Chapter 5: A Matter of Masks

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.

Sincere gratitude must be given to LTCMDR Michal Drápalík, Luq707, Astro Hawthorne, DavidTheAthenai, WardenInTheNorth and all the other great people who gave up their time to edit my story in the Harry/Fleur discord.

I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.

Cheers.

Chapter 5: A Matter of Masks

"Bloody hell, it's cold," Harry forced out through chattering teeth.

"We are in a Ukrainian forest in October. What did you expect?" Came Fleur's idle reply as they trudged through the ankle deep snow.

He glared at her. "You don't have to be so superior, you know; not all of us have natural insulation."

She tutted at him smugly, though she did reach out to grasp his hand. Her allure resonated to a higher frequency, causing warmth to suffuse up his arm from the point of contact.

He sighed. "Much better."

Their frost-filled arduous trek came to an end upon reaching the heart of the Carpathian Mountains. The change was instantaneous. He could feel the ancient wards swallow him as he took his first step into the elder forest.

The trees spreading before them seemed alive, thrumming with a slumbering energy, completely different from the mundane woods they had been traversing through.

"Do you feel that?" Fleur gently whispered. Her eyes shone as her teeth nibbled at her bottom lip. The plump pink flesh creasing around her white teeth.

Harry's mouth quirked fondly at the childlike awe his wife exuded.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice barely audible. It felt almost sacrilegious to break the silence of the snowscape.

The Potters stood, mittened hands clasped together before the ancient trees, soaking in the feel of the space around them. The world felt so small at that moment. As though everything had shrunk to only what their eyes could see through the gloom.

Snow fell against the dark wood. The air felt pure and even the cold he'd been complaining about became nearly mystical in its invigorating presence.

Without words, he and Fleur seemed to decide together to break their stillness; moving forward in tandem.

They didn't have much further to travel before blue light flickered ahead in the dark. They followed the beckoning flame, arriving in a small oval clearing ringed by tall trees and torches of azure fire.

Zlata was waiting for them. She wore a garb he had never seen before, covering only the parts of her body not bearing feathers. The silver plumage was flecked with black spots about her shoulders, upper chest, and arms. The odd garment acting as a sort of gown seemed made of gossamer or spider silk. Her golden hair was interspersed with downy quills and arranged in a striking fashion.

She was intimidating. Beautiful, exquisitely so, but primal, evocative… dangerous.

They stopped on the opposite side of the clearing awaiting her permission to enter the Aerie.

"Сестра, we welcome you." Her voice carried strongly across the space between them even though she barely spoke above a whisper. It was only then that Harry noticed Veela emerging from the blackness of the night all around them between the gaps of the torches and trees.

Fleur curtsied. "Mother," she intoned regally. "I thank you for your invitation."

"Even a wayward bird should return to the nest occasionally," the Veela elder replied.

Harry remained silent, knowing he, as a man, was not allowed to speak or react to anything said before he was personally asked a question. Fleur had drilled the rundown of traditional Veela etiquette into him during the day. She had mentioned how her family were considered fairly irregular as they didn't subscribe to much of their cultural dogma.

"And your husband?" He stayed still, waiting for his wife to introduce him formally.

"Harry Potter," Fleur announced. "Father to my two children, Fayette Eloise and Liliana Jaime."

Knowing his cue, he bowed low, doing his best to approximate a ninety-degree angle. It made his lower back hurt.

"Hmm," came the unimpressed reply. "Before he is allowed deeper into the Cтарий Aeire, I must ensure he can handle himself becomingly."

"Yes, Mother."

He straightened up and watched warily as Zlata morphed fully into her Veela state. Wings sprouted from her back and a long, heron-like, beak sprang from the area where her nose and mouth had resided. Harry was surprised at how different she appeared from the Veela form he was used to.

Her grey taloned feet were buried in the snow but still visible, and her piercing eyes kept him rooted to the spot. He could watch as her allure rose in frequency, the amalgamation of sound and magic pulsed across the clearing. The snow allowed him to track its progress as the frozen moisture jerked in unnatural patterns at its passage.

It reached him. And he felt nothing.

The woven band of platinum grew hot on his finger. A choice made in the snow. A forest much like this one bearing witness to his pledge.

To be courted by a Veela and to pluck a hair from her proffered head was an acceptance of her ardour, at its purest, most distilled state. She had bared her soul to him and his offering had to be just as significant.

His heart was hers, and hers alone forevermore.

Harry James Potter could love no other.

His feelings for friends and family was separate, distinct. It was an unromantic emotion unhindered and unchanged by that night in the frozen woods.

A steep price, perhaps. Some would even consider the magic with abject abhorrence. It was an understandable, if ignorant opinion. Such people wouldn't be worthy of a Veela's courtship regardless.

There was no bond or mark, no oath or pact. It was magic at its most elemental. A fusion of two distinct parts into one whole. The taking of old and the giving of new. A lonely melody becoming a duet. Even if Fleur were to die or leave him, his heart couldn't escape her hold.

After all these years, the earnest trust that compelled his decision remained unwavering. Just as he now did against the onslaught of the Veela elder's allure.

Occlumency could block out some of the effects, and there were some who had natural resistance, but none were wholly unaffected except for those who had taken the leap of faith as he did. His magic now vibrated at the same frequency as Fleur's leaving him immune to all but her own, constant, pull.

Heart, soul, magic. Nothing of him belonged to anyone but her.

He stood, tall and proud as the allure of the elder dissipated and died around him.

Zlata took her more human shape, shrinking down in size and with it the heat that emitted from her receded. He realized her garment was cut in such a way so that, even after transforming, it survived.

"Good," she said in that same resonant manner. Her lips were orange in the same color as her beak. He wondered if she always maintained this halfway form while here.

Fleur took his mittened hand once again for support. He looked down at his platinum-haired wife. Her cerulean eyes were aflame, her own lips a familiar yellow color. She had fluffy white earmuffs on and a rosy nose. A sky-blue down jacket and yellow mittens and snow boots. He ignored decorum and leaned down to kiss her.

Her breath was hot against his mouth, her lips hard and unyielding against his own even as she eagerly returned his affection.

They broke apart and were glad to see the Veela that had surrounded them had melted back into the trees, leaving them alone but for Zlata.

The elder gestured them forward.

"Not many Dance for their lovers anymore." Zlata's voice held no condemnation or even curiosity. It was devoid of judgment either for or against the ritualistic union.

"I don't blame them," Fleur responded. "It is a terrifying prospect to consider; to be rejected would be devastating."

"Mm."

Zlata turned as they reached her, gliding briskly over the melted snow at her feet. They followed behind her without complaint.

The same blue torches lit their way in irregular, intermittent intervals. Occasionally, Harry would spot a Veela in similar garb as their guide through the trees. But they would disappear soundlessly before he could perceive them fully.

He could understand why a Veela's partner would need to be immune to the allure here, with so many unbound Veela letting their allure loose, the uninitiated would be driven insane.

As they walked, the trees seemed to grow taller, wider, older. Hulking monstrosities of gnarled bark and bone-like branches reached out to the hollow sky. It was an eerie beauty reveling in a primeval state of purity.

"Do you know the history of the Veela?"

He glanced at Fleur who met his eyes but seemed just as unsure as he was.

The elder resolved their dilemma by addressing him fully. "Boy?"

"I've been told some, by my wife and mother-in-law."

"Ah, yes, Apolline. Her mother was a strong woman. It broke my heart to see her leave the Mantaritza Aeire in Bulgaria for the abandoned forest of Chaux."

"We tend the French forest well, Mother," Fleur interjected and Harry could tell she was trying hard to control her icy tone.

The elder stopped and turned. She eyed the younger Veela interestedly. "I'm sure," was her bland remark before continuing her forward movement.

As though the charged moment between the two women had not occurred, Zlata continued the earlier conversation.

"Veela are inheritors of the elder woods. Or, as the muggles call them, 'old-growth forests.' We were born to care for them. But they are dying. As are we."

Harry couldn't contain his shock, his step faltering. The irregular crunch of snow caused Zlata's head to turn slightly and pause. She moved on without mentioning it however.

"Few know this. There were never many of us to begin with but as our holts diminish so do we. Vinatovača in Serbia, Bialowieza in Belarus, Lopushna and Doupki–Djindjiritza in Bulgaria — our woodland of origin. They are all slowly being eroded away by time and muggles alike."

Harry's mind whirled at the implication.

"Your wife has told you of our connection to these forests, yes?"

His thoughts crashed to a jumbled halt in its attempt to respond to her quickly. "Yes. She has."

"She lied to you then."

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Fleur's hand tightened in his own but his eyes stayed riveted on Zlata's back.

"A lie of omission, perhaps. And not cruelly intended. We are secretive, you see. Even to those we trust the most."

They came to a stop before the biggest tree Harry had ever seen. It's trunk was akin to a rotunda, thick and stout. When he looked up, his eyes failed to see where the twisting limbs ended through the inky night.

