A/N: (grin) I wish I was a fast writer but, no, I've got the story mostly written. The very last chapter is giving me major fits - I've been agonizing over it for days now - but I'm desperate to get it finished before its day has come so you don't have to wait on me. I'm also trying to include different ideas from some of you, including answering some questions that have popped up - but I'm having issues with that, too. All the reviews are amazing! I'm afraid I'm behind on reading them, but I do promise to get to them.
Those of you hoping for more Veela-ness should like this chapter...
Chapter 18 – February & Désespoir
The Quibbler, Special Addition to February Edition, Monday, February 17, 1997
Current Count of Suitors: 290
Excerpt from An Introduction to Veela, Chapter 10 - International Trade & Travel
--February 2--
Harry woke to the sounds of his dorm-mates squabbling. Normally he ignored the inanity of their morning complaints, but today…he hissed. Loudly.
There were several moments of stunned silence. "All right. Everybody out," Neville said firmly.
"Why do we have to leave," Ron said angrily. "He's the one…Hey!...Let go!"
"Shut up, Ron," Seamus said urgently. "Neville's got a better handle on this situation than we do and he said to leave so we are leaving."
Harry listened to the retreating sounds of Ron's complaints and did his best to settle his temper.
Neville approached Harry's bed about five minutes after Harry started the standard breathing exercises. "Better?" he asked.
"Somewhat," Harry sighed out agitatedly. He sat up and put his head in his hands. "It's just my luck that Désespoir would start today. Damn it all! Today's Sunday! It's supposed to be my day off! I've been looking forward to it all week! Why couldn't it have waited one more day? Why did it have to ruin my day off?"
"I'm sorry your day's starting so badly," Neville said sympathetically. "Maybe it will seem better after breakfast. Are you up to getting something to eat?"
"No," Harry said petulantly. A few moments later he sighed and dropped his hands from his face and looked up. "Maybe I should tell Dean to start a pool about when I'm finally going to lose it. I mean, the regular pool is defunct now," he said resignedly.
"That's because "D" keeps sending you the same thing," Neville said with an amused snort. "A box of chocolates and a book about Egyptian magic. It's no more fun. Here, I have something for you."
Harry looked up then held out his hand to accept whatever it was Neville was holding out to him. He inspected the small wrapped ball. "Hellert's Honey Humps?" he questioned in disbelief.
"Cecilia says that, in her opinion, they're the best morning snack to help settle Désespoir," Neville supplied.
"Cecilia?" Harry asked curiously while opening the brown and yellow candy wrapper.
"My cousin-in-law," Neville answered. "She said she used to eat four a morning during stage one and ten during stage two. I asked her to send some to me. I've got the box in my trunk."
Harry nodded and popped the honey treat in his mouth. "How many in a box?" he asked carefully around the hemisphere in his mouth.
"Five hundred," Neville said. "She bought the resellers box," he elaborated at Harry's shocked expression. "Do you like them?"
Harry nodded as he sucked on the candy then watched as Neville went over to his trunk. When Neville lifted out a large box, he pushed the candy into his cheek and said, "Don't. You keep them. You'll be more sensible in the morning than me so you'll remember to make me eat them. I'll probably be too irritable to remember."
"All right," Neville said with a nod and wiggled the box back into his trunk. He picked up three more candies from the box and brought them over to Harry.
"The best, huh?" Harry asked as he swallowed the last of the first treat and accepted the additional candies offered him.
"According to her," Neville said agreeably. "They're pure condensed honey; basically just a bunch of sugar."
Harry sighed and unwrapped a second candy. A sugar hit first thing would help settle the symptoms of Désespoir.
"Your dates are going to take you all the way through to the start of stage three, aren't they?" Neville asked softly as he sat down on Harry's bed.
Harry winced but nodded and continued sucking on his candy.
The two boys sat silently for several minutes as Harry finished his allotment of candy. "You up for breakfast now?" Neville asked.
"Sure," Harry said resignedly. He stood and went about his morning routine then waited by the dorm-room door for Neville to finish dressing.
