A/N: Hello again guys :) We're glad to see that you guys like the story so far :)
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Chapter Nine: An Accidental Meeting

March 17th, 2000
New York

Muggles must be insane!

It was the first conclusion that Fleur Delacour came to as she stood on the corner of Fifth Avenue in New York City. There was no other way to account for the noise of sirens, brakes squealing, bicycles weaving in and out of cars, the flash of yellow cabs driving at insane speeds and narrowly avoiding an accident.

This was a long way from the sedate vineyards of home or the carefully manicured gardens and buildings of Beauxbatons. Perhaps Papa was right: she was too sheltered and needed to see how the non magical world lived.

There were so many people, each walking, stopping and starting, their faces cold or expressionless, some with white ear buds listening to their own private world of music, others with eyes that seemed to pass over their fellow humans. There was no greeting one another, exchanges and shouts of friends or enemies. These people did not know one another and did not seem to care. They were like ships passing one another barely acknowledging one another's existence.

She did not see the impression she herself made on that street corner. Her platinum blonde hair hanging loosely down her back with strands lighting moving in the breeze, her eyes scanning the surroundings and the crowd with interest and some caution, the form fitting light blue dress which revealed her slim figure: all drew the eyes both male and female with male eyes lingering on this picture of feminine beauty and youth.

It was thus that she did not see the bicycle courier catch a glimpse of her, lose his concentration and only at the last minute she felt the impact as the courier, falling off his cycle, hit her and pushed her into the street. This was at a bad moment as the light had just changed and the typical New York City mad dash to advance traffic began.

Fleur could hear a horn and braced for the sickening impact she expected she would receive in seconds, but instead, a strong hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back as she felt the breeze and stink of a yellow cab missing her by only inches.

Regaining her balance and breathing quickly to calm her nerves, she looked back to see a young man with messy black hair, green eyes and a sweater shouting out "Just Do It!" standing behind her. This must be the man who had pulled her back and saved her. At her gaze, the young man blushed, but did not turn his eyes away.

"Are you okay? That was a close one," he said.

She could feel her heart still pounding from the near brush with disaster, but she nodded her head as she caught her breath. "Oui, ca va bien….I mean I'm OK," she finally said. "Vous m'avez Sauvé la vie…You saved me!"

His eyes widened at her obvious French. "Bienvenue a New York," he said in halting French, slowly but with a clear pronunciation. "I'm just glad that I could help. Are you all right?"

Fleur could feel her body returning to a calm state, but wanted to get away from the madness of the street corner. "I am fine, but would like to sit down somewhere away from 'ere," she said. "Just to catch my breath and calm down completely."

The young man nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I can understand that. It is not everyday you nearly become a traffic statistic in the madhouse we call New York." Indicating the street behind him, he turned but waited for her to follow.

She found herself feeling comfortable with this young stranger and following his directions, moments later was seated in a chair in a coffee shop.

"Voulez-vous quelque chose à boire?"

Her rescuer's English accented French returned her even more to her senses. Turning her eyes away from the coffee shop's surroundings, she caught herself staring into a pair of one of the brightest green eyes she had ever seen. "Un latte, s'il vous plait?"

The young man turned and, signalling to a barista, whispered quietly in giving their order. In what seemed only seconds later, a mug of steaming latte was pressed into her hand. The familiar smell and shape completed Fleur's recovery from the adrenaline high.

"I owe you my life," she began, unconsciously noting that the young man seated across from her was pleasant to look at, green eyes under a shock of messy black hair and thin spectacles.

"You owe me nothing, Madame?" The question in his voice helped guide Fleur to the next step of their conversation.

"Non, not Madame. I'm Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour from France."

"Your accent and use of French kind of gave that away," the young man countered. "I'd try more French, but I lack practice here in New York City."

Tendering his hand, he continued, "I'm Harry Wells, a New York City resident and currently a student at CUNY. " At Fleur's raised eyebrows, he added, "City University of New York."

"I detect a hint of a British accent underlying your American English," Fleur blurted out, surprised at how quickly she was feeling comfortable with this young man.

"That would be an interesting story, but not for today," Harry replied, a guarded look momentarily coming over his eyes. "But I am curious as to how a young French woman could walk around New York and act as if she had never seen New York traffic before. Surely, it must be same in Paris."

Fleur felt her cheeks go red. Was her lack of experience with muggles and their large cities so evident? And she had thought herself a paragon of modernity compared with those British witches and wizards at Hogwarts five years before. She searched quickly for an explanation and decided some form of the truth wouldn't hurt here.

