A/N: Hey guys, please find attached my new chapter. Again, I appreciate the reviews, favs and follows and please do continue to leave me your thoughts. I'm testing something with this chapter and your take would be invaluable to me for the future.
Betas: As usual, please join me in thanking Darkened Void and Crippled Witcher for their extensive beta work. Without them, this chapter would have looked and read far worse. Present mistakes are on me.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the HP universe or the mentioned brand names in this story, they belong to the appropriate entities that brought them into this world.
Please enjoy.
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Chapter 3: Heavy it Weighs
August 27th, 1994
Atrium, Ministry of Magic, London, England
As Sirius stepped out of the fireplace and onto the dark but shiny marble floor of the Ministry's atrium, he glanced at the shuffling workers rushing across the grand space, their hands clutching documents as tightly as goblins hoarded their gold.
Despite the atrium's large open space, the hardworking employees of the state still managed to knock into people and move on without a word. Their single-mindedness proved to be more prevalent than their care for their fellow man. New hires would still feel the embarrassment and stop to apologize for their careless behaviour but with age and experience, and a growing sense of self-importance, they would soon become uncompromising cogs in the machine that was the Ministry of Magic.
If Sirius were at least half the politician his father was, he would have visited the depressing place far more often and perhaps have learned to like its remarkably dark and sterile atmosphere. Despite his upbringing being marked by his father's keen effort to educate the firstborn of the Black family in the arts of oratory and manipulation, Sirius had never developed an innate love for court intrigue. Instead, he'd developed interests that most felt were quite unbecoming of a Black scion.
His sorting into Gryffindor ruffled a fair amount of feathers in the family, much more so for his immediate family. A Black in Gryffindor, they'd gasped, what a faux-pas.
Historically, Blacks had somehow been sorted into Slytherin without a single member doing otherwise; Except him. However, despite being sorted into Gryffindor, Orion had changed nothing of how he raised his heir.
The former head of house's teachings bore fruit, albeit not in the way the old man had originally intended. Sirius had taken his father's teachings to heart, yes, but used it mostly to sound, look and appear as the perfect pureblood lord one would expect from a member of the house of Black. Away from prying eyes and within the walls of his home, he'd revert to the man he really was and always had been.
Lost in his musings, Sirius walked leisurely across the busy plane of the Atrium, letting his focus shift from who walked toward, across or next to him.
A younger man bumped right into his shoulder followed by the sound of a pile of papers falling on the marble floor; an almost silent curse escaped the fussing individual on the floor. The man, his hair as bright red as the waning sun, didn't raise his gaze to look at Sirius and instead focussed on the sheets of paper that were encroached upon by the many feet rushing around him. With the dexterity of a cat, the young redhead fetched the papers from under impending steps, and carefully piled them into his other hand. It was quite an impressive act.
"Can't you see where you're going, man?" the man with red hair complained, his attention still on the few papers left on the floor. His voice, trained by years of reading aloud and reporting to superiors, didn't leave any words to interpretation and caused Sirius to feel a small pang of shame at his lack of focus. However, he couldn't possibly allow a minor ministry employee - he assumed he was given his age - treat him like the common rabble that stalked the insides of these walls.
"I'm terribly sorry for being such a nuisance," Sirius drawled lazily, his face trained into a well-practised sneer.
The man didn't react to his verbal jab save for a subtle slowing of his movements.
Sirius took that as a sign that the younger man had begun to understand his situation. "I must have had my head in the clouds. Please do forgive my thoughtlessness."
The redhead didn't stop collecting his papers. Instead, he increased the pace of his movements and began to grab the few sheets of paper that remained on the ground, creating dog ears on some of them. Whoever would receive these, later on, would certainly unleash a decent amount of displeasure on the young man later.
"Lord Black!?" The young man gasped once his eyes met Sirius' own, recognition and disbelief evident in his tone, the boy began to tremble slightly.
"Yes, it is I," Sirius confirmed snobbishly. He raised his head to strengthen his look of mild amusement. The dishevelled man began to sweat profusely. Yeah, this is more fun than I'd ever admit aloud.
Realizing that he'd been staring at Sirius dumbly, the young man looked himself over and began dusting himself off, checking his attire for any errant creases in his clothing. Not at all satisfied with his appearance, the young man turned his eyes to Sirius' stoic mien. The intensity in the older wizard's eyes caused him to swallow at the nervous feeling in his gut.
"I did not know it was you," he apologized truthfully, his body slightly hunched by his fear of being complained about to his superiors.
"I gathered that," Sirius drawled, still holding on to his stone-faced look, his walking cane - which he didn't really require but pureblood fashion demanded it - comfortably lodged in his arm.
Seeing as his apology didn't have the intended effect, the young redhead moved his lips without saying anything. Finally, he settled on an idea that allowed him to assume a more professional demeanour. Clearing his throat, the youngster straightened before speaking.
"I'm on Ministry business, you see," he announced proudly, pointing toward the papers clutched in his arm. "Very important business."
"As it always is, I'm sure."
Seeing that he'd finally bought himself some breathing room, the young man's relief spread on his face. His chest puffed out in a prideful manner that attempted to make him seem more important than he really was.
"Minister Fudge himself tasked me with delivering these," he added suddenly, using the Minister's name to give legitimacy to his blunder.
Sirius didn't let it bother him, reminding himself that even if the man opposite of him were actually important, their social standing would still put him on a higher pedestal. "Yes, the Minister, an important man he is," he nodded at the younger man with a curt smile that didn't reach his eyes.
After a moment of awkward silence, the redheaded man glanced around the atrium in search of something. His gaze still searching, he opened his mouth to speak. "Forgive my inquiry, Lord Black. Are you here on business? A session for the Wizengamot, perhaps?"
At the sudden change in tone, from one of pride to one of business, Sirius could only eye the man slowly before sighing quietly and accepting the question for the innocence it carried.
"Well, I'd answer that question in a heartbeat," he began confidently before adopting a slow tone lined with suspicion, "but I'm afraid I don't know who you are. I don't usually divulge my own business to random employees. Even those on the Minister's business."
The words struck the young man like a punch to the gut, leaving him to mouth words silently and look at Sirius dumbly.
"You don't know who I am?" he asked him, flustered. The young man's eyebrows disappeared behind his head of red hair.
Hiding his snicker at the observation, Sirius did his best to seem as unemotional as he had thus far. "I'm afraid not, no. Should I?"
"Well..."
"Yes?" Sirius pressed.
Clearing his throat, the younger man tried to normalize his features and let his eyebrows lower back to their usual position.
