Chapter 6 – Baby Steps

The first few days after Harry's arrival were hectic, filled with various activities as the Delacour family tried to cram as much into their only two days in France as they could. Through it all, Harry was polite and cheerful—if a little overwhelmed—but the way in which he went about his new life with an almost childlike joy and wonder made it clear that he had never taken part in most of those activities before—his relatives had kept him from it. It appeared he had gone about life as a passive viewer—never really part of anything—a family, a group of friends, or anything like them— he simply had moved from one situation to another with no real purpose or thought and no welcome from the reprehensible Muggles. Although it was never voiced out loud within his hearing, his new family was filled with disgust at his old guardians, and in the confines of their own minds, more than one of them contemplated a healthy dose of revenge against the loathsome family.

To combat his hesitance and uncertainty, his new family, by unspoken agreement, simply tried to be open and friendly—the Delacours took special care as a family to ensure that he knew they had his best interests at heart and that they cared for his happiness. It took some time, but it seemed as though the two days in France went a long way toward making him feel comfortable and welcome in their home and in their presence. The elder Delacours made him feel like his opinion mattered when they spoke with him, listening when he had something to say and taking the time to talk to him, explaining things he did not understand and patiently guiding him when required. The younger members of the family contributed in a slightly different manner—Gabrielle became his shadow, rarely letting him leave her side, while Fleur was friendly and polite, yet still maintaining the reserve she had shown the first evening. Sirius, of course, was the same as ever—the consummate Marauder—as he joked and laughed and told stories of his escapades as a young man with Harry's father.

The day after his arrival in France, Harry was treated to a new phenomenon—the concept of women and shopping. The Delacour women were not fanatical shoppers—they tended to get what they needed when they needed and did not spend an excessive amount of time browsing. But a case such as Harry's—where it was clear he required everything from the basics to a more formal style—caught the imaginations of Apolline and her daughters, and they found themselves eagerly anticipating the upcoming trip and the opportunity to assist Harry in finally coming into his own as the powerful and confident young man and wizard into which he was to grow. The first step in this endeavor was that he had to look and dress the part.

The day after his arrival, the entire family Portkeyed away from the castle to the French equivalent of Diagon Alley to peruse the shops and make certain Harry was outfitted with whatever wizard robes he would need for the coming year. As with Diagon Alley, the district was small, and there was nothing there he would not have seen in his own country, so things went very smoothly, leaving the young man to wonder why Sirius and Jean-Sebastian were so amused at the thought of a shopping date with the women.

But then the true fun had begun. Exiting the magical shopping area, they had entered a nearby Muggle district with shops as far as the eye could see—and the wonder and curiosity on Harry's face had been priceless. The women, their imaginations on fire as to how they could build the young man's wardrobe from the ground up, immediately dragged him off, intent on seeing him clothed properly and his cast-off rags from Dudley burned as soon as may be.

Thus had begun a marathon of shopping, and by the end of it, Harry was feeling as though he had tried on and modeled every piece of clothing in the Muggle world. They included, but were not limited to, shirts, pants, sweaters, jackets, and shoes—all of them in casual and formal styles, many of which he would never have thought to even look at had he been on his own. The ladies had been positively indefatigable, and their energy had been astounding—Harry had thought they would never quit.

Everything he looked at or tried on was either approved or rejected by the ladies, who at times did not even listen to his opinion, if he had even had one to give. It had finally taken a shirt which they had forced him to try on—one he decided he would not be caught dead in—which had forced them to listen to his opinions on his new wardrobe. Of course, Apolline had been amused by his sudden recalcitrance, smirking as she told him that she had been waiting for him to make up his mind and dig in his heels. After that incident, it had gone much more smoothly, as everything was first agreed upon by Harry before the ladies approved or, conversely, exercised their veto power.

However, this new meeting of the minds did not seriously limit the number of different outfits to try on. They literally spent the entirety of an afternoon at it, and all were exhausted by the time Harry walked away from the shopping center carrying bags and bags worth of pants—denim, cotton, formal—as well as several shirts of all kinds and socks, shoes, boxers and all of the accessories the ladies had decided he needed. Then his new family had coaxed him into wearing some of his purchases, and a quick Incendio in an out-of-the-way alley did away with the old baggy clothes he had been wearing.

Seeing how much they were purchasing, Harry had begged Apolline to allow him to pay for his own purchases, but she was firm—Harry was now part of the family, and as such, the Delacours would now treat him as one of their own children, which included providing him with the essentials in clothing, shelter, food and the love and care of a family. It was a slightly choked-up Harry who left the shopping malls behind, clutching bags upon bags of his new possessions and feeling slightly overwhelmed.

That evening, they ate dinner at an expensive restaurant in Paris. Not ever having an experience to compare with, Harry was amazed at the excellence of the cuisine, while simultaneously being concerned that he would make some serious faux pas and embarrass himself. His new family quickly allayed his fears and made him feel welcome, while Sirius teased him out of his reticent mood; soon he was laughing along with the family and having a wonderful time.

The next day was spent taking in some of the sights of France. Jean-Sebastian explained to Harry that although they could not stay long, he could hardly be here without seeing some of the major sights. So, Harry was able to go to the Eiffel Tower in Paris, see some of the more famous locations on the Champs Elysees, the Arc du Triomphe, as well as a few other locations he had always heard of, but never visited. In all, it was an eye-opening experience for Harry and served to draw him closer to his new family.

They were also days for Harry to get to know his newly betrothed. Both had felt they had gotten a good start during their conversation from the previous night, but they also realized it would take some effort for them each to get to know the other. The first part of that bonding process was for them both to understand the other in contrast to their preconceptions and their commonly held misconceptions.

For Fleur's part, she wanted to know more about him—she had heard his stories of his adventures and had heard all the so-called "official" information about Harry Potter, but he was to be her husband, and it was simply not enough. She was resigned to the match, but still she had reservations, as she had so honestly disclosed to him on his first evening in France, and the best way to remove those reservations was for the two of them to become better acquainted and knowledgeable about each other.

This had entailed taking as much time as their event-filled days before their departure would allow, and although it upset Gabrielle to a certain extent, they had spent much of the following evening shut up in a room together and walking about the park in which the chateau stood. Gabrielle was soon put to rights by her mother, who reprimanded her gently and reminded her that Harry was Fleur's betrothed and that they needed to get to know one another without the interference from others—Harry would spend time with her, but she must not be so possessive of him. Gabrielle had sulked a little when told this, but her better nature took over, and she was soon able to interact with Harry more like a typical nine-year-old rather than with the clingy hero worship which had characterized her actions before. Not that the hero worship still did not show up from time to time…

The conversations between Harry and Fleur generally revolved around how Harry felt about the situations in which he had found himself. Fleur had already heard about the events themselves, so she had the information; however, she felt that knowing about Harry's feelings would help her to get to know him better. In addition, she asked him about his childhood at the Dursley residence and induced him to talk about his friends at Hogwarts, his impressions of the education there, and anything else he could be persuaded to speak of.

