As the Potters made their way into the Entrance Hall hand in hand the next morning, they saw that Luna was already waiting for them at the bottom of the Grand Staircase. Her entire face lit up in a radiant smile the moment she saw them. After morning greetings were exchanged, Luna happily took Harry's proffered arm and the trio made their way into the Great Hall. They took their seats at the end of the Gryffindor table where the Potters had sat the previous evening and proceeded to break their fast.
Their breakfast was mostly quiet. A few of their fellow Gryffindors stopped to ask them if it was true that they were married and why was a Ravenclaw sitting at their table? Yes, it is true, here are our rings. Luna is here because she's one of our best friends and students are actually encouraged to become friends and share meals with people in different houses, according to Hogwarts: A History.
Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil both squealed like little girls as they gushed over Hermione's ring. Never mind that in previous years they had participated in teasing the bushy-haired bookworm, the fact that she was now married and a Lady to boot officially made her the most awesome girl in the school, at least as far as the Gossip Queens of Gryffindor were concerned. They both promised her that all of their skills and talents in makeup, fashion, and style would be at her complete disposal whenever she required them, an offer that Hermione graciously accepted.
When Neville arrived, they invited him to join them. They introduced Luna and the four proceeded to have an enjoyable breakfast together. Conversation flowed easily, none of them dominating the others, as they talked about their summer adventures, the upcoming school year, and the impending Triwizard Tournament.
The Potters were relieved to see Ron stalk past them and sit over halfway down the table from them. He ignored them completely and focused on the food instead, though the petulant glower never left his face as he dumped heaping spoonfuls of breakfast foods on his plate.
Ginny Weasley trudged in, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed as if she'd been crying for hours. She too ignored them, but only took a couple of bites of what little food she put on her plate to begin with before just pushing the rest around with her fork. Harry traded a look with Hermione, who just shrugged. Obviously the girl had been told about their new status and was still dealing with the surprise. Not that it was really any of her goddamn business, Harry grumbled to himself. He didn't belong to her any more than to any of the other rabid psycho fangirls out there.
Midway through the meal, Hermione looked up and groaned. "Incoming," she muttered to Harry.
He looked up. "Fucking Malfoy," he sighed. "Does the little shit ever learn?"
"The evidence suggests he does not," Hermione smirked.
Harry held up his hand before Draco could speak. "Malfoy," he said, "before you begin your little spiel, you should know that I called due the life debt that Snape owed my father. He cannot even come within fifty feet of me, let alone speak to me without forfeiting his magic. He can't protect you when you come bother me anymore."
The dumbfounded expression on Draco's face was priceless. Harry would definitely be revisiting this memory in a pensieve. "But… he has to!" the blond Slytherin sputtered. "He's my godfather!"
"Indeed?" The expression on Harry's face turned predatory. Keeping an eye on the hated Potions Master seated at the head table, who was watching in stony-faced silence, he drew his wand and pointed it between Malfoy's eyes. He nodded in satisfaction as he saw Snape's eyes widen in panic while he clutched at his heart. "Take a look, Draco," he said. "I promise I won't curse you while you do so. I want you to see your godfather right now."
Reluctantly, Malfoy turned to look at his Head of House. Snape was halfway out of his seat gesticulating wildly at his godson, agony splashed across his face. "What…?"
"That's the life debt conflicting with his godfather oath," Harry said as his wand disappeared. "Interesting, wouldn't you say? I could give you the beat-down you so richly deserve, and if I do so in front of that greasy son of a bitch I may even be able to cost him his magic and his life. What do you think of that?"
Draco looked back and forth between his shaken godfather and his chosen enemy. "But… but that's not fair!" he whinged.
Harry slowly rose to his feet. "What's not fair, Malfoy, is you strutting around like you own this fucking place. What's not fair is you running your mouth and then hiding behind your father and godfather like a fucking pussy when anyone calls you on your bullshit. What's not fair is your old man funding the monster that murdered my parents and then walking free under that bullshit Imperius excuse. Well, no more. Your godfather can't touch me and your precious father is rotting in his grave. Speaking of, you want to know how he died?"
The Malfoy scion's face was pale as he shook in impotent rage, fists clenched at his side. It was a shock to realise that his godfather and Head of House, the most feared and hated person at Hogwarts, had been brought to heel by his favourite whipping boy.
Not seeing a definite response, Harry went ahead. "I killed your father, Malfoy, in a legal duel as witnessed by Gringotts, that he himself initiated." He shook his head as Draco's mouth fell open in horror. "He thought that as Lord of a Noble House he could challenge a young scion, spank him around the piste once or twice, and possibly enrich his coffers a little bit. He was quite mistaken." He held up his hand, displaying the Potter Lord's ring. "What he actually did was to insult and challenge the sitting Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House, a House that significantly outranks his own - a fact, Scion Malfoy, that you yourself would do quite well to remember. For his effrontery, but mostly because his continued existence was a mortal insult to everyone, magical and nonmagical alike, who died at the hands of that half-blood bastard Voldemort and the fools that followed him, I accepted his challenge and declared the duel to the death, as is the right of any sitting Lord of my rank when challenged by an inferior."
Draco's face had turned white by this point. He swayed unsteadily as his mouth opened and closed like a fish. Harry's voice was quiet but cold as iron as he continued.
"I disarmed your father, shattered his wand, and beat him to death with my bare hands."
Malfoy's expression grew even more horrified as a couple of tears leaked from his eyes. "How could you do such a thing?" he whispered. "Why would you even think of that?"
"How many nonmagicals did your father torture to death just because he could, while they were helpless to do anything about it? It was not only fitting but appropriate to destroy him using nonmagical methods that he was as helpless to defend against as his victims were to him."
"But…"
"Go sit down, little dragon. Stop bothering me. You are an insignificant worm, especially now that your father is answering to a higher power for his crimes and what's left of your family is having to sell its possessions in order to pay for food. Mind your own fucking business, focus on your education, and just maybe you'll live long enough to improve your family's fortunes again."
With hung head and shoulders sagging in defeat, Draco Malfoy slunk back to the Slytherin table, followed by a still-confused Crabbe and Goyle.
Harry returned to his seat and resumed his conversation with his friends as if there had been no interruption at all.
Further down the table, Ron Weasley watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, though he couldn't hear anything that was said. For once, he said nothing.
***FTR***
"It's not fair, Professor!" Ron complained as he slumped in the comfortable armchair in front of Dumbledore's desk. "Potter already has everything, why does he have to take the girl I want?"
Albus Dumbledore suppressed a sigh and barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. The youngest Weasley son was infected with an overblown ego and sense of entitlement, with nothing worthwhile to give him just cause for holding such an attitude. Seemingly content to just coast through his education without putting forth a credible effort, he also seemed to think that whatever he wanted should be handed to him on a silver platter. Working with the blithering idiot was tedious at the best of times, but he put up with the aggravation for a simple but critical reason: Ron Weasley had the weakest, most malleable mind he'd ever seen. A simple compulsion charm on Weasley was as effective as an Imperius on anyone else.
