AN1: This is why I don't make promises. Currently, I am on the fence in my SNAFU fanfic. I don't know if I want to go back and clean it up or if I want to keep writing in the same way I have. I think I will make a poll for it. Sorry, that it is late, lots of stuff happened in my real life. Tragedy struck me and my wife, but we will move forward.

AN2: This is the start of act 3. I hope everyone likes it! As always, all rights to JK Rowling and Warner.

Act Three: Prologue

Light crept into the large bedroom. The barest traces of the night drifted into a fresh morning. Outside, the songs of nature brought with it life that only the sun could sustain. It was with that the woman stirred. As if one with nature, she arose from a slumber that resembled more of a trance than true sleep. From that rest she sat, her nearly white locks dropping without a means of fritz or curl.

With the brush of a hand, she brought back the hair to fall instead of over the shoulder to straight down her back. Another brush saw her failing nightgown realigned. With her legs drifting from the bed, they found perchance atop slippers, light blue and decorated in the way of her favorite quidditch team, the Lille Lions. With no amount of haste, she completed her morning rituals as she dressed in simple clothes and fitted a small hat on her head. At the window, small birds sang their morning hymns as the beautiful sun continued its arch, bringing about the early morning.

The smell of toast and hot coffee greeted her as she cracked open her door. She needed no hurry nor worry for waking others, for her mother was already awake and her father was already gone. She lived on the west end of the property on the second floor. It oversaw such a wondrous little lake that glistened with silver at the dawn and dusk. The red hardwood beneath her feet creaked with the new attention she gifted it as she hurried down the steps. Walking through the next door brought her from the living space to the gathering space. The major portion of her home was a single floor open room with both a sitting area and a kitchen. It also housed the main door to the home, which predictively saw her father's travel cloak missing. Her mother sat a fluffy chair of the most hideous green, a steaming cup beside her as she flipped through Le Monde de la Magie. Brazen on the cover was the shrieking form of Sirius Black, a man who was wrongfully prisoner for a decade of his life without trial in the British Magical Isles. Humming to herself, she grabbed a mug and poured from the kettle. With a quick motion, she brought a piece of buttered bread to her lips.

"Hey grande sœur, why are you being so loud?" peeking through the door, the small wisp mumbled the complaint. She was so small, like any light breeze would pull her out to sea. Her shimmering hair matched that of the rest of the current household, and her pure blue eyes shone like the lake outside her window.

"Hush now Gabrielle, it was time to awaken anyway," without looking from her morning reading, the matriarch chastised the little girl.

"Sorry, sorry, Gabrielle. I forgot you were home." She stuck her tongue out at the smaller sister with her coffee in one hand and a half-eaten toast in the other. In response, Gabrielle stomped her foot in hard over the beautiful wood.

"Fleur, quit teasing your sister, or you won't get anything besides your list today." With a quick turn she addressed her mother's coffee again, revealing the inconspicuous letter laying casually near it, unopened. With a piece of bread hanging from her mouth she ran to the letter, an inhuman grace keeping the cup level without spilling a drop. Depositing the cup and with a quick cut of the letter opening, she opened her prize, wide awake and full of excitement.

Dear Mrs. Delacour,

We are proud to announce that you are welcomed back to Beauxbatons for your fifth… blah blah blah. Your classes this year will be… blah blah blah. Your list is on the back sincerely… who cares?

With a quick flip, much to her dissatisfaction, there were no genuine changes from the previous year. Besides a few ingredients that were up to par with OWL work, nothing truly magical was on the page. Normal things like clothes and books and wand were there as well. It… disappointed her. Here she had believed that with this being an OWL year, a year where the schooling was supposable the most difficult, that she would get to play with some high-level magics. The sorcery that required epic magical equipment, and so on. Instead, she received a list that was so similar to the ones she had received in the previous years she found it hard to consider it new.

Glancing down, disregarding robes and books and potions, the list was full of things she already owned. "We are going today, maman?" She asked.

"Mhmm," her mother replied, not glancing from the article that had piqued her interest that morning. Even saying it in the same breath she took her coffee with.

"Me too?" The fairy-like creature asked, grabbing a sweet pastry from the cupboard rather than the prepared toast. She grabbed some chilled lemon juice as well.

"Yes, yes, Gabrielle. You may come as well." Her mother spoke again as Fleur slightly fumed at being ignored in favor of her younger sister.

"Can I invite Harry Potter?" Fleur asked sweetly, hoping that piggybacking off her sister's sweetness would gather favor with her mother. She had hoped to see him again, to talk to him again.

"I am sure you can try, though I don't see why this letter would be any different from the last several." Her mother again spoke in a plane level voice to her. She had to have brought it up, didn't she? Fleur stomped away and back to her room, fuming at her mother's attitude. So what if he had not written to her like he promised? Or that he had ignored all her attempts to contact him? She was Fleur Delacour and would not be deprived of that which she wanted. And now she wanted that boy to be her friend.