However, it was not only a one-way passing of information—Harry was just as curious about his betrothed as she was him. He was unable to get her to discuss much of her experiences at Beauxbatons—she told him she was not ready, and it really did not matter anyway—but when it came to her times with her family and her abilities as a witch and a Veela, she was much more forthcoming.

There were two events which particularly illuminated her character to Harry, causing him to gain no small measure of respect for his newly betrothed.

The morning after Harry's arrival at Chateau Delacour, he had knocked on Fleur's bedroom door, intending to escort her down to breakfast. They chatted amiably on the way down, entering the dining room to see that they were the last arrivals. Harry, seeing the breakfast foods spread out on the table and suddenly feeling the hunger for the morning repast, motioned for her to precede him to the table, only to find that she had already moved from his side.

He watched as she strode purposefully to the table and stopped by Sirius' chair, her hands on her hips as she glared down at the former Marauder.

"Sirius Black!"

Sirius started and stared up in surprise, even while Jean-Sebastian chortled at the scene playing out in front of their eyes.

"I do not know what you have done, my friend, but my daughter glaring at you in that manner is not a good sign!"

"I would not make such comments, Father, dear," Fleur retorted with an incongruously sweet smile. "I have some words for you as well."

With Fleur focused on another, Sirius had managed to rein in his surprise, and he peered back up at her, a charming smile now plastered upon his face. "And what can I do for you, my lady?"

"You can start by explaining why you did not tell Harry about the marriage contract before he had to walk in to that trial."

Whatever Sirius had been expecting, this was clearly not it. "Well… I… I mean, we… thought that it would be better to keep it a secret," he stammered. "Dumbledore felt that we should keep it to ourselves until the trial."

Fleur raised an elegant eyebrow. "And Dumbledore rules over house Black?" was her rhetorical—not to mention slightly sarcastic—question.

Upon seeing Sirius had nothing to say in response, she continued, "Besides, I know how you British revere the Headmaster, but truthfully, I am not convinced he has Harry's best interests at heart."

Sirius began to sputter in response, but he was ruthlessly drowned out by the irate young woman. "I do not think he is evil, Sirius, but he did leave Harry in a very poor environment for years when he surely could have found alternate arrangements."

A sigh and a weary hand over his eyes was Sirius' response. "I cannot help but agree with you. I argued that myself with him, but he was convinced Lily's blood protection was the best means of defense for Harry."

"They may have protected him from Death Eaters," Fleur retorted, "but certainly not from the neglect of his guardians."

Jean-Sebastian Delacour had had many more years to know his daughter and understand her moods—in this case, he evidently felt she was serious in her displeasure, and he attempted a conciliatory tone.

"I suppose you are correct, Fleur—we should have told Harry before the trial. There simply was not a lot of time or opportunity, and as Sirius said, secrecy was paramount. But all is well, and Harry is no longer bound to stay with his relatives. I can promise he will not be going back while either Sirius or I have guardianship over him. And again, as Sirius has said, the utmost secrecy needed to be kept, so as to spring the surprise on the Minister without allowing him time to form a counter-strategy."

Apolline, who was astonished by the revelation and just as displeased about it as her daughter, joined forces with her against the men. "Oh, you thought Harry was not to be trusted to keep information about his own future secret?" she asked with an arch look.

When confronted by both of his female family members—not to mention Gabrielle, who, even though she did not understand fully of what they were speaking, at least knew that it was about the boy she practically worshipped—Jean-Sebastian apparently realized that retreat was the best option.

"You are completely correct, my dear. From now on, Harry will be informed of everything which concerns him."

"Sure thing, pup," Sirius chimed in, catching on quickly. "I would have told you, but I couldn't get a moment when you were apart from Ron and Hermione. And it didn't help that Molly was always hovering around you. You know how nosy she can be."

Harry pondered his godfather's words for a moment before nodding in agreement. "Thanks, Sirius. I would appreciate knowing about stuff like this from now on."

"Everything, father," Fleur interrupted. "I am not a child, and neither is Harry—we need to know when something important is about to happen and when you learn of any crucial information. Harry needs to be better prepared than he has been, and it starts with telling him everything."

That incident highlighted the fact that Fleur was no pushover, and Harry filed that little tidbit away for future reference. And it would certainly be a novelty to be told about things in advance, something which Dumbledore, for all the good things which he had done, had never seen fit to do.

Late the evening of the shopping trip, Harry had had another conversation with Fleur, in which he learned much more about Veela—and about some of the buttons which, when pushed, really angered his betrothed.

It was rather late, and their discussion had already gone on for some hours. They were sequestered in Fleur's bedroom, to which they had retired upon their return from the shopping trip, and there they had talked about many things. Harry was finally feeling like he was slowly coming to know her. The conversation was casual, as they sprawled across her bed talking about anything and everything.

The discussion had turned to Veela again, specifically the allure, and Harry, curious about its effects, asked Fleur how she used it and how it could be defended against.

"It is difficult to explain, Harry," she responded after a moment's thought. "I simply… exert myself, although that is not the right word. It feels like… projecting an aura."

Harry considered the explanation. "So, it's kind of like you extend your senses out or something?"

"Not exactly." Fleur thought for a moment before picking up the explanation. "Think about what happens when someone is wearing perfume—you can smell the perfume for a few meters around that person."

Grimacing in distaste, Harry nodded. "Yeah, but it depends on how much you use. I swear that one girl in my year bathes in it—you can smell her a mile off—more if you're downwind."

A delighted laugh was Fleur's response. "I will have to learn to avoid her—I do not care much for perfume. The principle is the same, Harry. With the allure, I create an aura that's not unlike the scent of perfume. Now, of course, there are differences—what I create is not a smell, exactly, but more like a magical field mixed with pheromones, which affects men to various degrees. And I can direct it, to a certain extent. For example, I could specifically direct it towards a single person in a room full of people—the other men in the room would not be unaffected by it, but they would not receive the full dose the one I directed it at would."

"Does the allure work on women?"

"No, Harry, women are immune from its effects."

"And are there any defenses?"

"Some, such as you have natural defenses, while others who know a branch of mind magic called Occlumency are also afforded a certain measure of protection. The other protection is love, Harry."

The intense look she directed at him made him feel like he was under her scrutiny.

"If a man is in love with a woman, then his feelings for her will lessen the effect of the allure. Most Veela magic is largely love-based, Harry, although the allure is admittedly more connected to lust than love. And because lust is a pale offshoot of the emotion of love, a true loving feeling for another person trumps the allure and makes it much easier for the man to resist."

"And what else can your magic do if it is based on love?"