"We'll just go and eat and then we'll go to the library or something," Neville said reassuringly. "All right? Nothing too stressful today. Everything will be fine."
"Neville, you do realize you just jinxed me, right?" Harry said grimly.
Neville widened his eyes in alarm then winced. "Damn. I'm sorry."
Harry shook his head and sighed. "Don't worry about it. The day was already destined to suck. Just…will you stay with me today," Harry asked hesitantly.
"Sure. I'd be happy to," Neville said and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Come on. Breakfast."
"Right," Harry said and squared his shoulders bravely. He just knew, though, that something else was bound to happen today.
--HPDM--
"I only asked for you, Mr. Potter," the Headmaster said mildly.
"I don't care," Harry said in irritation from the seat he had taken. "Either he stays and we talk or he goes and I fry your office. You pick." He looked away to watch Fawkes preen his feathers.
"I'm helping to keep him calm today," Neville offered the headmaster as he stood behind Harry with a hand on the shoulder of the agitated Veela submissive. "Today is the start of Désespoir for him."
"Désespoir?" the Headmaster asked in concern.
"You've known about my heritage for five bloody months and you haven't done your research?" Harry asked angrily, not bothering to even glance at the old man.
"I've read the Veela Accords and the book An Introduction to Veela," the headmaster countered mildly. "I've also held several conversations with Olympe Maxime. I was merely concerned."
Harry snorted in contempt and Neville nodded. "So you haven't read the second book, then. All right. How much do you actually know about Désespoir? What did Madame Maxime tell you?" Neville asked calmly and squeezed Harry's shoulder briefly.
"Désespoir – or Desperation in English – is the agitation a submissive feels when they wait longer than six months to mate," the headmaster said. Olympe had told him briefly about Désespoir but nothing she had said had made him presume that there would be such a distinctly visible change in Harry's demeanor as he was currently seeing.
"Désespoir is the name given to the degenerative condition that afflicts submissive Veelas still looking for a mate past the six month mark," Neville said, clarifying the explanation.
The headmaster's eyes widened only slightly as he asked, "Degenerative?" Olympe Maxime hadn't said anything about degenerative.
Harry sneered but kept silent when Neville again squeezed his shoulder. Neville could take care of educating the old man.
"Désespoir has four stages," Neville explained calmly. "Stage one starts at the seventh month, at which time the submissive becomes highly temperamental and needs an additional 1,000 calories of food intake per day to offset the increased metabolism caused by the Veela magic's increased drive to find a mate."
Dumbledore nodded encouragingly for the young man to continue his explanation.
"Stage two starts at the beginning of month ten, stage three at month thirteen and stage four, if they last that long, at month sixteen," Neville continued. "The agitation a submissive feels quadruples on the first day of Désespoir and increases steadily as time goes by. The extra calorie requirement also increases at a steady pace. A submissive's daily calorie requirements increase by 50 to 100 every week, depending upon their magical power. If they last so long, a submissive entering stage four could need an extra 3,600 calories per day. This is why submissive Veelas in Désespoir are always eating candy of some sort – it's a quick, condensed source of energy."
"I will speak with the house-elves about providing high-calorie dishes for Harry," Dumbledore said. It seems Olympe was so used to the special needs of the Veela in her school that she had neglected to mention certain pertinent facts. He would definitely have to read the second book young Neville mentioned.
"That's not necessary, but would certainly be appreciated," Neville responded politely. "Each stage is also marked by an increase in magical destabilization. Unlike the agitation – which grows steadily – the destabilization happens in a combination of a steady increase and a kind of abrupt stair-step fashion at the start of each phase. In fact, it's this abrupt destabilization that marks the beginning of Désespoir and the entry into each new stage. And it's this destabilization of magic that is what kills the submissive, although the risk of death doesn't start until stage two."
"I see," Dumbledore said gravely. "And for Harry that will start in May."
"Yes," Neville said and ignored Harry's wince at the reminder.
