Chapter 4

Hermione

After getting kicked out of Harry's room, I make my way back to the emergency reception area. I meet again the two attending mediwitches and approach them, cautiously. "Could I bother you for a bit of floo powder?"

One of them walks to a wall cabinet and grabs a pinch of gray powder from a small container. The other turns to me. "You're going back to Hogwarts?" I nod and she smiles softly. "How is he doing?"

I can't avoid a grimace. "He's going to be fine."

The other witch hands me the powder. "It can't be easy. Being his friend, I mean."

I smile at the kindness in her tone. "No, it isn't" I pick up the powder and walk to the big fireplace. I continue without turning around. "Worth it, though." I toss the powder in, careful to articulate clearly "Medical Wing, Hogwarts."

I stumble a bit on arrival, and cast a silent cleaning spell on myself. Clear across the large, darkened room, Madam Pomfrey is sitting on a high-backed chair with a couple of bluebell lights behind her and a small book on her lap. As I approach, I realize her eyes are closed. I get near her, and touch her hand. She opens her eyes calmly. "Miss Granger?"

"Broken leg, mangled shoulder, second degree burns, magical exhaustion. Four dead death eaters, including Dolohov. He'll be out of the hospital tomorrow afternoon, none the worse for wear."

She clucks and smiles sadly. "Stupid boy." The fondness in her eyes is plain to see.

Still, I'm moved to defend him. "He hardly ever looks for trouble, you know?"

"Yet..."

I sigh. "Yet, trouble always seems to find him."

She nods, closes her book and gets up, walking towards the staircase that leads to her quarters. I stand there, watching her. Before she disappears, she turns around. "Thank you, Miss Granger. And good night."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. And good night to you as well."

My steps echo on the stones, as I walk towards the Gryffindor tower. It's near eleven, and the first prefect patrols should be doing their rounds. Despite that, I make my way to the Fat Lady without meeting anyone. "Myrmidon"

The door opens and I find myself facing a common room packed to the rafters. Most of seventh year, quite a few from sixth, and some younger. No green and silver, though, showing that the old segregation is still very much on. They were clumped into groups, talking loudly, in order to be heard over the noise. The conversation stops, as all eyes in the room turn to me. The anger, which was quietly simmering in the back of my head, boils over. My magic swirls around me, and they all stand aside, as I cut across the room. I conjure a wooden box and climb. I look around the room, spotting Ronald towards the back. Our eyes meet, and he flinches a bit. I'll deal with him later.

I raise my voice. "Curfew is not an inconvenient little guideline. It's a rule! This castle is dangerous. To each of you. Five point deduction. Prefects. It's your job to enforce the rules!. Ten point deduction and detention with your head of house."

An angry murmur spreads around the room. Nathalie MacDonald, a fearless fourth-year chaser on the Gryffindor team, and one of the few fan-girls Harry actually likes, speaks up. "What about Harry, Miss Granger?"

I look at her and manage a pained smile. "He will be fine, Miss MacDonald. He was attacked this morning at Diagon Alley. Four death-eaters killed, including Dolohov, and Harry was injured. He's at St. Mungos, and he's going home tomorrow, fully healed. Details tomorrow at the Prophet." The room erupts into chaos, as everybody tries to speak at once. I cast sonorus and touch my wand to my throat. "Silence!" The windows shake and the people near me grimace in pain. "Everyone to bed. Now!"

In a few minutes the room empties, leaving Ron, Ginny and Neville. "I know you have questions, but it's very late. Can I have a moment with Ronald?"

Ginny and Neville exchange a look and nod. Neville speaks first. "All right, Hermione. Good night."

He walks out. Then Ginny stands in front of me, a track of tears down her face. "I'm worried about him, facing this stuff all alone..."

I consider telling her about Fleur, but knowing how she feels about the Veela, I decide to omit it and avoid the drama. "He will be fine, Gin. Harry is strong." She nods, sniffles and heads to bed. Finally I'm alone with Ronald. I drop all pretense of civilization and give him a narrow-eyed death glare. I address him in an angry whisper. "Discretion, Ronald! It's not that hard."

