Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the associated characters.
Chapter 15
She brushed a strand of loose, honey hair from her face before taking a sip of her celebratory 1999 Chateau Lafite-Rothschild. The intensely flavored red had been a gift from her Great Aunt upon being appointed Ambassador to the ICW. Gabrielle had promised Annette they'd drink it together when Veela won their rights, instead she stood quietly in the opulent ballroom, her gold accessories dancing in the well-lit room, celebrating Elder Monclair's dream alone, surrounded by people who did not care.
"Congratulations, Ambassador Delacour." The Slovenian ambassador said with a radiant smile that drew her to his perfect teeth and full lips. "Long overdue."
The man's sincerity was obvious, a rarity in the ICW, and it had absolutely no effect on her. She felt so empty inside. What was the cost of these dreams?
She squashed those thoughts. It wasn't her fault that Victoire went missing, or that her mother and mentor were murdered, that blame lay elsewhere. Those wrongs were being righted by the best.
Still she smiled widely at her colleague, wondering all the while why she should be gracious to these monsters, because they let her race have access to rights everyone was born with? A feeling of anger coursed through her. They should feel ashamed for the way they've treated herself and other non-intelligent beings, not relishing the ego boost that came with voting for equality. She'd spent three years lobbying for these rights, if they'd really cared it wouldn't have been a war.
Her eyes fell upon Ambassador Beaucourt. The French witch had been around long enough to write the discriminating legislation keeping halfbreeds out of the ICW. The same legislation she so passionately denounced the day prior in her speech in support of Veela and equality.
She hated career politicians. The opportunistic cunts clung to power, not values.
The rest were milling about the ballroom like schools of barracuda, looking for the next victim of their extortion scheme. They'd make requests and force targets into alliances that solely benefited the current member. They'd make unrealistic demands with floating deadlines. They'd promise the poor bastards a vote of support only to backtrack because the support doesn't align with one of their existing allies' goals. The poor werewolves, she thought, would be next.
Gabrielle ignored her anger and self-doubt. This moment wasn't about her or Victoire or Elder Monclair, it was about them all.
"It is, thank you for your continued support." She curtsied lightly to humor the man. Now that they were in, the Veela needed allies, would she become what she so vehemently hated? Would she allow her ego to talk her into clinging to this shallow, empty life? She'd wanted to be remembered in the annals of history, how juvenile she'd been.
The thought depressed her. The constant politicking, the endless backstabbing and bickering, would it never end?
She spent a couple of minutes catching up with her Slovenian counterpart before her attention found the French and American ambassadors talking animatedly with their Canadian counterparts.
She fought the frown threatening to break out across her face, their interaction from the previous evening in Barcelona still fresh in her mind. Now was not the time to be petty, especially towards friendly nations.
Her eyes caught those of Lavender Brown's. This time Gabrielle didn't keep the displeasure off her face as she instinctively patted her cream and gold clutch where her phone and an unread text from Astoria lay.
She hadn't had much of an opportunity to talk to her friend of late, a fleeting text here and there, but from what Gabrielle could tell Astoria and Scorpius were happy with no plans to return to the Isles anytime soon, especially not considering that morning's Prophet.
As the reporter made her way across the room towards her, Gabrielle's thought's shifted to Louise and her eyes narrowed. The Elder had been responsible for the information in Brown's piece on the Malfoy's that morning just as she had acted as the woman's source on Victoire's disappearance the day before.
"Miss Brown." She said with a pleasant smile not wanting the reporter to gain the upper hand as Gabrielle handed her a glass of something a little less generous than her Rothschild.
She hated the woman's doe eyes and magically enhanced lips. The obnoxiously fake laugh she let loose when she didn't understand a joke but laughed anyways because she knew she should. The way she curled her brown hair on her finger, not out of habit, but because she knew it drew attention to her glowing face; she wondered how long Brown spent trying to mimic Gabrielle's own aura? The thought made her smirk.
