CHAPTER: 6 CHATEAU DELACOUR
After a brief exchange of pleasantries and some discussion about the events in the British Ministry, Harry found himself explaining the situation with the marriage contract and its political implications. The French Minister, Monsieur Dupont, listened attentively as Harry outlined the potential benefits of the alliance between the Potters and the Delacours, particularly in the context of the growing threat posed by Voldemort.
"Your insights are valuable, Monsieur Potter," Dupont remarked. "Indeed, this marriage contract has the potential to strengthen our ties and unite our efforts against the dark forces. We shall work closely with your guardian, Mr. Delacour, to ensure a smooth transition."
Harry appreciated the Minister's pragmatism and willingness to cooperate. It was clear that Monsieur Dupont understood the gravity of the situation and was committed to protecting the magical world from the impending threat. Harry also couldn't help but feel relieved that the French Minister didn't treat him like a mere pawn in a political game but respected his input.
Once the discussions concluded, Harry was introduced to other key officials within the French Ministry who would be involved in overseeing the arrangements of the betrothal. He also learned that Fleur Delacour, his betrothed, was currently residing at her family's château.
As Harry left the Ministry with Jean-Sebastian, he felt a mix of emotions. The weight of the situation hung heavy on his shoulders, but he also knew that he couldn't let fear or uncertainty paralyze him. The fate of the wizarding world depended on unity and cooperation, and he had a role to play in that.
Back at Chateau Delacour, Harry was welcomed with open arms by Gabrielle and the Delacour family. They treated him with kindness and respect, making him feel like a part of their family. Fleur, who had been absent when Harry first arrived, finally made her appearance.
She entered the room with an air of elegance and grace, her long silvery-blonde hair cascading down her back. Her beauty was undeniable, but it was her warm smile and the genuine interest in her eyes that struck Harry the most. He had expected a formal meeting, but her warmth immediately put him at ease.
"Bonjour, Harry," she greeted him with a charming smile. "I am Fleur Delacour."
"Hello, Fleur," Harry replied, trying to match her courtesy. "I'm Harry Potter."
Their initial meeting was brief, and they exchanged polite pleasantries. Harry sensed that Fleur was just as overwhelmed by the situation as he was. The weight of their impending betrothal hung in the air, but for now, they were content to get to know each other as individuals, not as political pawns.
Over the following days, Harry spent time with the Delacours, learning more about their family, their traditions, and the rich history of the Chateau Delacour. He discovered that they were a proud and noble family, deeply committed to their heritage and the protection of their magical community.
As Harry and Fleur spent more time together, they found common ground and shared interests. They discussed their experiences at Hogwarts, their dreams and aspirations, and their concerns about the rising threat of Voldemort. Slowly but surely, a genuine connection began to form between them, transcending the boundaries of their arranged marriage.
In the midst of uncertainty and danger, Harry and Fleur discovered that they had something precious—a friendship that could become the foundation of something more. The path ahead was uncertain, but they were determined to face it together, united not only by politics but by a growing bond of trust and understanding.
Matty, the house-elf, bobbed another low bow and disappeared with a pop. Harry couldn't help but smile at the familiar sight of a house-elf. He had come to appreciate their loyalty and dedication, especially after his experiences with Dobby and Kreacher.
Before long, Sirius Black arrived in the entry hall, looking a bit disheveled. His face lit up with joy when he saw Harry.
"Harry! You made it here safely!" Sirius exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace his godson.
Harry returned the hug warmly. "Yeah, thanks to Jean-Sebastian's help. It's good to see you, Sirius."
Sirius stepped back and glanced at Jean-Sebastian with gratitude. "Thank you, Jean-Sebastian. I appreciate you looking out for Harry."
"It was my pleasure, Sirius. We had an uneventful journey."
After introductions were made and pleasantries exchanged, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of relief being in familiar company. The Chateau Delacour was beautiful, but it was also a bit overwhelming with its grandeur and the looming presence of the impending betrothal. Having Sirius by his side made the transition easier.