Fleur looked uncomfortable but gamely met his gaze and forged on. "Well, Harry, Veela partnerships are renowned for their strength and closeness. If you and I ever have the good fortune to bond with each other in a truly loving way, we will become closer than most normal couples can ever dream. If we ever truly love-bond, I will know without a doubt of your love for me—it's simply part of my powers. I can also tell when others share the emotion. In addition, when we are married and become… intimate with each other, I will know exactly how to please you—it is ingrained in me to know what my lover requires in a mate. It is the reason why Veela were prized as concubines throughout history—what man would not want to have a woman who could effortlessly become exactly what he wants and needs?"

Now, Harry was not a true innocent—the education he had gotten in school just before entering for Hogwarts ensured he had at least some knowledge—but it did not take a lot of imagination to determine why having a woman who could please him was a good thing. The conversation was slightly embarrassing, but already Harry had a much healthier respect for Fleur than he had ever had before—she was more of a sex object to most men than any movie star or supermodel ever could be, and yet she was poised, confident, and modest, not reveling in her ability to catch anyone she wanted. His hopes for the relationship rose even higher due to her obvious self-effacing manner.

"I can see how that could be a problem."

An unhappy sigh was his response. "Yes, it is a problem. I have been propositioned regularly since I was twelve years old."

Harry blinked. "Twelve?"

She nodded. "Veela hit puberty about the same time as normal girls, but until we have gained a little control, there is some… leakage, for want of a better term. The boys my age at Beauxbatons had no defense against it. As I got older and learned to control it better, the situation improved, but by then the damage had already been done. To most of them, I was just a plaything—they would put the moves on me, trying to be masculine and suave in front of their friends. Many times, I had boys try to get me into broom closets, and they generally made my life miserable. And since I can sense true emotion to a certain extent, I knew that none of them were interested in me, just in using me."

The frown on Harry's face was thunderous as he thought of what his betrothed would likely face even at Hogwarts.

"There will be none of that at Hogwarts," he growled. "I'll hex anyone who tries anything!"

Reaching across with a smile on her face, Fleur grasped his hand and squeezed. "Thank you, Harry—it is very sweet of you to want to protect me."

But Harry was still not amused. "I want you to tell me if anyone tries anything, Fleur. I know we're still working through this, but no one will be allowed to take liberties with you."

Fleur inclined her head and lay back down, resting her head in the palm of her hand. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"Well, there was one other thing…" he started cautiously, instinctively knowing his next question would likely upset her. "I understand that some consider Veela to be non-human…"

He was correct; the expression on her face quickly became cold, and when she spoke, her voice was like an Antarctic wind.

"I am every bit as human as you or anyone else, Harry—do not let anyone tell you anything else."

"I never thought any differently, Fleur," he responded, speaking in a calm and rational tone of voice. "I just wanted to know what your thoughts about it are—I can assure you that you will hear about it when we go to Hogwarts—from the Purebloods in Slytherin, if no one else."

Fleur's expression quickly changed to chagrin, and she apologized for her outburst. "I am sorry, Harry, I should not have reacted in such a way."

"It's understandable," Harry responded, squeezing her hand in a comforting gesture, returning her actions from moments earlier. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay."

"No, Harry, you will be a target of some of the bigotry by being betrothed to me, so you should know the consequences."

She was silent as she considered her words, clearly trying to find the right balance between outrage and imparting a true sense of the situation. Harry was quiet, allowing her to think about her response and half wishing he had not asked the question in the first place.

"I apologize again for my reactions, Harry," she finally said. "It was a reflex response to the intolerance I have had to put up with my entire life, though I suspect it is not as prevalent here as it is in your society."

Harry nodded, and she continued. "Bigots prefer to think of Veela as being non-human, but the fact of the matter is that we are every bit as human as those who like to promote their agenda of hatred. Veela roots have been traced back to the sirens of Greek mythology, although our origins before that time are much murkier—The Odyssey is the first mention of the race which would come to be known as Veela."

"There are no earlier records?"

Fleur shook her head. "No, but of course there are legends—it is impossible to know the truth, though. Some say the first Veela was a result of some long-forgotten spell which has since been lost to time. Others contend that our existence goes all the way back beyond the time when magic was recognized as a talent, long before any kind of training—even word of mouth—was developed. It is thought that the world long ago was rife with wild magic, and all magical creatures came into existence at this time. Living creatures were affected by the forces of the wild magic and adapted to survive. In any case, physiologically, I am exactly the same as any other woman—regardless of the truth of the origins of Veela, the first of us was a human woman who was changed in some manner by magic. All else is passed down from that time."

"And what do you believe to be the truth of your origins?"

A smile crept over Fleur's face. "It does not really matter what I think. I am a human, the same as any other woman. I simply have a few extra abilities and a much higher chance of giving birth to girls rather than boys. I think it is our nature's way of preserving Veela—as there are no male Veela, our magic forces us to have girls, which perpetuates our race and abilities. The population of Veela generally stays the same or grows only slightly overall. It also seems to be a case of preserving the rest of the human race—can you imagine what would happen if Veela could give birth to many children?"

Harry thought about it for a few moments, but the results were rather obvious. "Eventually, if Veela only give birth to Veela girls, then there would be more and more Veela."

"Exactly. Then, there eventually be a large disparity in the numbers of the sexes—for every boy born to a Veela, approximately nine girls are born, which would cause massive problems for the world. And can you imagine what would happen with so many Veela in the world?"

The implications were obvious. "Veela, with their powers, would generally have the advantage in gaining a mate."

"Exactly. It would take many generations, but ultimately, I believe that the only women left would be Veela. So, I believe that the way Veela reproduce protects both the Veela populations and the population of the world as a whole.

"Which brings us to another point, Harry," she continued. "The fact that we will only have girls is a problem for the continuation of your house."

"What do you mean?"

Fleur shook her head in exasperation. "I keep forgetting that you were not brought up in magical society. The Potters go back centuries, Harry, right back to the time of your founders. If we only have girls, you will not have a son to carry on your name—this is something that is very important, especially to old Pureblood families."

She was right—Harry had never thought to consider this before. "But can't a girl inherit?"

"Yes, she can, but the Potter name would not continue, which is a very big deal to the right families—for example, take the Blacks. If Sirius does not marry and have a son, his name would die out, and his name is at least as old as yours."

"But don't families die out anyway?" Harry demanded. "And some of the girls at Hogwarts don't have any brothers—what do they do?"

"Yes, family names do die out," Fleur agreed. "In the past this may have been as much to do with disease and war, as with only having a female child. And to some it's not as important. But in the high echelons of Pureblood circles, it is a very big deal. You are descended from a Pureblood line. Most members of your social sphere would naturally want a son to carry on the line."

"So, what do we do?"

Harry had the distinct feeling Fleur was feeling him out for some unfathomable reason, but she did not elaborate on her comments. "There are other ways of ensuring your name continues, Harry, but I think I would like to hold off discussing them for now. I would prefer to continue to get to know each other before we think about such serious subjects."