The bitch's blouse was less than professional for such an event, she noticed idly. "You look absolutely beautiful! How have you been?"
How badly she wanted to take the woman home with her, cut her hamstrings, then her achilles, and watch as the poisonous witch flopped around on her marble floor like a fish out of water. Maybe she'd enjoy the occasion with salmon and a bold red? The violent fantasy made her smile.
She hated the woman for her unyielding friendship with Patil. She hated her for her scarily accurate portrayal of Lucius Malfoy's murder. She hated her for shifting the discussion from the ICW vote to her missing niece. But most of all she hated her for her fawning series on that same niece. Victoire had enough pressure without the scrutiny of London society. Gabrielle would piss on the woman's grave, when the time came.
"That's great!" Gabrielle's response to Brown's long-winded reply was enthusiastic.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I see someone I must speak to!"
Lavender left her there mouth ajar. "That bitch" she mumbled audibly. How dare Lavender Brown make the considerable effort to approach her only to leave without exchanging pleasantries.
She sighed, upset at herself for her dour mood. This should be the happiest day of her life. She'd pictured it a thousand times over the months: her mother, sister, Victoire, Elder Monclair, Harry, and herself, celebrating a historic vote. Instead she felt… hollow. Dead inside.
She shifted uncomfortably, as if to shake herself of the thought. Harry would find her. He was the best, Annette had been right.
Gabrielle smiled as her thoughts stayed with Harry. Every moment Aiden lived was a danger to a thousand year fortune in Gringotts and yet his focus stayed on Victoire. Smith was safely in custody with enough evidence to tie him to all twenty five disappearances, Harry had kept his end of the bargain.
Gringotts had been bankrupt prior to procuring the Zekanot's fortune four hundred years ago, for that they owed them a favor bound by magic, no matter how uncomfortable, the goblins couldn't say no, magic wouldn't allow for it. For the first time Gabrielle wondered if the Goblins had considered the possibility?
Of course they had. They were economists and strategists foremost. They would have been aware of Harry's contract with Annette just as they had to be aware of Gabrielle's own relationship with the man.
Catching sight of the new Supreme Mugwump, she sighed. With Smith in custody and the Veela holding full rights, it would be best if she could get Kovac to observe the questioning personally.
"Emilia!" She cried, another fake smile on her face. "A word, please." There was no rest for the wicked, afterall.
"What's new?" Her sister asked with forced calm as she paced the kitchen with a glass of wine in one hand, a muggle cigarette in the other. Fleur looked as bad as Gabrielle had ever seen her.
From her perch on the wooden kitchen table she caught the eye of Bill sitting on the simple marble countertop opposite of her. They both smirked, the cursebreaker was a lot more calm than his wife.
"Tonks continues to watch Aiden's residence for movement but there has been nothing so far. Harry is working several leads and has enlisted Miles Bletchley to help track down Lavender Brown."
"Bletchley." Her sister spat the name. "The cleaning potions heir?"
Gabrielle quenched her annoyance but Bill beat her to it. "Miles is connected to the seedier parts of London through his mother. Lavender also runs in those circles. If Harry can find Lavender than he will find Parvati."
Her sister shook anxiously as she began her soliloquy.
Bill looked on patiently. The Weasley family, except for possibly Percy, held Harry in such high regard, they were so sure of his inevitable success that Gabrielle felt it a bit unfair to Harry, should he fail his relationship with the family would be altered forever. Everyone should be allowed to fail, the circumstance wasn't his fault.
That thought made a shot of guilt run through her. If he failed she will have lost Victoire; could their relationship survive that?
No, it couldn't. As much as it pained her to think about such things it was the truth. She would slowly grow to resent him for his failure but feel guilty about it because it wouldn't be his fault. He would shoulder all the blame and sense her anger, the Weasley's anger, and he'd isolate himself with drugs or alcohol, likely both.
Suddenly her mood mirrored Fleur's.
She glanced around the room uncomfortably for a distraction, finding one in the square windows doting the kitchen.