Dear Harry, her letter began in flawless flowing script. Script that she practiced many times before attempting her first letter. Despite her wish, she knew he spoke better French than her English and wrote the letter accordingly.

I wish to invite you, this afternoon at 2 precisely, to a shopping trip in Quartier des Sorciers. We can buy all the things we need and perhaps eat dinner as well. I wish to see you again under the wonderful French sky before you are hidden beneath the clouds of Britain again. She blushed slightly, writing that line.

With hope,

Fleur Delacour

With a smile she tied the letter to her beautiful owl, Roland, and bid it departure to the Flamel Household, knowing this time it would be different.

Dressed in a light sundress, a brilliant yellow which flowed like the sunflowers that bloomed outside, she sat near her window till her mother's steps made it to the door. "Come now, we are heading out." The calm voice spoke with the same indifference it always had this summer.

"But he has not…"

"Then he is not coming." Her mother cut off any argument. "Mon trésor has sent a horseless buggy for us. We will leave now." Without another word, her mother left her. With one last glance to the window without a sigh, she followed in her mother's wake.

After a long walk down their lane to the road, followed by a longer drive, they arrived at the entrance of Quartier des Sorciers. With a tax to the statue of the district's glorious founder, Charlemagne, he stepped aside to reveal the bustling shops around. The population had weaned from the rush that had appeared earlier that day with the sudden influx of letters that had no doubt arrived, but still the streets were flowing with more people than the shop owners saw on a weekly basis. Eyes had turned to her group as she looked at her mom. "Where to first?"

"Couturièrelos's" Implying Couturière et Belles Robes, maker of fine dresses and gowns. A place where the higher middle-class families would get their daily and finery. A sweet young lady who inherited the place from her mother, and her mother, and so on that ran the shop. Her family name became Coutirièrelos, and entirely matriarchal in passing it down. The shop rested outside the first thoroughfare in the second collection of shops. Whereas the shops near the entrance were for up-and-coming ideas and products that were cute thoughts but ultimately unnecessary. The second collection was of the items that were more important to daily life. Inside the building saw a slim population compared to the flowing streets outside. Couturièrelos's rarely was referred to get school clothes, most preferring the bulk stores of the third district, which saw a sizeable discount.

Sitting near the entrance reading a thick text with writing she could not decipher was a capped man wearing a beige overcoat. He contrasted the store with his well-worn coat and beaten shoes. Unlike a normal patron of the store, he looked to be a working man who favored rough jobs than someone who could afford such a place for their child. Taking another peek at the text as her mother talked to the front attendant had her thinking it to be a Scandinavian piece. Though its contents still had not revealed themselves.

What was stranger than the man was the lady beside him. She appeared young enough to attend Beauxbatons, perhaps in her year or the year above, but her face was unrecognizable to Fleur. She had the receipt of her order, meaning she had already finished measurements. Her hair burned a bright red and her eyes looking at the sealed entrance were like a family hearth. They appeared to droop with exhaustion, though. Her dress was impeccable compared to the man beside her. It was a light blouse that lay loose upon her skin and a skirt which fell just past her knee. Being near her felt familiar. Like home.

After only a brief wait, a young girl came out from the curtain drawn second room holding a pad with a piece of parchment on it. "Delacour, you may come back." She followed the girl to the back room, joining only a boy who appeared her age. His back was to her, but the boy had a powerful figure and long dark hair, which tussled naturally to his upper back. Much like the man who was probably his father, his dress was unexpected in a place like this. The travel cloak he had discarded was wrinkled on the nearby hook and had various rips and stains covering the deep brown colors. The shirt he wore was tight on him, in the sense it did not fit. It had wrinkles galore on it as well. His pants were of a hardy material, thick and worn for protection rather than comfort, but like his other wears had seen better days and climbed up his calves.

"Beauxbatons and daily were correct?" The girl who had brought her back pointed with her board to a raised section.

Fleur immediately looked at her and tilted her head. "What else?"

"That boy is set for Hogwarts." She said, grabbing a tape from her cloak.

"Hogwarts," she thought out loud. "Why isn't he attending Beauxbatons?" She started facing away from him as the tape jumped to measure the different lengths of her arm.

"Fleur?" the boy on the riser next to her asked. "How's summer?" The voice was fluttering between high-pitched and deep, with even the three words he spoke bearing a crack, and something she failed to recognize.

"I'm sorry. Who are you?" She said, not turning to him. This was not unfamiliar. People tended to remember her despite long absences. She could remember meeting no one who would attend school at Hogwarts, though. Even at functions she attended with her father.

"Oh, sorry." The boy said, sounding mild. "It makes sense that you don't remember me. I am Harry. We met in the library near the end of last term."