Perhaps it was his imagination but the hum of his and Fleur's magic seemed to resonate with a beating pulse emanating from the wooden relic of a forgotten time.

"This is the most sacred denizen of our Aeire's forest." Zlata's voice was reverent; humble in a way he'd never heard from her.

The woman knelt in the snow before the tree and kissed the bark.

When she stood, she turned to the Potters.

"Veela are the descendants of a race no longer fully part of this world. Our mothers were the Samodiva. Now, they reside in a home only they can reach." Her hand came to rest upon the trunk beside her. "Through the trees."

"Mother," Fleur began uncertainly, only to be silenced by Zlata's raised hand.

"Millenia ago, when man first took axe to bark in virginal forests, they shook the Samodiva awake. Fearing for their passage to our plane being cut down they wove their magic together and lured a human deep into their woods. They laid with him, hoping to bring one into our world that could fully reside here, protecting the forest. But they could not beget a child."

Zlata paused, cocking her head. She made no secret of searching Harry for some weakness or inadequacy.

"Undaunted, they continued to try, eventually ensnaring a wizard whose magic reacted most marvelously to the Samodiva's spell. Finally, they were able to conceive. The daughter born from that union was Samodiva but different. They named her Vieltlya, or 'feathered one.' She was the first Veela."

Fleur shook next to him but not from the cold.

"We were born to care for the forests of our mothers who reside beyond this place but whose tethers remain here. It is why we have the power of fire, of course. To burn away what is no longer needed so that new life can sprout." As she spoke a blue flame, similar to the ones inhabiting the torches, flickered to life in her palm.

"Vieltlya tended the forest as she grew. Our rituals have not changed in all this time from our progenitors. When she came of age, she wandered from the forest and found a muggle settlement. She returned to her home, laden with child. It is from her womb many of us claim lineage. Other Samodiva in ancient forests began the practice as well and Aeires were formed."

The woman paused her story, the flame burning upon her palm spluttering out.

"You are the first non-Veela we have ever told of our origin."

Stunned, Harry nodded mutely before finding his voice. "I am honoured. But, I must ask, why me?"

"Do not believe yourself special." The rebuke was firm. "You are merely convenient." The woman glanced at Fleur speculatively. "As I said, we are a dying race, but intrigue has always surrounded us. We are secretive for the most part, even if the Bulgarian Aeires have a special relationship with their fellow magical society, we do not, here in Ukraine. Few leave their forests but to find a partner."

"Wayward birds," Fleur said with a slight edge.

"I do not judge you, Сестра. I do not hold with disdain those who abandon their roles here in the woods," Zlata chastised.

His wife nodded, somewhat subdued.

"Regardless," the woman continued, "due to our separation from larger magical society, certain unintended consequences have arisen. Many do not understand us or view us in a slanted fashion. It has never bothered us much, until now." Her eyes grew amused and it was so alarmingly conflicting with her personality Harry's adrenaline spiked.

"Your union has been quite… popular. There has been a disconcertingly large influx of literature depicting Veela, shall we say, crudely?"

Harry gulped but Fleur couldn't seem to help herself. Zlata's brow quirked at the younger woman's snort of disdain.

"They are ridiculous," Fleur objected heatedly, "but surely you can't blame us for them. We've had no hand in it."

"Directly, perhaps. But you are the most famous couple in the wizarding world, capable of even getting an unpopular Resolution attention in the ICW. You've inspired an interest in Veela affairs, intentionally or not."

"What would you have us do?" Fleur questioned irritably, her ire searing away the veneer of respect she'd been wearing throughout the night. "Even if we denounced them nothing will change. It would likely just conflagrate the issue."

"Calm yourself, Сестра," Zlata responded coolly. "You lash out without listening."

Fleur dipped her head in acquiescence.

"These… novels… are distasteful. They propagate the lowest version of our race, that of the seductress. The erotic, passionate, fool. They mock us. Writing of our subservience, our infidelious nature." As she spoke, she rose in height, unconsciously transitioning further in her frustration.

The snow around the elder melted into a pool at her feet as her allure turned the air hot and humid. Suddenly, it stopped, and she returned to the sombre, stately woman she typically was.

"Our traditions of secrecy and our Aeires' removed from magical society has allowed such putrid notions to take root," she continued. "Simply put, witches and wizards don't know much about us except what is popularized. I aim to change that."

Fleur cocked her head. "Is that why you told Harry of our origin? Why you brought us here?"

"Indeed," Zlata nodded, her stature and posture lending a mystical dignity to the gesture. "The elders fear that, as we die out, all that will be remembered of us will be the gossip and not our noble truth. We believe it time to step forward. To write our own story and hopefully leave our mark."

The woman frowned slightly. "I do not want our people to fade away and be viewed as little better than succubi. We have thousands of years of history. We claim ancestry from primal magic given form, yet to hear talk of us now… we are weak women who bind our souls to male wizards. Who revel in abject slavery, chained to an undeserving love by locks of our own forging. I will not have it."

"You are a proud woman," Fleur responded softly but with steely eyes. "And I do not disagree with your aspiration but I must warn you that even revealing our secrets, few minds will be changed."

"Perhaps," the elder conceded. "But some could be swayed. Just as your husband believes against the futility of this Resolution, I too, rebel against my people's purpose being corrupted."

"I have someone in mind," Harry asserted, breaking his silence. "Someone who could help write your tale."

Zlata looked at him in curiosity but Fleur shook her head.

"Luna can't do this, Harry. She is brilliant at folklore and detailing the nature of her subjects but won't have the patience for history." She chewed her fingernail in consternation. Her face brightened. "But perhaps she wouldn't have to do it alone." His wife met his eyes eagerly. "What if Padma helped?"

"Padma?" Harry questioned. "I don't know her that well."

His wife scoffed. "She's the new History of Magic professor at Hogwarts."

"Oh."

Fleur turned back to Zlata. "We have some people in mind that we can send your way. Friends. They will take the subject seriously and credibly. Regardless of if you choose them as the authors, we'll support whatever publication does come out."

The elder inclined her head gracefully. "Good."

"Can I ask," Harry began tentatively, "how this all started?" He rushed to explain when he saw the elder's confusion. "I understand the unfortunate popularization recently but even when I was in school I didn't hear… good things about Veela."

Zlata peered at him and sighed. "I expect not." She studied him before continuing. "The first wizard who 'found' our people was astounded by our charm and beauty. Upon leaving our forest, he claimed to have lain with the entire settlement. His bragging was our introduction to magical society. Even though the man was actually rebuffed with a fireball by the very first Veela he met. He ensured, with his singed pride, to taint us with his labels. The influx of interested suitors we received afterwards and our defence of our homes cemented us as dark creatures."

Harry shook his head at a loss. "Well, damn," he muttered. "What an arse."

Zlata gave another flash of shocking amusement, her lips tugging upwards into a tight grin. "Quite," she agreed.

XXXXXXXX

After the evening in the старий forest with the Veela Aeire, Harry was feeling flat-footed about stepping back into the political arena. The night of mysticism and magic felt far removed from the political jockeying and barbs. He mentioned as much to Fleur who readily concurred with his sentiment. Although, it did not stop her from putting a dark green silk dress shirt up to his chest with a nod of satisfaction as she continued cobbling together his outfit for the ICW conference.

"I sent off an owl to Padma and Luna," he stated, watching as his wife flitted about their room.

"Good," came her distracted reply. "Zlata seems impatient to get started."

"I imagine she wants to coincide with the Resolution passing as closely as possible for maximum exposure."

Fleur blinked at him. "Hermione will make a politician of you yet," she mocked with a grin.

He frowned at her. "I'd rather do the Triwizard Tournament again. Blindfolded."

She laughed. "Are you telling me you don't have fond memories of the year you captured my attention?"

"Could have done without the dragons, is all," he grumbled under his breath.

Fleur tutted as she held a suit jacket side-by-side with a strapless gown. Seemingly pleased with the colour coordination, she placed them both on the bed before whisking off to find accessories.

"Wear the necklace I got you for our fifth anniversary," he called at her retreating form, his eyes firmly nestled on her swaying hips.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled at his look of concentration. "If you insist, husband," she purred. With an extra swish in her step, she glided towards her jewellery box.

He walked over to settle behind her as she picked up the glittering ornament. He plucked it from her fingers and held it against her throat, which tinged red as they looked at one another in the vanity mirror.

Slowly and with deliberate motions, he clasped the lock in place at the nape of her neck before allowing the pendant to rest below her collarbones. It was a diamond studded north star that shone with a celestial glow, enchanted to shine brighter when the gift-giver thought of the wearer.

"Afraid of getting lost, mon cœur?" Fleur whispered with a teasing lilt to her voice.

"Just want to make sure I can always find my way back to you," he murmured, brushing his lips against the side of her neck in a sweeping motion. She shivered.