"Harry, let's go to the sitting room. We can have a proper chat there," Sirius suggested.
They followed Sirius through the large double doors leading to the sitting room. It was a spacious and elegantly decorated room with plush sofas, high ceilings, and tall windows that offered a view of the picturesque French countryside.
As they settled into the comfortable surroundings, Sirius turned to Harry with a grin. "So, how's everything been, Harry? I heard you had quite the adventure at the Ministry."
Harry sighed, recounting the events of the day at the British Ministry, including the courtroom incident and the subsequent meeting with the French Minister. Sirius listened attentively, his expression growing serious as he learned about the marriage contract and the political implications.
"This is a lot to take in, Harry," Sirius said with concern. "But I have to say, it's impressive how you handled yourself back there in the Wizengamot. You've certainly grown since your Hogwarts days."
Harry nodded. "I've had to, Sirius. With Voldemort's return and the looming threat, I can't afford to be naive or impulsive anymore. We need all the allies we can get to fight against him."
Sirius leaned forward, his eyes filled with determination. "You're absolutely right, Harry. And it seems like this marriage contract might be an opportunity, not just a burden. If it helps strengthen our alliance with the French Ministry, it could be a powerful asset in our fight."
Harry knew Sirius was trying to put a positive spin on the situation, and he appreciated his godfather's unwavering support. They discussed the potential advantages of the alliance and their shared concerns about Voldemort's resurgence.
During their conversation, Fleur joined them in the sitting room, and the atmosphere lightened. She greeted Harry with a warm smile, and they engaged in more relaxed and casual conversation. It was becoming clear that Fleur was more than just a political partner; she was a person with her own thoughts, dreams, and fears.
As the evening continued, Harry felt a growing sense of camaraderie with Fleur and a genuine connection forming between them. The path ahead was uncertain, but he was starting to believe that together, they could face whatever challenges came their way.
"Of course, master," the small elf replied. "I be taking young master's trunk up to young master's room." And then he disappeared with another small pop, taking Harry's belongings with him.
"Do you normally speak English here as well?" Harry asked with a glance at his guardian.
"We have always tried to ensure our girls spoke English as well as French, but ever since we found out about the tournament last summer, we have spoken English at home. The only way to learn how to speak in another language is to use it, after all."
Harry pondered that for several moments, thinking his words made sense, but still not understanding about the house-elf. "But what about the house-elves? Matty sounded just like…"
"Just like your house-elves in England?"
At Harry's confused nod, Jean-Sebastian chuckled and led him through the double doors into the castle. "One facet of house-elf magic is that it allows them to speak in whatever language their master requires, though I assure you their grammar is no better in French than it is in English. For some reason, they always speak in this manner, regardless of what language it is."
It sounded like something which would catch Hermione's interest, but Harry did not pursue the subject—it was enough to know the house-elves would be able to speak with him.
At that moment, Sirius came rushing down a large set of stairs, and upon seeing Harry, his face broke out into a huge grin. He ambled over and engulfed his godson in a huge embrace, which Harry returned fiercely, the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes.
Overall, Sirius looked somewhat better than when Harry had seen him the last time more than three days earlier. Although he was still haggard and thin, he had a twinkling in his eyes which Harry had never seen before, and his coloring was markedly better.
"It's good to see you, Sirius," Harry said, his voice choking with emotion. "I wondered where you went, but no one would tell me."
"I'm glad you're here, pup," Sirius responded. "No one was told where I was going—we had to keep this under wraps."
"Indeed," Jean-Sebastian interjected. The corners of his mouth were turned up in a slight smile as he regarded the two wizards fondly. "I had Sirius brought here a few days ago, not only to get him out of England, but also to get him some treatment for the years he spent in Azkaban and on the run. We had to do it in secrecy, of course."
"Thank you," Harry said with some feeling. "I was hoping Sirius would get some help, but I didn't know what do to."
