Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his whole universe belongs to J. K. Rowling and her associates. I'm just having a good time playing with it all, and I - unlike the owner - don't make a penny from it.
A/N: An attempt at writing something that actually takes all 7 books into consideration, with the exception of the Epilogue. Although a few things have been lifted from it, I fervently deny its existence.
Arrgh! Who am I fooling? It's a bunny that popped up while I was fighting Connection ch. 4, and I took it as a chance to get away from that battle. There's a few things in it that may disturb some people, and at least one blatant violation of the law, no matter what country you may be in.
I admit it right off the bat: I can't write an accent to save my life, so I'm not even going to try. Feel free to insert as many Z's, apostrophes and other assorted mayhem into Fleur's speech as you like. And now on with the show:
Runaway...?
19 years later... Early September 2017.
It was a hot late summer Thursday in the commune Châteauneuf-du-Pape, and Fleur Weasley was close to regretting that she'd allowed Hermione to badger her into going there today, particularly since being born and raised in Avignon, she knew exactly how uncomfortable the temperature could be around these parts for someone as fair as herself. Yes, finding the right wine for the 20th Victory Day ball was important, but actually going to the area to find it was pushing it a bit, and especially going now, when the ball wasn't for another 8 months. Then again, she thought as she cast a glance at the woman beside her, 'pushy' was the very definition of Hermione Weasley, and she hadn't softened that trait one bit in the over 20 years she'd known her.
Actually, she continued her musings, she suspected that this outing had more to do with getting away from the rest of the Weasleys than it had with picking out wine. She could understand that. Her own marriage to Bill was - with one exception which was beyond their control - a good, positive and loving one, but Hermione's to Ronald could at best be termed 'meh', and at worst a complete disaster.
Fleur had been aware from an early age that marriage was a two-way project, and Bill was well aware of that too. Hermione and Ronald on the other hand... She shuddered involuntarily. That marriage had been like throwing two territorial Dragon Matriarchs into a pit and expect them to peacefully work together to get out of there. Hermione had a certain willingness to bend and flex her ideas and beliefs to make it work, but she had a fairly rigid set of limits too. Ronald on the other hand seemed to have no limits at all, but he had no intention of bending either, resulting in epic rows, bitter tears and curses thrown on a regular basis. That had been going on for 14 years now, and how they'd ever managed to conceive Rose and Hugo was well beyond everybody who knew them, with the sole exception of Molly Weasley. Everyone else had feared this union ever since the invites went out. Fleur sighed.
In some convoluted way it actually made some sense, as horrible as it was. Hermione had only ever been really close to two people other than her parents: Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter. It stood to reason that she'd eventually marry one of them, and when Harry disappeared without a trace in 2000, it seemed her choice had been made for her.
As if she'd been reading her mind, Hermione spoke up.
"Have you heard from Harry lately?"
Fleur jumped as she was pulled from her thoughts. "What makes you think that?" she hedged.
Hermione exasperatedly rolled her eyes, a habit she'd never been able to break. "Please!" she sniffed, "don't take me for a fool. You know perfectly well that you'd replaced me as his confidante before he disappeared."
Fleur sighed again.
Harry Potter... Now there was a sore thumb. 'The-Boy-Who-Lived', 'The Chosen One', 'Voldemort's Bane', 'The Saviour', 'He-Who-Triumphed', and a host of other, equally distasteful and moronic nicknames, all of which the recipient hated with a fiery passion. He'd finished off the Dark Lord Voldemort in the spring of 1998, and then he'd spent the next two years desperately trying to fit in while making a life for himself. It wasn't to be though. All he wanted was a nice girlfriend who'd want him as just Harry; a small house in a quiet place where he could have a peaceful existence; and maybe a Kneazle to warm his lap on chilly nights, but what he got was anything but. He loathed public appearances, accolades and the false smiles of people who wanted to use him for their own ends, but that was all their society wanted to give him. Ronald on the other hand coveted it and kept pulling Harry along, while Hermione placed herself stubbornly in the middle, refusing to take either side. Molly and Ginny Weasley meanwhile had launched a campaign to make Harry take up with the youngest Weasley once more, and Harry was backing away the best he could. Ginny by then had proven beyond any doubt that she was enamoured with The-Boy-Who-Lived, and that she knew next to nothing about Harry Potter.