With a sigh, she raised her chin so her neck arched under his wandering mouth. A slender hand burrowed into his black locks, pressing his face tighter to her heated skin.

"If you don't stop," she said breathlessly, "we'll miss the whole conference."

"If that was supposed to deter me, you sorely miscalculated," he responded, nipping the succulent flesh of her neck.

She moaned even as she pushed him away. Her eyes, when they met his, were feral and molten. Her lips had taken on their yellow keratined form as she caught her breath. "You're a dangerous man, Mr Potter." Her tone light even as her inhales sounded slightly laboured still.

"A man on vacation with his wife, with no chicklets running around or intruding family? I believe my actions are rather normal."

"Two can play this game, my love." His wife's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you want to go against me?"

He snorted, "if it results in you wearing that lacey-"

His voice cut off as Fleur's dressing gown hit the floor. She stood in her full glory with nothing covering her but his necklace adorning her slender throat.

Harry found he couldn't seem to close his mouth or jumpstart his brain.

Fleur raised a delicately sculpted eyebrow at him and quirked her lips. "Seems the lace is unnecessary."

"Uh."

"That's what I thought," she laughed, bending down to begin rolling up sheer stockings.

Harry stood there mutely for a while longer, simply watching his wife dress herself. He certainly didn't imagine the prolonged length it took her or the extra care she put into the act.

Her voice popped him from his dream-like state, her tone playful "My zipper, husband?"

With a shaky step he broke the distance between them so he could pull her dress closed. His reward was a kiss to his cheek and a pinch to his nose.

"Come, you must get dressed. You may ravish me tonight."

His eyes drank her form from head to toe. She wasn't dressed seductively but she was a seductive woman. Sensuality dripped off her as naturally as dew from grass. He groaned as she sashayed out of the room. No doubt making her timely retreat before he tried to make them late for the gathering.

He muttered mutinously as he dressed. Although he was glad he was able to avoid the insipid negotiations that took place throughout the day, the socials each evening were enough to drive him mad.

Their week was nearly done but serious issues had already begun to erode even the most common ground between Ministries. It had truly started when Hermione had made the difficult call to get Germany, France, and Poland on her side by promising to strike Egypt's provision of granting the Sphinx Being-ship within the Resolution.

Sharifa had been unamused. She had caught him that very night and flayed him verbally. Apparently, the heart of the Sphinx is used in a variety of arcane potions and they are being hunted by international poachers. Egypt has their own laws forbidding the hunting but they become powerless as soon as the villains take their prize out of the Ministry's borders.

The Egyptian representative had made it abundantly clear that without ICW cooperation, these poachers would be immune from prosecution and that Germany and Poland were some of the countries mainly responsible for the abhorrent behavior.

He had brought the subject up to Hermione who, properly horrified, had been trying to re-negotiate for the last two days.

It wasn't going well.

Harry sighed as he buttoned his cufflinks before giving himself a final once-over in the mirror. Acknowledging he looked suitably dressed, he left the bedroom already resigned that his wife would find a flaw or two to primp upon seeing him.

She was softly singing under her breath as she swayed at the kitchen counter of their little cottage. Her head tilted so she could look through the window at the cliffside and the Sea of Azov beyond it.

Unbidden, his hands reached out to rest upon her rocking hips. Fleur pressed her back to his chest and made a contented snuffle.

"Are you ready?" She asked after they stood together for some time, drinking in the undulating waters before them.

Truthfully, he wasn't. His body and mind rebelled at the thought of more slimy manoeuvering and leering gazes. Not to forget the inquisitive, meticulously crafted thorns his critics enjoyed deploying against him or his lady-love. Instead of expressing any of that, he just nodded slightly before resting his chin on Fleur's head.

"Then we best be off." Her tone also seemed laden with distaste and resignation though she did a much better job at hiding it.

She turned around in his arms so she could look over his outfit. She fiddled with his tie and tugged at his jacket until it was properly settled over his shoulders and chest before reaching up to tidy his hair. She smiled at him after her ministrations were complete, which he returned.

It was going to be a long night, Harry thought, as the Potters made their way outside the wards of the cottage so they could apparate to Oddessa. But at least it was their last.

XXXXXXXX

Harry watched as the American's Pukwudgie delegation got into a heated disagreement with Poland's Goblin representative. He couldn't make out what the cause of it was but he dearly hoped it didn't result in another brawl.

He sipped his drink thoughtfully as he surveyed the room. As the week has gone by an increasing amount of Being representatives had started to circulate without handlers. It had led to some pleasant exchanges and not so pleasant fisticuffs.

Apparently, many Beings didn't feel particularly benevolent to each other.

One of the worst was when England's Centaur representative, Firenze, got into an argument with Finland's Centaur, Tahvo, who also happened to be the Prince of a Thousand Herds.

Firenze had refused to explain what the disagreement had involved but Harry had distinctly overheard what sounded like constellations and planetary alignments during their shouting match so he doubted he'd understand anyway.

When Harry had personally met Tahvo, the Centaur had seemed gracious if rather haughty. The Prince wore a laurel crown and arrows made of gold gleamed within the quiver on his back, although he was not allowed access to his bow indoors. A slight he consistently decried.

Tahvo had thanked Harry for ensuring the Sentient Being Resolution did not extend rights for malignant, dark creatures like Hags. Although he did mutter about the inclusion of Vampires while casting a prejudiced eye towards Ormanno and Beatrisa, who had raised their suspiciously red wine-glasses in amused acknowledgement.

Harry could only nod while stamping down on the urge to rush to his Vampiric friend's defence. They had been boon companions the entire week and had never been anything but amicable and gracious to all who met them.

Truthfully, Harry had little knowledge about the Malignant Being provision Tahvo discussed. Hermione had quickly told him about it one evening as they rushed to the conference hall after a dinner had gone too long. Supposedly, it separated Sentient Beings like Centaurs and Goblins from the Malignant Beings out to do harm to humans. Beings whose sustenance were human children like Hags or the African Kishi that ate women.

Harry had tried to question Hermione about how that was different from integration but she'd shot him an evil, despairing look at his ignorance before launching into a tirade of nuanced philosophy that he tuned out of hurriedly. It was a moot point as far as he was concerned. He trusted her.

His perusal of the crowd was interrupted by a shrill voice to his left. He glanced over to find the source of the noise only for it to land on a woman he had not seen before. She was dressed rather garishly in out-dated but expensive dress robes. Her honey-brown hair was done up in a pile that was astounding in it's teetering height. Her eyes seemed to continuously shoot in his direction as she spoke, obviously trying to ascertain his attention.

Reflexively, his blood boiled at what her louder-than-necessary voice was discussing. She was practically shouting how disgusted she was by the half-breeds and creatures present. He hadn't experienced such bold hate outside of Armenia and Azerbaijan. Many delegates seemed to employ more subtle but no less revolting verbal barbs to get their point across.

Harry glared at the group surrounding the woman until a man nervously met his eye and flinched. The slight, thin man leaned in to whisper vehemently into the woman's ear and attempted to lead her away.

One individual broke off from the group and walked over to where Harry stood. He was the Turkish ambassador that had introduced himself on the second evening of the conference.

"Apologies, Mr Potter, sir. A delegate's wife seems to not share my country's sentiments. I assure you that I do not support her views."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I'm pleased to hear that. But I hope I don't have to hear her for the rest of the evening."

The Turkish ambassador looked rather resigned instead of affronted like Harry thought he would be.

"I can't help but agree with you. Odious woman, truly." With a pained expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace the man inclined his head before turning and taking his leave.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, fighting the headache that was threatening to erupt. He heard heavy, familiar footsteps approach to his right.

"I don't know how you deal with this rubbish," he observed to the newcomer, not bothering to look up.

"You grow calluses like with anything." Mr Akingbade's deep baritone voice replied, settling beside him.

"That sounds miserable."

"It certainly is."

The two men stood for a while in easy silence as they looked about the hall. No one dared approach but they did receive a fair share of perplexed stares.

Harry observed the man to his right. He was a handsome, unbelievably youthful looking man for how old he truly was. His robes were a mesmerizing riot of oranges, reds, yellows, and browns all twisting together in a exotic pattern. His stature was sure, spine straight, chest out, and shoulders back.

Finally, Harry couldn't help his curiosity anymore and asked a question that had weighed on his mind since earlier in the week. "I don't want to be rude but, was your husband unable to come?"

The man glanced at Harry briefly before returning to sweep his gaze about the room facing forward.

"He can't leave Ireland."

"Ever?" Harry inquired, confused.

"Ever." Mr Akingbade agreed.

"Oh."

Silence returned before the Supreme Mugwump decided to elucidate. "Selkie's can't leave the ocean for long. Tied as they are to the place they are born. Rónán can shed his sealcoat for awhile but must return to his birth waters in time."

Digesting the information, Harry nodded. "So, you spend a lot of time in Ireland?"

"When I can, yes. He and I have many obligations."

