~*All You Wanted*~

Chapter One: Exploding Teapots

Bena: Hiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!! Hi! Hi! Over here! Hi there! …I think they've seen me now. Okay. Well, Dove and I finally got around to writing at fabulous collaboration fic-naturally, due almost entirely to her genius, but we're still writing it… she's writing it, I'm bounding dialogue… um… okay, so it's more me helping out with ridiculousnessness in a story that is entirely her baby. But it's fun! And for fans of "Wings of Hope," you'll love this-Alex causing international romance tangles! Wheeee!

Dove: For once, I'm the calm one.  Kind of.  Anyway, this is one of the many plot bunnies we've bred aboard the SSS.S. Gillyweed, pairing Harry and Gabrielle in more and more ridiculous circumstances as our moods lifted.  The result?  We're all scrambling to enlarge our WIP lists.  But again, being a collab, this isn't likely to stall.  That's not the best part, though.  The best part is the irony.  It's definitely the irony…

Bena: Don't forget the exploding teapots!

Dove: How could I be so stupid?

Bena: Does that mean I'm ahead now?

Dove: No, you have a dozen to go at least.  Let's move on to the fic, shall we?

Disclaimer: My computer has a mind of her own.  Yes, ask anyone who knows me, I yell at her sometimes, and she does strange things to drive me batty.  In circumstances like this, how could I be responsible?

"My problem is a rampant lack of apathy."

"Let me get this straight," Alexander Whitman asked slowly, setting down his glass. "You've been tracking down rogue wizards and the remnants of the Dark Lord's followers for almost ten years now, and you're only just now taking a vacation?"

            "I needed a short break. Besides, the Weasleys invited me to visit for a few days."

            "Short break?!?!"

            "Well, yes. I don't need long."

            Alex looked at his glass, wondered briefly when all the liquid therein had disappeared, and stared back at the Auror in stunned blankness. "And people say I'm trying to work myself into an early grave."

            "Yes, well…" Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "You do tend to get a lot more mixed up in your work than I do."

            "Let's not get into that."

            "Let's not."

            The two young men sat opposite each other in Alex's office, the older Ministry Ambassador to Foreign Wizards shaking his head in exasperation at Harry's statement. "You know, you were more fun when you were still in school."   

            "No," Harry said calmly, "I just wasn't getting paid for doing the same things I'm doing now."

            "Your victory," Alex conceded, pulling out a little notebook and marking a point.

            "Who's up?" Harry asked.

            "I am," Alex replied calmly.  "You're catching up, though."

            "Excuse me, Mister Whitman?"

            The two men turned to the doorway to find Alex's secretary was standing uncertainly in the doorway.  At least, she was as uncertain as she ever seemed to look, which for Parvati Patil was saying something else.  After all, she was always sure of herself and her future, and when she wasn't sure she carelessly made it up.  Therefore, her uncertainty was expressed in a slight hitch in her voice and perhaps a bit of an air about her posture.  She smoothed the short hair which was perfectly settled around her face, making her look almost angelic, which Alex, at least, had cause to know was not at all true.  She seemed hesitant to interrupt, however.

            "Good to see you, Parvati," Harry said easily.

            "Pleasure," she replied shortly.  "Mister Whitman, Minister Liang is on the floo, and he seems most upset.  He demands to speak with you, though as my Chinese is nonexistent and his accent is terrible, it's quite possible he was inviting me to a social function.  One never knows."

            Alex looked extremely uncomfortable for a moment, then shrugged it off, took a swallow of coffee, and stood.  "I'll be just a minute, Harry."

            Harry grinned and waved him towards the doorway.  "Go on.  Business generally outranks social calls."

            Alex flushed for a moment, then glared at Parvati as though this was all her fault. "Yes, well."  With that, he left the room, his secretary discreetly following behind him.