Shell Cottage was built on the coast near cliffs overlooking the Strait of Dover surrounded by green, the smell of sea salt in the air.
The house itself was small; three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, much smaller than the Burrow. It was a deceptively cozy home that sat on top of an underground bunker that could house thirty people.
"A new dark lord rises every fifteen to twenty years. It doesn't hurt to have a little added security."
Bill's words echoed in her mind as she turned her attention back to the suddenly quiet argument; both Bill and Fleur were staring at her expectedly. "Excuse me?" She said, a touch of red coloring her cheeks at being caught unaware.
"How is the interrogation of Smith? Have we learned anything from him that could help?"
Her frown deepened at the inquiry. Legal Counsel for the Zekanot, both internal and external, had advised against questioning Smith until they were certain they could meet all the requirements of an ICW interrogation.
"We have enough evidence on Zacharias Smith to put him away for twenty five cases of kidnapping and human trafficking. Each case carries a minimum of fifteen years in Azkaban" She said evasively. "He was apprehended before Victoire went missing and George was murdered. Harry does not believe he was involved in any way."
Fleur nodded appreciatively while Bill's eyes narrowed. He had undoubtedly seen through her misdirection. "Thank you, Gabrielle." He said with a smile, handsome despite the scars given to him by Greyback during the war. "How have you been?"
She looked on appreciatively, glad for the change in subject. "I've been good." She began as she caught them up on a few minor life events, her mind never far from Victoire.
"She's not there." Tonks said bluntly as he approached.
"Are you sure?" Aiden's home in the Orkney Islands sat on a small, isolated peninsula atop a cliff about a hundred meters above the North Sea down a dirt path that wound through the green hills, not terribly far from Kirkwall.
"Yes." She said sharply, straight black hair tied back in a ponytail, the tip of her wand barely visible beneath her white, long-sleeved blouse.
Tonks had never been a fan of Gabrielle's, despite her deep friendship with Bill and Fleur. Harry got the impression that Tonks felt as though Gabrielle's ambitions seemed to cash in on her niece. Harry's own relationship with the veela had, in a way, slightly harmed his relationship with Sirius's cousin and, ostensibly, Remus, and Harry's godson Teddy. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"Fair." He said with a nod. "I still want to poke around a bit." His eyes glowed mischievously. Aiden was a capable wizard.
Tonks nodded, unfazed by the intrusion despite the obvious ethical dilemma. Nymphadora Tonks was still a Black, she would put family before her duty to the department of magical law enforcement. "I'll back you up, just in case."
He nodded his head in appreciation as he gave his wand several waves. "You feel that?" He asked Tonks absentmindedly, willing to wait for her answer.
Flashbacks of his own journey, and a similar conversation in a special cave with Dumbledore passed through his mind. Merlin, he was becoming Dumbledore.
Tonks smirked, a playful smile on her lips, her thoughts aligned with his as she waved her wand dramatically.
He couldn't help it. "Miss Tonks?" He began in amusement, drawing her attention. "If you tighten up those flourishes you will get more accurate results while conserving energy."
Unexpectedly she transformed; her natural black hair replaced with short, pink hair, her bone structure shuffling slightly as she added several centimeters and her chest swelled.
A decade of life erased itself for a moment as a much younger Nymphadora Tonks pointed her wand at his face.
He felt his nose elongate and his face crinkle and was subtly aware of a large wizards cap appearing on his head.
When Tonks was done she snapped a picture with her phone before showing it to him.
Harry smiled. He looked like Professor Dumbledore. "You're not going to show that to him, are you?" He said as he undid the transfiguration.
"Next time I'm at Hogwarts, yeah." Merlin, she'd even adjusted her voice box to sound twelve years younger.
"Ughh." He groaned, stifling a teenage crush.
She smirked before sticking her tongue out childishly. "You love me."