"How great is the risk of death?" Dumbledore asked grimly. He hadn't missed the fact that young Neville had twice mentioned if the submissive lasted. Bill Weasley had said that things got grim for a submissive Veela, but he hadn't looked into that comment at the time. Obviously, that had been a poor oversight.
"That…depends how you look at it," Neville said slowly. "The linear destabilization causes death at a rate of about one percent per week starting in the first week of stage two. A simple calculation will give you the death risk for that."
"So in the first week of May Harry will have a one percent chance of death?" Dumbledore asked gravely. "The second week will be a two percent chance, and so on?"
"Yes," Neville confirmed, equally grave. By the time Harry was finished with his individual dates around his birthday, he would have a thirteen percent chance of not waking up each morning. This was not something he liked to dwell on. "But that's just the risk from the gradual destabilization. Simply entering into stages two, three, and four have their own risks."
Dumbledore took a deep calming breath. This was not good news. "Please explain, Mr. Longbottom."
Neville shifted uncomfortably. If the headmaster was upset over the previous risk percentages, he was definitely going to be unhappy about the entry risks. "As I said, the entry into each stage is marked by an abrupt destabilization in the submissive's magic. The entry into stages two, three, and four kills ten, twenty, and forty percent respectively."
"I see," Dumbledore said, shocked at the horrible risks enumerated by his student.
"But the overall death rate is only five or six percent," Neville offered somewhat desperately. "Most submissives mate before the start of stage two."
But Dumbledore had done his calculations as well and knew that Harry wouldn't be part of that vague "most" just mentioned. All available evidence pointed to Harry entering not only stage two in May but also stage three in August. "How many enter stage two and how many of those die before stage three?" he asked with forced calm.
"I'm…not sure of those numbers," Neville admitted reluctantly.
"Twenty percent and thirty percent," Harry murmured, still watching Fawkes.
"And stage three?" Dumbledore asked softly.
"Point four percent and forty percent," Harry answered.
"Stage four?" Dumbledore asked, dreading the answer.
"Point one percent and fifty percent," Harry replied.
"And what is the longest time a submissive has survived without mating after entering Désespoir?" Dumbledore asked, hoping that he would never really need to know the information.
Harry gave a small grim smile and said, "Fifty-one weeks and two days."
"I see. What can be done?" Dumbledore asked seriously. Harry could not die! He must live to fight the darkness in their world.
"Nothing," Neville said just as seriously when it became apparent that Harry wasn't going to answer. "Not really. Sugar first thing in the morning and a calming presence can help them deal with the symptoms, but nothing can actually stop or stall the degeneration."
Dumbledore wove his fingers together on the desk and thought about what he had just been told. He briefly wondered why Olympe hadn't been as informative but dismissed the thought as he realized he likely hadn't asked the right questions. He definitely needed to contact the Veela Council for the second book. For now, however, there wasn't anything else he could do or any other questions he could ask that he thought would actually be answered. Eventually, he nodded and said, "Very well. I will inform the staff of the situation. However, while I am grateful for this information, there was a much different reason why I asked for Harry to come to my office. If you stay, I must ask you to promise to keep this information confidential as it is of a personal and familial nature."
Harry heard the word familial and immediately snorted in disgust. "The wards fell, didn't they? About time. Are the bastards dead yet?"
Dumbledore inhaled sharply at the vitriol in Harry's tone. "My boy…"
"I told you years ago that there was no love lost between us, Headmaster," Harry said contemptuously. "I'm glad the wards are down and I'll be even more glad when they get tortured to death by Death Eaters."
"Harry, please, I don't think you understand what you've done," Dumbledore said sadly. How could the boy feel this way about his only living family?
Harry finally looked over at the Headmaster. He had a rather evil-looking smirk on his face. "No? You don't think so? How about I tell you, then? You know, just so that you understand that I understand the situation."
Dumbledore sighed and opened his mouth but was interrupted.
"I sacrificed my mother's sacrifice," Harry said coldly. "That sums it up, really, but I'll go ahead and tell you the specifics. The darling, sweet, loving aunt of mine and her handsome, intelligent, doting son are now left without their means of hiding from the big bad wizards. And since my wonderful uncle lives with them, he's in the same boat, so to speak. In other words, they are now prime Death Eater targets. Maybe I should have Snape relay the address to Voldemort?"
