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An Old and New World
by Lens of Sanity
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Chapter Twenty Five: Wedding Crashers
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Lily was in a strange mood on the morning of Christmas Day. She'd worked through most of her recent events and was bolstered by everyone's confidence that Harry would be fine. She wouldn't really believe it until she saw her son with her own eyes, happy and alive, but for now she was quite content.
Still, it was Christmas and it would have been nice if he were with them. Bellatrix Black had dropped off several gifts Harry had seemingly bought people before he'd died, and Lily found the thoughtfulness of her son unexpected. He'd gotten her a stylish lily shaped broach, but the surprising part was the magic carpet he'd appropriated for the Hermione girl and young version of the Dark Lord; Tam Riddle.
Yeah, some things had been easier to accept than others, and that little doozey blindsided Lily worse than the whole Bellatrix Black situation. Or that Dumbledore was perfectly satisfied to have Frank and Alice's principle assailant walking around as "part of the team."
Luna Lovegood was reclining in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, reading the subscription gifted by the girl's crazy father; Fantastic Breasts and Where to Find Them. Lily had to shake her head, "I don't get it."
"Mm?" Luna asked distractedly. "What don't you get?"
"Harry," she went on. "All the conflicting stories, and the things you all have told me about him." She closed her distinctive green eyes. "You know, I read a newspaper article in a back issue of the Daily Prophet. It had a detailed timeline of Harry during the war with Grindelwald. His exploits and the 'on again off again' relationship with Christiana Raven, the Dark Führer's chief enforcer. The people writing it seemed to think this whole thing made sense!"
"Yeah, I remember reading that," the blonde laughed. "It was all the press running away with some offhand comment about how terrible the Ministry coffee was–" Luna paused introspectively. "That, or Harry accidentally did some time travel at some point, and obliviated himself afterwards. Or maybe, he hasn't gone back in time yet, so it will happen sometime in the future/past... We shouldn't rule that out either."
The slight headache caused by processing this claim acted as a reminder of who exactly Lily was talking too. Because that really was how Luna, and apparently Harry thought about the world. The kind of open-mindedness which did not automatically discount possible future time travelling.
"Well okay," Lily began. "That's kind of the point I'm having trouble with... You all agree that he's kind of a callous bastard, who practices Unforgivable Curses on baby pandas, and has no compunctions against cutting off the sitting Minister's hand then hiding it under a Fidelius in the Ministry he could only cast because he was a member of the Wizengamot–"
"Right," Luna prompted, noting Lily had trailed off.
"At the same time he has the foresight to buy two of his friends a magic carpet—months in advance—for no other reason than he knows those two are rubbish on a broom."
"Maybe he was hoping they would use it for sex and has monitoring charms on it so he can watch?"
"I'm talking to the wrong person here aren't I?" Lily said in dismay.
Hermione saw her plight and moved to sit near her. "You are having problems with how Harry doesn't seem to have any restraining influences and acts as though he can do anything he wants?"
Lily nodded to the slightly younger girl. That was exactly what all the stories she'd heard about him seemed to indicate.
"I can only give you my opinion," Hermione began after a sigh. "When you were young, you had parents and people you could go to with problems. Or if you needed help or advice, or protection or something. Someone was always there for you?" The question was rhetorical but Lily nodded. "When you went to school, you had teachers who would answer questions if you didn't understand. And if things went dangerous you would go to a parent or a teacher or the Police or Aurors. And someone would make it all better?"
"Yes," Lily agreed in a small voice.
"Harry has never had that," Hermione said sadly. "He has never had anyone over him who he could go to. If ever anything went sideways, the only person who could make things better was Harry."
"Surely there was..." Harry's mother trailed off thinking about some of the Pensieve memories she'd seen.
"He saved me from a troll when I was twelve, and killed someone possessed by Voldemort at eleven." The brunette gave a short answer. "In my opinion, what happened when the Ministry threw him into Azkaban was that Harry realised a stark truth about his life... He has nothing to fear from the government or any authority, because they will praise or punish him at their own whims, without considering any of his actual actions. He gets no benefit from the system like most of us who follow laws, and no fear of imprisonment or penalisation. Those around him will do as they will regardless of his actions. Or so it seems to Harry"
"And now the wizarding world needs him to stop Voldemort," Lily began to understand.
"You've seen how he's talked about in the Daily Prophet?" asked Luna.