With his life in the state it was, and with Hermione refusing to back him, at least as he saw it, Harry had gradually begun to turn to Fleur for someone to talk to. Oh, he'd used Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom as well, but Luna wasn't always quite there and her statements didn't necessarily make sense to anybody but her, and Neville had been kept busy with an apprenticeship and with his engagement to Hannah Abbott, so he wasn't as reliable a confidant as Harry needed. Fleur on the other hand was always there. They had spent at least a hundred afternoons together, talking about his broken dreams and how he could mend them, as well as about Fleur's pregnancy, and later about her beautiful daughter and about her hopes that she wouldn't have the Veela traits to deal with. A hope that was later dashed when Victoire threw her first fireball in a fit of pique at the age of 9.
Then one day in 2000 a fuming Harry had come by Shell Cottage with a singed Daily Prophet in his hand. The headline loudly proclaimed that The-Man-Who-Won had given his heart and his ring to Ginevra Weasley in a romantic proposal last night, and the article went on to congratulate the young couple on their commitment to each other and urged their readers to congratulate them as well.
"This is it!" he'd snarled, pointing at the offending rag. "I've had enough."
Fleur gave the article a quick read-through, wincing a few times as she read. "Why does this bother you so much, Harry?" she asked, puzzled. "It is nothing you have not had worse before." He just pointed to the last paragraph, which she'd skipped when she was sure, she'd gotten the gist of the story. She read it, and what colour she had drained from her face.
"Is this supposed to be funny? Is this the moron's idea of a joke?" She was flabbergasted. There in the article was Ronald Weasley's congratulations to his sister and his best mate, along with his assurance that he'd of course be delighted to stand with him as his best man. She couldn't believe her eyes. Everybody who knew Harry also knew that Ginny and him would never happen. Well... Everybody but Ginny and Molly Weasley.
"What are you going to do?" She was almost afraid to ask.
"I'm going to send a letter to every magical news-agency, detailing 'War-hero Weasley's' contributions to the effort to off Voldemort, and then I'm going to get out of this blasted country. I'll never be allowed to just be me around these parts, and when my supposed friends do things like this, it's time to get up and leave," he growled. Then his expression softened. "I'm just sorry that I'll be leaving you, Victoire and Teddy, but I can't stay any longer. I'd either go bonkers or kill somebody, and both those would see me locked up, and I've had enough of that." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
"Bye, Flower. Thanks for keeping me somewhat sane the past couple of years. Tell those who matter that I'll keep in touch when I can, and tell that husband of yours that if he ever hurts you, I'll drop by and break his legs... And his arms... And his face too for good measure." After ruffling her hair - prompting an indignant squeak - and kissing the tip of her nose, Harry turned and walked out of the door - and out of everybody's lives.
The articles that the letters had prompted had been devastating for Ron's reputation, and he was feeling the effects of them to this day. He still blamed Harry for everything of course.
Fleur shook herself back into the present again. "No, I haven't heard from him since the letter I shared with you all last month, like I always do. Why?"
