Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavour and context.
Many thanks to Ajax, Raphaël the Older Nameless, and LTCMDR Michal Drápalík for their efforts in beta-ing. Their input is invaluable. Ajax is the famous (in his mind) author of "A Different Kind of War" and Michal is the author behind the fanfiction handle 'Honorversefan' and writes particularly lovely stories. I suggest reading both of them. Without them, my story would have many independent clauses that need connecting and would be full of 'Americanisms.'
I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
Cheers.
Chapter 3: Growing Pains
An ear-splitting noise rang out, causing Harry to clutch the side of his head. Somewhere between an owl hooting and a fire alarm, he looked around in confusion, only to rocket to his feet when he noticed Fayette seemed oblivious to the sound. Realisation froze the air trapped in his lungs, becoming a block of ice burdening the increasingly rapid rise and fall of his chest. The room shrunk into black nothingness except for the youngest Potter casually playing with her toys on the floor.
The school wards.
The thought rang distantly like a bell tolling in an abandoned town.
Electric energy pulsed along nerves atrophied by dread while muscles tightened painfully with tension around bones that felt too heavy and burdensome for the speed Harry needed.
Hesitation evaporating, he shot out a Patronus, his stag laden with a message for Ron, knowing his friend would drop whatever he was doing to come look after Fayette immediately.
"Stay right there," Harry barked, wincing when he saw his little girl burst into tears at his sharp tone.
"Sorry, sorry," he repented with a softer voice, even as his eyes darted towards the fireplace and sweat broke out along his skin. "You aren't in trouble, dewdrop, I just need to go now. Uncle Ron will be here soon, ok? Be a good girl." His words left him in a rush as he bolted out the front door.
The day was bright, not a cloud in the sky. Warm sunlight battled the cool chill of the September air. Harry noticed none of it, sprinting towards the edge of the wards where he promptly, tightly spun, apparating to an alleyway just outside of Hogsthorpe Academy.
Before he had fully come to rest from his twisted pop back into existence, Harry was once again darting forward. Thoughts of a war long past bleeding into his vision. The worn brick of the alley shifting to the old stones of Hogwarts's Great Hall lined with bodies. The sound of cars and the distant noise of a busy dock melting into spellfire and screams.
Skidding around the corner, he whipped out his wand, twirling it about his head to stop the wards ringing in his ears before forcing them to show where they'd been breached.
He careened past the school's side, casting a disillusionment charm on himself as he stampeded towards the back where the wards showed a non-keyed-in magical signature.
His feet stopped, his legs trembled with strained exertion, heart hammering away in his chest while ragged breaths came in gasps. A frenzied madness roared in his ears, a fury split through the ice of his chest as Harry's face turned ugly with hate; terror morphing into rancour.
A man dressed in a shabby overcoat stood stooped behind the corner of a building across from Hogsthrope. A tweed cap rested upon straw-coloured hair, a camera raised in his hands.
White light swooped across the ground between the two men, smashing the camera into pieces before colliding into the reporter's chest. Harry snarled in satisfaction, striding over to the prone body that had fallen heavily to the cement below.
Frightened eyes goggled up at him as he crouched down and tore through the man's jacket pockets, finding Daily Prophet credentials, which were looked at briefly before being stuffed in the back pocket of Harry's jeans.
Not finding anything else aside from the man's wand and a few pieces of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Harry cast a Reparifors spell, taking away the effects of the man's paralysis.
Keeping his wand pointed at the cowering reporter, he spoke, his voice a dangerous drawl. "Mr O'Dell, mind telling me what you're doing here?"
Mr O'Dell's hand snagged the beaten cap off his head, drawing it to his chest as he continued to lay there, staring at Harry. A mouth opened but no sound escaped.
A wand tip pressed against an Adam's Apple prompted a stammered declaration, "Assignment. Didn't want to. Job. Sorry!"
Harry leaned over, his green eyes sparking like flint and stone. "What's the story, Mr O'Dell? Got a particular scoop in mind?"
"I-I'm not sure, just the photographer. A-a-article gets written by some-somebody else." The hitched speech and evident terror was making Harry sick to his stomach, even as the beast in his chest roared in savage satisfaction.
"Who else knows about the school's location," he asked, his sharp voice losing some of its tempered edge.
"Just the boss, he didn't want to lose the exclusive." As soon as the words left the reporter's mouth he seemed to realise they were the wrong ones to use.
"The lives of my daughters are not your exclusives," Harry growled, his anger returning, dark and vicious. A jet of red made Mr O'Dell slump unconscious.
Sitting back on his haunches, he scrubbed at his face. The faded lightning-bolt scar stretched across his forehead as the skin of his scalp was pulled back by the fingers raking through tangled black hair. Fortifying himself, he made the decision necessary to keep his family safe.
Using a horribly invasive memory charm, taught and regulated tightly by the Auror department, Harry wiped every trace of Liliana's location from the man's mind. The spell went several steps further than a simple obliviation and wasn't civilian authorised, not that those potential repercussions meant much to its current user.
Regardless, the memory erasure left a bad taste in his mouth. He pulled up the reporter roughly, walking a few steps over till he was outside the embedded school wards. A wave of his wand banished the remnants of the magical camera before he twisted on the spot with his burden.
With a slight stumble due to the extra weight, he arrived outside the Hog's Head Inn, where he unceremoniously dumped the prone body from his shoulders. Mr O'Dell clattered to the ground in a heap while his cap gusted down the sidewalk, carried by an errant wind.
Cracking his neck and cheerfully waving at Madam Rosemerta - who had stopped across the street at his arrival - Harry checked the enchanted watch secured around his left wrist. The green hand signifying Lili pointed squarely at 'school.' Clicking one of the knobs inward caused all five differently coloured hands to spin before resting together at 'safe.'
With a nearly silent pop, Harry disappeared from the streets of the small wizarding village, a sigh of relief hanging upon the still air behind him.
XXXXXXXX
Ron was wearing makeup when Harry walked into his front door, the gangly man looking up in alarm while Fayette skipped gaily towards her father. Both males stood silently, appraising one another for a beat.