There is fear and shame in his eyes. The cold anger laps up the fear, eagerly. "I'm sorry. I was just telling Ginny and Parvati overheard..."

"Stupid!" I grab his face with one hand, my nails digging into his cheeks. "I will punish you, Ronald. But not tonight." I let his face go. "Tomorrow. Nine in the evening. Presentable."

He looks down. "Yes m'am."

+O+O+O+O+

It's near eight when I get to the Great Hall for breakfast. A few scattered students around, mostly reading or writing while they eat. At the far end of the Ravenclaw table, a blonde girl is reading a small gray book while distractedly eating bits of toast with marmalade and sipping tea. I sit next to her.

"Good morning, Luna. Is this seat taken?"

She lifts her eyes from the book and looks at me. For a few seconds she frowns at me with intense concentration. Then, as if she suddenly recognized me, she gives me a luminous smile. "Ah, Hermione. Good morning." She bends sideways and checks under the table. "What do you mean by this seat being taken? Are there nargles around, stealing seats?"

I shake my head. "It's a muggle expression. I was just asking if I could sit next to you."

"Hmm, I see. Muggles are strange." She taps the bench besides her. "Of course you can sit next to me."

"What are you reading?"

"Oh, it's fascinating, really. A travel diary. Some wizard named Charlus Darwin traveled to South America and some islands in the Pacific." She giggles. "Lots and lots of wonderful creatures."

My mouth falls open, and I have to make an effort to close it. My voice comes out strangled. "You mean it's written by Darwin's own hand?"

Luna's luminous grays open wide. "Yes, of course. You've heard of him?" I nod, and she hands me the little book. "I think he was my great-great-grandmother's cousin. An obscure wizard, but very clever."

The little book is indeed hand-written, with flowing slant cursive and lots of nice little drawings. A winged lizard with a frilled crest on top of his head calls my attention. I show it to Luna.

"Oh, yes. A drakym. It's like a firedrake, but it spits acid instead of fire. Beautiful."

I nod dumbly, still processing the little book's existence. "He's really famous among muggles. He discovered the Theory of Evolution."

"The what?"

I go into lecture mode. "The theory of evolution. It explains how species change over time by passing to the descendants those characteristics that make them successful."

Luna stares at me for a second, first frowning, then giggling. Finally she erupts in laughter. It's certainly not the reaction I was expecting. I look cross. She realizes I'm not laughing and stops. "Oh, dear. Muggles really believe in this 'Theory of Evolution'?"

"It's one of the fundamental theories..."

She interrupts me. "Hermione!"

"What?"

"You're a witch. A clever and powerful one too."

"So?"

"You know magic is alive and has a will. You've felt it."

"So?"

"You can't explain how life changes without magic's will." She waves her hands around my face. "Shoo, wrackspurts!"

I stare at her. The worst is that I get what she is driving at. The Statute of Secrecy enforces a separation between magical and mundane, but it's human law, not natural law. There's no real separation as far as life on earth is concerned. Damn. "You mean..."

"I mean this 'Theory of Evolution' is a prank by cousin Charlus. A funny one, too." She gives me a sly grin, a little out of character. "You could write a piece on this so-called theory for the Quibbler, though. I'm sure our readers would love it."

"Ehh..."

She gets up and whispers in my ear. "Go a little easier on Ronald." A quick peck on the cheek and before I can reply, she turns around and heads for the door.

I stare at her back as she heads for the door. My mind reboots. The little diary is still in my hands. "Luna, wait..."

She waves and replies without turning around. "Sixteen inches will do. And just return the diary when you're done." I feel my head spin. Harry says that Luna is hard to follow, but always worth listening to.

Damn.

I'm done with my breakfast, and fully into Darwin's travelogue when the morning mail comes in. The Prophet headline occupies half the page above the fold. "Potter slays Dolohov!" The story itself is not bad. It highlights that Harry was defending himself from an ambush, and just hints that someone as powerful as the "The Dark Lord Slayer" could have just captured the monster, instead of killing him.