Hermione shivered at the thought of the letter Fleur mentioned, and the string of rows it had caused. Fleur had informed the Weasleys and Harry's few other friends of his promise to keep in touch when he could. With the exception of a year, that had so far meant 3-4 letters per year with descriptions of what was going on in his life, along with vague clues to where he was. So vague that they never had him pinpointed until he'd moved on in what was essentially a nomadic trek across the magical world. He'd spent the first year after he left in a purely magical settlement in Greenland, learning about Inuit magic and the belief structure that it was tied to, as well as how to hunt seals from a kayak. They found out two weeks after he'd left. Then he'd been studying for two years at the magical university in Cuzco under an assumed name, only breaking cover at the last minute in order to have his real name on his degree, and then he'd hightailed it mere hours before the letter with the final clues arrived at Shell Cottage. Later he'd been tracked down to Shangri-La; Tahiti; Siberia; Maui; Denmark; Borneo; Minnesota and Sri Lanka, but always when he'd already left again, and the seeming randomness of his destinations prevented them from figuring out where he'd turn up next. Throughout his whole journey they'd been regaled with his increasingly difficult and dangerous adventures in curse- and wardbreaking, which earned him even more respect from Bill than he already had; given the first glances at a series of nifty charms that he'd developed and marketed over the years, which made both George and Hermione drool; and told about his Mastery exams every 3-4 years. From time to time his letters would even hold a small bag of seeds for Neville; a few photos of obscure animals for Luna; copies of House-Elf regulations and the like for Hermione; curse-breaking tips for Bill and Fleur; and recipes for pranking potions for George.
Then 4 years ago, completely out of the blue after 13 years of globetrotting, he'd turned up at Hogwarts to deputise for Filius Flitwick as he took a year's sabbatical. He'd taught Charms and a class in basic wandless casting for a year, but he'd kept himself secluded even there - much to the disappointment of nearly every witch from 3rd year up, and the second his last class of the year was finished he'd up and left again without as much as a goodbye, and they still only had his letters to go by. Apparently he'd gone to Australia directly from Hogwarts, spending a few seasons in the Outback with a native Shaman who taught him Aboriginal survival magic and true barbecue cooking, and then he'd gone back to Europe, although they didn't know where. That's when the letters had changed. 16 months ago they'd received a very upbeat missive, informing them that he'd found what he believed was the woman of his life and that he was now dating her. 10 months ago another letter had arrived, one they could almost feel the joy radiating from. It held the message that after a short engagement, he and the woman of his life had gotten married, and that he was happier than he ever thought possible. Molly and Ginny Weasley hadn't reacted well to that.
Then a month ago, they'd had the latest missive from Harry in which he told them that he and Mrs. Potter were expecting their first born, and that if he was going to be any happier than this, he'd probably spontaneously combust. The Weasley Matriarch and her daughter had ranted for hours, and Ron had had a lot to say about treacherous lotharios until George finally petrified and silenced him before Angelina could get to him, and told him not to talk about treachery until he'd looked at himself in the mirror.
Reality caught up with Hermione, and she seemed to physically shrink. "I still miss him," she answered Fleur's question with a hitch in her voice. "I miss seeing him; I miss talking to him; I..." A suspicious sniff made it through. "I miss my first friend! Or at least I thought he was my friend."
Fleur rounded on her. "And he thought you were his, Hermione," she snapped. "He really couldn't understand why you seemed to be okay with what that idiot Ronald was doing to him, and neither could I."
Hermione stopped dead. "That's my husband you're insulting!" Hermione was shocked. It was no secret that Fleur didn't think much of Ron, but she'd never vocalised it as directly or as forcefully before.
"Pfft." Fleur dismissed her with true Gallic indifference. "Does that mean that you're an idiot too? You seem to be fine with how your husband acted, grabbing for glory that was not his to hold, and pestering Harry to go to functions he didn't want to be at. You just sat there and let him, never once trying to support Harry. That is not the actions of a friend." Hermione blinked at the fire in Fleurs eyes. "Those actions - and inactions - drove him away. First from you, and then from England. He knew your views on right and wrong, and you showed him that you considered Ron's behaviour right. That did it for him. He couldn't stay where only I would try to see his side of things, so he had to leave." Fleur took a deep breath. She was getting things off her chest that had sat there for 17 years, and as much as she liked Hermione, she had to see that she'd been instrumental in driving Harry off.
"You may have lost a friend when he left, Hermione, but it cost me my brother!"
Hermione recoiled. "So now it's my fault?" she asked hotly.