"You are very welcome—I think I've become quite attached to you all. And then, there is certainly some benefit in this arrangement for us all, not to mention the danger we are all in from your Voldemort. But that is a topic for another day. I assume you would like to do come catching up?"
Harry glanced at Sirius and—catching the smirk on his face—grinned in response.
"Well then, I think you could use my office for a private conversation," Jean-Sebastian continued, apparently not requiring an answer. "I'll have Matty call you for dinner—it should be served in about another hour."
With a companionable hand on each of his companions' shoulders, Jean-Sebastian walked away, leaving the two to their privacy.
They walked the halls in silence until they came to an ornate door which opened into a large comfortable study with a wooden desk and several comfortable chairs. The walls held several bookcases along with several tapestries and wizard photos of the Delacour family. On the far wall away from the desk stood the other fireplace of which Jean-Sebastian spoke; it was lit with a cheery, yet small, fire. It was roomy and welcoming and spoke of a level of comfort which Harry had not experienced frequently in a home setting.
Sirius directed Harry to two chairs situated in front of the fireplace, and they sat down, neither one commenting for the moment, both content in being again with the other. Although he had only known Sirius for a little over a year and had yet to spend much time in his company, Harry was amazed at how comfortable he felt with the older wizard—they had a natural connection between them, one which Harry felt transcended the bond between them due to Harry being James's son.
"So, I suppose you have some questions for me," Sirius broke the silence.
He supposed correctly—yet Harry hardly knew where to start. This day had been so sudden that he had not had time to come to terms with what had happened. It would take some time before he had it all sorted out in his mind.
"You're getting treatment?"
"The best healers in France," Sirius said with a laugh. "Although I don't know I'll ever be truly free of the specter of Azkaban, I feel better now than I have in years."
"I'm happy," Harry responded quietly. "I had wondered where you went. It seemed a little unfair that Ron and Hermione got to spend more time with my own godfather than I did."
"I understand, Harry—I'd love to spend more time with you. Unfortunately, it will have to wait until next summer. You'll be going to England with the Delacours next week, while I will have to stay in France and continue my treatment."
"I guess…" Harry said, somewhat despondent that his godfather would be taken away from him again.
"It will be all right. You will be back for Christmas and Easter breaks, and I'll make sure to be here so we can spend time together."
Somewhat mollified, Harry fixed his godfather with questioning look. "So, how did you get to France? I imagine you couldn't just walk through the international Floo."
"No, there you would be correct," Sirius said with a laugh. "Actually, Moony brought me here. Most wizards are so arrogant in their belief in the superiority of magic that they completely discount Muggles. Moony has spent considerable time in the Muggle world due to his difficulty in finding work in the wizarding world—it has to do with his furry little problem, you see.
"He purchased a rail ticket through the Chunnel to France, and I went with him in my dog form. Once here, it was a simple matter to make our way to the Ministry building, where I was formally granted asylum."
Such a simple yet effective plan, Harry mused. Not only would the local authorities have no way to detect him in his Animagus form, but the magical world would have no way of knowing he was using Muggle transportation—most magicals used magical transportation, with the notable exception of the Hogwarts Express.
"And the marriage contract? Care to explain to me how it came about?"
Laughing, Sirius slapped Harry on the shoulder. "I had imagined you would like to hear about that."
The story was short, but Sirius did his best to explain the circumstances. And although Harry was still somewhat ambivalent about the whole thing, the situation made sense from Sirius' point of view. He even understood why they accelerated their plans after the incident with Dementors in Little Whinging.
When Sirius fell silent, Harry thought for several moments before making any comments.
"So, you did this for my benefit?"
"Yes, Harry," Sirius responded, looking somewhat embarrassed to Harry's eyes. "The marriage contract seemed like a godsend when I found it—by then it was much too late to get you out of the tournament, but knowing Voldemort had been after you for some time, I felt it was the best way to ensure your safety and cement some alliances."