"I'm terribly sorry for not introducing myself, Milord. I'm a common sight and am familiar to most people working in the ministry. I didn't think you wouldn't recognize me. The name is Weasley. Percival Weasley. But, please, do call me Percy," he stated clearly, his hand stretched out toward Sirius in greeting.
Taking his outstretched hand, Sirius couldn't help but put a touch more force into his grip than he usually would have. The pain shooting through the young office worker's hand was hardly visible on his face.
"Percy, then," Sirius repeated.
Nodding at Sirius, Percy retracted his hand and massaged it with his other hand, the papers still clutched under his arm. Eying Sirius more closely, he finally noticed the Wizengamot robes wrapped around his lower arm, the insignia of the Ministry branded on them.
"Are you on your way to a session of the Wizengamot? Perhaps I can show you to the room."
Sirius waved him off with the hand not holding his robes.
"It's no bother. I can find my own way to the courtroom. And let's not forget, you are on the Minister's business." Sirius nodded at the papers under Percy's arm. "We can't have you leading lost people around when you must see to the delivery of these important documents."
Percy nodded in acceptance, a sigh of relief escaping him. "Thank you for your consideration, Lord Black. I shall leave you to your business then."
Before the young man moved to rush off, an idea popped into Sirius' mind. "Tell me, are you related to Arthur Weasley?"
"Yes," the young redhead nodded, "that would be my father, sir. Why do you ask?"
Gladdened by the fact that he'd happened to come across someone who'd point him in the right direction, Sirius decided to make use of the man. "You see, I received a letter from him only a few days ago and decided to pay him a visit and ask him in person about his business with me."
"Business with you, sir?" The young man repeated, unsure he'd heard Sirius right but the latter remained silent, not providing an inkling of a reaction that would infer he cared for his question.
"Well, seeing as it is still before lunch," Percy stated, checking the time with a quick tempus before nodding, "he should be in his department right now before he'd go out for his inspections in the afternoon. If you still miss him in the morning, you'll either have to come see him tomorrow morning, or you could let me know and I'll see to it that he comes to see you at your estate."
As time was of the essence for Sirius as well, he preferred to get the meeting over as soon as possible.
"I'm sure I will find him if I go see him now. Where would his department be?"
Percy went to point toward the elevators but reconsidered. Instead, he pulled out his wand and conjured a piece of paper. Casting a silent spell, the paper folded itself into a paper plane and hovered between the two men.
"Follow my guide and it'll lead you to the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. It's much simpler this way and saves you time."
Checking the time with a quick Tempus again, Percy's forehead formed lines of worry, his demeanour evoking a sense of urgency.
"I'm terribly sorry to leave you as quickly as I knocked into you, Lord Black, but I'm afraid I can't stay any longer. These documents must be delivered immediately."
Sirius nodded and bade the young man farewell, the latter suddenly rushing off before Sirius could offer his verbal dismissal.
Shaking his head at Percy, Sirius snickered at the plane floating in front of his face, impatiently waiting for it to execute its purpose.
"Lead the way then, mate," he instructed just above a whisper, his hand raised only slightly to offer the paper plane the way ahead.
The paper plane flew a small loop before racing forward, pulling Sirius along as if forced by invisible threads.
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Using two different lifts and walking down endless amounts of stairs, the plane kept on zigzagging through the ministry. With each passing floor, the number of people rushing and talking around him became less, until the echo of his steps were among the last sounds he could hear.
Reaching a weathered door with the words 'Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts' plastered on its front, the plane came to a full stop and turned its sharp nose toward him. It began unfolding itself and refolded into what looked like a mouth.
"Thank you for placing your trust in me, Lord Black. I wish you well and may we meet again soon," the paper mouth announced, carrying Percy's voice before ripping itself to shreds and, with a spark of a flame, burned itself to ashes.
After observing the charmed paper turn into nothing, Sirius turned to knock on the door with a gloved hand.
After a lengthy period of silence, Sirius knocked again and then again until he could hear the shuffling of papers and the groaning of wooden chairs being pushed across the floor, reminding him of a time long past spent in the Gryffindor common room. If he remembered correctly, the faded spots on the wood floor in the commons left by Remus' regular visits to study would still be there. Perhaps, he'd have the opportunity to go and see for himself during his annual school board meeting in a week's time.
The sound of the old door finally opening pulled Sirius out of his musings, revealing a man of similar age to himself but with much more grey hairs sprouting within the red.
"Mr Arthur Weasley, I presume?" Sirius inquired.
The man nodded. "Yes, how can I help you?"
"You sent me a letter not too long ago? About a meeting?" Sirius provided further.
Confusion marring the man's features, he tilted his head in question only to raise an eyebrow in realization soon after.
"Merlin's beard, right! Lord Black. Please, come in, come in," Mr Weasley offered fussily, his body moving backwards to open a space for Sirius to walk through.
Moving to close the door behind Sirius, Mr Weasley then moved past him to pull out a chair in front of his desk. Placing piles of documents on the floor and dusting the chair off, he went back around his desk and offered his hand in invitation.
Unsure how to open the discussion, Mr Weasley went with the first thing that popped into his mind. "I hope finding this office wasn't too much of a chore. I didn't expect you to come and see me directly, given that it was me who had wished for this meeting. A place of your choice would have sufficed and I would have come instead."
"Perish the thought," Sirius countered, raising his hand to wave the other man's worries off. "It was no chore at all. I was led here by your son…," he paused to try and remember the young man's name from earlier. " Percival...yes, Percy I believe his name was. We had an unusual encounter earlier in the Atrium where he had acted unbecoming of a servant of the people. But his behaviour quickly improved once he realized who he had run into."
"Ah yes, Percy can be difficult when his career is concerned. I thank you for offering him guidance and I'm thrilled he was able to help you." Mr Weasely nodded with a smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He also left no further comment on the two men meeting. Sirius couldn't quite tell but it seemed as though there were things going on between the two redheads that stretched further than familial disagreements.
"Please, forgive the mess," Mr Weasley suddenly announced. "We've been having an increasing amount of reports coming in recently from people experiencing unfortunate mishaps with muggle kitchenware. Something about micro...or nanowaves setting their kitchens on fire. Fascinating objects, really. If only we could learn the proper use for them. Regretfully, I myself don't know how they work either. I did try to toast a loaf of bread recently, but I never seem to get the settings on the device right. My bread always comes out charcoal black," he recalled excitedly, the previous mention of his son seemingly forgotten.
Sirius chuckled at the man's awed demeanour. It wasn't common to find other pureblood wizards who found use for muggle inventions, much less find them worthy of their admiration. "I find them most useful when cooking is too tiresome an effort. With a push of a button, a meal is piping hot."
"Oh," Mr Weasley reacted in astonishment, "please excuse my surprise, but I didn't expect someone of your pedigree to fancy muggle appliances, let alone in the sanctity of your home."
