CHAPTER 5:
THE DEMENTOR ON THE TRAIN
The Hogwarts Express: what a quaint little piece of transport. Not that Hercule Delacour minded. After all, he took the Knight Bus with his family, who were currently back home in France, and his daughters specifically on the way back to Beauxbatons. He enjoyed trying new ways of transportation. He even had a driver's licence, valid for both France and Britain, though he rarely used cars himself. One of the few means of transport he truly detested was Muggle aircraft, and even then, it was only because he detested Economy class(1). Packed together like sardines, or like cattle transported to the abattoir, breathing in recycled flatulence and body odour…if he could afford to fly Business or First Class, he would. It was generally better.
The past few weeks had been both immensely productive and intensely frustrating. Part of the reason for the latter was Fudge's very changeable cooperation. He suspected part of the reason to be Umbridge: the Batrachian Bitch (as he had already dubbed her in the privacy of his head(2)) was a blood-purist. Probably not a Death Eater, but certainly someone who'd sympathise with them. And she had many of the bull-headed and ultra-conservative values that went with the blood-purity views.
The galling thing was not whether she believed that Black was guilty or not. Rather, it was the fact that she didn't care, that he had escaped from what she considered his rightful imprisonment in Azkaban, and thus, put a stain on the Ministry's reputation. And she seemed to think that she was the Ministry, more so than the Minister. It was true she probably did most of the actual work of the Minister, but even so, that was a disturbing attitude to take. He recalled the infamous words attributed to Louis XIV of France: L'Etat, c'est moi. Or, I am the State.
Given what he had learned, Hercule knew it was more important than ever to try and learn more about Sirius Black, and it was to that effect that he intended to ride the Hogwarts Express. He got there early, before the crowds arrived, and made his way through the train, wondering if he could find a certain person beforehand.
As it happened, he did. At the very end of the train sat a tired, shabby wizard, sleeping fitfully. Though fairly young, he seemed older, for reasons Hercule knew, and would endeavour to keep to himself. And there were also the robes, shabby and obviously frequently-repaired. Hercule tutted quietly. Werewolves were dangerous creatures, that much was true. But what should count is the character of the man who becomes the beast. Hercule remembered the prejudices of Muggles against HIV and AIDS, prejudices that still were ongoing in one form or another(3). It was better to take reasonable precautions than ostracise them outright.
Then again, the Wizarding World was full of obstinate men, striving always to keep the status quo. Hercule Delacour, however, took after his fictional namesake: he would act in spite of obstinate men(4). What concerned him was truth and justice, though the latter concerned him somewhat more than the former.
As he sat down, placing his trunk up on the luggage rack, the man opposite him stirred but briefly. Hercule debated waking the man, but he was sure that the full moon wasn't that long ago, and the effects of the transformation were often traumatising on the body.
He did peer briefly at the trunk above the man, if only to confirm indubitably for once and for all what he already knew, that the man he was sharing the compartment with was Remus Lupin. And there it was, on the lid: Professor RJ Lupin. He looked down thoughtfully. Of course, that didn't rule out the possibility that the man in front of him was an impostor. A Metamorphagus, or perhaps a user of Polyjuice Potion.
Hercule smiled slightly to himself. During his time at the Ministry, he had caught up with a man he had met a few times, former Auror Alastor Moody, often known by the nom de guerre 'Mad-Eye', for his artificial magical eye, created to replace one he lost in his duties as an Auror. He still consulted with the DMLE, and had been pulled out of retirement to consult with the DMLE regarding Black. Still ranting about 'constant vigilance', he nonetheless seemed to agree with Hercule about the possibility of Black being innocent.
"I was amongst those who arrested him," Moody had confided. "But Crouch persuaded us that it was a cut and dried case, and given how we were, dealing with the mopping-up of all the Death Eaters…" He had sighed bitterly. "If Black does turn out to be innocent…Merlin, but I have some apologising to do. We all do."
Hercule nodded to himself as he recalled the conversation. Black's innocence was still in doubt, though not as much as his guilt was now. Amelia's epiphany was chilling and startling, though. Assuming Black was talking about Pettigrew, and not Harry Potter, how had he found out? Harry's name could have been mentioned in passing from an Auror, but how could Pettigrew's name be involved?
He did manage to get one clue: he interviewed the Minister for Magic, as Amelia had noted that Fudge had visited Black not long before Black's obsessed mutterings and his escape. Hercule had managed to beard the lion in his den, so to speak, though Fudge was merely an obstinate fool. It took the best part of half an hour and many interruptions and interjections from the Batrachian Bitch to get Fudge to admit to giving Black a copy of The Daily Prophet, to allow the man to do the crossword. It was possible that, somehow, something on that paper, either a picture or an article, had Black believe that Pettigrew was at Hogwarts.
