AN: Sorry for the late release. I was on holiday! Next chapter will be in a week rather than two.

Chapter Thirteen - An Unlikely Encounter

Harry's fingers drifted up to his neck, trying to alleviate the itch of the his dress robes. Sirius, standing tall beside him, swatted his hand away.

"Stop fussing, Harry. We're trying to come across as well-bred."

A shiver went down Harry's spine at a memory of Aunt Marge and her ugly dogs. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Harry cast another glance out the enormous bay windows overlooking the vast grounds of the manicured mansion. Their earlier arrival had been met with little fanfare, only this imposing antechamber that hosted their long wait.

Harry tapped his foot, neck craning over the couple queueing ahead of them. "I don't see why we're just standing around."

"You're late! The house needs a moment to accommodate you." Harry jumped at the unexpected voice from his right, his eyes tracing from well-polished greaves to a crimson-crested breastplate and finally a thinly visored helmet. The suit of armour tilted its head to the side, seeming to scoff.

"What? Never met a suit of armour before, nitwit?"

Before Harry could respond, Sirius pulled him away, muttering. "Well that's just rude."

Harry turned again at a burst of music and laughter. The couple in front of them stepped through the large doors, which closed with a loud burp. A man in black robes beckoned them. Harry felt a flutter of apprehension as he thought back to the last time he'd attended a ball. And, while Sirius hardly reminded him of Parvati, the formal robes and the grand entrance filled him with the echoes of memories he'd rather forget.

"Good evening, Mr Black, Mr Potter… The Ministry of Magical Affairs welcomes you," he said in accented English. Sirius responded with a pleasant nod, while Harry managed a polite, albeit slightly confused, "Hello."

With a soft, almost imperceptible whisper of magic, the doors opened again. The chamber before them was cavernous, grand and magnificent to the point that Harry's breath caught in his throat. From their elevated position he could survey the entire room. He took in the sounds — the murmur of conversation, soft strains of music from an orchestra elevated on a floating platform — and the smells — rich food, perfume, and the subtler scents of flowers and fresh air.

As they descended the stairs and weaved through the crowds of conversing adults, Harry eyed the floating platters of food. As one passed near by, he reached out a hand and blinked in surprise as the platter veered towards him and stopped. Harry's hand paused over the small lemon cake, eyes drawn to a small pair of dirty feet beneath the tray. He grabbed a cake and crouched until he met the wide eyed stare of the house elf that stood holding up the platter up with raised arms.

Harry smiled, and whispered, "Thanks."

The poor creature nearly topple the pyramid of cakes but Harry managed to catch the edge in time. Somehow, the cakes didn't fall as the platter seemed to bow at him before zooming off through the crowd, ignoring the grasping hands. Harry turned away with a bemused smile, taking a bite of the cake. Despite the music and murmur of conversation, Harry's ears perked up at a familiar, pompous voice.

"Naturally it's not quite so simple as that, but I don't like to boast, you know."

The distinctive, self-congratulatory tones could belong to none other than the British Minister for Magic. Sirius, a mischievous glint in his eyes, steered them over.

"Minister Fudge," Sirius greeted, flashing a charming smile.

"Sirius Black!" Fudge was visibly startled. He recovered with a slightly shaky smile. "What a pleasure." Fudge's eyes slipped over to Harry and his eyebrows shot up. "Why, if that isn't young Mr Potter. How very good to see you again."

He shook both of their hands, eyes fixed nervously on Sirius.

"It's such a freeing feeling, isn't it, experiencing the hospitality of other countries." Sirius nodded to the pretty young witch beside Fudge, who Harry wasn't sure even understood what they were saying. "Was your wife not able to make it tonight, Cornelius?" He gave Fudge a knowing, roguish smile.

Fudge tried to chuckle but it was closer to a choke in the end. "Ah no, unfortunately not. I'm not—"

"Have you seen Marcel Rosegard around here?" Sirius interrupted in a loud voice, attention wandering to the crowd around them.

Fudge blinked. "Rosegard? Oh, uh, yes, I believe he was by the statue outside—"

"Excellent. Do excuse us, Minister. Mademoiselle, enchanté."

They were trailed by Fudge's stuttering farewell. Harry looked at Sirius, impressed, "How did you do that?"