He listened to the indolent ginger gripe and complain with an attentive expression on his face, although a part of him desired nothing else but to strangle the boy to forever silence his incessant whinging. At long last the boy started to run out of steam, and he took the opportunity to offer him one of his sherbet lemons. As expected, Weasley took a small handful of the hard candies, yet Dumbledore said nothing. It was a small price to pay to get the boy to shut up for a few minutes. He talked more than his mother did, though thankfully nowhere near the volume, and his topics of conversation were of far less import – though in all fairness Molly Weasley seldom conversed so much as blared her opinion about anything and everything. And the less the topic was any of her business, the louder and more vociferous was her opinion broadcast. Dumbledore could not honestly say which of the two caused him the greater headaches, nor could he confidently state which of the two he despised more. Yet he tolerated them and would continue to do so because there was not a single family as fanatically loyal to himself as were the Weasleys. The family as a whole deferred to Dumbledore as if he was the second coming of Merlin himself, and that every word he spoke was instruction from on high. Their naivety disgusted him, honestly, but he would continue to use them until there was nothing left to use.
"I quite understand your frustration, Mr Weasley," he said as he watched with disgusted fascination while the boy stuffed half a dozen of the candies into his mouth at once. His nose wrinkled as a thin trail of saliva dribbled from the corner of Ron's overstuffed mouth, but other than that he did not react, even when the boy dribbled onto his own robe. "As it happens, I may have a solution for us. However, it will take quite some time before all is ready, and I will require some assistance from you. Can you be patient for six months, and practice what I will show you in a moment? And most importantly, can you not talk about it for the duration? If so, we may be able to break young Harry's hold on Miss Granger, and after that – who knows what may happen?"
"Of course I can!" Ron declared. "Nobody will hear a thing."
Dumbledore had his own opinion on that but kept his counsel to himself. "Allow me to cast a spell on you that will make your job much easier for you," he said instead.
"Okay," the redhead thoughtlessly agreed.
The headmaster almost shook his head at Ron's foolishness. The idiot boy didn't even ask what he intended to cast on him. Well, he wasn't even lying, from a certain point of view. The mild compulsion he planned for the boy would indeed cause him to practice the spell until he could do it flawlessly, something he would be checking periodically for confirmation, but most importantly it would compel him to keep his fool mouth shut. If all went well, then before the school year was out Harry Potter would once more be under his control – voluntarily – where the boy rightfully belonged.
***FTR***
The next two months flew by, but little of note took place. Harry passed his Arithmancy and Ancient Runes placement exams with flying colours, and when Dumbledore challenged him, insisting that he continue Divination, Harry demanded a valid reason why. The headmaster refused to give one, telling Harry that he must trust him instead, and so the young man unequivocally refused and continued his new classes, ignoring each and every one of the headmaster's entreaties. Seeing that Harry would not be swayed and more unwilling than ever to share the contents of the prophecy with the stubborn boy, Dumbledore eventually gave up. He had no legal grounds for insisting that Harry continue with Divination, and with Harry's increasingly belligerent and antagonistic attitude, he just couldn't see any way of regaining the boy's trust. Any that he was willing to do, rather.
Little did he know that Harry and Hermione both were not only aware of the prophecy's existence, but also knew exactly what it said. He would have been horrified to know that both considered him to be just as likely a candidate for the dark lord spoken of within as Voldemort.
Monday morning after the arrival back to school, during the morning mail delivery, Harry recognised Errol, the Weasley family's elderly owl, slowly winging his way towards him. Clutched in a talon was a bright red envelope, a trail of white smoke wafting from it. A quick glance down the table revealed a smirking Ron Weasley, obviously looking forward to the impending entertainment.
"Goddamn that woman," Harry growled. "Oi! Devil Twins!" he called. The twins turned, and he gave a pointed glance at the owl.
Both of the twins immediately paled. One immediately cast a stunner at the owl while the other summoned the howler. As soon as it was clear of the unconscious bird, another spell vanished the letter completely.
Harry nodded at the two. "Well done," he said. "If I had actually received that, you know I would have had to respond. I don't think your mum really grasps the idea that a Lord and Head of House of my rank could legally respond with a howler of a mandrake scream for such an affront."
The horrified twins assured him that they would impress upon her that fact.
Hermione shook her head. "It's really fucked up that you could actually do that without consequence," she said.
"I know," he agreed. "The purebloods made the rules, though, so I don't mind using their own rules to fuck them over."
"Fucked up as it is, it does seem rather appropriate to do it that way," she mused.
Neither of them knew what the twins ultimately told their family, and neither of them asked. The only thing that was important was that no more howlers or any other letters came to him from the Weasleys.
As agreed, a team from Gringotts arrived on the second Saturday of September and met Harry at the Entrance Hall, along with Hermione and Professor McGonagall. They deliberately kept Dumbledore in the dark, but it wasn't long before he learned that goblins were in the castle. He arrived at Moaning Myrtle's bathroom just in time to see the passageway down to the Chamber of Secrets slam shut behind the last of the party.
Unable to force his way in, he tracked down and confronted McGonagall, who coolly informed him that it was personal business between Lord Potter and Gringotts, and therefore none of the school's business. He was certain they were rendering the corpse of the basilisk – why else would they have gone down to the fabled chamber? – but was reluctant to share that information with his subordinate, especially after her veiled suggestion that he mind his own business. Didn't she understand that anything and everything that occurred at the school was his business?
Needless to say, he was in a right strop when the rendering team emerged six hours later. He immediately tried to demand that a portion of the proceeds be given to the school, as well as first choice of all potion ingredients recovered. The goblins ignored him and simply left while the Potters silently waited for his rant to end. When he eventually ran out of steam, Harry calmly informed him that the contract had already been signed and that if he wanted any ingredients for himself or the school he was welcome to bid on them when they went up for auction later in the month. When the fuming headmaster looked to start ranting again, the Potters turned and walked off, leaving him spluttering in their wake.
Harry took that opportunity to surreptitiously hand over the Ravenclaw diadem to the chief of the Gringotts team. With Hermione's help, he had retrieved the jewel-encrusted circlet from the Room of Requirement the previous evening, sealing it in an iron casket lined with lead. When he handed it over to the goblin, he was informed that the Slytherin ring and locket had both been recovered, the latter with the cooperation of Sirius Black. The goblin also told him that they had a team of warders, curse-breakers, and Legionnaires keeping a discreet watch on Voldemort's familiar, the corrupted serpent Nagini, as well as his homunculus form. Both were being cared for by Peter Pettigrew, who was also discretely gathering exotic potion ingredients. The Gringotts arithmancers and curse-breakers were in agreement that Nagini should be destroyed at the same time they were ready to destroy Riddle for good, seeing as the two were in constant proximity to the other. It would do no good to prematurely alert Riddle that his horcruces were being destroyed.
That same evening, Ginny Weasley approached them. "Harry, can I speak with you? Alone?" she asked, her voice plaintive.
"We can step just out of earshot," he replied, glancing and Hermione, Luna, and Neville, "but it would not be appropriate to be alone, out of sight."
The petite redhead looked irked for a moment but reluctantly agreed. She followed Harry as he stepped a short way down the corridor, for enough away from the others that any conversation would be no more than a dull murmur, but close enough for the three to clearly see what was going on.
"What do you want, Ginny?" Harry said.
"I want to be your girlfriend," she replied. "I'm much better for you than the bookworm."
He blinked. "Ginny, you don't even know me," he began.
"That's not true!" she protested. "She's only known you for three years. I've known you my whole life."
"We never met until two years ago," he tried again. "Unless… you don't mean those ridiculous Harry Potter and the Absurd Alliteration books, do you?" At the look on her face, he audibly groaned. "Goddamn it, Ginny! Those fucking books aren't worth their weight in hippogryph shit – at least hippogryph shit has some value to herbologists. That is a fictional character you think you know, one that unfortunately shares my name and likeness – which I never approved nor am I receiving any compensation for. Rest assured, when this bullshit with Voldemort and Dumbledore is done, I will hunt down the author or authors and the publishing company and fucking crucify them for printing that rubbish."
