without sounding rude. And again, I must ask your forgiveness for being too pushy.
I am not proficient enough with English, perhaps not even in my own language, to gracefully say this. So I shall be blunt. I think that something is wrong. I do not know what it is. I also want you to know that I am here for you and that you can come to me if you need anything.
There are things about you that I do not understand. Some, I am sure, I will learn with time. You have alluded to more encounters with Voldemort, for example. You do not have to share these things with me.
I wish to understand, though.
It feels strange to speak so frankly, so I hope this does not come across as too forward.
I know you do not like to talk about yourself, but if you need to, I am here. I am not going to run, or laugh, or change my opinion of you, if that is what you are afraid of. Your actions this past year have been far more telling of the kind of person you are than whatever secrets you are keeping.
And it is okay to have secrets. They are yours alone, I would simply like to help, if I am able.
There is something I would like to share with you. I do not tell you this so you feel compelled to reciprocate, but because you have shown me that I can trust you.
I mentioned my reasons for wanting to become a member of the ICW. What I did not mention, was that it was not an attempted kidnapping, it was a successful one.
Harry dropped the page, grabbing at the small stack for the next one.
I have said before that some see Veela as less-than-human. During my second year at Beauxbatons, there was an incident because of the biased and deplorable views of one of my instructors. At the time, my abilities had not yet manifested themselves. I was simply a little girl with silver hair.
A full-grown Veela in her considerable power has little to fear from the people around her. When our abilities cannot sway an individual, and our magical prowess is found lacking, the avian form can finish whatever has been started.
Young Veela have none of these defenses from those looking to sell them into slavery.
The instructor was approached by someone who discovered that our class was to take a field trip to the Louvre, and that I was to be among them. Together, they arranged for me to be 'lost' in the crowd. The teacher led a search party in the wrong direction while the trafficker took me from the building. They were to sell me away, sending the teacher a portion of the profit.
I was taken to an unattended employee section of the Louvre and my kidnapper apparated us away. He took me to where they held their kidnapped girls. He locked me in a cage and put shackles around my ankles.
Bile rose in his throat, forcing him to set the letter down to collect himself. His hand shook as he wiped it across his face. He would never have known that someone so determined and full of life had been through something so harrowing. After a deep breath, he picked up the parchment and continued.
I was beyond fortunate, however, that shortly after my arrival to that awful place, the ICW conducted a raid on the entire operation. The traffickers were captured, and we were freed.
That is the reason I cannot endure authority figures standing by while those in their care are hurt. It is also the reason I reacted so rashly at the bottom of the lake. I cannot stand seeing people bound so they are unable to move.
That is why I want to join the ICW. So I can make the same kind of difference in someone's life as they did for me.
As I said, I do not tell you this so that you will share your secrets with me, only to show you that I trust you. I can tell you are someone who prefers action to words. I am aware these are words on a page but I hope they are effective in conveying my message.
If I am out of line, please let me know. I would rather have said something and be wrong than to have said nothing when you needed me.
Always your friend,
Fleur
His eyes read the words again, yet he didn't see them. Revulsion churned inside him; a nausea in his throat that mingled with an amalgamation of a sob and a furious growl. He had come face to face with evil, and yet it had been as sinister as a child's tantrum compared to the horrors her story conjured. Temporary pain before a potential lifetime of misery.
And to his absolute and eternal shame, it all fell away; muted before his abject failure.
She knew.
Someone knew .
The words rampaged across any other thoughts, hollowing him out in their stampede. It wasn't at all like he had imagined. On the good days, he thought he might feel relief. On the bad days, he'd have rather died than give up his shameful secret.
Instead, he read a single line over and over, burning it into his mind. Wishing it—willing it to be true.
I am not going to run, or laugh, or change my opinion of you.
No matter how hard he wished, the truth would change her opinion of him.
Wouldn't it?
Hadn't she believed him without question about the tournament? Stood by him in the maze?
He felt a distant sense of horror to realize tears were falling down his face, his skin burning with the shame of her newfound knowledge. He wiped vigorously at his eyes with his good arm, crushing the paper with the frantic motion.