"Would it trouble you if I did?" Sirius asked, an eyebrow raised in question.
"No, far from it. I'm thrilled to see somebody of your social stature showing an interest in what has become my life's work," the man replied happily, the words 'social' and 'stature' receiving an emphasis.
"Ah," Sirius offered, "I see. Well, don't be too enthusiastic about my indulgences. I'm somewhat of a black sheep in my family."
Mr Weasley was at a loss for words at first but laughed heartily shortly after, his voice bouncing off the walls of his office.
Wiping at his eyes with his palms, Mr Weasley calmed his breathing back to its normal pace and allowed his face to lose the scarlet colour of excitement. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward on his desk and focused his attention back onto Sirius. "I'm gladdened by your sense of humour. Most of the higher-ups don't partake in light banter."
"Well, I'm happy to stand out then," Sirius chuckled.
Mr Weasley eyed him with a genuine smile on his face, a subtle sigh escaping him. "If there were more people like you, Lord Black, the magical world would be a far more relaxed place."
Sirius shook his head at Mr Weasley's statement, "There are many who are just like yourself and me, walking this world. They are just afraid to stick out like sore thumbs and lose their place in it."
"True, I can only agree with you on that point. The times have gotten tougher for muggle-borns. Increasingly so after the Potters perished," Mr Weasley replied sagely, the fact only too clear to him.
Letting out another heavy sigh Mr Weasley pursed his lips. "If only the Potters were still around to push back against the tide of these conservatives," he began dejectedly, his eyes looking at something far and away. "It's a fine thing to cherish tradition but it's entirely different when you stifle everything else. Rubbish, all of it."
The mention of the Potters drew Sirius' attention and his back straightened uncomfortably in response. He didn't like where this discussion was going and opted to change its course to something else.
"It may come as a surprise to you," he started, "but my father and uncle had been pushing back against them, as well. The conservatives, I mean."
The constant reminder that his family had been perceived as darker and inflexible to progress within popular opinion irritated him. The family creed of Toujours Pur was often misinterpreted as a political statement when, actually, it was a reminder for those born into it. His father, Orion, had always believed in working toward the ideals he believed in. Always be pure to yourself, he'd said, and never let others dilute you. "
"Oh," Mr Weasley's mouth formed the word with his mouth, adding to his surprise at Sirius' reply. "I thought your family belonged to that faction. Forgive me, I'd thought the Blacks were in favour of anti-muggle politics."
Shaking his head at the redhead, Sirius went to correct him. "They weren't exactly pro-muggle, to be honest. But they knew a bad idea when they saw one and conservatism of this," he gestured with his raised hand vaguely, "nature held little promise of progress. We Blacks are an old, even ancient, family. And we do cherish the past and traditions but we value our continued existence even more and holding on to a dying narrative is anything but."
"The murders then-" the redhead whispered upon realization.
"Were likely to have been motivated by their betrayal of pureblood politics, as they would say," Sirius provided, nodding affirmatively toward Mr Weasley.
"They?" the other man asked in confusion.
"Just people," Sirius waved lazily, aware that he couldn't name them. The killings were murders without perpetrators. He had no proof that linked anyone and thus couldn't give the man sitting opposite him anything more tangible.
"I see," Mr Weasley replied, seeming unbothered by the vagueness of Sirius' statement.
After a few silent, awkward moments, Sirius cleared his throat to begin the discussion on why he'd come to see Mr Weasley to begin with.
"The letter then," he reminded the redhead man.
"Ah, yes, the letter. Have you read it?" the other inquired excitedly.
"I'm afraid I've lost track of it within my own pile of papers at home," the dark-haired man said with a tang of embarrassment colouring his face.
Letting his gaze travel around the room, Mr Weasley tried to point out his own messy office, attempting to even the scale between them. "As you can see, I'm not any better in that regard, so I can sympathize," he said while he let his hand massage his neck. "I hope this isn't the only reason you've had to come all this way. It would make me feel terrible if that were the case. I would have made the journey to your home instead."
"No worries," Sirius replied quickly, "there are other matters that require my attention. A case involving a convicted criminal. Nothing major but something that I have to be present for." Sirius didn't want to inform anyone what else he'd been called to the Ministry for.
Madam Bones had been quite clear about the covert nature of their meeting. Something about secret information on a matter pertaining to his relatives. In his opinion, the last attempt by a sentenced criminal to wiggle out of a long stay at Azkaban.
"As one should," the redhead nodded, drawing Sirius from his deep thoughts.
Sirius agreed with a curt smile but didn't say anything further on the matter.
"Would you prefer tea or coffee?" Mr Weasley offered, getting up suddenly to approach the water boiler in the corner of the office.
"Am I staying that long?" Sirius inquired, eyeing the man's obvious attempt at a muggle tea making ceremony. To call it an odd thing would have been an understatement. Somebody using muggle objects in the Ministry of Magic and using an electrical cord connected to a car battery on the floor, no less. Yes, quite odd.
Unperturbed by Sirius' question, Mr Weasley made no note of the former's keen observation in his unusual set-up. "No matter, I feel this is the least I can offer for your troubles."
"Then a cup of tea, please. Thank you," Sirius responded gratefully, licking his lips after noticing their dryness.
Mr Weasley nodded away as he continued to fiddle with his set-up, filling the metal can with an aguamenti.
"So, about the letter?" Sirius reminded him again.
"Yes, the letter," Mr Weasley confirmed, his attention split between their conversation and the tea.
"Well?" Sirius called again.
"It's quite mundane really," the man continued unperturbed.
"Go on, I'm all ears," he pushed impatiently, not appreciating being led on with platitudes.
Mr Weasley didn't see Sirius' displeased demeanour and thus didn't feel pressured to speak right away. Instead, he stopped speaking altogether to pay more attention to the tea-making. After a few long moments of pouring, turning and mixing, he placed the mugs filled with steaming hot tea on a tablet along with a small cup of milk and a bowl of sugar. He turned and approached the desk slowly before placing the tablet on the desk and offering Sirius his tea.
Sirius nodded gratefully, albeit reluctantly, and helped himself to the ingredients on the tablet. After taking a ginger sip from his mug, he turned his attention back to Mr Weasley who had also just finished preparing his tea. With an expectant look, he urged the man to continue where he'd left off.
"A short while ago," the man started, "I began a project with my muggle car, a Ford Anglia. A fascinating piece of muggle ingenuity, which I've charmed to be able to fly."
