Chapter 31 – Society's Expectations

The next week was spent in the company of good friends and good company, and for a moment the inhabitants of Chateau Delacour were able to forget about what awaited them back in England when they returned. Though things for the most part were quiet, they all knew the specter of Voldemort still hung over them, and no one could predict when the next blow would be struck. In France, however, such concerns were distant and for the moment, nothing was more important than spending time with family and enjoying their time away from the reality of the world.

All such things must end, however, and on the second-to-last day of the year, the entire party packed up their belongings and made their way back through the Floo and to the ambassador's manor. The Grangers immediately returned to their home, amid thanks for a wonderful holiday, and invitations by the Delacours to join them at any time. Attention then turned to the New Year's ball which was to be held the following evening.

After the day spent in preparation, Fleur found herself sitting in front of her vanity, studying her appearance in the mirror. Overall, she was pleased with what she saw; she was dressed in a simple evening gown of a darker shade of blue than she had worn at the Yule Ball, and she had to admit that blue certainly did suit her. Her hair was piled on the top of her head in an elaborate mass of braids and curls, and she felt the effect was quite becoming of her.

If she were to acknowledge the truth, Fleur knew that she was not anticipating this evening in the slightest. She had enjoyed the Yule Ball, especially the fact that she had been in Harry's company, and though she generally liked dancing, she was certain this evening would be not only tedious but also have a completely different atmosphere. It would undoubtedly subject them all to the censure of the bigots who permeated British Wizarding society; oh she was certain there would be those who were welcoming and kind—in fact, most of them would undoubtedly be so—but she knew that her heritage would make her a target for the innuendo and veiled insults of those to whom blood purity mattered, and she was not looking forward to it.

Sighing, Fleur took one last look in her mirror before rising and gathering her wrap. It would not be that bad she told herself. It was, unfortunately, a simple fact that she expected the few bad experiences to leave a sour taste in her mouth, overshadowing the good experiences, even though the latter would undoubtedly be much more plentiful.

But she had to remember that she would be with Harry; that would make the whole event worth it.

A knock sounded and a moment later Hermione's head poked around the corner of the door. "Fleur, are you ready yet?"

"As ready as I will ever be," was Fleur's rueful reply, accompanied by another sigh.

Hermione smirked. "It sounds like someone isn't looking forward to a night spent in the arms of her betrothed."

"If it was just Harry and me, I would be quite happy. It is the rest of it that I'm not looking forward to."

"I know what you mean." Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and Fleur sat by her side after a moment. "To most of these people, I'm just an uppity Mudblood who doesn't know her place. To those people, I shouldn't be anywhere near the Boy-Who-Lived."

"At least you are 'human'," Fleur said with a snort, emphasizing the last words by flexing her fingers. "English society is not the most welcoming or tolerant, as you are well aware."

"Do you really think Malfoy considers me to be human?" Hermione asked with mock severity. "Perish the thought!"

Fleur had to laugh at Hermione's jest—it was the truth after all. "Listen to us," she responded with a grin. "It will not be that bad—a lot of our friends will be there, and not everyone is a bigot."

"I know," replied Hermione. "It's just… I think I could have done without this for a while. But you invited me, so I couldn't exactly say no."

"I guess we'll just have to look out for one another, won't we?"

Hermione smiled at Fleur's offer and put an arm around the other witch. Fleur was relieved to have such a good female friend as such confidantes had been in short supply in her life. She was certain Hermione felt the same way.

"That sounds great, Fleur. But for tonight, anyway, I think I'll have to look after myself and stick to some of our other friends."

At Fleur's questioning gaze, Hermione turned away slightly and began to toy with one of the cuffs of her gown. "This is your night, Fleur—yours and Harry's," Hermione said, her voice quiet and reflective. "You have been great in including me in everything, but this is your introduction to society and I feel like I've been in the way a little lately."

"No, Hermione—"

"I know you don't feel that way," interrupted Hermione, "but I do. You will both be meeting a lot of people tonight and I doubt you will have a lot of time on your hands. I think I'll stick with some of our other friends for the evening. Give you and Harry some space, you know?"

"You have not been in the way," Fleur stated firmly. She had certainly never considered Hermione to be an intruder and wished disabuse her of any hint of such feelings. "I have enjoyed our friendship and the support you have helped give me with the transition to life at Hogwarts.

"Besides, I have tried not to push you, but you know that I would love to have you as a sister. You have not been in the way. If you had been more certain of your feelings and desires, this could have been an introduction to society for all three of us."

"No, it couldn't." Hermione's voice was firm and her face was set in an expression of certainty. "There are a number of reasons why this should be the two of you being introduced. I may not have made my decision yet, but even if I had, I would not have allowed it to be announced yet. This is about the alliance between the Potters and the Delacours—you don't need me mucking up things and making them more difficult."

A knock once again sounded at Fleur's door. Hermione rose to answer it but before she did, she turned back to Fleur. "This is the best way, Fleur. I appreciate your offer and your patience, and I promise you that I will have an answer for you—and Harry—as soon as I can. In the meantime, I want you to enjoy Harry's company tonight; for once be selfish and keep him to yourself."

Smiling warmly, Hermione strode to the door and opened it, revealing visibly nervous Harry.

"She's right in here, Harry," Hermione said in greeting and, leaning forward she kissed his cheek. "You're looking rather handsome tonight I must say. In any case, I'll see you both later in the ballroom."