"But that's who you are!" the girl protested. "I woke up and you were standing by the basilisk with the sword in your hand, just like the stories! It's meant to be!"
"It's not meant to be, Ginny, and here's why: you look like my mother."
"I know! And you look just like your father! We're perfect for each other!"
"Ginny!" he barked. "Get your head out of the goddamn clouds for half a second and fucking think! You look like my mother. Do you want Ron to shag your mother?"
The girl's face turned green as she vigorously shook her head.
"Do you want to shag your father?" he pressed on.
Her face turned sickly white as she gulped for fresh air.
"Then why the fuck would you think I want to date, kiss, marry, and fuck a girl that looks just like my mum?" he yelled. "Gin, you're the last girl in this goddamn school I'd ever consider! Hell's bells, I'd rather hook up with a house elf than you!" He forced himself to calm, ignoring the tears running down her cheeks. "And if all that wasn't enough," he went on, "Hermione is my soulmate. Our names are written in the Book of Souls and cannot be erased."
"But we have a contract!" she wailed. "It's supposed to be you and me!"
"That contract is invalid," Harry said. "Dumbledore made it without authorisation. He had no right to do so, and I made sure it was invalidated as soon as I learned about it." He sighed. "Gin, someone has put a sick and twisted idea in your head. Whoever it was needs to go to St Mungo's to have their head examined." He paused, then shrugged. "Azkaban could work too. I wouldn't really care either way, so long as they'd be off the street and prevented from harming anyone else. You need to let this fantasy go, grow up, move on, and get on with your life. I will not date you, I will not marry you. I am married to Hermione, my soulmate, and will not be married to another. Nothing will change that. I'm sorry this isn't what you want to hear, but the sooner you get over it the better."
He turned away from the weeping girl and rejoined his wife and their friends. "I'll need to speak with the twins," he told them. "When Ron finds out she's blubbering he's probably going to lose his shit and do something I can't ignore."
They all agreed and proceeded to do just that. It must have worked, for although Ron kept sending them murderous glares, he did not say or do anything that would require a formal response.
The Potters met with Amelia Bones again the following Saturday, this time leaving the school and flooing to London. They provided testimony and pensieve memories for the case against Dumbledore, as well as memories proving Sirius' innocence and Pettigrew's guilt. Harry also took the opportunity to get a complete physical exam done at St Mungo's, the results of which were added as evidence to their case. Director Bones let them know that it would take several months to build an iron-clad case, but once it was ready she would prosecute the case herself.
A couple of weeks later, Hermione showed Harry a project that she'd been working on for over a month. Utilising advanced arithmancy combined with runes, she was able to build a runic array that, when empowered, created a pocket dimension with an opening into the material world. "Not unlike a bag of holding," she explained, referencing a powerful magical bag that could store anything, no matter the size, so long as it could fit through the opening. Neither mass nor weight mattered, either – the only weight the person carrying it would notice was no more than the weight of the bag itself.
The configuration she developed, though, once inscribed on the scabbards of their swords, held the blades in the pocket dimension with only the hilts visible at their belts. The array allowed them to wear their swords concealed beneath their robes without the scabbards getting in their way and keeping them from moving and sitting comfortably. From then on, the Potters were fully armed everywhere they went.
The auction was held on the last Saturday of the month, and when everything rendered from the basilisk's carcass was finally sold off, the Potters' cut was well over two million galleons. Harry kept the skeleton of the giant snake, once all the venom was drained from the fangs, and the goblins reattached the broken fang he'd used to destroy the diary horcrux before turning the skeleton over to Dobby to take to Potter Manor. Dumbledore looked particularly miffed at dinner that evening in the Great Hall, but after seeing that the headmaster's expression looked as if he'd bitten into a particularly sour lemon, Harry and Hermione ignored him for the rest of the meal.
The most significant event, as far as the Potters were concerned, was that in early October the Ministry of Magic finally gave Sirius his trial. In spite of Dumbledore's prevarications, the Chief Warlock was forced to admit his knowledge that Black was innocent. Although his positions granted him immunity from prosecution, he was nevertheless recused from the rest of the trial for conflict of interest, and his reputation also suffered severe damage as well. There were even grumblings of permanently removing him from the position of Chief Warlock before Director Bones was able to restore order. The Potters, seated in the visitors' gallery, couldn't help but to chuckle at the disgruntled expression on the old man's face as he left the courtroom in a huff. When the trial was finally over, Sirius was exonerated of any wrongdoing and compensated handsomely for the time he wrongfully spent in Azkaban. Once his godfather was released on his own recognisance, Harry sent Professor McGonagall a messenger patronus informing her that he and Lady Potter would be staying out overnight celebrating with the newly-exonerated Sirius Black. Before returning to the school the next day, they accompanied Sirius to Gringotts and served as official witnesses as the newly-recognised Lord Black banished Bellatrix Lestrange née Black and Narcissa Malfoy née Black from the family, as well as reinstating Andromeda Tonks née Black to the family – incidentally bringing her daughter Nymphadora into the fold as well.
Back at Hogwarts, the Potters had also confirmed that Barty Crouch Junior was once more impersonating Mad Eye Moody, though he was acting more discreet this time around. The Potters wondered if perhaps it was due to Professor McGonagall taking on a much more proactive role as Deputy Headmistress. "Moody" demonstrated the Unforgivables on the spiders again, but this time the students were not placed under the Imperius. Nor did he turn Draco Malfoy into the "Amazing Bouncing Ferret" again. The blond Slytherin appeared to have actually learned to stop bothering the Potters and their friends. Harry and Hermione made sure to sit with Neville during the class on the Unforgivables, but as Crouch did not linger with the demonstration of the Cruciatus Curse, Neville was not traumatised as he was during the original timeline.
***FTR***
October 30 was a Sunday, which meant no classes, but as Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were scheduled to arrive that evening the entire school was required to assemble in uniform three hours after lunch to greet them. Harry and Hermione opted to skip breakfast and have a lie-in instead, but made sure they were up and dressed before lunch so they could meet Luna and Neville.
Luna Lovegood was quickly becoming the best friend either of them had ever had besides each other. She had a delightfully optimistic outlook on life combined with a wondrous sense of exploration and discover, a child-like innocence, a rapier wit, and a wicked sense of humour. She greeted them every morning with an overjoyed hug before joining them at Gryffindor table for breakfast. After the day's classes, she would join them in the library for study time, and would usually accompany them back to their quarters to relax and hang out with them before returning to the Ravenclaw tower shortly before curfew.
In the privacy of the Potters' quarters, Luna lost the flighty persona that everyone else assumed was her true self and completely relaxed. She would always join them on the sofa, snuggling into one or the other and pulling their free arm around her, but there was never anything sensual or inappropriate in anything she did. Even when she began giving them both a chaste kiss on the lips each night before returning to her tower, there was nothing at all suggesting she was looking for anything more intimate. It wasn't long before they began affectionately referring to Luna as their little cuddle monster, but only when it was the three of them.