After managing to wrangle the date of the paper from the man, Hercule asked the company for a back issue, and got one, one which he occasionally opened and looked at. The front page had a photo of the Weasleys, a fairly numerous brood of pureblood wizards and witches, though unlike some pureblood families, they had a fairly liberal attitude towards Muggles. They had won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Galleons Lottery, and had gone on a trip to Egypt at the time.
As he sat there, thinking, he heard the platform outside get ever busier. Children began filling the train. Eventually, the door opened, and three children came through. One of them he had met, none other than Harry Potter himself. Another was one of the Weasley children who had been in that photo from The Daily Prophet. The third was a girl with bushy hair and prominent teeth. Presumably these were the friends Fleur had said that Harry mentioned in their correspondence. "Mr Delacour!" Harry said, both delighted and a little dismayed. "Sorry, the other compartments are full. Can we sit here?"
"Pas de problème," Hercule said magnanimously. "You may if you wish. I do not object, and Professor Lupin is in no state to do so."
As they did so, the girl said, in French, "Hello, Monsieur Delacour, my name is Hermione Granger." Her accent was a bit spotty, but no less so than many of his kinsmen speaking English(5).
"And good morning to you, Hermione," he replied back. "I am Hercule Delacour, private detective."
"Pardon?" It seemed that her French didn't quite extend to that phrase. "Did you mean 'private detective'?" Or maybe she could figure it out.
"Indeed," Hercule said in English with a smile. "I am named for Monsieur Poirot, who himself was based on an ancestor of mine."
Hermione's eyes went as wide as saucers. "Your ancestor was the basis for Hercule Poirot?!"
"Quietly, please, Hermione." He indicated Lupin, still sleeping.
"Oh, sorry."
Harry, meanwhile, was explaining who Delacour was to Ron, a boy with red hair and a gawky demeanour. A bit of a dullard at first glance, but Hercule could sense a hidden sharpness beneath.
Greetings all around (save for Lupin, who remained just the right side of comatose) ensued, and they began their journey. For a time, the three children occupied themselves with talk of Hogsmeade, Harry bemoaning the fact that his permission slip hadn't been signed. The conversation was somewhat derailed briefly when a Sneakoscope went off within Harry's trunk, and had to be hastily muffled. There was also a brief argument when Hermione opened up her cat carrier: apparently the cat, Crookshanks, an ugly thing with a face that looked like someone had smashed it face-first into a wall, had tried to attack Ron's own pet rat.
"That cat," Hercule mused. "I think it may very well be part-Kneazle."
Ron's eyes widened, Hermione looked delighted, and Harry…looked a little bemused, until Hermione, after chiding him for not reading his books, explained Kneazles. Intelligent cats that often could tell how trustworthy a person was.
Conversation, eventually, turned to another subject. "So, Harry, you are enjoying correspondence with my daughter?"
"Yes," Harry said, nodding. "I mean…she's a bit…" He hesitated, obviously trying to find a word that wouldn't offend Hercule.
"I believe that she has high standards, if that is what you mean," Hercule said lightly. "But I daresay she is enjoying her correspondence with you. She seems more beautiful than ever, which is saying something, considering she is part-Veela."
Ron's eyes widened again. "Your daughter is part-Veela? Have you got a Veela wife?"
"No, no, no," Hercule chuckled good-naturedly, entirely unoffended by the boy's blunt and frankly rude question. He'd endured far worse. "I have a Veela mother-in-law. My most beautiful wife is half-Veela, and my two daughters, Fleur and Gabrielle, are quarter-Veela. Fleur is the one Harry is corresponding with. It helps her hone her English, and it also gives her someone to talk to, especially someone who understands the difference between appearance and reality."
Ron then got into a brief argument with Harry. Ron and Hermione had been told about Fleur, it seemed, but not the details. There was a certain envious streak in the redhead that made Hercule pause for thought. Then again, coming from a relatively poor family, maybe it was Ron believing Harry sometimes got all the luck, something Harry didn't actually have. However, the two managed to work it out. Harry had also managed to persuade Ron that Fleur wasn't his girlfriend. Then again, judging by the way that Harry protested just a touch too much, and the way that Fleur began to act lately since beginning the correspondence, Hercule wondered whether the seeds for such a relationship hadn't already been planted.