            Harry watched them leave with a wry expression on his face. "Now, if only he actually thought of this as business and not pleasure…"

            "Harry!" Angelina Weasley, formerly Angelina Johnson, stormed into the office. After a brief career in Quidditch that had ended with a Bludger injury and marriage to Fred Weasley, there was nothing left to do but join up with the Ministry as an Auror, and Harry's superior. "There you are! Why do I always have to place a locating charm on you to find where you've hidden yourself?" she fumed.

            "Because you can't live without the excitement of the chase?" Harry supplied.

            "For that matter," she added, sitting herself in Alex's chair, "why is it that half the time I find you in here doing absolutely nothing, and in a supremely insubordinate mood besides?"

            "Oh come now, Angelina, you should be used to it by now. You deal with it enough at home. Besides, I'm on vacation."

            "Not anymore you're not!" Angelina shot back. "The Minister needs to see you at once. Something big has come up. He insists on speaking with you."

            Harry glanced out the door. "Is he on the floo with anxious problems involving his sister?" he murmured.

            "What?"

            "Nothing."

            Angelina raised an eyebrow. "You know the Minister doesn't have a sister. He does, however, have a schedule. Now move it!"

            Harry stood. "If you say so."

            Angelina just sighed, and shooed him out the door.

            Harry walked down the corridors of the Ministry, pausing briefly to peer through the door where Alex was exerting more diplomatic power than anyone should be allowed to have to try and assuage the Southeast Asian Minister of Magic. Parvati looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and rolled her eyes. Harry winked, and continued on his way. Luckily, Alex's office wasn't that far from the Minster's, saving him the trouble of having to exert himself more than necessary.

            After all, defeating a Norwegian werewolf wasn't anything compared to crossing the full Ministry during working hours.

            Harry knocked on the door to the Minister's office, and smiled at the redheaded woman who answered. "Hello there. I'm selling exploding teapots courtesy of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. Care to buy any?"

            "My husband has exploding teapots now?" Angelina asked in exasperation as she came up behind him.

            The woman frowned. "Get in here. The quicker you get in, the sooner I get to take a short break from serving that man."

            "And the faster we leave and the sooner you get to go back in there," Harry pointed out.

            Ginny Weasley groaned. "Don't remind me. Come on, he's expecting you."

            Angelina waved her good-bye before disappearing down the hallway.  "Well then, left to face the Hungarian Horntail on my own, am I?" Harry sighed.  "Such a fair-weather friend, our Angelina."

            "Explode the teapot on him.  It might help," Ginny shrugged.

            "Or he might bite my head off," Harry countered.

            "He seems inclined to do that on a regular basis anyway."

            Harry shrugged.  "The Minister of Magic hates me.  Oh, I'm so surprised."

            "Try to contain your enthusiasm," Ginny responded dryly.  "You realize of course, that we're wasting his time, chatting out here?"

            Just then, what could be described best as a roar came from the office attached to the reception room.  "Virginia!  Get me Potter in here now!  This isn't a bloody tea party!"

            Ginny winced.  "Get in there before he bites both of our heads off.  Anyway, if he thinks this is a tea party, perhaps you should take that teapot in after all."

            "I'll take that under consideration," Harry said, then walked to the office and opened the door.

            The Minister of Magic sat behind a huge desk piled high with papers, looking pristine in pale gray robes which matched his eyes, and a slight scowl on his face.  As Harry was of the opinion this expression never changed, he wasn't particularly intimidated.  "About time, Potter."

            Harry sighed and didn't snap back at him, remembering that this was, after all, his superior by some ridiculous joke of fate.  He had the feeling that the Powers That Be were in consensus in making his life preposterous and more than a little pathetic.  That was the only way he could explain Draco Malfoy sitting behind the Minister of Magic's desk, looking very much at home.  "With all due respect… sir," Harry began, "I was supposed to go on vacation for a week starting tonight.  You approved it yourself."

            Draco smirked.  "It's overridden.  You are needed elsewhere.  After all, an Auror's life isn't a picnic, now is it?"