"It makes more sense when you put it like that," Lily laughed a little. "I got the impression the Prophet's "Harry Potter" was like Godzilla or something. A monster you unleash against another monster, hoping that the collateral damage caused does not outweigh the benefits of being safe once it's all over."
"Sounds about right," Luna agreed with a smile.
The Ministry had fallen just a few days ago, and Hermione even managed to nail the Founder Salazar. Dumbledore and his apprentice teaming up to fight Voldemort himself in the Ministry Atrium, buying time for the Scrimgeour and his men to evacuate. They'd stalemated if not outright lost, and Hermione had been hurt, but no lasting harm was done to any of the three combatants.
"How are you feeling Hermione?" Lily asked after a time, thinking back to the Death Eater whose head she'd exploded in the same battle with Salazar.
"Oh, I'm fine," replied the brunette in question, unconsciously testing her shoulder. "I just count it lucky Albus and I were in the Ministry at the same time as you. Merlin knows what might have happened otherwise."
"Yeah," said the auburn haired woman. "Happy Christmas by the way."
"You too," Hermione replied moving back to her girlfriend's lap. "And try not to worry too much, Nagini and Hedwig are competing to see who can kidnap a Death Eater the fastest. Harry is going to be fine."
Lily took a deep breath and gave the retreating young woman a hopeful smile. She decided to go wish Petunia season's greeting, seeing as Lily had not spoken to her sister since giving her a beating and throwing her down a flight of stairs.
It was the Christmasy thing to do.
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Eleven hundred kilometres south-south east at his home in Carcassonne, Gerard Delacour was finishing preparations for the evening's state dinner. In recent days things had not been going well with young Robért, and Monsieur Delacour had finally given up hope on the man getting his act together. Cutting him loose was a shame. He was a decent sort with exceptional familial connections and had been well suited to his eldest daughter.
The two simply did not mesh as well as they once had, and the reason for this was fairly obvious. The damned Englishman he hated with such a passion. Sweat Fleur had not said anything positive about him since the last time Potter had kidnapped her, but then again she no longer spent much effort waxing poetic on how much she hated the boy.
This was taken as a bad sign. A very bad sign.
He put the finishing touches to his garb, walked behind his ornate desk, and once more read the intercepted messages. The first a single line and some bare formality coming into Châteaux Delacour:
You are cordially invited to my mother's re-birthday party on the 31st of October
Sincerely – HJP
The second, also a single line, though more carefully worded so as to be in a neutral tone, and sent from Châteaux Delacour:
Is Harry staying dead this time?
– F
Gerard could have allowed himself to be complacent with these less than heartfelt missives. There was no fathomable reason not to. However he was not complacent. Fleur's father had the unnerving suspicion some form of passive, sympathetic force was in effect. They type magic which nudges two people together over time, in the way that a maiden rescuing someone from a dragon would unerringly end up married to them, regardless of any apparent incompatibility on the surface.
And if this was the case, there was only one way he knew which would save his daughter from the misbegotten son of a goat with which he feared Fleur was becoming so infatuated. Sighing, Gerard Delacour left his rooms, pasted on a calculated smile, and left to welcome party guests.
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Fleur was enraged. Striding into the room like he had any right to be there at all was the boy with grey streaked blond hair. She put aside her wine and made a beeline directly for her father. "Papa, what is he doing here?"
"He is an honoured guest from an Ancient Noble line, and has deep connections both in England as well as here in France." Her father responded to her demand with his usual composed tones.
Fleur's bright blue eyes flashed, narrowing dangerously before speaking in a slow whisper. "I have been on the wrong side of several Killing Curses, fired from the boy Malfoy's own wand. Having him here is unconscionable!" Of course this was her secondary concern, the primary not being something she could voice in the presence of her father.
The elder Delacour made some noise about how this was a political matter, and that she could not embarrass the family. Eventually Fleur acquiesced, albeit grudgingly, and set her mind toward some polite sounding comments to cut the pathetic English dog to the bone. Fleur vaguely remembered a story whereby Druella Rosier had a longstanding arrangement with Abraxis Malfoy many years ago, thereby making this young Draco's parents brother and sister.
Perhaps she could work in that story somehow...
When the foolish child made his way to her father's group, Fleur accepted a second glass of the Merlot, hiding disdain as best she could when shaking hands. She took a sip during the inane greetings and had to confess the wine was astounding full bodied and sweet. And had she been paying closer attention, gave her a hinted remembrance of holly and owl feathers.
