Author's Note:
This is both a HP reworking of "Back to the Future" themes, and a soft reboot/reworking of the time travel tale "Hair of the Grim" by Nightmare Sired Muse. It also contains many concepts, lines and situations from the grab-bag that is "Odd Ideas" and other things written by Rorschach's Blot. Used with the permission of their original authors (except for "Back to the Future" of course). The Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I do not own Harry Potter or anything else. Full disclaimer in the Table of Contents.
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Rated M for some violence, language, drug use and sexual references. Nothing explicit.
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Canon-compliant. HP&DH compliant (except the Epilogue). HP&CC compliant (except the conclusion). FB&WTFT compliant. Pottermore compliant (mostly).
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Recommended Fanfiction of the Week: "Sum of Their Parts" by Holdmybeer.
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Question of the Week: Who was your biggest frenemy growing up?
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Chapter 16 – A Princedom by the Sea
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O, that t'were not in religion sin, to make our love a god and worship it!
'Tis not (I know) my lust, but 'tis my Fate that leads me on.
– 'Tis Pity She's a Whore
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Jean-Sébastien Delacour arrived at his château and went straight to the games room to find the light of his life. "Apolline, it seems your English friends have decided to take you up on your offer to stay here over the Christmas Break." He waved a newly-delivered owl message.
"Is Pierre coming?" Apolline demanded. "Well?"
"Your Lily and her family will be arriving tomorrow. As for your Pierre, well, that remains to be seen," the man replied.
"What does that mean?" Apolline demanded with a fierce pout on her face.
"If you love something let, it go," he said. It took all the man's will power not to smile at how adorable his daughter looked. "If it comes back, then it was meant to be."
"So?"
"So it is his decision whether or not to come," he explained, "do you understand?"
"So when my Pierre comes to me, it was meant to be!" Apolline squealed. "Our love is Destiny!"
"That's not quite ..." he tried to say to the girl's retreating back. "Oh well," he shrugged, and went to find his wife.
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Lily and Hyacinth Evans strolled along the path through the rolling vineyards, marvelling with wide eyes the endless rolling hills of grapes, lavender and olives. Smelling the fresh scents of flower and vine and earth and sea.
The Mistress of the House, Lady Amarante Delacour, led them sedately towards the large, four-storey Château Delacour that rose like creamy gem amidst the waves of green. Beyond it, the Atlantic Ocean rolled and swelled. A small path led down from the ground floor to a small private beach of white sand.
"You have such a funkadelic crib, Madame Delacour," Hyacinth gushed. She had gone all-out to look presentable to their hosts, even going so far as to dig up her squarest clothing from the attic. She was wearing her most normal floral dress and dreamcatcher-earring-and-necklace ensemble. If Amarante noticed anything outlandish about her attire, she was too polite to say anything about it.
"You are too kind, Madame Evans. Eet eez so nice zat you could pay us a visit, even if only for a fortnight. When weel your 'usband and other daughter be arriving?"
"Ah, I'm afraid they had to bounce. Prior commitments and all that, heavy stuff," Hyacinth said nervously.
Lily rolled her eyes. More like Petunia threw the mother of all BF's. Her sister had put her foot down, refusing absolutely to go holiday in a house belonging to a bunch of freaks, frog freaks to make it worse! Not after another bunch of freaks had come within a whisker of burning down their own house and murdering them all, thankyou very much. Richard had played the peacemaker as usual, and taken her and Vernon to a bed-n-breakfast at Dover for the remainder of the Christmas vacation. Lily was more than pleased to be rid of the pests.
"Eez zat so? Nevertheless, I am pleased zat you two at least were able to make it. Eet eez so rare for Apolline to have visitors come to reside with us. Usually she goes to the Riviere or to Spain wiz her schoolfriends." She leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "Zis time zough, she 'as been too wild and carefree, and 'er father 'as grounded 'er. She is pro'ibited to leave ze château grounds until school starts again."
"What did she do, Madame?" Lily perked up, always keen for another scrap of juicy gossip.
"A little trifle," Amarante's hand swished airily. "She ran off to Eengland without telling anyone, in order to 'ave a romantic winter fling with 'er knight in shining armour."
"Figures," the girl grumbled. "Everything seems to revolve around that pest these days."
"Lily, your manners!" Hyacinth scolded, scandalised.
"Where is the little minx, anyway?" wondered Lily, ignoring her mother. "It's not like her to be wallflower."
But Amarante merely laughed. "You are most perceptive about my daughter's personality, Miss Evans. Adorable, but sometimes strong-'eaded, no?"
"That's one way of putting it," Lily conceded.
"Eet eez ze afternoon already – why don't you go wake 'er up?" Amarante said kindly.
"She's still asleep?!" Lily demanded. Her conscientious nature could not conceive of such idleness.