Agreeing with her—although being curious as to her meaning—Harry nevertheless allowed the conversation to move to other lighter topics. It was very late before he finally sought his own bed, feeling more than pleased that he and Fleur had been able to make the progress they had.

For Apolline Delacour, the two days spent in her future son-in-law's company were enjoyable and very revealing. He was reserved and quiet, generally speaking his opinion in a thoughtful yet diffident manner, especially when that opinion was something which he did not feel strongly or have specific knowledge about. But when he spoke of things with which he had experience, his confidence shone through, and Apolline could see a different side of him—a side which held great promise. For instance, when questioned about Quidditch, he responded with several stories about his time playing the game and experiences he had had. But underlying his exposition about the game was his talk of flying—and that revealed his true passion. It was clear he enjoyed the game, but by and large it was merely a release and an excuse to go flying on his broom.

He was polite and kind, treating everyone around him with deference and respect, something Apolline wondered about considering his upbringing by those horrid Muggles with whom he had lived. Given what she had heard of the confrontation with the Dursleys, she would have expected him to grow up to be bitter and vengeful, filled with the need to prove himself. It was still very early in their relationship, yet although she could detect some of the latter in his manner, there was none of the former. She suspected he could be as angry and petulant as the next teenager, but the true bitterness of spirit seemed absent from his character; he appeared to accept the first fifteen years of his life and his time with the Dursleys with a certain fatalistic resignation, even while he struggled to integrate himself into Apolline's family.

It was a period of adjustment for the young man, and Apolline could clearly see the difficulty he had, especially when he was praised for something or overwhelmed by the welcome of the family. Apolline also suspected he was desperate to fit in with this family, not only because of the fact that he would one day marry into it, but also because he recognized they had taken a large risk in supporting him.

It was not an issue which Apolline had any concerns about whatsoever—in fact, the family was impressed (she was impressed) by his manner and character. She had been dubious about the marriage contract at first—he was, after all, a famous wizard and a target of one of the greatest dark wizards of the past millennium. However, now that she was getting to know him and understand his past and see a glimpse of his future, she had no concerns about how Harry would treat Fleur. She was now coming to view it as a very fortunate alliance.

True, he still did have the aforementioned dark lord to contend with, but really, the whole magical world was in danger. She did not know why Harry had been targeted, but she was quickly coming to the understanding that he could become a great wizard with the proper guidance. Jean-Sebastian was a good man and could provide that desperately needed male influence in Harry's life. Together, as a family, they would help the young man grow and become what she knew he could be.

The day of the move, Apolline was sitting in Gabrielle's bedroom, thinking about the changes to their lives, when her husband walked into the room. Sensing his hesitation, Apolline's eyes narrowed in anticipation of the subject of whatever he wished to discuss. If it was as she suspected, he may as well hold his breath.

"Yes, love?" she greeted him, prompting him to smile and approach her.

"Apolline," he began after seating himself and taking one of her hands, "I wish you would reconsider and stay behind in France with Gabrielle."

Apolline huffed her exasperation, wondering if the man would ever give up. "Jean-Sebastian Delacour, we have already had this discussion!"

A lesser man might have quailed at her displeasure, but her husband merely gave her a mischievous smile which still caused her heart to do back flips in her chest, even after almost two decades of marriage. Damn the man and what he did to her!

"We have had the conversation, but the result was not to my satisfaction. That means I must have it again, does it not?"

"Our conversation may not have been to your satisfaction, but it was to mine," Apolline retorted. "If you think I will allow you to go into danger while I stay behind, you had better seriously revise your way of thinking."

"Apolline, please be reasonable—"

"No, Jean-Sebastian, I will not be reasonable. We are a family, and we will stay together as a family. We have taken a young man into our lives, and I mean to give him every bit of my support, as I know you intend to do yourself. That support does not entail staying behind in France. My place is with you."

"But Apolline, think about the danger—think about Gabrielle. It will be very difficult to do what must be done when I must constantly worry about you both."

"Then you should have thought about that before you decided to enact the marriage contract."

He started to speak again, but Apolline placed a finger over his mouth, compelling him to silence. He was a good man—the very best of men—but he sometimes had a tendency to treat her and their daughters as though they were made of porcelain. While she loved him for it, she was a fully trained witch, and she had her Veela abilities to fall back on if she was to run into any trouble.

"Jean-Sebastian, I will not stay behind, so you may as well save your breath. If things become too difficult, then we will send Gabrielle to live with her grandmother, but I will not leave your side. You do not need to treat me with kid gloves—I will be fine."

His long look was expressionless, but to one who knew him intimately, his struggle was evident.

"You will not give in on this matter, will you?"

"No."

He looked down and sighed before glancing back at her with a lopsided grin on his face.

"I thought as much. Whatever possessed me to marry such a strong-willed woman?"

The chuckle he received in response was amused. "Come now, Jean-Sebastian, you like me the way I am—admit it."

"I do—I just wish I could keep you out of danger."

"That you cannot do. Think of it this way—if this Voldemort takes over England, where do you think his next stop will be?"

"I have already considered this," he responded softly.

"Then you know that even France is not truly safe. In fact, I would be surprised if he does not already have agents here recruiting for his cause—certain members of our society can be as bigoted and short-sighted as those across the channel. You know this. In fact, I think Gabrielle and I are safer with you in England than we would be here."

Jean-Sebastian gave a resigned sigh and leaned over to kiss his wife on the cheek before rising. "There is still much to be done."

Apolline rose also and began to busy herself, sorting through Gabrielle's clothes. But before her husband left, she had one more thing to say.

"Jean-Sebastian, please do not bring this up again—I have made up my mind."

Pausing at the door, Jean-Sebastian glanced back at her and smiled. "I can see that you have. The subject is closed, and I will not speak of it again."

Satisfied, Apolline returned to her task as her husband left the room.

The rest of that Saturday afternoon was spent ensuring all the family's belongings were packed away and transported to their new home by the house-elves. This consisted primarily of clothes and personal effects, the furniture not being needed, except for a few items which were deemed necessary—including Jean-Sebastian's well-worn but comfortable office chair. It was Apolline's housekeeping which kept their transported belongings to a minimum, as she had spent the afternoon going through the family's clothes, putting aside old items to be discarded or donated and generally ensuring everything the family would need would be on hand. Of course, Harry's clothes, which had largely been purchased the previous day, were the easiest, as they were simply left in their bags, ready to be moved.

They were all touched a little by Sirius' melancholy—still considered a fugitive in the eyes of the British Ministry, he was to stay at Chateau Delacour to continue his recovery and await his trial, which had tentatively been scheduled for the middle of the following month. Still, although he was a little glum, Sirius roused himself to do a little teasing of his godson, promising to see him again at the trial and during the upcoming winter break.

The end result of the day's efforts was that the family arrived early that evening, stored their belongings in their chosen bedrooms, and sat down for the evening meal, tired but happy—at least in Harry's case—to be back in England.