He set the letter down in front of him, doing his best to slow his breathing. His thoughts would not be quelled as easily. They fell apart before he could grab hold, a shifting quagmire of contradictions that refused to settle. He stared at the slanted ceiling and dancing shadows as his weak light flickered in his hand. Either hours or seconds later, a single thought struggled into life, reaching through the tempest of his mind.
She didn't know what was wrong.
His stolid gaze shifted down to his blank pieces of paper that were spread across his trunk from where he had pushed them aside. His pen had rolled to a stop by his leg, the tip visible.
Threatening.
He wanted to shrink away from the empty papers.
His broken arm twitched. His good arm reached for the pen.
He began to write.
XxX
Apolline craned her neck to see over the top of the couch and out of the front sitting room. She caught glimpses of Fleur, pacing in front of the door, occasionally slipping out of view. Just as she had done every day for the past week.
"What do we do," she moaned, letting her head fall back against her husband's shoulder.
Unread books lay on their laps, their disguise for keeping an eye on their daughter. Sebastian had even made sure to come home for almost every lunch break, just in case he was needed.
"There's nothing we can do," he said. "Not yet anyway. We only have our assumptions to go on, and that's not enough to launch an investigation into the muggle world."
"Why in the hell not?"
"I know, ma chérie," he said, squeezing her around the shoulders with one arm. "But we've been over this. We are limited in what we can do."
She huffed, turning again to look at Fleur, who had begun muttering to herself. Knowing her daughter, they were probably obscenities.
"She's so torn up about this," she said. "He means a lot to her already."
"He means a lot to me," her husband answered thickly. "You know what would have happened without him."
She patted his knee.
"Calm down. It's okay. She's okay. I'm feeling powerless right now too."
"I thought I was the one trying to calm you down."
"Yes, well, despite our years together, I still have a distinct advantage when it comes to understanding your feelings."
She smiled up at him, earning her one in return. The corners of his eyes wrinkled in that dashing way they had begun to do recently.
Before she could admire more, his face fell into an impassive mask and her sense of him winked away.
"There's no need for that," she said, poking him in the side with a laugh. "You don't need to use occlumency against me."
Before he could reply, a horrified gasp from the front hall grabbed their attention.
"Fleur?"
She stepped into view, furious tears coursing their way down her cheeks. She held a white piece of paper in her hands and the edges had begun to smolder beneath her fingers.
"He-" she tried, pressing her lips into a thin quivering line. She held the paper to her parents as they crossed the short distance to her. "He needs our help."
Apolline grabbed the paper, patting at the burning edges until they stopped eating away at the letter. She tilted it so Sebastian could read over her shoulder.
Fleur,
I'm out of paper, so I guess I don't get any more rewrites. I see what you mean about finding the right words.
Here it goes, I guess.
There was an inky smudge where he had scribbled out two separate lines with his pen.
They hurt me.
More black spots.
I know it's not normal, and they've been doing it for years. Half the time I don't even know what I do to deserve it. They're the reason my arm is broken. That's why the handwriting is still so bad. Sorry.
You're the first person I've ever told. I didn't want people to treat me differently. I just wanted to be normal. But you said you wouldn't run or change your opinion, so there it is. I guess.
The summer is almost over, then I can go back to Hogwarts. At most I'll have to make it just two more years, then I can live wherever I want.
Thanks for trusting me with your story.
I trust you too.
-Harry
Apolline's own fiery anger boiled to the surface and she whirled on her husband. "Sebastian," she growled.
"Let's get to work."
XxX
He groaned as he awoke, his body stiff and protesting his awkward sleeping position. He pushed himself up, careful to keep most of his weight off his newly-healed arm. Pain burst to life in his side as he twisted, stealing the breath from his lungs. He had hoped that kick would have healed a little better overnight.
Another slam on his cupboard door made him jump and he scrambled from his small space. His uncle jerked a thumb toward the kitchen where he heard his aunt shuffling through the cupboard with the pans. He hurried to take over, ensuring that he said the proper good mornings as was expected. His aunt vacated the kitchen the moment he entered, leaving him to focus on his task while trying to avoid thinking about his punishment for waking up late.