"I know." They sat in silence as Tonks concentrated on the task at hand. "Inferi." She started. "Two dozen, plus a bunch of other nastiness, a water golem and merlin knows what else." She looked back at him. Despite being six years his senior and a terror in her own right, she wasn't him. "Can it be disabled?"
He waved his wand several times and sighed dramatically. "No. Aiden's being a real dick about his security."
"Activate it then fiendfyre?" She questioned.
Harry frowned. That would be the ideal solution but… "I don't want him to know we were here."
"Oh joy." She mumbled. "What do you suggest we do, Lord Potter-Black?"
"I'm thinking on it, Nymphadora." He snapped.
Glancing at each other, they exchanged grins.
"What about your cloak?" She said less than a minute later.
"Yeah." He replied. He had hoped to avoid that. They couldn't both fit and he would feel more comfortable with Tonks's wand at his back. "That's the best option."
He removed death's cloak from his pocket, "there's only room for me." He said apologetically.
Tonks nodded in understanding. "I get it." Her face returned to normal, she looked identical to her infamous aunt. "I'll be here when shit goes tits up." He smiled "I know."
1111
He stared up on the hundred meter water golem hurling balls of water speckled with coral and marine life at him with a relaxed smile as he vanished the large balls of sea water with ease, banishing the occasional whale or dolphin along the way, his wand moving continuously, searching for an opening as he sidestepped left towards the cliffs.
Large-scale elemental spells were predominantly scare-tactics while the real threat got into position, it wasn't overly difficult to dismantle an elemental, they were slow beings fueled by raw magic, you just had to survive long enough for the golem to lose some steam.
In this case, the real danger was that the army of inferi had decided to join in on the fun.
That complicated things a bit. He amplified his voice; "alright Tonks -" he stopped, his window had opened, giving him precious seconds to attack.
'Fulminus.' He thought rapidly, three bolts of angry, purple lightning erupting from the sky and finding their mark, effectively neutralizing the water golem he shifted his attention to the horde of inferi descending upon him. 'Fiendfyre' he thought, a controlled blast of cursed flame erupting from his wand to devour a half dozen undead.
He inhaled slowly, his concentration fully on controlling the flame. Left to its own devices, fiendfyre would burn until there was no physical matter left to feed its wrath. If he lost control he'd likely destroy the entire archipelago. That would be annoying to clean up.
Exhaling slowly, his hips and shoulders moved in unison across the field, devouring the remaining zombies as they descended upon him.
His warm wand bucked wildly as he ended the spell and turned to Tonks, who was staring at him incredulously, "nevermind!" He said sheepishly.
"Unbelievable." Tonks said with an exasperated smile. "Unfucking believable."
"Be a doll and help me unravel the rest of the protections. No need to be bashful now, Aiden's going to know we were here." He finished, gesturing to the fields of ash, and smoke filled skies, the smell of sulphur burning his nostrils.
A few minutes later the wards fell and he turned to Tonks. "Aside from the kitchen and den, the place is spartan." He said, recalling the layout of Aiden's place with ease.
Tonks nodded. "Do you expect any booby traps?"
He smirked. Aiden never would have expected someone to get this far. "No." He said. "Aiden has always believed himself to be the most capable wizard on the planet." Harry explained. "Us getting this far is incomprehensible to him, poor idiot."
She nodded and they stepped through the patio into a well-equipped kitchen. "He's actually a damn good chef." Harry explained conversationally as they passed Aiden's walk-in meat locker. Knives hung from the walls like fine art intermixed with free-hanging pots and pans and dual center islands. The kitchen was a house elf's wet dream.
"If there's going to be anything useful, it will be in his den." Harry explained. "I'll check there, you search the rest of the house for anything you may want to loot."
"Aye, aye, captain." Tonks said with a mocking salute and a pretty smile.
Once she left him, Harry made a beeline towards a well-organized office with walnut cabinetry highlighted by a gigantic framed American flag with twenty nine stars. A flag flown over the Battle of Buena Vista, where both American General Zachary Taylor and Mexican General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna claimed victory.
Aiden had won it in a poker game with a muggle.