"I am from a rural part of southern France," she began. "The hustle and pace of New York was a surprise to me and I am not often in Paris."

This answer seemed to placate Harry although he looked at her carefully for a few seconds. Then, his face tensed as if he had made a decision.

"Mlle Delacour, I hope I don't appear forward, but do you have any special gifts?"

Fleur was stunned for a moment. She had been enjoying this conversation with Harry, one of the first she could recall in a long time with a young man who did not appear lost in her allure. They had been talking about her lack of experience in New York: was he now implying that he was aware of what she was, even if he could not describe it. She had mastered her allure in magical society and thought it could be controlled in muggle society. Then Harry broke into her thoughts.

"At the look of confusion on your face, it appears that you don't know or understand what I am talking about. This is difficult for me to describe and you might even think I am nuts, but you give off a 'buzz' as if you were a power generator. The only other person I have encountered like that is myself."

So it couldn't be allure, Fleur decided. Could it be magic?

"Can you do unusual things? Things that cannot be explained?" she asked carefully.

A slight look of relief crossed his face. "Can you?"

"I asked you first," she found herself teasing this young man.

He sighed and nodded. "My relatives call it a gift. They call it – magic."

At these words, Fleur reached for her wand and made some simple gestures. A few notice-me-not charms and she could breathe easier.

Harry's eyes grew wide at Fleur's stick and her gestures. "What is that and what did you do? I could feel the power flowing from you and flowing through that stick into the gestures."

It was now Fleur's turn as she turned widened eyes back to Harry. It was not that Harry had seen the gestures, but that he could see the magic behind them. She needed to think this through. And Harry needed an answer as well.

"I set up privacy charms so that we could speak about this topic without being overheard. And yes, I was using magic. But I am surprised that you could see the magic flowing."

Harry breathed an audible sigh of relief. "So I am not nuts. I have been able to see my own power since I was 14. But I was the only one to see it –until I met you. You glow with it, you give off a buzz and I see it flowing through you when you lifted up that stick."

So he could see magic, but he knew nothing about it: and had only learned about it after the age of 14? Fleur knew every magical nation had sensors out to detect magical births and episodes of accidental magic and the globally accepted age of eleven as the earliest one could start magical education was chosen as the latest age for any latent magic to manifest.

It was incredibly rare to find a magical user who had escaped the detection of a magical nation and who had survived until he or she was a young adult. And on top of everything else, to see magic being used was a gift that only the most powerful wizard or witch could possess.

She would have to get more information, if only to protect magical society and protect Harry. As well, this was the kind of work she was learning about with Gringotts. From just managing wizarding money, the bank in America was trying to forge new links to diverse members of the magical community and the prospect of discovering a powerful young wizard would be a real feather in Fleur's cap.

"'arry, forgive me for being so, what you would say in English, forward, but I need to find out about your gift," she began, her excitement allowing her native French accent to become stronger. "This is very important."

It was Harry's turn to look confused. "Important? How?"

"Did you ever receive any communication, letter, or visit when you turned eleven from someone claiming to be from a magical school?"

"No, not one visit or letter. As I said, it appears that you are the first 'magic' user that I have ever met."

"Harry, there is a world of magical users out there. We are not many: for example, in my own country of France, it is estimated there are no more than 100,000 wizards and witches or what you call magic users. We keep ourselves and our abilities secret because the muggle, m'excuse, the non magical population would not understand us and would even fear us."

Harry felt relief rise up within him. He was not strange, even if he had a gift that no one else around him possessed. After all, the world below attracted those who were outcasts, strange or different: look at his own adoptive father, Vincent. And Fleur was used to being a part of a secret keeping society. Perhaps she could even become a friend. But he needed to return to the conversation as she was continuing to speak.

"Usually a child is born with magical gifts and begins to manifest them at an early age, often in response to stressful situations or when they are experiencing strong emotions. We call this accidental magic. As well, in every magical society, there is a book or register where magical children's' births are recorded, thus helping the magical society learn the names of those magical children born to non magical parents."

Things were connecting for Harry. Strange occurrences he had forgotten: turning his teacher's hair blue, ending up on the roof of a school, leaving Britain to New York City in several horrible minutes. How much could he say? She was being very up front and honest with him: perhaps he could return the favor.

"I'm not originally from around here," he began. "Once, when I was nine, I was faced with what I considered a life or death situation back in Britain. I was staying with my relations, who didn't like me very much, and in fact tried to beat out the 'freakiness' out of me. I supposed you could call it my magical abilities. I felt then that I needed to find a home where I would be loved. A horrible few moments later feeling squeezed through a tube or tunnel and voila, I was here in New York City in front of one of the members of my future adoptive family."