"But wasn't there some other way?" Harry complained. "I mean, I know you did your best and all, but now I've got to marry someone I hardly know…"
A mischievous expression came over Sirius' face. "Come on, Harry, I don't think it will be that much of a sacrifice. After all, if the rumors are anything to go by, the lady is not too repulsive.
Harry snorted. "More like bloody stunning, if you ask me! But that's not the point."
"I know it isn't. But you have to consider the advantages, Harry. With this contract, you are forging an important political alliance which will only help with your insane dark lord problem. The French can be very helpful in the coming war, and you can't discount the value of friends who love you and want to protect you."
"I know, Sirius," Harry replied with a sigh. "It's just… it seems like my whole life has been decided for me… I've never made any decisions on my own. This is just another example of someone deciding something important for me without my input."
Sirius' almost playful expression sobered immediately, and he stared at Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry. I just… I was desperate to help you. I felt so useless sitting there in Grimmauld while you were in danger. I truly believe this is a very big step for you. It is in your best interest, Harry."
"I believe you," Harry responded, his voice almost inaudible. "Look, I'm… grateful you care, Sirius. Merlin knows that's been in short supply in my life. But don't expect me to be… ecstatic about this betrothal—it's too much, too soon. I need some time to think about it… to figure out how I feel about all this."
"I would not have expected anything else. Just promise me one thing—don't shut Fleur out. She is a wonderful young woman, and if I'm any judge of character, I think you will get along famously with her. Get to know her, Harry."
"I will, Sirius," Harry affirmed. "She's in the same boat as I am—I certainly wouldn't hold this against her."
"Great!" Sirius said, slapping Harry on the back. "That's all I can ask for. I think it's almost time for dinner—would you like to see your room first?"
When Harry replied he would, Matty was called and the two of them separated—Harry to go to his bedroom, and Sirius started to pour himself a drink. Harry suspected he was now feeling guilty over his actions regarding the betrothal, and although Harry did not want to accuse Sirius of anything or make him feel the guilt, he wanted his feelings to be known. He would talk to Sirius later that night and tell him.
A quick walk through the castle and they had arrived at the family apartments, Matty chattering away at his side, telling him about how the family had been excited about his arrival and how it was an honor for him to be housed in the family wing rather than the guest wing. Harry smiled indulgently at the loquacious little fellow, reflecting that he reminded him of Dobby—not as hyper, but certainly eager to please and talkative.
The room was several times larger than the small room at Privet Drive which the Dursleys had allowed him to inhabit. It was dominated by a large four-poster bed, while a large fireplace stood on the opposite wall. No Floo access, though, thought Harry, nor could he expect to find many of things which had been present in his aunt and uncle's home. It was a castle, after all, and the home of a wizarding family, which meant the normal necessities of a Muggle house, such as electricity and central heating, would not be present.
The light switch on the wall and the large dome light above his head disproved that fact, and as he flicked it on, light flooded into the room. Wondering why they had lights, Harry set out to search the room for any other Muggle items, but he was unable to find anything else. It was another question to ask the Delacours.
Other than the bed, the furnishings in the room consisted of a desk against the far wall beside the window and two comfortable looking stuffed armchairs situated in front of the fire. His trunk lay on a chest at the end of the bed, although it had not yet been unpacked. Harry pondered doing some unpacking for a moment before deciding not to bother—Jean-Sebastian had said they were moving into the ambassador's manor in England very shortly, after all, so his stay here would likely be very short in nature.
Lying down on the bed, Harry spread his hands and legs out wide, luxuriating in the softness of the mattress and the overall comfort of the suite, something of which he had not known much in the past. His bedroom on Privet Drive certainly could not compare, and although his bed at Hogwarts was very comfortable, still it was a dorm room, shared with four other young men. This was his own and far more than he had ever had before.
