A slightly different take on my usual start to a story, being mellow rather than immediately action-packed and fish-hooked to all hell. Not sure how it's going to go.
The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.
Cafe Surplomb béni, Pyrenees Mountains, Southern France
The sun's dying down already? Delilah flipped the book shut with a huff, shielding her eyes from its sputtering rays. It would be criminal, trying to study like this.
Her pale nose wriggled as she squinted out towards the bejewelled sky, eyeing the winged Abraxan horses that slowly lapped the snow-kissed faces of the mighty Pyrenees mountains. At least the view makes up for it.
A heat of a different kind hit her side, and she glanced over across the balcony to find bright green eyes watching her curiously. Or perhaps watching the sunset? The scars on her face burned beneath his gaze, and subconsciously her fingers brushed against the pink rivers of calloused tissue to hide it from view.
She glanced away quickly as the young man leant forwards, eyes still flitting in her direction every now and then as he scratched away in a book of his own.
Deciding to take a gamble, she drew a breath and cleared her throat. "I don't believe I am part of your revision, Mister Potter."
A soft snort of amusement met her claim. So he was looking at me...
Her eyes fell over the rolling fields below, climbing up and then landing on the beautiful castle of Beauxbatons. It looked so surreal with its gentle waterfalls and flowing cyan banners. It seemed unreachable... like a dream that she couldn't touch.
She would have to return there soon before curfew; although she was loath to break this moment, to step away from this lull in time.
She turned, finding Harry now mulling over the horizon. His features were marred by a light frown and his teeth worried softly at his lips. It was a look she was quite familiar with.
He was focused, pondering something, and she found her own gaze lingering a bit too long much to her chagrin.
His eyes flickered minutely to her, and his fingers adjusted at the tip of his quill.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Sliding off the balcony railing, Delilah approached. She took her time poking through his notes and books, a mild irritation settling into her as Harry, predictably, began to ignore her. Sighing a little louder than necessary, she let one of the thick textbooks drop to the table with a thud, smirking as her student's lip twitched in displeasure.
She didn't bother actually checking his work. It was without a doubt near perfect, all in a neat format that would look eerily similar to her own.
Delilah smiled at that. It had taken forever to break Harry out of his chicken-scratch habits when they first started all those years ago.
Humming nonchalantly, she edged further around and finally peered over his shoulder to peek at the book he was scribbling in, and her eyes fell upon… herself.
He was sketching a portrait of her.
He had captured her likeness in strokes of ink both thick and thin, and she found herself slightly embarrassed to see that he had copied down her 'pose' as it were. She sniffed, half-amused and half-scandalised that he had portrayed her in such a... pouty way.
"You're getting better," she breathed, before slowly frowning. "Though that doesn't look like homework to me…"
"Perceptive of you- ow."
His snarky reply was cut short as Delilah flicked his ear. He fell silent, and idly she reached over to brush a few strands of his unruly black hair behind his now red ear. They remained in a companionable silence for a moment, just watching the piece come to life with every second that passed.
Eventually, Harry sighed. "I wish you had let your hair down," he said, yawning. "Trying to recreate that silly bowtie in your bun drove me crazy."
Rolling her eyes, Delilah poked softly at his shoulder. "Some women may find that untoward, you know?"
He hummed softly, eyes on his work. "But not you?"
"Does it look like my wand is out?"
He laughed, and a faint smile took her lips as she paid the portrait another glance.
She couldn't help but find it pretty…
The tip of the quill moved towards her face in the portrait, and her smile suddenly slipped from her face. Her hand fell on his shoulder without her really meaning to. "Wait-" she said quickly, and Harry froze.
Swallowing, Delilah glanced up to the sky once more. The stars were beginning to bare, and the pastel glows had faded. "It's late." She winced, obviously… "We should be leaving."
Curiously, she felt him stiffen ever so slightly beneath her fingers.
Harry meanwhile exhaled softly, knowing exactly what awaited back home. He shook his head. "One minute."
The quill began to move once more, and her grip on his shoulder tightened. "Harry… don't…"
He paused once more.
"You'll ruin it." The whisper barely left her lips, but he heard it nonetheless.
His gaze swung over to her, and once again she felt her scars burn. She didn't look away this time, however. After a moment, he sighed.
"I've got one too, you know."
She scoffed at him. "Mine's much harder to hide than yours is." She then laughed bitterly. "At least yours is famous."
"Mhmm, fame and the only thing I can remember my mother by. Lucky me."
He regretted the words the moment he said them.
He let out a damned breath as her eyes went wide in hurt. "That's… not what I- That's not fai-"
"I know," he mumbled. "I shouldn't have said that."
Swallowing thickly, Delilah coughed into her hand and promptly walked back to the balcony, packing up her things.
Letting out a silent groan to the night sky, Harry stood and scooped up the book he had been doodling in. Following her, he held it out. "Hey-"
"We should really get a move on, Harry-"
"You checked all but this one, what happened to be being thorough, Miss Histwood?"
Looking over her shoulder, she shot him an annoyed glare. In response, he began to wiggle the book childishly, and she immediately grabbed it from him with a panicked cry. "Stop it! The ink isn't dry yet, you'll ruin it, idiot!"