            "Exploding teapot," Harry muttered.

            "What was that, Potter?" Draco asked, one eyebrow cocked.

            How Draco Malfoy had managed to become the Minister of Magic, no one was entirely sure.  He had acted as a double agent during the war on Voldemort under Severus Snape's jurisdiction.  After the death of the latter, Draco had continued on, though everyone was firmly convinced that he was only doing it to piss off his father.  It was rather large-scale, but then again, as Blaise Zabini of the Department of Mysteries said, it wasn't much like Draco to do anything with any level of tact.  After the war, he disappeared for five years.  Rumors said he had set up base in Siberia somewhere, and this, at least, seemed plausible, as he had come back speaking several languages fluently, Russian among them.  He had made a splash with his return, and after being named "Most Eligible Bachelor" by Witch Weekly, he simply charmed his way up the Ministry ladder.  Ginny grumbled that he had to have Veela blood in him somewhere, because when he wanted something, he had simply to ask for it, and people ran to accommodate him.

            Harry had never met a male Veela, so he couldn't speculate.

            Ginny had ended up in his service much to her horror after an injury in the line of duty had taken her out of active Auror service.  She had been Harry's partner at times some years ago.  After being subjected to three hours of a consecutive Cruciatus Curse, she had been admitted to St. Mungo's for the next year, putting her life and memories back together.  Some hidden benefactor had paid for the best treatment available, however, and a year later Virginia Weasley was released with a clean bill of health, retaining only an intense fear of snakes.  No one had ever asked her what exactly had happened to her, but Harry had a feeling it had had to do with that nasty Nagini of Voldemort's.

            Once she was ready to return to the Ministry, Draco was already firmly enthroned in the office of Minister and throwing orders right and left.  When he said she was mentally unstable and he would not allow her back into active service, Ginny had a conniption that had the whole Ministry shaking and stepping lightly for weeks afterwards.  Draco had calmly waited out her tirade, then put her into the position of his aide, elevating her rank considerably and infuriating her to no end.  She had said that as she was mentally unstable, she was sure the Ministry would forgive her for sneaking into Draco's bedroom and blowing off his head in the middle of the night and doing the world at large a favor.  He only smiled at her and told her that if she wanted entrance to his bedroom, she had only to ask.  Thus they nipped at each other, and bets were out in at least three departments on how long it would be before he actually got her there.  The betting pool was up to three hundred Galleons, and while Harry had bet on "never" on principle, he had the sick sort of feeling in his stomach which Parvati would have called a premonition that said "soon".

            "I said," Harry said calmly, "exploding teapot."

            Draco narrowed his eyes. "If I didn't need you, I'd kill you for that."

            From where she stood with her head poking through the doorway, Ginny cackled with amusement, resulting in Draco quickly ordering her to stop eavesdropping and get him some coffee. Then he leaned back, and stared at Harry. "So, why exactly did it take you so long to get here, Potter?"

            "I was on vacation," Harry repeated. "And I was helping keep us out of a prospective diplomatic incident with China."

            The corner of Draco's mouth quirked. "I'm seriously considering marrying that Whitman off to Minister Liang's sister just so we won't have to deal with him here."

            "He'd be dead within a week."

            "Exactly."

            Ginny came back with two cups of coffee and a glare for her boss.  Harry shook his head, and sat down, not bothering to hide his disgust with the situation. "So, what exactly is keeping me from my first vacation ever since starting work here?"

            Draco smiled with honeyed venom. "Oh my. Does the famous Harry Potter need a break? Working against the Dark Arts too difficult for you?"

            "We're not in school, Minister Malfoy. Cut the crap and let's out with it shall we?"

            Draco leaned back in his chair, going serious. "We've some reports of dark dealings in France. It seems to have started out in the region of Paris, but it's spread to the point where we can't really be sure where it truly originated, nor who might be behind it." He folded his hands. "However, we have some prospective suspects or possible information sources that we'd like you to look at."