Harry watched her as she strode from the room, his expression unreadable, though Fleur could tell that his earlier nervousness had given way to something else. For a brief moment a stab of… well, she couldn't quite identify exactly what she felt. Regret or wistfulness perhaps—though Fleur was convinced that offering a part of Harry to Hermione was the right thing to do, she could not help but wish that he was hers and hers alone.

Shaking her head, Fleur rose to greet Harry, determined not to indulge in such thoughts again. What was done was done and the situation could not be altered. At least Harry had the good taste and judgment to be in love with such a good person as Hermione—not for the first time Fleur was reflected that she was not certain what she would have done if had had feelings for someone like… like… Parkinson for example.

The mere thought of such a thing had Fleur turning and stifling a giggle into her hand. As if Harry would have the bad taste to fall for someone like that pig!

While she was thus occupied, Harry entered the room and closed the door, while turning to face her. Fleur was forced to admit that regardless of the fact that he was in excess of two years younger than she and that some would wonder what she saw in a boy separated by such an age difference, she was rapidly coming to the opinion that he was perfect for her. He was soft-spoken, yet not afraid to speak up when needed; he was confident, yet anything but arrogant; he was rich and famous, yet he was humble and modest. And it did not hurt that the past six months had seen a growth spurt which had given him enough height that she now had to look up at him. And as icing on the cake, his glorious green eyes were such that any girl would fall for him instantly. Yes, for all that she was a Veela and gifted with magical beauty, Harry's looks were such that she did not feel like he was the one getting the best of the deal from a purely superficial point of view—not in the slightest. Add in his personality and bearing, and the deal was sealed for Fleur. And it was not as though their age difference would matter in even five years. Fleur was very much looking forward to their coming life together—if only they could triumph over the obstacles fate had placed in their path.

"Hi Fleur," Harry said somewhat abashedly as he advanced into the room. His manner instantly suggested to Fleur that he had something in mind other than simply greeting her or escorting her to the ball. What it was she had no idea, but Harry had not been this reticent in her company for some time now. In fact, she was highly gratified at how comfortable they had become with one another, a progression which was another reason among many why she had such hopes for their future.

"Harry," she greeted him with a smile and a kiss on his cheek. She grasped his hand and pulled him to the bed, sitting by his side in the same manner she had just sat with Hermione. She kept his hand enclosed within her own as she smiled at him and said, "Hermione and I have spoken about how we are not looking forward to tonight; is this the time where you now tell me the same thing?"

Harry appeared surprised at her teasing before he regarded her with a bit of a devilish expression of his own. "So the ladies are actually not looking forward to a night of dancing?" he asked with an affected incredulousness. "Shouldn't we commemorate this moment or something? Isn't this sort of thing almost unheard of?"

Slapping him lightly on the shoulder, Fleur responded playfully, "Only when our dates are nothing more than silly prats."

"I'll have you know that I am not a prat," Harry said with a sniff. "I am a handsome, debonair, and altogether likeable bloke."

They both laughed together at Harry's conceit, after which Harry sobered immediately and looked at Fleur with some concern. "Seriously, I thought you ladies lived for this type of thing."

"I do enjoy dancing, if I'm with the right man." She smiled at him, trying to communicate the fact that he was very much the right man, and his answering grin told her that he had received the message loud and clear. "But I must admit to a little anxiety. This isn't like the Yule Ball—it is much more serious and the atmosphere will be completely different. It is a high society event, and those can be very dull. But even more, there will be those in attendance tonight who will not exactly be welcoming of me. That's not even mentioning those who will hate me for snagging the golden boy."

"They're not worth our time if they can't see what a wonderful person you are," said Harry rather emphatically. "Besides, if anyone gets unruly, we can just have Matty toss them out on their ear."

The mental image of a two-and-a-half foot house-elf throwing a six foot man out on his ear caused Fleur to giggle and she playfully swatted at Harry. They continued to chuckle for several moments before Harry suddenly became serious once again.

"Fleur, there was something I wanted to talk to you about," he began hesitantly.

"Of course, Harry," she replied.

"Well, I just wanted to…" Harry paused for a moment as though considering what to say, before he almost visibly squared his shoulders. "Actually, I wanted to tell you how thankful I am that you and your family have taken me into your home."

"Oh Harry," Fleur responded with an affectionate hug. "It's nothing. We are betrothed now—we want you to understand that you are family now."

"I do understand that," Harry insisted, "but it really has struck me in the last little while how much your family is risking by openly supporting me. Your father did not have to agree to this betrothal, and I'm very aware of how much danger it has put you all in. I wanted you to know that I understand and I'm very grateful."

Fleur was touched by his shy statement of appreciation. "I do not think we could have done anything else," she told him, laying her head upon his shoulder. "Papa has told me that he felt that Voldemort would not stop at Britain if he managed to conquer your country. As much as he respects and likes you, and feels like you will take care of me, this is also about defending our interests as well. This could be a very powerful alliance, Harry—one of the few between families of England and France. Sure there are fringe benefits for you and me," they shared a smile at her words, "but it is also largely political."

"And that's very foresighted of your father to think of all that," Harry responded. "But I'm still grateful.

"I wanted to do something to show my appreciation," Harry continued after a moment, "but I thought I would like to make a gesture to you specifically."

"That's not necessary—" Fleur's words were stilled when Harry put his fingers to her mouth, stopping her protests in mid-sentence. He turned so that he was facing her a little more directly, and took a deep breath before beginning to speak.