The red-head sat on the floor, painfully folded so he could squeeze behind the child's harpsichord before him. A single tuft of red hair had received a braid, sitting atop his head before sagging under its own weight like a drooping unicorn horn.
Harry snorted.
"Ok, daddy?" His little girl asked, patting his knee as he bent to snuggle her close.
"Everything is just fine, dewdrop," he uttered as he buried his head in gold curls. The smell of wisteria trees and thunderstorms permeating his senses. Her tiny form allowed the thumping pulse of his veins to slow, even as she shifted uncomfortably in his slightly-too restrictive grip. He loosened his hold minutely and she stilled.
Small, chubby hands cupped his cheeks before his daughter leaned forward and pecked him lightly on the nose. "I make it better," she said seriously.
"Yes, chicklet," Harry replied, his throat working strangely, "you always do."
Fayette gave a stern nod before peeking back at her playmate. She placed her cheek alongside his own so she could whisper conspiratorially to him. "I made Uncle Ron silly," came her quiet voice before snorting prettily, just like her mother.
"I noticed," was his dry reply. He glanced up at his best mate, still awkwardly squished next to Fayette's instrument.
"Did she ask to play dress-up?" Harry called out.
Ron scowled, "You too?"
"Yup."
"I thought she was serious until she started guffawing while drawing stars on my cheeks with mascara."
He appraised his friend solemnly, "They really bring out your eyes."
A sour look was sent his way in return. "If it makes you feel better," he continued lightly, "so far she's tricked Hagrid, Teddy, and Bill." A particularly funny memory of walking in on a certain half-giant wearing a tutu with his beard heavily clumped together by hair ties caused lips to twitch. The normalcy was soothing to the headache that had formed from the adrenaline draining out of his body.
Ron shook his head, "I should have known as soon as the little imp asked, she's as mischievous as Fred… and probably even less interested in girly stuff."
A grin hitched on the black-haired man's face as he lifted his daughter into his arms. A big yawn overtaking her face, undoubtedly tired after missing her afternoon nap in all the excitement of a visitor. "Much to her mother's disconcertment."
"Your wife spends an awful lot of time getting Fay all dolled up only to be rewarded with grass stains and rips," was the idly given reply. The speaker's face, however, showed an anxious energy.
Harry walked over to the couch directly facing the fireplace, gently swaying the drowsy chicklet in his arms. Downy feathers and weary exhales signalled a consciousness fleeing into slumber. Bending down slowly, he placed his child gently on her usual afternoon snoozing spot. Warm rays of light from outside caressing her sweet face. An irritable mumble at his jostling was soon forgotten as Fayette slipped deeper asleep.
Motioning to the kitchen, Harry and Ron crept quietly towards the doorway. Unfortunately, Ron's large feet proved his undoing as an ungainly step landed his weight upon a child's toy. It was a cute thing, really. An ever-spinning top that played music and shone lighted pictures of dancing ponies as it rotated.
"Bugg-" was all the unfortunate man was able to utter before a silencing spell cut him off. An annoyed grumble was heard behind them along with the whoosh and brief illumination from blue fire before languid snoring began again.
Nursing his sore foot, Ron hopped his way towards the entrance to the kitchen, putting his newfound ability to use inventive curses with impunity to good effect.
Casting a muffliato spell upon the kitchen, Harry undid the muting of his friend.
"And I'll find whoever had the audacity to make you and curse all their biscuits to break, their tea to be forever tepid, and their shop to always smell of cabbage."
Biting his lip to stop his laughter at the explosion of venomous threats, Harry waved his wand to begin the process of magically making tea.
Looking over at his friend who jumped up slightly to sit on the edge of a counter, he grinned before speaking. "You gonna make it, tough guy? Or are we headed to St. Mungo's for an amputation?"
The freckled man glared, his voice murderous, "if my foot didn't hurt so bloody much you'd find it kicking your arse."
"Touchy, touchy," Harry sang mockingly.
Sighing, Ron straightened, his foot dropping to brush against the floor. Swinging his legs somewhat childishly, the man's expression turned contemplative. "What happened, mate? Your message nearly had me sending for the Aurors."
The kettle rang out shrilly, cutting off the biting response forming on Harry's tongue. Waving his wand absently, cups began to prance jauntily towards the levitating teapot ready to pour. "A ruddy journalist was at Lili's school, looking to snap a photo," he bit out scathingly.
A harshly solid thump caused him to turn around, his friend was rubbing his knuckles after smashing them against the counter in frustration, ruminations on the reporter's lineage involving barnyard animals pouring from his mouth.
Ron looked up, "What did you do?" His voice as stony as his face.
Harry was glad, not for the first time, to witness such fierce protectiveness towards a goddaughter. His best mate had long since shed any insecurity or want of fame. The end of the war had shown how truly miserable being in the limelight was. But having the masses speculate and gossip about Ron's goddaughter and then his own children had completely murdered whatever predilection the Weasley still held towards being notable and newsworthy.
"Memory wipe." There was no hesitation in his reply, trust a foregone conclusion.
A jerky nod of approval was the only response. The two men sipped their tea silently.
Finally, Ron looked up and asked the question that had been on both their minds during their quiet ruminations. "Do you know how they found her location?"
Harry sighed. "No, I don't. The arsehole didn't know either. Said his boss was the only one that knew. Hopefully, I'll be able to find out after I have my solicitor talk to him."
"Did you stop the article?"
"I got the photographer and smashed his camera, should stall the printing, give me time to get an injunction before the court." Harry looked about for a pen, "matter of fact, I should send a letter to-"
Pecking at the window drew Harry's gaze, Ron going silent at the sight of Percy's owl. A long rolled-up parchment clutched in one of its talons.
"That's odd, it looks like… but it's too early for the Evening Prophet," the red-head mused.
Opening the window by hand, the bird hopped inside. The chocolate-coloured owl let out a domineering hoot before dropping its burden, puffing plumaged chest out in fulfilment.