"Partly," Fleur effortlessly took back control. "Partly yours; a bigger part is Ronald's; but by far the biggest is shared between Dumbledore and the press." She began walking towards the market again, not seeing Hermione goggling at her.
"Wait!" Hermione cried out. "You can't just wa..." Hermione's indignant rant was strangled at birth, and instead Fleur turned and saw her standing stock still with her jaw hanging, looking like she'd seen a ghost - which wouldn't be all that unusual in these parts.
"Hermione?" Fleur queried.
Hermione just pointed at someone up ahead. "Isn't... Isn't that..." She made a visible effort to collect herself. "Isn't that Victoire up there?" Her voice was shaking.
'Ah...' Fleur thought. 'Victoire, my poor runaway baby. If you only knew'. She looked closer in the direction Hermione had pointed. 'Merde! I can't believe I forgot the weekday. How could I let Hermione take me here today of all days? This could be problematic'. She looked at Hermione. "She could be, although this area is known as the home of quite a lot of Veela. Only one way to find out."
They picked up their stride and began to catch up with the woman ahead of them. Meanwhile Fleur let her thoughts wander to the sordid story of her firstborn - the one thing that had caused a strain in her marriage these last two years.
Victoire Weasley was born on the first anniversary of Voldemort's demise, and she was the apple of her father's eye. Unfortunately - at least from Fleur's perspective - she had inherited the Veela traits from her mother, as well as the Weasley temper from her father. Quite a volatile combination, and it showed at the most inopportune moments throughout her childhood and early adolescence, both as temper tantrums involving cursing and fireballs, and as stubborn imperiousness and a haughty belief in her own infallibility. The latter should cause some grief later on.
On the evening when she started her 4th year at Hogwarts, her owl had appeared in the living room at Shell Cottage with a letter proclaiming that Harry, whom she'd heard so much about her whole life, was to be teaching at Hogwarts! Her weekly communications that year had raved about his classes - and Harry had even written to say that she was a prodigy in both - and about him being much more awesome than anyone had ever told her. His abrupt departure from the school at the end of the year had provoked quite a sulk from the young lady. All in all a case of hero-worship on par with her aunt Ginny's 20 years earlier.
Then, in the summer before her 6th year, the house had woken up one morning to find her gone - along with her wand, her jewelry, her owl and her more esoteric books, a few changes of clothes and what little savings she had. The circumstances made it clear that she'd left of her volition, and Fleur had her suspicions but she was not going to vocalise them. 16 year-old Victoire was reported missing that same day, and nothing more happened for a few weeks.
Three weeks later her owl appeared with a letter from the girl. Actually it carried two letters, but only Fleur would ever know about that seeing that one of them was keyed to her only. In that one, Victoire explained very frankly her reasons for running off, as well as what she was doing, where she was and what her long term plans were. It also contained a charmed token to allow her letters to pass through the wards that now surrounded her. The other letter was for the whole family and contained a humble apology for worrying them; a plea that they'd cease trying to find her, and a more general summary of her actions and plans, but nothing about where she was. That one could be answered within 24 hours by using the owl that delivered it. They were warned that tracking charms would be detected and dispelled by the wards she was under, and that attempting that would see communications stop. That set the method of communication that was still being used to this day, with Victoire mailing her family on average once a month, and her mother secretly twice as often.
In May of what would've been her 6th year she turned 17, and on the day she appeared in the Family and Inheritance Department in London and declared that she was not being coerced in any way; that she had left her parents' home voluntarily, acting on her own accord, and that she would like her status to be changed from 'missing' since they all could see that she wasn't. Then she'd left the Ministry for an unknown location.
Coming back to the present, Fleur swore internally once more. She knew perfectly well that the woman in front of them was Victoire, and she even knew that she lived less than half a mile from the market, and that she always went shopping for vegetables, fruits and fresh meats on Thursdays, which Fleur again cursed herself for not remembering that it was today.