"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore said disapprovingly while still chilled by Harry's cold words.
Harry blinked in disbelief then actually nodded his acquiescence. Unlike most of the other teachers, it did appear that Snape had an understanding of the situation because he definitely hadn't been his normal antagonistic self towards Harry. And now that he thought about it, the man's nearly complete absence from Harry's life was rather suspicious. He wouldn't be surprised if Snape had been deliberately avoiding him.
"Professor Snape," Harry said obligingly. "But to continue. The protection I had against Voldemort specifically and the Death Eaters in general is also now gone. Am I right or am I right?" Harry asked snidely. The blood wards on Privet Drive were one of the first things his grandfather had had researched for him. He'd known since the summer before fifth year – the first summer he'd spent with his grandfather – that the wards would fall if he spent too much time away. He'd been looking forward to it.
"This is very serious, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely. "Your mother's sacrifice was an immense advantage to you against Voldemort and now, through your own actions, it is gone forever."
"I. Don't. Care," Harry said succinctly. "Good riddance."
"Harry!" Dumbledore protested, horrified at Harry's attitude.
"Better gone than tied to that bitch and her spawn," Harry said coldly.
Dumbledore was speechless.
Harry stood and looked at the old man with pity. How could such an intelligent man with so many accomplishments to his name be so blind when it came to Harry? There were so many things the man could have done – and at so many different stages of Harry's life – but had instead done nothing out of some all-encompassing faith in the blood wards initiated by Lily Potter's sacrifice. Whatever. It was too late for the man to seek redemption from him as far as Harry was concerned.
"Was that all? May we leave now?" Harry asked emotionlessly.
Dumbledore nodded silently and watched as the two boys left his office. Once they were gone he bowed his head mournfully. The more he interacted with Harry the more he despaired of the boy doing the right thing. There had to be a way to get the boy to realize how important his responsibilities were in the fight against Voldemort. There just had to. And Albus needed to find it quickly or all would be lost.
--HPDM--
"Harry?" Hermione called softly.
Harry looked up briefly from the chocolate swirl cheesecake he was consuming with great industry. The Hogwarts house-elves made excellent cheesecake, second only to his grandfather's chefs, and he was enjoying great quantities of it at the moment. He, Hermione, and Neville had retired to the kitchens for dinner instead of joining the student body. After the meeting with the Headmaster, the day had actually improved and he hadn't wanted to tempt fate, so he had convinced his friends (easily) to join him in the kitchens instead. The elves, of course, fell over each other in ecstasy at having three guests.
"Yes?" Harry answered after his latest bite of his dessert.
"I have a question," Hermione said hesitantly. "You don't have to answer, of course, but I'm just wondering. You're my friend and I'm worried about you and I was thinking about everything…
"Whoa," Harry said with a small laugh. "Slow down. Just ask, all right?"
Hermione chewed her lip for a moment as both boys gazed at her curiously. "I don't want to make you mad," she said worriedly.
Harry took a big bite of cheesecake and considered his friend and what her question might be. Eventually he shrugged, swallowed his bite, and said. "You'll never know if you don't ask."
"I guess," Hermione said then sighed and straightened her shoulders. "I did some calculations and I came up with some numbers that I don't like."
"And," Harry drew out.
"Well, you started with 352 suitors…," Hermione started.
"Only 347," Harry interrupted.
Hermione blinked. "But the article…"
"There were five suitors that failed the fertility/virility certification," Harry said in unconcern and took another bit of his dessert.
"Oh," Hermione said as she blinked in surprise. She shook herself a moment later and said, "Still, 347 suitors will take you all the way through to your birthday. I mean, you are only meeting twelve a week and if you divide that…"
"Yes, Hermione," Harry said, cutting off the math lesson. "Through to my birthday. And?"