It was at this point that Jean-Sebastian, having accomplished the welcoming of his new ward into the family and having moved his family to England, decided that it was time to follow up with his resolution to contact Dumbledore about the secret society of which he was the head.

He made his way to his office and made a Floo call—correctly deducing the Headmaster would be in his office at Hogwarts—asking for a quick meeting to discuss certain items of interest. Dumbledore readily assented, proposing they meet at Grimmauld Place to give Harry a chance to connect once again with his friends. It was done quickly, and a mere thirty minutes later, Jean-Sebastian was travelling through the Floo connection along with Harry and Fleur.

They stepped into the parlor, and Jean-Sebastian was gratified to see the greeting Harry received from his friends. He had heard much about Harry's friends over the past two days, particularly one Hermione Granger, who was at that very moment engulfing his new ward into a crushing embrace, much as she had done when they had arrived after the trial. It was good to know that Harry had a support group to rally around him—he suspected it would be needed in what was to come.

The only concern he had was fleeting and resolved quickly.

"Hey, guys," Harry began. "I'd like to introduce you all to my betrothed, Fleur Delacour."

The silence only lasted a moment before Hermione, visibly screwing herself up, stepped over and greeted the young French witch. "Hello, Fleur. My name is Hermione Granger. Welcome to Grimmauld Place."

Jean-Sebastian let out a relieved sigh, one which was echoed, he noticed, albeit in a much quieter fashion, by Fleur. His daughter returned the greeting hesitantly, but her smile was genuine and wide.

The twins approached Fleur, and each made bows, complete with elaborate flourishes, and smiled winning smiles at her.

"Any friend of Harry's is a friend of ours."

"She's his fiancée, George."

"I'm not George, I'm Fred! And I'd hope that she's his friend, too."

"His friend? Wouldn't you like to be her friend? And don't call yourself Fred when we both know I'm Fred."

"You're delusional. And of course I want to be her friend. Blokes like us look so much better when we have pretty friends."

"Shh… Don't say that too loud. You'll make little Harrikins angry for moving in on his girl."

"I'm not moving on his girl—just trying to make myself look better by basking in the light of her glory."

"Well, just as long as you make certain everyone knows you're George when you make a fool out of yourself, that's fine. I'd prefer you didn't sully my name."

"There you go again!"

"There I go? It's you who persists in thinking you're Fred."

"Well, then, I guess we'll just have fall back on our old standby."

"Gred and Forge?"

"Yes, but remember—I'm Gred."

"But I'm…"

"Will you two stop it already?" Hermione's voice interrupted. She was not precisely scowling at them, but her expression did hold a certain amused exasperation. She turned back to Fleur, who had been following their banter back and forth, much as she would have followed a tennis match.

"This is Fred and George, the Weasley twins. Don't let them get going, or they can go on for hours."

"Yup, that's us!" one of the twins piped in.

"You can call us Fred, George, Gred, Forge—it's all the same to us."

Fleur could not hold in a laugh at their antics, and she visibly relaxed, which was no doubt their purpose in their confusing duologue.

"Fleur will be attending Hogwarts this year," advised Harry. "She'll be in your year."

The two boys looked at one another before turning back to Fleur and favoring her with a huge smile. "Brilliant!" they exclaimed in unison.

"If you guys are quite finished, there are a couple of more introductions to complete."

Hermione turned to the other two redheaded children and quickly made the introductions. Their responses, however, were certainly not as welcoming and warm as the twins' had been. The youngest son, Ron, appeared too tongue-tied to formulate a coherent response—something with which Jean-Sebastian knew that Fleur was intimately familiar—and the girl, Ginevra, appeared to be sizing up Jean-Sebastian's daughter with a frown on her face.

"So, that's how it stands," thought Jean-Sebastian. The evening of the trial, he had thought Mrs. Weasley and her daughter were a trifle cold, although he had not had the opportunity to observe them. The young woman in particular would bear keeping an eye on.

The door to the room opened at that moment, and the Headmaster walked in, greeting everyone cheerfully.

Once the pleasantries had been completed, Dumbledore invited Jean-Sebastian to a nearby study. Confident that his daughter would be well taken care of by Harry and his friends, Jean-Sebastian acquiesced, and they were soon leaving the room.

Their initial conversation consisted of pleasantries and discussions of the situation, punctuated by Dumbledore's approval of Jean-Sebastian's involvement in Harry's life.

"I am glad to hear young Harry is settling into his life with your family," Dumbledore finally stated after hearing Jean-Sebastian's recitation of the past few days. "I believe it will be good for him to witness firsthand how a wizarding family lives."

Jean-Sebastian directed a piercing stare at the Headmaster. "I must admit that I am uncertain as to why you left Harry with those Muggles. I had heard of their treatment of him, but even so, I was unprepared for what I witnessed. They treated him like he was diseased, Dumbledore, denying him the basics of human love and affection. I am amazed that he has turned out as well as he has."

At that moment, Albus Dumbledore looked every one of his 114 years. He passed a hand over his eyes and rubbed his temples briefly before raising his eyes back to his companion and sighing heavily.

"Unfortunately—or fortunately, perhaps—you don't know what it was like here after the war, Jean-Sebastian. The country was in celebration, yet—although Voldemort had been defeated—there was still some question as to who had supported the Dark Lord.

"Oh, certain Death Eaters were obvious and had been well-known supporters, with incontrovertible proof existing of their complicity and crimes—those such as the Lestranges, Mulciber and Crouch Jr. were easily convicted. They still reside in Azkaban to this day."

"And Malfoy? I understand he was as involved as anyone."

"And I am afraid you are correct. However, Malfoy was not known to have committed any crimes, although it is certain he did while in his Death Eater robes. He and others, such Walden Macnair, were more difficult to pin down, even though we had known of their participation and, more importantly, the fact that they had financed Voldemort's operations."

Jean-Sebastian gazed at Dumbledore in disbelief. "Then why was Veritaserum not used? I remember reports of the time that its use had been rejected, but the reasons were not clear."

"It was not as easy as you might think," Dumbledore responded, a thoughtful look etched upon his face. "We were in disarray, even with Voldemort's defeat, and our justice system was in shambles. The Minister approved the use of Veritaserum, but as the Wizengamot serves as the judicial branch of our government, they were able to overturn her directive. Therefore, people like Malfoy were able to claim the influence of the Imperius curse and successfully avoid their time in Azkaban. Unfortunately, I was not Chief Warlock at that time, and although I had been a member for years and had a certain amount of influence, I was not able to sway the Wizengamot away from that disastrous course."

"But why would the Wizengamot effectively hobble its own ability to deal out justice?"

"Because the Pureblood faction was concerned that they would lose their influence by virtue of the fact that many of their members had supported Voldemort and would lose their seats as a result. They were able to beg, buy, and threaten the rest of the Wizengamot to forego the use of Veritaserum, claiming it was an 'infringement on the rights of its most upstanding members.'"