Hearing this, Sirius couldn't help but remember his old motorcycle, his face forming a smirk in concert to his feelings. "That's quite something. I, myself, have a flying motorcycle that had been a joy in my youth. Regretfully, I haven't really been able to make much use of it as of late." Despite his disappointment, Sirius could still remember all the happy memories he'd made riding it with his friends squeezed into the side-car. His eyes sparkled at the musings.
"Fascinating," an awed Mr Weasley responded, his amusement at the thought of a similar project having been attempted by someone else distracting him again from the conversation as well.
"Your car?" Sirius reminded him abruptly after he'd noticed the long silence.
"Sorry, yes. Well, since I've taken on this project, my sons have become increasingly interested in muggle machinery and my youngest boy, Ron, has developed a deeper appreciation for muggle motor vehicles," the older man explained.
"This is what the letter was about actually," he added pointedly.
"How so?" Sirius didn't see how Mr Weasley's newfound passion should matter to him. If anything, he was the wrong man to seek out for advice.
"Well, I had the fortunate opportunity to make young Mr Potter's acquaintance at an event for enthusiasts of motorsport. Ron and I have pursued this growing passion for muggle cars together and, as time went on, we have had to come to the frustrating realization that our passion would find no other compatriots within the confines of our society. Perhaps aside from yourself, Lord Black, and your godson."
Sirius couldn't breathe and almost felt the bottom fall out from under him. While he stubbornly held his outside posture of pure calm, on the inside he was a raging storm.
Mr Weasley, who had noticed none of Sirius' extreme discomfort, continued his monologue uninterrupted. "It was then that we decided to look beyond the walls of our society to the muggle world, where motor vehicles are a norm and popular pastime. We visited a few muggle car meetings but have had a difficult time connecting with the crowd. Despite all my best efforts to study muggle motor vehicle history, I've come to realize that there is much more to the passion than one could learn from books alone. And it shames me to admit this, but I'm out of my depth when it comes to talking 'shop' with muggles," Mr Weasley recalled with a tone of disappointment. His demeanour grew more so at the words that followed. "While I consider myself content with my small little Ford and the joy I derive from fiddling with it, I'm afraid that Ron has become entirely unsatisfied with my 'lack of initiative', as he would describe it." The older man leaned back in his chair and threw his hands up in defeat, a shrug adding to his general expression of helplessness.
"Dare I say, that boy risked quite a lip right there," Sirius said flatly, unable to find the words to even begin understanding what had happened outside of his purview.
"No worries," the other man chuckled, "I smacked him good for it. But it does not detract from the truth that he spoke."
Gradually recognizing a trend and perhaps where this discussion was going, Sirius couldn't help but make his thoughts known. "So, how is it you met my godson again? Pure chance, you say?"
"Yes," Mr Weasley nodded apprehensively. "As I mentioned before, I've had the opportunity to make his acquaintance during an event. Forgive me for saying this, but the fact that his name was Harry Potter made me consider it a sign from the Fates pulling our strings."
Sirius' apprehension grew as he leaned forward, circling his tea mug with his hands. "What exactly did you discuss with my godson?" he inquired specifically, his eyes studying the redhead intensely.
Harry hadn't ever mentioned to him that he'd made new friends or acquaintances at the last car meet he had gone to. And for them to turn out to be wizards no less, what bloody dumb luck.
No, he was wrong again. Harry had made three magical acquaintances without his knowing about it until now.
Noticing the dread that spread on Sirius' face, the older man quickly went to rectify the implications his words carried. "Nothing I wouldn't say to a muggle. I hadn't realized he was a Potter until he'd introduced himself. After the fact, I've strictly adhered to the statute of secrecy and done nothing else but offer some form of sponsorship for a chance to let Ron drive a car. Forgive me if that was too presumptuous. I felt that Mr Potter's heritage provided my son and I with an inkling of kinship with the boy."
"Well, if kinship was a problem, I can tell you that there are plenty magicals outside of the British Isles who would be happy to offer guidance on the matter. I don't find it appropriate to approach my godson so selfishly," Sirius replied swiftly, a touch hotter than intended.
Mr Weasley swallowed at Sirius' criticism but didn't let it stop him from continuing. "I'm well aware of the other magical society's indulgences in the muggle world. The problem isn't availability but rather means. Don't misunderstand what I mean to say, Lord Black. I am proud and happy with what little means I can muster but I'd much rather be able to do it within the confines of my own country than have to sneak off abroad to do what I should be able to do here," the redhead explained pointedly.
"But risking exposing my godson to magic is considered a cost worth bearing?" Sirius accused almost shouting.
Arthur visibly bristled at the accusation. "Lord Black, I may be stowed away in the furthest part of the ministry, but even I know that you've made no efforts to include your godson in the magical society."
Sirius eyed him sharply at the outburst.
Letting his face slacken again, the redhead made to add something further. "But that wasn't why I knew I was sure to keep being muggle."
"What else is there?" Sirius prodded impatiently.
"There was a girl with him," the man began vaguely," whom Ron recognized from Hogwarts. "
"Ms Granger, yes, I've recently had the privilege of meeting her as well," Sirius interrupted again, his frustration over the premature excitement at the recent magical incident pouring into his voice.
After eight long years, the rune that he'd carved into the walls of the garage had finally sent a signal, marking Harry's first accidental cast of magic. In his hurry to get home and finally spill the beans, he'd come across a wryly smiling Celine who was forced to bring the happiness he'd built crashing down like a glass castle.
Celine had been in the manor at the time and noticed right away that the girl, who they had never seen before, was magical. The girl had noticed Celine's nature right away as well and in the brief absence of Harry, who'd gone up to his room to get changed, the two had exchanged clear words on what the status quo was in the household.
Hermione had seemed surprised but perfectly understanding of the situation, despite having expressed her disapproval of their actions thus far. On the other hand, she had also seemed happy to be privy to the information and become a more integral part of Harry's life.
The scheming and integration of another magical element in Harry's life gave Sirius a headache. The growing number of magicals in Harry's life was an indication of what was perhaps still to come, the chances of Harry witnessing magic seemed to increase with each passing day.
Despite the small bit of joy he felt at possibly ending the charade that was the boy's life, Sirius couldn't help but remember the promise he'd made the boy's late parents.
Until Harry somehow learned of magic, Sirius had to maintain the act. His duty as a godparent demanded it.
He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Nodding at Sirius, Mr Weasley didn't let the change in the former's voice affect his explanation. "Well, she had informed Ron that Harry was wholly unaware of magic and that it was to be kept that way. So we did our best at being muggle."
Sirius' eyes became little more than slits at that, carefully regarding the eldest Weasley. After a few moments of silence, Sirius sighed and let the tension in his eyes relax. Of all the things that could have happened, it had to be like this. That bloody car again.