Hermione was just about to call out to the young woman, but then discovered that she was wearing earbuds, most likely listening to music. Quickly explaining this to Fleur, she sped up to catch up with the woman, and Fleur followed, thinking that it might be better that she was the one tapping her daughter's shoulder in a few moments, rather than letting Hermione do it.
Ten seconds later they caught up and Fleur reached out to place her hand on Victoire's shoulder. Frowning, the young woman turned, then lit up in a radiant smile as she hugged her mother.
"Maman! What are you doing here? Is everything alright? Why didn't you tell me you'd come?" All in rapid-fire French while hugging and kissing cheeks.
Hermione smiled at the obvious joy in Victoire's expression. Then she frowned at what she was able to pick up from her questions and refocused on her. It sounded like Fleur knew she'd be here, and was that...? Yes it was. That was a definite baby-bump!
Meanwhile Fleur had had the chance to formulate a few answers, and switched to English for Hermione's sake. "Everything is fine, mon ange. I didn't tell you because I was stupid and forgot something, and I'm here because I let Hermione talk me into it, and because I forgot it was Thursday. I'm sorry, sweetheart." Victoire hadn't seen Hermione when she turned, and her face fell slightly as she turned to her.
"Oh..." she found a smile somewhere. "Welcome to Châteauneuf, auntie Hermione. Long time..." She pulled her in for the traditional cheek-kissing ceremony. Hermione wasn't fooled though. She'd seen the slip of expression, but the rant she was building never got out.
"Don't!" Fleur commanded.
Hermione flinched, then oriented on her. "You knew!" It wasn't a question. "All this time and worry, and you knew all along."
"Yes," Fleur admitted. "I've known since three weeks after Victoire disappeared, and I suspected something like it was going to happen for almost a year before."
Hermione was brought up short once more. "What?" she blurted, very eloquently.
"I am Veela, Hermione, and so is my daughter, even more so than I. I strongly suspected that she would need to test the world for herself, so I wasn't all that worried when it happened, and neither would you have been if you had done your research."
Hermione sputtered. "Not worried! Your daughter is going to be an uneducated 18 year-old single mother in a foreign country, and you're not worried?"
"I am right here, auntie Hermione," Victoire broke in. "And for your information, France is not a foreign country to me. It's home. I'm not looked down on because of my heritage here, unlike I was in England." She speared her aunt with a withering look.
"And who do you call uneducated?" she huffed. "For your information, my NEWT scores added up to just under 6% higher than yours, and right now I'm in an apprenticeship which will be suspended for three years so I can attend the Université de la Magie in Bastia once my son is born." She calmed herself a little. "How much of an education do you have, auntie?" Hermione looked like a fish out of water.
"Yes," Victoire continued, "I ran off. Yes, I made people worry and I'm sorry about that, and yes, I am 18 and pregnant, and both my husband and I are delirious about it."
Poor Hermione didn't look like she could take much more today. She turned to Fleur. "You knew that too?" she asked in a weak voice. "You knew about the marriage and about Victoire being pregnant?"
Fleur nodded. "I did," she confirmed. "Not only that, but I approve with all my heart." Victoire beamed at her.
"Why didn't you tell?" Hermione asked. "Why keep it a secret? Victoire is of age, so it wouldn't change anything."
Fleur snorted in a much less than ladylike manner. "Because her father would kill her husband, and her aunt would kill her." Fleur paused for a second. "Well... Both her aunts would, come to think of it."
Hermione's mind was struggling to keep up. 'Both her aunts? She's got more than two, so what's that supposed to mean? Wait a second... She must mean Ginny and Gabrielle...' She blanched.
"Harry! You ran off to marry Harry!" She was close to fainting.
"Well, that was the plan," Victoire said softly, "but I had to find him first, and then I had to win him over." She grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her to an outdoor café where she could sit down.
"I knew from the minute I saw him at Hogwarts that he was the one," she continued her tale after they'd been served. "I just had to wait until I had a decent idea where to go to intercept him, so I waited until I saw the ICW had a guest speaker with the same name that Harry had used in Peru, and then I went to Geneva." She took a sip of her mineral water before continuing, checking at the same time that Hermione was actually conscious.