She paused, her hands cradling the still open book. Thankfully, the drawing was unblemished. It's still warm…
Seeing his eyes on her once again, she gave him another half-hearted glare. "Are you ready?" Despite the question, she didn't wait for a reply before reaching into her blouse and withdrawing a simple pocketwatch.
Harry cocked his head, before beginning to turn around. "Actually, hold on, I think I forgot some-"
She pressed it into his chest. "Potter estate, heir's chambers."
A blue glow pierced out from the gaps in between their skin, and the portkey charm took hold of them both before vanishing, pulling them along with it.
Unknown location, Cotswalds, England, Great Britain
Earlier…
Dry leaves crunched underfoot as dragonhide boots came to a stop at the edge of the woods. Shadows flickered in the periphery as shapes moved through the trees, their forms gliding like ghosts amidst the scattered beams of fading light as they closed in on their target.
A figure flinched as one of the rays glanced him in the face, his pasty features contorting into a pained grimace.
"Fret not, the moon'll be up in a moment, Mister Graham," said a voice from the side, the central American accent out of place in the British air.
Mister Graham's head turned slowly to regard the hired mercenary with a yellow, slitted eye. He didn't respond, instead taking a moment to listen.
Thump-thump… thump-thump…
The corner of his pale lips twitched in amusement, revealing a flash of ivory teeth. "I don't think it be me, the one who's currently 'fretting'."
Thump-thump..thump-thump..thump-thump..
Smile widening ever so slightly, Mister Graham's gaze turned forwards, examining the regal looking manor that sat on the hill above them. A low, soft purr left his chest. An inhuman noise that had the mercenary beside him stiffening.
"Is this your first job, wizard?" Mister Graham asked quietly, pulling his gloves tighter across his fingers.
He heard the man shuffle awkwardly beside him. "I… no, sir." The American's voice was painfully polite, as if he was picking his words carefully. "Unless you mean with your… 'organisation?' Because then-"
A hand rose, bringing the rambling to a sudden halt.
"The stakes are quite high," Mister Graham stated softly. "The Lord Potter is inside… the 'Red Buck' they call him."
"Yeah, the 'Red Buck of Godric's Hollow'," the wizard snorted. "Presumptuous lunacy, if you ask m-"
"Lunacy?"
The wizard froze, feeling the icy breath against his earlobe. His eyes flicked to where Mister Graham had once stood, finding the spot empty.
Mister Graham smiled. "Perhaps," he allowed, pulling back from the wizard, somehow now on his opposite side. "But my family and I… we prefer the term, murderer." He whispered the word, as if it were some secret that ought not to be shared. "But all is well, for we shall see a debt repaid."
As if on cue, a light of a different kind struck across his face, refracting off the wild yellow of his irises. Mister Graham glanced up, watching as the full moon rose above the manor on the hill. He licked his lips.
"Are the tracking charms on our friends in place, little wizard?"
His sensitive ears picked up the creaking stretch of the muscle fibres in the hired wand's neck as he nodded frantically.
"Y-yes, of course." The wizard cleared his throat, retrieving a letter from his coat pockets. "They all have their invitations, and yours is here, sir."
Off to their side, on the main road at the bottom of the hill, the cracks and flashes from numerous apparitions and portkeys could be heard and seen.
A sallow hiss rang out through the air, and a glimmer of moonlight caught the wicked edge of the dagger drawn. "The guests have arrived," Mister Graham noted. Taking the proffered letter, he gestured to the manor. "Shall we?"
Meanwhile...
He swept through gaudy halls of blacks and reds, wine-red coat flapping softly in his wake. His countenance was stoic, the lines and weathered nature detracting from what once would have been looks that turned heads.
The hallway opened up into a lobby, prepared for festivity with long tables full of snacks and drinks. Servants tarried back and forth, attempting a last minute preparation check.
The sight of a pale disk in the sky in his peripheral had him glancing out of the nearest window, and a wand slipped into his calloused hands. "Tempus."
He sighed in resignation. It's time.
'Crack!'
As if on cue, a creature of diminutive stature appeared before him accompanied by the sound of snapping twigs. It glanced up, bowing its head. "Master James," it said simply, voice rasping like a file on steel.
"Pebbles," the man greeted, his hard eyes softening as he looked at the faithful house elf that had long served his family. "Are the preparations for the event in place?"
'Pebbles' nodded slowly, his old muscles already weary with the motion. "All is in order, my lord. The manor is prepared to entertain on your command."
James nodded softly, before his tone grew grave. "And what of… the other preparations?"
Pebbles smiled a toothless smile as he reached up and pat his master's knee reassuringly. "My answer remains the same." He sucked in a slow breath. "Do not fret, your guests are arriving soon and your head must be cleared of distractions to greet them," he chided softly.
James nodded, a sigh escaping his chest as he flashed one of his rare grins at the old elf. He felt tense, now that Pebbles mentioned it. I need a drink-
A slightly shaking hand extended a tumbler, an amber liquor splashing around within.
Blinking in surprise, he reached down and accepted the offer with a wry grin. "There's a power in understanding people," he said, laughing.