Resigning himself to the fate that his godson had placed in his lap, Sirius let his shoulders sag in response to his body's overall loss of energy. The long-held tenseness of his back muscles hurt at the relaxation. "I appreciate the honesty, Mr Weasley, but I'm not sure I can permit you or your son's involvement in my godson's immediate environment-"
"Please-" the man almost begged, his hands' palms raised in a plea.
"Unless.." Sirius continued calmly, a hand raised to stop him. The cat was out of the bag and he knew it. There was little he could do to make things go back the way they were. So he might as well adapt to the new situation.
"Yes?" Hope arose from the man.
"Unless we establish ground rules on what you and your son need to be aware of when it comes to Harry's life," Sirius finally uttered.
"I completely understand, Lord Black. We'll respect your decision, whatever it may be. If only to let Ron partake in his passion with Mr Potter," Mr Weasley agreed hurriedly, nodding at Sirius' words with vehemence.
Sirius appreciated the man's sheer willingness to comply with his wishes regarding Harry but soon realized that he may not be able to further elaborate on what he'd just declared. Checking the time with a quick tempus, Sirius averted his gaze from the man sitting on the opposite side of the messy desk.
"Well, I'll be damned. Time is working against me today. I'm afraid we'll have to postpone the discussion until further notice," Sirius muttered, raising his gaze back to the man across from him.
"Oh, my apologies for distracting you this long, Lord Black."
Considering the man, Sirius nodded to himself. "If this is to become a thing between your son and my charge then I must ask you to call me Mr Black or simply, Sirius. I can't have you call me by my title in my godson's presence."
Mr Weasley beamed at the words and nodded energetically. "Of course, I understand Lor- I mean Mr Black. I'll keep that in mind."
Sirius nodded appreciatively and began gathering his things. "I truly appreciate your candour in this matter and will send you an owl with the details of our next meeting soon. I hope you do, however, handle my letter better than I did yours," Sirius said guiltily.
Noticing the still untouched tea mug sitting on the desk in front of him, he tested its temperature and with a brief cooling charm, he lowered it to an acceptable lukewarm temperature that enabled him to quickly quaff it.
"Thank you for the tea, it was delicious. Excuse my abhorrent manners, if you would," Sirius said, his hand raised in apology at the faux-pas.
"You're most welcome and don't let it bother you. Anytime, feel free to knock and I'll gladly offer you some more to make up for it if you wish," Mr Weasley offered politely.
"Well, until we next meet," Sirius said.
The Weasley patriarch nodded at that and opened the door for Sirius to exit.
Walking out the door, it closed behind him with a harsh thud. And just like that, the most unexpected encounter had come to a close, allowing Sirius to take a long-needed breath to calm his nerves.
Unable to spend another moment to digest what had just happened, he cleared his mind for what laid in store for him. A meeting with Amelia Bones that had piqued his attention a few days ago through a secret message by Patronus. Her words had been as cryptic as the Bones family's own history.
Madam Bones had contacted him a few days ago about the convicted criminal that had been resentenced by Sirius to a prolonged stay in Azkaban for decades to come.
Which deaths the man meant were unclear, but the veteran ears of Madam Bones felt the words of the convicted man seemed truthful enough to postpone his transport to the cruel prison for a few more days.
###
Making his way back to the atrium, Sirius arrived there with little more than a huff, his body still in perfect health, allowing him to traverse the seemingly infinite stairs of the structure with relatively little effort.
"Lord Black, what a surprise," a silky voice called.
Sirius turned toward the voice, his mind already groaning. If there was one person he'd truly wished not to encounter here, it was the man who had called to him.
"What do you want Malfoy?" Sirius rasped roughly.
"My, what crude language."
"I don't have the time to be dealing with the likes of you," Sirius returned hotly.
Seemingly unbothered by Sirius' lack of decorum, Lucius Malfoy continued his act of innocence. "And, pray tell, what 'likes' are you referring to?"
"Your kind, Lucius," Sirius emphasized. With the honorifics dropped, the two men reverted to their childhood relationship. They hadn't gotten along during their days at Hogwarts and the relationship improved since then. It had only worsened since the deaths of his close relatives.
What little respect Lucius Malfoy had managed to fake whenever the two had met before evaporated after his family's murders had been made public.
"You're the same as always, I see. Ever the rogue," Lucius commented, his fake smile morphing into a look of bland disappointment.
"At least I'm consistent." Sirius grinned, the smile not reaching his eyes.
"Consistently a bore, yes," Lucius confirmed, looking around them to see whether their exchange was being observed.
"To you, always," Sirius spoke directly, his gaze unmoving.
"You flatter me, Black."
"I'd do much worse than flatter you." His voice took on a hint of lethality.
"Careful now, Lord Black," Lucius voiced with fake politeness, noticing they weren't alone anymore. "People are watching. We wouldn't want you in trouble, now, would we?"
"No, of course, we wouldn't want that," Sirius responded with a fake polite tone of his own. It wouldn't do to give Malfoy an ounce of publicity by giving him any munition through a public fight. A scuffle between two noble families was always settled behind closed doors, never in public.
Noticing that people were still watching, Malfoy went to poke Sirius and see whether he would react.
"May I ask how that boy is doing these days? I hear so very little about him from Draco," he inquired with an exaggerated tone of worry, only to smirk arrogantly at his next words. "What am I saying? I don't hear anything at all. He is not attending Hogwarts, you see. The poor boy is all alone with no friends and family to call his own. No magic."
"You better watch that tongue of yours, Malfoy, or you might just lose it," Sirius bristled, his blood hot at the insult toward Harry.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You can take a man out of Gryffindor, but you can't take the Gryffindor out of a man. As I said, ever the roguish fool, Lord Black. Such manners from a man of your standing? What would your poor, dear old father say? He'd turn in his grave if he heard you speak this way."
"Thin ice, Lucius," he warned again, his hand disappearing in his pocket.
"I don't care, Black. Your family is done. What little influence you've held is either dead or moved to kissing the feet of families standing above you now," Lucius responded while he stepped closer, his eyes tracking the man's hand.
"I am still here," he reminded him.
"Yes, you're still here, "Lucius repeated, "but many others are not."
"Is that a threat, Malfoy?"
"Please, I have no need to threaten the likes of you. Consider it friendly advice. Who knows, if you heed it you might just rebuild your family. Perhaps you might even marry that wretch of a housemaid you keep around." Lucius took a few steps back again, satisfied with the damage he'd done to the man standing opposite from him.
Sirius' hand twitched slightly at the comment toward Celine.
"Don't rock the boat and all will be well for you and the house of Black. You have my word," Lucius quickly added, his body relaxing and voice returning to its previous silky smooth tone, indicating an approaching dismissal.
Sirius, however, didn't react to Lucius' second warning.