"I took up stalking the Assembly Hall once I got there, and a couple of days later I saw Harry coming out of there. It turned out that he'd just come from Australia and was looking to spend some time in Europe, so I badgered him into coming here and to let me stay with him. He could kinda relate to leaving without saying goodbye," she giggled.
"So you live here?" Hermione wanted it clarified. Victoire pointed behind her.
"Just two streets that way. Another minute and you would've missed me." She shook her head. "Anyway, I spent a few months as Harry's flatmate, dropping some rather substantial hints that I'd welcome some more intimate attention from him, but I thought that either he didn't want me or he never caught on..."
Hermione snorted. "That's Harry. You have to hit him with it to make him notice."
"Wrong." Victoire smirked. "It turned out he suspected I had a thing for him already at Hogwarts and that he saw right through me in Geneva, but he refused to touch me in any way that wasn't platonic as long as I was still a minor, and he didn't feel quite at ease with being more than twice my age. He worked through it though, and then he took me on a date for my birthday last year. When we came home from that, he kissed me so thoroughly he had to help me get to bed." Her dreamy eyes told the story just as well as she did.
"We dated for four months - no Mama, nothing more than kissing went on in that time - before he proposed, and then we got married last November." She showed off her rings and her mother quirked an appreciative eyebrow. "I finished my exams in December and I've apprenticed with him since."
"What as?" Hermione asked. "I mean, he's got at least four Masteries that I know of."
"Focus crafting," Victoire replied. "It's interesting and it suits me perfectly. I'm not as high powered as my parents, but I'm good at Charms and minor enchantments as well as Runes, Arithmancy and Potions, and that's important for this." She paused for a second. "And of course there's the added incentive that the nearest Wandsmith is in Nice, and there's only one Master Focus Crafter in France besides Harry, and he's in Bordeaux so there'll be plenty of work for me."
Hermione was puzzled. "What's the difference?"
"Between what?"
"A Wandsmith and a Focus Crafter."
Victoire sighed. "Roughly the same as the difference between the painter who paints your house and the one who paints your portrait. A Wandsmith makes wands. Maybe a staff from time to time but that's it. Like your Ollivander. He uses a limited number of different woods and a limited number of cores that are easy to work with, and he keeps a stock of finished products because they're cheap and fairly easy to make with one wood and one stable core for a wand. A Focus Crafter makes personal foci. It can be a wand or a staff, just like the smith, but it's attuned to the buyer's magic and there's no limit on what it can be made from." She looked around and drew her wand.
"Harry made this for me. It's magically fused rubberwood and Canadian maple - something a Wandsmith would never do - with a core of Fairy tears, a Thunderbird feather and seven drops of my own blood. It channels my magic a little more than 50% better than my Ollivander wand, and you'll never see anything like it from a Wandsmith. There's a Rune-set with gold filling in it too, but I haven't seen it." She put the wand away again, smiling at the envious look in Hermione's eyes.
"It's not just wands and staffs though." She pointed at a ring on her left index finger. "This one's a focus too. It's enchanted silver with one of my own hairs in it. Harry enchanted the silver, but I've crafted it myself..." she blushed faintly. "That's why it looks a little clunky. I'm not that good at it yet."
"You've got very long hair," Hermione pointed out. "How can you place such a long hair in such a small object?"
Victoire's flush deepened to a full blush. "It's not from my head," she squeaked.
"Oh... OH!" Hermione's colour was even more impressive than Victoire's.
Suddenly Fleur became all serious. "You can't tell anybody about this, Hermione," she said with finality.
"Why not?" Hermione's hackles rose instantly. "People are worried about the both of them. I think at least those in the family deserve to know."
Victoire shook her head. "They will know when we let them, and don't worry, it'll probably be some time next year. Until then, only you and Mama know where we are, and we'd like to keep it that way. You're welcome to come and visit us - I know Harry would like his friend back - but don't bring your husband. Harry might hurt him."