"Fleur, I know you don't do what you do in order to be rewarded, but that doesn't make me any less thankful. If anything, it makes me more. I thought that the best way to show my appreciation would be to present you with a gift which carries all of my esteem for you. I know that I gave you and Hermione the exact same gifts at Christmas, but I did that knowing I also wanted to give you something all your own."

From within his jacket, Harry produced a satin box which glittered in the light of the room. Fleur's breath caught in her throat and she looked up at Harry with wonder, searching his eyes for some indication of what he was thinking.

"I've had this idea for some time now, but it has only been in the last two days that the idea became a plan. I know that we are formally and magically betrothed, but as of yet you do not wear any visible indication of our status, and I wanted to change that. I'm not formally proposing to you now—that will come later." He grinned impishly at her, prompting her returning smile. "Yesterday I visited my family vaults—with Sirius along I was able to access them, though I was restricted in what I can do until I come of age. We were able to argue with the goblins that I should be allowed to remove this box based on my status as your betrothed. Sirius remembered it from when he was friends with my father, and recommended it when I told him what I wanted to do."

Lifting the box between them and pointing it toward her, Harry opened it and showed Fleur the simple, yet beautiful ring which lay within. It was a small ring of white gold, and contained three tiny diamonds inset into the straight band on either side of the centerpiece. In the center were two hearts, a smaller one set to the side and slightly over the lower right edge of the larger, both with a gemstone set within the center of the hearts—the larger heart contained a ruby, while the smaller contained a sapphire, clearly a representation of their respective birth months. The ring was tasteful and elegant, without being too showy and ostentatious. In other words, it was perfect—just like Harry himself.

"Oh, Harry, it's beautiful," Fleur breathed, reaching out to touch the ring with one trembling finger.

"It was my mother's," Harry said by way of explanation. "Apparently my father bought it for her when he was finally able to get her to date him." Stopping, Harry smirked. "Sirius told me that she kind of considered him to be a bit of a git when they were younger. He and his friends were pranksters and she thought he was arrogant and frivolous, but apparently he changed during his sixth and seventh years.

"He gave her this ring when they had been dating for a while, signaling his intention to marry her. I had the goblins remove their birth stones and replace them with ours. I would like you to wear this if you would, as a symbol of my esteem and a promise that I will give you an actual engagement ring once I finish school."

Filled with emotion, Fleur gave Harry a tremulous smile. "I would be honored to wear it. Thank you, Harry."

"No. Thank you," Harry murmured as he removed the ring from the box and, setting it aside, slipped the ring onto her left ring finger which she held out to him. The ring shuddered for a moment as the sizing charm kicked in, before settling on her finger.

Fleur held out her hand admiring the ring and ecstatic at the thoughtfulness her betrothed had exhibited. He was changing, she thought—from the shy and uncertain boy he had been when she had first met him to the confident and powerful young man who was now growing into his reputation. He was no longer the "little boy" she had thought him to be the night his name had unexpectedly come out of the goblet, and indeed, had never been one, given what she knew of him now. He was hers and there was no way she was going to let go of him.

Shyly, she glanced up at him through her eyelashes and, giving him a coy smile, said, "Is it not customary for the young man to kiss the young lady to whom he has just given a promise ring?"

"Indubitably," Harry said with a smile before leaning in and brushing her lips with his own.

The next moments were spent in a most pleasurable fashion and though Fleur knew that some boys would have been attempting to inhale her tonsils by now, Harry's kiss was gentle and chaste—perhaps even more so than she would have wished for. After all, he had just given her a beautiful gift which bespoke his growing regard—if this was not a time for them to indulge in a slightly more intimate response, then she did not know what was.

At length, Harry pulled away from her, a regretful smile on his face. "I guess we had better go down—I told your father we wouldn't be late."

Fleur eyed him suspiciously. "Does my father know about this?"

"He was there when I asked Sirius about it before we left France," Harry admitted. "Sirius helped me get into the vault, but your father knew what we were going to be doing. He hasn't seen the ring, though."

"In that case he can wait," said Fleur while pulling Harry toward her yet again. "I'm sure he would expect us to celebrate such an auspicious occasion."

Though he had suggested they head down to the ballroom, Harry made no complaint about continuing their private celebration. In fact, it was clear from his enthusiastic response that he was enjoying their interlude as much as she was herself.

About fifteen minutes later, the young couple left Fleur's rooms and descended the stairs to the main level of the manor. In no hurry, they walked slowly, reveling in their closeness and deepening relationship. An observer unknown to them would have seen them and assumed them to be exactly what they were—a young couple in the middle of forming a relationship of love and respect. It was significant to Harry's mind, as their relationship had grown so slowly that such a thing could not have been said only a few short weeks ago.

As he walked along the hall with Fleur holding on to his arm, Harry reflected on the past half hour with a certain amount of relief—Jean-Sebastian had told him that Fleur would love the ring, regardless of the fact that he had not, in fact, seen it. Still, Harry had worried; who would not? It was not every day that one gave a special girl a promise ring.

As they approached the ballroom, they noted the group gathered there and the speculative looks which were being directed at them, even by those who had not known of Harry's intentions for the evening. Harry ignored them as best he could, though he was certain that the scrutiny had elicited a light blush at the very least. It was not helped at all when Sirius, no doubt considering it his duty as a Marauder, began teasing him.

"It certainly was a good thing that you told them to be here half an hour ahead of the actual time when guests will start arriving," he drawled to Jean-Sebastian. "One would think they did not know how to tell time."