"But yes, it is ze 'oliday time; one often sees 'er only at meal times," Apolline's mother stirred the pot further. "I am so glad zat she now 'as a good friend to give 'er a reason to get out of bed. 'Er room is on ze second floor on ze right."
"Yes ma'am, thankyou," Lily said politely. She scampered down the driveway, through the great arched doorway, up the stairs and into what could only be Apolline's wing of the château – pink and silver frills, gold grandfather clock, gilt picture frames, china plates mounted on the wall. Yep. Throwing open the door, she hopped on the four-poster bed.
"What are you doing 'ere, Eeenglishwoman?" the inhabitant of said bed demanded grumpily. "And why 'ave you woken me before noon? I need my sleep or I may get ze little wrinkles around ze eyes."
"It's past noon already, you indolent Frog," Lily chirped happily. "Time to get up and experience the world."
"Zere eez no point in zat just yet. My Pierre 'as not yet arrived," the French girl retorted, shifting around to find a comfortable position in which to resume her slumber.
"And why do you care about that?"
"Because," the Veela explained in a slow, patient way that one may use for a disobedient yet naïve puppy, "Papa 'as said zat we may wed."
"Really?" Lily asked suspiciously, sure that Apolline's father would have given no such permission to his 13-year old only daughter. "What if I take Peter from you while you're snoozing your life away?" she challenged breezily.
"Destiny will not allow it," Apolline said haughtily, "but per'aps I shall allow you to see 'im for a bit when 'e eez 'ere."
"Oh really?"
"Per'aps," Apolline agreed, "if I am feeling generous. Do not zink zat just because you are a fellow creature of fire, zat I would simply roll over without a fight. You would know better zan any 'ow possessive we are."
"What are you talking about? I'm a human!"
"Do not play ze bouffon with me. You zink I weel not recognise another being of fire when I see 'er? No matter, you shall not supplant me as number one."
"Oh? How's that?" Lily asked coldly.
"You are getting on in years, I don't need to tell you. I doubt Pierre would want to spend much time around such an old maid whose poitrines are starting to sag to ze floor."
"Why you little!" Lily sprang up and chased the giggling bane of her existence out of the room with murder in mind.
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Jean-Sébastien arrived home and immediately went on guard as his finely-honed danger senses informed him that there was something wrong. It was quiet, too quiet.
"Welcome back, my love," his wife said happily, "how was your trip?"
"Did our visitors arrive?" Jean-Sébastien demanded, resisting the urge to allow his paranoia to take control.
"But yes. Several hours ago."
"And where are Apolline and our English visitors?"
"Hyacinth is exploring the vineyards. Apolline has locked herself in the guest house and Lily is laying siege," Amarante replied absently.
"What!? I thought you said you would arrange things?"
"Of course I did," Amarante replied without looking up from her newspaper, "I've managed to make our daughter understand that Pierre will have a much happier household if his wife and mistress get along with each other. She agreed, but insisted that his mistress first be taught a lesson in decorum and her proper place in the hierarchy. Lily did not take her attempts at 'instruction' well."
"What?" he asked dully. "That's not what I meant!"
"It isn't?" she asked with false surprise. "Silly me." She flipped a page. "Nothing to do now but sit back and watch the situation develop."
"But –"
"Apolline is in a stubborn mood so I doubt she will listen to you. You could always try forbidding her," Amarante said hopefully, knowing that would only push their daughter further.
"Or I could try something that might work," he retorted.
"Like what?" she asked skeptically.
"I am going to have a calm conversation with her," he said, "our daughter is an intelligent girl after all."
"True." On the other hand, she was also stubborn and competitive. "Good luck, my love."
"It would have been better if you hadn't encouraged her," Jean-Sébastien sighed, not anxious to face his Fate.
"Me?" Amarante asked innocently, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "Would I encourage a situation like this for my own amusement?"
"Yes, you would," he said sourly.
"True," she agreed, "but it is not as if the poor boy would mistreat either of them is it?"
"From what I've heard, he's a fairly decent sort."
"And he is resistant to Apolline's Veela allure is he not?"
"So I've been told," he agreed.
"And is it possible that he will attempt to run away after we tell him the situation?" Amarante asked. "Providing much opportunity for wacky hijinks?"
"It's possible," he agreed reluctantly.
"There you go then," she said with a satisfied smile, "you see? I am right once again."
Jean-Sébastien stormed outside to the guest house, past Lily's barricade, a couple of quick spells overcame the charms that Apolline had used to bolster her defences and her father walked in and grabbed her. "You two are friends, you should be supporting each other, not bickering like this!"
"I am merely trying to 'elp an old Eeenglish cow become 'alf as beautiful and desirable as a young French beauty like myself," Apolline interjected, causing Lily to growl in annoyance and assuring that the fires of competition would not die any time soon.
He took several deep breaths. "Not acceptable. Now then, I am going to leave zis 'ouse and you 'ad better have zis all worked out by the time I get back."