Neville Longbottom had always been a shy, reserved young man, easily intimidated by bullies but at the same time willing to stand up in the face of his fears when it really mattered. Inflicting such a loathsome creature as Severus Snape upon him was a grave injustice on the part of Hogwarts in general and Albus Dumbledore in particular for not holding a tighter rein on the greasy potions professor. Fortunately, Harry had learned from his reaper that Neville's mother, Alice Longbottom, was actually his oath-sworn godmother. Although she and Neville's father, Frank, had been tortured into catatonic states by Death Eaters soon after Harry's parents had been killed, the young Lord Potter nevertheless viewed Neville as his godbrother – which they may very well have been raised as if it hadn't been for the machinations of a certain meddling old bastard.
During their first week back at school, Harry formally recognised Neville as his godbrother and ally, thereby removing him from Snape's venomous sphere of influence. Once he began learning potions from someone that could actually teach, Neville discovered that he was actually a bit of a prodigy. His deep and insightful knowledge of herbology granted him an intuitive understanding of the properties and effects of plant-based potion ingredients – which covered most of the ones they used in school.
After a conversation in which Neville revealed that he was using his father's wand, and a subsequent conversation with Augusta Longbottom, Neville's grandmother and guardian, during which Lord Potter gently but firmly reminded her that the wand chooses the wizard, not the other way 'round, Neville soon found himself to be the proud owner of a brand-new cherry wand with a core of unicorn tail hair that was a solid match to the young man. With a properly responding wand and excellent performance in what had been his worst class, Neville's confidence was at an all-time high. He walked straighter, spoke more clearly, and looked people in the eye instead of ducking his head and avoiding them.
The Hogwarts students began gathering in the Great Hall at four that afternoon as they had been directed, each student wearing a clean uniform of shirt, tie, trousers or skirt, shoes and socks, and robe. The Potters met Neville and Luna at their usual spot at the foot of the Grand Staircase and together they entered the Great Hall.
Inside, several professors were directing the students to their house tables. As they passed by, Professor Sinistra attempted to redirect Luna to the Ravenclaw table, but Harry, hand in hand with Hermione, put a protective arm around Luna's shoulders, tapping the Potter crest on her left sleeve as he affixed their Astronomy Professor with a level stare, just barely on the polite side of a glare. After deeper research into the Noble Houses and their protectorates, Hermione had discovered that no one had any authority to interfere with business between them in any way, which could easily be interpreted to sitting together at meals and even feasts at the school.
The pretty dark-skinned professor gave him a knowing smirk as she waved them past. She had no real desire to argue against the house protectorate status of a student, especially when the representative of the protecting house was well within his rights to insist the protectorate remain with him. Not to mention that it would really cheese Dumbledore off if he noticed, a pursuit that was always worthwhile.
As Professor McGonagall inspected their uniforms, a slight smile tugged at her lips as she came to Luna. Instead of saying anything about her standing with the Gryffindors, though, she looked the young Ravenclaw over just the same as her Lions and nodded in approval before proceeding to the next student. Most of her Gryffindors looked quite smart with freshly-laundered robes, starched white shirts, and crimson and gold Gryffindor neckties showing the perfect triangle of the half-Windsor knot.
Of course, no one was surprised when the professor exhaled a sigh that appeared to emanate from her very soul when she stopped in front of Ron Weasley. A few waves of her wand later and his tie was straightened and cinched up properly, the wrinkles smoothed out of his uniform, and several gravy and jam stains along with a dusting of crumbs were scourgified – though how the boy had managed to get gravy and jam stains on his robes since changing into them before coming downstairs was an absolute mystery to her, especially since there was not so much as a crust of bread on any of the tables. If anyone could figure out how to accomplish that feat, though, of course it would be Ronald Weasley. I swear, she thought to herself in exasperation as she moved on to the next student, wherever that boy goes there's bound to be half a dozen gravy stains nearby. Ron, as usual, appeared oblivious. His vacant expression twisted into a scowl anytime he caught sight of the Potters, but lapsed back into incognisance as soon as he looked away – almost as if he forgot they were standing there.
Her inspection finished, she clapped her hands twice to get her students' attention. "The other schools will be arriving within the hour," she said, her voice stern. "Remember, you are representing not only Gryffindor but Hogwarts as a whole." She affixed her students with a gimlet eye. "You will not bring disrepute upon either. When we go outside, you will conduct yourselves with aplomb and dignity. First impressions are important, and as we are the hosts of this prestigious event it will not do to be seen as unruly children." She awaited their acknowledgement before continuing. "While we are waiting, you may talk with your friends and move around somewhat, so long as you remain in the immediate area and keep the volume down to conversational tones. There will be no yelling or shouting, no arguing, no rumbustiousness, and certainly no fighting. Are there any questions?"
Ron put up a hesitant hand.
"Yes, Mister Weasley?" she said, suppressing another sigh.
"Uh, what does rumbyness mean?"
One of the Weasley twins clapped his hand over Ron's mouth. "Sorry about that, Professor," he said.
"We'll explain all of that to him in a minute," his identical brother added.
She looked over the three before giving a sharp nod. "Very well," she said. "Misters Weasley, I would quite appreciate it if you would keep an eye on your younger brother out there."
"Don't worry, Professor," came the reply.
"We know how important this is."
McGonagall gave them an appreciative nod. The twins were usually the very embodiments of malarky and shenanigans, but while they were the source of much unnecessary stress (not to mention a few wrinkles and grey hairs, like as not), they knew when to be serious.
"If Ronnikins here misbehaves, he will be the sole test subject for our prank products for the rest of the year."
"And it just so happens that we're feeling particularly inspired this year!"
Or maybe they didn't. Shaking her head, McGonagall turned away. The look of apprehension on Ron's face, though, suggested that perhaps they might actually be able to keep their younger brother from embarrassing himself, his House, and his school.
Having passed McGonagall's inspection with minimal issues, Ron Weasley notwithstanding, the Gryffindor students, accompanied by Luna Lovegood, filed outside to await the arrival of the other two schools. The late October evening was quite chilly, with just a hint of frost in the air. Harry cast discreet warming charms on Hermione, Luna, Neville, and himself. He had no interest in freezing his bum off like the last time through, and did not intend for his friends to suffer the same.
Dusk was falling a few minutes before five when Harry's keen eyes saw the lanterns of the Beauxbatons carriage approaching, but he decided to let someone else point it out. Sure enough, the excited chatter arose less than a minute later as the dozen giant Abraxan winged horses circled the green and landed, furiously pawing the ground.
The conversation between Hagrid and Madame Maxime, the Beauxbatons headmistress, when he took charge of the magnificent horses went much as Harry remembered, where Maxime admonished him that the horses required firm handling and drank only single-malt whisky. As before, Hagrid assured her that he'd have no problems with the animals, and then the Beauxbatons students began to disembark from the carriage.
Though their sky-blue uniforms included cloaks draped around their shoulders, it was obvious that the arriving students, accustomed to the much warmer climate of southern France, had not expected the chill of autumn in northern Scotland. Their robes were open-style, though most students had theirs wrapped around them as much as possible to shield against the cold, and had the Beauxbatons crest embroidered over the left breast. The rest of the uniforms consisted of white shirts, sky-blue and gold striped ties, and black trousers for the boys and black skirts for the girls. After a brief welcome, the predominantly French students were led inside where they could warm up.
As they filed past, Harry and Hermione recognised Fleur Delacour in their number. As their other blonde friend passed by, they caught her eye and waved. She smiled and returned their wave before disappearing inside with the rest of her school's students.
"Who was that?" Neville asked, staring at the door closing behind their guests.
"That's Fleur Delacour," Hermione said.
His eyes widened. "That's the French girl you two met over the summer?"