A moment later, Matty popped in, informing him that dinner would be served shortly and that he was to make his way down to the dining hall to greet the family. Suddenly nervous, Harry asked the small elf to lead him there, to which Matty replied that was the reason why he was here after all. Harry grinned and fell into step behind him.
Harry was led to a sitting room down several levels below his bedchamber. Upon entering, he was stunned by the sight of more beauty in one location than he ever could have imagined—the entire female population of the Delacour family was there. Fleur, of course, he already knew from the previous year, but the older woman who sat beside her could easily have been mistaken for her older sister, if Harry did not already know who she was. Fleur was a carbon copy of her mother, from her deep ice-blue eyes, to the waves of silvery blond hair which hung free down her back, to the pale skin, high cheekbones and slightly narrowed chin. When they stood to greet him, he could see that they were even of the same height with one another, with the mother perhaps slightly taller than the daughter.
Gabrielle, whom he also knew, was contrasted slightly from the two older women by her hair, which was a lighter shade—a pale, almost white, blond which shimmered in the late afternoon sun. Her eyes were also a darker shade of blue, and her face was heart-shaped, although with age and the loss of her baby fat, that might well change. Still, her whole person bespoke of the ethereal beauty of her older family members, of which she would undoubtedly share when she matured. The truly disconcerting fact was that they were all watching him closely, making Harry feel like he was on display.
Feeling exceptionally self-conscious, Harry nevertheless squared his shoulders and, with resoluteness he was far from feeling, marched into the room, only to be almost bowled over by a blond-haired blur who latched on to him like a heat-seeking missile. Gabrielle excitedly chanted his name while chattering away in French (of which Harry, of course, did not understand a word), all the while hugging him as though she would never let go.
Harry glanced up at the other two Delacour women, noting their fond smiles for their younger family member as well as the welcoming smiles for himself. Harry immediately blushed again, looking down at the still-prattling Gabrielle, not noticing the smile of appraisal which graced his future mother-in-law's face, or the slightly forced quality of Fleur's own smile.
"Gabrielle, Harry does not understand French, my sweet," Mrs. Delacour admonished, her voice a throaty soprano, contrasting with what he remembered of Fleur's clearer voice.
The young witch's hands flew to her mouth, and she giggled, batting her eyelashes at Harry, who, bemused at the sight, smiled back at her.
"Oh, excusez-moi, Harry," Gabrielle breathed. "I did not think; I was so happy to see you."
"It's all right, Gabrielle," Harry responded, unable to stifle a returning grin.
"Come with me—I shall introduce you to my maman."
She dragged him the rest of the way across the room and dropped into a girlish curtsey in front of her mother, making Harry wonder if he should bow to the Delacour matron.
"Mama, I would like you to meet Harry Potter, my savior, and Fleur's…" here she cast a dirty look at her elder sister, "…betrothed."
Ignoring her daughter's antics, Mrs. Delacour stepped forward with a silvery laugh and greeted Harry. "Welcome to Chateau Delacour, Harry; we are happy to have you here."
"Thank you, Mrs. Delacour," Harry replied, feeling somewhat uncertain.
"Now, Harry," she admonished, "I know you call my husband by his name, and I would prefer you did the same with me. Please, call me Apolline. Now, I believe you are already acquainted with my older daughter, Fleur."
Harry smiled, suddenly feeling bashful, and turned to greet Fleur. She was regarding him with an unreadable expression on her face, and although he did not detect any hostility, he was still uncertain of her reception.
"Harry," she greeted him softly, prompting him to respond in kind. The situation seemed about to become somewhat awkward between the two of them until Gabrielle was once again there, tugging on his arm, once again began speaking, asking him how his trip was and how he liked France, among about a million other things.
Trying to decide how to respond, Harry was grateful when they were interrupted by the arrival of the two men.
"Ah, Harry, I see you have begun to charm my entire family," Jean-Sebastian stated with a hint of laughter in his voice. "I can see I will have to watch you, or you'll be stealing them all away from me!"