It was Fleur's turn now to be stunned. If she understood Harry correctly, he had apparated himself from Britain to New York at the age of nine. Then something else clicked: if he was from Britain, that could explain why no magical register in America would have picked up Harry's presence here. He would still be on the magical books of Britain, specifically Hogwarts. And if he was a powerful wizard expected to be in Britain, but did not arrive there….he could be…he had to be….

"Fleur, your face suddenly went white. Is something wrong?" Harry's concerned voice broke through her rapidly racing thoughts.

She looked at the young man in front of her carefully, noting anew his eyes and the tangled mop of black hair. If he was…there, on his forehead, she could see a faint trace of a lightning bolt scar…he had to be.

"Harry, could you tell me how old you are?"

"Nineteen – I'll be 20 this July. Why do you ask?

She thought how she would answer this. Perhaps if she dared ask one more question. "Harry, was your last name always Wells?"

Harry now looked at Fleur, suspicion clear on his face. "Why would you want to know?"

Noting that he had not answered her suggested to Fleur that she laid all her cards on the table. "Harry, in magical society, as I mentioned earlier, magical children receive an invitation to a magical school in their region once they reach their eleventh birthday. In the fall of 1991, in Britain or more specifically northern Scotland, Britain's premier magical school, Hogwarts, waited for a powerful young wizard to make his appearance for September: but he never arrived despite his name being called several times. A nationwide search began for this young wizard and for the ensuing four years his name was repeatedly called, but with no success. In what would have been his fourth year, the British magical ministry in conjunction with the Hogwarts' Headmaster used a powerful form of dark magic to try to locate this wizard, but again with no success.

"They were looking for Harry Potter."

At the mention of the Potter name, Fleur could see Harry start and his eyes grow wide before narrowing again.

"Are you sure of the name?"

She nodded. "Unfortunately, I was present at this magical school as our school was visiting Hogwarts that year for a special tournament. I was present when the dark blood magic was invoked using an ancient magical artifact, the Goblet of Fire. We at the school saw a pulse of magic go out of the Hogwarts' Great Hall, but after a few hours of waiting, no Harry Potter appeared and the Goblet was destroyed.

"Yet the Hogwarts' Headmaster kept reassuring everyone that Harry Potter was alive. Most of us thought that day that Harry Potter was dead."

Harry's face had now become hard and cold. "And they would have been right. Let me guess: the summoning was on October 31, Halloween, 1994, was it not?"

"Yes, it was at about 18 heures – six o'clock Scottish time that day," she replied.

Fleur could see that Harry was now struggling to hold back anger. "If the date and time are correct, that 'blood magic' nearly killed me: in fact, my adoptive mother said I had died and it was only her skill with CPR that my heart restarted. It took me a week to recover and then it was as if I had never been sick."

He swallowed a number of times, and then looked at Fleur with cold eyes. "Before we talk further, Mlle Delacour, I need an oath on your power that what I tell you will not leave this coffee shop. If you cannot give me that oath, we have nothing further to talk about."

Fleur could sense the anger and the sincerity of the young man in front of her. She felt strangely comfortable with and drawn to him and it was clear to her magical senses that he was not affected strongly by her allure. She felt interest in Harry Wells, no, Harry Potter, and wanted to see where this would lead. She would have no problem giving a magical oath and after nodding her acceptance of his conditions, did exactly that. A blue glow followed and in the light of that glow, she could see Harry relaxing slightly.

"I was Harry Potter: and before you wonder at that expression, I should begin by stating that until I began school, I didn't even know that name. My earliest memories were of my aunt and uncle calling me a freak or boy and acting as if I was something not even fit to be thrown out with the trash. They told me that my parents were killed in a car accident and that my father was an unemployed bum and my mother was a loose woman: hardly paragons of virtue for their normal world. So, by the time I was nine and determined that I could no longer live in that abusive and neglectful environment, I had little love for my last name and for my parents' names.

"I had longed for many years that I would find people who would love me and appreciate me as just Harry, yet that never happened in Little Whinging, Surrey. My relatives told the neighbours that I was scheduled to go to St Brutus' Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys and that they had taken me out of the goodness of their hearts with the hope that I would not end up as my parents.

"Then I came here and for the first time, found a community of outcasts, of misfits, of people different than others, yet who had the heart to give an orphan boy, an orphan freak a home, love, and even a family.