The explanation made sense and matched what Jean-Sebastian remembered of the time. The reports from France had been sporadic and incomplete, and although Voldemort had made headlines in the French papers, wizarding France had at the time largely contented itself with viewing the situation as a British problem. To Jean-Sebastian, it had seemed more like a determination for them to stick their collective heads in the sand and ignore a situation which had the potential to become a huge international problem rather than merely a British one.

What he was not certain of, was exactly how this influenced Harry's placement with his mother's sister. Surely Dumbledore could have found someone trustworthy to raise the boy.

"And Harry?" he prompted.

"Harry presented a unique problem," Dumbledore answered. "Ideally, I would have placed him with Sirius, but given the fact that we all believed Sirius to be a traitor, I was not certain who to leave him with. I admit, there was a certain panic to my thoughts at the time—after all, if Sirius, who was closer than a brother to James, could be a traitor, anyone could be.

"So, I placed him with the one family I could be certain was not affiliated with the Death Eaters—knowing the Dursleys' aversion to magic, I knew that they would, at the very least, keep him safe from the Death Eaters as long as a strong set of wards was erected to keep his presence a secret. I used Lily's blood protection as a means to erect the wards which would keep him safe from discovery by any hostile magical. This was intended to be temporary until I found another solution."

"So, what happened?" Jean-Sebastian inquired. He was beginning to understand that Harry's residence at the Dursleys was an unfortunate string of circumstances and not the callous abandonment he had feared. At least, he hoped that was the case—it would be a disaster if Dumbledore proved to be untrustworthy. The man was far too important to the future fight, not to mention the fact that Jean-Sebastian's children would be under the man's authority for the better part of every year.

"That is when the second problem appeared," Dumbledore responded with a shrug. "I failed to predict the instant fame for the young boy and the outpouring of sympathy and support. Overnight, there were petitions and applications to provide him a home registered by the dozen, and I could not take the chance that someone less than trustworthy would have gained custody of him—that would have spelled disaster."

"You think they would have had him killed?"

Dumbledore's face was thoughtful. "That was one possible outcome. There was another, and both depended entirely upon how much information the Dark Lord had shared with his minions."

"What do you mean?"

"He—or at least his parents—were known to have been targeted by the Dark Lord himself. Therefore, if that is all that was known, then I think he would have been brought up, indoctrinated with the ideals of the Purebloods."

"But they recruited based on blood purity, and Harry is not a Pureblood."

"They were not as biased as they wanted everyone to believe," Dumbledore refuted. "All that was required for admittance was to show a sufficient level of personal loyalty to Voldemort, a thirst for power, and some level of blood purity. They did not accept Muggleborn members, but anyone with at least one magical parent was welcome with certain restrictions."

It made a certain amount of sense. After all, whatever else Voldemort had been, he was not stupid, and to limit his recruiting to a mere ten percent of the population when trying to take over a nation would have been short-sighted in the extreme.

"Then Harry in the hands of former Death Eaters would have been a problem."

"In more ways than one," Dumbledore responded. He then flicked his wand, and a series of privacy spells shot toward the door and the walls, effectively rendering them imperturbable and silenced. Jean-Sebastian raised an eyebrow at the Headmaster's actions, but Dumbledore merely smiled at him.

"What I am about to reveal to you must not leave the confines of this room. Although I don't believe anyone is listening to us, I cannot take that chance—the Weasley twins in particular are known to be ingenious inventors and have managed to ferret out some impressive secrets over the course of their short lives."

Jean-Sebastian gazed at the Headmaster. Although his words about the twins had been somewhat light and slightly amused, there was no amusement in his manner. Whatever he had to impart, he deemed it critical to Harry's safety—that was enough to convince Jean-Sebastian to follow his lead.

"Do you require a magical oath?"

Dumbledore nodded his approval. "Thank you for the offer, but no—I know your character through our interactions in the ICW and I believe you are devoted to Harry's protection. Your word will suffice."

"Then you have it."

"Very well. The reason Harry was targeted by Voldemort was a prophecy which was given to me when I was interviewing a candidate for the position of Divinations Professor the spring before Harry was born."

A frown came over Jean-Sebastian's face. "I must admit I have little faith in divination—are you certain it was a true prophecy?"

"I witnessed it myself," Dumbledore responded. "I too have little use for the branch of magic in general, but she did not use her accoutrements when making this prediction. It was a classic case of a seer entering a trance, reciting a prophecy, and not remembering it afterward, and its existence was recorded in the hall of prophecy. If you will recall, prophecies are kept by the most ancient and powerful of magics—once I had verified its existence there, I knew it was a true prophecy.

"Now, the existence of the prophecy would not have been a problem if Voldemort had never found out. Unfortunately, a young Death Eater happened to be listening outside the room and heard part of it himself. Of course, he immediately ran to his master to tell him what he had heard, but not having heard the entire foretelling, Voldemort acted in a completely different manner than he would have if he had known the missing pieces."

It was everything Dumbledore had said it was… and worse than Jean-Sebastian had expected. Yet there were still unanswered questions.

"But how did you know of this if the Death Eater immediately went to his master with the information?"

"I knew him," Dumbledore answered simply. "He was young and idealistic and believed—correctly, in my opinion—that there were many things about the wizarding world which needed to be changed. Unfortunately, he chose the wrong engine of change, and has paid the price ever since. Once he had realized the implications of what he had set in motion and understood Voldemort's plans, he came to me immediately and confessed all. Since that time, he has been a double agent—a spy in Voldemort's camp who has remained in that role to this day."

So, a traitor had caused the death of Jean-Sebastian's childhood friend. He already knew of Pettigrew and yearned for the chance to mete out justice to the rat, but this man had set the events in motion. A burning fire lit itself in his heart, and he glared at the Headmaster. "Who was it?"

Shaking his head, Dumbledore directed a level gaze back at his companion. "There is no reason to share that with you and every reason to keep it to myself. For his protection and for the invaluable information he brings to me, especially with Voldemort now returned, I must keep his identity a secret."

Jean-Sebastian peered at Dumbledore, his emotions roiling. "How can you be certain this man is not playing you as well?"

"Because I hold something over him," Dumbledore replied quietly, his eyes flashing in annoyance. "I am many things and have made mistakes, Jean-Sebastian, but do not ever think I am stupid. As soon as the Death Eater came to me, I ensured his compliance and engineered his loyalty—he risks his life on a daily basis and has proven his worth."

Still unhappy with Dumbledore's refusal to divulge the name, Jean-Sebastian nodded his head curtly. "I want to know the moment anything changes," he demanded, to which Dumbledore responded with a nod. "Then what is this prophecy?"