Breathless hero worship with a dollop of fear.

After last night's meeting, the whole castle already knows. Except maybe one or two souls, too disconnected to follow rumors. I feel someone approach, and one of those stands next to me. During the summer between third and fourth year, she grew half a foot, her curves matured and her face lost most of the baby fat. Everybody agreed. Daphne Greengrass was the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts. Thick, honey blond hair, falling in soft waves to her bum. An oval face with high cheekbones, dark blue, nearly violet eyes, small upturned nose and a small mouth with cupid' bow lips. Long thin fingers, and well-cared nails usually painted a soft pink. Well-cut robes of the finest silk. Razor sharp wit, a strong mind for theory, but not particularly studious. Excellent practical abilities. Cold and distant to everyone, except her hot-headed brunette sidekick Tracey Davis. Until the battle.

A few snakes showed up to fight on our side. Poorly trained and scared senseless. Most of their house stayed in the dungeons. A few fought on the other side. From our year, just Daphne and Tracey joined us. At the Entrance Hall, with half a dozen former DA members, they fought the death eaters. One purple cutting curse. Caught the taller girl on the face, and the shorter one on the neck. One died almost instantly. The other...

For the first time since that day, the left eye looks alive with emotion. The right eye is a silver ball, and Merlin knows what it sees. The hair is cut shoulder length and tied back. The scar goes from the hairline, across the blind right eye, down to edge of her face. It's thin, slightly pink and it probably tingles when there's magic built up nearby. I have an older one just like it across my back. From the left shoulder blade down to my right hip. The same curse, the same wizard, the same wand.

She dips her head in greeting, the Prophet folded under her arm. "Granger."

I do the same. "Lady Greengrass."

She raises her head a bit, perhaps annoyed with the formality.. "So, it's true."

This is one witch that doesn't make me angry. One hour of bravery, and she lost as much as anyone else, if not more. Death eaters killed her father, a few days before the last battle. Then her best friend and her perfect-looking face with one curse. I nod. "It is." I point to the journal. "The account is pretty accurate, for a change."

She nods. "Potter?"

"Nothing permanent. He'll be out of St. Mungos this afternoon." She looks at me, clearly trying to get something out. I make an annoyed gesture. "What is it?"

"I need a word."

"I have a few minutes."

Her mouth twists in a quintessential Slytherin sneer. "I mean with Potter."

I dismiss her with a wave. "Write him a letter." I know, and she knows, he only gets letters from a very short list of people. I'm also pretty sure Harry has nothing to say to her and no interest in whatever she wants. She stares at me, the single blue eye taking a menacing glint. "What do you want with him?"

"House business."

I shrug. "Ask Gringotts to arrange a meeting." And good luck with that. She looks like she's going to explode. I know the words going through her head – Uppity mudblood, no respect for her betters... I get ready to whip my wand out. Instead she surprises me.

She lowers her eyes, and speaks in a whisper. "Please."

Really? A favor? That's the one thing the scar in her face could actually get her. I breathe in and out slowly. "Very well, Lady Greengrass. I'll write him." Her shoulders sag. "I'll get back to you with his reply."

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

"You're welcome."

Fleur

International portkey arrival is at the Gare du Nord, in a long narrow room with several small side alcoves. I share my portkey with an elderly Italian couple, and we manage to arrive in good order, with just the usual momentary disorientation. I shake my head in annoyance and make a solemn promise to myself that my next trip will be by train. At the end of the hallway, a split. French citizens to one side, and everyone else to a line. I show my wand to a wizard behind a desk, who welcomes me home with a scowl. Beyond that, one-way apparation is allowed, and I go straight to Rue des Reves, Paris magical boulevard.