It had been too long since he had received a letter from Fleur, and though he'd come to accept that he had misjudged her intention, the pain of it still kept him from a proper night's sleep. He tried to push the creeping feelings from his mind as he worked, instead attempting to focus on the meal he was preparing.
Cooking, at least, made sense. Food always followed the same rules. You could make the same meal a thousand times, and then make small changes in key places to make it a thousand different meals.
He flipped the eggs, taking care not to break the yolk.
Salt and pepper. Brown the toast. Turn back to the stove, almost dancing through the kitchen for his speed. Crack another egg. Silvery hair. Butter.
He frowned down at the skillet, shoving with everything he had against the intrusive thoughts of his friend. His ex-friend?
He dropped the finished eggs onto a plate and grabbed it along with another plate that held the toast. Cleanup had a certain meditative quality to it as well, maybe by the time he was done he could forget about her. If not, then he surely would once his uncle was through teaching him the importance of waking up on time. Even the jobs that would accept a slacker like him care about punctuality.
A sharp rap on the door startled him badly, causing him to drop the plates. They shattered on the floor sending porcelain shards skittering across the once spotless linoleum.
His uncle rose from his seat at the dining room table, a thunderhead of restrained anger directed at Harry. "You'll pay for that later, you worthless freak."
"Yes, Sir," Harry agreed.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Sir. I am a worthless freak."
"Get upstairs before someone decent sees you," his uncle said, sending him stumbling forward with a hard push on his back.
He used the awkward momentum to spin himself around the banister, ignoring the twinge of pain in his arm. Taking the stairs two at a time, he slid into Dudley's second bedroom. He found that his lumpy mattress had been removed to make space for a new desk and television. Dudley, thankfully, was still asleep, and often had Harry make him breakfast a few hours after his parents had already eaten.
He took the opportunity to sit down, resting the back of his head against the closed door. He could hear the bass rumble of his uncle's deep voice, though he couldn't make out the words. The visitor spoke, though he was barely audible.
Pandemonium erupted from below. His uncle began to shout, his voice reverberating through the house.
"Get out!" he roared, the thump of an enraged foot traveling up the stairs. Harry stiffened. His uncle had already been upset and anything on top of that would only add to Harry's upcoming misery.
His heart stopped when a loud but much more restrained voice called out to him.
"Harry?"
His uncle's bellows covered anything else the stranger may have said.
Harry sat, unmoving.
It didn't make sense. Had he misheard? Nobody knew where he lived.
Almost nobody.
He cracked the door, allowing the full volume of his uncle's tirade to wash over him.
"We've done as you demanded," he shouted. "We let him go to your school for freaks and monsters like him. In exchange, you were supposed to leave us the bloody hell alone!"
Harry crept towards the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky spot in front of the bathroom door.
"Indeed," the visitor said, his voice barely accented. "Circumstances have changed. Where is Harry?"
The bottom of the stairs came into view as Harry took another tentative step forward. Fleur's father stood at the bottom in a gray suit, a hat tucked under one arm. He stared impassively at a purpling Vernon Dursley who stood protectively in front of his wife.
"You'll-"
"I'm here, Sir," Harry said, his voice cracking over the words. Sebastian turned to look up at him, his passive expression shifting to anger. Harry took a reflexive step back, suppressing the urge to run back to his hiding place. When he looked down the stairs again, Mr. Delacour was focused back on Vernon.
"Harry will be leaving with me," he said, his normally warm voice sharp and frigid. "I doubt you have any objections."
Harry's legs almost gave out. Freedom came early? Again?
But to be seen in his current state…
The welts on his back burned anew as he thought of them, the fabric of his shirt like sandpaper against his skin. His rampaging thoughts made it impossible to stuff the pain away.
"Good riddance," his uncle said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Anything to get rid of the lot of you. He's your problem for the rest of the year."
Instead of responding, Sebastian turned to look up at Harry, his expression calm. "Come on down, Harry. I'm not going to make you leave if you don't want to. It's your choice after all."
Harry scrambled down the stairs as fast as his weakened legs would take him. "I'll come!"
"Where are your things?"
"In the cupboard under the stairs," he answered, pointing around the banister. His uncle grumbled as Sebastian pushed his way around the large man and he ushered Petunia into the living room, muttering about 'entitled degenerates' as they left.