"Don't tease the boy," Sirius cautioned with a smirk. "You'll break him. He is a teenager, after all."
The entire room broke out into laughter; even Harry laughed, although he did direct a pointed glare at the Marauder. Sirius did not deign to reply to his godson's displeasure, contenting himself with nothing more than a wink and an even larger grin.
"Well, if we are all finished, I think we can proceed to the dining room for dinner," Apolline interjected. She closed the remaining distance between Harry and herself and smiled brightly at him, interlocking one of his arms in hers. "Besides, Harry is such a handsome, charming young man—I think my husband could stand to take a few pointers from him."
She directed a mock arch look at her husband and then began sashaying from the room, pulling a completely nonplused Harry along with her. He could feel his cheeks burning in embarrassment, but Apolline merely smiled at him and directed him into the dining room, making certain to seat him beside her. Over his shoulder, he could hear Jean-Sebastian's good-natured grumbling, along with Sirius' open laughter, as each of the other men chose one of the sisters and escorted them into the room.
Whatever Harry had expected from the family, this was certainly not it, prompting him to wonder if he could manage to survive not only Sirius but also the entire Delacour family.
Dinner that evening was nothing like Harry had ever experienced at a dinner table—at least, nothing like any family he had ever eaten with; Hogwarts was another story altogether.
At the Dursleys', his residence from the time he had arrived as a child until after his eleventh birthday and his summers since then, dinners had not been an occasion for much conversation. While Dudley and Vernon had typically spent every meal trying to stuff everything they could in their mouths, his Aunt Petunia had eaten sparingly and daintily, almost as though trying to make up for the atrocious table manners and gluttony of her male family members. And to Harry, whose presence was merely tolerated at the best of times, actually speaking to any of his family members of inconsequential nothings was just as incomprehensible. His usual practice was to eat as quickly as possible and leave their presence—a circumstance which was undoubtedly as welcome to the Dursleys as it was to Harry himself.
By contrast, the other family with whom he had frequently dined—the Weasleys—had a tendency toward garrulity, as they were, as a family, quite boisterous and outgoing. Their mealtimes were generally filled with chatter, each family member loudly and confidently stating their opinions and generally having a good time. Yet while Harry generally enjoyed his time with the Weasleys, the raucous atmosphere, along with the way the family generally interacted with one another, left the quiet and shy young man slightly overwhelmed; in essence, they made him feel welcome by word and deed, but their family atmosphere was not one in which he could feel completely comfortable. He just was not certain he fit in.
Dinner with the Delacours was, by contrast, quiet and subdued. They quite clearly adored each other—the parents' pride and affection for their daughters, the children's respect and love for their parents, all of this was clear to see. Yet they were quiet and controlled in their warmth, and their conversation was pleasant and loving, yet restrained and respectful. Each person was allowed to state their own opinion without interruption before the next person took up the conversation, something which contrasted heavily with the Weasleys' tendency to speak over one another in an effort to be heard. Harry did not think any less of the Weasleys for the way their family unit worked, but he found himself thankful for the Delacours' quiet camaraderie—it was certainly more suited to his own somewhat quiet and thoughtful demeanor.
The food was delicious—as good or better than anything he had eaten at the Weasley table or even Hogwarts, and Harry, as famished as he was due to the length of time which had passed since breakfast, was able to do a credible impression of Ron's legendary ability to pack away his food, much to the amusement of his hosts.
The conversation generally revolved around the events of the day, with Sirius and the Delacour women literally hanging on every word of what had happened in the courtroom. Sirius, of course, had found the whole situation—especially Fudge's humiliation—amusing in the extreme, and he had complimented Harry and Jean-Sebastian many times on the immense prank they had perpetrated on magical Britain.
Harry's questions also proved a major topic of conversation. Anything regarding the situation and the specifics of the marriage contract, and what was expected of them was deferred by tacit consent by each of the diners. Now was the time for dinner and pleasant conversation—such weighty discussion could wait for another time.