"Indeed," Jean-Sebastian responded. "Since Harry left to get Fleur twenty minutes ago, I am rather curious as to what they were doing all this time."

"Oh and Harry," Sirius said, his eyes twinkling with barely suppressed mirth, "I'm not sure that lipstick is your color. You really should take better care to choose the proper highlights."

The grinning Marauder pulled a handkerchief from his front pocket and wiped the corner of Harry's mouth, showing him a small stain of rose gloss. Blushing, Harry attempted to direct a stern glare at the two of them, which was clearly a failure, as their teasing grins did not lessen in the slightest. Jean-Sebastian actually guffawed in response to Sirius's teasing, regardless of the fact that Harry had just been essentially caught kissing his eldest daughter.

"Do not tease Harry, you two," said Apolline as she approached the couple. "Honestly, sometimes I think you are spending too much time with Mr. Black. You are becoming as much of a prankster as he is!"

She shook her head as the two men merely smirked at one another. Approaching Harry and Fleur, she kissed Harry on the cheek and embraced her daughter warmly, before setting about adjusting Harry's robes to her satisfaction. For a brief moment, Harry wondered what it was about women which compelled them to play with and rearrange a man's clothes. "The guests will be arriving soon—we should take our places."

Stepping back, Apolline was about to turn away when her attention was caught by the ring on Fleur's hand and with a little gasp, she reached out and took her hand. "My goodness!" she exclaimed, taking Fleur's hand and inspecting the ring. "That is very beautiful, Fleur. I assume it was a gift from your young man?"

"Yes, Maman," Fleur answered with a complacent smile. "Harry gave it to me just before we came down."

Hermione joined them and stood with Apolline, exclaiming over the ring. Harry, though he felt slightly embarrassed at the attention it was receiving, nevertheless was feeling rather gratified that Apolline and Hermione approved of it.

"It's a promise ring," Harry was compelled to say. "I know we are betrothed, but I thought Fleur should have a visible indication of my esteem, and a promise that when we are ready I will propose and up the ante with an engagement ring."

"Smooth, Potter," Hermione teased. "There may just be some hope for you yet."

"I certainly hope so," Harry responded with a grin.

"Very well done," Jean-Sebastian's words interrupted his introspection. The father of his betrothed had approached and inspected the ring himself before turning his approving smile on Harry. "Clearly it was a good choice to agree to this betrothal. I can see that Fleur will be well taken care of."

"You can depend upon it, J.S." Harry responded. "And I think I am the one who needs to thank you—I understand the sacrifice and danger you have placed your family in to support me."

"Do not mention it, Harry," Jean-Sebastian responded. "It was the right thing to do. Now, let us show these countrymen of yours that we are united and allied, shall we?"

"And watch them squirm," Sirius said with an evil cackle.

The guests began arriving soon after Harry and Fleur had joined the family in forming a line to greet the arriving guests. Or most of them joined the line—Hermione firmly declared that she was a guest and not part of the family, so she held back and did not participate in the official greetings, though many of those in attendance did have some words for her as they moved down the line. The list of guests was endless—Harry was certain that there were several hundred people in attendance. And though children were normally not to be included in such gatherings, since Harry himself was only fifteen, Jean-Sebastian had though it prudent to invite the younger generation as well. They would be the ones Harry would be dealing with in the future.

As the guests began to trickle in, Harry had an impression of just how dull this evening would be. The first guest to enter—likely in an effort to make himself appear important—was the Minister for Magic himself, along with his wife, and though the man was certainly not well thought of by anyone in residence at the manor, he conducted himself as though he was a benevolent father of them all.

"Harry, my boy," he said with aplomb as he approached them. "So good to see you looking so well with your betrothed. I understand you spent the past several days with your betrothed's family in France. I hope your holiday was happy and relaxing?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied, just managing to keep his voice even. "We had a wonderful Christmas."

"Very good, indeed. You should always take the time away from life to enjoy yourself."

"Yes sir," Harry repeated, not really having much he wanted to say to the man—at least nothing which could be repeated in polite company. Luckily, Fudge either took the hint or did not care to further any conversation with Harry, and moved down the line with his wife. His exchange with Jean-Sebastian was everything polite, though Harry could detect the frosty undercurrents. It was clear there was no love lost between the two men.

Ignoring the politician, Harry turned toward the next set of guests to be introduced, and greeted them with politeness. Thus began an almost never ending succession of Ministry employees, old families and others, and in short order, Harry was wondering how he would ever remember all the names, not to mention associating those names to the faces.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Fleur whispered to him during one brief lull. "You don't need to remember everyone's name right now—it will come."

Harry smiled gratefully at her before turning to greet the next guests, who turned out to be the Greengrass family. Daphne had come, along with her sister and parents, and Harry had to admit it was not difficult to see why boys around her exclaimed over her good looks. Had Harry not already had the most beautiful girl he had ever seen by his side, he would have had to admit that he would have been interested in Daphne. It was also clear to see where she had received her looks—if Mrs. Greengrass was any indication, Daphne would be even more beautiful when she achieved her full maturity. By contrast, Mr. Greengrass was short, standing only an inch or two taller than his wife, but he was also slender and appeared to be athletic. Astoria hung back a little bashfully, though she did return Harry's smile and greeting.

"Harry," Daphne said as she approached, "I'd like you to meet my parents, David and Angelique. Mum, dad, this is Harry Potter."

"We finally get to meet the famous Harry Potter," Angelique spoke, betraying a hint of a French accent. "So good to meet you. Both Daphne and Astoria have had much to say about you."