"Bloody hell," Ron pronounced, "it's as big of a ponce as Percy is."
Harry's mouth stayed in a hard line as he unfurled the paper. The parchment crumpling in his hands upon seeing the title of the special edition printing.
XXXXXXXX
The door to Barnabas Cuffe's office banged open and, with a hateful swipe of Harry's wand, slammed shut as silencing charms settled over the cluttered room.
The older man sat behind a small desk stacked high with messy papers. Outlines and messages dripped from every available surface. Food crumbs and a slew of dirty plates littered the few available surfaces in-between the towering heaps of parchment. Barnabas Cuffe, editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet, quivered under Harry's baleful glare.
One quick stride brought Harry to the man's desk. Ignoring the rickety chair beside him, he slammed the special edition of the Daily Prophet down, causing stacks of precariously placed parchment to pour onto the ground.
"You've had your fun printing whatever small-minded, hateful bigotry you wished about my wife and me." Harry paused, veins throbbing, blood roaring. "But if you ever print something about my daughter again I will make sure they are the last words you or anyone that works for you in this garbage heap ever gets published again."
Barnabas attempted indignation, but his shaky voice undermined him. "Mr. Potter, we are simply reporting the events…" the man trailed off as sparks of vivid red shot out of Harry's still drawn wand, reacting to his spike in blood pressure.
Trying to form some semblance of pride and indignation, the newspaper editor drew himself up, "listen here, you can't threaten me. We've a right as a private business to-."
"Shut up." Harry's voice was cold. He leaned over the desk dangerously, his eyes cutting. "I've already petitioned the third court of the Wizengamot for an injunction. I expect it'll be granted due to you slandering a child seven years of age and calling her a dark creature. Especially, considering how the new Doctrine of Equality for Sentient Magical Beings just recently passed."
He stood to his full height, looking down in disgust at the seated man before his face turned contemplative. "Although, you may have a point about this being a private business…" Harry trailed off. His malicious smile ending Barnbas's short-lived hopeful expression. "If memory serves me correctly, the Daily Prophet went public after the previous owner died two years ago. Perhaps I should see the goblins about purchasing some stock."
Harry moved to the door and, turning with a look of distaste at the disastrous office, said, "I'd go ahead and start cleaning up." With a sharp twist of the doorknob, he strolled out, studiously avoiding eye contact with the staff he passed.
XXXXXXXX
The bedroom door opened tentatively, hallway lamps spilling a muted orange light into the dark room. The swift click of a knob turning terminated the lumination. A strange harmony of sound filled the night. A soft rustle of fabric, the smooth unzipping of a skirt, and the dull thumps of shifting weight.
Familiar noise, welcome and necessary. A lifeline of normality in a downward spiral of vexation, until a voice intruded. "I've put the girls to bed."
Covers on the bed moved slightly in response, the quiet of the night lengthened, deepened. But the thread had snapped, comforting regularity consumed by the intrusion of reality.
A husky sigh floated about the room. "'Arry, talk to me."
The lump of covers on the bed continued to ignore the voice, finding an ill-natured gratification in doing so - even as embarrassment buzzed faintly at the immaturity of the act.
Suddenly, the covers of the bed were ripped away while blue light suddenly irradiated the room, forcing the night to become mere shadows upon the walls.
Fleur struck an imposing figure; her hip cocked to the side, a large glob of cerulean flame lazily flickering in one hand with a brow arched dangerously high.
The lump, revealed to be Harry Potter, stared up at his wife. The flames didn't bother him, not really. Neither did the feathers upon her arm, however, the sharp beak was another matter. That typically meant trouble.
Rolling about, he sat up. Leaning his back against the headboard and pulling his knees to his chest, clasping callused hands together around long legs. But still, he refused to meet the gaze of the Veela beside him, shame coursing like blood in his veins. He knew she needed him to speak, he couldn't put it off any longer. She'd given him space to be withdrawn and sullen all evening while she took care of the house and children, but now he'd have to face her.
"I failed," the admission stung him as it left his lips.
The fire blinked fitfully in surprise, stuttering out and throwing the room into darkness once more, lit only by the moonlight shining through windows. It did not relight. The bed dipped as a new occupant crawled atop it and then shifted as Fleur shuffled her way next to him.
"What do you mean, you failed?" Confusion evident in the tone of voice.
Harry glanced at the woman next to him, heartened to see the beak formed from anger had dissipated. "I was complacent, stupid, thinking that stopping the photographer at the school would delay the article. I should have immediately gone to petition for an injunction." Bitterness coloured the self-flaggrating tone like poison coating a knife. "Now Lili is in the papers, being called a violent creature for the whole world to see. She'll go to school with classmates whose parents will show them that article, she'll be-"
"Fine," Fleur murmured, cutting off her husband from the lather he was working himself into. "We've talked about this before, my heart, she will be surrounded by the Weasleys, and our bright, wonderful girls will have no trouble making friends. Those that judge before knowing her were not worth her time to begin with."
Such reasoning did nothing to curtail the erupting fury and hollow sense of ineptitude that stormed inside his chest. "It changes nothing, these bloody vultures printing such hateful shite about a child." His voice raised with indignation, "she didn't even feather! It had nothing to do with her heritage and everything to do with normal, accidental magic that every witch or wizard has."
"No, it doesn't change anything. It is a sadness inherent to the scrutinised life of all those labelled 'creature' and 'half-breed' by magical society." The Veela seemed to consider her next words carefully. "A scrutiny that you understand better than most, I know." A pale arm wrapped about Harry's shoulders, a head leaning against the top of his own. "Besides, we always knew the Potter girls would be newsworthy, no matter what."
The comforting weight of his love did little to wash away the terrible mood trembling within his very bones. "We've done a remarkable job of it so far, " came his gravelly rebuke.
The head atop his own nodded, "yes, we did." A pause. "By living like hermits."
Harry jolted, moving away so he could turn and see his wife's eyes. "Are you disappointed with our life?" His wounded voice sharper than intended from frantic energy.
