An hour later Harry was sitting opposite Albert in the Delacours' kitchen.
"'Ere you go, 'Arry," Fleur said, passing him some onion soup and bread with a bright smile. She was wearing Muggle clothes - jeans, and a tight t-shirt - and somehow her normality made her even more attractive.
"Thank you," said Harry. He wasted no time, tearing a hunk of bread and dipping it into the soup. He was quite hungry - she'd have to get up soon at the Weasleys. The smells of Molly's cooking could only be resisted for so long.
"Eet is 'ard to imagine," said Albert, finally regaining his voice after listening to Harry's tale. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked defeated. "Reya, oui. We 'ave known him to be an ally to ze Dark Lord for some time. But Flamel? Zis is grave news indeed. 'E 'as always hated Dark magic. What could turn him against Dumbledore so?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably.
"The Philosopher's Stone," he said. "He blames me and Dumbledore for its destruction."
Albert's eyebrows shot up.
"Ze Philosopher's Stone is no more?" he said. Apparently Dumbledore hadn't shared the news, and the Flamels were notoriously private. "Yes. That would do it, I think." He gave Harry a piercing gaze. "I suppose 'e is dead, yes? This is not a trick - some ploy to expose the Dark Lord?"
How Harry wished it was. He could imagine it now: Dumbledore in all his power, striding into the French Ministry amidst fire and water, casting down all those who had killed him. The mere thought sent a shiver down his spine.
But it was not meant to be. There was no spell to reawaken the dead.
"No," said Harry, "no trick. I saw him myself. He's dead."
Albert nodded, and stared at the table. "I feared as much."
"Ze world is going mad," said Fleur, and she pointed her wand - made of some silvery wood - at the wireless sitting on a kitchen counter.
"...for those of you who have just joined us: Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age, has died in Paris," said the English presenter. "The Minister is in emergency session with the Wizengamot as we speak. The session is Spelled Doors, but half an hour ago issued an immediate ban on trading at the London Merchant's Guild, after fully half the nation's wealth was wiped out in just ten minutes..."
Harry frowned. He didn't really understand business, but that seemed silly.
"How can that be true?" he said. "I mean, I still have the same amount of gold in my vault, don't I?"
"Indeed," said Albert, now staring distractedly out the window. "But now zat gold is worth less, if you tried to sell it. Ze same for mercury, sea salt, and the rest. Not to mention securities and bonds. Everyone's panicking. And for good reason. Dumbledore, dead! I don't understand how it is possible. A duel capable of killing Dumbledore should have left half of Paris in flames... but zere is nothing."
Harry looked at Fleur hopelessly. Her father was clearly in deep shock. Would the Weasleys be the same? Concerned for her new family, Harry finally left her bed and walked downstairs, trying to keep quiet.
The cooking had stopped. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting with Bill at the kitchen table in silence, listening to the radio. All were pale faced.
"Come, 'Arry," Fleur said, and she took his hand. "Let me show you my room."
Harry let himself be led away, trying - and failing - not to think of all the things Fleur could show him in her room.
"Oh, Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley said when she saw her, and she got up to draw her into a crushing hug. Harry got the feeling it was as much for her own comfort as Harry's. "Isn't it terrible?"
"Shh!" said Bill, and he turned the volume up. "The Minister's about to speak."
"...and the Wizengamot are filing out now..." said the presenter. "Yes, it's just been confirmed, the Minister is to address the nation in the Atrium... we're heading there now..." The next few minutes were filled with the sound of rushed footsteps from the radio as Fleur showed Harry the portrait of her Veela "grandmuzzer". Eventually: "We've arrived at the Atrium, and just in time. A crowd has gathered; Cornelius Fudge is calling for silence. Ladies and Gentleman: the Minister for Magic."
A brief moment of static followed, before Cornelius Fudge's started to speak.
"Wizards and witches of Britain. Today is an historic day. A tragic day. Albus Dumbledore is dead," he began. "However, there is more. What has not been reported so far is that - that Harry Potter is missing, presumed dead." Harry almost called out in surprise, before controlling herself. Mrs. Weasley had less luck: her legs gave out and she fell to the floor, devastated. And on the radio, the crowd erupted into wails and cries of disbelief.
In that moment, Harry first understood what he meant to the people of Britain. It was humbling.
"And zis is 'Le Survivant'," said Fleur, passing Harry one of her many books with a wicked grin. His cheeks reddened as he realised it was about him.
"Silence!" shouted a woman's voice, clearly Soronised. The crowd fell silent as Bill helped Mrs. Weasley into a chair.
"Yes, thank you, Amelia," said Fudge, clearly flustered. There was the sound of paper being shuffled. "How and why this has occurred has yet to be determined. We shall be working with the French Aurors to investigate this murder."
Harry's anger at Flamel returned viciously at the mention of the Aurors. The British Aurors were going to be led on a wild goose chase - one that no doubt would lead to a certain earful of fake evidence.
"For make no mistake," Fudge continued, "murder it was. Albus Dumbledore did not die of natural causes, but fell to the Killing Curse."
The crowd gasped again and exploded into whispers, but Fudge continued regardless, hitting his stride.
"In light of this, after careful consideration and long discussion, the Wizengamot issues the following edicts: Firstly, that all trading on equities, bonds and securities shall cease for a period of one week. Secondly, we announce the immediate promotion of Bartemius Crouch to the position of Mugwump, taking up Dumbledore's place in the International Confederation of Wizards. And lastly..." Fudge paused, as if about to take a deep plunge into cold water, "...lastly, the Wizengamot has ordered the immediate reinstatement of the Warlock's Circle."