From the outside, Gringotts Paris looks like an eighteenth century four-story building, a pair of large outside doors leading to a small inner hall and another doorway, and a pair of heavily armored guards. I walk straight into the main reception area, which is nearly identical to the one in London. At the opposite end of the hall, the head of shift sits behind a high desk, a young goblin with an ear missing. He examines me as I approach.

"How can Gringotts help you, Veela?"

I nod briefly. "I'm Curse-Breaker Fleur Weasley, Gringotts London, here to see the Delacour Account manager."

He gives me a deep bow. "Gringotts Paris is honored with your presence, Curse-Breaker. Please go ahead." He points at a door behind him. "Second corridor to the left, third door to the right."

I rap the door and hear a muffled grunt, which I take to mean I should go in. The room is small, dominated by a large mahogany desk, with two uncomfortable-looking armchairs of the same wood for callers, a tapestry showing a group of goblins disemboweling a wizard to one side and a crossed pair of wicked-looking serrated swords on the opposite wall. Behind the desk, an elderly goblin, with reumy eyes, tufts of white fur coming out of his ears, wearing an old-fashioned banker's suit and a gold pince-nez perched on its hooked nose. I've known this goblin my entire life. He has been my family's account manager for over a hundred years. I believe I owe my apprenticeship to his good word, and I'm very proud to stand in front of him after making good use of the opportunity. He is a Senior Account Manager, and, as such, my superior in the arcane bank's hierarchy. I bow deeply.

"Account Manager Gristmaw. Thank you for receiving me without an appointment."

He responds with a deep rumble and a nod. "You were expected. First, congratulations, Curse-Breaker. You are a credit to your family and your Nation." I feel my cheeks coloring with his words. He places two coins on the desk. Old roman coins, one copper, one silver. "International portkeys. The copper one will activate with the word "Mimosa" and take you there. The silver one will bring you to a room here at the Bank, with my name as activating word. Ten galleons and twelve sickles were charged to your vault."

"Thank you, Account Manager."

"Anything else?"

I breathe in and out, trying to calm myself. "I have worked in an object. A silver necklace with a star sapphire called 'The Star of Dawn'. It has just been consigned for sale by the Fawley family." Gristmaw is silent, but he stares at me like a dangerous predator looking at prey. "I would like to place a thirty thousand galleon blind bid on the piece from the Delacour family."

Gristmaw stares at me, a gravelly sound coming from his throat. "What's the appraisal value?"

"Twenty-two five."

He grunts and nods. I don't think he was aware of the piece's existence, or its significance. He opens a drawer and picks up a blank parchment and a small knife. He needs blood identification and my vault access details to proceed. I prick a finger and squeeze a drop of blood into the parchment. In a couple of minutes, writing appears on the parchment.

Fleur Isabelle Delacour, 21. Unmated Veela - P: Sebastien Pierre Delacour, M: Appoline Louise Delacour (nee Adien). Junior Curse-Breaker, Gringotts London. Vaults: Fleur Delacour Trust 3215G 17 S 3K, full access; William Weasley 12510G 3S 12K, full access; Delacour Family 567212G 13S 8K, family member access, up to 10000G per year.

Gristmaw reads the parchment and grunts. "You require M. Delacour's approval." This is a bit of a surprise. I thought I was granted full access with my majority.

He hands me the parchment. I glance at it, noticing that my thousand galleon bonus has already been deposited. "Very well. Please, prepare the bid. I'll speak to M. Delacour shortly." I fold the parchment and put it away. Then I bow again. "That will be all, Account Manager. May your enemies suffer the bite of your blade, and your vaults fill with gold."

"May your enemies burn and your vaults prosper, Curse-Breaker."

I leave the bank rather troubled. First, the unexpected access restriction on the family vault. That's a thorny problem, because I cannot explain to my father the reason for the bid. Anything I learn in the exercise of my duties is protected by a harsh magical contract. This is going to place a strain on my father's trust I would have gladly avoided.