Hermione chewed her lip some more as she watched her friend take another slice of the cheesecake that had been left on their little corner table. She'd felt Neville stiffen next to her and was wary of continuing, but she was so worried…
"It's just…that'll be the start of stage three for you," Hermione said softly. "You'll still have so many people… What are going to do? You could die! Twenty percent of the submissives die the first day of stage three! And forty-one percent by the end! I don't want you to die! You're my first friend! I don't…"
"Hermione!" Harry said sharply, cutting into his friend's increasingly hysterical rant.
Hermione quieted but picked up her napkin and started twisting it mercilessly. "Just…just tell me you have a plan. Tell me you aren't going to die," Hermione pleaded.
Harry sighed and slowly stabbed his fork several times into his new piece of cheesecake, turning his head and looking into the distance. "I can't promise I won't die," he said eventually. "All I can promise is that I'll do everything I can to not die. That's all I can promise."
"But…" Hermione started, tears forming in her eyes.
Harry looked back at his friend and shook his head at her. "That's all I can promise."
"Will you tell me at least some of your plans?" Hermione begged. "There're so many left and…"
"Not as many as you think," Harry said gently. "The dates are actually going quite well in regards to eliminations. Surely you've noticed with all these calculations you've been doing," he teased lightly.
Hermione let out a small watery laugh. "Yes. I saw you went from 352 to 338 in only one week. I'd wondered how you'd eliminated more than twelve in one week. But even if you discount the five who didn't pass certification, you still eliminated nine suitors out of twelve."
"And that's been standard," Harry said and cut and stabbed another bit of cheesecake. "By the time I finish meeting everyone, I expect I'll only have eighty or ninety suitors left." He put the bite in his mouth.
"That's still a lot of people to evaluate before stage four," Hermione said worriedly, waving her mangled napkin in agitation.
Harry was quiet for nearly a minute as he finished savoring first one and then another bite of cheesecake. He pondered whether he should reveal some of his plans to his friends. While doing so wouldn't soothe their fears, perhaps understanding what he was doing and why would at least give them some comfort as they watched him deteriorate before their eyes.
Harry looked both his friends in the eye and said, "I'll be entering stage four. I won't be mating until Christmas."
Neville's eyes widened comically and he drew in a sharp breath in shock. Hermione made a wordless cry before questioning in distress, "Why? Why? You know the odds. Why risk yourself like that? Why not make a decision sooner? Why…"
"I have my reasons," Harry said firmly and pursed his lips a moment. "Just listen for a minute, all right?"
Neville swallowed thickly and nodded his head. Hermione stifled a cry behind both hands as she stared at Harry wordlessly.
Harry sighed and looked down at his plate. He took another bite of cheesecake as he gathered his thoughts. "Désespoir…Desperation…it's called that for a reason. As time goes on, my Veela side will get more and more desperate to mate. It will be even worse for me because my magic is already so jittery and sensitive from being opened so much these past months. A chaperone becomes more and more important as time passes because the possibility of simply choosing a mate, any mate, no matter their suitability, becomes greater and greater. Which is bad."
Harry looked at his friends expectantly and they both nodded in understanding.
"My magic, as it destabilizes, will yearn for one thing," Harry continued. "To mate. To bond. That will become my magic's single-minded focus. The power and drive behind that one single goal will become nearly unbearable and irresistible. I'm a stubborn bastard, however."
Both Neville and Hermione gave a nervous laugh, though you couldn't hear Hermione's very well as she still had her hands over her mouth.
"My…chaperone and I both feel that I will make it through to Christmas," Harry said firmly. "Not easily, of course, but alive and sane enough. We can't be absolutely certain, but we're certain enough to risk my life on it. And I plan on making a decision by the end of stage three, by Halloween."
"Then why…," Neville started but stopped when Harry shook his head.
Harry took a deep breath and tapped his scar. "Because of this," he said. "You see, we think, that is, my chaperone and I, we think that if the mating bond is strong enough, it will overpower the link I have with Voldemort. We think that the link will be completely and utterly eradicated by the mating bond if, and only if, the mating bond has more power behind its creation than my scar did. And so…we're arranging things to make it as strong as possible."