The elderly creature cocked its head, before nodding with flapping ears. "Good advice." It shook a gangly finger. "Whoever told you that must be wise indeed."
James' lips curled up in a smile around his glass. "You told me that, you old coot."
The elf seemed surprised. "Truly?" Receiving a nod, it seemed to frown. "Must have been a long time ago."
A melancholy air fell over James as he handed back the now empty glass. He offered the elf a sad smile. "It was," he lied.
There was a soft crack as his house elf disappeared.
Straightening his admittedly gaudy attire, James wiggled around uncomfortably. Truth be told, it had been a while since he had worn anything so… flowery. Most of his attention after the war had gone to his work. It felt so awkward now, wearing watery silk and high-thread count satin…
Was it strange that he had come to prefer the hard leather and the biting buckles of the battlemage armour issued to field-operators of the ICW?
The old elf's uncanny timing emerged once more as music began to play throughout the manor, distracting him from his reveries. It was sourceless, but all the more alluring for it. The lighting shifted, with magical flames expertly placing themselves to cast an array of dancing shadows and flickering firelight. The grandiose doors on the far end of the hallway suddenly creaked open of their own accord, and James found himself struggling to form that old, dazzling smile his mother had him perfect for situations such as these.
The first of his guests stepped through the doors, his portly belly bouncing as he tittered on with a companion that seemed… just a little out of his league.
"Ahh my honourable Lord Potter, such a marvellous pleasure to see your return to our fold!"
James' smile faltered if only for a slightest second as inwardly, he groaned at the boisterous noise. God did he wish Lily was here… she had always managed to prop him back up when his willpower waned.
He strode forwards to greet the influential Wizengamot member. "Mister Montflosse, It's… yes the pleasure is mine," he replied awkwardly, wincing internally as he shook the man's hand. He glanced at the large man's escort, and for a second, her brown eyes flashed as green as Lily's when she smiled at him.
They were filled with hurt. The woman's face twisted into his wife's, her features warping into expressions of scorn and betrayal.
He shook his head as it threatened to split apart.
Dragging his gaze upwards once again, he was relieved to see it was just another pretty woman, one that was eyeing him worriedly.
"-e you alright, my Lord?"
Clamping down on his thoughts with a vice-like grip, he suddenly found it far easier to flash a smile. It perhaps helped that he was looking at her, instead of the tub of lard standing beside her. "Of course. Forgive my manners." He extended a hand, meeting her eyes with a smile. "I see you've become an incredibly lucky man, Douglas." The momentary lapse in his presentation was seemingly dismissed as she beamed favourably at him, meeting James' hand with her own while her companion laughed his booming laugh.
Around them, high-profile identities began to flood in through the doors and James tried his best to make quick work of them. As was custom, he took his time greeting the most notable and influential of them all.
However, this was a practice long since left unpolished. What once would have come as easily as breathing, was now a dangerous game of chance as he picked his words before uttering them.
It was frankly a gift from the heavens when he was finally allowed a break, a lull in the mayhem of drinks, laughter and revelry. Slipping away from the crowds with a curiously apt level of stealth, he allowed his guests to mingle as he waited for the bulk to arrive.
'It would be ridiculous to greet them all individually, James. Of course, not to mention unbecoming.' His father's words echoed harshly in his ear. He hadn't forgotten that nugget of decorum, at least.
He took the moment of reprieve to slip into his chambers and into the attached bathroom. Stumbling over to the sink, he splashed his face with cool water, washing the memory of his wife's eyes from his head.
The last time he had done something like this was… just after our wedding.
She had been beside him for every step he took that day, providing a quiet but strong measure of comfort.
Now he had to do it alone.
He glanced into the mirror, and promptly recoiled as he saw not James Potter, but someone else staring at him.
Something else.
Toxic green eyes flashing from the darkness…
…a touch of soft scales, a lulling hiss and a lurid heat.
Something snapped. A tether somewhere in the back of his mind failed, allowing a flash-flood of overwhelming shame and rage to take over.
'CRASH!'
The shattering of glass and the tinkles of ceramic shards scattering across the ground broke him from his stupor. Chest heaving with breaths that didn't seem to quell the lung, James glanced down at his feet.
His own chocolate brown eyes stared back at him from the hundreds of mirror fragments on the floor. It was an accusing look, one that stilled his flailing mind.
The anger faded as quick as it had come.
Merlin… can't you keep it together for one night, James?
Snarling softly, he flicked his wand into his hand. Slowly, as if time had been reversed, the hundreds of little pieces of glass slowly floated up, reforming the expensive mirror as if he hadn't just sent his fist into the middle of the damn thing.
Another flick and a muttered 'Episkey' saw the blood on his hands vanished and the small cuts messily healed.
"This is not the time, Potter," he mumbled softly to himself as he straightened his creased robes. He had been doing that a lot, lately. "You're in the middle of an operation… get a grip you fool."
Taking another deep, shaky breath, he turned and swept away from his bathroom.
His feet carried him to the landing that looked out over the event hall of his family's manor. Guests of all various rich and or influential make mingled below him. They seemed eager to see their host, to see a once pivotal figure returning to the high society of Britain.