With a harsh comment on the tip of her tongue, the young man began an admittedly amusing anecdote, and the two fell into an uneasy rapport. She was not really enjoying herself, but she could hold courteous conversation so long as it did not drag on too long.
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It was early January and Hermione was heading toward the Room of Requirement idly feeling sorry for all those other girls whose lovers aren't Parselmouths. When she came across the ballet dancing trolls and found the room vacant, she went through the motions three times across the bare wall. The room appeared, stark with a plinth was off to one side, and hefting down the runic bowl Harry and Tam stole from the City of the Dead, she emptied a vial of memories into the Pensieve.
Albus should be along soon and the two would go through last month's duel at the Ministry of Magic building, searching for anything to be improved upon. There was a familiar sense of falling and Hermione found herself standing in no man's land between Voldemort and Albus, the memory of her younger self off to one side.
Hermione walked over once again noticing the iridescent green hue of Voldemort's left hand, as well as deep scars on his face absent in any of the other memories she'd seen of the Dark Lord. He'd obviously been in some fight recently none of their side knew about, and for the Dark Lord to suffer that kind of damage the battle must have been intense.
Hermione watched the amazing casting speed Voldemort could call upon, every thirty seconds there were probably around fifteen or even twenty spells leaping from his pale wand. She watched as Albus conjured solid shields, and as magical walls snapped into being as he weathered the storm. Albus always told her to be graceful in her movements and she tried very hard to do so, but watching the headmaster in action made Hermione doubtful she'd ever approach such elegance of motion.
Then there was the moment her Pensieve self caught the Dark Lord in a Heaven's Binding. Hmm, now that she saw it again, she had timed that well. The black ribbons wrapping wand arm and right leg for a few moments, earning Albus a chance to land several unknown spells.
The memory dimmed as she was hit in the shoulder and when it swam back the atrium was thoroughly damaged, with the Fountain of Magical Brethren smashed to pieces. She watched as Memory Hermione unloaded an Impactus on her enemy's flank, and as they'd practiced, once again team up with Albus. Her other self fell into the simple spell-string of two shields and one Flagrante curse, the two backing out toward an exit floo.
"I for one think you did very well Hermione," Albus said from her side. The memory reset, beginning to play back from the start. "Care to share any conclusions?"
"I am quite confident the nonverbal shielding I was offering was not noticed by Voldemort," Hermione began, gesturing off to the side of the main duel and her other self's subtle casting. "However once I engaged directly, my footwork greatly suffered."
"Connecting with the binding spell was impressive, even if it cost you positioning," Albus gestured as Pensieve Hermione slipped through the spell. "Yet I agree. Once receiving more of Voldemort's attention you seemed to become flustered." He must have noticed Hermione lose a measure of confidence because he went on. "It is something which can be remedied with nothing save time and experience." The memory rolled around to their withdrawal. "See here. Your wand movements were deliberate and efficient, you continue to improve."
"It was only three spells, and I have practiced that string more than any other," she admitted. The two people of memory reached the floo, then Hermione and Albus were gently ejected from the Pensieve.
"Nevertheless, few are willing to fight Voldemort at all, and here the two of us are, alive and having accomplished our objective to buy time for our allies to escape." They went on to critique the rest of the battle for the next few minutes, before getting on with today's lesson.
It was strange, white magic like she was being taught was not like anything she had ever experienced. It was abundantly clear why so few people were capable of learning. Magic itself was neither good nor evil, Albus had taught her during their first lesson. However the mages who had crafted these spells had not really believed that, and so had created battlefield magic of a most peculiar type.
And my, but some of the spells were powerful.
The main problem with the things which couldn't really be called "curses," was a concept titled "Judgement." That was how it had been described to her, and that was also how it felt when she cast them. Hermione had to know in her bones, feel deep within her very being, that the target needed to be destroyed. She had to know for certain the world would be a far better place without her enemy in it. And if the caster tried to use the white magic for a purpose he or she did not truly know to be "Just," it would completely destroy the caster, not the intended target.
Albus had said there were a number of spells he knew, and was capable of casting in his younger years, but dare not any longer for fear of his own ill intent. One of those being the terrifyingly strong hex Hermione was learning today.
It took her more than an hour and a half, but the construct roughly shaped like a Death Eater was obliterated. There was no other word for it, obliterated summed it up perfectly.
The overpressure wave had knocked Albus down, and he rose to his feet chuckling. With wide eyes Hermione commented, "I don't think I want to cast this in a real fight... Unless I really have to."