            He handed a file to Harry, who opened it and began rifling through it, skimming the pictures and basic information. A young woman, more a teenage girl, really, peered back at him from the photographs, often smiling shyly, her curly blonde hair pulled back from her eerily attractive face, merely going about business or making faces at the photographer in the earlier ones, and darting out of the frames nervously in the later shots.

            "She hasn't been seen in several years now," Draco added. "These are all older identification and surveillance photos. She'd be in her early twenties by now. There's an address in there where we believe she is living. You need to go question her, and find out what she has to do with this rise in dark arts. Be careful. She's a prime suspect right now, and caution is highly advised."

            Harry looked at him with suspicion. "Why exactly are you giving this case to me?"

            "What?" Draco asked with feigned innocence. "Aren't you the Boy Who's Always Getting Lucky?"

            Behind the door, Ginny flipped to a page in a small notebook, and made a small check. "Score another for Malfoy. I don't think Harry's ever going to catch up," she muttered with a small grin.

***

            When Harry arrived back at Alex's office, after receiving a thorough briefing from Angelina on protocol during the assignment, which he deemed highly unimportant and had mostly ignored, Parvati welcomed him with a smile that reminded him of a cat that had just gotten the canary. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Are we at war yet?"

            "No danger yet," she replied. "If you dare brave the tempest, by all means, go on in."

            "Is it that time of month already?"

            "For Alex, isn't it always?"

            Harry shook his head-a gesture that he seemed to find himself repeating more often today than ever before-and headed into the office. Alex sat at his desk, forehead resting on the cool wood, arms hanging at his sides, perched precariously on the edge of his chair. Harry sat down, picked up his forgotten cup of coffee, determined it was now too cold to really enjoy, and waited for any sound. None emerged from the statuesque Ambassador.

            "So."

            Alex didn't reply.

            Harry tipped the rest of the coffee out into a plant in the corner, and twirled the cup around on his finger. "Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"

            Still no reply. Harry prodded Alex's arm. "That's your cue to start up the Gilbert and Sullivan, Ambassador Whitman."

            Alex looked up, voice dripping enough sarcasm to flood a small country. "Oh, are you a diplomat now? I had no idea. Will wonders never cease."

            Harry sat on the edge of the desk. "Oh, didn't the bride take well to your proposal?"

            "If we didn't need you so badly, I'd kill you." Alex sat up, and pulled the notebook from his desk drawer again. "Score one for you. You're only three behind."

            "You know," Harry mused, "that's the second time today someone's threatened my life."

            "It won't be the last. I can assure you of that."

            "Oh!" Harry rubbed Alex's feathery red hair, making it stand up. "Did the minister actually have business to talk about this time? Were you hoping for another social call instead?"

            Alex smoothed his hair back down. "Ha, ha. You're a riot, Potter."

            "But I'm right, aren't I?"

            "It's always business. This time, it was more about possible alliances, though."

            "Which of course you jeopardize every time you speak to him."

            "Tsau is a professional, the same as me. You don't give me enough credit."

            "Oh," Harry said, raising an eyebrow, "so he's Tsau now? Since when are you two on a first name basis?"

            "Since we both decided to subject you to Chinese water torture the next time you dare interfere with diplomatic business," Alex responded, finally cracking a smile and tossing the notebook at Harry's head. Harry caught it, and flipped open to the tally page.

            "You liar, I'm only one away from you! Well, just for that, I thing Tsau darling is going to receive a heartfelt confession from a certain Ambassador from the English Ministry…"

            "You wouldn't dare," Alex said.

            "Oh, I don't know," Harry teased. "Little Li might find it entertaining."

            Glaring at the mention of the Chinese Minister's youngest sister, Alex marked another check in the notebook.  "You're an ass, you know that?"

            "So I've been told. You should mention that opinion to Minister Malfoy sometime, he might promote you."