"Well, it was a pleasure talking to you, Lord Black. Until we meet again," Lucius bowed before stepping away and walking toward one of the fireplaces to disappear in emerald flames. Sirius followed his silhouette with a predatory stare, catching each discrete movement, silently hoping for a reason to hex him.
"You alright there, Sirius?" A new voice asked from next to him.
Sirius blinked before turning his gaze to the person standing next to him, a face of concern plastered on their face.
"Kingsley?" He spoke, surprised.
"Yeah, you alright? Did he say something that worries you? At least, more than usual?" The dark-skinned man inquired gently.
"Hm? No, not particularly. It was just the usual poison. I haven't spoken to him in a while so I may be losing my touch. He got me good this time," Sirius admitted gingerly, unclenching his hand from around the wand in his pocket.
"Make any threats? You know we can question him, hold him for a certain duration," Kinsley offered with a smug grin.
Sirius waved him off with a tight grin on his face, the thought of Lucius in chains making him want to laugh. "You'd only lose your job and make Amelia's day go to shite."
"There's that," Kingsley shrugged nonchalantly, "but if it were up to me, I'd watch that dodgy character."
"You and me both, mate, you and me both," Sirius agreed, his disappointment at the impossibility to put chains on a Malfoy showing in his hopeless shrug. "If you were up for the job, I'd give you my vote for Minister, right this moment."
Sirius knew that Kingsley would make a brilliant minister in times of strife but when it came to the intricacies of the court and its intrigues, the man was ill-equipped.
"Nah, too much scheming for my tastes. But I appreciate the vote of confidence." The man smiled, confirming Sirius' thoughts.
"Always mate." Sirius patted him on the back.
"So, you here for the thing?" Kingsley inquired vaguely.
"If you mean with the thing that...thing? Then yes. I was about to make my way up to Amelia's before Malfoy cut me off."
"Well, she's in a bit of a foul mood. Something about evidence disappearing and dodgy business within our own ranks again. I tell you, something's afoot," Kingsley warned.
Sirius couldn't help but frown at the news coming from the Auror. His ears perked up at the possible mention of evidence tampering. "What evidence?"
Throwing his hands, Kingsley let a frustrated sigh escape him. "Some pureblood brats wreaked havoc in a muggle store and got caught by magical witnesses."
Sirius nodded at that and found it to be exactly why the law for underage magic had originally been there to prevent such events. When the law had been amended during Sirius' Hogwarts years young wizards began to abuse their privilege and cast magic in the presence of muggles. The argument at the time had been that it would allow them to improve their skills faster.
The initiative had been put forward by the pureblood body of the Wizengamot. Dumbledore had insisted the law remain in place as it was, citing the dangers of allowing untrained wizards cast magic freely. His points had been valid, as the elder wizard had come from a time where underage magic had done much harm.
But decades had passed since the fall of Gellert Grindelwald and society had learned to forget the dangers that magic in the hands of immature magicals could pose. Subsequently, the law was amended to allow underage magic, albeit traced and recorded.
"Sounds cut and dry to me," Sirius stated.
"Yeah, well, the witness testimony has up and disappeared and the witnesses have gone and shut up. Saying they'd reconsidered. Seen nothing." Kingsley shook his head, his hands thrown up in frustration.
"Well, that doesn't sound very truthful," Sirius confirmed. "Why not threaten to press charges for obstructing justice?"
"The Minister," Kingsley pronounced with as much love he could muster, "has revoked the right to encourage witnesses to come forward." The flat line on his face indicated how much he loathed the Minister's interference in law enforcement.
"Did he now?" Sirius asked, his voice underlined by faked wonder. "What did Moody say about that?"
"He's been retired, remember?" Kingsley reminded him pointedly.
Pursing his lips, Sirius nodded upon realizing that the old grizzly Auror had been offered to retire early, given his lack of incentive to follow new protocols. Madam Bones had struggled to find an auror even remotely capable of filling those large shoes.
"Yeah, odd timing if you ask me. Dodgy business," Kingsley repeated, pulling Sirius from his thoughts.
"I can see that."
Nodding to himself, Kingsley remembered that Sirius had places to be. "Well, best let you go. Madam Bones isn't going to be any happier if you arrive late," he said, offering his hand to urge Sirius toward the elevators.
"I am late, mate," Sirius tried to relativize quickly, knowing full well that he'd gone well beyond what was deemed acceptably late.
"Well, don't be later then," the taller man admonished.
Sirius smiled at the man and walked toward the elevators alongside him. Once the doors opened, Kingsley pushed him forward gently.
"Be well Sirius," Kingsley waved as Sirius stepped into the elevator and announced his intended destination to the operator.
"You too, Kingsley," he called through the closing doors.
He smiled satisfied, turned and moved toward the same direction where Malfoy had disappeared to, a flash of green signalling the man's departure from the Ministry.
Sirius contemplated what Kingsley told him earlier, the thoughts troubling him to no end. It reminded him of the disappearance of evidence from his family's murders, the modus operandi seemed similar enough.
###
Arriving at the DMLE's office space, he knocked before being called in by a female voice. Stepping inside, he noticed the stark contrast between the DMLE's and Arthur Weasley's office.
While the latter had to make do with probably very little budget, the DMLE possessed a substantial budget. The office had an open view of greater London, with the daylight illuminating the space beautifully. The picturesque environment perfectly masked the danger that sat behind the heavy looking door to his left. Anyone intending to cross one Amelia Bones would choose to live dangerously. Sirius suspected that it was for the same reason that Minister Fudge had chosen to permit the generous financing of the DMLE - to be on the safe side.
The furniture was made of mahogany and covered in the finest of leather while the rest of the objects in the office only added to the overall sense of excellence. The secretary that had just called him in wore modern office clothing, a sharp suit that hugged her body in all the right places, topped off with a professional hairstyle that exhibited a sense of perfection that almost seemed unnatural. He assumed it was amplified with some form of cosmetic spell meant to prevent her hair or makeup from becoming mussed.
Having noticed his staring, the woman turned her gaze toward him so sharply it felt as if he'd been whipped. Quickly averting his gaze away from her, he cleared his throat to announce his intentions.
"Good day, Lord Black here to see Madam Bones," he explained curtly.
She checked the small daily planner for her notes and shook her head in disapproval.
"Milord, you are past the point of fashionably late," she stated, her voice not betraying a sense of humour.
"I know," Sirius nodded, aware of his delay, "please do forgive my late arrival. Is Madam Bones still free to see me?"
Eyeing Sirius with visible judgement, she returned her gaze to her planer and then nodded.
"You are in luck, today. She has another fifteen minutes before she is expected elsewhere. I'd make it count, if I were you, milord," she said pointedly, underlining his little choices.