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"So Apolline tells me that you gave her permission to wed her saviour?" Lady Delacour asked, scratching her corgi's belly.
"I'm sure that is what she heard me say, my love," Lord Delacour said glibly.
"So what shall we do if young Pierre arrives?"
"I was planning to watch the fun," he replied, "maybe give the poor boy a safe place to hide on his visit ... this all assumes that Apolline does something about her crush rather than spend the whole time blushing and giggling."
"Apolline is Veela," his wife said arrogantly, "she will not spend Pierre's entire visit blushing and giggling. There will also be the looks from afar and the sighing."
"To be young again," he said wistfully.
"All awkward and knobby kneed," Amarante pointed out.
"You're right my love," he agreed, "let the youth suffer while we watch."
"And laugh."
"Of course."
"Kiss me?"
"Of course."
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Jean-Sébastien started his day by watching his daughter blur past, his English houseguest in hot pursuit. "Amarante," he called out.
"Yes, my love?"
"Why eez Lily blue?"
"Apolline decided to do some decorating during ze night when Lily could not resist."
"Ah."
"Aren't you going to do something?"
"Aren't you?"
"This is much too gas to put a stop to," Hyacinth Evans said with a lazy grin.
"We'll let zem run zemselves to exhaustion, zen I'll punish zem by having zem work ze vineyards or something," added Amarante.
"Set zem to cleaning ze stables without zeir wands," he suggested, "zat was one of my mother's favourites ... built quite a bit of character."
"We do not 'ave any 'orses my love," his wife pointed out.
"Ze stables were left dirty," he said with a grin, "and 'aven't been cleaned in nearly 20 years."
"Do tell."
"And when zey're done I'll refill ze stables," he continued, "so zat zey can keep learning 'ow to clean stables over and over again."
"Not to mention ze fact zat Apolline adores 'orses," Amarante said slyly, "and zis will allow you to be a 'ero to her."
"Lily adored her horse-riding lessons when she was a wee emery," Hyacinth mused.
"Not to mention ze fact zat she will soon realise zat fresh 'ay will be another place to 'ave her little rendez-vouses with young Pierre when 'e arrives," Amarante added.
"Zank Merlin zat Apolline is too young for zat sort of zing," her husband laughed.
"Tell zat to 'er," his wife said with an impish smile, "assuming she works up ze courage to even zink about it."
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"Did you hear the latest news my darling?" Apolline's mother asked.
"What is it, Amarante?" he asked with a sigh.
"Apolline has explained to me why she thinks young Pierre will need a mistress."
"Oh?"
"She says that Pierre is too masculine for one woman," she replied with a smile, "I pointed out that you did not need a mistress."
"What did she say?"
"That you were old and infirm and that it was a wonder that having a Veela wife did not kill you."
"I'm not that old!" he protested, "am I?"
"You have a daughter that's nearly fully grown," his wife pointed out, "and that is talking of marriage."
"I'm still in the prime of my life!" he said stubbornly, "I am."
"Whatever you say, dear."
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Jean-Sébastien came to dinner that evening and was surprised to find one less girl at the table then there should have been. "Where is Lily?" he asked. Hyacinth and Amarante merely smirked.
"She's all tied up at ze moment," Apolline said airily.
"Being busy is no excuse to skip a meal," he protested, "go get her, Apolline."
"She won't be able to come," Apolline said with an upraised chin, "as she is 'aving to diet. She weel be skipping dinner and possibly breakfast and lunch also."
"And just why does she need to go on a diet?"
"She is getting on in years and beginning to gain weight" Apolline said imperiously, "and I for one am glad to see zat she has realised zat."
With a sigh, he rose from the table and walked up the stairs to his charge's room. "Miss Evans, answer me." He knocked on the door and opened it after a few moments with no answer.
"Mumph," Lily replied. She was tied to the frame of her bed and gagged with what appeared to be an old sock.
"Why can't you two girls just get along?" he sighed as he cut Lily loose. "Is zat too much to ask for? A little peace and quiet."
"I think that is a very reasonable request Monsieur Delacour," Lily said with a dazzling smile.
"So ..."
"Yes," Lily agreed, "I am going to chain Apolline up in the dungeon until she realises the error of her ways." Lily stormed out of the room and towards the dinner table.
"Zat's not what I meant!" he protested. They arrived at the table to find that Apolline had disappeared along with half the bread that had previously adorned the table. Hyacinth and Amarante were desperately struggling to restrain their laughter.
"I suppose you zink zis is funny?" he asked the two women sourly.
"I think it's wonderful that my daughter has taken to mentoring a younger chick," giggled Hyacinth, "and one who is so to the bone, to boot!"
"I zink zat zis is a good lesson on why doors 'ave locks," Amarante added her two knuts, "one zat Miss Evans is better learning now zen later." She turned to address the fuming English girl. "I believe zat Apolline eez 'iding in ze wine cellar if you would like to go speak with 'er."