Harry passed through the room, heading straight for the back wall. Not breaking stride, Harry passed through the wall and into a more compact den that felt more like a wine cellar than study.
His eyes wandered the room in search of a small, iron, muggle lockbox.
He smiled as he caught sight of it sitting at the end of a bookshelf on its side, crammed between two books. Whatever Aiden did, or did not know was in that lockbox.
Grabbing it he exited the hidden den to find Tonks waiting patiently.
"What's that?" She said loudly, pointing at the box under his left arm.
"Maybe nothing." He said with a slight shrug, not convinced of that notion himself. "But we need Aiden's blood to find out."
Tonks nodded in understanding. "I'll keep my eye out for him."
He smiled. He'd missed this. "Thank you, Tonks."
A cruel expression on her elongated face made Gabrielle resemble a harpy as she sat across from her goblin counterpart. She may not have the abilities of her niece, but that didn't mean she couldn't call on her heritage when needed.
To her right sat Hermione, who joined her at Gringotts at Gabrielle's invitation. To Hermione's right sat Hugo, who had been retained, without his knowledge, on Harry's behalf; they were discussing his family's fortune, afterall.
To Gabrielle's left sat Matilda Waters. A young, mousy veela who served as the Elder Council's Chief Legal Advisor. The veela's anxious jitters were making her nervous.
Opposite her sat a Gringotts contingent highlighted by Stonefoot, a prickly goblin with pointy teeth and long, thin fingers. The goblin's presence sent a message.
"Elder Delacour - " Stonefoot began, his voice even, if not a bit quiet. "Gringotts values the business of the Zekanot above all others, we show our appreciation through your generous interest rates." The older goblin cut right to the chase, avoiding small talk completely.
Nine percent. That was the ridiculous interest rate that Gringotts had to honor until at least 2606. But Gabrielle remained quiet. She wasn't here to speak. That's what she paid lawyers for.
"Interest rates locked in by magic for at least a thousand years." Hermione chimed in, echoing her thoughts. The woman always did her homework. "Which brings us back to the discussion at hand, the promise -"
"-is not valid if it involves a third party." Stonefoot interrupted. It struck her that Hermione was with Harry the day he broke into Gringotts and that her presence more than likely insulted Stonefoot.
Not that she gave a shite.
"The wording of the offered favor does not read that way, I suspect magic would agree with my clients interpretation." Hermione countered.
Gringotts lost a large majority of their clientele during the Goblin Rebellions of the late sixteenth, early seventeenth centuries; over ninety percent of their business walked out the door in a little over a decade. The Zekanot invested the equivalent of several billion galleons following the peace agreement in 1606, earning themselves a preposterous interest rate for a thousand years and one, unquestioned favor from the goblin nation.
The Veela had guarded it greedily for over four hundred years.
She watched silently as Hermione passed over a copy of the ancient agreement.
"It's quite simple, really. The request must be something that the goblins can provide. Unquestionably they were thinking of a military or political alliance of some sort, but the goblins provide an obvious service as well. The verbiage used doesn't preclude Gringotts."
Hermione's current words echoed what she had told Gabrielle the day before.
Stonefoots face soured while some of his contingent snarled in an attempt at intimidation. Hermione simply raised a well plucked eyebrow. The woman had broken into the bank at seventeen, she wasn't going to be intimidated now.
For the first time Matilda spoke. "The Zekanot is calling in your favor. We request that you pardon Lord Harry James Potter-Black by the end of the day. If you fail to produce a pardon, the Zekanot will be forced to exercise our out clause outlined in section four lines nine through thirty six."
Gabrielle watched in admiration as the woman threatened Gringotts Chief Legal Officer without a bit of anxiety and with a bit of venom, as though she had been dying for the opportunity; whether it was to prove herself, stand up to the goblins, or impress her, Gabrielle did not know.
Stonefoot scoffed. "Enough of your nonsense, chick." The goblin eyed her menacingly. "You're going to let a child speak for you, Elder Delacour." He spat out the title mockingly, his demeanor shifting.