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. … Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. … The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

A chill in the air seemed to settle into Jean-Sebastian's very bones as the words of the seer filled the room. The language was certainly that of prophecy, filled with obscure references and predictions which could be understood in many different ways, and Jean-Sebastian could only speculate that it was a true foretelling when Dumbledore's testimony of his origins was examined.

"That is truly a vague prediction," Jean-Sebastian finally stated after some thought.

"Indeed it is. But when it is examined, I think one can gain a clearer picture of what it foretells.

"The first lines are unclear, stating only that the child would be born to those who faced the Dark Lord three times and survived and that he would be born near or at the end of July."

"What about September? It was the seventh month of the Roman calendar."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in response. "I had considered that. However, due to the fact that September was still several months away and the other requirements could not be fulfilled, I concluded that it must be July. There were two young boys who fit the bill—Harry Potter and one other. And it was only the first two lines that the Death Eater heard that day; otherwise; Voldemort's actions would likely have been completely different.

"It is the third line which proves that the prophecy was made about Harry—when Voldemort attacked the Potters in 1981, he left Harry with a scar which 'marked him as his equal.' He could have attacked the other young boy, but for reasons only Voldemort himself can reveal, he chose to attack the Potters. I can only assume the other boy would have been next had he succeeded."

"And the power the Dark Lord knows not?"

"Unclear," Dumbledore responded. "However, I believe that power to be the power of love. Voldemort never knew love as a young man, and I believe he has no comprehension of its power or the lengths most people will go to in order to protect loved ones. The only witnesses to that night are dead, outside of a small boy who could not possibly remember what happened, much less understand it. In piecing together the events which took place, I postulated that Lily Potter placed a blood-based protection on her son which was sealed by her death, which is why Harry survived the killing curse."

The explanation made a certain amount of sense—there were many old and forgotten magics in the world, and it was very possible that a mother could have used one of the most powerful positive emotions to protect her son.

"So this 'power he knows not' has been used up?"

"Not necessarily," Dumbledore disagreed. "Harry, despite his childhood with the Dursleys, appears to have an amazing capacity for love. And don't forget the entry of your daughter into the equation—aren't Veela powers largely based on love?"

A chill once again swept through Jean-Sebastian at the Headmaster's words. Had he unknowingly provided Harry with the means of the ultimate defeat of the Dark Lord? And what part did his daughter have to play? Could she have somehow been destined to join with Harry in defeating the Dark Lord? The possibilities boggled the mind, and Jean-Sebastian was momentarily surprised that he had not seen it himself.

"So, you believe the power manifested itself on the night Voldemort was vanquished… and still has some part to play."

"In short, yes. There may be other pieces which must still come into play, but those will have to reveal themselves at the appropriate time."

After a little more thought, Jean-Sebastian thought he understood why the Headmaster had acted the way he had. "And the fact that the prophecy specifically says that one of them must die means it does not refer to the night Harry's parents were murdered."

"Exactly," Dumbledore confirmed. "The term 'vanquish' suggests that once Harry had survived that night when Voldemort was defeated, the prophecy could have been fulfilled. Yet the fourth line says that they are destined to meet and that someday one of them must kill the other. Whatever happened that night, it is certain that Voldemort did not 'die' at Harry's hand—it was his mother's sacrifice, or so I believe, which resulted in his downfall."

"That is a substantial amount of supposition and speculation on which to base your entire strategy."

A shrug met his declaration. "It is, but the Dark Lord's return seems to support the theory. Voldemort had been known to claim that he had gone further down the path to immortality than any other, so I believe he was not truly killed that night. He was certainly disembodied, but he wasn't truly defeated. Harry is the only one who can bring about his demise."

Although wary to take such a nebulous prediction at face value, Jean-Sebastian knew the time to ponder it for himself was not here. Dumbledore's interpretation certainly seemed valid, and for now, it seemed as though the best course of action was to be cautious and act as though it was the literal truth.

"There is still a certain vagueness, but it is certainly plausible."

"Ah, unfortunately, my friend, all prophecy is such," Dumbledore agreed with aplomb. "We can never be sure until after the events have concluded. We can only base our actions on what we believe, and we must adapt as events demand."

"Has Harry been told?" Jean-Sebastian knew his question was blunt, but although he already knew the answer, he wanted to know why this information had been kept from him.

"No, I have not told Harry," Dumbledore responded, and he continued before Jean-Sebastian could make any further comment. "It is a heavy burden for a young man to bear. I believe Harry to be supremely capable and confident, but I do not think he is ready for this."

"When do you mean to tell him, then?"

Dumbledore thought for a few moments before he made any comment. "I had thought to see how he does this year and then tell him by about his sixteenth birthday. Much will depend upon his maturity level and whether I believe he can handle it."

Though he was still not convinced, Jean-Sebastian understood the Headmaster's point. "I have promised not to keep anything from Harry—my daughter was most insistent on this. However, I believe you may be right in this case. But he must be told, Dumbledore, and sooner rather than later."

"I will think on it further."

Jean-Sebastian nodded. "In that case, I think we should talk about my purpose for coming here tonight."

A wave of Dumbledore's hand, and Jean-Sebastian continued. "I would like to know more about this order you have established."

"You wish to join."

Jean-Sebastian shook his head. "Unfortunately, I do not know enough about it yet to determine my actions. If it is what I suspect it is, then I may very well join, but I would like to know more first, attend some meetings, and generally see how you handle things before I make any commitments."

"That would be acceptable," Dumbledore replied with a nod. "I formed the Order to directly combat Voldemort's forces during the first war when it became evident the Ministry was… shall we say, less than effective in dealing with the Dark Lord. We carried out many activities, such as intelligence gathering, combat, and security provision. I have been reforming it for the upcoming conflict and recruiting new members—I do not believe the Ministry will be any more effective now than they were fifteen years ago.

"The next meeting will be held here next Saturday, and you are welcome to attend if you would like."

"I will be here," Jean-Sebastian affirmed. "Of course, as the French Ambassador, I will be limited in what I can do overtly, but if I should choose to join, you may be assured of my full support."

"Of course."

"That brings us to one more item—I have spoken with Harry and believe that some specialized training would be advisable. I don't think that the things he will learn in school will be enough for what he has to face."

"An excellent idea!" Dumbledore approved. "I had planned to start his training this year in any case. I presume you wished to get an early start?"

When Jean-Sebastian confirmed that was his intent, Dumbledore continued. "In that case, might I suggest Alastor Moody as a trainer? I doubt you could find anyone more knowledgeable, especially at such short notice."

Jean-Sebastian did know of the man's reputation. He experienced a moment of concern, knowing that Moody had been impersonated by the man who had engineered Harry's capture and the return of the Dark Lord during the Tri-Wizard, but that was swiftly quashed. Harry could have no reason to distrust the man himself.

"Auror Moody would be acceptable. Please contact him and see if he is agreeable. If he is, have him contact me and we can set it up."