The main reason this magic was covered by the Interdict of Merlin was not because of how likely it was to destroy the unwary caster, but because true zealots took to it like a duck to water. Other than those two obvious problems, Hermione thought this magic was great, because it could not be used by evil people.
And damn, but it was powerful!
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Harry was stomping through the Halls of Hogwarts glaring murderously at the walls, portraits, students, and world in general. This was a ridiculous turn of events. Despite the fact that everyone knew Voldemort was in charge of the government the school was still open and running more or less as normal. Seriously, he'd even considered going to his Arithmancy lesson—scheduled as always next Monday—as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Gods look at Filch! Beer belly at twelve o'clock. Murderous glares were exchanged before the two stomped off in opposite directions.
Werewolves. An army of werewolves might be a problem. An evil government may well pose a challenge too. Goblin's out for your blood could be a bit of a snag. Oh, and Voldemort was apparently a far more dangerous duellist than Albus remembered from the first war.
Harry decided to go blow some stuff up in the Come and Go Room for a while, so he span around and continued his determined stomping, off to find a transient staircase. Luna rounded on him half way there and Harry offered her a murderous glare. She punched him on the nose. He stopped glaring.
"Finished moping yet?" Luna asked, healing his face.
"How can she possibly be marrying Draco Malfoy?"
"No idea," she replied. "Are you willing to admit you're in love with her now?"
"No!" Harry shouted. "I think she's being drugged or something..."
"Mmm."
"...and stop saying that!"
"Do you have a plan?"
Harry shrugged, "Kill everybody?"
"Oh. That is sure to go down well," Luna commented.
"Do we have a when yet?"
"Friday."
"Bollocks."
Harry and his friend entered the room and started wailing on one another, their flair for casting a shade or two darker.
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Fleur was excited. How could she not be? She was getting married in under an hour! She looked herself over in the mirror and concluded that the flowing white dress was the single most beautiful thing she had ever worn. Unsurprisingly she looked nothing short of stunning, which was only appropriate given this was likely one of the most important days of her life.
Fleur couldn't stop fiddling with the small bracelet on her wrist for some reason, and her mother Appoline kept slapping her hand as she worked dressing her daughter. Fleur didn't know why she was doing it and had only the vague notion she'd picked the thing up somewhere in the United States.
That wasn't important.
She was getting married today, Fleur just told herself to stop fidgeting like a little girl, today was a good day and she wasn't going to ruin it.
Even if she had been getting ready for almost four hours!
It was a while later that saw Fleur looking as radiant as ever, her natural aura enhancing not just her own beauty but that of all those distinguished guests in attendance. She walked down the aisle, majestic, the centre all focus, and came to stand beside her future husband. Her eyes brushed over well remembered pale skin and she noticed a glittering in his normally cold grey eyes, a marked addition to his attractiveness.
The ceremony was quite long, and for some reason the cleric officiating waited an unnecessarily long time after asking, "Are there any who object to this union, speak now forever hold your peace." But of course nobody spoke up, although her father had been giving quite a scowl to the cleric during the needlessly long wait. Eventually the ring was on her finger, and Fleur heard the words she'd been so anticipating:
"—now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride." Fleur traitorous fingers touched bracelet again. She was ruining it! Fidgeting like some foolish child.
When their lips met she let out a gasp. Big blue eyes met grey and Fleur deepened the kiss more than was probably appropriate.
The newlyweds scampered from the room, it would have looked more dignified had they not obviously been so much in love, and the door swung shut behind them.
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"Will you please stop swaying your hips so much Harry!" Tam complained one hour earlier. "I swear you are the worst actor in the world."
"Sorry," Harry responded at a whisper. He was polyjuiced to look like a female Auror they'd clobbered earlier.
"You could at least try to sound sincere," the redhead moaned in annoyance.
"Hey, I'm a guy who does not have experience living in a woman's body," claimed the pretty female Auror once outside the hearing range of Delacour security personnel. "Anyway, ignore your conflicting sexual curiosities for the time being," Harry pinched her when Tam was about to protest, "...and tell me if you actually know where you're going."
"Of course I know where I'm going. Snape said third floor didn't he? That's where we are, and I do not like the insinuation I was lost!"
"We've been wandering around barely escaping detection for far too long. You were lost!" countered Harry, coming across a likely door. "How would Snape know anyway?"
"You mean to say you didn't even ask where the source of our information was coming from? You really are doing this without any kind of plan!"