"No, let me finish," Fleur said quickly. "I am not chastising you 'Arry, far from it. We both prefer the company of friends and family to that of strangers and sycophants. But even you must agree that our girls have stayed out of the papers because we as a family live an insular life. They never go shopping with us in Diagon Alley, we don't take them to eat in non-muggle restaurants, nothing is known of them but their names to the wider magical society."
"And that is how I like it," Harry growled.
Fleur rebuffed him with a stare, and he fell silent. "The point I'm making, you thick-headed rooster, is that this article was bound to happen. Whether now, or in Hogwarts, a small act on her part was inevitably going to be pounced upon by the newspapers. A single visible feather would get her called a creature, a spark of flame would mark her a monster, and the name Potter would ensure it would be overblown."
"I shouldn't have let you talk me into staying in England after the war. We'd be less interesting elsewhere, like France," he said mutinously.
His wife shook her head slowly. Her voice was fond, if a bit exasperated. "It would be the same everywhere. You're the only one who doesn't realize that, Harry. Besides," her tone became firm, "Beauxbatons will not have her family there nor will it be populated by teachers who will love and guide her like Hagrid and McGonagall."
Sufficiently cowed, he considered his reply. Eventually, he opted for amusement, hoping to derail an argument before it could start. "You slipped up, dearest, the 'h' is supposed to be silent." A long, running joke brought to life again, that Fleur was seemingly incapable of pronouncing the first letter of her husband's name.
A scoff and a swat was given, the room becoming quiet once more.
Curiosity eventually took over, and the raven-headed man looked askance at his wife who had taken up residence against his side before speaking, "what do you mean, it wouldn't have made a difference?"
Dark blue eyes glanced up at him, brief confusion dissipating only to be replaced with a bemused expression. "Why do you think Hermione wants your name attached to the ICW proposal, mon cœur? It is not only England that is ravenous to meet the famed 'Arry Potter." The exaggerated emphasis on the missing letter in his name caused a rakish grin to split across his face, but upon consideration of her words a frown replaced it.
"Why do I have a feeling this ICW thing will be far more complicated than Hermione led me to believe?"
"It's a good thing that I've already asked papa and maman to be there then. They will guide you to shallow waters and away from the sharks."
"You did?" Harry exclaimed with surprise and delight. "That's a huge relief, honestly." He squeezed her form tighter to his side. "Thank you, it will be good to see your parents."
"It has been too long since we've seen family. Mrs Weasley changed the Sunday brunch this month to Saturday so we could attend."
Harry nodded, "that is kind of her. We can leave the girls with Mrs Weasley then, before we have to leave Sunday for the conference."
"Mhm, Angelina and Audrey said they would swing by throughout the week to help out where they could. Ginny will be busy with her season but offered to check in on her off day."
A tender caress traced Harry's cheek and along the beaming curve of his lips. "Always so surprised," the sweet, feminine voice said.
He looked at the ceiling, his heart beating calmly. His earlier molten ire had cooled to igneous rock. Family, support… love. How long he had gone thinking none of it would ever be his. How fortunate he was to have gained so, so much of all three.
The golden warmth of realisation had faded in the long silence that had stretched between husband and wife when Fleur finally broke it.
"'Arry, we need to talk about what to do with Lili and school now. I think we should transfer her."
He stilled, "but Jasmine… she just made a friend. You're the one who told me how important that was."
"Yes." Fleur paused, obviously struggling to choose her words carefully. "But her location is known to the reporters. What if they continue to hound her or, worse, make the information known to others?"
"I erased the photographer's memory, and he said the only one who knew was Barnabus, who I'm working on getting sacked. Every Prophet employee is required to take the Glawackus Compound upon terminating their contract, forcing memory loss of all dealings with informants or private information. After that, no one will know."
"Do you really think that will be enough?"
"I don't want to take Lili away from her first friend, Fleur, not if we can help it. It would crush her."
His wife settled against his side, the night's quiet returning. He felt her heart beating in tandem to his own, but the steady pulse was a stark contrast to his racing thoughts. He still wasn't sure just how Lili had been found by the reporter and how they knew about her bout of accidental magic since the trace only applied to children with wands. He expected that mystery would keep him up long into the night.
XXXXXXXX
As soon as the Potters arrived outside of the Burrow's wards, food and children clutched tightly in their hands, a booming voice called out from the edge of the garden, shouting Harry's name. The subject of the shout looked towards its giver. A gargantuan man, tall of stature and broad of shoulder stomped towards them gaily. His colossal smile visible even through the tangled forest of his busy, brown beard.
A shriek of delight pierced the otherwise quiet morning as a feathering chicklet ran as rapidly and steadily as her little legs would allow before taking a running leap into the air. The flight was short-lived as a massive hand caught the chirping Fayette tenderly. "Well, if'n it isn't my little bird," came the adoring bellow.
The large man chuckled as his goddaughter began climbing his mane of hair so she could sit atop his head. Her tiny fists buried in his thick locks, her favourite perch, even if it gave her mother serious nerves. Harry cast a low-powered levitation charm on the tittering chicklet, the same one used to enchant quaffles so they wouldn't fall below a certain height.
Soft pops behind him caused Harry to turn, only to raise a hand in greeting at Bill and his family's arrival. The oldest Weasley son had ended up meeting Fleur's school friend, Natalie, at the Potter wedding and had only waited a year before asking for her hand in marriage. Natalie had moved down to England shortly thereafter and opened her own Herbologist shop in Diagon Alley, of which, Neville and Mrs Sprout were frequent customers.
Fleur smiled at Harry, pulling Lili by the hand to go and chat with the new arrivals, subtly giving the two men time alone.
"I need ter speak ter yeh," Hagrid whispered, though his voice carried across the entire lawn.
"Sure thing," Harry said easily, leading his old friend around the back of the Burrow and out towards the open fields beyond. Along the way, godfather and goddaughter began a serious discussion on all the magical creatures Hagrid was caring for this year, along with how Teddy seemed to be doing whenever he visited the half-giant, which was often.