To see James Charles Potter, Godric's Hollow's infamous 'Red Buck', Britain's own fiercest war hero and vanquisher of the Dark Lord.
'Vanquisher…' He resisted the urge to scoff. What rubbish.
The memory of a lightning bolt shaped scar and bright green eyes made him smile sadly. If only they knew how much of a hero he truly had been that night.
Stepping up to the bannisters and summoning a drink from one of the floating trays down below, he stood silent for a moment. It didn't take long for people to notice the figure lording above them.
The conversations began to die away as guests shuffled to glance up to their host, a vast array of expressions levelled on the man.
Several faces stood out amongst the crowd, each standing in their assigned places. His eyes fell on them in sequence, taking in the subtle nods each gave him. There were half a dozen in total, disguised amongst the masses. Battlemages of the International Confederation of Wizards, handpicked from his own regiment of men and women.
He knew them all well. They would not fail him.
He nodded, satisfied that the preparations were in place. Pebbles had delivered, as always.
The music dimmed as he cleared his throat. "Welcome," he greeted. "It's been a while, huh?"
A light round of polite chuckles and smiles passed. A few faces twisted into sneers and scowls, obviously expecting something a little more... sophisticated.
James restrained the urge to laugh at them as he looked out over the crowd, recognising some of the familiar faces. "People come and go, but their memories stay." He paused, stewing on it for a moment. "That's what my mother always said, bless her memory." He raised his glass in a toast, and the crowd below hurried to follow suit with the sudden gesture. "It took me a while to figure out what she meant by that. So allow me to add to her quote by saying that, so too, do birthdays." He offered them a warm smile. "I've missed celebrating quite a few, so let's make this one a night to remember, hmm?"
He raised his glass in a toast once more, and as the polite cheers and applause rang out, his eyes locked onto a single figure moving below. He watched her from over the rim of his glass.
She moved like a ghost.
He lost her at times, despite his elevation… despite her exotic look that drowned out the rest of the room.
Olive-skinned, dark-haired and seemingly ageless in beauty, James did not recognise her.
He had already found one.
Picking out the rest of them came a little easier.
They all acted like her, like wraiths gliding in and amongst the crowds. It was unnerving, just how much in their element they seemed. Something dark took seed in his mind as suspicion began to blossom.
This wasn't the calibre of enemy he had expected.
The slaving ring he had been hunting down for the past three months had been bold, and brutish. Dismantled from three countries and after the ICW assault on their safehouse in Romania, the English branch was all that remained.
This was an entirely new breed of foe that differed from their international brethren. Had he made a mistake in allowing them too close? The invitations he had sent out to be intercepted had been done so in a surprisingly subtle manner he didn't expect. That might have been the first clue.
They were here now, trapped within his wards like he had planned, and yet...
His eyes locked onto a slim gentleman emerging from where one of his men had previously stood, his form gliding as he seeped back into the crowd. He felt something sickly hit his stomach as his battlemage failed to reappear.
Eyes widening slightly, he glanced over to a different location where another of his men should have been awaiting his signal.
Nothing.
One by one, he scanned each location, his heart sinking as his eyes found no familiar faces. His grip was tight on the bannister, the knuckles turning white.
Very quickly, he found that he had an answer to his question.
Yes.
Yes, he had made a mistake.
His distress was masked well, but he had spent too much time simply watching from above as faces had begun to glance up at him inquisitively. Numbly, he stepped away from the bannisters.
Keep it together… The mental mantra in his head played like a broken record.
He made for the stairs, and in doing so caught sight of the olive-skinned woman who had somehow manoeuvred herself at the base of them. She was making idle conversation in her striking accent, seamlessly engaging and disengaging with any that came across her.
James sucked in a breath. Merlin's balls.
He descended, feeling ironically like he was walking into a lion's den. As if on cue, she turned, a radiant smile on her face.
A dangerous chill shot up his spine as he made his way towards her, a weak smile already on his features as he reached forwards to take her hand.
Her skin was cold.
He looked up to stare into beautiful blue eyes that nearly drowned him in their intensity. There was a predatory look in them, swimming beneath the surface.
"My Lord…" she almost whispered, her tone thick with something… carnal.
A sigh echoed through James' mind.
Fuck.
They appeared in a blue flash, the artificial light overpowering the auburn glow of the candles for just a moment.
Delilah stepped back, tucking the watch away. She didn't know why, it would be useless after tonight after all…
Sentimentality is a fickle thing… she mused.
"From the state of you, you'd think you were moving to another planet."
The remark had her glancing up as Harry walked over to his attached bathroom. She wondered whether it was worth making a face at his back. "It's the Flamel mansion, Harry Potter," she replied instead. "I may as well be."
A soft snort of amusement sounded out from the bathroom. Ignoring her student, she glanced out of the large windows framing the bed. The moon had begun to rise.
"Harry." A distracted grunt answered her from behind the door. "It's… it's getting late," she nearly whispered, almost as if not wanting him to hear.
Truthfully, she didn't really want to leave yet.
Flipping open the book in her hands, Harry's book, her eyes fell upon herself once more. I should have let him draw the scars, she thought. We would still be back there…
Apparently, he didn't hear her as the door to the bathroom remained closed.