            Alex chuckled.  "So.  I take it that after yelling at you for no particular reason and making Virginia seethe, the Minister of Magic has decided that you, in fact, do not need a vacation."

            Harry grimaced.  "Something like that."  He picked a picture out of the file and threw it across the table.  "She look evil to you?"

            Alex studied the beautiful, lively face of the girl in the image, who waved at him.  "Not in the least," he agreed.  "Then again, neither did Neville Longbottom."

            "No," Harry agreed quietly.  His heart still gave a small pang for the pudgy, clumsy boy he had considered a friend during his Hogwarts years.  Then again, Hermione's rejection and the fact that all the boys in his dorm had banded together, leaving him out, had changed his sunny disposition.  It was still a shock when Neville had come up in the enemy lines during the war.  Harry always thought that it was highly ironic that he had at first compared Peter Pettigrew to him.  Instinct, after all, was always right.  Being an Auror, he was well versed in both irony and instinct.  "Well, I'm to look the girl up in Paris and see what sort of hoodoo she's up to over there."

            "The news from France has been more than a little disturbing lately," Alex agreed with concern.  "Followers of some hidden darkness banding together.  Killings, unexpected magical residue, turmoil in the Ministry.  I don't understand why the French Ministry isn't handling it.  Why are they sending you?"

            "They're probably short-staffed," Harry sighed.  "It looks like Voldemort all over again.  You've taken History of Magic.  You remember what it was like here when he was rising.  Or Grindewald, for that matter.  I'm sure I'll be working closely with Minister Poulain on this."

            Alex grinned.  "Well, at least you'll be working in close quarters with a highly attractive woman that is half-blooded Veela."

            "Who's old enough to be my mother," Harry said calmly.  "If anything, I hope she doesn't consider me an incompetent."

            "It could be worse.  I'm the one usually considered an incompetent.  You're the Boy Who Lived.  Although if Minister Malfoy keeps driving you at this pace, you won't be for much longer."

            "Do bring flowers to my funeral."

            "Naturally."

            Harry examined the picture in his hand again. "So, how much do you know about the situation, exactly? Malfoy wasn't exactly a fountain of information."

            "Sorry," Alex said, shaking his head, "but I'm a diplomat. I don't do mysteries. That's everyone else's forte."

            "Whereas yours is making diplomatic relations as difficult as possible."

            Alex was spared the need to respond by Parvati peeking into the room again. "Mr. Whitman? Floo for you. It's Li Liang."

            Alex dropped his head onto the desk. "Tell her I've been struck dead by lightning."

            "You used that last week. And she didn't believe it then, either." Parvati gestured towards the exit, grinning maliciously. "Come, now, the lovely paragon of perfection wishes a word with you."

            Alex stood, and looked at Harry pleadingly. "How do you deal with them?"

            "Not at all. I don't speak Chinese," he answered, purposefully playing dense. Alex shot him a glare, quickly shook himself into a professional demeanor, and left.

            Harry put the photo back into the file, and decided now was as good a time as any to get going. "Parvati, which floo room is free?"

            "Alex is in the one where Minister Liang contacted him earlier." Parvati frowned. "I think the one down in the direction of Muggle Relations is free."

            "Shouldn't you call him Mr. Whitman? He is your boss."

            "Since when do you care about professional protocol?"

            Harry frowned. "All right, you get that one."

            Parvati whipped out a notebook, and made a small mark. "I'm ahead."

            "Does everyone have those now?"

            She smiled. "You might want to get going before someone finds more work for you to do. Good luck. I'll make sure Alex doesn't create an international love triangle while you're gone."

            Harry patted her shoulder. "Compared to that, this job seems easy."

            He headed off towards the Muggle Relations division, and wished he had time to drop by to pay Hermione a quick visit-but, as Parvati had said, the longer he stayed, the more likely it was that something else would come up on top of this new assignment. It was all part of the vast conspiracy that seemed to have started after Hogwarts. Or before. By now, Harry was convinced the Powers That Be were having far too much fun at his expense.