"Yep, that's her," Harry laughed at his friend's reaction.
"She's ever so nice," Hermione added. "We'll introduce her to you two as soon as we can."
Luna's mouth quirked up in a mischievous smile as she gently poked Neville in the ribs. "She's ever so lovely too, isn't she?" she teased.
Neville started in surprise as Luna's words registered and immediately blushed. "Sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean…"
The other three chuckled as Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Nev," he said. "I'm sure you both will like her as much as we do."
"Yeah," Neville said absently as his gaze returned to the door through which the Beauxbatons students had disappeared. "I'm sure we will."
Less than a minute later, a rumbling sound arose from the direction of the Black Lake, the waning crescent moon casting barely enough light to see the disturbance of a sudden upwelling flowing up from the depths. With the roar of a cascading waterfall a double-masted, square-rigged galleon breached the surface of the lake and slammed back down, sending crashing waves speeding towards the shoreline as sheets of water sluiced from the decks in torrents. Pale lanterns lit up the decks and cabins, giving the ship an almost ghost-like appearance as it shed the excess water. It was, Harry had to acknowledge, a pretty wicked entrance for Durmstrang. He wondered if this ship or one similar was responsible for the stories of the Flying Dutchman and the like.
The Durmstrang students marched down the wide gangway to the shore, resplendent in their school uniforms. The uniforms were the same for both the boys and the girls: open-style crimson robes with Durmstrang's crest on their left shoulders over matching tunics cut in a military pattern, black trousers, and polished brown mid-calf boots. Over their robes they were crimson cloaks lined with brown fur, and to protect their heads from the north Scandinavian weather they wore ushanka made from the same dark brown fur that lined their cloaks.
The procession down the gangway was led by Igor Karkaroff, the Durmstrang headmaster. His face seemed twisted into an almost permanent scowl, broken only by the occasional disdainful sneer. Behind him strode a student recognised by almost everyone. For those few who did not recognise him, the excited whispers of their classmates soon clued them in.
"Viktor Krum!"
"It's Viktor Krum!"
"I didn't know he was still in school!"
"I can't believe it's Viktor Krum!"
And, of course, Ron Weasley's eloquent "Bloody Hell!" reverently whispered.
Harry felt his wife's slender hand slip into his own and give him a gentle squeeze. She leaned in close to him as he turned to look at her. "Nothing happened," she whispered so that only he could hear.
"What are you talking about?" he responded in kind.
She nodded towards the approaching Durmstrang contingent. "Viktor. Last time, I mean. I didn't even kiss him, you know. Even back then it didn't feel right, even though we were both messed up as it was, even without the fucking Weasleys' interference." She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Even then, I imagined it was you I was dancing with."
"You were a vision that night," he recalled. "I think watching you come down the stairs was when I first started realising how much of an idiot I was." He shook his head. "Goddamn Ron just had to stick his nose in and fuck it all up though."
"Not this time, my love," she said, kissing his cheek once more.
The visitors from Durmstrang filed past the assembled Hogwarts students and into the castle, and the Hogwarts students were dismissed to the Great Hall immediately afterwards. With Hermione on his left arm, Luna on his right, and Neville right behind, Harry led his three closest friends inside and to the Gryffindor table. The other schools had yet to come in, he saw. They were undoubtedly waiting outside for a more formal introduction and welcoming.
The quartet took their seats at the far end of the table in their usual spot, backs against the wall, seated so they could see the entire hall. Their seats were further away from the head table than fifty feet, so no one could accuse them of any impropriety in regard to interfering with Snape's ability to eat in the Great Hall. None of them had confidence that Dumbledore wouldn't accuse them of such if he felt he could get away with it, so they made it blatantly obvious that they were not deliberately tormenting the sullen Potions Master. Hermione sat on the very end next to Harry, followed by Luna. Neville sat on the other side of the blonde Ravenclaw in his usual spot, providing a buffer between her and the rest of the Gryffindors.
As Headmaster Dumbledore walked by their place at the table he stopped and began to open his mouth, no doubt to admonish them for Luna not sitting with the rest of the Ravenclaws. Seeing this, Harry pointedly took her hand and placed their clasped hands on the tabletop, his Lord's ring prominently displayed. He med Dumbledore's scowl with a defiant gaze, silently daring the old man to say a word. The headmaster closed his mouth with a snap and turned away in a huff, clearly unwilling to engage in a futile argument while their guests waited outside.
Dumbledore regained control of his sour expression by the time he reached the head table, though inside he still seethed with frustration. Damn that boy and his arrogance! He dared presume that he knew better than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The nerve! The absolute cheek! Grumbling to himself and wishing that his alchemical creation took less than six months to produce, he turned to face the Hogwarts students, hands raised for silence.
"In a few moments," he intoned, "our honoured guests will join us as we begin the opening festivities for the legendary Triwizard Tournament. Please give a warm Hogwarts welcome to the representatives of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic!" He led the applause himself as the doors to the Great Hall swung open and Madame Olympe Maxime, her stately form towering over everyone else in the hall aside from Hagrid, led her students inside and down the centre aisle.
The Beauxbatons students entered behind their headmistress in two columns, boys on the left and girls on the right. Midway down the hall they stopped, facing the head table, allowing the boys to offer their hosts polite, sweeping bows while the girls curtsied. Madame Maxime herself executed a flawless curtsy as well before continuing on to her seat reserved at the head table.
Most of the Beauxbatons students took seats at either the Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff table, as those were the closest, but Fleur quickly scanned the hall for her two Hogwarts friends. As soon as she saw them waving at her from the end of their table, she rushed over as quickly as her dignity would allow her. Hermione and Harry both arose to meet her, and the friends greeted each other with the traditional kisses on each cheek before returning to their seats, with Hermione joining Fleur on the opposite side of the table.
Whispered introductions were made between Fleur, Neville, and Luna before they turned their attention back to Dumbledore. Although the Headmaster's expression was benign, there was a tightness around his eyes that told the Potters that he was upset.
Further down the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley's mouth fell open as he watched the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen glide – even he could understand that there was no other word adequate to describe her movement – across the hall and greet the two traitors like they were old friends. She actually kissed that bastard Potter! And he treated her greeting like it was no big deal. Ron would happily sacrifice one of his bollocks for an opportunity to kiss that French bird, no doubt about that. Potter certainly didn't deserve that honour.
Before he could open his mouth, Fred (or was it George? Even he couldn't tell them apart.) squeezed the back of his neck. "Leave it alone, little brother," he said.
"We are not interested in Lord Potter declaring blood feud on House Weasley," George (or Fred) added.
"Besides, McGonagall is likely to skin you alive on general principle whether you disrupt the welcoming or not."
At that moment, Dumbledore again raised his hands for silence. "And now," he said, "please give another warm welcome for the representatives of the Durmstrang Institute for Magical Learning!" Once more he led the applause as Headmaster Karkaroff led his students inside, marching with military precision.
The applause heightened when Viktor Krum strode in, accompanied by several cheers from his fans. Harry watched the older quidditch champion's reaction to the adulations with interest. Krum did not appear to cringe or hide from it at all, nor did he bask or gloat in his fame. He seemed to treat it rather matter-of-fact, somewhat like it was expected but tolerated rather than desired or demanded.
Admittedly, Harry hadn't really suffered as much of the negative aspects of his fame since he'd been sent back with Hermione, but he suspected that that had more to do with the fact that he was fully bonded with his soulmate than anything else. Well, the "we don't give a fuck" attitudes they both carried now undoubtedly helped as well.