"Harry," her voice picked up. With a quick turn, she looked at the boy, smiling. Sure enough, the glowing green eyes that stared back at her were the same ones that had made such a connection with her the first time she saw them. His face had filled out, no longer resting just over the bone, and he had grown so much, from seemingly 9 to 15 in one summer. For all the joy she had felt, an equal emotion rose from within: rage. "You said you would write." Her smile curved into something sinister. "Why then did I not receive a letter?"

"Mrs. Delacour, I need you to stop moving." The attendant told her with an attempted stern voice, though full of mirth.

"… tell you what, Fleur. How about I tell you when you are done?"

"Will you go shopping with me the rest of the day?"

"Of course." He flashed a brilliant smile. "Nothing would make me happier."

"Then I forgive you." She said, ignoring the coos from the two girls measuring.

He left before her. It made sense, considering he had come first. Still, she worried. What if she finished only to find him missing? Her attendant tried to ask questions: how did she knew Harry Potter? The boy's fame was not limited to The Isles. She ignored the girl. After a few more minutes, the attendant handed her measurements to another girl and sent her on her way with a copy of what she had ordered.

Exiting the measurements room, she found her mother sitting on the far end of the room with many other people in wait between her and Harry, who had taken a seat next to the man who must be famed alchemist Nicolas Flamel. Her mother was speaking with an animated Gabrielle who was talking about her birthday plan to visit the eastern unicorn forest for her birthday that upcoming spring. Her mother had an enormous smile as she nodded along with her sister, a smile she had not shared with her since she had told her of Harry Potter.

It was the first time they had argued. A strange thing, really. She was so excited when she had arrived at home to write to him it was the first thing she told her parents. She told them how she had met him, and how he was a sweet boy with a troubled past. That she wished to be his friend and how she wanted to spend time with him that summer.

Her mother called her a naive girl. She doubted the truth that it was the-boy-who-lived. Even if it was, the boy was just trying to get with her. The argument had gone on for hours and left them both horse and bearing tear streaks. Ever since her mother had done her best to distance herself from her.

"Maman," she called. Her mother stood and grabbed Gabrielle's hand, coming to her in an instant. "Maman, I have someone I want you to meet." Before she could do so, however, Nicolas Flamel stood and abruptly cut her off.

"I know a nice place down the road. We can do introductions there." Harry quickly helped the unfamiliar girl to her feet as she leaned on his arm like a lifeline. For some reason, this action grated on her, but failed to bring her genuine anger. Something about the girl felt so familiar and homely that rage could not be directed at her.

"Who do you think you are?" Her mother responded, her hand shooting to where her wand is.

"Please, Mrs. Delacour. I mean neither you nor your daughter's any harm. I swear." He said as more than a few patrons watch the exchange with deep interest. When he said 'I swear', a strange rush flushed over her. Her mother's eyes widened when it did.

"Olde…" her mother said, hushed. "Alright. We will come."

The place Nicolas brought them was, as he said, very close. They backtracked near the entrance and actually turned off the main road. She had never strayed from the main road in any of their forays to Quartier des Sorciers. The street was nearer in definition to an ally, as many of the shops bore no mark of what they contained. They eventually stopped at an unmarked shop which appeared like the rest. Her mother's eyes flashed with recognition as she reevaluated the man who had brought her there. Nicolas Flamel knocked on the door as an androgynous person wearing attire from Japan and looking as if they came from there opened the door. "Nic and, Madam Delacour? I did not expect you without your husband. Is he well?" The person spoke with an accent.

"Yes, he is, Izumi." She said.

"Six will be tight, but I think room three is clear. Just tea today?"

"Yes please," Nicolas Flamel said.

"Follow me." The inner space they stepped into differed vastly from the house's exterior. They first had to remove their shoes and step onto strange soft flooring. Light screens slid silently over wooden frames acting as doors. Their guide swiftly grabbed an ornamental looking kettle as they guided them to a sitting space which had a small table surrounded by six pillows, each with a matching cup to the kettle. "Ring the bell if any service is required." Their guide spoke with a deep bow, arms at their side as they did.

"Thank you, Izumi. You can bill the regular account."

"Of course, master." With a final bow, the person left.

Mr. Flamel moved to a side of the table in the middle. He knelt on the pillow as Harry and the girl followed suit. Her mother mirrored him as Fleur took the position opposite Harry, smiling as she did. The position was not uncomfortable, but not one she would choose in daily life, either.

"A strange meeting place for an introduction." Her mother spoke with an authority that Fleur had never seen before.

"I did not want to draw attention to our group any more than what we had." The grand wizard spoke with ease.

"The only reason I am here is the fact that you could make a binding oath. Who are you?" She said with the same tone. As she did, the man poured out the tea, starting with the girl on his left and working around. The green liquid steamed as it emptied through the spout as not one drop missed a cup.