He nodded at her. "I will try to keep it brief."
"I recommend you do." She eyed him seriously.
Leaving her desk, she moved toward the door leading to the Director's office. Knocking quickly, she entered and closed the door behind herself. Shortly after, she emerged, leaving the door open behind her and stepping aside for him to enter.
"Director Bones will see you now," she announced politely, a stark contrast to the previous encounter. Perhaps she didn't want to seem harsh when her superior was in hearing range.
Sirius nodded and walked past her to enter the office of the Director of the DMLE. Once inside, he heard the door close behind with a satisfying thud. It was a sound he'd compare to a prison gate locking shut behind him.
Facing forward, he found the woman bent over her desk, deep in study. He moved slowly toward her, careful not to make any sudden noises.
"You're late," she started suddenly without turning to look at him. The grit over his late arrival was noticeable in the undertone of her voice. Madam Bones was used to rigorous discipline and punctuality and was an all-around stickler for the rules. There were places she still intended to go and perfection made promotions easier.
"That I am," Sirius confirmed evenly, not letting her intimidate him as she did with her subordinates. Not being beholden to her allowed him to carve out enough confidence to check her, but given they'd spent time together at Hogwarts would never allow him to seem more serious than he really was. Serious Sirius…, he couldn't help but force down a chuckle at the age-old joke.
Unaware of his internal struggle not to laugh, Madam Bones turned around to begin their meeting. "There is no time to lose. I've got fifteen minutes to tell you this and I want to know what you think."
Straightening his face, he lowered himself on one of the chairs in front of her desk and focused his attention on her. "I'm all ears, Amelia. Hit me."
###
Same day but overseas...
Château De la Cour, Outskirts of Toulouse, South France
She sat in the living room of their home, a fashion magazine on her lap as she carefully rubbed the corner of the page between her thumb and index finger. The couch she sat on was made of red leather that felt warm to the touch - courtesy of one of her mother's charms.
The walls were lined with pictures of Fleur and her younger sister's upbringing, a countless collection of images of silvery-blonde haired children posing in front of a camera, trying to capture their ever-changing background.
Feelings of nostalgia graced her father's face every time he gave them a glance. She could only imagine what would cross his mind when she spied his tired eyes reflected on the framed picture's protective glass.
Thinking about it, a barely audible sigh left escaped her lips, her chest dropping at the long exhale. Looking at the subjects in the moving images, she recognized the many landscapes behind her younger self. The vast deserts of the Sahara, the tundra of Siberia, the gravel roads of the Pyrenees and the tight roads of Italy. Many of these photos espoused memories of more innocent times, where she didn't have a care in the world and only spent her days immersing herself in wishes and dreams of a glorious future. Days when it all seemed too simple, so facile.
She smiled at the happy moments between her father and herself walking around race camps, meeting various people and looking at colourful and imposing machines. To most muggles, a car was a means of transport from point A to point B. For wizarding kind, it was a redundant piece of travel equipment, something unneeded when apparition or the floo network was readily available and more convenient. Truly, her society thought of the idea of racing as an 'obsolete' means of travel and was usually seen with nothing less than total derision. But in her paternal family, racing had been a welcome pastime for generations. To her, it provided a buffer between muggles and magicals. A gap to keep the world at bay while she immersed herself in passion. A means to unleash her ever-present sense of restraint.
When she was racing she didn't have to think about the careless words of people being spoken behind her back. The bubble she'd built for herself within the confines of a four-hundred horsepower car, flying across landmasses at speeds exceeding one-hundred-fifty kilometres per hour.
The sensation, while relatively brief, allowed her to breathe, feel and sense with the purest form of her hidden nature. She could hear, smell and see farther, faster and better than muggles. Perhaps, that was cheating but that didn't matter. It made her happy. And seeing her happy, seemed to make her father happy as well.
In a few days' time, Fleur would leave for her final year at Beauxbatons, the illustrious educational institution renowned through the western part of the European continent. She would have to leave behind the things she loved doing and focus on things that she had to do.
To be clear, Fleur didn't abhor magic or the people involved in the magical world. If she was honest with herself, she knew she'd never be able to appreciate her own magical nature. What it meant was that while Fleur was a magical and a descendant from a magical race of legend aeons ago, she didn't feel at home in the magical world.
Drawing her eyes away from the images on the wall, she heard familiar steps approaching her from behind. Her mother's feet rolled from ball to toes, masking her steps almost entirely. Mature Veela, as natural-born avian predators, knew how to hide their presence entirely. The fact that Fleur could even hear her meant that she wished to talk.
Dog-marking a corner of the opened page in her magazine, Fleur folded it shut and dropped it on the small table in front of her before raising her gaze to her mother, who moved to sit on the armchair opposite of her.
"Yes?" Fleur began, her eyes observing the older Veela.
"Just wanted to sit with you. Spend some time together before you'll have to leave," her mother shrugged, her demeanour perfectly innocent.
Fleur didn't drop her gaze, instead eyeing her mother more intensely.
"I see you were looking at dresses. Find anything?" Apolline asked curiously, her head tilted to the side.
Fleur sighed while she fiddled with hair, drawing it to one side of her head, the end cascading over her shoulder onto her chest.
"It is stupid," she muttered.
"What is?" Her mother inquired worriedly.
"The idea of a ball. I find it outdated."
"Why? I think it's a fabulous idea. Your father and I used to enjoy the odd dance together during social events. It makes for wonderful memories," she remiscind, moving to lean on the arm of the chair, a palm opening to support her chin.
"For you, maybe. You always had Papa who'd never make a fool of you. I, on the other hand, have to suffer through the dregs of society who think they will be the ones to snatch me up. To parade me in front of their entire families and friends. To brag how they bagged a Veela," Fleur said dejectedly.
Apolline eyed her eldest daughter.
"But what if you meet somebody who'll make it worth your suffering? Wouldn't you want to ask them to dance with you for the duration of the ball."
"The Triwizard tournament is a competition of magical prowess, where the most capable witch or wizard wins a trophy. I don't see how my having to put on a dress and smile at random people would enable me to win."
"Where is the girl who used to dance all over the house?" Her mother asked cheekily. "You used to be so adorable in your little dresses, asking your dear Papa to suffer through your missteps. He still bears scars from your small heels."
Fleur looked away in embarrassment, her hands fiddling with the other.
"She grew older and wiser, learned to dance and not to ask her father to suffer through it," she stated.
"So, why not be open-minded? You already know how to dance. That's one worry less for you and gives you more space to consider making genuine bonds," her mother pushed.
"Maman, I've tried. They've called me names, spoke lies about me and wished the worst things upon me. How would a dance at some frivolous ball make a difference?"