After rigid but dignified half-bows, the Durmstrang students found their seats while Headmaster Karkaroff joined the rest of the staff at the head table. Now there was a man who certainly expected people to pay him the respect he felt was owed him. Harry had a difficult time taking the man seriously. As far as he was concerned, Karkaroff was just another has-been Death Eater and a pussy on top of that. It was his testimony that ensured that so many of his fellow Death Eaters were incarcerated in Azkaban while he received what amounted to a slap on the wrist in exchange for his testimony. Harry didn't believe for a moment that he'd had a change of heart, he'd just rolled over on his buddies because he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.
Half the students in the hall tried to get Viktor Krum's attention, but he simply cast a cool eye around the Hall before joining most of his fellow Durmstrang students at the Slytherin table.
Ron lowered his hand, disappointed the Krum would deign to sit with the slimy snakes, but slightly mollified that the famous seeker did not join Potter's gang either. He was honestly surprised that the Malfoy git wasn't smirking at the rest of the school with that cocky smile he wanted to punch right off of his face, but come to think of it Malfoy hadn't really been much of a problem this year. Whatever Potter had said to the git must've made an impression. It was just too bad that it swelled Potter's head up even more, making the bastard forget the best friend he'd ever have.
Once again, the headmaster raised his hands. "We welcome our honoured guests to Hogwarts and ask that you make yourselves at home. Feel free to avail yourselves of our facilities – our classrooms and library are open to you. In a little while, we will bring out the Goblet of Fire as we officially begin the Triwizard Tournament, but for now – let the Feast begin!" He clapped his hands and the tables were immediately filled with all manner of delicious food. The Hogwarts students recognised much of the same food they normally enjoyed, but there were just as many dishes they didn't recognise – presumably they were made with their international guests in mind.
As they filled their plates, more leisurely introductions were made between Fleur, Neville, and Luna than the hasty greetings they'd exchanged earlier. As it turned out, Fleur already knew quite a bit about Neville and Luna, just as they knew quite a bit about her – all thanks to the Potters' tendency to brag about their friends. The three all agreed that it was nice to finally have faces to put with the stories.
After an excellent meal, during which the five friends all tried food that was foreign to them, and even better conversation, the candles floating above the tables dimmed as Headmaster Dumbledore arose once more and moved to the front of the head table. "And now," he intoned in the suddenly-quiet hall, "the moment for which we have awaited is upon us. Bring forth the Goblet of Fire!"
As much as he disliked the man, Harry had to grudgingly acknowledge that Dumbledore did have a flair for the melodramatic, as well as for manipulating the feelings of large crowds. The building excitement in the air was palpable, and he had no doubt that he too would have been swept up in it were his anger with the old man any less.
At the headmaster's signal, Argus Filch entered the hall from the antechamber adjacent to the head table, pushing a decorative cart upon which was placed an ornate, jewel-encrusted casket. The headmaster met him at the foot of the dais upon which stood the head table and slowly opened the chest.
An excited buzz arose around the hall as the headmaster held aloft an ancient wooden cup with both hands. It looked like it was a thousand years old or more and was large enough to easily hold a half-gallon or more of liquid. It was roughly hewn, the wood looking brittle and grey with age. Harry was willing to bet, though, that the enchantments on it were heavy enough to shatter a sword if one were to be swung at it. Well, probably not the Sword of Gryffindor, and certainly not Excalibur. And possibly not the Hanzo blades he and his wife carried, not that he was willing to test that theory. He quickly shook his head and focused on what the old man was saying.
"The Goblet of Fire is an impartial arbiter," the headmaster intoned – goddamn it, could he possibly sound any more of a pompous ass? Harry groused to himself – "and will be the means through which our champions are chosen. The Ministries of our three great nations have agreed that only students who are of age may compete in the tournament, and so I will be setting up an Age Line around the goblet. Those of you who wish to enter may then do so by writing your name and your school's name on a piece of parchment and dropping it into the goblet. But take heed! The goblet will choose only that student who best represents the spirit of everything your school has to offer. And once chosen to be a Triwizard Champion, a binding magical contract will go into effect, requiring you to compete to the end. Submit your name, but do not lightly do so. You are forewarned."
The headmaster gently placed the goblet on the cart beside the case and drew his wand, holding it up unmoving as he waited for the noise to subside once more. When all was silent, he whispered an incantation and tapped the rim of the large wooden cup. Instantly the Goblet was filled with slow-moving blue flames that flowed and danced like liquid plasma.
"And so it begins," Harry whispered, giving his wife a pointed look. They knew that Barty Crouch Junior would confound the goblet tonight and enter Harry under a fictitious fourth school. Neither of them were looking forward to it, but this could be the only opportunity to get to a weakened Tom Riddle at a known time and location.
"The 1994 Triwizard Tournament is officially underway," Dumbledore continued, hefting the goblet aloft once more. "In twenty-four hours the Goblet of Fire will choose the names of the three champions and they will be given their next set of instructions. The goblet will be placed on a plinth in the centre of the Entrance Hall where those who wish to submit their names may do so. Again, once you submit your name there is no changing your mind. You will have to abide by the goblet's decision tomorrow night. There will be three tasks for the champions, which will be more formally announced at later dates, and at the conclusion the ultimate winner will receive a thousand galleons and Eternal Glory."
Hermione scoffed at that. "I doubt anyone here even knows when the last tournament was, let alone who won the fucking thing," she growled. "Eternity sure didn't last long, did it?" The other four chuckled quietly before returning their attention to the front.
The headmaster looked around at the gathered students and nodded. "Very well. You are all dismissed for the night."
"You know," Harry muttered, "maybe it's just the clarity of hindsight, but having an age line as the only means of protection for that goddamn cup seems particularly daft. You'd think they'd consider the possibility of someone bribing an of-age student to enter their name."
"True," Hermione agreed, "but you know as well as I that magicals as a whole seem incapable of using logic."
"Well, when you can wave a stick around and defy the laws of physics on a whim I suppose that there really isn't much room for logic, is there?"
"So it would seem."
The five friends stood up with the rest of the Gryffindor table and made their way to the Entrance Hall in time to see Dumbledore affix the flaming wooden cup to the top of a stone pillar about four feet high. Excited chatter arose all around them as students speculated on who would be chosen, boasted about how well they'd perform if they were only allowed to enter, daydreamed about what they'd do with a thousand galleons, gossiped about the other two schools, or blathered on about Viktor Krum.
As soon as Dumbledore cast the age line around the plinth, Krum strode forward alongside Headmaster Karkaroff and submitted his name. The gathered students broke into applause as the blue flames flared, accepting the parchment. The celebrity student looked around at no one in particular, gave a sharp nod, and marched away. Never once did his countenance deviate from the neutral expression he'd worn since stepping onto Scottish soil.
Harry felt that Karkaroff would be much better served by copying Krum's stoic demeanour rather than displaying that fake, unctuous smile, the belittling scowl, or the arrogant sneer. Knowing that the fucker was a Death Eater as well made it even more difficult to refrain from cutting his goddamn throat as he walked past.
A few other students from all three schools submitted their names as well, each to the accompaniment of applause from the other students milling about. The various conversations around the Hall invariably began turning more and more to conjecture on the likeliest students to be selected. Fleur, however, did not move towards the goblet.
"Aren't you going to enter, Fleur?" Harry asked at length.