I apparate directly to the foyer of the manor. Delacour Manor is a three-story sixteenth-century structure with white stone walls, black slate roofing and wooden details painted white. It stands on top of small grassy hill, surrounded by a two-hundred acres of land. Pinot Noir and Gamay vineyards, stables, a brook, woods. It's about an hour drive from Clermont-Ferrand, in central France. For me, it's home, heaven on earth... and heartbreak. I've pushed Papa. Time and time again. Find a consort or a concubine, sire a wizard or a witch heir, a half-sibling for myself and Gabby, to inherit the name and the estate. To keep it in the family. But no. I bring it up. He looks at Maman, she looks at him and they smile. And I want to hex them both. Five hundred years of Delacours, surviving court intrigue, wars and revolutions, dark wizards and the Inquisition, to disappear forever because a foolish romantic wizard can't look past his undying love for a veela. And my airhead sister thinks it's awfully sweet.

Dark thoughts on top of dark thoughts, as I stare at the marble stairs leading to the second floor of the manor. A slight pop and a thin voice next to me.

"Mamselle Fleur?"

She is a young, thin and healthy-looking house-elf, dressed in a scaled down traditional maid outfit. She was the nanny for both Gabby and myself when we were small. I still plan on asking Maman for her service when I have my own children. Dark thoughts fade away for a moment. "Oh. Hello, Inky. Remember, you should call me Mme. Weasley, please."

A moment of hesitation and a bow. "As you wish, Mme. Weasly. Mistress Apolline is at her studio, and Master Delacour is still at work. He is expected for dinner." A slight hesitation. "Are you staying?"

"Until lunch tomorrow, I think."

She bows. "Very well, Madame." And she pops out.

I climb the stairs and meet Maman coming out of her study. She wears a simple cotton white tunic and low muggle sandals, her hair tied in a ponytail. An inch taller than me, she looks regal in a way I can't ever hope to achieve or emulate. She is a strong veela, at home with her nature, but a weak witch, barely able to cast OWL spells effectively. I guess I'm her opposite, in a way, taking after my father much more than I ought to. She is an amazing mother, hiding her disappointments, just as she shows how proud she is of me. We embrace, and I feel lighter.

"Oh, ma petite! What a surprise. It's so good to see you."

I take a half-step backwards and let her look at me. "Hello, Maman. It's good to be home."

She tuts in disapproval. "You look worn out. What are you doing here? Did anything happen?"

I wave my hands. "No, no! I'm just a little tired. The news is good. I've finished my apprenticeship and I've been promoted to Junior Curse-Breaker. I was given a week's vacation, so I'm here."

"Well, congratulations, ma petite!" She embraces me again. "I'm so proud of you. How long are you staying?"

"Until lunch tomorrow. William has been working in an underwater cave near Mikonos. I'm going to surprise him with a little visit."

She laughs, like little bells tinkling. "Careful, ma petite. You never know who is ends up getting surprised." She waves her hand. "Never mind. Come to the studio. I can use some of your amazing magic."

The studio is a large, airy corner room, with windows facing both north and east. Maman's work is making flower arrangements. Works of art, really, beauty and hidden meanings, set on vases or other containers and enchanted to last. The flowers move a little, adapting to the light or the magic of the room. Once done, the enchantments will keep them fresh and lovely for years, as long as someone magical appreciates them. Growing up, I tried to learn her art. My clumsy efforts quickly made me give up in disgust.

Applying the final preservation charms and checking the integrity of the runes on the containers is well up my competence, and the arrangements I enchant will last longer on the cold shelf. I set down to work, enjoying the familiarity of my mother's presence and the joy she puts on her work. After a couple of hours, I stretch, feeling my magic a little depleted. Maman lifts her head from her work and smiles.

"You never cease to amaze me. In two hours, you've done what would take me three exhausting days of work."

"You know I enjoy doing it..." I could make a good living as her magical battery, but...

She guesses my thought and sighs. "I know. No challenge. You're too much like your father."

I wander to the side of the room where she keeps the finished pieces. One of them catches my eyes. A slender crystal vase, with a pair of intertwined tiger lilies, a white one and a purple one, surrounded by a little foliage. I stare at it, mesmerized.