Hermione looked hurt. "We're family, Victoire."
"Doesn't matter," was the reply. "Ronald burned what was left of his bridge 17 years ago, and Harry doesn't intend to build a new one. Yours is still there, but it might need some repairs. I know Harry would like to know what he'd done to you to make you think that Ronald was in the right back then."
"I think it matters," Hermione persisted. "You have dozens of people worried, and several hundred think Harry is dead! What's the difference if you intend to let people know next year anyway?"
"Part of it is that it's our lives and our decision," Victoire snapped. "One of the reasons why Harry left was that nobody gave a damn about his wishes, and you're just looking to continue that." Hermione seemed to shrink, but she still had a certain gleam in her eyes. "Another is that I want Ian to be born before we tell anybody."
"Ian?" Fleur pounced on the name. "How did you arrive at that?"
"Well... I wanted to call him Jean, but that doesn't go really well in England, and Harry wanted to name him John, which isn't good here. We compromised..." She smiled. "It's neither English nor French. Then Harry's family tradition calls for his father's name as his middle name, but we compromised there too. 'Harry' doesn't work really well here, and since it's usually a diminutive of Henry, we translated that to Henri."
Fleur nodded. "I can see that, although it'll probably be pronounced Jean around here anyway."
"We know," Victoire smiled, then turned to Hermione.
"Can you live with not telling anybody until we do?"
Hermione shook her head. "No. You're hurting too many people like this. They deserve..."
"Obliviate!" came a masculine voice from behind her, and her expression turned vacant while Fleur sagged in her chair.
"Dammit, Fleur. You've kept up for so long. How could you slip like that now?"
"I'm sorry, Harry. She kind of took me by surprise, and I didn't remember until she'd spotted Victoire."
"Hrmf," he grumbled. "I guess I'll have to forgive you this once... Mum," he added with a cheeky grin. Then he turned to Victoire and got serious.
"Chérie, you better get going so I only have to do this once." She stood and kissed her mother, and ten seconds later she was out of sight. Harry gave a sad sigh, then set to work on modifying Hermione's memory, letting her remember a pleasant chat with Fleur about the anniversary next year and what wine would be good for it. Then he flashed ten fingers at Fleur and got out of there at speed.
"Hermione," Fleur waved a hand in front of Hermione.
"Oh, sorry," Hermione apologised. "I must have zoned out there. Maybe we'd better get on with it and taste some wine." Both ladies got up and disappeared between the market stalls.
Another seven months later... April 1st 2018
Almost the whole extended Weasley family had gathered to celebrate George's 40th birthday. Nobody took much notice of the owl that soared in through the open window, at least not until it became clear that it wasn't headed for the birthday boy, but rather for his sister-in-law, Fleur. She took one look at the distinctive scrawl that made up the address and immediately untied the package and began opening it, leaving it to someone else to give the exhausted owl a treat and a drink.
By the time the wrapping was off, a hushed silence had spread through the party, and everybody present was looking to see what was important enough that it had to be opened right away. The first thing they saw was one of the brightest smiles to ever grace Fleur's beautiful face, causing several of the males present to sport vacant looks. It wasn't often, Fleur's control slipped like that.
The next thing was a letter that lay on top of whatever else was in the package. Fleur cleared her throat and began to read.
Hi Weasleys.
I guess it's time for another update on what's going on in my life, so I'll give you one whether you want it or not.
I've finished developing a few charms that I've been working on, and I've enclosed a few samples of their practical uses with this, but please finish the letter before you move to them.
It's been hard work lately, especially ever since Mrs. Potter gave birth to the Potter heir a little over a month ago. Working on the charms, teaching my apprentice and setting up and furnishing a shop is a bit much to undertake on three hours of sleep per night, when at the same time I have to at least pretend to be an attentive husband and father. Good thing my wife and my apprentice is one and the same. *wink*
What else can I say? Well, I could tell you that the weather in southern France is probably a lot better than in dreary old England, but that would be cruel so I won't do that.