Upon reaching a fair distance from the Burrow, the large man came to a halt. He turned slightly so he could face Harry. Fayette, obviously sensing 'adult-time' had gone quiet, busying herself with braiding her godfather's thick locks.
"I don' know if yeh remember, but your fourth year an article came out abou' me…" Hagrid trailed off a tad uncertain, his glances showing trepidation.
"Of course I do," was Harry's reply.
Hagrid reached up to pull Fayette from his hair, placing the giggling girl in the crook of one arm while he prodded her tummy gently with a single, thick finger. She dissolved into joyful but mischievous sniggers as she batted away the ticklish digit.
Good, tha''s good... I jus wanted ter remind yeh tha'... even with everything tha' happened, I still had a great time at Hogwarts. Still do, 'smatter of fact. An', well, I know little Lili will too."
A gusty sigh was released from Harry's mouth before he looked up fondly at the man who'd been his first friend. The Groundskeeper seemed somewhat uncomfortable trying to give his clumsy but well-intentioned advice. Affection welled up like water from a spring.
"How could they not? With the best Magical Creatures professor and uncle around to teach them?" A furious blush could be seen as the huge man turned slightly to whip out a spotted handkerchief and rub his slightly watery eyes while mumbling about allergies and dust. "Just… keep the girls away from any blast-ended skrewts, will you?"
A marvellously loud sniffle was blown into the huge, pink handkerchief before a watery smile was sent Harry's way. "Think I can do tha'."
The walk back to the Burrow was filled with laughter, memories, and good-natured ribbing.
Brunches at the Weasley home were a messy, riotous affair. The ever-expanding size of the freckled family and their cohorts directly after the war meant even Mrs Weasley needed to call reinforcements for the meal's preparation, a duty she begrudgingly shared. Over the years, however, as more of her children settled down and had kiddos of their own, the brunch finally evolved for a final time into a hybrid potluck. Each family unit charged with bringing a large dish or two as their contribution.
Harry prided himself on having a knack for baked brown sugar and maple glazed bacon. A recipe he'd been heartily encouraged to bring every month for the last six years or so. Fleur had tried the first few brunches diligently after the war, but Harry had taken over all kitchen duties after a while, much to her mortified relief. He was a more experienced cook, and her nearly supernatural ability to burn anything she put on the stove or in the oven had greatly restricted their eating options.
Mrs Weasley always pulled all the women-folk into the kitchen, regardless of their cooking expertise. Even though both Fleur and Hermione were as hopeless a cook as Harry had ever seen. But he expected that, since menfolk weren't allowed in and raucous giggles could be heard behind the closed door, that meal preparation was not the focus of these kitchen meetings.
His wife had been pulled into the room by Ginny as soon as Fleur had put down her coat after entering the Burrow. She had sent a blushing smile over her shoulder at him as she followed the red-head eagerly.
Even now, as the men milled about somewhat aimlessly, watching over the kids and having small talk, their conversations were consistently interrupted by shrieks of delight or gasps of, 'no, he didn't!'
Ron, who shared Harry's enjoyment of cooking, was shooting mutinous looks at the kitchen and was muttering to himself about his butterie rowies going cold while absently colouring with his son, Hugo.
Fortunately for the men, Hagrid and Arthur usually took the 'Witching Hour,' as it had been dubbed, to take the more lively children out to frolic about the rambling property around the home. Harry could see Molly, Rose and Fred, all running away from Bill's only child, Louis in a game of impromptu tag. Fayette, who had apparently refused to leave her perch atop her godfather's head, was weaving flowers through the giant's hair. Arthur and Lili were together near the garden's edge, the Weasley patriarch never missing an opportunity to ask Lili to play him some new piece on her violin.
Across the yard and through the window, Harry could hear the rich notes of his daughter's melody lilting outside. The three ladies in his family were all gifted musicians and talented singers. Unfortunately, he seemed wholly incapable of learning himself.
His wife had offered numerous times to train him on her cello. However, the first time he drew the bow incorrectly against the bridge, causing a horrific sound reminiscent of a certain golden egg, Fleur had snatched the instrument away. Lili's love of the violin had been started by her mother, but Fayette was more of a wild card. Her interests varied considerably, and now had a small collection of instruments that she called her own. The harpsichord had stuck the longest.
Percy came up beside Harry, looking out at the children rampaging about the lawn. His daughter Lucy, all of two, was being watched by Bill sitting on the couch next to Charlie as they caught up.
The previously officious man had changed considerably over the years. His red hair was already showing signs of an early retreat, and a grey hair or two could be spotted if someone looked closely enough. However, the truest change had been to the man's personality. Ambitious edges had been softened and his rigid posture replaced with a relaxed demeanour. He was still a hard worker, but his partner Audrey had helped him realise that there was a whole life to be had outside of an office. Even if she at times had to force him kicking and screaming out of it.
The subject of Harry's musings gave him a friendly smile, his un-fashionable glasses glinting in the sunlight. "Your daughter plays beautifully," he complimented.
"She does, doesn't she?" Affection bouncing in time with the silver-haired girl's harmony. "She's always loved listening to her mother play, but she's been a little too young to take it seriously before this year."
"I've only heard Fleur play once, at your wedding. I remember it even after all these years." Harry believed him. Audrey had been delighted at Percy's embarrassed, drunken tears as the new Mrs Potter opened her heart out upon her cello under the starlight. Her white wedding dress and platinum hair had been a luminescent backdrop to the brown wood of the instrument. She had been extravagantly gorgeous, a sight to make even the moon envious, as it was made dimmer in comparison.
"She plays for our daughters and my birthday, in private after the guests go home. She is rather bashful about playing in front of people." Harry explained.
"A shame, I hope to hear it again sometime."
He looked over at his friend, "Perhaps Audrey can talk her into it, maybe for your upcoming wedding anniversary."
Percy smiled as he straightened his glasses, "that would be most lovely." The conversation lulled as the two men watched the next generation of Weasleys and Potters tumble about the yard, accompanied by the contradictorily soothing music wafting from the garden's edge.