"The twin lilies." She approaches me, embracing me softly at the waist and resting her chin on my shoulder."

My thoughts move to Harry, and the white lily he conjured yesterday. "Can I have it?"

"Of course." Maman laughs, a little deviously. "Who's the lucky woman?"

My thoughts crash down. "What?"

"It's a gift for a woman lover. Surely you can feel it?"

A veil parts, and I realize how sweetly erotic the pair of lilies are. Images of a young dark haired wizard course through my mind. I feel moisture between my legs. I probably blush all the way to my nipples. "Oh! Merde!"

Maman laughs harder, enjoying my embarrassment. "So, sweet Flower, who's the lucky woman?"

"Not a woman. A man. A friend." Am I brave enough to give it to Harry? Will he get it? Most men don't get Maman's art.

"Not a lover?"

"No." Maybe he will get it. He's not most men. Fuck! Maman was always able to confuse me like this.

She looks at the piece again. "Not yet, you mean." She gives me a kiss in the cheek. "Let's wash up for dinner. Sebastien has arrived, I think." Not yet. Fuck. I feel my blood burning. Veela are not meant to be celibate. Or monogamous.

+O+O+O+O+

Papa is a diplomat, currently working at the ICW in Geneve. They've finally chosen a new Supreme Mugwump, an old Japanese wizard, and it looks like the new guy is still struggling to fill old Dumbledore's shoes. Papa is struggling too, as he was appointed the new man's chief of staff. He is shorter than Maman, and older by quite a few years. An unlined, tanned face, with a thick head of gray hair and bright blue eyes. A trim body which he exercises religiously. Powerful, clever and possessed with a bit of hard-earned wisdom and grace that make him very special. Aside from his idiotic infatuation with Maman, which she encourages shamelessly, I trust him completely and worship the ground he walks on. Hopefully, my trust is fully corresponded.

He opens his arms when he sees me, and holds me in a warm embrace. "So good to see you, darling. Such a nice surprise."

"Thanks, Papa. It's good to see you too."

Maman comes up to him and gives him a peck on the lips. "Hello, love. Dinner is being served."

We move to the small dining room, where a table set for three, with a bread basket, three servings of a beautiful terrine de saumon and a bottle of white wine awaits us. With an old familiarity, Mama and I sit, while Papa tastes the wine and then serves it.

I taste my wine. "Ah! Superb."

"I'm glad you like it, darling." He tastes the saumon and nods his approval. Then, with a slight frown, he turns to me. "What prompted such nice surprise?"

"Nothing bad. I've finished my apprenticeship."

His eyebrows rise. "Really? That was very fast, wasn't it?"

I blush a little. "Oui."

A broad smile. "Well, congratulations, darling. You've been given some time off?"

"Just a week. I'm going to visit William tomorrow. He's been exploring an underwater cave near Mikonos." I make a small pause for emphasis and look into Papa's eyes with a dead serious expression.. "I had a bit of business to take care here, first."

He stiffens up. "What kind of business?"

"Delacour family business."

The frown returns and Maman perks up from her food. "Ah. We will speak after dinner."

I lower my head, in an informal bow. "That will be fine, Father."

The meal goes on a little stiffly, but the wine and the excellent food help us all relax a bit. After dinner Papa and I head to his study for cognac and our business. He serves me a half-inch of the honey-colored spirit, and twice as much for himself. I'm grateful, as I can feel the effects of the dinner's wine already. He sits behind his desk and gestures me to sit as well. Instead, I stand stiffly in front of his desk, without saying a word. It's best if he takes the initiative. He is clearly waiting for me to start, but a few seconds convince him that I will not do it.

"So, about this family business..." I nod, hoping he will continue. "What is it?"

"A certain item has been recently offered for sale through Gringotts. I have requested that a bid be placed on said item from the Delacour family. Your approval is required."

He looks at me, little wheels spinning on his head. "How much is the bid?"