They burst through the door side by side and tossed water balloons filled with giant-grade sleeping potion. From their position behind Tam's bunker shield and two swiftly cast Bubblehead Charms, Harry scoped the room. And as he hoped, found three unconscious men.
"Come on then answer me," Harry pressed, getting on with his work. "How would Snape know, and why should we be trusting his information at all?"
"He's little Draco's godfather you idiot!" Tam said in exasperation, vanishing the sleep potion mist. "And as to why we should trust him, this is the last time we can use him as a spy because it breaks his cover. You know he got the shit cruciated out of him thanks to his part in the Jabberwock killing plan?"
Yanking a few grey hairs from the downed man, and booting him in the ribs for good measure, Harry charged his potion. It turned a grey-silvery colour and tasted overly metallic, but his body stretched and changed as the polyjuice's magic took hold.
"Gods I hate polyjuice," Harry stated, inspecting his new body. At Tam's look of disbelief he explained, "I hate it when I'm using it, not other people... Mind, my pants aren't as tight in the crotch, that's one good thing I suppose."
She glared at his use of too much personal information, but refrained from commenting about his wearing woman's robes. Harry applied his special lip balm, and Tam set about administering the antidote to the downed pair of bodyguards.
"You sure you can maintain three simultaneous Imperius Curses?"
She rolled her eyes at him, "I invented this spell Harry. I am quite certain I can maintain three at once."
"You invented the Imperius Curse?" Harry asked in surprise. "When?"
"Everybody knows I invented it!" Tam said irritably. "Why do you think the first war against Voldemort was so much different from the war with Grindelwald." Harry was just looking at her. "As you are so interested in history, when you should be focusing on this mission... I've been able to do a wandless variant since before Hogwarts. I only spellcrafted it properly in fourth year."
"Man, that's kind of really impressive actually."
"Thank you," Tam said with a smile. "Now get the hell out of here. We're running late already."
"Why don't we just kill him again?" Harry asked pointing at the downed Lord Malfoy.
Tam administered the antidote and whispered Imperio!
"Polyjuice doesn't work if the subject is dead remember? And Snape made me promise not to. That was his price for helping. We're not allowed to kill his little golden boy." Seeing him standing between Draco's twin bodyguards, Tam gave a shooing motion. "Go now. I'll meet you back in the rendezvous room. Assuming you don't die."
"Right." Harry swiftly left, flanked by his two Imperius bodyguards.
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Harry was standing next to his favourite part Veela, the centre of attention, in a room filled with a very large number of people who wanted to do him harm. Personally. Not because of any war affiliation. Nevertheless, it was working, and nobody was trying to kill him. Damn the ceremony was boring. Fleur was hot at least, that assuaged his boredom somewhat, but still it was dragging on, and on, and on.
Get on with it.
"—now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
About bloody time.
Harry planted a chaste kiss on the woman, and banished the bothersome thought that Fleur might not actually be under the effects of some potion. The blanket antidote in his lip balm had to work. Fleur wouldn't really marry Malfoy, the very idea was ludicrous. So there was no need to worry about being kicked in the knackers and murdered by Delacour security personnel.
Seeing her big pretty eyes narrow in confusion Harry sent a burst of his barely trained wandless Legilimency, hoping she got the message: It's me Harry. I've come to get you out of here. Act casual.
Fleur deepened their first kiss and Harry lost himself for an extended moment.
...
Wow
...
...
Fleur gave him a subtle shake and he eventually floated back to the present. Right, yeah. He was doing something important. Wasn't he?
Oh yeah, try not to get killed.
He grabbed Fleur's supple feminine hand and the two scampered out the room. Hopefully everyone would attribute the scampering as something other than a panicked attempt to flee.
"'Arry I—" The French woman began to speak as soon as the doors closed behind them.
"No time, we gotta go," Harry interrupted.
When the two reached the rendezvous room on the first floor Harry found it empty. Not good.
Tam walked in a few moments later. "Yeah, Draco threw off my Imperius. He got away," she informed like it was no big deal.
"Wha—?"
"Wait for it..." Tam said, holding up one hand.
Over the next five minutes people began filtering into the room one by one; Sirius, Bellatrix, Hermione, Albus, and Lily.
There were seven Luna Lovegoods also.
As well as six other Harry Potters.
One of which was clearly injured, and now being tended by Tam. Harry-One bit his lip and banished the frown from his face. He took the offered Time‑Turner and just before vanishing across the sands of time, made an offhand observation:
"Something tells me things are about to get complicated."