"All good, I hope?" Harry replied with a raised eyebrow at his new friend.

"I certainly wouldn't tell you if it wasn't," Daphne rejoined with a mysterious smile. "I am a Slytherin, after all."

"It's good to see you all here," Harry responded, and he grasped the ladies' hands and kissed them.

"He certainly appears to be charmer, dear," Angelique said as an aside to Daphne as Mr. Greengrass moved forward to shake Harry's hand.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, young man," said David. "I appreciate your allowing my daughters to attend your club. They tell me they are learning much from you."

"They are very welcome," Harry responded with a nod at the girls. "They've fit in very well and we are happy to have them."

"Perhaps there are other things we may have in common," David continued as they began moving down the line. "We will have to arrange a meeting at some point to discuss mutual interests."

Jean-Sebastian greeted David at that moment and Harry was sure that Mr. Greengrass had been speaking of more than just a friendly get together. A glance at Daphne confirmed this as she motioned to him that they would speak of it later. She then, accompanied by her sister, moved to say hello to Hermione, after which the three girls left the hallway and entered the ballroom.

Unfortunately, Harry was not given any further time to consider the matter, as at that moment, a most unwelcome sight met his eyes. There, standing in the hallway, striding forward as though they owned the place, was the Malfoy family.

If Draco was more like a garden snake than a cobra—toothless and harmless—the same could not be said about his sire. Lucius Malfoy was a cunning predator, dangerous and vicious, and it was his craftiness made him such a threat. He was certainly not saddled with the distinctive lack of tact and cunning that Draco exhibited, and Harry was thankful that Draco was not more like his father—if he had been, the previous four years of schooling would have been much more dangerous and miserable.

Oddly enough, Draco held back while his father and mother—a handsome woman with blond hair mixed with darker highlights—stepped forward to greet him. Instead, Draco glared stonily at Harry and Fleur, while glancing around with clear distaste at his surroundings. Doubtless, he would not have come had he had any other choice.

"Mr. Potter," Lucius's voice rang out over the assembled dignitaries, and Harry thought the noise in the area lessened, as those in attendance turned their attention, clearly eager to see what would transpire between them. "I see you have moved up in the world, though perhaps your taste is not of the highest class. Still, my wife and I, and of course our son," he gestured to where Draco was still hanging back, "would like to congratulate you on your engagement to… the lovely Miss Delacour."

Harry's hackles were immediately raised by the rank insincerity in the man's voice and his contemptuous glances, not only at Fleur, but also at the others of her family. In response, Sirius was gazing at the man so intently, that he was almost blazing holes through Malfoy's head.

"Two can play at that game," Harry thought, as he gave the Pureblood a dismissive glance.

"Thank you for your compliments," he responded in as disinterested a tone as he could manage. "I do indeed consider myself lucky to have the most beautiful woman I have ever met as my betrothed.

"By the way," he continued as he turned his attention to Draco, "the Parkinsons arrived earlier, and I believe Pansy is in the ballroom waiting impatiently for your arrival. She was looking… well, as she usually does, I suppose."

Draco said nothing in response, merely contenting himself with a contemptuous glance at Fleur before he studiously turned his head away toward the ballroom. Lucius, however, smiled faintly, saying, "Charming."

"And how are you, Mr. Malfoy? I trust you have been well since the last time we met?"

A raised eyebrow met Harry's jibe. Lucius clearly understood the reference—the last time Harry had been in the presence of this man was the night of the Triwizard tournament's third task. Of course, it had also been the night he had witnessed Voldemort's return.

"Very well, thank you," Lucius replied. "It is very gratifying to see you so much more… confident than you were then. Perhaps, though, your guardian should take an interest in curbing your unfortunate tendency toward brashness. It is important in life to pick one's battles, Mr. Potter, and to avoid biting off more than one can chew."

"I'm certain it is," Harry retorted. "I will take your advice under consideration, though I must admit that I'm not sure that a little friendly conversation constitutes 'biting off more than I can chew'. We are old friends now, are we not?"

Apparently this statement garnered a little more attention and generated a little more annoyance than anything Harry had previously said. The man sniffed disdainfully and said, "Draco informed me that he once gave you advice about choosing your companions carefully. Unfortunately, it appears that you have not taken his words to heart, given your present company." He eyed Fleur with some distaste, which was returned in full measure by Harry's betrothed.

"I assure you that I am fully capable of choosing those with whom I associate," was Harry's firm response. "I am quite content with the choices I have made in this regard."

"Indeed," the blond Pureblood responded, his voice fairly dripping with contempt. "Hopefully you will not come to regret those choices. For now, I recommend you deal with respect toward your betters. Peace is a fragile thing, Mr. Potter, and you must take care not to upset any balance you have achieved, lest it come back to haunt you."

"Thank you for your advice, Mr. Malfoy," Harry responded, not even bothering to point out that the Potter name was much older and more prestigious than that of an immigrant who was only accepted due to his wealth. That would be far too obvious. Still, another small dig would not be at all amiss. "I prefer to deal with others as equals, Mr. Malfoy; I see no need to remind anyone else of my status as the heir to a long and prestigious line."

"Harry, will you favor me with an introduction?" Jean-Sebastian's voice cut through the tension.

Turning, Harry executed a half bow, motioning toward the Pureblood. "Certainly. Jean-Sebastian Delacour, please allow me to introduce Mr. Lucius Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy is my classmate, Draco Malfoy's father."