"And that involves waiting until Christmas?" Neville asked quietly.
Harry nodded. "Yes. Think about it a moment. I'm a powerful wizard. The desperation, the power, that's going to be driving the bond creation by Christmas… Well, hopefully it will be enough. And we've got some other ideas we might implement as well."
"You're going to tease him," Hermione said softly. "You're going to tease whoever you pick so that they're almost as desperate as you."
Harry gave a surprised and pleased laugh. "I should have known you would figure it out," he said. "Yes, you're right. If my choice is a full- or half-Veela, anyway. The tactic probably wouldn't work on a human and those are the only three races I have left now."
"I don't understand," Neville admitted in confusion.
"He's going to acknowledge his mate, let them know that they've been chosen, but refuse to bond with them," Hermione explained, still distressed but feeling more comfortable as she assumed her role of lecturer. "By acknowledging the dominant but then continually challenging their, well, authority, I guess, the dominant's magic will also become more focused and desperate, thereby contributing to the power behind the creation of the bond and increasing the possibility of ousting the link with Voldemort."
"Exactly," Harry nodded. He took another bit of dessert.
"Oh," Neville said, nonplussed. "I'd not heard of that."
"I actually read about it when I was researching destabilization," Hermione offered. "That was listed as one way to cause a sort of artificial destabilization in order to study the naturally occurring phenomenon."
"Oh," Neville said again. After a moment he asked, "Are you going to make him chase you, too?"
"Chase?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows curiously.
Neville nodded and took his turn at explaining. "A chase, depending upon how long and tiring it is, can increase the strength of a bond. It's tricky, though. Too short and the endorphins don't rise enough to make a difference. Too long and the participants are too tired and it actually weakens the bond. My cousin said he was never so glad to be physically fit as when he had to chase Cecilia. He hadn't been expecting it, but she was feeling…frisky."
Harry snorted and nearly lost his bite of cheesecake to laughter. "Frisky?"
Neville shrugged uncomfortably, a small blush on his face. "That's what she said."
"So will you?" Hermione asked, turning to Harry.
Harry nodded. "Yes, I'll make him chase me."
"That'll be fun," Neville snorted in amusement.
Harry grinned.
"Wear good shoes," was Hermione's advice.
Harry laughed.
--February 17--
Albus looked around the room as people continued to trickle in for the Order meeting he had called. They all knew they were there to talk about Harry and they were gossiping accordingly. Soon enough the last of the members arrived and he tapped his teacup with his spoon.
"Please, everyone, take a seat," Albus said. When all the members were settled, he said, "Alastor, have you had any success?"
Moody leaned back in his seat and flicked his normal eye around at everyone in the room while keeping the focus of his magical eye on the surroundings beyond the room. "Minimal. As I explained last month, I suspected the lad had chosen The Rose Inn as the initial meeting place but with the entire building covered in occluding wards that block my eye…," he growled. "Well, I wasn't certain then, but I'm certain now."
"You've confirmed sightings of known suitors?" Kingsley asked in interest.
Moody nodded. "Aye. I've seen a few enter and leave on the same day as well as a few that appeared to have stayed a few days."
"You're sure of your sightings?" asked Hestia.
Alastor chuckled in amusement. "Aye."
"What is so amusing, Alastor?" Albus asked curiously.
"I've seen some of the lads leave with a silly grin on their faces," Alastor said with a grin. "Easy to pick out, they were."
"Some?" Albus questioned, instantly picking up on the qualifier.
Alastor nodded. "Yes. Some. Most of them seem no different when they leave."
"That seems significant," Albus said. "Perhaps those dates went exceptionally well."
Moody shrugged his shoulders in indifference but did nod his agreement.
"Do you have a list of names?" Albus asked hopefully.
He did, actually, have a list of names. He'd thought long and hard about whether to provide those names to Albus, however. After all, not only was it illegal to interfere, it also wasn't his place. In the end, however, he had decided to share them as his unofficial assistance to the lad. Any suitor that fell to Albus' machinations would not be a fitting mate for the Potter lad and Alastor was certain that Potter would, somehow, pick up on which ones proved unsuitable. Why not make it that much easier for him?