Sebastian pulled open the cupboard door, exposing the small space that held Harry's trunk and his paltry bedclothes and pillow. Harry felt his face burn as the older man's face grew steely, his hand twitching towards the front of his jacket.
"Is this everything?"
Harry nodded.
Sebastian reached through the open door to touch the trunk, then looked over at Harry. "Hold on to me. We'll be apparating from here."
He grabbed onto the offered hand and felt himself twisting into the cold crushing darkness of apparition. It pushed on him from all sides, sending bolts of pain rolling through his back and side. With a sudden shove, the darkness rejected them, depositing them onto a hard stone walkway, the sun beating down overhead.
He blinked to acclimate himself to the sudden sunlight. Waist-high cobblestone walls bordered the path they stood upon, reaching up and out of sight over a hill. To his right, a modest lake sat inside a depression in the rolling landscape. They were surrounded almost completely by trees that spread into a veritable forest that stretched out in a blanket of green across small hills and into the distance.
"Where are we, Sir?" he said, looking over to Sebastian, who tapped a long auburn wand on Harry's trunk.
"You'll see," the older man said with a smile. "Follow me." They started forward, climbing the hill in silence.
The moment they crested the top, a massive stone house appeared amidst the trees, covered with a dark tiled roof. Giant windows graced the front of the house, reflecting the sun across the limited grass in front of the home.
"Welcome to my home," Mr. Delacour said, waving an arm to encompass the picturesque manor. "It's quite a sight, isn't it?"
"Yes, Sir," Harry answered, nodding.
"You'll get a proper tour once we're inside. Normally we'd bring you in through the floo, as that allows you through the wards, but when apparating, I have to walk you through." He smiled apologetically. "A precaution for the high-ranking government officials, I'm afraid."
They walked without speaking for a time, allowing Harry the opportunity to marvel at the landscape around him. Though the area beneath the thick green canopy was dark, it conferred none of the sinister forebodings of the Forbidden Forest. Movement grabbed his attention and he saw a handful of deer wandering around tree trunks, three of which had large sets of antlers perched atop their heads.
He turned to find himself lagging behind, and jogged to catch up, one hand on his side in an attempt to stifle the painful throb each step engendered. When he joined Mr. Delacour, the older man smiled down at him. He tried to smile back and resumed his admiration of the countryside.
He jumped when Mr. Delacour spoke.
"I have no doubt that you are expecting the question. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine, Sir," he answered automatically.
"Fine?" Sebastian echoed, placing a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him.
He flinched away from the touch, cursing himself as he did so.
"I thought not," Sebastian said with a sigh. He let his hand drop and took a step backward.
Harry felt as though his head might combust with shame as he stared down at the gray stone path.
"She told you, Sir?" he asked the ground.
"I hope that's okay."
He nodded slowly.
"I trust her," he said. "But I didn't tell her just so I'd have to spend a little less time with them this summer. I've only got two years left, maximum. I can handle it. I've made it this far."
Sebastian's eyes were wide by the time Harry had finished speaking. His mouth worked for a moment before he raked a hand through his thick, graying hair.
"Two years…Harry, you're never going back to that vile place."
XxX
Fleur peered through the window to the two figures in the distance, the curtains held out of her way in a tight fist. "I'm going to go meet them," she said, letting the fabric fall back in place.
"You will do no such thing," her mother snapped, halting her with a firm hand on her shoulder. "We've talked about this. There is a lot for him to process all at once. Too much input will not be well received."
"But if he's hurt," she shot back, "why wouldn't we bring him inside as fast as possible? I'm not going to bombard him with questions, but not healing him right away is cruel."
"It's not just his body that's hurt, Sweetheart," her mother said, squeezing her shoulder once before letting her hand drop. "There are also things your father needs to discuss with him that are private. He needs to be able to make informed decisions for himself. He also needs us to be calm and collected. We need to be steadfast and predictable. He's come from a life of non-stop tension and fear, and it will take time to come down from that."
An angry noise broke free from somewhere in her throat and she tried not to stomp back to the window.
"He's grown to mean quite a lot to you," her mother observed, a slight tease hiding inside her tone.