Jean-Sebastian bowed to Lucius, a gesture which was returned only slightly by the Malfoy patriarch. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Mr. Delacour," Lucius responded, "your name precedes you. You boast an extensive career in the French magical government and bear a name which is old and respected in our neighboring country."

"Thank you—I have tried to do the best for my country of course. But I am curious; there are some Malfoys in France—a minor house really—in the Bordeaux area. Are you at all related to them?"

Though Harry was not at all familiar with French magical families, he was well aware of the fact that the Malfoy progenitors were French, and he suspected that Jean-Sebastian was well aware of that fact. Clearly he understood the connection and his offhand comment about the fact that they were a minor family was nothing more than an insult, and one which was clearly understood by the Pureblood.

"Indeed you are correct," Lucius responded, "though the link is an old one, and the connection has been completely lost. My ancestors left France centuries ago to come to Britain. We consider ourselves to be completely English, I assure you."

"Of course," Jean-Sebastian replied. "It is always in one's best interest to fully assimilate into one's adopted country."

"It is," Lucius agreed with aplomb. "But perhaps it is also wise to continue to maintain ties with one's roots. In light of that, perhaps we should meet at some point to discuss mutually important and beneficial arrangements?"

"I look forward to it," Jean-Sebastian replied.

"In the meantime, I see that we have held up those wishing to greet you and as such, will take up no more of your time. Come, Narcissa, Draco."

With a nod of his head, Lucius stepped away, followed by the rest of his family. Harry watched them walk away with some disgust—the man was a Death Eater and a killer, and Harry had a distinct desire to arrange payment for the man's crimes, though a meeting with his maker would be equally agreeable. And the smirking Draco would no doubt follow in his father's footsteps with enthusiasm, though the boy did not have enough intelligence to do anything else.

"Why were they invited?" Harry asked in an undertone, turning to Jean-Sebastian as Fleur greeted the next family in line.

"One thing you will learn, Harry, is that it is beneficial to understand your opponents' strengths and weaknesses, and you cannot do that if you are never in their company. There is an old saying in English which says that you should keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Besides, as personally distasteful as the Malfoys are, they are influential members of society and to snub them would carry consequences."

"Are you going to meet with Malfoy?"

Jean-Sebastian chuckled. "No doubt he wishes a more private forum in which to make his threats should I continue to support you. Yes, I will meet with him if he wishes, though I rather suspect nothing will ever come of it. If I do, I will try to get an indication of what his plans are. Do not worry, Harry, I will be quite safe."

As the next people in line had made their way to him, Harry turned to greet them, while mulling Jean-Sebastian's words in his head. It made a certain amount of sense, he supposed—a brash Gryffindor response was not necessarily the best in all situations, though it certainly had its place. The sorting hat had wanted to place him in Slytherin; perhaps it was time for him to allow his Slytherin side a little more free rein.

Unfortunately, the evening turned out to be every bit as tedious as Fleur had feared, though there were bright spots as well, particularly the dances Harry shared with his betrothed. There were also moments of tension and veiled comments, though nothing overt. The disparaging remarks directed toward Fleur—and even the occasional overheard comment about Hermione—were cleverly couched in innuendo, and never openly breached good manners.

Throughout it all, Harry had to admit that he at times felt like a prize bull on display. He was required to mingle with the invitees, dance with some of the ladies, exchange a few words and almost rote-like phrases, and in generally appear agreeable and welcoming to all. He generally had no head for remembering all the people to whom he was introduced that evening, but he figured it did not matter too much—familiarity would solve that little problem, and he did not need to worry about it at least until the end of his schooling.

The high part of the evening was, of course, spending time with his betrothed and the others who had also been invited to the ball. In addition to the Greengrasses, Tracy Davis and her parents attended, as did Susan and Amelia Bones, Luna and her father Xenophilius Lovegood, Blaise Zabini and his family—though Blaise was not as openly friendly as Daphne and Tracy were—and a few others from the Defense Club, not to mention Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, along with the most of their children, who hurried in as the entertainment was about to begin. Only Charlie, who was busy working in Romania, was not present for the ball. Mrs. Weasley was noticeably distant, clearly not having gotten over the discussion Harry had had with her before Christmas. At least she was not unkind or dismissive.

Of course, the presence of Harry's friends also necessitated the presence of other, less savory types as well—in addition to the Malfoys and Parkinsons, the Notts, the Flints, and the Bulstrodes were also in attendance, though Malfoy's bookends were conspicuous in their absence. But whereas Harry could normally have expected the Slytherins to cause problems, they were apparently on their best behavior that evening, keeping mostly to themselves in a corner of the room. It was rather interesting behavior, considering the point of the evening's gathering was to introduce Harry and Fleur to society at large, and also to forge alliances and come to a greater understanding of one another. A true Slytherin should have been in his element in such a gathering. Certainly the older crowd was engaged in a fair amount of politicking that evening, not excepting the Slytherin students' parents.

"What is Malfoy up to?" Fleur asked at one point. They had managed to escape from a group of pompous old windbags and had utilized their freedom to make their way to the dance floor for a rare interlude together without any distractions.

"Not sure," Harry responded with a shrug. "Maybe he's turned over a new leaf and finally located an actual Slytherin side."

"That's likely," was Fleur's sarcastic response. "He's not bright enough to have a Slytherin side."

Smirking, Harry twirled her around and they lost sight of the Slytherin group. "I suppose you're right. But let's not talk about the blond git—too much of that is liable to turn my stomach."