"Thank you, Madame," Lily said calmly as she strolled out of the room.
"Is she really?" Jean-Sébastien asked.
"So far as I know," Amarante replied.
"Why must you encourage them?"
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Harry shook off the effects of Apolline's portkey and looked around. He shivered, the Atlantic air was significantly colder than it was in London. In the distance, he could see a crescent shaped harbor filled with what he presumed were fishing boats.
"Where am I?" Harry muttered to himself.
"Bretagne," a feminine voice replied.
"What?" Harry spun around.
"You are in Bretagne, north-western France," she repeated. "'Ow did you get 'ere without knowing where you were?"
"It's a long story," Harry sighed.
"Does it 'ave something to do with using strange portkeys?" she asked suspiciously. "What kind of trouble are you in zat you'd do something stupid like zat?"
"It was given to me by a friend," Harry said with a shrug.
"Oh." She relaxed a hair. "So you're not in any trouble …?"
"I do have a group of people out to kill me," Harry admitted, "but other than that, no."
"What kind of people are trying to kill you?" she demanded.
"Death Eaters," Harry replied, "they're a group of purebloods in the UK that dress up in stupid costumes."
"I've 'eard of zose peegs," she said dryly. "Evangéline Arsenault," she introduced herself, "Magical Gendarme for zis Département."
"Peter Pettigrew," Harry said politely.
"Come on zen, Monsieur Pettigrew from ze UK," she said, "I'll buy you lunch."
"Thanks!" Wow, five minutes in France and already the local constabulary were treating him far better than the British Aurors had in nine years!
The French Auror watched Harry put away his meal like he hadn't eaten in weeks. "Good?" she asked.
"Sorry," Harry said with a blush, "I don't normally eat this well, and I've been training hard every day."
"Don't worry about it," she advised, "just shows zat you're a growing boy."
"Thanks."
"And don't worry about ze Death Eaters," she continued, "if you see one, just tell me and I'll clap zem in irons."
"Really?"
"Cross my 'eart."
"Oh . . . well, in that case there are three of them sitting in that booth over there. I was going to wait until after they did something, but since you offered . . ."
"Really?" she asked in shock. "Three of zem?"
"Yep," Harry agreed. "Looks like a Travers, an Avery and a Nott. Hmmm that sounds like the beginning of one of Ron's jokes. That aside, all three of them together in a foreign country? Under a privacy shield? Yep, definitely Death Eaters and definitely up to no good."
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to give me a 'and with zem then, would you?" she asked, intensely curious about this strange teenager.
"If you like," Harry agreed. "Oh no," he said in a louder voice, "I seem to have dropped my spoon." He knelt down and crawled around on hands and knees to get a clear beeline on the other booth. Faster than she could track it, Pettigrew's wand appeared in his hand and shot three stunning spells at the unsuspecting Death Eaters. They slumped down into their bowls of fish soup. "All yours, Officer Arsenault."
"How ze 'ell did you do zat?"
Harry shrugged. "Suppose the fact that it's normally them doing the ambushing and me reacting might have something to do with it too. Nice to be on the other side of it for once, really boosts my confidence to know that they should have had me in the ground a long time ago."
"Oui," she said with an odd look on her face. "Ever zink of becoming a law enforcement officer in Bretagne? Good hours, decent pay, all ze fish you can buy from ze fishermen ..."
"Can't say I have," Harry said, "but I will."
"Good, because I'm allowed to 'ave two more deputies zan I've got now and it'd be nice to 'ave someone competent for a change."
"How many do you have now?"
"Just ze one," she replied, "and Clouseau isn't ze sort to be mentioned in ze same sentence as ze word 'competent.' Not unless it 'as an 'in' preceding it, anyway."
"That name sounds familiar," Harry said, frowning.
"No doubt. 'Is whole family are in law enforcement, and zeir name is a byword for blundering on both sides of ze Channel."
"I'll think about it," he promised. "Can't be worse than working for the British Auror Department and I'd bet it'd be a whole lot better."
"Zat's ze spirit!" she cheered.
"It'll have to be after Voldemort is gone though," he said regretfully. "Can't see it working out until I don't have a Dark Lord trying to kill me. At least I think he's trying to kill me. I'd sure try if I were a Dark Lord."
"Mentioning zat you 'ave a Dark Lord out to kill you isn't normally ze sort of zing you mention in a job interview," Arsenault advised, "so you know."
"I'll remember that," he laughed, "and on that note, could you possibly direct me to the Delacours' residence please?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Ze Delacours?"
"Yes."
"In zat case, zere eez someone you will need to meet."
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Harry looked around and marvelled at the stone buildings. It appeared as if the entire town had remained unchanged for hundreds of years.
"Why don't you take a seat?" the pleasant voice of his guide asked. "'Ave some cheese, maybe a bit of wine, and we can get zings settled."