            Once he'd taken the floo to Paris, Harry went into full Auror mode. Thankfully, his godfather had taught him more than enough French for him to make his way around Paris without much difficulty, which was particularly good, since Ministry rules stated that while on assignment, Aurors must be able to blend in with the Muggle world in case of dark dealings that weren't confined strictly to the wizarding community. He took the subway, heading towards the French Ministry of Magic.

            As the cars jerked around the city, Harry flipped through the file, looking for any details he might need right away. He very quickly found that something. A handwritten note from Draco was tucked in the front pocket. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before, decided it was probably due to the fact he was too busy looking at the lovely suspect in the pictures, and read.

            Important: It is imperative that you do no tell Minister Poulain more than you need to. She has some connections to this case which we do not wish her to know about until we know more. Only tell her what is necessary, and do not, under any circumstances, let her know any of the suspects' names! This last piece is especially important. Don't make me have your head on a platter, Potter.

            Harry frowned. "Now we're up to three threats."

            The strangeness of the instructions was enough to put him more on guard than he had been, however, and for the remainder of the trip, he hoped this assignment wasn't some contrived attempt on Draco's part to destroy him.

            After all, he'd done it before, even if it had been ten years ago.

            Not everyone could change overnight.

            He exited the subway after two stops and headed up the stairs into the bright Parisian sunlight.  It being summer, there were many people about, shopping, eating, and generally having a wonderful time.  On impulse, Harry bought an ice cream cone from a street vendor and licked at it as he walked down the street towards the building that would allow him to enter the Ministry building.  He hadn't been in France on business for at least three years, but he did remember that the desserts were spectacular.

            He finished the ice cream just as he approached a small, tidy looking café with the name "Les Deux Canards" and a pretty picture of ducks in the background of the sign over the cheerful red canopy.  There were a few people drinking coffee an eating croissants at the little tables set up on the sidewalk.

            Harry went in and smiled at the elderly lady standing behind the counter, busily pouring coffee.  "Bonjour, Madeleine," he said cordially.

            The elderly witch smiled at him and greeted him, quickly giving him a cup of espresso.  He sat at a table and sipped it for a few minutes before nonchalantly standing up and heading for the bathroom.  Once there, he entered the second stall of three, which had an "On Ne Marche Pas" sign on the door, locked the door behind him, and circled his wand around the attractive picture of running colors on French Impressionist style.  The wall slid silently open, and he walked through into a long hallway, which opened soon enough into a large lobby done in pale peach marble, with a desk manned by three young, attractive witches who seemed very busy.

            Harry approached the desk, smiled, and asked to see the Minister.  Informed she was waiting for him, one of the witches offered to escort him upstairs.  He thanked her and followed her through many corridors, up slowly moving stairways in the Muggle style, and through doors.  Finally, they entered a small reception area.  The young, efficient looking wizard at wok there gestured for Harry to enter, and he stepped into a clean, organized office with a large window letting in sunlight, and no pictures on the walls.  The office, therefore, was dominated by the woman in it, and Harry was sure it was intentional.  She had pale blonde hair, blue eyes, and minimal lines around them that seemed to come equally from laughing and frowning.  Despite her age, she did not look old, but rather seasoned and quite lovely.

            "Good afternoon, Meester Potter," she said with a slight accent.  "I 'ave 'ad a floo from Monsieur Malfoy telling me to expect you.  Won't you sit down?"

            Harry did, and offered a hand, deciding he liked her pleasant demeanor.  "It is lovely to meet you at last, Minister Poulain.  I have been hearing wonderful things about you."

            "Ah, you flatter me.  France is in turmoil.  I do ze best I can."

            "It is a difficult time," he agreed.  He thought he had met her somewhere before.  "You seem very familiar, Minister, if you will allow me to say so.  Do you know a Fleur Delacour?"