Alastor pulled out a small scroll and passed it to Albus. "Here. That's a list of everyone I believe to be a suitor. The ones that left grinning like lovesick idiots are marked with a star."
"There are only five marked names," Albus said in disappointment.
"I don't know who all the remaining suitors are, Albus," Moody said gruffly. "I've done my best. Besides, five out of ten is pretty good odds for going into a project almost completely blind."
"Ten?" Arthur asked from the end of the table. "Why do you say ten?"
"Because he can subtract," Severus said irritably. "Today's article said he had 290 suitors left and December's said 352. That's sixty-two suitors the brat has eliminated in just six weeks. Since he's meeting twelve a week, that's seventy-two he's met to date. Sixty-two from seventy-two is ten."
"Oh," Arthur said with a frown. "How is he eliminating so many?"
"I don't know, Arthur," Albus said mildly. "That is part of what we are here to discuss today."
"You won't have much luck, Albus," Moody said. "I've already tried talking to a few of those lads and they've been spelled just like they were during round two." He waved at the list sitting on the table. "They won't be talking about their time with the lad anytime soon. I did find out that the secrecy ward will drop on the first of August."
"What about those that witnessed the dates?" Albus asked with a frown. "Has anyone heard anything?" When several people spoke up at once, Albus held up a hand and said, "One at a time, please. Marcus?"
"I asked around at Fenton Park and Museum as you asked and all I was able to find out was that both Potter and his date were polite to all the tour guides and sales-clerks," Marcus said with a small grimace of annoyance. "Everyone claimed that they didn't hear a single bit of any conversations held even though they must have. It was a private tour, by Merlin, they had to have heard something!"
"Amazing," Severus deadpanned. "People with discretion."
"Severus, please," Albus said wearily.
"I found the same thing at all the restaurants I went to," Marcus continued in aggravation. "Nobody was willing to say anything other than Potter and his date were polite and were welcome to return at any time."
"Those were some fancy restaurants he went to," Elphias volunteered. "Likely the employees know that any tattling on their part about the customers would get them fired."
Several people nodded in understanding at Elphias' explanation.
"Meredith? Did you find anything?" Albus asked one of his newer and younger members.
"Nothing, Headmaster," the young woman said with a headshake. "I went to the list of places you gave me and nobody really knew anything. Unlike the fancier places that Marcus visited, everyone where I went was perfectly happy to talk about how Harry Potter did this and Harry Potter did that. But they didn't tell me anything that wasn't already in The Prophet."
"Were either of you able to identify any of the suitors?" Albus asked then sighed when both shook their heads in the negative.
"I tell you, Albus, the lad has retained some top-notch guards," Moody said admiringly. "The security they've set up at every meeting has been the best I've seen, right on par with what's done for meetings between international dignitaries. I wouldn't be surprised if his guards have experience in that area."
"They certainly have employed some highly advanced spells," Kingsley said thoughtfully. "The boy is obviously very serious about keeping his tests secret."
Alastor grinned scarily. "Time-released privacy spells to keep the suitors from spilling anything before the lad is ready. Advanced anti-spying charms to keep away the press. Occluder wards to hide his chaperone. Distortion fields to hide the suitors. Amazing!" Moody was almost giddy in his approval.
Albus rubbed his forehead wearily. "Alastor, please, this is not actually good news."
"Perhaps not," Alastor granted. "But it's likely related to how he got that portkey."
Albus frowned thoughtfully then nodded. "The guards were probably recommended by whoever allowed Harry to use their portkey," he said.
"I still maintain that the portkey belongs to the lad himself," Alastor argued. "But, yes, that's what I meant. The lad has a knowledgeable and high-level international contact that's helping him, or giving advice at the very least."
"Kingsley, Nymphadora, any success on finding the identity of those guards?" Albus asked.
Both aurors shook their heads. "I did find out that they are ICW licensed bodyguards, though," Tonks said brightly.