However, Harry did learn a few things of interest. First, when he asked about the lights in his room, Jean-Sebastian chuckled and informed him that although the light switch and dome in his room gave the appearance of electricity, it was in reality a clever manipulation of magic paired with certain Muggle ideas. Unless heavily shielded, electricity and electronics were almost inoperable when a certain level of ambient magic was present, and of course, with the presence of the house-elves, Chateau Delacour far exceeded those limits. The lights in his room were actually a permanent charm which cast a Lumos spell in the dome of his room and which was controlled by the runes set into the switch and the dome where the Lumos spell was cast. Similarly, the temperature in each room, the water in the taps and toilets, and a number of other ideas taken from Muggle devices could all be controlled by similar magical ingenuity.
Harry was astonished, not having seen its like before. When questioned, Jean-Sebastian and Sirius led a new discussion of the lives of magicals in Britain and other lands, conversing about what the rich could afford in comparison to those of a more modest financial stature. Essentially, the gist of the conversation was that although such devices were certainly not banned, for many of the poorer classes, it was prohibited due to the sheer cost they incurred. Thus, the Delacours, who were quite wealthy in their own right, were able to afford such luxuries, while the Weasleys, who were notorious for their limited means, could not.
When further questioned, Harry discovered that political leanings and prejudices also affected the presence of such devices in their homes. The Longbottoms, for example, were certainly able to afford the expense and would likely have such devices, due to their generally tolerant opinions, whereas the Malfoys, well known for hating anything Muggle, would undoubtedly stick to the old ways to light and heat their homes merely due to their distaste for admitting Muggles had any good ideas.
The diners themselves were a treat to converse with, each different in their own ways. Sirius was talkative, regaling the company with tales of his exploits with James and the other Marauders, while the older Delacours were friendly and kind (Mrs. Delacour doing her best to learn everything of her future son-in-law). Gabrielle was chatty and bold for a nine-year-old, as she attempted to monopolize Harry's attention for the entire meal, something which earned admonishments from her mother several times. By contrast, Fleur was quiet and composed, and although Harry felt her gaze resting on him several times, her expression was inscrutable and her contribution to the dinner conversation was sparing and vague. He was unable to determine whether she was displeased with the situation in which they now found themselves—by contrast, he could not determine that she was especially pleased with it either. It had Harry worried.
When dinner was finished, the adults, no doubt thinking it would be better for the two young people to become better acquainted with one another while they became used to their new situation, suggested they go off for a while together. Harry, though he was not opposed to the idea, nevertheless glanced at Fleur, trying to see if she had any particular opposition for the plan. Seeing her nod in agreement, he signaled his own consent and followed her from the room.
She led him up several flights of stairs, down several hallways, and to a sitting room which he thought was near to the family bedrooms, though he was not certain due to his unfamiliarity to the layout of the castle.
They sat somewhat uncomfortably for several moments, neither knowing what could be said at such a time. To Harry, it almost seemed like he was stealing her future from her by means of the infernal contract—the fact that he had had nothing to do with its enactment was almost irrelevant.
"It is really too bad neither of us possesses my sister's ability to chatter."
Harry laughed at her comment, happy that his betrothed had found a way to break the stalemate.
"She appears rather determined," he said in response. "I don't remember her being that talkative at the tournament."
"She would have been if papa had allowed her to be. She's not always this way—you seem to have made a lifelong friend when you pulled her from that lake."
Harry groaned and leaned back on the couch. "I hope she gets over it—I get enough of that treatment as it is."
Fleur appeared to be amused by his reaction. "She will—she is only nine, after all."
They were silent for several moments, the lightness of the moment seemingly exhausted. Harry was not certain he was the greatest conversationalist, but he felt he had best try to contribute to their conversation—the tone of this time may greatly affect their future relationship.
He blurted the only thing he could think of: "This is a little awkward."