"Thank you, Monsieur ..."
"Inspector Charles LaRousse Dreyfus," the burly man replied.
"Peter Pettigrew."
"May I ask why you decided to visit our fair town?"
"Sight-seeing," Harry replied, "and to visit my friends. What's the name of this town anyway?"
"You do not know?"
"When I asked the one who gave it to me, she merely smirked and said it should not matter as long as she was there," Harry explained.
The man laughed. "We are in a small magical village called Trieux, in Bretagne."
"Trieux. I'll remember."
"And now, Mr Pettigrew, if you'd be so kind as to explain what business you 'ave with ze Delacour family?" Dreyfus demanded, cutting down to the brass tacks, the civility dropped from his face.
"Like I said," Harry said in confusion, "I just wanted to say hi to my friends."
"Are zey aware zat you are coming to visit?"
"Should be," Harry agreed.
"What are zeir names from youngest to eldest?"
"I only know Apolline," Harry admitted.
"From where?"
"Hogwarts."
"Wait here," Dreyfus ordered, "have some cheese, drink some wine. Do not make any sudden movements, draw your wand, or try to leave."
"Okay," the incredibly confused Harry agreed. He honestly didn't understand why the man had suddenly changed his tune, maybe pureblood bigotry was an even larger problem here than back home.
"My apologies, sir," the Inspector said with a courteous smile as he walked back to the table. "I'm sure you will understand zat women as lovely as ze Delacours are sometimes ze victims of unwanted attention."
"And you were looking out for them," Harry said in understanding, "I understand. Thanks for keeping my friends safe."
"Eet eez both an 'onour and a pleasure," he replied, "Lady Delacour is coming to get you. She insisted on escorting you back to ze château 'erself, and I am afraid zat I could not turn down such a charming woman's request."
"Did you say château?" Harry demanded.
"But yes. You did not know?"
"No. Suppose I should've guessed though, she did say she was nobility. I look forward to the Lady's arrival, it'll be nice to have some company for the trip."
"An excellent attitude," he agreed, "are you enjoying ze food?"
"It's wonderful," Harry gushed, "what kind of cheese is this? I've never had anything like it."
"Zat, my young friend, eez Ty Pavez. Eet eez made with seaweed and aged in seawater. By law it can only be made in zis area."
"Wow." Harry sampled another bite.
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Amarante walked into the sitting room and motioned for her daughter to take a seat. "I have some important news for you."
"What is it, Maman?" Apolline asked.
"What have you been waiting for all holidays?"
"You mean ... Pierre is coming?"
"He is here," Amarante said happily, "our dear friend Inspector Charles is with him right now."
"Yes!" Apolline shrieked. "He arrives at the exact moment the old maid and her mother are out of town – it truly is Destiny! I must change, and do my hair, and ..."
"I am going to get him," Amarante said calmly, "while you get yourself ready."
"Yes Maman," came the distant voice. She smiled as her daughter dashed off to her room in a panic, ah to be young again.
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As they rode to the Delacours' château, Apolline's mother gave Harry a smile that immediately set his danger senses to maximum. "I zink I should warn you about something before we get to my 'ome," Amarante said calmly.
"Warn me about what?"
"I'm not sure it's my place to tell you," she demurred.
"Oh ... alright then."
"But I zink I must," she said, annoyed at his lack of reaction.
"If you must," Harry agreed. "What is it?"
"My daughter and Miss Evans 'ave been fighting all week over which one will be your wife and which one your mistress," the stunning Veela Lady replied with a sultry grin. "Such a lucky boy you are, no?"
"No," Harry agreed, "I gotta get out of here!"
"But you 'ave already agreed to stay with us," protested the woman with a pout. It would not do to allow the boy to escape and thus avert the fun. "Are you breaking zat promise?"
"No." Harry slumped. "I'm not breaking my promise."
"Excellent," Amarante purred, "so good to know that you are a man of your word."
The second Harry walked through the front door he found himself under assault. Apolline attached herself to his left side and began chattering in French too rapid to understand.
"May I borrow 'im for a few moments my child?" Amarante smiled at Apolline's suspicious glare. "I promise you zat I 'ave no designs on his body." She led him up the stairs and to one of the bedrooms. "Zis is where you will stay while you're 'ere. Your Lily eez currently sightseeing in ze next town over wiz her Maman, but zey will be back in two days. Her room is across ze 'all and Apolline eez on your right."
"Oh ... thank you."
"If I were you, I'd research some 'efty locking and privacy charms before going to sleep tonight." She laughed in delight. "Or some silencing charms if you don't want to learn the other two, I suppose." Oh, the look on his face, he was as amusing as she hoped he would be! "Come along Pierre, we 'ad better get back downstairs before my daughter comes to zink zat I'm having my wicked way with you."
"Uh ..." To be quite frank, Harry wasn't sure how to respond to that statement.