"Oh?" Albus asked in surprise. Such guards were quite pricey.
"Of course they are," Alastor muttered with a nod.
Tonks nodded eagerly. "A suitor last week took Harry to a candy convention and the guards were stopped at the door for being heavily armed. I can just imagine what type of weapons they were carrying being ICW licensed. Anyway, I was close enough to watch the security check and saw them pull out their licenses; that's how I found out."
"Did you talk to the ICW Guard Office?" Albus asked hopefully.
Tonks nodded glumly. "Classified," she said. "I couldn't get any information about which of their guards was assigned to Harry or why or for how long or anything else. All that information is classified. Like Moody did when he contacted them, I got the impression that they had expected my call and were laughing at me. I did find out that the guards, like all ICW guards, wear unbreakable glamours, so trying to determine who they are by their appearance would be pointless."
"No glamour is unbreakable," Molly protested. "A simple finite incantatem will end every one of them."
"Not these," Kingsley denied. "When I was in auror training, we had an ICW guard come to recruit. One of the demonstrations he did was their glamour. It's definitely unbreakable and, unfortunately, proprietary. How it's done has never been revealed outside of the guards. Not even the non-guard superiors in the ICW know how to do it."
"What about tracking the guards through the Veela nation, Bill?" Albus asked, not expecting good news given the information so far. "Were you able to find anything?"
"No," Bill admitted, shaking his head. "There are two guard services available and both decline to speak of their clients." Bill laughed briefly and added, "Of course, there's the Veela Royal Guard, which you can also hire if you've got the money. I had dismissed them as a possibility – it's ten times as much to hire their guards as it is to hire from one of the other businesses – but maybe I was too hasty."
"Why so?" Arthur asked curiously. "I know Harry has a trust fund, but as far as I know it's not so large as to support the cost you're implying."
"Maybe Harry's not paying for them," Bill said with a dismissive shrug. "And I say that because I found out that all of the Royal Guards are ICW licensed, although not all ICW licensed guards are part of the Royal Guard. The other two businesses advertise that they have ICW licensed guards available for an additional fee."
"If he's not paying for the guards, then who is?" Arthur asked in bafflement. "Who else would pay for such an expense?"
There was silence for a moment before Severus snorted and said disdainfully, "I cannot believe that you have not figured this out months ago when the subject of the brat's guards first came up. Or the rental of Madam Puddifoot's and all those meals. Or the number of owls that must have been rented to deliver all the response cards. Or the rental of The Rose Inn's largest convention room. Or his current…"
"Yes, Severus," Albus said impatiently, overriding the angry comments others were about to make.
"Obviously, it is the chaperone that is paying for everything," Severus finished snidely.
Albus sighed in frustration but could hardly argue; he had also come to that conclusion. "And has anyone discovered anything about the chaperone?"
Silence met Albus query.
"Very well," Albus said in disappointment. "Let us continue, then. "What about your analysis of the newspaper articles, Molly?" Albus asked.
"They don't say much I believe, Albus," Molly said in agitation. "The Prophet is the same as always, what with them making the smallest incident out to be an international debacle. They talk about the hidden meaning of every small gesture but don't actually have any quotes. They've not been able to get close enough."
"The mark of excellent guards," Alastor said with an approving chuckle.
"And the international papers, Molly?" Albus asked, ignoring Moody's comment.
"Their coverage is less sensational but basically the same," Molly said. "I'm sorry I don't have better news," she added sadly.
"That's all right, Molly," Albus said reassuringly. "Thank you for taking the time to do so much reading. Will you be able to continue?"
Molly nodded. "I'd be happy to, Albus."
"Does anyone have any information at all that could possibly help young Charles when he goes on his date with Harry?" Albus asked, adroitly hiding the desperation he was feeling.
When nobody spoke up, Albus closed his eyes a moment in bitter disappointment. "Let us speak of Voldemort's activities, then…"
--end chapter--
A/N: I've been to a candy convention – they're cool! I went home with boxes of stuff.