Sirius looked down at him, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. "Just a simple trick, Harry. Keep him unbalanced enough that he can't draw us into whatever games he's playing tonight."

Harry gave Sirius a curious look. "I can't help but wonder what other tricks you've got up your sleeve."

Sirius' smile tightened, "I might have been sorted into Gryffindor, Harry, but I was born into Slytherin."

The pair stepped through the open French windows and into the garden.

Despite the time of year, the weather was mild and the sky was blue. A stone paved patio gave way to a perfectly manicured lawn that would have made Aunt Petunia green with envy. An elegant marble statue stood before the entrance to a hedge maze. Harry had no intention of venturing into any more of those.

As they made their way towards a crowd of small groups, Harry's eyes scanned for the tall, moustached man Sirius had described. Sirius nudged him and Harry followed the nod of his head. There, below the statue, talking with a smaller man with a long red beard.

Sirius seamlessly interrupted the conversation. "Is that you, old friend?" He reached out and shook the bearded man's hand, which had been mid gesture. Harry heard a confused reply in French as the man reluctantly allowed himself to be led away.

Harry was left standing awkwardly. He swallowed a a nervous lump in his throat. "Hello, sir."

Rosegard peered down, considering him, "Good afternoon."

"I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

A single long eyebrow rose, "A pleasure. Monsieur Rosegard, head of our Department of Magical Recreation. I wasn't aware you moved in these circles, Mr Potter."

Harry nodded. "Sirius Black, my godfather, is introducing me. He thought it would be good for me to meet people outside my usual company."

Mr. Rosegard gave him a discerning look, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. He'd expected wide eyes and easy conversation, or at least a smile— not whatever that expression was. Harry wondered if he'd accidentally insulted the man.

"I've recently moved to France," Harry said, hoping to get back on track. He gestured around, "It's a beautiful country."

The aloof expression softened slightly. "It is, indeed. To which region have you moved?"

"Near Avignon," Harry said, hoping he'd remembered correctly.

Rosegard nodded appreciatively.

The silence that followed stretched on, and Harry wracked his brain for something to say. Sirius' mention of the patronus charm was the only thing that his brain seemed capable of remembering. Fortunately, before he could think of a way of shoehorning it into some sort of question, a familiar voice rang out.

"I thought it was you, Harry," Draco Malfoy emerged from the crowd. He extended a hand.

Harry shook it, taken off guard by his sudden appearance.

"Malfoy?" What was he doing here? Actually, thinking about it, this seemed like just the place the Malfoys might be. Fudge was here after all.

Draco laughed. "Must I keep on insisting you call me Draco? Come on now, Harry." Draco turned his face so that only Harry could see it and gave Harry an urging look.

Flustered, Harry replied, "Of course. Sorry, Draco, slip of the tongue."

Draco turned to Rosegard with a polite smile. "Monsieur Rosegard, I am looking forward to the Parliament's duelling bivouac this summer."

Rosegard inclined his head, "We look forward to welcoming you, as we did your father and his forefathers before him. The Malfoys have always been much appreciated members of our organisation, and fine duellists."

Draco nodded appreciatively and turned to Harry. "Perhaps the experience will help me catch up to your magical talents, Harry. Not all of us can drive off Dementors and kill trolls before the end of our first term."

Harry noted the look of surprise on Rosegard's face.

"Though I assume you are also attending," Draco continued.

Harry shook his head, painting his voice with a touch of melancholy. "I'm not, unfortunately. Though I would be honoured to receive an invite, of course."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Haven't the Black family been a regular patron of the P.D.E.?"

"They have indeed," Rosegard said, a matching frown on his face.

"Isn't Sirius Black your guardian now, Harry? That makes you his heir, I suppose. That, and Dorea Black being your grandmother makes us practically family."

Draco smiled politely at Rosegard.

Rosegard cleared his throat. "Yes, that reminds me. Since you are here, Mr Potter, I can make the invitation in person. My secretary must have forgotten to include you, I do apologise. We would be honoured to have you attend Camp d'été du Parlement Duel Européen."

As Harry blinked in surprise, he didn't know who to thank more. Draco seized his arm. "It was lovely speaking with you, Monsieur Rosegard. I hope you don't mind if I take Harry over to speak with my Father. He will be very glad to see him again."