Sighing, she ambled over to the fireplace crackling in the room, warming her hands as she glanced around.
She had been here plenty of times before, but even still, it was so strange. He doesn't have a single keepsake. The room, while admittedly gorgeous with its motifs of black and red, was bare. Maybe he has no friends to send him letters or presents, like me?
She scoffed immediately after the thought passed her mind. Hmph, unlikely.
Her eyes fell back to the book and the illustration upon it. "A lie though, isn't it?" she mumbled. Who gave me this, after all?
"What's a lie?"
Eyes widening in alarm, Delilah turned whipped around. "Must you sneak around ev-...Oh."
Harry cocked his head at her, doing up the last button on his silk dress shirt. "Oh?"
Delilah looked away immediately, suddenly finding the nearby dresser of utmost importance. Good lord… Calming her mind, she turned back to him, composed… more or less. "Why are you dress-"
Harry suddenly clapped his hands, and the candles in the room dimmed, leaving only the crackling fire for light. "You've got everything?"
Nodding, Delilah stepped forwards, eyes subtly still roving over his form. What on earth is he up to now?
He opened the door to his chambers, and Delilah was met with the faintly buzzing hum of… music? Her brow perked up in a question. "Is… is that jazz?"
Harry shook his head ruefully. "James has been obsessed with it recently."
A small, amused smile spread over her lips. "An English pureblood listening to jazz…"
Harry barked out a laugh, extending his arm. "You do realise my mother was a muggleborn, right?"
The question had her pursing her lips as she linked her arm with his instinctually. She couldn't remember when that had started, only that it had been a silly joke at 'nobility's' expense at some point.
She glanced up at the walls of the hallway they were walking through, eyeing the portraits and paintings. "It slipped my mind," she replied finally. It wasn't a lie. It was hard to imagine Harry as anything other than a pureblood.
Although he's nothing like the fools at Beauxbatons, she thought almost vehemently.
A frown crested her features as she suddenly noticed something. "Why are there no pictures of you and your mother?" she asked curiously.
Harry cocked his head, glancing up at the frames in turn. "What do you mean?"
She gestured to the photos and pictures framed on the walls of this more private hallway. The late lady Potter could be seen smiling and laughing in some of them, either with or without her husband and friends. In none was she with Harry.
Their pace slowed as Harry glanced back at the ones they had passed. "Well of course there is…" he trailed off, frowning.
Bafflingly, he couldn't find a single one…
He shook his head slowly, "I was only a year old when she died," he explained.
The more she looked, the more off Delilah felt.
"Besides, most of these were taken long before her death," Harry reasoned. However, his frown only deepened. "Though there really isn't a single one here, is there?" The question was redundant.
'and the only thing I can remember my mother by…'
The thought pierced through Delilah's mind like a spear. Quickly, she stepped a little closer, tugging on his arm. "I'm sure your father has some," she assured quickly, stifling her unease. "Mr. Potter is likely a little too busy to be fiddling around with decorations and old photos."
Harry snorted softly as they resumed their pace. "He's too busy for most things, Delilah."
The statement hung in the air, stagnating and growing more bitter than he had meant it to.
He could feel Delilah stealing glances at him, her grip on him tightening subconsciously as she struggled to find an apt response.
Harry nudged her gently, before she was able to. "Tell me about it," he urged. "What was the Flamel estate like?"
Whatever had been plaguing her mind earlier was seemingly thrown to the wind as she let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh Harry, it was incredible…" she trailed off, unable to summon the appropriate words. "It seemed like I had stepped into another world."
Harry hummed, eyes still flicking to the walls and to every picture frame they passed by.
"If only I could take you there to see it," she said dejectedly. "Neither I nor the other apprentices are allowed guests or visitors, at least not during the entry examination period."
"Which will be a breeze for you, I'm sure."
She snorted derisively at that. A moment passed before she realised Harry was staring at her in exasperation. "What?"
"You think you have a chance of failing?" he laughed.
Delilah glared at him, "You realise that it is being conducted by the lady Perenelle Flamel, don't you?" she asked incredulously. At Harry's resulting scoff, she clicked her teeth in irritation. "It would be foolish to underestimate this-"
"-it would be foolish to underestimate you, you dolt." She squinted at him in response, and Harry sighed. "She'll be looking for some measure of confidence, not just aptitude."
"Oh truly?" she said in mock awe. "Did she tell you that herself when you two sat down for tea and scones?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "You've been preparing for this for the last year," he reasoned quietly, not giving into her baiting. "At the expense of the quality in my tutoring, of course."
Her head snapped towards him, a mild glare on her features. "Very funny, Harry." She shook her head at the sight of his twitching lips. "Although your intelligence has certainly lapsed as of late, perhaps you're right?"
His smile only widened, "Weak," he chided. "Your banter needs work."
He received a haughty sniff in response.
The silence that followed had him glancing over to see Delilah frowning, worrying at her lips nervously. "Beauxbatons was… not the friendliest place," she murmured demurely, her fingertips reaching for her scars once more. Her eyes turned to him. "And the other apprentices are likely out for blood. It's not going to be a pleasant six-months."
His eyes narrowed at the thought, and she immediately sighed.