"Oui, mon ami," she said, "but not until tomorrow. I do not need nor do I want all this fanfare." She gestured vaguely towards the gathered mob of students. "Is there somewhere else we could go? Somewhere less… chaotic."
The Potters looked briefly at each other. "Of course," Hermione said. "It's still a few hours until curfew, so why don't we all go up to our quarters?"
"Oh good!" Luna exclaimed, clapping her hands as she bounced up and down. "You'll just love their flat, Fleur. It's ever so comfortable! There's not even a single nargle or wrackspurt there to be found." She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I suppose they could use a troupe of mistsingers, though, and perhaps a wisplight or three, but all in all I don't think there's a more peaceful area in all of Hogwarts."
The French witch gave her a quizzical look. "I'm sorry, I am not familiar with these creatures," she began.
"Well," Harry broke in, "nargles like to nest in mistletoe and have a nasty habit of, um, borrowing things that don't belong to them. Quite the nuisance, I'm afraid. Fortunately, butterbeer corks somehow tend to repel them." He displayed the necklace he'd made over the summer, which he wore every day, as his wife showed hers as well.
"Wrackspurts are drawn to people with particularly weak minds," Hermione continued with a surreptitious wink at their blonde Ravenclaw. "They infest those minds, making things even foggier and more confusing for their victims, along with wreaking havoc with their emotions and impulse control."
"The weaker the mind, the larger the infestation, usually," Neville chimed in. "Not familiar with mistsingers or wisplights, though."
"Those are both actually rather nice to have around," Luna said with a radiant smile. "Mistsingers make the loveliest background music you've ever heard when the fly around – it's quite ethereal, really – and wisplights produce a natural luminescence that can fill a room with soft light that casts no shadows. They both are drawn to peaceful locations and love being around mated couples. They're quite romantic, in my opinion."
By this time, Fleur's eyebrows had nearly disappeared behind her hairline. Hermione smiled at the veela's amazement and came to her rescue.
"Luna is our resident expert in magizoology and cryptozoology," she explained. "I've seen few people with such esoteric knowledge as she. Don't worry, I wouldn't expect anyone outside of her or her father to know much of anything about these creatures."
Fleur nodded in acknowledgement, though she still looked slightly confused.
"Well!" Harry exclaimed as he tucked his wife's hand in the crook of his elbow. "Shall we head on to our quarters?" He took Luna's hand in his own free hand and looked at Neville. "Nev, would you mind escorting Fleur up to our flat?" Butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth.
Neville blushed as he offered the older girl his arm. Not trusting his tongue to refrain from embarrassing himself, he elected to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he gave the beautiful veela a shy but friendly smile.
She returned it warmly as she took his arm, kissing his cheek for good measure. She could tell that he was a quiet, unassuming sort that in all likelihood was ignored or belittled by many of his more outgoing peers, if children here behaved the same as they did in France. People at this age were generally unable to appreciate the overall decency of those like Neville, and she suspected that being on his arm would turn the status quo upside down. Fleur was not a conceited young lady – she'd suffered too much discrimination for that – but she knew that she was considered beautiful, and the fact that she was French on top of that just added even more of an exotic appeal to her, at least as far as the reactions of most of the British students appeared to indicate.
Though Neville's smiling face by this time resembled a tomato, her supposition was proven correct, if the incredulous and dumbfounded expressions of the surrounding students were anything to judge by. Hiding a smirk, she looked at the young man through half-lidded eyes. "Thank you for the use of your arm, kind sir," she purred.
A few strangled choking sounds drifted out from the crowd, and Neville himself considered it a miracle that his voice was not among them. As it was, he still had to swallow a couple of times before he was in any condition to continue in the same vein. "It is an honour and a privilege, fair lady," he replied, somehow managing to keep his voice from cracking.
Fleur gave him a bemused smile and lay her head on his shoulder as they followed the Potters and Luna. It was a wonder that there were no sounds of fainting people hitting the floor following in their wake.
Safely ensconced in their quarters, Harry and Hermione collapsed on their sofa while Luna snuggled in between them. Neville and Fleur took the armchairs on the other side of the cocktail table. At Harry's request, Dobby brought five beer steins, which Harry filled with Guinness from his flask before handing them around. "To friends, new and old," he said, lifting his glass to the others.
The quintet enjoyed their drinks and small talk together as they got to know each other. The Potters and Luna gently teased Neville and Fleur about the collective reaction of the other students when the French witch had taken his arm. Neville's reaction was embarrassed but pleased, especially when Fleur informed them all that like Harry, he was immune to her allure. To demonstrate, she allowed the full force of her attractant aura to flow out from her. It was powerful enough that Luna's eyes began to glaze before she shook herself and broke free. Neville and the Potters, though, remained completely unaffected.
"So what does that mean?" Neville inquired.
Fleur gave him another warm smile. "It means that we could make a most marvellous couple if you're interested, Neville," she said, her voice quiet. "It's not often that a man can resist a veela's allure, but if he can then he is usually considered a worthy potential. If he chooses to pursue a relationship with a veela then she can be assured that he genuinely desires it instead of being enthralled and coerced by her aura." She gestured towards the sofa. "Harry would also make an excellent match for a veela, except that he has bonded with his soulmate and neither would ever consider another." Her cheeks tinged with pink as she continued. "If you decide that you would like to get to know me better, I can assure you that I would be agreeable – but the choice will be yours."
Neville's eyes widened in astonishment at the information he'd just received. "I, er… well." He took a deep breath and smiled at the French girl. "I was honestly not expecting this," he replied. "I'd certainly like to get to know you better, Fleur, but I don't know if I'm quite ready for a girlfriend yet. Let me think on it overnight, okay?"
"But of course," she agreed as she reached out and took his hand. "Take all the time you need, oui?"
Neville squeezed her hand and nodded as the other three looked on. "Thanks," he said.
They continued chatting until curfew began to approach, then left the flat to make sure everyone got back to their quarters on time. They escorted Luna to Ravenclaw tower where she hugged everyone goodnight, adding a chaste kiss for Harry and Hermione, before skipping inside and up to her room. The four then made their way outside and across the rolling lawn, past the remains of the curtain wall, to where the sky-blue Beauxbatons carriage rested near Hagrid's hut. Fleur also bid the three goodnight with a hug, though she kissed their cheeks as well. If she lingered a second or two longer with Neville, none of them elected to notice.
The three Gryffindors made it back to the entrance of their tower with minutes to spare. Hermione gave Neville a hug goodnight while Harry gave him a firm handshake and brotherly clap on the shoulder. "Just to let you know, mate," Harry told him, "if you decide to go out with Fleur, we approve."
"She's a bit older though, isn't she?" Neville protested, though his heart was obviously not in it.
"Three years, mate, that's it."
"You're a right decent bloke, Nev," Hermione added. "Any girl would be lucky to have you. Hell, if Harry wasn't my soulmate I'd be willing to consider you myself!"
Neville blushed, but the smile on his face was pleased.
"Fleur is a special young lady, but few people can ever get past the whole veela thing long enough to see her as she truly is," Harry went on.
The other young man nodded in sudden understanding. "Just like so many people expect to see a near-squib when they look at me," he said. "It's been several weeks now, but they're still amazed when my spells are some of the most powerful in class. The fact that it is consistently so now doesn't seem to register."
"How many times since then has Weasley called you a squib?" Hermione huffed in irritation.
"Every time he speaks to me, which fortunately is not at all often."
"Well, Weasley is a fucking idiot," Harry observed, "but the point stands. You, my friend, would take the time to get to know the real Fleur, and you'd do right by her as well. As another dear friend of ours, that's all we'd ever ask."