Rosegard nodded, a rather resigned note to his voice. "Of course, have a good evening, Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter."

Harry gave an awkward wave as Draco dragged him away.

"We're not really going to speak with your father, are we?" Harry asked hopefully.

Draco looked affronted, "As if. That old fossil might be easily fooled, but my father would read you like a book."

Harry felt like he should be offended, but felt nothing but relief at not having to meet the elder Malfoy. The last time he'd seen him was in the Department of Mysteries, and Harry wasn't going to forget that.

As soon as they were far enough, Harry pulled Draco to a stop. "What was that all about?"

Draco snorted. "You were so pathetically out of your depth there I had to step in"

"Sorry I'm not fluent in snobbery like everyone else here," Harry grumbled.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're such a muggleborn."

"And what's wrong with that?" Harry frowned. "And not that it matters, but I'm a halfblood."

Draco sighed, "I know you're a halfblood, Potter, but you're practically a mud- muggleborn when it comes to this."

"Why does that matter?" Harry snapped.

Draco looked at Harry as if he was an idiot. "What's the Black family motto?"

Harry frowned, trying to remember. It was etched all over Grimmauld Place. "Some Latin or something, I don't know. Why?"

"It's French. Toujours Pur. It means always pure."

Harry scoffed, thinking back to the rants from Walburga Black's portrait. "Makes sense."

"What do you think the motto of the Malfoy family is?" Draco said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "How should I know?"

Draco rolled his eyes again, "Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. That's Latin. It means purity will always conquer."

"What a surprise."

Draco looked around, grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him over to a vacant garden table, out of earshot of passing guests.

"Think, Potter. Have you seen any other English people here?" Draco waved away Harry's forming response, "Apart from that idiot Fudge."

Harry paused. He hadn't, though he'd hardly talked with everyone here.

"The European Duelling Parliament is very cultured. Do you understand what I mean?"

Harry frowned, "You mean they don't like people like me."

"They don't like outsiders. Especially muggles." Draco emphasised. At Harry's impassive response, Draco sighed. "It's not so obvious where we come from, but Grindlewald left a lingering impact on Europe." He gave an awkward smile. "His followers remain in high places. The movement might be dead, but the culture…"

Harry looked over his shoulder to the tall moustached man from the French government. He was beginning to wonder whether he wanted this invite any more.

Harry turned back to Draco. "So this guy didn't like me because he thinks I'm too muggle?"

Draco shrugged. "You appeared next to Dumbledore in the newspaper a few months ago. Dumbledore's known for only one thing in France and it's nothing to do with the Dark Lord."

Harry frowned. "So you made him think we were friends."

"And reminded him of your very non-muggle connections. Sirius Black might have been declared innocent, but for the last decade he's been famous for blowing up a street full of muggles. It's hard to shake off that kind of reputation." Draco shrugged. "Also, a good family names go a long way with this kind of thing."

Harry nodded, eyes distant, brow furrowed in thought.

Draco sniffed, watching Harry with a smug smile. "Consider it charity. You need all the help you can get."

Harry scoffed. "I can handle myself just fine."

Draco sighed, looking out across the garden. "You'll need more than just your knack for magic if you want real power, Harry. You need connections. Look at Fudge, not a whit of talent, but has friends everywhere."

"What about Dumbledore? He's nothing like Fudge."

Now it was Draco's turn to scoff. "If you think that then you are an idiot. His wand might have got Dumbledore through the door, but it's his cunning that got him to the top, and kept him there, for the better part of a century."

Draco seemed to notice Harry deflate, and smirked at him, "You're just lucky I found you before you made an irreparable mess of it. You don't want to go making enemies with the wrong sort. I can help you there. How about it?"

Draco extended Harry's hand and Harry paused, before very reluctantly reached out, experiencing a potent sense of déjà vu, and feeling slightly like he'd just sold his soul to the devil.


Draco peeled off as soon as they entered the main hall again, and Harry was left to look for Sirius. Cursing his small size once again, Harry wove his way to the edge of the room where he might get a better vantage point.

It took Harry about a minute to locate Sirius, who was chatting to a tiny old lady with grey hair arranged into a bun that stretched at least her height again above her head.