Harry noticed the increasingly nervous ticks of his companion and decided to wait a bit before speaking. "What's on your mind?"
The man twitched minutely before he pulled his glasses off his face and wiped the lens's studiously against his robe sleeve. An act made ridiculous by the obvious choice to forgo the normal scourgify charm. After sufficiently buying time, and with his glasses perched back on a narrow nose, Percy turned slightly before speaking, "do you know what you're getting into, going to the ICW conference?"
A brief flicker of irritation jolted before familiarity with the speaker calmed him. Harry knew the fastidious man beside well enough now to understand that his words weren't meant condescendingly, rather they were just clumsily conveyed concern. Tempering his response, he finally answered, "I've been told each member state is bringing a 'prominent leader' of their Sentient Being population. I'll attend the first week of the conference, shake some hands, play nice, and leave."
His companion grimaced, "the majority of the so-called 'leaders' you will meet will be nothing more than tokens dredged up from some regulated commune in the majority of cases." Preemptively heading off the incoming angry retort, the man continued, "don't lose sight of the bigger picture, Harry. You don't know the magical world as well as I do, especially how these places are governed. England and France may not be terribly hospitable to non-humans, but they are better in many regards to Eastern Europe and elsewhere."
There was a pause as both men stood shoulder-to-shoulder, digesting what had been said.
"What should I expect?"
Percy gave a gusty sigh, "a lot of the nonhumans you'll meet will have a script, most will have 'handlers' to make sure they give lip-service to their country. It may not seem overt but pay attention, see who is allowed to mingle alone and what delegations move in groups."
The red-head shot him a brief, intense look. "Most of all, remember that you are England's token. Make no mistake, Harry, you are the figurehead for this whole proposal regardless of what other prominent nonhuman families are present. People will want to take stock of you. Prepare to be solicited, tested, and denounced. If you falter, the whole project goes up in flames. Many countries will know that and have planned accordingly."
"Sounds like I chose to take a vacation in a viper pit," Harry tried to joke, summoning a vague smile.
Percy nodded gravely, "you did."
At that moment the Witching Hour must have concluded as an eclectic gaggle of ladies began pouring out of the kitchen in varying states of excitement. Some had obviously imbibed more than a few mimosas. Audrey and Angelina both sported a healthy flush and bright smiles. Angelina, upon spotting Percy let out a fierce snigger before tossing the man's wife a conniving smirk.
The source of the female's amusement gave a resigned sigh, "I see my hopes for Audrey's silence have been dashed." After seeing Harry's inquiring look, the man explained. "I attempted to compliment my dearly beloved by commenting on the thickness of her cauldron bottom."
The matter-of-fact delivery and dry tone caused him to nearly miss the joke entirely but the redhead's twitching lips and glinting eyes caused the meaning to snap into place. Stifling an un-manly giggle from escaping, Harry nodded seriously. "You've got a real way with words." A pause. "I take it she didn't appreciate your good humour as much as I do?"
The man shrugged, "actually she thought it was right hilarious up until the point I explained it was an honest attempt at flirting."
Harry gave an involuntary jerk, "wait, you were being serious?"
With an expulsion of breath, the man pinched the bridge of his nose, sliding the frame of his glasses up in the process. "Unfortunately."
The two women sidled up to join them. Angelina immediately launching into a bout of mischievousness, "so, Perce, what's this I hear about new ministry regulations regarding cauldrons? Are you going around inspecting all of them or just the ones in your own house?"
Audrey sputtered out a laugh, "he better not be working on such a project right now."
Harry didn't stick around to hear Percy's indignant reply but he smiled as the ladies giggled behind him. He walked towards Fleur and Hermione who were embroiled in deep discussion past the kitchen doorway.
Hermione was dressed in a pair of smart grey business slacks and a lovely white blouse. He'd seen the sharp charcoal blazer she'd been wearing earlier neatly hung-up on the coat rack near the door when he'd entered. Obviously, she was already dressed for their trip.
Harry and Fleur, on the other hand, came as they typically did. Casual and comfortable. Fleur was wearing faded blue overalls with a sunshine yellow crop top underneath; a sliver of bare midriff visible through the open sides of her outfit. She never dressed so informally unless she felt secure with the surrounding company.
The two were discussing in hushed tones the upcoming trip to Ukraine; where Hermione, on behalf of the England delegation, would submit the Sentient Being International Protection Resolution for consideration of the general body.
"You really think this is good optics? Won't it just seem like you are making this proposal because you're my friend?" Fleur asked, her brow scrunched together.
"Honestly we'll take any optics that aren't what they currently are. Trust me, nepotism would be a step up considering the general outcry. People haven't forgotten that some nonhuman sentient beings sided with Voldemort."
"It isn't like all of them did," Harry interjected upon reaching the huddled group. "The Centaur herds, Merpeople, and Veela had nothing to do with Voldemort, to name a few."
Hermione spared him a glance over her shoulder as she stepped aside to allow him into their confidence. "The general public doesn't care about those that didn't join. Instead, their memories are filled with the Werewolves and giants that did." She appraised him. "Look, I'm not saying you're wrong, just remarking on what the current situation is. It will be hard to convince people who lost loved ones to feral Werewolf packs that they aren't dangerous."
Fleur nodded before jumping in. "The vast majority of Sentient Beings didn't take part in Voldemort's uprising. But in a number of states, multiple pureblood factions used it as an opportunity. Some opted to regain power by reasserting 'safety' regulations against nonhumans while others whipped up the nonhuman community into a frenzy and attempted a coup, like what happened in Venezuela and Latvia." His wife gave him a meaningful look, "Venezuela isn't even sending a delegation because civil war has broken out in the streets."
Hermione shook her head, the tight bundle of curls at the back of her head bobbing in time with her motions. "I'm not sure what all you two know but something you should be aware of is that Eastern Europe has a much different relationship with nonhumans than almost anywhere. They remember distinctly when lycanthropy first spread like a virulent disease across their borders when it originally broke out. Azerbaijan and Armenia, in particular, suffered immensely for it. They won't be your friends."