"That must be difficult."

"Yes." Was the simple reply.

Harry fidgeted and Mr Akingbade huffed.

"There is more to a marriage than proximity, Mr Potter. I cherish the time I spend with Rónán but we both think of our respective jobs as our children. We support one another in pursuit of that fulfilment."

"I don't mean to suggest otherwise," Harry quickly interjected. "I just, well, know I'd miss my wife terribly."

"No offence was taken. Even I can admit the nature of my marriage to be slightly odd." The colourfully-garbed man rubbed his ring finger, conspicuously devoid of ornamentation. "But we are happy with what has been given to us."

Harry considered what Hermione had told him of Selkies after meeting Mr Akingbade that first day. Apparently, they were distantly related to the merpeople and merrows that populated the Black Lake at Hogwarts. However, the Irish Selkie was a different genus entirely. Supposedly, a Selkie Prince had met and fallen in love with a witch, who, unbeknownst to him, had only sought to get close to him so she could steal the secrets of their transformative magic. She had allegedly become the first animagus… and the Selkies had reviled 'cross-breeding' with wizards and witches ever since.

"I'm glad," Harry commented, mustering as much meaning as he could into the simple words. Hoping to give support in whatever small way he could.

"I had always wondered, before I met him, why an African wizard's animagus form was a porpoise of all things." Mr Akingbade turned his face to Harry, his usual blank, stoic countenance suddenly alive with an amused light. "Fate, perhaps, is not without a sense of humor."

Harry grinned in response.

"Good day, Mr Potter. Thank you again for your time this week. It was a pleasure to meet you and your lovely wife."

"Same to you, we've both appreciated your insight and help. You've been good to us."

With a slight inclination of his head, the Supreme Mugwump strode away, his robes flapping like a saharan sunset behind him.

Fleur returned from her conversation with their Italian friends with a wide grin.

He slipped his hand in hers as a greeting before kissing her joy-infused cheek.

"Mr Potter."

The stiff voice from behind made him sigh, knowing what was coming. Of course, his last day couldn't end on a high note. He turned to greet the Egyptian Minister, immediately taking note that Yosef was not around to mediate.

"The European bloc voted down my offered provision for Sphinx protection," Sharifa stated, her eyes aglow.

Harry shuffled uncomfortably, fighting the urge to scratch the back of his head. Instead, he tightened his hold on his wife's hand who had gone rigid next to him.

"I'm sorry," he answered truthfully. "Hermione did the best she could, honestly. The other Ministries just wouldn't budge."

The woman gazed at him unblinkingly and he felt small and foolish. Fleur dug her nails slightly into the palm of his hand she was holding and he straightened his spine in response.

"I hope you will continue to support the Resolution itself," he continued determinedly. "I know it isn't perfect but it will open the door for protections further down the line. Next session we can introduce a Resolution to the floor requiring all Ministries respect the regulations of others regarding Magical Beasts and Beings."

"The Sphinx is our Ministry's emblem, Mr Potter," Sharifa explained. "They gave the first Eyptian staff-crafters instructions on how to imbue magical properties and even gave them fur from their tails to act as cores. This served as the archetype for you European wizards and your wands." Her eyes turned hard and her mouth tightened. "Yet, for all their import to the history of wizarding kind they will remain nothing more than beasts to be slaughtered. Their bodies left to rot in the sand while the poachers take their hearts for profit."

"I'm not any happier about it than you," he began but was cut off by a sharp swipe of Sharifa's hand.

"I don't care about what makes you happy, Mr Potter. I care about an endangered Sentient Being that is my nation's treasure. You failed to deliver on the protections I asked for, why then, should I care for your Resolution at all?"

Blood roared in his ears and his pulse quickened. "Because it is the right bloody thing to do," he snapped venomously. "You know it is. Don't stand there in vexation and act as though I am the enemy here. I am on your side. Take your sharp tongue and make those who voted against you bleed but leave me out of it. My wife and I have done nothing to inspire your ire."

Fleur moved slightly forward and with a clever twist of her shoulder put herself between him and Sharifa. "Minister, we do apologize for how this turned out. We will do everything in our power to rectify the situation, even putting our name on any separate Resolution you attempt to pass regarding Sphinx protections. But please, don't make a scene."

The group of three's eyes roved about their vicinity surreptitiously, noticing the interested looks sliding their way. The Egpyptian woman nodded her chin subtly before her eyes drifted back to Harry's.

"You have a point, Mr Potter. My irritation is not solely directed at you. However, the promise of your name means little to me now. We shall have to see how tarnished it becomes after the passage of this Resolution, in whatever abominable state it will be in." The woman's dark eyes flickered over to Hirene and her menacing entourage.

Her implication was not lost to him. "You need not worry about them," he bit out. "They want this more than anyone."

"But once they get it, will they remain so well-behaved?" Shariffa questioned shrewdly. "Don't forget that Mrs Volkov has subjugated most of Eurasia through claw and fang. She is hardly the diplomatic type."

"I choose to trust in the good of people ," Harry said, stressing the word. "She is doing what she perceives best for the safety and security of her kind. Just as you are doing for the Being important to you."

Sharifa stared at him intently for a moment before inclining her head and raising the goblet gripped in her white-knuckled hand. "A toast then. To optimism… and friendship." She leaned in closer to the Potters. "I'll vote for your Resolution but I will expect you to keep your promise." Her tone was hard and eyes stony.

Harry nodded and she moved away.

"Good," she said. An ounce of cheer infusing her voice once more. "I'll expect you at the next ICW conference as my personal guests to advocate for me." Her eyes swept between Harry and Fleur. Seeing no argument from either party she gave them a nod of farewell and swept off.

"Damn." Harry muttered, rubbing his jaw.

"Indeed," Fleur murmured before turning to face him fully. "I'm frustrated with how this turned out and despair over coming to another conference but it is the right thing to do."

He nodded sullenly then perked up with a wry grin. "On the upside, if this Resolution destroys our credibility like she seems to think maybe she won't want us anywhere near her proposal next year."

His wife snorted delicately. "Yes, truly something to hope for."

Just as they resolved to make their way over to the refreshment table a voice spoke from behind them. It was a feeble, nervous sound that was out-of-place in the hall full of larger-than-life personalities. The Potters turned to inspect the odd newcomer.

It was the woman Hermione had pointed out to them earlier in the week. Harry scratched his brain, trying to remember her name but came up blank.

Fleur, however, stepped forward and bid the scarred individual welcome. "Hello, Ms Kurkjian, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

The woman jumped slightly at being addressed but smiled back nervously all the same. "Yes, thank you. Lovely to meet you," she replied, the translation charm buzzing harshly in Harry's ear. "I wondered if I might have a moment," she asked, eyes darting between the two Potters.

"Of course," Fleur resolved, inclining her head.

"Oh, and please, call me Naba. Hearing my last name..." The trailed off morosely but seemed to relax as she spoke, a soft but sad smile gracing her torn face.

"I've been hoping to speak to you since my friend brought you up," Harry interjected truthfully. "But…" he paused, unsure how to broach the subject.

"But my handlers have been keeping a close eye on me, you mean?" Her one eye twinkled. "Yes, they've not let me out of their sight for long."

He gulped, trying not to allow his focus to wander to the tattered hole that remained on the left side of her face where a second bright, brown eye should be residing.

Naba chortled. "You can look, you know," she said indecorously. "I make these eye jokes for a reason."

He sheepishly nodded, wincing at being caught.

His wife sighed. "We'd be fascinated to hear your story," she supplied kindly. "Hermione only told us the barest details but we wonder how you came to be an ally to our cause in such an inhospitable environment."

The woman nodded her head rapidly, seeming to come into her own the more dialogue was had. "I'd be willing to share but I feel I should caution you. It isn't a tale meant for polite company or fancy socializing."

"Perfect," Fleur replied. "We've had enough of that for one evening."

Naba smiled. "Well, I've been a member of the Equalist International Party for, oh, eight years or so now? My husband and three sons were involved too. We'd go and do little protests at the Armenian Ministry over the Werewolf regulations and whatnot. Small stuff."

She took a shaky breath as her gaze turned inward. "Well, we hadn't made many friends, you see. Our house was burned down in what was considered an accident but my husband suspected was arson. So, we moved out to the countryside and away from wizarding society. But that was where roving feral packs roamed."

The woman's nine fingers twined together in front of her as she relayed her story in a mechanical fashion. As though reciting it distantly. "Woke up one night to find my youngest son gone. We searched frantically for him, everywhere we could. He was only thirteen and couldn't have gone far without magic. We asked the Ministry for help but our names were unpopular and we didn't receive anything more than a token investigation."

She let out a breath before continuing in a hollow tone. "We found him next month, on the full moon. He was brought to us by a feral band of Werewolves. They had kidnapped him and were returning so he'd change in front of us. He-he…" her voice choked to a stop and her body seized in an alarming way. Suddenly, her eye became wild and wide as she looked at Harry beseechingly. As though begging him to understand. A sour, leaden weight resided in the pit of his stomach. He felt sick as she turned frantic.