"Woe is me," Delilah teased, shaking her head at her behaviour. "I talk far too much."
"You do," Harry said. "But it doesn't bother me."
A fond smile found its way onto her lips. I know.
The music began to grow louder, and with it, a low hum. Harry coughed into his hand, smothering a smirk. "A new professor is coming to Hogwarts, I hear," he mentioned off-handedly.
Delilah glanced up at him, brow perked. "The dark arts position, I assume?" At Harry's hum of assent, she snorted. "That doesn't seem like news, from what you've told me of that boorish school."
Harry sighed, shaking his head. "What is it with you and Hogwarts?"
"Your education should have been at Beauxbatons," she huffed. With me.
"Mmh, James already has it rough for stepping out of the political world as it is," Harry said, nodding to the nearby bust of a griffon that bowed to them as they passed. "The Daily Prophet would have had a field day with him had he sent me to Beauxbatons."
Reaching the end of the hallway, they finally turned out of the family wing and towards the heart of the building.
Delilah turned up her nose at the answer, unable to find an apt reply. "Well, I hope this new teacher is more qualified than the last," she said eventually. "I had so carefully devised your study plan, and she had barely touched on any of the curriculum material!"
Harry shook his head at the outburst. "Your 'carefully' devised study plan had me learning fourth year material in my second, Delilah."
The young tutor scoffed in response. "In Beauxbatons it would only be considered third year." At Harry's quiet groan, she glanced at him suspiciously. "You did follow the plan, yes?"
"Of course."
Her brows narrowed. "The eradication spell," she stated, ignoring his comment as she pulled them both to a stop. Drawing her wand, Delilah flourished it in an extravagant motion and a dense cloud of smoke suddenly spewed forth from its tip to smog up the hallway. "Show me."
Harry gave her a wry look. "I left my wand in my room-"
"Harry."
Sighing, the young wizard drew his wand. He flicked it forwards, "Deletrius."
A wave of force like an invisible hand suddenly pushed through the smoke, sucking the substance into it as if it were a vacuum before winking out of existence. Harry stowed his wand with a wince, eyeing the somewhat ripped up carpet before them.
Delilah pursed her lips, studying the results with a critical eye. "That is not the correct motion for that spell." She gave Harry a somewhat irritated look. "Must you brute-force your way through everything?"
Moving once again, Harry snorted in response. "It worked, didn't it?" At Delilah's glare, he shrugged. "The wand motion doesn't feel right anyway. It feels weirdly sticky, if that makes any sense," he muttered.
"It makes next to none," his tutor replied, brow perking up in curiosity. "It's the way that spell is supposed to be cast."
Harry hummed neutrally in response, silently disagreeing with her. It's sticky, he argued inwardly. I know it is.
They walked for a small time, the soft music, and the mysterious hum, growing louder with each step. It was only when it began to dip and swell, to ebb and err, did Delilah glance at Harry.
Curiously, he ignored her.
They turned the next corner, and Delilah was suddenly hit with a wave of heat. The scent of alcohol was thick in the air, as well as perfume.
A rather loud, boisterous chorus of laughter echoed from down the hall, and Delilah's confusion escalated.
It sounded awfully like...
Her jaw dropped open ever so slightly, and her eyes snapped to Harry and his handsome attire. Oh, you piece of shit!
"Mister Potter, my dearest pupil." Her voice was clipped, spoken through tight lips.
Harry bit down on his lip, suppressing the urge to smile. "Mhmm?"
She drew a deep breath. "Just what is going on?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
The sounds were distinguishable now. The chatter of a large crowd, supplemented by smooth music, made its way clearly into her ears.
A servant suddenly appeared from ahead of them, having rushed up the stairs. His hands patted frantically at the wine spilled over his front as he hurried for the restroom.
Delilah pulled them to a firm stop, and Harry made a sound of realisation. "Oh, did I tell you that it was James' birthday today?"
Delilah's deadpan stare nearly broke his facade as he coughed.
"Apparently he wanted to throw a party for this one."
"Would you like to die now, or perhaps later?" Delilah asked, disentangling herself from him in order to fold her arms. A snort broke through her student's efforts to hold it back, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Oh, funny is it?"
Harry tried to stifle himself as her hand reached for her wand. "Don't hurt me too badly now," he said with a grin. "You'll feel bad about it later."
"Oh I'm sure I'll manage." She said with a scathing smile. She then gestured at herself furiously. "Harry, do you see what I am wearing?" she hissed.
"I have eyes, believe it or not."
She sneered, "How do you expect me to walk out there like this?"
"With your legs, I would presume." Her wand came free, and Harry laughed as she began to jab him with it. "Oh relax," he said, placing his hand over hers and pushing the prodding instrument away gently. "You didn't think I'd really do that to you, did you?"
Delilah drew back, confused as he drew his own wand once more. It flicked twice in his fingers to the left and right, bereft a proper motion and, to her surprise, an incantation.
As if someone had poked a bubble but managed not to pop it, the air around them wobbled and quivered. She recognised it as the notice-me-not charm, however... modified.