"Thirty thousand galleons."

His eyes flash, and his lips curl up in a small smile. He gets up. "Just say nothing, darling." I nod. "You have come across information of potential interest to the family, in connection with this item, in the course of your work. Given your contract, you cannot say anything about it. You are neither irresponsible, nor a fool, so I'll assume this bid is of interest to the family. I'll go by Gringotts tomorrow morning and approve the bid."

My shoulders sag, and I go back breathing. I feel tears come, unbidden. A father's love is free, but a father's trust must be earned. And I recognize I've been a spoiled child at times. I give him a tight hug. "Thank you, Papa."

"In case the bid is successful, should the item in question be forwarded directly to you?"

"No. You should receive it and take whatever action you deem appropriate." The provenance follows with the item, and with the provenance, there is a clue for a centuries-old series of crimes that is still ongoing. Papa will spot it instantly once he receives it.

He gives me a look I haven't seen since the Tri-wizard Tournament. A mixture of respect and concern. "You be careful, darling."

I shrug. I'll be breaking Manor wards for a living. "I will be. Promise."

Harry

The mediwitch is removing the last bandages from my shoulder when she comes in, pacing ahead of an elderly gentleman in healer's clothes. She is using a muggle ensemble, gray skirt below the knee, a white silk blouse under an open jacket and a red scarf around her neck. Also, a fancy looking black leather purse and black pumps. An elderly veela, long white hair braided and piled on top of her head in some complicated arrangement, held together by a pair of chopsticks. Deep blue eyes with a raptor's focus, a sharp blade of a nose and thin lips. The intensity of her manner mitigated by laughter lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. "Tante Anais, I presume."

Her lips curl up a bit. "Healer Anais Osterle." She points at the fellow behind her. "And this is Healer Cuthbert Johanssen, Assistant Director of this butcher's shop." She gestures widely to accompany the insult to Britain's chief magical healing facility. Her voice is high and crisp, and she speaks with a slight colonial accent. The haughty manner reminds me quite a bit of Fleur. "And you must be Lord Potter."

Despite being in boxers, I bow to her and take her extended hand for an air kiss. Andromeda did train me a bit. "Harry, please." I turn to her companion and shake the extended hand. "Nice to meet you, Healer Johanssen."

"The pleasure is all mine, Lord Potter."

"You can call me Tante Anais, I suppose. My two favorite chicks have only good things to say about you.". As she looks at me I feel a stir of desire, and a slight probe on my occlumency shield. Allure and legillimency. The audacity of the old bird! I meet her eyes, pushing her probe out, quite roughly, and do a quick legillimency sweep of my own. I get the view of a wall of fire, and a suggestion of surprise.

I let some of my annoyance show. "Maybe I'll call you Healer Osterle, after all."

Anais blinks, shrugging off the sharp headache. She pulls in her allure and looks sheepish. "I'm sorry. I should have known better."

Too many years of dealing with a high handed old goat made me weary. "It's fine." I'll take her apology at face value for now.

Healer Johanssen feels a little left out. "I'm sorry. What happened?"

I turn to him. "A misunderstanding, that's all." I turn to the mediwitch, who had been fussing with my bed in the meantime. "I presume I'm all done here? I can leave?"

"Oh, yes Harry. But come back to see us anytime you need." She winks at me. She is a cute twenty-something with a big engagement ring in her finger. Why the hell is she flirting with me? I shake my head in disgust. "Thank you. I'll be out of your hair shortly."

"Take your time." She gives me a little wave and struts off. Nice backside view. After she leaves, I ask the other two to wait outside while I get decent.

When I leave the room, Healer Johanssen is speaking. "We can't offer you payment until next year, but..."

Anais touches his chest to interrupt him and turns to me. "St. Mungos is requesting my services for a few hours per week while I'm here. I can stay for a few months, maybe more, but since I'm in your service, I need to know whether you agree."

I think for a second, but it is obvious. Andromeda is just one patient. "Of course." I turn to the man. "Why can't St. Mungos pay her?"