It was a thoughtful Neville Longbottom who bade the Potters good night and entered the Lions' common room. The approval of his two best friends did wonders for his confidence and meant the world to him.
***FTR***
"Mademoiselle Delacour! Mon dieu, girl, where have you been?"" The statuesque Beauxbatons headmistress, Madame Olympe Maxime, was practically wringing her hands with worry as her wayward student entered the carriage. She was somewhat taken aback at the beaming smile on her student's face.
"Pardonne moi, Professeure," the young lady said contritely, though her smile diminished not at all. "I was visiting my two best friends and two of their friends at their flat in the castle," she explained.
The headmistress was immediately concerned. "Are you certain that was safe, my dear? You know how these British are."
"Harry and Hermione are different," Fleur replied, "and so are their friends. I met the Potters…"
"Excusez-moi, do you mean Harry Potter?" the gobsmacked headmistress interrupted.
"Oui, I met him and his wife Hermione over holiday on the Côte d'Azur. They are both the most wonderful people you could ever hope to meet. Hermione figured out that I am veela almost immediately, and it made no difference to them. They family-bonded their two house elves instead of using the servant bond like everyone else in Britain – and Europe too, for that matter. Harry said the man who introduced him to the magical world is Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper here at Hogwarts, and considers him to be his first friend." She gave her headmistress a meaningful look, knowing that the towering woman was extremely sensitive about her heritage. It was obvious to anyone who took a moment to think about it that she had giant blood, and it was equally obvious to Fleur that Hagrid shared a similar background – not that she would ever be crass enough to speak of it to either of them. Her point (and Madame Maxime immediately picked it up) was that her friends did not discriminate against those who were not considered fully human. In point of fact, they considered them to be just as human as themselves.
"Interesting." Maxime's expression grew pensive. "It is rare to meet a British wizard or witch who is so… accepting. And you say this is the famous Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"Oui, Professeure," she replied.
"And he is married to this Hermione? Already? At his age?"
"They are soulmates," Fleur explained. "I have seen this myself."
"Indeed!" The headmistress was stunned. Soulmates were a rarity, to say the least, but that status was nonetheless accepted worldwide as being on the same level as a binding marriage as soon as the bond was officially recognised – regardless of age.
"They are still young, though, but Magic itself has recognised them as being wed. They wear the official wedding rings of the Potter Lord and Lady, and according to them they simply awoke one morning to find them on their fingers." Fleur smiled at her headmistress. "I could sense no lie in their tale."
"Magnifique!" Maxime exclaimed. "The Potters are an old family and well-regarded, even in France. What family does the Lady Potter hail from?"
"Her family name is Granger, and her parents are both non-magique."
"Granger. I wonder if she is heiress to the old Dagworth-Granger line."
"I don't know. They've not said anything about it."
"It might be worth investigating. The Dagworth-Grangers were not quite as renowned as the Potters, but they were well-regarded in their own right before the line went dormant, especially with Hector Dagworth-Granger founding the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers."
Fleur nodded in agreement. "I'll be sure to mention that to them tomorrow," she said.
The headmistress smiled at her student. Mademoiselle Delacour was one of her favourite students, not that she would ever acknowledge that aloud to the girl – at least not until well after she finished school. She was exceptionally intelligent, her spellwork was precise and powerful, and she had a brilliant imagination. Maxime admitted in the privacy of her mind that she felt quite protective of her veela student, in large part due to the veiled discrimination inflicted upon her. Not that there was anything blatant, physical, or violent – no one was foolish enough to harm the daughter of the Director-General of the Gendarmarie Magique. Nevertheless, Mademoiselle Delacour suffered seven lonely years at Beauxbatons. Her classmates were too immature to look past her veela heritage and would judge her accordingly. The girls would jealously guard their boyfriends, always blaming her if the boys so much as spoke to her, and cruel names such as tart, harlot, or even worse would follow her around. The young men of Beauxbatons were no better and sometimes worse, either treating her with barely-veiled contempt, making indecent propositions, or both. It saddened the Headmistress to see such a bright, promising, and friendly young lady be forced to don the mask of cold, disdainful indifference that she wore so well.
"I am glad you have been fortunate enough to find friends like the Potters, mademoiselle. They are sure to be a force for change in our world, and hopefully one that will be enough to allow those such as us to live without feeling ashamed of our heritage. I encourage you to develop and maintain a strong friendship with them."
***FTR***
Harry stood on the balcony of their flat, leaning against the parapet as he gazed out across the Hogwarts grounds. The moon was a thin crescent, barely casting any light, but it was still enough to discern the dark shadow of the Forbidden Forest rising up behind the tiny warm lights shining through the windows of the Beauxbatons carriage and Hagrid's hut. Permanent temperature charms kept the balcony at a constant and comfortable temperature regardless of the season, while the broad overhang above kept off the rain and the snow.
He took a puff from the cigarette he held as he stared into the night, lost in thought. Tomorrow was Hallowe'en, the day he hated above all others. It was the anniversary of the murder of his parents, and instead of being left along to grieve and reflect he would be expected to put on a celebratory face and participate in the festivities just because that fucking madman's curse bounced off him (thanks solely, no doubt, to the brilliance of Lily Potter) and hit the maniac, utterly destroying him in the process. All Harry had likely contributed was shitting his nappies.
And if all that wasn't enough, almost every year since he'd rejoined the magical world, some random bullshit happened that held ominous Voldemort undertones and inevitably led up to a fight for his life. Goddamn, he was sick and tired of it.
Hopefully, though, tomorrow's annual "Let's Shit on Harry Potter Again" gala would be the very last time. His name was most likely going to fly out of the Goblet of Fire as the fourth contender thanks to the polyjuiced Barty Crouch Junior. Last time he had to deal with almost the entire school turning on him, but he had a plan prepared for this go-around. Even so, he still wished for a larger measure of normality. It would be nice to have a year where the most dangerous thing to happen to him would be a risk of dehydration and exhaustion from making love with Hermione too much.
His musings were interrupted by a slender pair of arms slipping around his waist. A smile played across his lips as he recognised the presence of his wife. As usual when his mood darkened like this, she remained silent. She never asked him what was wrong because she instinctively knew, just as she knew exactly how to give him the greatest comfort. As expected, he felt her head come to a rest between his shoulder blades as she held him close.
A flick of his finger sent the glowing cigarette butt sailing over the parapet where it disappeared in the darkness below. He placed his hands atop Hermione's and stood there in silence with her, simply enjoying her presence just as he knew she enjoyed his.
Several unhurried minutes later he twisted around in her arms, wrapped his around her, and drew her close. Their lips met in a warm, sensual kiss that ended only when she began tugging at the buttons of his shirt. Returning her mischievous smile, he followed her to their bedroom, the two leaving a trail of discarded clothing in their wake.
***Author's Note***
I wish I could take credit for the idea of a Howler of a Mandrake scream, but that idea was borrowed from "The Howler" by Mnementh1 - a short but brilliant little tale. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it!
Yes, I realize that Harry and Hermione are severely out of character, including their language. Please refer to the intro/challenge page, think about who their reapers are, and consider the source material. If you don't recognize them, I'll have a complete list of all cameos at the end of the story, including the source material. In the meantime, please just go with it. If it's too much for you, I promise I won't be offended if you quit reading. Everyone else, I'm glad y'all are enjoying it, and thank you for all the feedback!