"My name is Nic Flamel. Alchemist and Scholar." He said, finishing his own tea and replacing the kettle on the stand in the center of the table. Her mother's eyes flashed with awe.

"Truly?" her mother said. Realizing her slip, she tried to rein in her emotion. "And why did you wish to talk to me?"

"I am a friend of your daughter," Harry said. "At least I hope I still am."

She was about to tease him and say, 'well a friend would write,' but as she did so, "of course, Harry," came out instead.

"And you are."

"Harry Potter." He said easily, smiling at Fleur as he did.

Her mother looked at the boy, confused. "Harry Potter?" She asked. "For what reason are you with Nicolas Flamel?"

"He is my adopted father."

"As of two months ago." The Alchemist added. "We met your daughter the same day it was finalized, in fact."

Her mother turned to her; her face seemed to hold guilt. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. After a long pause, Fleur spoke up. "You promised me an explanation." She pointed at Harry, who in response raised his arms in surrender.

"We were traveling," Harry said.

"Off continent." Mr. Flamel added quickly.

"Back to England." Her mother asked.

"Off Europe." The man who predated the current government spoke clearly. He turned to her sister, "Before we get to caught up in talks, I think there are more introductions."

"I'm Gabrielle," her sister said with a smile now that the attention was on her.

"I am Apolline Delacour, wife to the foreign affairs minister."

"What's your name?" Gabrielle asked the girl sitting across from her.

"Selphie." She replied with a yawn, leaning against the table with manners unbefitting such a fancy place.

"Forgive her. We just returned yester morning." Harry said with a wave to the girl. "She has not had time to properly rest."

"Why then are you shopping today?" Her mother inquired.

"We were going to head home today, but my wife messaged me to instead go shopping." The legendary wizard spoke. "Why, I still don't know."

"The original plan was to come here tomorrow on one trip to grab the portkey for the English ministry. My train leaves the following day." Harry added. "Luckily, the owl could deliver my list on the boat, making this stop not so far out of the way."

"Is Selphie your daughter, Master Flamel?" Her mother asked.

"I am Harry's fiancée." She said with drawn out words. Both Fleur and Gabrielle shared a gasp.

"Don't say things that can be easily misunderstood. If anything, you are my contractée." Harry corrected her. Still, it was strange.

"Contractée," her mother said. "Strange words to refer to a young woman with." As quick as her distrust had disappeared, it returned.

"The reasoning why it occurred is not something you need to worry over, Mrs. Delacour. You need not fear for your daughters. What happened is unique to Selphie. Now, what say we get the rest of your lists?" He said to Harry and Fleur.

"Let's," her mother said, still with a hint of caution.

She smiled as Mr. Flamel brought them to a variety of shops. Places she had yet to visit. The normal stores she frequented had the same things they bought from the stores off the beaten path the ancient wizard brought them to. The entire time she stuck close to Harry, chatting easily with him as they exchanged summer stories. He spoke of making friends and learning magic while she shared stories of playing with her sister and writing terrible essays.

The only hiccup in their shopping trip was when they attended the bookstore. "Nic, they don't have Year with the Yeti here. It is the only book I am missing from my Gilderoy Lockhart collection."

"Harry, we are not here for leisure text."

"You didn't say that about the Luc Maret text."

"That book was on cursebreaking. It was only natural I let you get it," as he said that Harry's face turned grim, "besides it's an educational text as opposed to a fantasy book."

"Well, that fantasy book is a required text." Harry spoke in a mocking tone. Though his face still seamed haunted.

"Don't lie…" the master alchemist stopped himself. "You don't lie, do you?"

"It doesn't matter." The clerk said from his desk. It was an aged man who looked down at an even older looking book. "I don't carry English trash fantasy here."

"Gildaroy Lockhart is a great wizard." Harry said.

"Kid, hate to break it to you, but it's nationally known he is a liar. Man claims he used the Animagus revealing charm to cure a werewolf. Three years ago, at a German conference, they laughed him out of the room of the Werewolf Defense Corps without him even saying a word." The old man spoke, still reading. "If your teacher says that is assigned reading, well, they will be an awful teacher."

To that, Harry had no response.

At the closing of the day, they ended up visiting a second bookstore for Harry to finish his list. As the sun began to set, they exited onto the streets of Paris and ate at a well-off restaurant, Mr. Flamel footing the bill.

Out on the streets again with the lights coming on, she prepared for the goodbye. Behind her, the sun fell deeper. "Goodbye Harry. Please remember to write this time." While she spoke, she pulled her hair, which fluttered in the wind behind her ear. For some reason, Harry blushed.

"Of course, Fleur." His red cheeks had pulled back in a smile.

She never stopped smiling all the way home.