"Our budget for this year runs out next week. We've been keeping a very tight belt since the war ended, but still expenses were too high." He takes a handkerchief from a pocket ad wipes his forehead. "Things are going to get rather difficult."

"How much?"

"What?"

"How much do you need until the end of the year?"

He stares at me, his eyes brightening. "Fifty thousand galleons bare minimum. Double that for a little breathing room."

"Kreacher."

He pops. "Master Black?"

"Go to Furclaw. Tell him to prepare funds transfer in the amount of fifty thousand galleons from the Harry vault to St. Mungos. I'll come by to sign it in a few minutes."

Kreacher bows and pops out.

Healer Johanssen bows. "In the name of St. Mungos, I thank you, Lord Potter."

I bow back and turn to Anais, who is smiling in silent approval. "Shall we go?" She nods. I look around, and from a side corridor, Braddock flies in, perching on my shoulder. He nips my earlobe.

"Beautiful bird, Harry." He caws and nods his head in agreement.

We both laugh. "A little full of himself, though." I add. "His name is Braddock."

"Very nice to meet you." She smooths the feathers on his neck, and he caws.

"He says it's always nice to meet a fellow bird."

She laughs softly as we walk out the door and head towards Diagon Alley. "He is quite right, you know. Veela may look human, but we really are magical birds. Phoenixes are our distant kin."

I shrug. "I like birds."

She speaks softly, talking to herself. "It seems that birds tend to like you too."

After stopping at Gringotts for the St. Mungos deposit and making arrangements to pay Anais for her services, we stop at Ollivander's. The place looks like it ever did, cramped and dusty, with magic bursting at the seams. Ollivander, up to his old antics, shows up from nowhere, speaking in a slow whisper.

"Lord Potter... eleven inches, holly with a phoenix feather core. A powerful wand. I told you you would do great things with it. And you, young Veela..."

She laughs. "Anais Osterle. Thirteen inches, pear with demiguise hair core. A Panwaert wand, great for subtle charms and healing."

"Can I touch it?"

She hesitates, and then shrugs. "Why not?"

Ollivander takes it, rolls it on his fingers and brings it to his face and appears to sniff it. He swings it around and casts "Avis". A fat dove appears and flies around our heads, looking apprehensive. Braddock flaps his wings and caws merrily, enjoying the show. The dove disappears as Ollivander returns the wand to Anais. A good wand, well-used and loved. Congratulations.

"Well, thank you sir."

"What brings you here?"

"I need a new wand." I place the remains of my old wand on his counter. The look of sadness in Ollivander's face surprises me.

"What happened?"

"It hasn't been a good match in a while. I was in a difficult situation and forced more magic through it than it could take."

Ollivander vanishes the remains and looks at me. "What about its brother?"

"Burned it next to my parents grave."

He nods gravelly. "Well done. What are you using now?"

I pull out Dolohov's wand. Ollivander recoils, with a look of distaste. "Is it working for you?"

"It serves. Battle spoils. But it is not comfortable."

He nods. "I suppose not. Let's try to find something."

During the next hour, I tried maybe thirty different wands. Most of them would do, but they were all poor matches, on the order of Dolohov's wand or worse. With the last failure, Ollivander sighs. "You have another wand, don't you? A family heirloom?" He draws the symbol of the Hallows with his finger in the air.

"I'm neither confirming nor denying that."

He nods. "I understand. That wand is a jealous tool. It may be blocking you from finding another match." He reaches for the door. "I'm afraid I cannot help you at this time, Lord Potter."

The Elder wand is a bloodthirsty menace. I've tried to destroy it twice, and the stupid thing appears again in my vault. I have no idea how Dumbledore used it for fifty years without going insane. Or maybe he did go insane, actually. The damned thing stays in my vault, unless I need a magical bazooka.

We leave Ollivander and I side-along Anais to the Tonks residence. Braddock decides to fly back on his own, which I reluctantly allow.