"He didn't have a choice, you know. Surely, you do, that Werewolves, that… that first change. They can't control themselves. Not at all. Arpiar didn't know what he was doing, he was always such a sweet boy. Never got in any scrapes like boys usually do…" She went silent as she looked past their huddled group, seeing a grisly scene stamped into her memory.

"We couldn't do anything. Not to sweet, little Arpiar. He changed. Killed his brothers first." Her voice was hollow, mechanical. Her gaze distant. "My husband cried as he died. They left after I was mauled. We were all sure I'd die. I didn't."

Her mind seemed to return to the present as she gave them a watery smile. "I buried my family and looked for my son. The Ministry found the feral pack first and put them all down. Now, I go around and tell my story. I want to show my Armenian brothers and sisters that we can let go of the past. We don't have to keep killing each other."

Her story made Harry feel like he had eaten nails. They gouged and slashed his insides to ribbons and he drew in a ragged breath past his desiccated lungs. "My heart goes out for your loss. I am so, so astounded at your strength to continue on. Thank you," he stated resolutely.

Fleur also whispered her admiration and Naba thanked them for their consideration.

"When I heard about the conference, I petitioned the ICW directly to be afforded the opportunity to come. To my joy, it was granted and Armenia had little choice but to bring me along. Though, they've made their displeasure clear several times."

"We are glad to have you here, and to meet you," Harry remarked. "Have you had the chance to talk to everyone you've wanted to?"

Naba shook her head. "No, I… well, I wanted to speak to Mrs Volkov but Abbas or someone else usually intercepts me."

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "how about I introduce you now?"

"Abbas has kept his distance since Mr Akingbade pulled him aside that third day after his repeated comments," Fleur explained as they began walking. "He will likely not trouble you if you're with us."

"Thank you," Naba declared. "This is perfect."

The group of three made their way over to Hirene's collective, who eyed them interestedly. Barry waved excitedly.

As every occasion before, Harry and Fleur stopped outside an imagined perimeter to allow the Werewolf leader the opportunity to wave them forward.

Said woman rolled her eyes at their final approach. "You really don't have to do that every time," she insisted exasperatedly.

"It's common courtesy," Fleur alleged with a small smile.

"I'm not one for ceremony, birdie," Hirene retorted.

Harry swallowed a laugh at the women's exchange. Naba seemed frozen at his side.

"Ah, isn't this smashing?" Barry exclaimed. "Always a delight, Mrs Potter. You look lovely as always, of course. And Mr Potter, as well. Thank you again for that restaurant recommendation, I was terrified I wouldn't be able to find a suitable place for our anniversary out here. They even had a great selection of vegan options!"

"I'm relieved you enjoyed it," Harry responded with a grin. The excitable muggle never failed to make him smile from his sheer outpouring of exuberance.

Hirene grunted. "It was fine, I suppose. My steak was rare enough but they put a bunch of plants and shit on it for whatever reason."

"Those are called garnishments, I believe," Fleur observed with a smirk.

"Fancy frenchie," the Werewolf muttered under her breath but loud enough for the group to hear.

"Don't listen to her," Barry said around his toothy grin. "She loved it. Even wore a dress! Can you believe it, a dress!" The man adjusted his bowtie with a pleased expression on his face until he noticed his petite wife glaring balefully up at him.

"I thought I made it clear never to mention that." The woman growled.

He gulped and nervously smiled down at her. "Sorry dear, you just looked so positively angelic I couldn't help myself." His apology seemed to mollify Hirene because she looked away sharply and grumbled some indiscernible words as her ear tips turned pink.

She stomped her booted feet and turned once again to face the Potters before addressing the addition to their posse. "Gonna introduce us or what?" Her tone petulant and demeanour standoffish from what Harry expected was embarrassment.

"Yes, this is Naba Kurkjian. She's from-"

"Armenia," Hirene interrupted. "I know your story." The flat yellow eyes of the woman evaluated the person in front of her. "You've done some good for the packs there. I thank you."

"It is an honor to meet you, Mrs Volkov," Naba replied, bowing her head respectfully. "The Armenian packs eagerly await the day you unite the continent."

The Pack Leader grunted. "Hard to do when your ministry won't let me enter the country. Kill on sight order for any foreign wolf."

"My Ministry fears what a strong figurehead could mean."

"I take it they aren't just worried about a revolution?"

"No, though they fear that too. They don't want the packs to unite and move for political rights. It is why they are fighting so vehemently against England's Resolution."

"Typical," Hirene snarled.

"But that is what we're here for, right?" Barry observed worriedly, his hand reaching out to brush against his mate's. Harry wondered if the Pack Leader disallowed obvious physical expressions of love so she wouldn't appear weak.

"The Resolution might pass," Fleur interjected cooly, "but the situation won't necessarily resolve. The ICW rarely interferes in a nation's affairs outside of the Statute of Secrecy or the Wizarding Wars. Most of the Resolution is non-binding, just getting the framework built has been extraordinarily difficult."

"The incremental steps of change," Hirene spat distastefully.

"No, they're right," Barry commented. "There may not be many enforcement mechanisms yet but the provision allowing for an international coalition to monitor Sentient Being rights is important!" He looked down soulfully at his wife. "Don't give up, they need you."

Hirene waved off his concerns. "You know I'm not. But I find the whole process arduous and stupid." Her steely gaze centred on Harry. "I'll choose to trust this method for now. But if things get worse in Armenia and Azerbaijan…" Her wolfish expression gave little doubt to what she hinted.

"Then let us hope it doesn't come to that," Fleur asserted, her eyes flashing. "That is just what they want. It could tear down everything we accomplish here."

"Don't you dare lecture me," Hirene snapped. "I have the lives of tens of thousands of Werewolves upon my shoulders. Play nice with the bigots all you want but I won't watch my people continue to be slaughtered or forced to live like pigs."

"This is bigger than just you and your kind," Fleur uttered heatedly. "The stakes are higher than ever. Don't fall for their trap. They know they can't beat us here and now so they will instead try and provoke us into a violent reaction. If we give in to our baser instincts they win."

"They can celebrate right up until I rip their throat out," Hirene snarled undeterred.

Harry mustered every authoritative impetus in his body before taking a step forward, drawing attention to himself so his words would be heard clearly. "This isn't the time or place," he said firmly, sweeping his gaze back and forth between his wife and the Pack Leader. "We can cross that bridge when we come to it but for now we must remain united. The Resolution has not yet passed and any chink in our armour will be exploited."

"Harry is right," came the surprisingly stiff voice of Barry. "Like it or not we have to be on our best behaviour. We shouldn't squabble." His sudden bravery gave way to nervousness as he fiddled with his bowtie and blushed, looking down at his wife's wide-eyed expression. "I just don't want us to fight," he mumbled.

The lanky man's wife reached up to ruffle his hair affectionately albeit briefly. "My husband is a pacifist." Hirene said without turning to look at them. "Admittedly, his integration into the magical world has been… hairier than the typical muggle. And his views don't always align with the way of the Packs but he is correct now." The woman glanced at Fleur. "We've chosen interesting men, haven't we?"

Fleur nodded with a smile, sending the artfully placed locks of platinum hair framing her face bouncing. "Good men," she agreed.

Barry blushed at the compliment and shuffled his feet. Harry stared at him in amusement, recognizing his own nervous tick.

"I will do everything in my power to ensure the situation for the Werewolves doesn't get worse in Armenia," Naba offered, rejoining the conversation. She seemed confident and capable in that moment, to the point even Hirene nodded with grudging respect.

"I believe you," came the Werewolf's reply. The woman looked around at the assembled group. "Together then. We will get this Resolution passed and face what comes next."

"Agreed," Fleur said, holding out her hand.

The Pack Leader looked at it askance before spitting into her palm and clasping their hands together.

Fleur didn't flinch, just shook once before turning to make her exit. Harry nodded at the group before following his wife. Naba, he noticed, stayed behind to continue her discussion with Hirene.

They didn't make it far before being interrupted in their flight.

"You two look exhausted," came the song-like voice of his mother-in-law. He turned to the side just as Fleur stepped into her mama's embrace.

"It has been a long week," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thank you again for taking the time to come."

"Think nothing of it, my dear. Though, if you don't mind, I'd like to steal my daughter away for a moment." The apologetic expression on Apolline's face made Harry laugh.

"No permission necessary," he responded.

"Lovely," was her reply. "Don't worry though, I won't leave you all alone to fend for yourself." Harry turned so he could follow her eyes that had settled on something past his shoulder.

"Matisse!" He called out delightedly.

"My boy!" The portly man answered in a similarly buoyant fashion. The two men grabbing their arms together before pulling into a one-armed hug.

"Papa," Fleur cried before kissing both of his cheeks in greeting. "It is so good to see you, Mama said you had work."