As the train moved ever northward, the weather outside became more and more grim. Damned British weather, Hercule cursed quietly to himself. He had occasional conversations in French with Hermione, who had been holidaying in France with her parents recently. The girl was fairly good, although she didn't know a few terms here and there. He asked her to consider teaching Harry the language. She shrugged, saying that they tended to be unmotivated in learning some subjects, unless exams were coming up, or else they had to research something threatening their lives.
He found that last remark somewhat curious. Then again, Dumbledore had told him something of the events that occurred last year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened again. None of the details, but apparently a student, possessed by a dark object, unleashed a Basilisk. It was Harry who had managed to track down the creature and slay it. Gilderoy Lockhart was exposed as a fraud, albeit one who had lost his memory to a memory charm. He was currently in St Mungo's.
Still, Hermione had enjoyed her holiday in France, and Hercule regaled her with tales of Beauxbatons. He also noticed Harry looking at Lupin curiously, seemingly debating whether to wake the poor man up. Ah yes, Hercule had mentioned that Lupin had been a friend of Harry's father, back at the Leaky Cauldron. "Let him sleep, Harry," Hercule said quietly. And Harry nodded.
Then, a most unwelcome intrusion arrived. A trio of children, led by a blonde-haired boy with a pointed face, entered the compartment. Hercule recognised him, or at least the family. He had seen Lucius Malfoy more than a few times around the Ministry while he was there. The boy was Draco, with a pair of bodyguard-like boys flanking him Hercule learned later were called Crabbe and Goyle. And Malfoy began by taunting Ron about the money the Weasleys won. As Ron stood, Hercule put a restraining hand on the boy's arm, and then stood. "Is this how a pureblood acts, hmm?" he asked the Malfoy boy mildly. "With rudeness and contempt, rather than politeness and nobility?"
"And who are you?" Draco sneered contemptuously.
"Hercule Delacour," Hercule said.
"Oh, the private detective," Draco sneered again. "The one who has a half-breed wife, and half-breed daughters."
Hercule smiled thinly. Presumably the boy's father had told Draco about Hercule. He calmed himself. It would not do to lose composure to this entitled brat. He then turned to Hermione. In French, he said, "It's a shame one like him does not realise the dangers of inbreeding, no?"
"No, sir," Hermione replied, smiling despite herself. "I'm glad someone understand that."
"Well, unfortunately, more than a few share this idiotic bigot's views. But it is a bad faith to follow." He smiled when he saw Hermione giggle. In French, 'bad faith' translated to 'mal foi'(6). A bad pun, but who cared?
"What did you just say about me to the Mudblood?" Malfoy demanded.
That slur in particular inflamed Hercule's anger almost as much as the slur on his wife and daughters did. He had had enough of this brat. "That you are a fool and a bully, young man, and that you are an idiot to attempt to bully an adult wizard and a former Auror, or anyone in their vicinity," Hercule said, standing and approaching the boy. "Vacate this compartment forthwith."
"You can't threaten me! My father…!" Malfoy said, backing away
"Is a rich and powerful man, yes, I know. I do not care. Au revoir," he said. Once Malfoy and his goons were outside the carriage, he slammed the doors shut with a contemptuous gesture. He began muttering expletives in French until he remembered Hermione. "My apologies," he said in English.
"He has that effect on a lot of people," Hermione said.
It was sometime later, when it began to rain, that the train, for some reason, ground to a halt. While they weren't that far from Hogsmeade Station, and thus Hogwarts, it was still too early for them to arrive. Then, the lights went out. Almost immediately, Hercule went for his wand, and cast Lumos. A pair of other students came in shortly after Harry looked out. One was Ginny Weasley, the younger sister of Ron, and the other, a plump boy, turned out to be Neville Longbottom. "What's going on?" hissed the students.
"I have a very nasty suspicion," Hercule murmured.
"Quiet," a hoarse voice sounded from nearby. Hercule realised that Lupin was now awake and alert, and adding to the Lumos spell with a handful of magical flames.
"Ah, so you are now awake, Professor," Hercule observed quietly.
"And you must be the French detective Dumbledore told me about," Lupin replied.
Before anything else could be said, the door slid open, opened by a hand that looked like it belonged to a long-dead corpse, fished from the water. For a moment, Hercule froze in fear. That damned fool Fudge had actually gone ahead with his imbecilic plan! The cloaked and hooded figure of a Dementor was framed in the doorway. Then, the creature inhaled, the breath of it rattling. The children began to quiver and whimper. Harry slumped over in a dead faint, shuddering and convulsing. Hercule felt every bad memory dredged up by the beast's foul inhalation, memories he struggled to ignore.
It was Lupin who recovered first. "None of us are hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks," he said firmly at the creature, hiding his fear well. "Go."