"Yes," she answered simply, resuming her post at the window.
XxX
"I…I-" Harry stammered, the information refusing to solidify in his mind.
How was it possible he'd just been handed his deepest desire while standing in the middle of a beautiful French vista?
Sebastian didn't say anything while Harry grappled with a statement of such magnitude. He turned to the half-wall that lined the stone path and beckoned Harry forward, offering him a seat.
Harry followed the summons, dropping down to sit on the rock fence.
"W-where do I stay?" he asked. "I'd always imagined it…but now…?"
"You can stay here until term starts if you'd like, we've been approved to take care of you for now. After that, it's somewhat up to you, assuming your hearing goes well, which I'm sure it will."
"My hearing?"
"To determine your eligibility to be removed from their care. We'll go over it more in a little while, once we're in the house." Sebastian drummed his fingers on the stone as he spoke. "I understand you've spent some time with the Weasleys. They could be a potential option as well. This is something we'll have to revisit in the coming weeks as things progress."
"I don't want to be a burden to them, Sir," he muttered. "Or to you, either."
"You will always be welcome here, Harry. You won't be a burden. I expect you wouldn't be one to the Weasley's either."
"But Sir, I-"
Sebastian slowly held up a hand and stiffened when Harry flinched back.
"In time," the older man said, lowering his hand. "I hope you will be able to take my word for it. I would like you to listen carefully, please."
"Yes, Sir."
"I will not strike you. Nor will Apolline. You are safe here."
"I know, Sir," he said, his face warm with the shame of transparency.
"Even so, I wanted you to hear it. Are you comfortable with staying here for the rest of the summer?"
Harry nodded.
"Then let's get up to the house. I expect Apolline and Fleur are anxiously awaiting our arrival."
They rose from the stone wall and continued towards the manor, Harry's trunk floating along behind.
"How…how did this happen, Sir?" Harry asked.
"There's a lot to it but suffice to say, the process started in earnest with Fleur. She's the one who brought her concerns to our attention."
Harry nodded, unable to stuff away the shame that blossomed inside him.
"After that, there were a few legal aspects to being able to retrieve you. Especially considering we wanted to bring you with us to France."
"What would that matter, Sir?"
The older man smiled down at Harry. "You can call me Sebastian if you would like, or Mr. Delacour. You don't have to call me sir if you don't want to."
"I understand…Mr. Delacour."
"To your questions, you are a person of interest to your Ministry, especially now that Dumbledore has begun his campaign to force them to recognize the return of Voldemort. We couldn't look as though we were trying to secret you out of the country, lest we start an international incident. We wanted to try to keep the number of people who knew about what happened to a minimum, that way you can largely decide who knows about it. That's part of the reason we decided to be the ones to offer you our home."
Harry nodded again, unable to form a proper reply through the emotion gathered in his throat.
"But we can get into that later. We are here, and I expect the girls will want to welcome you as well. Once you're inside, I'll run to the apothecary to pick up some potions to finish healing your arm and the like. After that, we'll get you settled in and it'll be time for dinner. Sound good?"
He nodded, eyes fixed on the wooden double-doors in front of him. A flicker of movement to his right caught his attention and he saw the curtains at the nearest window flutter shut. Seconds later, one of the doors flung open to expose Fleur, her features a volatile mix of relief and fury. She took a purposeful step forward before hesitating.
Her sister had no such compunctions. The small girl rushed around her sister, engulfing Harry in a hug. Her shoulder impacted his bruised side as she barreled into him.
Stars burst to life in his vision and he forced the groan back down into his chest. He patted her on the shoulder a few times before extracting himself.
"There's no reason to forget your manners," Sebastian said, turning Gabrielle back toward the house. "Inside with you."
She pouted but did as she was told, disappearing behind Fleur, who still hadn't moved.
Sebastian turned to Harry. "I will be back momentarily. I'll meet you up in your room." At receiving an answering nod, he turned on the spot and disapparated.
Harry turned back to Fleur who took a tentative step forward. She raised her arms partway before letting them fall back to her sides. She muttered something, before offering him a relieved smile.
"Come in, please," she said, turning. "There are all sorts of things I want to ask you, but they can wait. Most of all, I want to make sure you are okay. So come inside and we will wait for Papa to return with the potions."