This time no soronus would settle the crowd. They exploded into noise, much of it angry, and Harry thought she heard the sounds of several spells being cast.
"Good god," said Arthur, his hands trembling.
"I don't understand," Harry said. "What's the Warlock's Circle?"
Bill looked at Harry in disbelief. It seemed this was the kind of knowledge children raised in the magical world should just know.
"A Ministry-backed society of Dark wizards, created to assassinate Grindelwald," he said as he busied himself with making tea. "By the end, they were almost as bad as the man they hunted. The Ministry had real trouble shutting them down, after Grindelwald's war - they didn't even reinstate them for You-Know-Who."
Harry nodded, not sure what to think. How would Dumbledore have felt about Dark magic being used to avenge him?
"I am going to my friend Amelie's 'ouse tomorrow - if eet isn't cancelled," Fleur said, flinging open her rather large wardrobe. "You can 'elp me decide what to wear, non?"
There was nothing like a pretty girl to make Dark wizards seem less important. Harry nodded his head eagerly, his head full of small lacy items. Sadly, Fleur had other ideas, holding various items of clothing up against herself, asking Harry's opinion.
"Rufus Scrimgeour shall take the command," Fudge said, once the aurors had forcefully quelled the audience. "They are charged to hunt down the killers of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, and return their heads to the Ministry of Magic. They shall take no prisoners, and respect no borders. The Ministry authorises the use of any Dark magic which may aid in the completion of this task. Further, the full resources of the Department of Mysteries will be made available to them, and the Dementors of Azkaban are placed under their power. The Wizengamot declares the Warlock's Circle exempt from the 1643 Ban on Temporal Tampering, the 1356 Restriction of Alchemical Wizardry, and the 1896 Ban on Experimental Breeding. Rest assured, Britain shall recover from this tragic event..."
The speech then turned to more boring matters and Arthur turned the volume down. Harry took her cup of tea from Bill and sat at the kitchen table.
"I think the longer skirt is better," Harry said as Fleur hovered in indecision, drawing on all his experience of being a girl. "The pattern is nice."
"Oui, you're right," she said, apparently quite pleased with Harry's decision. "Now I need a top to go with it, non?"
She turned her back to Harry and pulled her t-shirt off, revealing perfect skin and a very interesting bra strap. He could just about see the curve of her covered breasts either side of her body.
Harry gulped. He had, of course, seen girls in their underwear before. He shared a changing room with three girls before every Quidditch match, after all. But this was different. This was Fleur.
"Well," said Arthur, grimacing. "I think that's our trip to Egypt cancelled. Sorry, Bill, but I think we're going to need the money."
Bill nodded. "I understand, he said, "and you know that I can always help you out, dad. Cursebreaking is pretty well paid..."
"You do more than enough already!" said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. "That's your money. You work hard for it." She sniffed. "We'll be fine. Why, with a thousand galleons I dare say we can afford to buy Ron that broom he's always talking about."
Whenever the Weasleys spoke about money, Harry felt extremely awkward. She was painfully aware of her large pile of gold sitting within Gringotts. If only she could help them, somehow... but they were always so stubborn. Maybe if the idea came from one of their own?
Having picked out several tops, Fleur looked over her shoulder and gave Harry a brilliant smile.
"No peeking now!" she said - clearly not bothered in the slightest - and she turned around while putting on a camisole, her breasts moving and stretching in fascinating ways as she raised and lowered her arms.
Harry thought he might be in love.
"You know," Harry said slowly. She had to phrase this right. "Harry is always offering to help. Maybe we could...?"
"Could what?" said Mrs. Weasley, narrowing her eyes. "Take that poor boy's money - the only thing he has of his parents? If he's even alive! Oh, poor Harry..." She began to cry again.
Harry flushed, embarrassed and annoyed with herself. She'd forgotten that she was supposed to be dead.
"I can't believe you said that," said Bill, frowning once more. "After he saved your life, the first thing you think about is his money?"
"He's alive. I know he is," she said, trying to cover for herself by sounding naive. "And if he wants to give us some money... not much, just a little bit..."
Arthur sighed.
"Do you know what people say about us behind our backs, Ginny?"
Harry knew lots of things people said about the Weasleys, but she wasn't going to take a guess.
"They say we befriended Harry for his fame," Arthur said, and there was anger in the lines of his face. "For his money. For the connections it could bring us. Like we were Malfoys." His lips thinned. "No. I refuse to give any credence to that rumour. We won't take any money from Harry - ever. And that's the last I'll hear of it."
Arthur didn't get angry often, but when he did, it was scarier than anything Mrs. Weasley said.
"Well... okay," Harry said. The atmosphere suddenly felt rather strained. "Well, I guess I'll go and get ready for the day."
She fled the kitchen as quickly as she could, without looking like she was running away. Being a Weasley was complicated.
"Parfait!" Fleur announced as she decided on a top. Harry was rather disappointed it had come to an end. "You 'ave been most 'elpful, 'Arry," she said, changing back into her original outfit. "And I zink you are feeling a bit better too, non?"
Harry blushed, embarrassed that he had been caught. But Fleur didn't seem to mind at all.
"Come," she said, taking his hand again, guiding him out of her room. "You must see ze greenhouses. My muzzer is growing 'Cheerful Cherries'. If you ask nicely, maybe she will let us have some."