Acting on a hunch, she stepped backwards, a small 'ah' of understanding slipping from her lips as she watched the barely perceptible bubble in the air stretch around them. Stepping forwards, she grabbed Harry by his collar and gently pulled him forwards a few paces, watching as the bubble moved with them.
"Merkwürdig…" she whispered, watching the magic ebb.
Harry stowed his wand, a smug sort of smirk on his face. "Mhm."
"May I ask how long did that take you to perfect?" Delilah asked neutrally.
"Bout' four months."
She snorted.
"Oh shut up."
Her lips twitched as she took his arm once more. "If you had-"
"I swear, if the word 'Beauxbatons' leaves your mouth one more time…"
Delilah pursed her lips, deliberately looking elsewhere. She chuckled as Harry sighed. "It seems you have stalled your demise, Mister Potter."
"Lucky me," Harry replied dryly, leading them fully into the light now.
Even as Delilah laughed, he could feel her unease as they stepped onto the stair landing fully. Below them, nearly a hundred faces milled about, their faces flushed from wine and champagne. For the first time in fifteen years, Harry could scarcely believe how full the Potter manor seemed.
For as long as he could remember, it had been a near desolate place.
Now, it just felt crowded.
Curiously, or perhaps not so… Harry found himself preferring the latter.
His eyes caught the scene of an influential Wizengamot member, including his idle wandering touch and the resulting strained smile of the witch he conversed with. A glance to the other side had him observing as a stoic looking man sipped at his drink, eyes narrowing darkly as another whispered into his ear and then gestured to a nearby individual.
Harry found his mood souring rather quickly.
Not for the first time, he sympathised with James' reluctance to return to this scene.
Ironically, as he grew tense, he felt Delilah relax beside him. He glanced over to find her looking at the empty space around them.
"It works." She then sniffed haughtily. "As expected of course, I didn't spend two years slaving away at you for-"
"-Again, do shut up," Harry interrupted. He led them down the stairs as Delilah gasped at him overdramatically. "I wonder how many people will see through it," he wondered, ignoring her theatrics.
Delilah watched as a server made their way passed them, muttering a distracted 'excuse me' as he went. "Well the spell is quite simple, it will barely affect anyone who is actually looking," she explained, longingly eyeing the champagne that had drifted by.
Rolling his eyes, Harry reached out and plucked one of the glasses just as the man stepped out of reach. "Thank you for reciting the basic description of the spell I spent a third of the year modifying," he drawled, before forcing a smile as the server turned around in surprise.
"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you Ha-"
"It's okay, I was just passing by," Harry quickly interrupted before the man drew unwanted attention.
Resuming their progress, Harry offered over the crystal glass, shaking his head as the girl barely older than he seemed to light up deviously. Enabling a budding alcoholic… well done, Harry.
"This is why you're my favourite student."
Harry snorted. "I'm your only student."
She took a sip, humming in satisfaction. "That is also a valid reason."
"Drinking on the job are we, dear Harry?"
Harry blinked at the quiet comment. That didn't take long… Turning, he immediately understood why.
A delighted smile played at his lips as he approached, "Lady Alessandra, you look as gorgeous as ever."
Alessandra's lips quirked in a smile as she nodded approvingly. "Mmm, better."
Despite himself, Harry coloured ever so slightly. He had rather butchered his attempt at a compliment the last time they had met.
They shared a familiar grin as she embraced him, before Harry stepped back and gestured to Delilah. "I'd like you to meet my general studies tutor from Beauxbatons, Delilah von Histwood, we just returned from a lesson."
Alessandra smiled at the girl, and upon hearing Delilah's name and school she stepped forwards and exchanged a kiss on the cheeks. "Alessandra Tremblay, it's nice to see a fellow Beauxbatons girl in this dreary country," she whispered, smirking.
Harry wisely elected not to comment. Can't catch a break these days.
Delilah blinked in surprise, "Fellow… oh! Tremblay, as in one of the French noble houses?" At Alessandra's affirming smile, Delilah glanced at Harry in slight confusion.
"I work as a liaison for the ICW here in Britain," she explained. At Delilah's nod of understanding, the French woman then hummed thoughtfully. "A general studies tutor? How vague... may I ask what that entails?"
Harry tuned out the conversation as Delilah seemed to take to Alessandra like a fish to water. He resisted the urge to snort in amusement as Alessandra's eyes flicked towards him every so often, a disguised look behind them.
I bet she'll have Delilah's date of birth, maiden name, and blood type before the minute is up, Harry thought dryly.
The more he looked however, the more he felt that there was something else in the looks she was giving him. He frowned inwardly, watching Alessandra's fingers fidget uneasily around her wine glass.
Why did she seem so-
"-re one of Harry's tutors as well?"
Hearing his name, Harry tuned back in to find Alessandra humming as she reached out to fix his collar.
"I haven't had the pleasure of conducting a lesson in months," she said, running her hand over his front and smoothing some of the wrinkles. "Work has been quite the chore recently, however he seems to be handling himself tonight well enough." Her smile was somewhat strained, and Harry didn't miss the way her eyes darted to the sides as she spoke.
Delilah frowned, her eyes trailing the other woman's fingers on her student.
"I pass on little tips here and there every now and then."
Delilah's frown deepened as Harry rolled his eyes.