"So those will be the states who will move to block the resolution?" Harry asked.
"Undoubtedly. They've already begun making noise and spreading false information."
Fleur bit her lip before speaking. "I know I've asked this before but how will security be at the conference itself? Should we be worried about Azerbaijan or Armenia trying anything?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, we don't think they'd be so brazen. You shouldn't worry about the conference hall, each country brings their own small force of Aurors or Hitwizards. Not to mention the whole place has been enchanted and warded with nearly every spell possible."
Harry nodded, he and Fleur had already made a decision to be extra-vigilant. This would be their introduction to the world stage, which meant it would be a vulnerable moment for them in more ways than one.
"By the way, how is the bill doing in England? Any progression there?" He asked.
"Some," Hermione replied, smiling. "The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has officially been stripped of any authorisation regarding Sentient Beings. The new task force in the Magical Law Enforcement office is being made to update education procedures regarding handling different nonhumans during investigations or incidents. Though, some of the other provisions are lagging."
"Which ones?" Fleur asked curiously.
"Well," Hermione gave a fleeting grimace, "the Wizengamot passed the provision to backpay nonhumans who've not been given employee benefits for the last twenty years but haven't voted to actually fund it. And the Department of Magical Employment and Mystic Occupation hasn't actually implemented discrimination protections yet, but soon, surely." Her voice, however, was uncertain.
Fighting against his suddenly dark mood, Harry asked a question that had been percolating inside him for years. "How did it even get this bad to begin with? So many wizards and witches don't even know facts about nonhumans, just the stereotypes."
He received a small smile from Fleur and an eye roll from Hermione who then proceeded to fondly lecture him. "Well, you lived through the Binns-era of History of Magic teaching at Hogwarts. All that covers are the wars and uprisings, doesn't even mention the reasons or causes of them."
His friend tapped a finger to her chin before continuing. "And in Defense Against the Dark Arts we learn about how to protect ourselves against 'the dark creatures.' Actually, there isn't a magical institute in Eurasia that teaches nonhuman Sentient Being courses…" She paused thoughtfully. "That would help a lot in acclimating, albeit slowly, public opinion."
"McGonagall got rid of Binns three years ago, but the Board of Governors stymied the Sentient Being courses she proposed," Fleur interjected. At Hermione's inquiring look, Fleur shrugged. "She asked me my opinion when she was formulating them."
"Got to ask her about that," the brown-haired witch muttered to herself.
"Maybe the Bill's passage will be the impetus we need to get them onboard," Harry stated, his optimistic tone at odds with the pessimism churning inside; trying to steer the conversation back on topic.
Hermione nodded readily while Fleur shifted from one foot to another.
"Speaking of the Sentient Being Bill… I know giving up the House-Elf provisions was difficult for you, Hermione," he stated consolingly.
"It needed to be done," she responded. "It wasn't going to pass with it attached."
He knew his friend held out hope that an amendment could be made down the line to afford protections dreamt of all the way back during the founding of S.P.E.W. His own optimism, however, didn't quite extend so far as her idealism.
"The Traditionalist Faction barely let the bill pass as it was, jettisoning the House-Elf rights was the pound of flesh we had to pay." Hermione nibbled her thumb with anxious energy as she spoke. A bad habit her daughter was picking up.
"The Traditionalists," Fleur murmured thoughtfully. "They were the group spreading that ridiculous notion that the Sentient Being Act would allow Dementors to have rights, weren't they? Trying to derail public opinion?"
Hermione nodded grimly.
Fleur attempted a game smile, "the flyer showing a Dementor shopping in Diagon Alley was pretty funny though."
"Wasn't the Dementor sitting at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour?" Harry questioned.
"That's the one. They were creative if nothing else." Hermione looked at the Potters before continuing, "regardless, we got it passed. Now we need your help to push it international. This will be different from anything you've ever done, can you handle it?"
He shrugged, "I'll do my best. You know I'm not exactly cut out for this sort of thing."
"So long as we keep him away from reporters we should be alright," Fleur added wryly.
Hermione's lips quirked weakly. "That may not be entirely possible, but I'll do my best." She schooled her face, putting on the professional mask he'd seen her use countless times while studying, taking a test, working, and saying her vows. "There are a couple things you should know before we go, to be prepared."
He nodded while lacing his fingers together with Fleur's.
"The Italian delegation is firmly on our side. Look for them if you are feeling overwhelmed during the opening ceremony. You've probably seen it in the papers, but Azerbaijan, Armenia, and some of the European Bloc are staunchly against the resolution. They've even threatened to pull out of the ICW entirely if it passes."
"Do you have a count yet?"
"The roughest of estimates. No one is quite sure about the Middle East; North America will vote with us but are staying out of it; Eastern Europe is the biggest roadblock; South America along with Polynesia seem largely indifferent, and Asia has some vocal protestation and support groups. Rather a toss-up with them."
"A rough estimate is right. It doesn't exactly sound hopeful."
"I imagine promises or special provisions can reel some of the less-interested parties to our side," Hermione replied.
Harry considered the deluge of information for a moment before settling on a simpler question to ask. "Why is Italy so firmly on our side? I've never heard anything about them before."
Fleur stepped in to explain. "Italy is the most liberal ministry in Europe and easily one of the top four in the world. After the first war a… reform took place that ousted the pureblood majority. They also elected the first ever 'half-breed' Minister of Magic, a part-Longana."
"Unfortunately, Carmella won't be there. Lovely woman." Hermione said wistfully. At the Potter's inquisitive looks she explained. "Ronald and I dined with her accidentally on our Honeymoon. You know, our Biblioteca Tours? Anyways, she introduced herself to us in a small cafe outside of Piazza Sant'Agostino. I've run into her a couple times for work since then."
"Right," was Harry's deadpan response.
Fleur laughed lightly. "Regardless, it sounds like our unexpected connection to the Italian Minister is for nought. We shall make do with her delegation, however."
The small group was interrupted by a herd of small children bursting through the front door in a mad scramble towards the kitchen.