            A shadow crossed her face but quickly vanished, the pleasant smile back.  "I'm afraid I do not," she said warmly.  "Isn't she zat lovely girl 'oo 'as been in a coma for ze last two years?  I believe she may 'ave worked for ze ministry, but I do not know 'er personally.  I 'ave only just been elected."

            Harry had the strangest feeling she was lying.  He decided to change the subject.  "Well, Minister, I am being lent to you by Britain, so to speak.  I am at your disposal."

            She nodded.  "You can report to me as often as you need, but you 'ave, essentially, free reign.  Monsieur Malfoy 'as arranged it."

            Harry grudgingly thanked his superior in his mind for playing politics so that he didn't have to.  "I will bring what I find to you.  Perhaps I will be lucky again."

            "You seem to be always lucky," she said.  "Zat is why I asked for you."

            Harry felt flattered, and slightly off about keeping information from her.  Still, Malfoy, evil prat or not, was a good politician.  He always had a reason.  "I thank you for your faith, Minister.  I hope it will not be unjustified."

            "We 'ave every fais in your abilities, Meester Potter," she said.  "I 'ave arranged for sleeping quarters for you in ze 'Signet Gris'.  It is a small 'otel, but wizard run, and you will 'ave access to ze floo network, potions ingredients, and anysing else you may need.  My secretary will give you directions.  I am so sorry, but I 'ave a meeting.  I 'ope to see you soon."

            Harry thanked her.  "I will see you soon, Minister," he confirmed.  Leaving the office, he picked up directions to the inn from the wizard and headed back down the stairs to find his hotel and floo some possessions in from home.  One couldn't, after all, Apparate such a distance.

            Walking down the street, he had things to think about.  For example, what was Fleur Delacour doing in a coma?  He remembered her from years ago, and had brushed her on business a while back.  He had not heard of her being hospitalized, especially if her illness was so serious that none of the developments in wizarding medicine could cure her.  He should have.  Such illnesses were always big news.  He wondered what had happened that it was being suppressed.

            He found the hotel without a problem, and once he had checked in and gone back home for another set of Muggle clothes, a robe, and his invisibility cloak, he settled on his bed with the file open in his lap, and began poring through information on this mysterious woman he was to surveil.

            Her name was Gabrielle Delacour.  That shocked him enough that he looked over the sheet of personal information a few times.  In family relations, he found that her sister, Fleur, and her mother, Violette, were listed as alive.  Fleur was hospitalized, and Violette had vanished nearly the same time that had happened, and people had stopped seeing Gabrielle.

            After that, there was only supposition.  Someone who had escaped from the close-knit group of followers had babbled in fear for days.  The only thing that had come out very clearly before he had died of unknown causes was that the leader of the group was a small, willowy woman with angelic blonde curls and wide blue-green eyes.  The witness had died in his sleep one night, and there was no sign of magic about him except the terrified look on his face.  Avada Kedavra left no traces.  The description was all they had to go on.  Scouring the list of known witches, she was the only one that fit profile, unless someone was using Polyjuice Potion.  Even in that case, finding Gabrielle herself would lead to the criminal.

            The address that was listed as possibly hers was in a rich, exclusive Parisian neighborhood.  A woman calling herself Georgette Dubois was listed as living alone, and the neighbors mentioned that no one was ever seen going in or out.  That meant that she must have house-elves to do the shopping, and that everyone she wanted to see Apparated or flooed in.  She was on the floo network, but with a private connection.  No one she didn't want could get in.  That was a level of security even very rich wizards didn't bother with exclusively.  It smelled funny.

            Harry decided to pay her a visit in the morning.  Until then, he was tired, and staring at her laughing, childish pictures and trying to equate her with a villain wasn't helping.  Pointing his wand at the candle by his bed to extinguish it, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Slivery laughter and accented whispers whirled in his dreams.