"Is it any wonder that as soon as I could, when I was formally adopted under the NY State rules, and mad citizen that I took the last name of my adoptive family?"

As Harry spoke, Fleur could sense deep heartbreak, loneliness and pain behind those words. She could even picture a small version of Harry with a tangled mop of hair desperately looking for love. Then when his words turned to the family that had taken him in, his pride, love and appreciation shone through. Given what he had grown up with, she could see that this adoptive family had done much to heal the pain and hurt and transformed into a confident young man with a heart to helping young foreign visitors in difficulty in New York.

But how could she reconcile that young man's story with the stories that had gone around the British wizarding world and even in Europe of a young man who had saved the British magical society from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and had been placed by Albus Dumbledore in a place of safety until he would again be needed by the magical world? And how could she reconcile this story with the now urgent pleas for anyone who had ever seen Harry Potter to report these findings to that same Headmaster at Hogwarts?

Harry had taken a number of sips from his own coffee, in part to cover his shaking hands. Had he said too much? Very few, even in the World Below, knew the depth of his pain and the intimate details of his story. Kipper, Jamie, Mouse, Grandpa Jacob and of course, his own family: Vincent, Diana, Jacob, Catherine and Erin: these alone knew much of the details and only Vincent, Grandpa, and Diana knew the sordid details.

Thinking of them led him to another thought. How would they in the world below react to a young woman like Fleur? How would Fleur react to the world below? He found himself drinking in the vision before him even as he had catalogued the expressions on his face as he had spoken: empathy, sympathy, and a genuine interest. He was feeling comfortable with her and Mom Diana had said that she felt he had a good sense of discernment about people. He instinctively felt that Fleur was good people. But how could he bring a meeting about?

It was at that moment that serendipity intervened or as both Fleur and Harry thought later, the gods of magic. The door to the shop opened and a woman of medium height and auburn hair came into view, her hand gripping a young girl's hand firmly who bore a distinct resemblance to her. By chance, Harry had caught sight of the pair and the serious look on his face that he had worn as he was talking to Fleur disappeared to be replaced by a look of genuine pleasure.

"Fleur, speak of the devil and they will appear," he said as he looked at the pair by the register. "Just sit tight, the woman there at the coffee counter is my mother and my sister.

Fleur could see the genuine affection in Harry's eyes and she discretely waved her wand, removing the see-me-not charms. It was only chance that Harry had noticed his family there. "I have removed the charms preventing people from noticing us," she told him quietly.

"Mom, Erin," Harry called out and the answering looks that both gave him told Fleur that the affection was equally returned.

Once the coffee and soft drink orders had been filled, the woman and Erin pulled some chairs to the table where Harry and Fleur were seated. Fleur felt herself come under careful scrutiny from the woman Harry called Mom and she could feel an instant connection. This woman had a gift of her own and she recognized Fleur as someone special.

"Mom, I have the pleasure to present Mlle Fleur Delacour from France whom I had the pleasure of pulling back from a painful encounter with aggressive New York drivers," Harry began, even as he was ruffling the hair of the young auburn haired girl who was trying to crawl into his lap. "Fleur, this is Diana Bennet Wells, my mother."

Before Diana could say anything, Erin looked carefully at the blond haired French woman. "Are you my brother's girlfriend?" She asked suddenly. "Harry said he would only try to go out with someone like me."

Harry increased the tempo of the ruffling of Erin's hair even as he blushed and looked towards Diana and Fleur with a look of chagrin. "And this young rapscallion is my sister, Erin, who is always jumping to conclusions and saying things that she should not." The aforementioned girl squirmed under her brother's attention, trying to get away, but not with much effort. This was obviously a game that the two played on several occasions.

Fleur and Diana shared a smile at the scene before them and Fleur felt her heart melt at the sight. Despite the glimpse that she had received into Harry Potter's background, it was obvious that Harry Wells had not suffered from a lack of love. The bonds between the three family members were strong and the love clearly present.

"So, Fleur, what is the relationship between yourself and my son?" Diana said her hand extended in a gesture of greeting. As Fleur took the proffered hand, she could feel a spark pass between the two of them. Diana's eyes widened at the same time: it was obvious that she had sensed the same spark. Perhaps Fleur needed to raise the charms again. It seemed that Harry's family knew about him and by extension, if they could accept him and his 'gift', and then perhaps they would also accept her.

Diana broke into her thoughts. "You are something like Harry, aren't you?" It was now Fleur's turn to start. "I can sense things, make connections: Harry calls it a gift." Her tone was low and did not carry beyond their table, but Fleur knew that she would have to bring the conversation back under the notice-me-not charms.