Since a few of the other things in the box have stories to tell of their own, I'll keep this short.
Happy birthday to George and hi to the rest of you. The Missus adds her love.
Harry.
And now for the post scriptums:
In the box you'll find two wands. The one with the inlay is for Fleur, and the other one is for Bill. You'll also find George's birthday present - that's the wrapped one - but don't let him have it until everything else is done.
Next you'll find a 4x3 piece of black photographic paper. That's a demonstration of 3 charms I've managed to perfect. The first is a shrinking charm. Pretty mundane I guess, but it's the first of its kind that can guarantee no ill effects to moving photographic images, seeing that it only shrinks the picture's height and width, but not its depth. You can cancel it now with a simple 'Finite'.
Fleur did so, and the picture grew to 16x12.
The next is one I'm particularly proud of. It allows one full minute of movement in a picture of the size I've sent, instead of the regular ten seconds. You'll see it when you cancel the third charm. That - as you may have guessed - is a concealment charm that blacks out the picture completely, and it had to be tied to a specific wand. This one is tied to Fleurs, so if you'll tap it twice, the show will start. Keep this letter handy though.
Fleur placed the black picture on the table so they could all see it, then she tapped it twice. An image of Harry sitting in a low sofa appeared.
Image Harry gave them all a wave and a thumbs up, then bent forward to pick up what looked like sheets of paper or parchment. While he was halfway out of the picture, a pair of clearly feminine legs moved in from the edge of the picture and stopped and turned right beside him. Harry sat upright again and held up a piece of paper with something written on it:
Read the next PS. it said.
Fleur did so, keeping half her attention on the picture.
Bill and Fleur, congratulations on your new wands. Bill's is Chinese Hickory with Sphinx hair, and Fleur's is Spruce inlaid with Ironbelly talon for stability. It has a Thunderbird feather and they both have a secondary core. A hair from your eldest daughter.
Harry's timing was near perfect. Just as the gasps at the revelation in the letter sounded, the upper half of the owner of the female legs bent down to sit beside him. Victoire Weasley - or as they'd all guessed by now, Victoire Potter - waved and blew a kiss at them. Then she took a piece of paper from Harry's lap:
Hi mum, hi dad.
I love you and I'll see you soon.
Read the next PS.
Fleur did so.
I made the inlay and bound the cores to the woods, but Runes, choice of cores, carving and finish is all courtesy of Victoire. She's good!
While Fleur was reading, a third set of legs entered the picture and stood in front of Victoire for a couple of seconds. When they moved again, Victoire had a small, black haired baby in her arms, and Harry held a new sign:
Meet Ian Henri Potter.
Ian opened a set of startlingly blue eyes, and as his mother waved his hand at them, she and Harry blew a kiss as the picture faded.
Fleur wiped a tear and returned her attention to the letter.
I hope we didn't cause too many heart attacks. The rest of the pictures in the box are all identical copies showing our little family but without the theatrics. There should be enough for the family. The press agencies are NOT supposed to get any of them.
The last object is a Portkey. It will transport only two people, and it will activate on Saturday the 7th at noon. We're looking forward to seeing you.
Sorry for disturbing your party.
Love, H, V & I Potter
You may now give George his present.
A/N: And thus we reached the end of this bunny. A bunny that along the way turned into an exercise in writing without the 2 1/3 fingers I now no longer have on my right hand. It's harder than it sounds, let me tell you that.
Before anyone asks: No, I have no idea what George's present was, but it stands to reason that he'd begin playing with it right away, disturbing the carefully planned presentation of the newest Potter(s).
Did Bill tear into Harry? Did Ginny and/or Gabrielle scheme against Victoire? Is Ginny even married at 37? Or Gabrielle at 31? Why don't you decide?
Why is this fic labelled 'Fleur'? Because she carries a lot of it, and because calling it a 'Harry/Victoire' would give it all away before anyone read it.
Au revoir
/Itsme66