Her mother looked at her, giving Fleur a knowing smile.
"I know how you feel and I understand how painful it must be, ma chérie. People do terrible things to those they fear and don't understand. But you can't let them push you down and allow your life to pass you by. All of us have had to stand up in face of such hardship. If we didn't, we'd never have you little chicklets to smother with love."
Fleur looked away at her next question, raising her knee to her chin.
"And what if I simply remain by myself, if I don't find or seek out a partner and...don't have children?"
Apolline raised an eyebrow at that. "Thinking a bit far ahead, aren't we?"
"I mean it. What if I choose to stay 'Fleur Delacour'? Not the mother, wife or partner of someone," Fleur asked again, trying to clarify her feelings to her mother.
"Then it would be a pity," Apolline began sadly, letting the words drag her shoulders down. Forcing a smile to her lips, she eyed her daughter tenderly before letting her voice lighten at her response. "It would be your choice but that's rather a bit abstract, don't you think? Thinking so far ahead based on what you feel now?"
Fleur didn't react to that, rubbing her shinbone in silence. She was approaching the end of her school years at Beauxbatons and was expected to find her own way soon enough. As a witch, the skills she required to enter most of the entree-stage careers were on point. Whether it was as an enchantress, a curse-breaker, a medi-witch or anything similarly difficult, she could apply for those internships and get accepted with relatively little effort.
On the other hand, she had a promising start into her rally racing career and recently secured another big sponsor who'd follow her onto any team she wished to join. After her father's contract with Peugeot had been terminated following the end of Group B, he had created a private team financed by him in partnership with smaller sponsors. It wasn't as glamorous as the days of being a Peugeot works team were, but her father still had friends at the car manufacturer who'd send him parts for her less powerful 205 GTI.
The possibility of spending time abroad this year helped calm her nerves but didn't prevent her from worrying about her need for a final decision. Could she do both things? Being a witch and be a successful racing driver or would she have to settle on being one of the two.
A racing career was a full-time job, not some hobby she could do over the weekend, and similarly, any internship as a witch would require her whole attention, lest the employer feel unappreciated.
And finally, her responsibilities as a Veela dictated she consider her kinds' future in her own life plan as well.
The weight of responsibilities and of her own choices threatened to crush her under the mass of the possible consequences. At the increased sense of anxiety, she forced her eyes shut and focussed on something else.
Watching her daughter go through her mental exercises, Apolline sympathized with her daughter, but only to a certain degree. Seeing as she couldn't do much other than offer advice, she decided to give her another tidbit.
"Let me say it this way," she began after clearing her throat. Waiting until Fleur opened her eyes and looked over to her, Apolline continued her attempt at comforting her daughter. "Don't think too hard about what could or should be. Think about the here and now and what comes tomorrow. Give the trip to Scotland a chance to be a clean slate and see the world in a new light. I'm sure that there will be plenty of people worth getting to know. And maybe, you'll meet someone who'd make you enjoy a dance or two."
Looking at her mother's kind gaze from the corner of the eye, Fleur didn't turn her head, leaving it resting on top of her knee.
Noticing her daughter would remain silent on the issue, Apolline decided to change the subject back to where it started.
"How about we go dress shopping with Gabby tomorrow? We can make it a girls' outing, just the three of us," she proposed hopefully, clapping her hands together to clear the heavy air.
"Maman…," Fleur sighed with a groan.
"Forget the dress," Apolline corrected quickly. "Let's just enjoy a day out and about. If we happen to find a dress, voila, if not, then we won't. At least we'll have some fun going out to town."
"D'accord," Fleur agreed, a small smile emerging at the thought of her little sister joining them. The little girl seemed to care little for the world's troubles and those of her family and would indiscriminately spread her happy-go-lucky personality whenever and wherever she could. Considering her feelings and troubling thoughts about her future, the infectious laughter of her chicklet sister were only too welcome.
If she was honest, there was no way they wouldn't find a dress for Fleur if Gabby had anything to say about it. If her little sister found a dress, Fleur would have to get one as well - solidarity between sisters and all that jazz.
Apolline nodded happily at her positive response before lifting herself off the armchair. Carefully moving her arm, Apolline winced at the uncomfortable feeling.
At her daughter's worried look, Apolline shook her head. "Fell asleep," she mouthed as she gingerly lowered her arm to her side, walked back to the kitchen and then up the stairs to the sleeping quarters with a lighter step to her stride.
Pulling her gaze away from her mother's disappearing form, Fleur drew her eyes to the living room again.
She would miss her mother's calming presence once she was away at school again. She hadn't noticed until now how much their relationship had changed in the last few years.
While before, Apolline would reprimand her for every childish and hot-tempered action, she had recently turned to small guiding words here and there. No longer was she the fussing hen that would helicopter over her and Gabby at every opportunity. Those days seemed so distant now.
Now she would only receive suggestions and propositions. No more direct instructions on what a Veela was supposed to act like. Perhaps, it was because Fleur shared more in common with her father than with her mother.
Gabby was ever the cute little princess, hungry for their mother's praises, dancing to the elder Veela's every tune. A mirror image of what Apolline had hoped Fleur would grow up to be. A prima ballerina, a sublime queen within the Veela ranks, a shining star among her kind.
Fleur preferred the smell of oil and grease to the perfume decorating her mother's salle de bain, preferred the heat of a race than the cool of the dance floor. She cherished the victory on a podium over a crown at a beauty pageant.
Jumping at the noise of the door opening and closing, Fleur waited for the person to announce themself.
"Apolline, chérie, Fleur? I brought the groceries. Come and help me store them so we can start preparing dinner," Jean called.
Dropping her leg from the couch, Fleur quickly got up and jogged to the kitchen where her father began putting away the groceries.
Stepping up to him, she gave him a small kiss on the cheek, to which he turned in confusion. "Is something wrong?"
She shook her head, a wide smile gracing her face. "No, I just felt like it."
Raising an eyebrow, he shook his head at her before turning back to the shopping in the bags.
While he was busy, she began bringing out the cooking utensils, smiling to herself.
Whether she was a Veela princess or a grease monkey, whether she would make friends in Scotland or not, and whether she returned from overseas a winner or not, she knew that this place would still be here. The place she called home. The home where her mother, father, and Gabby would be waiting to add another valuable memory to their already colourful wall.
End of Chapter
###
A/N#2: As usual, if you enjoyed this fic and would like to talk about it past the capabilities of a review, come find me on my discord server. The link can be found on my profile.
Also, if you are interested in the HP/FD pairing and would like to talk to your favourite author or your fellow fan, then come find us at the Flowerpot discord server. The link can also be found on my profile.