Harry caught Fleur's gesture with her wand and immediately divined her intent. "Mom, Fleur is a lot like me: she is going to do some gestures to ensure that we can speak in privacy."

Fleur was grateful for Harry's perceptiveness and carefully she waved her wand and uttered the words to bring the table back under privacy charms. She visibly sagged as the charms kicked in and she then looked at Diana.

"Oui, I am like Harry," she began. "I have only met him today, but after he saved my life, I wanted to thank him and then he asked if I had the same gift that he had. We have been talking ever since and I have sworn an oath on my magic that I would keep all the secrets that Harry would tell me."

Diana looked carefully at the young woman and captured her blue eyes with her own. The two locked gazes for several seconds and then Diana visibly relaxed. "You're good people, Fleur: I feel that we can trust you. It is not often that I can say that about someone. But you mentioned magic?"

"Oui, I told Harry that I am a witch and that he is most likely a wizard," Fleur replied.

Erin took this moment to break into the conversation. "You're funny. You don't look like a witch – do you have a broom?"

Fleur was growing to love this precocious child. "Oui, mademoiselle Wells, I have a broom and I ride it at times."

Harry broke out into genuine laughter. "Erin, you have been listening to too many of Mary and Father's stories. Just because someone has a gift of magic doesn't mean they ride brooms."

"Oh, monsieur Wells, but we do. We even have a sport called Quidditch that involves fourteen people on brooms, iron balls, a leather ball and a golden snitch."

Harry was now looking at her with wide eyes of his own. "I can see that I have a lot to learn about those magical societies that you were telling me about."

Diana interrupted. "So you can tell Harry a lot about his gift?" she asked, her brow furrowed as she was obviously thinking through the implications of this meeting between Fleur and her son.

"Mom, she told me some things about my past and who I was," Harry said. Then his voice turned harder. "She even told me a possible reason why I 'died' back in October 1994."

Diana's face now showed genuine concern. "This is not the place to have this kind of conversation. As well, your father, grandfather, and I would like to be a part of this discussion," her voice now took on a decisive quality that Fleur recognized as one of authority.

"Miss Delacour, you swore an oath to my son that you could keep his secrets, so he told me. What I must ask of you is that same oath for what you are going to learn today because many lives depend on keeping the secrets you may learn today."

Fleur nodded at Diana's words. Events were moving quickly here, but she somehow felt that this conversation was important and even life changing. She knew as a Veela that she could sense the emotions of those around her and she felt comfortable and safe with the people around this table.

"I will so swear," she began and when she had given her oath again, Diana was surprised at the blue flash that accompanied the end of her oath.

"Well, that is a very convincing gesture, Miss Delacour," she began. "I will have to prepare the way for you. Harry, could you keep your new friend occupied until after 3: I need to locate your father and share with him our encounter today."

Harry nodded and turned to Fleur. "Do you have to be anywhere for the rest of the day?"

Fleur shook her head. "Today was a day off from work and presented me with an opportunity to explore New York City -and meet green eyed black haired wizards," she said with a smirk. She caught herself smiling even as she realized in shock: she was flirting with Harry.

Diana smiled at the obvious banter. "Come Erin, we need to go home and prepare the chambers for a guest for supper this evening," she said, pulling her reluctant daughter from Harry's arms.

Erin looked at Fleur carefully even as her feet reached the floor. "You're going to marry him, you know, you and one other," she said in a peculiar solemn voice.

Out of the corner of her eye, Fleur noticed both Diana and Harry stiffen at Erin's words.

The smile had returned to Erin's face as she grabbed her mother's hand. "Don't forget to bring me a Mars bar, Harry. Father said I could have one because I did all my homework last night." The voice had returned to that of a young girl.

Fleur had sensed the power behind the young girl's statement and she had involuntarily shivered. Just what kind of gifts did Harry's family possess? Empathy, seer: what else lurked in the background?

Both she and Harry turned to watch the mother and daughter leave the coffee shop and then she turned back to him. "I believe we have had enough serious conversation for the moment. Could you show a young French stranger the wonders of your home and city?"

Harry rose from his chair, stepped behind her and pulled her chair out. "Mademoiselle Delacour, it would be my pleasure to show you the sights and sounds of New York City." He extended his hand and she surprised even herself by placing her hand in his and walking out of the coffee shop.

A/N: So Harry's had his first introduction to the Wizarding World :) What did you think?

As always, reviews are appreciated, constructive critisism is accepted, and flames are used to bake scones.