"Papa! Maman! Hurry, before Uncle Hagrid and Uncle Ron eat all the food!" Lili was a streak of silver as she dashed alongside Rose, barely pausing in her delivery of the warning, while her little cousins shrieked behind them. Fayette was perched atop Hagrid's flower-festooned hair, bringing up the rear.
Harry grinned at the two women next to him. "Better eat up now, I expect politics will ruin our fancy dinner at the conference."
The Weasley/Potter parents filed in after the children to sit at the long, old table Mrs Weasley set up for brunches. It had been in the Prewett family for generations and had the marks and scars to prove it. Harry couldn't help but love what it represented, the history of family passed down through generations, all eating and loving together. Idly, he wondered if any such heirlooms of his father or mother had been lost in the blaze of Godric's Hollow.
He settled in his rickety chair - held together by many sticking charms - next to his wife and daughter. Lili was fidgeting in her seat but trying to be a proper lady like her mother. She made quite the sight with her back ramrod straight and hands placed demurely on her lap even as her fingers twisted together and her eyes darted around the empty table. It was no secret that Lili's favourite food was her pseudo-grandmum's Sausage and Egg Casserole, a particular point of pride for Mrs Weasley. Although, Andromeda's omelettes were a close second.
The massive table quickly filled up. The families typically sat in units but children mixed and mingled with their cousins usually towards the end of the wooden structure. Andromeda sat across from the Potters, her greying hair in a severe bun but with a shining smile on her face as she chatted amicably with Arthur. Natalie sat next to Fleur, the ladies chatting about their respective jobs while Bill laughed beside his wife at George's retelling of an experiment Ron had bollocked up earlier that week while Ron interjected vivaciously about George's inability to properly dice the ingredients being the cause. Hagrid held court with the little ones. His chair enlarged so he could sit at the end comfortably while he listened to the rambling and aimless musings of the children.
Harry noticed Fayette's hair was a multitude of tangles, no doubt from frolicking in the garden plucking flowers for Hagrid's beard and mane. He rose up and pulled a hair tie from his wrist so he could bunch her soft golden tresses in his hand and thread them through into a rough approximation of a ponytail. She beamed at him before diving back into babbling conversation with Hugo, who nodded distractedly as he watched the entryway where food would come out of.
Fleur smiled at him as he sat back down next to her. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, "still carrying those around I see. Are they mine or the girls'?"
He pecked her on the cheek before replying. "Your old ones are still in my drawer with the fancy watch Kingsley got me after leaving the Auror force."
"You wore them to work everyday; you were so smitten with me," she sang in a teasing tone, her eyes dancing.
"Still am," he replied cheekily, gripping the top of her thigh under the table.
"Did you hear about Teddy's transfiguration project, Harry?" Andromeda asked across the table, interrupting the moment with his wife.
His head snapped up, and he tried to affect a non-guilty countenance. "Uh, yes. He did. Sent me a letter with a picture of it actually. Can't believe the tyke managed to make a beetle into a button. A year ahead already!" Pride surged like warm wine through Harry, leaving him lightheaded from his godson's accomplishment.
"His metamorphmagus abilities likely lend the correct mindset of impermanence and changeability necessary for transfiguration but I still thought it impressive." Andromeda's stilted way of speaking did little to hide the brilliant smile she had on her face while she crowed about her grandson's work.
"I always struggled with the Vanishing spells in Transfiguration." Audrey lamented. She grinned at Percy, "guess I just needed the proper motivation to get it right."
Her husband spluttered, blushing a brilliant red, before falling silent. His eyes pointed down at his food, fork picking at the half-eaten omelette.
The women around the table laughed uproariously while the menfolk looked around in bemusement.
George, however, seemed to have cottoned on because for the rest of the brunch he kept making odd comments about Percy's consistent patronage of a clothing store across from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
XXXXXXXX
"Thanks again for watching out for the girls while I'm gone, mate," Harry said to Ron as they stood side by side watching Fleur and Hermione say goodbye to their extended family.
"No problem, glad we were able to key my wand into all the wards and alarms and whatnot you have on that muggle school." The red-head glanced at him. "She'll be safe, I swear it. I've taken off work this week, figured I'd stick around Hogsthorpe to make sure reporters don't make another attempt."
"You didn't have to do that."
Ron snorted.
"Well, I appreciate it."
"You'd do the same for mine."
"I think it becomes less moving because I don't have a job to forgo."
His friend smirked, "well, that's probably true."
Arthur walked over to the two men and shook Harry's hand goodbye. "Try and have fun out there. I know it's for work and all, but it isn't every day you can visit a new country, especially as a parent."
"Will do. And thanks for letting the girls stay with you and Mrs Weasley."
Arthur waved him off. "We are beyond glad to do it. I'm quite certain Molly is going to try and teach Lili how to cook."
Harry smiled, "good luck with that. Pretty sure all the Potter girls inherited their mother's ability to burn food to ash."
A polite cough sounded to his left, causing him to peek over at his wife who was looking at him while in conversation with Angelina. He shot her a smug smile, which she rolled her eyes at.
Turning back to Arthur, Harry continued. "Let us know if you need anything. We'll floo call you probably every night or so when we can to talk to the girls." He actively tried to ignore the fretful anxiety in his chest. This would be the longest he or Fleur had been away from the girls in their entire lives. He couldn't help but worry.
"They'll miss you too," the man said knowingly, his warm eyes gleaming.
Fleur came to stand beside him, her hand slipping around his waist. She kissed his neck and asked if he was ready. He nodded as he beckoned his daughters over from where they were chatting to Andromeda. Lili and Fayette bounced up to them for one last snuggle and murmured instructions to be good. After they promised and backed away into Mrs Weasley's embrace, Harry felt his chest harden. He was doing this for them. Hopefully, the trip wouldn't be a waste.
Hermione gave one last kiss to the tops of her children's heads and a lingering one to her husband before she stepped beside the Potters. With an adamant nod, they touched the International Portkey before spiralling away.