Matilda snapped her fingers in front of the goblin's face, drawing his attention back to her. "Issue the pardon and remove the hold on Lord Potter-Black's vaults, today, or the Zekanot will begin withdrawing funds tomorrow." She paused to hand the man a slip of paper. "Those are instructions on how to get in contact with our contact with the elves. You can send our funds, plus the 10% breach of contract fee, valued at roughly 10 billion galleons, there if that's the route you wish to take. Remember, that penalty must be paid in gold, if Gringotts is unable to pay out the penalty then the previously agreed upon solution will be provided in the form of equity in the bank, to be paid out quarterly, in gold."
Matilda smiled sweetly, she'd made her point, Gabrielle wondered if she'd twist the knife?
"A refusal to abide by those terms would leave the punishment up to magic." As an ambassador Gabrielle winced. Short term gratification like this generally caused her long-term nightmares.
Stonefoot's advisors were livid but the goblin himself had gone calm, a pained look on his ugly features. He was an economist and a lawyer. Losing their largest investor would lead to a mass exodus and destabilize his people and the economy at large.
Gabrielle wondered what was going through the ancient goblins mind? Annoyance and anger, obviously, maybe a touch of disbelief? Annette would be bluffing at this point, Stonefoot would've known that.
"I don't believe you." He said calmly, taking a sip of tea. "In order to punish us you would lead your people to ruin? After all you've gained?"
She remained silent. Gabrielle wasn't bluffing.
"My client doesn't bluff." Hermione started coldly. "If the favor isn't honored, then my client will move their substantial wealth, as will the Weasley family."
She hadn't been expecting that.
While Stonefoot stared at them, Gabrielle could see the plethora of emotions going through his mind.
He could fight, brush her off and take his chance that magic would understand.
He could have his guards kill everyone in the room.
He could call her bluff.
But he wouldn't, not because of some misplaced sense of honor but because of self-preservation. Stonefoot would be forced to retire in shame because of this, but at least he and his family would live.
"We require the return of all goblin artifacts in the Potter family vaults in exchange for the pardon." Stonefoot said quietly. His contingent looked slightly betrayed at the elder goblins' words.
"No." Hugo said, speaking for the first time, a bored expression on his face as he picked his nails. "You have no leverage here. Lord Potter-Black is willing to replace the dragon he allegedly stole as a gesture of good will, but his property remains with him."
A defeated look overcame Stonefoot. She couldn't fault the goblin for trying, he needed a win.
"There will be no press release?" Stonefoot asked, a subtle tinge of hope clutching to his voice. A year ago she would've empathized with his desperation, now she felt nothing at all.
For the first time Gabrielle spoke. "No press release, no media, no story. Just one of your wealthier family accounts investing its money and participating in the economy for the first time in over twenty eight years." Goblins were stubborn little buggers. She really had to spell it out for them.
"Thank you." Stonefoot responded graciously in a rare moment of brevity. He snapped his fingers and a document appeared in front of him.
Gabrielle waited while Hugo and Hermione reviewed the pardon, a genuine smile on her face for the first time in days. Harry deserved this.
Ten minutes later the quartet found themselves in the Leaky Cauldron when Hermione's curiosity got the better of her.
"Matilda!" She said, drawing the young veela's attention. "When did you make contact with the elves?"
Matilda glanced Gabrielle's way briefly, offering her a coy smile before returning her attention to Hermione. "I don't know what you're talking about, Hermione. I've never met an elf in my life."
Gabrielle laughed loudly, days of tension evaporating in an instant.
"How do we tell Harry?" She said, a freshly forged key in her right hand, a beer in her left, feeling more optimistic than she had in weeks.
A/N: Sorry for the delay. Life's busy. This chapter's short because it has been partitioned. I didn't want to go another month without an update. Because this chapter's partitioned, Chapter 16 is well underway, I hope to write some this weekend.