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Harry hollered in delight as they air whistled past his face. It had been so very long since he'd been able to let loose on a broom. Pettigrew didn't own one and wasn't on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, so he'd had little opportunity. And given how busy he seemed to be all the time, hadn't paid it much thought, until he'd seen the cupboard full of top-of-the-line racing brooms in the drawing room.
The Delacours were more than happy for him to borrow it. Apparently Lily was not much interested in flying, so that left it to him to demonstrate the broom-related prowess of the English race to his hosts.
From her bedroom window, Apolline watched as the tiny speck that was Peter Pettigrew dived almost vertically for 500 metres, pulled out only seconds away from the ground, and twirled away in a series of death-defying aileron rolls, before rocketing back up into the clear blue yonder.
She grinned to herself. "Flame and air."
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After much cajoling, wheedling, whining, bargaining, tears and silent treatment, Apolline finally convinced her parents to allow her and Harry to Floo to the Paris magical district to visit the local Gringotts branch. The fact that neither would reveal the purpose of their journey did not help her case, however the threat of facing a week-long magical tantrum from the 60-inch tall Veela eventually caused them to fold and reluctantly allow it. Not without many admonishments to be careful and be back before 6pm or else the Aurors would be unleashed to turn Paris upside down, if necessary.
"Alright mon amour," she stated, dragging him away from the public Floo station and down the main magical thoroughfare, "now we are away from all ze nosy noses who are always trying to stickybeak into our affairs. Now you can tell me what eez ze purpose of our secret mission."
"Alight," he surreptitiously raised a privacy shield around them so that passers-by could not eavesdrop. Ah, having an untraceable wand is the greatest! I can't believe I never tried to get one the first time I was in Hogwarts. Apolline looked immensely gratified that he was using one of his Veela-hair wands, the core a hair that she had rather forcibly donated to him for that purpose.
"There's three main reasons to go to Gringotts. You remember the plan to set up our own newspaper to tell everyone the truth about Voldemort's muggle background, and what's really going on with the war?"
"Oui."
"To do that we need four things: we've got Odd's family's old printing press set up in the basement of the Shrieking Shack, that's one. We need staff; Odd's got the editor stuff under wraps and we have a half dozen house elves and a Ministry flunky to sneak and spy and ferret out news for us. That's two. We need the addresses of people in the magical public, so we know who to deliver to; I have an idea of how to get that, but it'll have to wait until term starts. That's three. And finally, we need supplies: paper, ink, replacement parts for when the equipment wears out, and so on. That sort of thing won't be cheap. From what Xeno tells me, presses consume huge quantities of stuff. And once we get started, the Death Eaters and the Ministry are certain to come down on us like a ton of bricks, so we can't just go out to store and buy what we need."
So intent was he on their discussion that he didn't realise his wily partner had deftly steered him off the main street and towards the river. They were now strolling arm-in-arm along a tree-lined boulevard next to the Seine.
"So the best way to remain anonymous it is to set up a Post box and hire a goblin to manage the purchasing, owl deliveries, and the rest of the details for us. And a goblin from the Paris branch is even better, since it gives it an extra bit of distance from us. It'll be pricey, but if it prevents us from being dragged off by the Aurors for sedition, it's gold well spent."
"And what eez ze other reason?"
"I want to arrange for the homes of my friends to be properly warded, and their families given emergency escape portkeys. You've heard about Lily's place no doubt?"
"She said you snuck into 'er private rooms in order to view 'er charms. And zen you and a gang of uncouth goblins drove 'er and 'er family out of their 'ome, forcing 'er to endure living with me for ze rest of the Yule Break. She was most put out."
He grinned. "Sounds like something she'd say."
"And I am most put out zat you have been in my 'ome for a whole day and 'ave yet to sneak into my private rooms in order to view my charms."
"Uh … yes, well … anyway, the fact of the matter is that I was able to walk straight into her room without any difficulty. What if I'd been a gang of Death Eaters out to make the world a more mudblood-free place? I don't want any of my friends to be in that position. In addition, the stronger your wards, the less the Ministry is able to interfere in your personal affairs. That's probably one of the underlying reasons why decent warding is such an expensive undertaking. Not many can afford a proper job, not strong enough to withstand a group of determined psychopaths. And the only organisation that has the resources to set them up on such a scale is the goblin nation."
"I understand. It is truly a noble zing to do on be'alf of your friends. What about ze third reason?"
Harry sighed. He really didn't want to discuss this with a 13 year old, but he knew she'd never let it go. Nor would she allow him to enter Gringotts alone, so he couldn't think of any way to keep it from her without causing mortal offense. "The main problem we face in this war is that there's way more of them than us. Voldie's got lots of followers who have gold, connections and political power. Who do we have? A dozen students at most."
"What about your Ministry? Ze Aurors? Your 'Eadmaster and 'is acolytes?"