Their conversation concluded, Jean-Sebastian rose and shook Dumbledore's hand and exited the room. He was now armed with crucial knowledge which would assist him in ensuring Harry's safety and ultimate survival, and he intended to make good use of it.

Although Hermione was happy to see her friend, she could not help but feel tense and unsettled.

It was not that she was not happy for him—that could not be further from the truth. In fact, though Harry had never shared the details of his life with his relatives, she had guessed what his home life had been like. The Delacours appeared to be a godsend for Harry, and she was happy he had found some acceptance and affection from a good and loving family.

No, what had brought Hermione to her current state of disquiet was a part of her she had though she had left behind years ago.

Simply put, Hermione was afraid and insecure. Part of her was still the timid young girl whose only friends had been the ones she had found in the pages of her favorite books. And though she told herself she was being silly and that Harry had experienced the same lack of friends as she had, she still could not shake the lingering fear she felt at seeing him interact with Fleur and the rest of his friends. Surely Harry would never shunt her aside now that he had a fiancée.

But although she knew in her heart that Harry was not the type to toss her aside on a whim, her head would not listen and she fretted. He seemed so much happier now—his face truly shone when he spoke, he traded banter with the twins, and every time he looked at Fleur it seemed as though they were communing on a different level. How could she—Hermione Jane Bookworm Granger—ever hope to compete with the luminous beauty of Fleur Delacour, Veela goddess and Tri-Wizard champion?

Her world had been centered around him ever since they had entered Hogwarts together—how would she ever cope if he drifted away from her? The trio would cease to exist, and her one other friend would drift away as well. It was Harry who kept the trio together, Harry who bridged the gap between her and Ron. If he was removed from the equation, Hermione had little doubt Ron would initially bask in the chance to win her before quickly losing interest after seeing they had nothing in common. She would be left friendless and alone, as she had been before.

She did not know how long she watched her friends laughing and joking, but her reticence did not go unnoticed for long. Soon, she saw Harry sneaking her curious glances, concern evident on his features. She blushed and tried to hide her anxiety under a veneer of nonchalance, but Harry had been her friend for five years now—he knew her better than almost anyone else and could almost sense her unrest.

He disengaged from his other friends and turned his attention on her, a questioning expression on his face.

"Hermione, are you all right?"

She squirmed and tried to avoid him, but he was there, patience and affection rolling off him in waves. Her heart melted at the sight, and she relaxed slightly, although her head still refused to cooperate.

"I'm fine, Harry," she finally managed in a tremulous voice.

"You don't sound fine to me," Harry countered with a frown. "Now, why don't you tell me what is bothering you?"

Unable to divert him, Hermione blurted the first thing which came into her mind. "You are still my friend, right?"

The full gambit of emotions ran over Harry's face—from disbelief to confusion, through suspicion, and finally to speculative amusement.

"Hermione Jane Granger, what on earth are you blathering on about?"

Then he winked at her and continued in a cheeky tone. "I've wanted to do that for ages! Usually, it's you who uses my full name!"

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione mockingly scolded, causing them both to collapse in laughter.

"Seriously, Hermione," Harry said, once they had both regained their composure, "did you really think this change in my life would change anything between you and me?"

Hermione felt all the embarrassment for ever doubting him, yet within the confines of her own mind, she still felt she was justified for her fears.

"Hermione," Harry interrupted her thoughts. "You do know that you are my best friend, don't you? This is a change in my life, but I would hope that nothing will ever come between us. You've been the one person who has always been there for me. You were there to the end when I faced Quirrel and the stone, provided me with the key to the secret of the basilisk, and then flew with me on Buckbeak in third year. And I can't even describe how valuable your support was last year when even half the members of my own House were angry with me for besmirching Gryffindor's honor by entering the tournament, while the other half congratulated me on circumventing the rules. You were the only one who believed me implicitly and without reservation. Do you have any idea what you mean to me?"

A blushing Hermione nevertheless grabbed her closest friend and give him a massive hug, one which was returned with interest. The relief she felt was indescribable, and she felt tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Harry, pulling away, noticed her tears and wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs, all the while smiling at her affectionately.

"Now, let's hear no more about this, all right?"

Hermione nodded her head happily, pleased to acquiesce to his request.

At that moment, the door opened, and in walked Dumbledore and Mr. Delacour. Hermione noticed the French Ambassador's curious look in their direction but was too happy to do anything but smile in response.

"Harry, Fleur, it is time to return to the manor," Mr. Delacour stated, addressing his charges.

"Yes, J.S."

"Before we go, would you like to ask your friends if they would like to join you?"

Nodding, Harry turned to his friends. "Jean-Sebastian is setting up some training for Fleur and me and said it was okay for Ron and Hermione to join me. Would you guys like to?"

Their answers were immediate and fervent, and Hermione beamed in gratitude for his continued support and thoughts about her.

But there was one among the group who was not happy with the development. Ginny gazed longingly at Harry, and although she did not say anything, she appeared hurt that she had not been invited as well. Still uncomfortable with Ginny's continued unwillingness to give him up, Hermione nevertheless empathized with the young girl. She cleared her voice and spoke in a diffident manner.

"Excuse me, Mr. Delacour," she began. "Since we're all in danger, why don't we open up the training group to include others? That way, Harry will always have a group of his friends to support him and defend him if need be, and the rest of us will get advanced training which will help us in the future."

Mr. Delacour peered at her with a half smile forming on his face. "I can see why they call you the smartest witch of your generation, Miss Granger."

Hermione felt her cheeks burn in pleasure at his compliment.

"But I will only acquiesce if you call me J.S., like your friend does."

Smiling happily, Hermione nodded her assent.

Jean-Sebastian turned to Harry. "I'm sure Auror Moody can take on a few more students. The Weasleys may all join, and if there are any others, please let us know, and we will arrange for them to be included."

And it was done—Hermione was pleased with the outcome of the evening. She would continue to be Harry's closest friend and would be involved with his life. Her earlier distress now seemed silly and childish, and when she thought about it, she knew Harry would never have cast her off. Still, it was a relief to be able to settle her fears.

There was another who had witnessed the events of the evening but could not find the same satisfaction in its results. Ron had overheard Hermione's conversation with Harry, and his friends were a little too close for Ron's comfort. After all, Ron was aware of the fact that Harry, as the last Potter, was almost required to take a second wife—the realization had come soon after his friend left the last time, causing his smugness to depart rather precipitously. He was desperate to prevent Hermione from being that second wife. The fact that they were still only fifteen did not penetrate his consciousness—right then, the need to keep them separated was paramount.

In addition, Ron was somewhat offended that Harry had named Hermione as his best friend—that was his title by right! How dare Potter claim such a ridiculous thing?

As indignation and unhappiness swelled within him, Ron thought about Hermione and how he could prevent Harry from making a move on her. He would have to move quickly himself and get to her before Harry could do the same to him. This was one contest with the other boy that Ron did not intend to lose.

Updated 05/09/2013