Soon their dance ended and they exited the floor to once again immerse themselves in the intricate game. This time, however, they were approached by the Headmaster. Dumbledore smiled at them and greeted them warmly. "How are you enjoying your first taste of society?" he asked them.

Harry and Fleur exchanged a glance. "Well, it is interesting," Harry responded. "Some parts are better than others, though."

Chuckling, Dumbledore replied, "Ah, it is ever thus. I daresay that one must be a political animal to truly enjoy such a gathering. You will become accustomed to them, of course, as you become more experienced. For now, I can see that they could be considered tedious and somewhat frustrating."

"Yes sir," Harry answered, knowing the Headmaster would see through his attempts at obfuscation.

"Harry, I did wish to speak with you," Dumbledore continued. "There are some things I need to explain to you, and I would like to come to the manor the day after tomorrow and do so, if that is acceptable to you."

Frowning, Harry regarded the professor. "I hope it's nothing wrong."

"Nothing I wish you to worry about," Dumbledore replied. "I shall only repeat that there are some things which you need to be aware of. I shall not say more right now however, as we require a private setting."

"I'll be there with Fleur then, sir."

"Ah, no I think not," was the Headmaster's firm reply. He smiled at Fleur, apparently to indicate that his stricture was no censure toward her, before he said, "Although I am certain that Miss Delacour will be told of everything that we discuss, I believe the initial conversation should only include Sirius, Jean-Sebastian, myself and you, Harry."

Harry turned to look at his betrothed, and Fleur only shrugged slightly. "If that's the way you want it sir."

"I believe it is best." Dumbledore's words were firm and would not be questioned. He spoke with them about inconsequential matters before excusing himself a few moments later.

"Now he's got me worried," Harry groused once he was out of earshot. "I would almost prefer that he just showed up and asked to talk to me, rather than making me wait two days for the bad news."

Hugging him affectionately, Fleur led him toward a table on which sat some refreshments. "Don't worry about it, Harry. It sounds like he just wants to explain some things to you. No need to panic."

"I didn't say anything about panicking," Harry rejoined. "Come on. Let's see if we can hang out with the gang for a while."

The night was getting late and a slow trickle of guests had already begun to depart for their homes, though the group of friends and members of the school's Defense Club were still gathered together, sipping punch and eating refreshments, and occasionally moving to the dance floor with one another. Hermione was happy to be in the company of so many supportive friends and though Malfoy and his crew did not deign to approach them, Hermione still felt the weight of his stony gaze on her and the others from time to time. She really wished the little creep would find someone else to go bother—he was beginning to get on her nerves.

Across the room, she watched as Harry and Fleur moved around the dance floor. Fleur threw her head back and laughed at something Harry said, and he continued to grin impudently at her as they moved from Hermione's sight.

Sighing, she reflected that it truly had been a good idea to distance herself from her two closest friends that evening, though if she was honest with herself, she knew that they had never been far from her thoughts. She enjoyed spending time with them—enjoyed it very much, in fact. But close proximity to them—especially to Harry, a young man for whom she not-so-secretly harbored feelings—was not conducive to deep thought and Hermione felt that she needed to think about the situation and try to come to a decision of what she really wanted.

It did not help that she had almost felt like an intruder lately. Of course her friends had not made her feel that way—in fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. But the fact of the matter was that she had been spending almost every waking moment with them, and not only did that hamper their ability to further their own relationship, but it did not allow Hermione to come to any conclusions herself.

Her feelings were real—she had decided that a long time ago. The problem was whether she should acknowledge them to Harry and to the world. In the Muggle world, when a girl realized that she had feelings for a young man who was already attached, she could either try to show the man how she was a better choice—essentially interfering with his relationship and trying to supplant his current choice—or she could cry a little and try to move on. The fact that Harry and Fleur were her two best friends would have dictated the latter response had this been a normal situation. The problem was that the magical world allowed a third choice, and one which she was not entirely certain she had the courage to take. Not only was she worried about what her parents would say and how it would be perceived in the Muggle world, but she also worried about getting into a relationship with Harry when she felt like she would be overshadowed by the older and more experienced—and more beautiful!—Fleur.

Of course she knew that Fleur would argue that Hermione actually had the advantage, as she had the emotional attachment with Harry due to more than four years of almost constant companionship, but that fact, though it was obviously true, did not reassure Hermione in the slightest. She was being silly to a certain extent—she knew this—but she also felt that they were valid concerns nonetheless. However, despite all this, she felt she was coming closer to a resolution, and that her attraction and feelings for Harry were undoubtedly inducing her to lean toward accepting Fleur's offer. She was still uncertain, however, and it was making her a little irritable. So, she sat relatively quietly while the other members of the table chatted and generally had a good time in one another's company. And though she had danced a few times with some of the boys in attendance, her friends seemed to sense that she did not desire company and, as a result, she was included in the companionship of the group, but she said relatively little the entire evening.

The night was rapidly drawing to a close when she was approached by Daphne, who eyed her with some interest. Hermione attempted to be her ever-cheerful self and she greeted the other girl warmly.

"Hermione," Daphne stated, "you've been quite distant from Harry and Fleur tonight. What's up?"

Hermione attempted a nonchalant shrug. "It's their night tonight. I'm just trying to give them the space to recognize that fact."

"Understandable," Daphne responded. "Though I certainly don't think that they would wish you to stay away."

"No," Hermione agreed, "but I think it's better this way."