The creature turned its hidden head to look at Lupin. It didn't speak, but Hercule felt the contempt coming off it in waves.
"Away with you, monster!" Hercule snarled, waving his wand in synchronisation with Lupin's own wand. Simultaneously, they said "Expecto patronum!"
A blast of silver mist emitted from each wand, and the Dementor was repulsed. With a thwarted hiss, it glided away.
"Thank you," Hercule said to Lupin. "I have never actually encountered one before. It is not an experience I enjoy."
"No, thank you," Lupin said, as he checked the children. "Two Patronuses are better than one."
"Harry?" Hermione asked. "What's wrong with him?"
"Dementors," Hercule snarled angrily. "They dredge up the worst memories from your mind. Suck the happiness from you. Living, malevolent embodiments of depression. But Harry had a worse reaction than most. It is not unheard of to faint, but it is a rare reaction."
As Ron and Hermione went to work on reviving Harry, Hercule felt his face twist into an angry snarl. Fudge, in his idiocy, was condemning the students of Hogwarts to have to deal with these hideous creatures! And the boy Fudge was trying to protect from Black was probably the one who had the worst reaction to them.
Damn you, Fudge! Damn you, Umbridge! Hercule bellowed in the privacy of his own head. Imbeciles and incompetents and just plain malicious irritants! I will not let you thwart justice. I need to know the truth!
CHAPTER 5 ANNOTATIONS:
And I'm back with this story after a long absence. This story is a relatively low-priority one for me. Ironic, considering it is probably the most popular of my stories (in terms of favourites and follows) on this website. Then again, Harry Potter fanfics in general seem to be very popular. Hopefully, the next chapter will be a bit quicker at least, but don't hold your breath.
For the next chapter, we're back to Harry. We might switch back and forth between Harry and Hercule, true, but the emphasis will be on Harry.
Review-answering time. Note that I cannot and will not answer all reviews, but I thank you for your praise and enjoyment all the same.
diagonalpumkin: Thanks. There's a lot of claiming to be the definitive or premiere service, product, institution, etc. It's all really a load of hyperbole, I reckon.
Thisissupposedtobeblank: Actually, Petunia's jealousy is made clear in the very first book. She rails against how her parents were proud of Lily. And by the way, it's been over a month since I posted the last chapter. So there. :P
Rapidashponyta: You mean with my avatar? It's of Ace beating the crap out of a Dalek with a modified baseball bat from Doctor Who: Remembrance of the Daleks. I got the image from a link on TV Tropes.
Klaw117: I probably won't finish this story, and certainly not anytime soon if I do manage it. This one was meant to be more of an experiment than anything else. Hell, I'm amazed that my account has four completed stories so far: the first two stories of my Harry Potter and Final Fantasy VII crossover, the Cetra Heritage Saga, and the first two stories of my Borderlands fanfic, the Ballad of Ricky and Angel. If inspiration strikes for my non-fanfic writing, then obviously that's going to take a priority.
That being said, I am striving to make a Harry/Fleur* pairing that isn't really OOC. They're not suddenly going to fall in love. This will be a fairly slow-burn romance that begins as a friendship.
As for your comment regarding the accents, I am merely worried that I might not be able to do it consistently enough. So I thought it better just to write the dialogue and point out the accent. I do bring some of it across: whenever Hercule or the others speak in English, they have few if any contractions. I also think the accent in the books does seem stereotypical.
Thanks everyone for your reviews and kind words. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
1. I do too. I have long, lanky legs, makes it hard for me to sit comfortably in Economy class on flights.
2. I dunno whether anyone has ever called Umbridge the Batrachian Bitch before, but it's suitable. Batrachian means toad or toad-like. If nobody's thought of the term, I hope I have coined a new fandom neologism for the Umbitch.
3. This story is set in 1993. People forget how badly people infected with HIV were prejudiced against. I recall that Isaac Asimov contracted the illness through a blood transfusion (during a heart operation) from an infected person, and kept the knowledge secret for some years because of the anti-AIDS sentiment. I also seem to recall reading somewhere that David Thewlis, the actor who played Lupin, actually made the choice to portray the character as the magical equivalent of an AIDS sufferer.
4. Title drop! :P
5. I'd imagine Hermione knows a lot of French, but her accent still needed work. It's to show that just because people who speak other countries can't speak English without an accent, doesn't mean that the reverse isn't true at all.
6. I couldn't resist pointing this out, given that we have a French character in the story.
*Drawpaw, a reviewer to this chapter, pointed out that they got confused when I wrote Harry/Luna instead! D'oh! That's the pairing I'm going for with the Cetra Heritage Saga. I've corrected it. _