"The Ministry keeps using the state of emergency to accumulate more and more power in Bagnold's and her attack-dog Crouch's hands. I wouldn't trust them as far as I could banish them in peacetime, let alone when there's a civil war in progress. Far too easy to make 'difficult' people vanish. Not to mention the Ministry and Wizengamot are probably full of moles. Dumbledore and his lot are useless. Well, perhaps that's a bit unfair … I'm sure they're trying very hard, but what exactly have they achieved? I haven't the faintest idea. That's what happens when you put an academic in charge of a war effort." Apolline gave a Gallic half nod-shrug, which could have meant anything. Harry continued, "So in short, we're stuck between a group of well-meaning no-hopers and a fascist state apparatus."
"So what do we do? You know you and your friends are welcome to come live at Château Delacour if zings get too dangerous. We 'ave more than enough spare rooms. I am sure magical France would grant you asylum."
"Thank you Apolline," he smiled gratefully. "I hope we'll never need to, but we may have to take you up on that offer sometime in the future. In answer to your question, I've decided to take a leaf out of Orion and Cynus' book: hire a ton of hitwizards to take care of our enemies. Much less difficult and life-threatening than doing it yourself. I'm going to make it a condition of the contract that they have to be as subtle as possible when carrying out the hits. Make them look like accidents or freak occurrences. Hopefully then the rest of the targets will be less inclined to flee, hide away or hire their own troops."
"How many of zese hitwizards are you planning to employ?"
"Umm, all of them, I think."
"You are … an eenteresting person, Pierre. You do not flinch at ze loss of life?"
"There's an old muggle saying, Apolline: war isn't dying for your cause, it's making the other poor bastard die for his. I don't like it, but if the choice is between getting rid of them, or standing by while they rape and murder countless innocents … there's no choice to be made. Besides," he sighed, "I already have a lot of blood on my hands. What's a bit more? If some more darkness in my soul is the price to ensure that thousands of others never have to raise a wand in fear or revenge, then I'll happily give up my innocence for that."
She was silent for a time. "Do not worry yourself, my 'eart," she said finally, squeezing his arm in reassurance. "Even eef you fall into darkness, I will be right 'ere to fill you up wiz light again. As many times as you need."
Harry could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes at the simple, heartfelt declaration. "Merci," he managed. She smiled prettily but said nothing more, merely guiding him to a chair of an outdoor café and sitting him down. A few rapid words of French to the waitress, and soon a pot of hot tea and a tray of strawberries and lightly toasted croissants was put before them. Harry took a moment to look around. The place bore an ominous similarity to Madame Puddifoot's in Hogsmeade: flowers, sparkles and unicorn designs abounded, though fortunately there were no stuffed animals.
"Tell me about zese people," Apolline commanded gently, as she buttered her croissant with quick dainty strokes.
"The highest priority are the Malfoys. Because they're very rich, and the Dark Lord having access to their wealth and political heft is very bad for us. And because Pandora is Lord Malfoy's niece which brings me into the line of succession, in the event of their demise." He sighed ruefully. His attempts to back out of their betrothal contract had proved a complete failure, and the one week waiting period after signing had elapsed, making them bona fide de jure man-and-wife. He wondered if she'd want to go through the motions of a proper formal wedding. Her future daughter had opted for a full Druidic rite, complete with mistletoe wreaths, dolmen circles and all the participants and audience naked. "I have a list Pandora and Odd put together for me. It's basically every single Malfoy of the main and cadet lines, except for the Lovegoods and the Fitzhallibut-Malfoys."
"And none of zem are worth saving?"
"I asked them that. According to them, they're not even worth hanging onto as raw material for experiments," Harry grimaced. "Anyway, once the Malfoys are out of the picture, then the troops can start on our second list." He took a bite of his croissant, marvelling at how it could be so crisp and yet melt in his mouth.
Apolline raised a finely-sculptured eyebrow. "And who are zese?"
"Marked Death Eaters, Voldie sympathisers, blood purist scum, etc."
"Show me zis leest," she commanded.
"Uh, that's really not necessary for you to see …"
"I will examine, and add any names zat you 'ave missed," Apolline said firmly.
"But …"
"My Papa is a high-ranking member of ze national security bureau 'ere," she sniffed imperiously. "I hear many little snippets zat 'e zinks I do not know. I hear of ze names of some of ze English blood purists who cause us Veela grief. And zere are many such peegs 'ere in France as well, to my eternal shame. It would be doing a great service to our civilisation were zey to be eradicated like ze belly-crawling flobberworms zat zey are!"
In that moment Harry saw not a lovestruck young girl in the flower of her life, but a creature of flame and air: cunning and ruthless and inhuman. Wordlessly, he handed the list over.