Though she did not appear convinced, Daphne allowed the subject to drop. Hermione was certain the girl knew more than she was letting on, but Hermione would not speculate on it—as long as she was discreet Daphne could think whatever she wanted.

"I actually wanted to ask you something," Daphne continued. "My parents are getting ready to leave and I don't think I'll have the chance to speak to Harry before I go. Can you tell him I'd like to speak with him as soon as the new term starts? On the Express would be best if he's okay with it."

"What is it about?"

"Something my father said when I introduced them today. I'd like the opportunity to explain what's going on."

"I'll tell him," Hermione promised. "I don't think it will be a big deal."

"Thanks. I'll see you back on the Express."

Daphne turned and after giving her a brief embrace, collected her sister and walked to the entrance where they were met by their parents. A moment later they had departed, leaving Hermione to wonder what she wanted to speak with Harry about. Maybe she was going to offer to be Harry's second wife, Hermione thought morosely. She was attractive and well connected, and did not have the social mores of the Muggle world holding her back—of course she'd offer, if she thought she had any chance of success. Just about any girl at Hogwarts or otherwise would offer after all.

"Hey Hermione."

Hermione turned and saw Ron approaching her. She smiled at him and returned his greeting and the two friends stood in companionable silence watching the dancers as they moved to the music.

When the dance ended, the band announced the final dance of the evening, and Ron turned to Hermione. "Hey, you want to dance? It's the last dance of the evening."

Still wary of his interest from the months before, Hermione noted that he appeared to be offering as a result of friendship. No hint of his former feelings was displayed and, as such, Hermione agreed and they made their way to the dance floor. They swayed to the music for several moments before Ron broke the silence.

"Harry and Fleur seem to be getting on pretty well."

"I think they're doing more than just well, Ron," Hermione confided. "Did you see the promise ring Harry gave her?"

"Yeah, what's the deal with that?"

"It was given to his mother by his father," Hermione told him. "Harry felt that he should give her something symbolizing their status."

Ron chuckled and shook his head. "That's a good example of why it's better him than me. I would never have thought of doing something like that." With a self-deprecating laugh, Ron stated, "He's definitely the sensitive one—I don't think anyone would say that of me."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione responded playfully, "Harry is Harry and you are you—both of you are great guys, and you both have your strengths and weaknesses."

"He really is a good guy, isn't he?"

"One of the best," Hermione agreed. "The two of you are the best friends a girl could have."

Ron ignored Hermione's compliment and continued to focus on Harry. "He has to be a great bloke to put up with all the crap life has dealt him and come out of it the way he has. I appreciate him more now than I ever did before. In first year he was the Boy-Who-Lived and I was ecstatic that I was lucky enough to be his friend and it's just grown from there. We've had our troubles and I've made my share of mistakes, but I'm really glad to be his friend now. I want you to know that I'll never abandon him again—he's stuck with me from now on."

"I'm glad to hear that," Hermione said, reflecting that Ron's words were thoughtful and sincere, and Hermione was glad that whatever jealousy issues he had harbored in the past for Harry appeared to be just that—in the past. There was no need for Ron to consider himself to be in Harry's shadow—no one was in Harry's shadow unless they put themselves there. He was the type of person who induced everyone around him to stand a little straighter, and to be a little better than before, by the manner in which he helped them to improve themselves, by his quiet confidence, and more importantly, just by the strength of his conviction. It may have sounded fanciful and overly starry-eyed if Hermione had made that claim aloud, but she knew it was the truth. Harry had flourished this year and was now living up to the potential Hermione knew he had always possessed.

They danced on in silence for several minutes before Ron once again spoke up. "I just wanted to say that…" He trailed off as though trying to find the right words to say. "I think that Harry's just about the best friend a bloke could have and I think the world of him. But I also think the world of you."

"Thank you Ron, that's very sweet of you." A part of Hermione was worried—it appeared that Ron was gearing himself up for another declaration of his feelings for her. That was why his next words shocked her so much.

"I really think you should go for it."

Completely flabbergasted, Hermione stared back at her friend, considering whether she had heard and understood his inference correctly. Was he really telling her that she should accept Fleur's suggestion? Was this really Ron?

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh come on, Hermione," Ron said with some exasperation, but also with a sly grin, "I'm not completely blind, you know. I can see how you feel about him, and I can imagine why you are struggling with it. But I can also see that your feelings for him—and his for you—are strong enough to overcome any of that stuff. And anyone can see that Fleur welcomes your presence. I'm just telling you that I think you should allow yourself this happiness. Don't end up regretting what could have been."

Astonishment was not strong enough a word to describe what Hermione was feeling at that moment, but before she could formulate a response, a movement caught her eye near the entrance to the ballroom. She turned Ron so that she could get a better look at what had attracted her attention and they were close enough to the door to see an Auror—one of the French detail providing security at the manor—enter the room with a wand drawn. Hermione had seen him around the manor before—he was part of the protection detail, and appeared to be very familiar with the family. But he was behaving in a manner she had never seen before; his movements were a little stiff and his face was screwed up in a cruel smile, the likes of which she had never before seen on his face.

Before anyone truly even noticed the man's appearance, he raised his voice and yelled, "Creatures, Mudbloods and blood traitors beware—your day of reckoning is at hand!"

He then raised his wand high in the air, and intoned in a loud voice, "Morsmordre!"

Even as a sickly greenish hue began to filter into the ballroom through the windows, the man was already moving. He thrust his wand forward toward the crowd, and cried:

"Avada Kedavra!"

Updated 07/15/2013