"I did," he affirmed distastefully, "and it was horrible." The clouds hanging about his features cleared and the man brightened considerably. "But I am here now and ready to lend my political expertise to you both."

"On the last night?" Harry observed smirking. "How fortunate we are."

"Hush. Be grateful, you ruffian."

"Well, we shall leave you men to your own devices," Apolline declared with a demure smile before pulling her daughter away. Fleur tossed a grin over her shoulder at them as she waltzed alongside her mother.

The two men watched their ladies walk with goofy smiles on their face. Comfortable camaraderie filling the void of words.

Matisse turned and smacked Harry on the shoulder boyishly to grab his attention.

"So, has it started for you yet?"

"What?" Harry asked, caught off-guard. "Has what started?"

Matisse glanced at him. "Have people started looking at you and Fleur strangely?"

Harry scratched his head, "no more than usual, I guess. Why?"

The Frenchman shook his head, grinning. "Not like that." Humming, the man took a sip of his wine and blanched. "Maybe it would be easier to explain a different way. Just look at Apolline over there. She is a beautiful woman, yes?"

He smirked at his father-in-law, "I'm not sure if you're bragging or this is some sort of trap."

"Bastard," Matisse responded affectionately. Sobering, he gestured at Apolline. "My wife barely passes for a thirty-five year old woman. While I am a rapidly aging man with a growing gut."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You are hardly as portly as you lament yourself to be." A sly smile stole across his face, "besides, we've all heard the pet names Apolline calls you. She seems to like your... full figure."

He barked out in shocked delight at Matisse's red-tinted cheeks. The man scowled and muttered some unflattering opinions about Englishmen and barnyard animals.

Harry chuckled.

"If you're done being a, what's the English word…"

"Ponce," Harry supplied helpfully.

"Yes, ponce. Now quiet or I won't let you marry my daughter."

"A little late for that."

"I know, just like to remind you that I allowed it."

Harry shook his head, flicking a bead of water from his glass at the older gentleman. "Carry on," he commanded.

"What I'm trying to ask is if people have said anything about your ages yet? Like at that muggle school, for instance," Matisse questioned.

Harry rubbed his forehead ruefully, "yeah, there has been muttering here and there. When people realize Fleur has a seven-year-old daughter and doesn't look over twenty-three."

Matisse nodded sagely. "Exactly."

"What's the big deal, people talk about us all the time. Usually, the context is worse too. Especially here."

"I don't care too much about what others will say, as I know you are used to that. Consider this more a warning for yourself." At Harry's befuddled expression, Matisse continued. "Veela are left largely untouched from the physical burden of aging. Apolline's mother still looked elegant and lovely when she passed. You, however, will not."

Suddenly unsure and feeling a tad apprehensive, Harry jerked his head to prompt his father-in-law on.

"We will look our age, while they never shall. Assuredly, they won't be as spry as what their youthful beauty would suggest. They will slow down and tire the same as us. However," Matisse carefully met Harry's eyes, "their charming physicality will remain. And we have to live with it."

"You make living with an eternally beautiful woman sound like a curse," Harry said with some strain, trying to inject levity into the odd discussion.

"It is not really, nor would I make it out to be one." Matisse nodded approvingly, "you already know what I mean, don't you?"

"Yes. I do."

"Good. My advice is to not compare yourself to her. At the end of the day, she is Veela, you are human. It can get lost sometimes, in our endeavours to treat them with the normality they crave. But they are more than the women we fell in love with."

Matisse eyed Harry thoughtfully. "You trust Fleur, yes?"

"With all that I am."

"Do you doubt the love she holds for you?"

"I wouldn't insult her by thinking such a thing."

Matisse smiled. "Stay that way Harry. Men are vain creatures, though we hate to admit it. Don't let poisonous insecurity blind you from the obvious."

"It won't be easy," Harry confessed, "I've felt inadequate many times next to her before. But I'll continue to trust in the vows she gave me, even as I grow old and grey."

"See that you do." Matisse grinned, "but I'd suggest that you don't stop working out lest you become like me. No need to make it harder on yourself."

"Is there a reason you're bringing this up now?"

"My wife informed me of your visit to the Veela Aeire in the Carpathian Mountains. I assumed it was an eye-opening experience."

"It was." Harry agreed.

"Plus," Matisse grinned roguishly at him, "I figured any conversation would be better than more political nonsense."

Harry clinked his goblet against the man's wineglass in agreement. "I knew I wanted you around for a reason."

XXXXXXXX

He gave a loud groan as Fleur kneaded his back. Harry was lying facedown on their cottage's bed with his angelic wife straddling his hips as her small hands worked wonders upon his tense muscles.

"You really shouldn't have snuck out to compete in the Steinstossen," Fleur admonished as her fists dug into his shoulderblades.

"That Swiss arsehole kept flexing his muscles at you all week, I had to teach him his place," he moaned out.

"This is why you shouldn't drink with my father," she sighed. "He always gets you into trouble."

"Aren't you the least bit proud of me for humbling that pompous idiot?"

He didn't have to see his wife to know she was rolling her eyes. But the slightly too hard push on a sore spot made her feelings clear regardless.

"Oh yes, dear. Thank you ever so much for defending my honour. What would I do without you, my big strong man?" Fleur mocked in a high, exaggeratedly girlish voice.

"Ok, ok," Harry grumbled, "enough of that. You've made your point."

"Men." The way the word rolled off her tongue made it sound nothing like a compliment.

"I did it out of love," Harry explained. "That has to count for something."

"A lovestruck oaf is still an oaf."

"Name calling isn't nice. What would the girls think if they realized their mother was such a hypocrite?"

"Stop while you're behind," his wife warned.

Wisely, he chose to remain silent.

The massage continued for a while longer before he rolled to the side and gave a luxurious stretch. "Thanks, love," he remarked with a grin. "You spoil me."

"I expect reciprocity," was her dry remark.

"Get comfortable then, I won't fight against putting my hands on you."

Fleur lay upon her stomach, her bare back glowing in the candlelight. She snorted and turned her face, a single mischievous eye peering up at him. "I suspect the legend of the insatiable Veela really comes from their ridiculously randy husbands."

"Sticks and stones," Harry sang as he began his work on the inviting expanse of pale skin before him.

They relaxed in silence for a time before Fleur voiced something that had been on both their minds since the end of the gathering.

"Do you think it will pass?"

Harry stilled only briefly before continuing. "I do."

"You don't sound certain."

"No, I trust it will pass," he responded calmly. "But I think I've come to accept it won't be at all what I'd hoped."

"Hmm," came Fleur's drowsy reply.

Hermione and the English delegation were going to stay behind for the rest of the conference. The Resolution had been debated on the floor for around five days now with no end in sight. Many provisions had been added and dropped from the original proposal. Some good and some bad. It was barely recognizable.

As the week had gone by and Hermione's frantic explanations for why she had chosen to do this or that had made Harry realize a stark truth.

The whole process was utter shite.

Most of the nights he came back to the cottage feeling grimy, as though he had spent hours wading through sludge. In some ways, he thought that the most accurate depiction of the conference gatherings.

Many had been starstruck by the Potters. It had also led to an international history lesson he was embarrassed to learn.

Apparently, the Wizarding War was far bigger than he'd assumed. Purebloods across Eurasia had taken Voldemort's rise as an opportunity and begun their own crusades. England may have suffered with the rise of Voldemort but he became an icon for supremacists everywhere. With his demise, many regimes lost the symbol of their strength and their political power slipped away. Other nation's weren't so lucky and still suffered under what amounted to a dictatorship or a pureblood Council of Lords.

Apolline and Hermione had patiently explained that Harry Potter was a name that resounded throughout all of the world and not just England. It made him want to bury his head in the sand.

Regardless of the reason, he had been inundated with people wanting to make his acquaintance. His novelty had worn off, however, when he questioned his fan's stance on the Sentient Being Resolution.

If being a show-pony that quickly lost its lustre wasn't bad enough, the purebloods, creature-ists, and individuals who simply hated him were present in abundance.

They had made their thoughts known often and cruelly.

Though, at the same time, he couldn't help but be amazed and indelibly proud at how Fleur had never wavered or wilted under such vile attacks. With her head held high and stylish rebuffs she had made a powerful impression. He adored her strength and force of will.

Late at night, though, when it was just the two of them, he could see how it wore at her. She was not invincible, of course. She had grown tough out of necessity. He had spent many hours preening her ruffled state each night, trying in whatever small way he could to support her.

Under his hands, feathers bloomed. He continued rubbing her shoulders even as she softly snored. He gazed down at the woman he'd given himself to and smiled.

The week had been difficult and taxing. But they had borne the hardship together and come out better for it. He couldn't help but feel as though he had grown up. Been forced to jettison his naive hope that the Resolution would fix the ills of the world.