Harry fixed his eyes on Sirius and began making his way over, which is why he was entirely unprepared when he crashed straight into someone and fell over in a tangle of robes.

Harry cursed under his breath, immediately sitting up, accidentally elbowing the person on the ground next to him.

A small hiss drew his attention to the victim of his tunnel vision.

"I'm so sorry," he began, looking up. It was a girl around his age, sitting up with a curtain of silvery blonde hair covering her face.

She blew out a sharp breath, parting her hair haphazardly and revealing an irritated scowl.

"Gabrielle?" Harry covered his mouth as soon as he spoke.

The girl, who looked so much like Fleur's sister, froze, befuddlement now side by side with annoyance.

"Gabby? Comment la connaissez-vous?" she said. Harry had no idea what she was saying, but this clearly wasn't Gabrielle. Firstly, this girl was a little taller than Gabrielle had been, but secondly, and most importantly, Fleur's sister had been maybe seven or eight when Harry met her, so was probably still a toddler at this point.

"Uh, sorry," Harry stuttered. "I mistook you for someone else." He got up from his seated position, offering his hand. The girl sniffed, ignoring him. She looked down at the empty plate she held in one hand, and her eyes slowly roamed across to the slice of chocolate cake that rested on the loose fabric of her silvery robes.

She gasped.

Harry awkwardly lowered his hand, edging away.

"Ma robe!" She breathed out, distress written across her features.

"I am so sorry," said Harry, chuckling nervously.

The girl looked up at him, face stormy, then back down at her dress "Cet idiot a ruiné ma robe."

"It was an accident, honestly. Look, I bet its not even made a mark." Harry crouched back down and moved to grab the piece of cake, hoping it wouldn't leave much mess behind. However, as he made to pick it up, the girl slapped his hand away. Harry lost his balance and held out his hand to catch himself. He felt cake beneath his hand and watched with wide eyes as he pressed it down and smeared it across the bottom of her robes.

"Que fais-tu?" She said in a high pitched voice, pushing him away. "Non, non, non!"

"Harry!"

Harry looked up to see Sirius' smiling face. The smile transformed into a frown as he took in the scene before him.

"What— you know what, never mind. Malfoy and Fudge are headed over, we need to get out of here."

He tugged Harry's hand, pulling him up. Harry looked back as Sirius dragged him away, shouting out again with a wave of his chocolatey hand, "I'm very sorry!"

The girl stared after him in shock, gesturing as to say 'And you're just leaving?' as he disappeared in to the crowd.

Sirius gave a relieved sigh as they made it out of the hall. "What an awful event. I gather you managed to get an invite?"

Harry grimaced, surreptitiously wiping his hand on a neatly trimmed hedge as they passed by. "Yeah, in the end, no thanks to any of your advice."

"No thanks to me, eh?" Sirius laughed. "I see you've already surpassed me."

Harry scowled, "No. Draco Malfoy helped me."

"Malfoy?" Sirius looked scandalized. "It's definitely time to leave." He looked around, and then stopped, grabbing Harry's shoulder. "Ready to eat and drink into oblivion? Well, the drinking part's for me."

Harry smiled, and the two dissipated with a crack and a swirl of dust.

True to Sirius' word, the rest of Christmas Day was spent in the company of food, rather than stuffy French wizards, which Harry found much preferable.

Harry went to bed that evening exhausted and full, but as he lay there, he found his mind wouldn't let him drift off. Today had been a first, in a couple of ways. It had been the first time Harry had caught a glimpse of the wizarding world outside of Hogwarts, and it had left him with more questions than answers. More than that, though, it had been his time spending Christmas with family, other than the Dursleys of course. Sirius had outdone himself in making the day feel special, but there had also been something unavoidably melancholy about the day — an emptiness almost, or the feeling that something was missing.

Harry wasn't ignorant to what, or who exactly was missing. But, as he lay there, he felt that it hadn't ruined anything. If anything, it was what bonded him and Sirius together. It was an attempt, of sorts, at keeping the memory of his parents alive in the moments of joy that would have been so frequent had James and Lily survived.

Harry decided he was glad that he had jumped through the veil, and it was a strangely peaceful sleep that took him, bereft of the usual nightmares of flashing green or whispering voices that followed him from the room of requirement.