They conversed for a bit longer before eventually moving off, Alessandra rather bluntly having bid them farewell after spotting an individual across the way. Harry had to offer the woman a strange glance back as she moved off. She seemed… off.
They weaved their way through the crowd, taking guilty pleasure in people watching as they did so. The charm was far from infallible however, as Harry felt more than just a few eyes on his person at times. Although thankfully, none had made an attempt to approach.
Yet...
Maybe I should just keep the charm up the entire night? he reasoned.
It would make the entire affair a lot more palatable.
With the aid of the nifty spell, they found themselves exiting the Potter manor in small time. The chaotic mess of noise behind them seemed to drown away as they stepped out onto the moonlit pathway.
Shivering slightly at the exposure to the sudden cold, Delilah looked over at Harry as they came to a stop. He was inhaling the night air deeply, seemingly unbothered by its chill.
"It's suffocating in there," he said, noticing her staring. His hand reached up to push back his unruly black hair, lingering for a moment on the curiously shaped scar that marred his forehead. "I'd prefer it if we were back at our cafe."
Delilah smiled at the thought. Our cafe… it was somewhat true. After closing hours and the flash of a few galleons, that entire balcony had been theirs for their lessons for nearly two years.
Her eyes fell to him once more, wondering when she would be able to see him again. He had been such a constant for so long… after all.
A curious, crafty little devil at times, however a cherished presence nonetheless.
And now he was going back to school, and she was leaving hers early to become someone else...
Reaching into her blouse, she pulled out a coin, rotating it so that the gleaming crest of France's Gringotts branch stared back at her.
"This is going to be the last time we see each other for awhile."
"Perhaps," he replied. "I'm gonna miss how your voice used to bore me to sleep."
The scarred girl perked a brow at him, before shaking her head in a fond sort of exasperation. "Well, that lofty task falls to your teachers once again," she mused.
"I'd still rather it was yours."
There was a pause, before Delilah scoffed. You've done it now, boy. "Would you now?" she whispered.
She didn't give him a chance to reply as she pulled him closer by his chin and pressed a chaste peck across the corner of his lips.
She pulled back, surprised by the tingling of her mouth. The satisfied smirk on her face turned into an attempt to resist laughing as she took in her student's baffled green eyes.
Apparently, he had not been expecting that.
A split decision had her pressing her wand tip to the book she had been carrying all this time, and Harry watched as it duplicated before his eyes. Another quick enchantment on both saw them glow simultaneously, before she pressed one into his hands.
"What-" he began, before she hushed him.
She smiled at him. "Consider it an ongoing lesson."
Harry's brow rose up. "I think this may be a little out of my league, Delilah…" He muttered, flicking through the first few pages and almost having an aneurysm as the lines upon lines of complex equations and theories began to blur together. "Wait… isn't this all of your work towards the project you were going to use in the entry exa-"
"I trust you," she said simply.
It was enough to silence Harry, who had opened his mouth to object.
She pet his head, chuckling as he shot her a mild glare and bat her hand away. "You can always ask me if you have questions." She wiggled her copy of the book.
Harry glanced at his book, and then hers, before it finally clicked. "Oh."
She snorted, before licking her buzzing lips and stepping away. Her fingers fluttered gently in a wordless goodbye as she turned and began to head to where the property wards ended.
He watched her pass through the wards, her form glimmering slightly before she turned to face him once more. She raised the coin to her lips and sent another of those familiar smiles his way-
...except she didn't.
Her lips froze in their upwards curve and her eyes drifted from where they had been locked with his. Disbelief, followed by horror seemed to etch itself onto her face as her eyes snapped back to Harry.
Her mouth opened, to scream or maybe shout, he didn't get to find out which as she vanished within the portkey's blue flash.
Something cold tickled down his spine, prickling his skin and flaring the fine hairs on his arms. He turned slowly, eyes scouring the picture behind him.
He could see the guests through the doors he had left half open, laughing and chattering.
Yet he could see nothing that might have warranted such a reaction from Delilah. His brows narrowed he glanced around, confuse-
'Drip'
Harry paused, ears prickling.
'Drip'
His eyes dragged themselves back to the foyer.
'Drip'
He saw it this time, aided by the pale moonlight which illuminated it for a split second.
A bead of crimson, falling from above.
His gaze swung upwards, and the thoughts in his mind scattered into nothingness as the air grew suddenly cold around him.
There, impaled from groin to skull upon the tallest metal spire above the entranceway like a gruesome warning… hung the freshly staked corpse of what had been House Potter's oldest and last surviving house elf.
Please note: A decision has been made to push the years of enrollment into schooling systems to the age of thirteen. This is to simply elevate the maturity of the characters to a more suitable level for the themes in this story.
Solid pairings have not been decided yet.
For example and also to clear up any confusions, Harry is in his third year (15). Delilah is in her fifth year (17) and, if mirroring the system for Hogwarts, legally able to leave school should she pass the respective testing.
Also keep in mind that whilst there are themes of 'nobility' and 'lordship', the story merely plays on the concept of there being a secret, magical high-society. There will not be a major focus on politics, as this will primarily be an Action/Adventure drama with a focus on Mystery and Lovecraftian influences.