Harry bent down and pressed his lips to the cheek of his slumbering wife. She mumbled affectionately in response and nestled further into the cushiony mattress.

But maybe, just maybe, the work they did this week would mean something. Someday.

With a wave of his wand, he extinguished the candles and slipped alongside Fleur, who turned over in her sleep. A delicate hand reached out to touch his chest and her lips curved upwards.

He stayed up for a few hours; quietly watching the rise and fall of Fleur's chest as she breathed.

XXXXXXXX

It had been a gruelling few weeks back home. The girls had been exceedingly clingy after going so long without their parents, not that he could complain considering how terribly he had missed them. But it had meant sleepless nights due to two snoring chicklets who rolled between their parents throughout the night.

Upon arriving home, Ron had told him that no further incidents had taken place and assigned the wards back over to Harry's wand. It was a comforting notion, especially when he received word from his solicitor that Barnabas had been successfully ousted from his position at the Daily Prophet. With him imbued with the Glawkus Compound, his daughter's locations would be safe.

Although, he had received far worse news given by Lili upon seeing him. Hogsthorpe was holding a Halloween Party.

He sighed, trudging up the stairs of his family's home. He had dreaded this night for weeks. It had nothing to do with spending time with his family and he felt prickling shame at being so irritable over an event Lili was so ecstatic about but… Halloween wasn't easy for him.

With a sigh, he reached the landing and headed towards Fayette's room. He peered in through the crack of the door to see Lili energetically chattering to her little sister.

Fayette was festooned as a bumblebee. She wore a beret with swirling antennas upon her golden head and a slightly puffy black and yellow striped costume upon her tiny body. Flimsy wings hung behind her with a slight droop and a perky stinger swayed upon her felt-covered bottom.

Harry felt pathetic about how unbelievably adorable he found her. He couldn't help but grin as he remembered the constant bickering Fayette was embroiled in with her mother over the costume.

Fleur was determined that her daughter be a cute bumblebee.

Fayette insisted she was a wasp.

Liliana, on the other hand, was serious about her deer costume being perfect. She had kept her mother busy in the mirror drawing and re-drawing a nose and markings with makeup on her petite face. She wore a headband in her silver hair with fluffy ears and spindly antlers.

She looked heartbreakingly like her mother at times, with her face scrunched in concentration as she tidied her costume or arranged her hair just right.

Supposedly, Lili and Jasmine had conspired to dress as woodland critters together. A rabbit and a deer to be exact, but Harry wasn't exactly sure why that combination. Regardless, his wife had taken to it excitedly.

"Are you ready girls?" Harry asked, opening the door wider and revealing himself to his daughters.

Lili beamed at him. "Yes, Papa. I am."

Fayette sniffled and asked if she was a wasp or a bee.

He looked behind him briefly to check if the coast was clear before leaning forward to kiss her on the nose. With a wink, he took her side.

Striding away, he briefly wondered what his costume was going to be. Fleur had been rather secretive about it and he couldn't help but have some trepidation about what awaited him.

Opening the bedroom door he stumbled to a halt.

"What the hell are you?" Harry winced at the words that unthinkingly smashed out of his mouth.

Fleur rose an eyebrow and he quickly amended himself.

"You are radiant, my love. I was just surprised, is all, he finished weakly.

His wife strolled her way towards him.

"I am one of the dames blanches, mon cœur," she whispered, placing a white-laced hand on his chest. Harry worried she'd be able to feel the rapid thrumming of his heart. She smirked. "To pass this way, you must first dance with me, traveller."

Harry quickly tried to pull up every scrap of information his wife had mentioned regarding the French folktale.

A lazy flick of her wand caused the record player sitting on a small table in the room's corner to smoothly slide into motion. The needle fell down gently on the revolving vinyl. A melancholic French ballad began to be sung breathlessly as Fleur raised a hand, an eyebrow curved expectantly. With a small step forward Harry slid into a familiar position.

As they danced, he could feel the tender caress of her allure raising goosebumps along his skin where it brushed.

He led his wife from their joined hands, lightly guiding her by a soft pull or gentle pressure. Harry no longer had to watch his feet; being able to let his gaze lavish Fleur while dancing had been a potent motivator.

His wife's hand always felt so delicate and his so brutish in comparison. The small bones and slender fingers were deceptive, however. He could feel the callouses on her fingertips, brushing against the back of his hand. Her grip – sure and strong – assured him his lead was a willing surrender, even as his hand dwarfed hers.

A twirl sent the spun silver of her hair flying, strands floating like gossamer.

One step, two, closer, shift, back step, turn, and dip. A saucy smile pierced him from below. A swift brushing of lips seamlessly woven into the pull upwards and dance's continuation. The palm on the swell of her hip felt hot, the nerves hyper-aware. He felt every twist of her waist, not a single rocking undulation missing the pulse of the music.

Her white-blond hair, wild and loose, filled the air as Harry led her through increasingly indulgent dance figures. Her bouncing curls caught the muted lamplight in their room, becoming a flowing river of burnished pearl. Harry felt engulfed. Her usually straight hair had been teased into luscious spirals that framed her face and body. The sleek, silky crown he was accustomed to replaced with sultry tresses.

In that moment, Harry knew he would break the Statute of Secrecy tonight.

Three minutes would be his limit before the hexes started flying. Especially Greg. The bloody teacher seemed wholly incapable of directing his eyes anywhere other than Fleur's curves.

Harry resolved to floo Neville. Although, whether he wanted his friend to keep him in check or help with the cover-up, he couldn't decide.

Dazed at the herculean task ahead of him, he didn't notice when the song ended until a chuckling Fleur tapped him on the nose. His befuddled eyes met her knowing ones. "You shouldn't make such a face while dancing with a lady, monsieur," she trilled.

Smoothing the grimace on his face fairly successfully, Harry pinched one of her platinum curls between his thumb and forefinger. "Rotten seductress more like," he muttered ruefully. "You'll be the folly of every man there tonight," he continued archly. His light tone caused Fleur's lips to quirk upwards.

Her laugh chimed out as she crossed over to their bedroom door. "I shall be the downfall of only one man," she declared, sweeping her arms up dramatically and sending the white sleeves of her gown swinging. Her grin faded as her arms fell back to her side. Tilting her head slightly to the side she pierced Harry with a look that promised fire and sweat. "After all… a single dance is not enough for this dame blanche to find her release," she purred before gliding out the door with a wink.

Harry swore, loudly and colourfully, before stomping out the room, tying in vain to put a stopper on baser urges.

XXXXXXXX

The Potters arrived a few minutes after the Halloween gathering was set to begin. Lili had been impatient to arrive on time but Fayette had thrown a spectacular temper tantrum in their Skegness home.

"Wasp!" She had declared with all the force her little body could muster.

"You are a bee, Fayette Eloise. Don't you want to be a pretty bumblebee?" Fleur had questioned in exasperation.

"No!"

It had taken some time before her anger had dissipated and she could be calmed down enough for company.

Fleur had flicked his ear afterwards for just watching in amusement from the sidelines, as he leaned against the doorframe.

"You could have helped me."

"It seemed like you had it under control," he'd responded while fighting a smile.

Fleur had been about to reply when Fayette piped up behind her.

"Daddy said I was a wasp!"

His heart stopped. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck and he felt the sudden urge to flee.

Fleur's eyes narrowed.

"Did he now?" Her voice serrated and deadly.

"Kids," he joked nervously, "they say the strangest things."

"So do weak fathers," was Fleur's ominous reply.

Now Fayette was riding atop his shoulders as they filed into the Hogsthorpe's gymnasium.

A woman Harry didn't recognize came up and cooed over the 'sweet little bumblebee.'

Fayette pouted thunderously, her arms tightly folded in front of her chest just like she'd seen her mother do.

She mumbled something about using her stinger.

"Don't worry, dewdrop," Harry said, "I imagine you'll get over tonight tolerably. Given a year or two."

Fleur chuckled beside him.

Already she was drawing attention. The gown of the White Lady she wore reached all the way to the floor, and it wasn't indecently tight. None of that seemed to matter though. She was magnetically beautiful regardless.

"Bollocks," Harry muttered as Greg came sliding up next to them.

"Hello, Ms Evans," the man said, intentionally using the incorrect honorific like the toad he was.

Thankfully, Fleur seemed just as tired of the man's charade as her husband was. "Missus," she announced forcefully, giving him a firm look.

Harry could have done a jig.

The man looked properly abashed and ran a hand through the stylishly combed hair on his head. Unfortunately for him, that movement didn't do the gelled mop any favours. He was a handsome-enough man, with thick hair and a strong jaw. But his simpering smile and wandering eye was off-putting not just to the Potters, or so Prisha claimed.

"Lili has been doing wonderfully in her classes," Greg started again, seeking safer waters. "Top of her class."

"Lovely," Fleur replied, pulling Liliana in front of her, resting her hands on the girl's shoulders. "We are very proud of her."

The man gave an oily grin.