He followed her through the front door and into a massive entry hall. A staircase dominated the space in front of him, splitting to the left and right part way up at a landing. Hallways to either side of the stairs led further into the large home. Apolline emerged from what appeared to be a sitting room on his right, a wide friendly smile on her face.
"Welcome, Harry," she said, gesturing to the upper floor. "Fleur will show you your room while I start dinner. Please make yourself at home."
"Thank you, Ma'am," he said, marveling at the spacious home.
"Apolline or Mrs. Delacour will be fine," she said gently. "I'm sure it will take some getting used to, so no rush."
Harry nodded and followed Fleur up the stairs, his trunk following behind.
"I told you it was big," Fleur said as they turned to the right for the second set of stairs.
Her ears tinted red as she spoke, standing out against her silvery hair.
"I can give you a tour a little later if you would like." She stopped at a door not far from the top of the stairs. "This will be your room."
The room beyond the door froze him in place.
His eyes were drawn to the bed first. Where he had thought his four-poster bed at Hogwarts a luxury, the massive mattress in front of him was an absolute extravagance. Opposite the door sat a window that stretched just shy of floor to ceiling, spilling the warm sun across the desk in front of it. Against the wall to his right sat a large armoire made of the same dark wood that accented the rest of the house.
Fleur stood just inside the room, watching him as his gaze slid across the giant space.
"Is everything okay?" she asked. "Do you not like it?"
"What?" he finally managed, forcing himself to focus on her. "Of course I do. I've never seen…it's amazing." He pushed himself through the door and into the room.
Into his room.
That couldn't be right.
"I see you've found your room," a voice said from the stairs. "Excellent!"
Sebastian joined them inside, stepping aside so Harry's trunk could drop itself at the foot of the bed. His arms were full of potions of all colors and sizes and he smiled when he saw Harry goggling at him.
"Better to be prepared. If you would excuse us, Fleur?"
Her gaze darted back to Harry before she nodded with an obvious frown.
"My room is next door," she said, indicating the room closest to the stairs with a pointed finger. He caught sight of a golden plaque on both it, and the door next to it. "Let me know if you need anything."
He nodded, trying not to stare at fists she held clenched at her sides. She left a warm touch of air and the faint scent of cinnamon as she brushed past him and hurried out into the hall.
Sebastian closed the door behind her with a foot then moved over to the desk, depositing the potions on top. "I got a little of everything," he said, turning to face Harry, who hadn't moved. "I don't know the extent of your injuries and I figured it would be better to be prepared."
Harry stared at the veritable pile of potions atop the dark wooden desk.
"You didn't have to get all that for me, Sir…Mr. Delacour. I'll be fine."
Sebastian sobered and beckoned Harry forward and leaned against the desk.
"There is something important we must talk about before we get started."
"Yes, Sir."
"It's nothing you've done," Mr. Delacour said, "but it is serious. As with any situation where a minor must be removed from their family due to mistreatment, there will be a hearing to determine that your removal is necessary for your safety. The burden of proof falls upon us and the strongest piece of evidence we will have is your injuries."
"So…I have to stay hurt?" he asked, puzzled. "If it'll keep me away from there, that's fine with me, Mr. Delacour."
"Goodness no, Harry. I'll get to the point. My memories can be used as evidence. That is, if I see the results of the abuse firsthand. I wanted to get your permission to use these memories before we started."
"You…need to see everything, Sir?"
Sebastian nodded before speaking.
"We can't use your memories of the event because most traumatic memories are difficult to view. Not merely because of the subject matter, but usually because the person involved tries—at least on some level—to disassociate from what is happening. It can make the memory jumbled and unclear. Not always, but we don't want to stake our bets on it when this will work fine."
Harry became viscerally aware of each cut and bruise strewn across his body like so many brands.
"Whatever it takes, Sir."
"So I have your permission?" Sebastian asked, his gaze locked on Harry's.
"Yes, Sir."
Sebastian nodded, smiling. "Thank you. If you don't mind, please remove your shirt," he said, turning to the desk. "I know we will need a bone restorative to finish off that arm and a nutrient booster." He turned back with a vial in each hand, then stopped short.