"Zis is extensive. But zere are some zings I can add." There was silence except for the scribbling of her quill. She paused a number of times to recall memories, tapping her quill adorably against her aquiline nose. Finally, "I am done. Come along, we shall make 'aste to Gringotts and settle our business. Zen we shall take a ride on ze Bateaux Mouches and forget about such unpleasantness and remember zat the world is still full of laughter and 'appiness!"
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˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
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Jean-Sébastien waved for Harry to join him upon their return from Paris. Curious, the 'Boy-Who-Lived-In-Another-Time-And-Place' followed him into the man's study. "Pierre," Jean-Sébastien said with a grave look on his face, "zere's somezing I need to tell you. I wouldn't share zis information with just anyone you understand," he began, "it's just zat I like you and I feel a certain responsibility for your welfare."
"And ..." Harry was starting to get nervous. Now that his errand was completed, he just wanted a nice relaxing week in the French countryside. Why did these problems keep cropping up all the time?
"Well ... I just." The Frenchman sighed. "I just don't zink you realise what you're getting into here." He looked around nervously. "Has anyone ever told you about Veela mating rituals?"
"No." But just the very sound of the word 'ritual' was starting to raise the fine hairs on his arms.
Jean-Sébastien felt a bit guilty for what he was about to do, sure he liked the kid but he wasn't sure he wanted Pettigrew to impregnate both his daughter and the visitor he was chaperoning before the holidays were out! Their unsupervised jaunt into Paris today was the final straw. Yes, today it was visiting a bank together. Tomorrow they may go out for lunch in the local village together. And then it would be down the slippery slope: dinners, dancing, romantic nights watching the lights on the Seine, overnight stays at hotels, and so on and so on until … well, here they were. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Maybe he'd pay a visit to the boy in a few months and tell him that it was all a joke, it wasn't his fault things had turned out this way. He'd been sure that Apolline wouldn't be able to muster the courage to string more than two words together in Harry's presence. How wrong he had been on that count. "You've got to promise zat what I tell you never leaves zis room and I'll give you ze warning that no one ever gave me ..."
Listening to their discussion through one of the many listening charms she'd littered the château with, Amarante shook her head in disappointment, then walked over to the drawing room where her daughter was plotting her next 'romantic outing' with her intended, causing her to look up guiltily. "Don't mind me," her mother said, "I just thought you'd want to know something."
"What is it, Maman?"
"I don't think your father took your outing today in good spirit. He has taken Pierre away and filled his head with some nonsense about Veela eating a ... personal part of the body after copulation," she replied. "Said it was why he only had one child."
"Pierre didn't fall for it, did he?" Apolline asked sickly.
"Your Papa is the Directeur of the Service de Documentation Extérieure et de Contre-Espionnage," Amarante reminded her daughter. "He is adept at manufacturing evidence, it has been part of his profession for several decades."
"So Pierre thinks that I will harm him and is escaping into the night." Apolline moaned. Her voice hardened. "Release the hounds! And the bees!"
"Little one," Amarante chided gently, "will the hounds and bees find Pierre, or will they find him and kill him?"
"Chain up the hounds!" her daughter's voice called out loudly. "And corral the bees! Merde alors!"
"Language!" her mother scolded, but Apolline was already gone. It was the matter of moments to divine the trail the two men had left behind.
Harry and Jean-Sébastien ran through the extensive vineyards that surrounded the Delacour estates. Dusk was starting to fall, but there was still just enough light for them to find their way. "Wait, mon chévalier!" Apolline's voice called out. The two men looked back to see their pursuer gaining ground. "I must explain!"
"We're not going to make it," Harry panted.
"Run, boy!" Jean-Sébastien shouted, "It's too late for me, I'll hold 'er off!" Harry didn't need to be told twice and was gone in a flash.
"Papa," Apolline asked tearfully, "how could you?"
"Honey, I ..." he stowed his wand, reached out to hug her, and was hit by Apolline's stunner and everything went black.
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˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
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Lily and Hyacinth returned from their sightseeing trip tanned, relaxed and with many magical photos of the gardens, vineyards, dryad reserves, ancient Roman ruins and magical shopping districts that the region boasted. Fingering the lilies that a flirtatious dryad had braided into her hair, Lily looked around for her sometime-friend-sometime-nemesis and her family. The place was eerily silent.
Finally, they decided to check the basement … and froze, jaws dropping. Jean-Sébastien was strapped to a large table.
"Ladies," he called out, "I can explain." A loud 'wooshing' sound from above caused him to look up and his eyes bulged in shock as he saw a large bladed pendulum swinging back and fourth over his midsection. A grim-faced Apolline manned the switch. An amused Amarante sat in the corner, watching the fun and sipping from a glass of red wine. "Uh ... Apolline," her father called out in English, "can we talk about zis?"
"Where is Pierre?" Apolline demanded.
"I don't know," he replied.
"Wrong answer," Apolline growled, and cranked the switch to lower it more.
"Would it help to tell you zat I'm sorry?" he asked as the blade dropped another foot.
"No."
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