Harry cleared his throat, making the teacher jump slightly.

"Oh, yes, of course. Mr Evans, pleasure to see you." Lili's teacher greeted, proffering a hand.

Harry took it briefly but released it as soon as was polite.

"Well, perhaps I can show you all around the different booths," Greg started to offer only to be interrupted by a more welcome arrival.

"Lili!" Came a jubilant shout as what appeared to be a grey rabbit with flouncy ears shot by them to hug his daughter.

Jasmine grinned happily at her friend before the two girls launched into varied compliments of one another's costumes.

"Harry, Fleur," came Prisha's polite voice from their left. She was not in costume but wore an appropriately coloured orange and black sari.

"Prisha," Harry said with relief, his eyes widening comically to show his distress at Greg's presence.

The elderly woman hid a wry smile behind her raised hand.

The two families had grown closer since the start of the term, pulled together as they were by children who were all but attached at the hip. Many playdates had been held at either family's home and even a few out on the town.

"Greggory," the matronly woman greeted formally as she neared the huddled group.

He mumbled some approximation of hello and made his retreat. Harry raised his eyebrow in wonderment at Prisha.

"Some day, you have to tell me how you do that," he said in an awed tone.

"Practice," was her mischievous reply, hugging Fleur as a hello.

"You look astounding," Prisha complimented, eyeing the white lace and silk gown.

"Thank you."

"But I fear you will be the talk of the town."

"I assumed it was a fool's errand to attempt otherwise."

"Probably," the elderly woman admitted. "So I'm glad you decided to throw it in the faces of all these harpies."

"Prisha!" Fleur exclaimed in shocked glee before leaning close and whispering between giggles something undoubtedly wicked in her friend's ear.

Both women dissolved into laughter and hushed conversation.

Harry decided it best he didn't know what they were concocting and looked elsewhere.

The gymnasium had been decorated with paper cutouts, some done by students he'd wager, and the floor was filled with orange and black balloons along with booths for simple games. Families milled about the room in informal masses. Laugher occasionally punctuated the polite conversation humming through the air.

He could feel the eyes slipping over his family.

A hand tugged on his sleeve and he looked down.

"Papa? Can we go play a game?" Lili asked courteously.

"Of course, moonbeam, I'll take you both." He moved Fayette off his shoulders and transitioned her to Fleur's waiting arms. He kissed the side of his wife's face before escorting the young girls to the first booth.

He kept a slight distance away but watched them closely as they played. He wanted to give his daughter time with her friend without him hovering over her shoulder.

A quick glance showed his wife was fending off interested parties, both gossiping women and lecherous men. He sighed in resignation. At least Prisha was there to run interference. She didn't seem terribly popular for whatever reason with the Skegness community and didn't shy away from using her barbed tongue judiciously.

He turned around only to accidentally meet the eyes of the woman he'd hoped in vain wouldn't be in attendance. She made her way over to him.

"Hello Olivia," he greeted neutrally.

She sent a white, wide smile his way.

"Good to see you again, Mr Evans," she replied charmingly. The young mother was dressed as a duchess, wig and all. Her corset was arranged to draw the eye, the decolletage sitting snugly over her chest. Her powder blue gown billowed out at her feet and she had a beauty mark affixed to her face.

Harry couldn't help but remember Ormanno and Beatrisa in muggle theatre clothes.

"You look charming," the woman mentioned and he had to gulp back a chortle at his fond memories of the vampire couple.

He looked down at himself, dressed as an unwary traveller of medieval France. Buckled grey trousers and a tucked, green blouse. A foolish sword even swung at his hip. He pulled at his jerkin uncomfortably before thanking her.

Feeling obligated he complimented her own attire, to which she blushed.

"Thank you, I'd hoped you'd like it."

He felt that was a bit forward but decided to ignore it and turn back to watch his daughter and her friend play.

"She looks darling," Olivia tittered, gesturing to Lili.

"Yes, she does," he agreed easily. Once again, he wondered about the woman's motivation. Why did she seem so interested in his family?

Deciding to investigate, Harry smiled at her before asking his question.

"Is your husband around? I don't think we've met."

The woman's expression immediately became guarded. "No. He was, ahem, called away on business."

"Ah," Harry commented dryly. Dead end.

"Is your son around?" He tried again.

She waved her hand about airily. "Oh, he is about here somewhere. Off with his pals you know."

He scratched the back of his head. "Right," he muttered, "kids being kids."

"What was that?" She asked inquisitively.

"Nothing," he gave her a game smile. "Just thinking out loud."

He turned around only to find Headmistress McKinney beside him.

"Mr Evans," she intoned.

Inclining his head he returned her pleasantry, feeling a bit of relief at another person's presence.

"I'm glad to see you two have put that nastiness behind you," the serious woman continued. "Lili especially, Mr Evans, seems to be thriving in class."

"She really enjoys it," he mentioned.

"My son always talks about how smart your daughter is," Olivia interjected. He had some trouble believing the boy did anything of the sort. However, he decided to take the compliment for what it was worth and expressed his gratitude.

Luckily the three were interrupted from further inane conversation by the arrival of his wife, who it seemed had finally decided to flee the centre of attention. Though it appeared the attention had only followed her.

Harry fought against the scowl that rose to his face at the men who watched his wife's passage with fixed interest.

"Evening Headmistress," Fleur said brightly before turning to Olivia.

"Hello, I don't think we've met," she said, holding out a hand. Her blue eyes twinkled naughtily. She knew exactly who Oliva was.

The women exchanged compliments over one another's costumes. Harry wondered if it was common for ladies to consistently try to one-up the other's kind observations of one another but quickly discarded the notion. He'd never seen the Weasleys or Delacours partake in any such nonsense.

At that moment, Prisha arrived with Fayette munching a cookie in her arms.

"There now," the woman said, "told you Mama and Papa were right over here."

"Daddy," Fayette squealed, reaching out her crumb-covered hands in obvious expectation.

Without care for his clothes he claimed her from the older woman.

Fleur muttered under her breath and swiped away some debris from his jerkin.

Looking up, he noticed both the Headmistress and Olivia had seemingly disappeared. Shrugging he turned his attention back to the new arrivals who seemed to be resting in the harbour of his deterring presence.

"-bunch of louts," Fleur declared irritably. "In front of my own daughter too."

Prisha made a noise of agreement before leaning towards Harry and whispering conspiratorially. "So, what did Mrs Ansley want?"

He grimaced. "No idea, I've never been able to figure out what she is after. Every conversation between us is only ever awkward."

Prisha waggled her eyebrows ludicrously at his wife, who erupted into tinkering laughter.

Fleur reached up to pinch his cheek. "She wants what she can't have."

"Huh?"

Prisha let out a gusty breath. "It is common knowledge that her husband is an unkind man. I think she's… jealous, let's say, about how good you are with your daughters."

"Oh," he said mollified. He felt slightly abashed, perhaps he needed to be kinder towards the unhappy woman in the future.

"Don't say it like that," Fleur admonished Prisha. "My husband is rather obtuse about these sorts of things, you'll only make him feel sorry for her."

"I resent that," Harry contended. He was ignored as the women continued their indecipherable dialogue.

He watched his wife and her newfound friend laugh and joke for a while before turning to watch his daughter do the same.

Veela and human. Witch and muggle. Never before had the divide between it all seemed so very small. Or so very foolish.

XXXXXXXX

The school day had been passing at an excruciatingly slow pace. Simply put, Harry was bored. All of the household chores had been completed and he even had a nice stew simmering for dinner.

The excitement of the conference had long since atrophied and now he was firmly entrenched in the droll undertaking of waiting for his eldest daughter to return from school each day. His youngest was a flurry of energy but required frequent napping, leaving him to his own devices after her spurts of activity petered out.

With a grumble, he launched himself to his feet as his wand made a familiar ringing noise in his ear. The damn wards around the school had been triggered. He grumbled to himself about sending every reporter in England to Azkaban as he strode out his front door. Luckily, Andromeda was watching Fayette today. She had gotten lonely with Teddy at Hogwarts so he'd loaned his excitable daughter to her pseudo-grandaunt for company.

With a twisted pop, Harry arrived at the alleyway and made his way hurriedly down the passage. His mind mulled over the ramifications of this new breach. A second reporter meant his problems ran deeper than the Daily Prophet, he would likely need to heed Fleur's advice now and pull Lili out. It just wasn't worth it to have her education consistently interrupted or her location compromised by ruddy journalists.

He emerged out into the street with a bustling step.

The light was odd. It had been an overcast sky when he had left his home but his face was instantly hit with a strange brightness as soon as he strode out of his apparition point for emergencies.

Orange, red, and yellow flickered upon a grey haze that filled the air, casting monstrous shadows about the block. He coughed after inhaling. His lungs filled with smoke.

His eyes widened, thoughts ground to a halt. The heart in his chest gave a painful stutter.

The school was aflame.

In that moment, the world ended.