Harry stood in front of him, pale and trembling. Dark purple bruises dotted his chest with one wide angry splash of vivid color on his side. Several mottle burn scars covered the arm that hadn't been broken. Bright red welts wrapped over the tops of his shoulders, shifting as he fidgeted.
"Would you mind turning around, Harry?" he asked, his voice level.
Harry nodded jerkily and shuffled around on the spot. Furious red lashes criss crossed his back with purple and yellow bruises spotting the ends. A few had opened and scabbed, the edges of the wound puffy and red.
"Is there anything else?" Sebastian asked.
Harry shook his head.
"No, Sir. They left my legs alone usually. It'd make me too slow otherwise."
"Thank you, Harry," Sebastian said, offering the two potions to him. "These will finish healing your bones and boost your nutrient intake, giving your body a bit of extra energy after eating. You'll need it, with all the healing you will be doing in a short time. I'll grab some restoratives to take care of your back, that way you can put your shirt back on. Those should be finished before dinner. I've got some subcutaneous regenerators for the bruises as well."
Harry gulped down the vile potions with practiced ease, reveling in the odd sensations he had come to associate with potion-based healing. After another two more bitter drinks, Sebastian gathered the remaining potions and turned to leave.
"There are some clothes for you in the armoire if you would like," he said, stopping by the door. "We've got both robes and muggle clothes in there, so feel free to grab whatever you find most comfortable. They've got the standard tailoring spells on them, so they're guaranteed to fit. You can wear your own clothes, of course. It's up to you."
"Thank you, Sir," Harry said, tugging his too large hand-me-down back over his head.
"Apolline and I will be downstairs in the kitchen should you need us and Fleur is next door. We will call you for dinner, but until then, take all the time you need."
XxX
Fleur closed the door behind her with a click and drew her wand with her other hand. With practiced frantic motions, she cast silencing charms around the perimeter of her bedroom.
Her hand shook with the strain of holding it back. Her breath came in short bursts, fanning the flames with each inhale.
She waved her wand across the door, locking it and sealing any sound from passing from her room.
The piercing shriek rose in her mind. It called to her, stoked her burning anger to perilous heights. She grit her teeth against it, fingers straining against the wood clutched tight in her hand. She knew she had lost the battle the moment she saw his haunted gaze as he tried to smile at her at the front door.
The rosewood wand clattered to the ground.
The scream broke free from her control and she loosed her hold on the churning fire within.
The protective charms on her furniture burst to life, shining a bright painful white as waves of heat burst from her skin. Her hair roiled and spun in the deluge, never quite moving away from between her shoulder blades, ready to change. Her other side pushed at the surface, taloned hands grasping their way to expression.
Tears slid down her cheeks, turning to steam before they fell.
The avian form called to her in its single-minded fury. In its simplicity.
Protect.
A gentle knock at the door muted the calls to change and settled the heat leaking from her. She bent and picked up her wand, taking a few calming breaths before unlocking the door. A wave of cool air rushed across her body as she pulled open the door to find her mother waiting patiently outside.
"I thought as much," her mother said, her hair buffeted by the warm air swirling through the air. "I can't say I'm surprised."
She stepped into the room and sat down on the edge of Fleur's bed, its glow almost completely faded.
"You are upset."
"Upset?" Fleur echoed, her voice far less under her control than she had thought. "Of course I'm upset! They hurt him so badly…You saw him! They hurt him so much that I can't even hug him to comfort him because he's afraid of it!"
"They did."
"I just want to-"
"I know what you want to do," her mother cut in. "Because it is what I want to do as well. But we cannot. It must be up to him how we proceed from here."
"I know." More of her anger slipped away, leaving behind the far more complicated feeling of powerlessness. "It's just so difficult. You saw how he was."
"I did. I saw. All we can do now is what we've already done. We can make this a safe place for him to open up. He may not, and even if he does, it'll be quite a while before he's better." She laid a gentle hand on Fleur's shoulder. "He faces a very difficult path to heal from this. It may be quite challenging to be there for him at times. He may close off further while examining his feelings, but you can't take it personally."
"I won't. This time, I get to be there for him."