She smiled her agreement but said nothing further.
"So, I supposed you were surprised," he continued after another brief pause.
"Just a little," she agreed. "I always knew it was possible, but I didn't realize there was a contract already in existence.
"I was certainly surprised it was you," she continued quietly after a slight pause.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, uncertain as to how accepting of the situation she was. "It seems my ability to attract trouble to my complicated life has pulled you in, too."
"Oh, Harry," she responded, reaching out a hand to touch his arm, "I was not meaning to complain or blame you. We weren't the ones who agreed to this contract, though we have to live with it…"
Her comments mollified Harry somewhat, but he still did not know how she felt about the situation. It appeared she was at the very least resigned, but certainly she was not exactly happy about it.
"How did you feel when you found out?"
Harry took a deep breath and tried to organize his scattered thoughts. "I'm not certain I've sorted out my feelings yet… I just found out at the trial this morning."
Aghast, Fleur stared back at him. "Just found out this morning?" She did not appear happy with his disclosure. "You mean they told me two days ago to give me time to get used to it, and nobody thought to tell you before?"
"Sirius was already gone by that time," Harry protested. "I assume they wanted to make certain it was kept a secret…"
Fleur's eyes continued to flash with displeasure. "We'll see about that," she responded coldly. "No wonder you still have not had the time to think about it."
Though he could see her point, Harry was not about to continue with this line of conversation—she was obviously displeased with her father and Sirius for not telling him in advance, but for Harry, having been told the minimum all his life, this was nothing new. He had learned to take momentous changes with a certain amount of aplomb—it was either that or go completely insane.
"I was surprised," he stated, trying to return to the previous direction of their conversation. "I don't know that I've ever been so shocked as when your father made his announcement.
"Though I suppose I shouldn't have been," he continued in a slightly mischievous manner. "I've had so many things happen in my crazy life I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by anything any more. After tournaments, crazy dark lords, Dementors, and basilisks, a betrothal contract should be a run-of-the-mill occurrence!"
Her silvery laughter rang out through the room, prompting Harry to join in. The ability to laugh in the face of such life-changing and unsettling circumstances was one which brought him a certain amount of comfort.
Sobering, Harry sized up his still-chuckling companion. He had to admit that Sirius was right—he would have had to have been blind not to notice it for himself, but it was true that she was delicate and beautiful—stunning, even—and he was well aware that physical appearance would never be an issue in this relationship, at least from his side. Of course, he had always seen her from a bit of a distance in the past—figuratively and, at times, even literally. Now, from up close, looking on her as a betrothed and potential lover, he had to admit he could likely do no better from a physical standpoint. And, he had discovered in the past few moments, though he could certainly not claim to be intimately familiar with her, he was quickly coming to realize that her personality was equally as appealing as her physical attributes. Love had grown from less, he was certain.
"How do you feel about it?" Harry inquired, wanting to get directly to the point.
"I am not any more certain about my feelings than you are," Fleur responded, her manner hesitant. "I was surprised, and I am a little nervous, which is no less than what you feel, I think."
At Harry's nod of agreement, she continued. "I must tell you, though, that I was not disappointed or upset, just surprised. In fact, to a degree, I welcome this."
That definitely shocked Harry. "Really? Wouldn't you prefer to choose who you want to spend the rest of your life with?"
The penetrating gaze he received in response made him feel a little uncomfortable, but sensing his companion was not upset, he waited for her to reply.
"Do you know much of Veela, Harry?"
"The first I'd ever heard of Veela was at the Quidditch World Cup, Fleur. You're the first Veela I've ever met."
"You haven't had a magical upbringing, have you?"
When Harry confirmed her suspicion with a nod, she continued. "Harry, contrary to what you may have heard or read, Veela either are or are not. I am a Veela—I am not a 'quarter-Veela' or 'part-Veela' or anything of the sort. Veela always breed true—if a Veela gives birth to a girl, that girl is a Veela, and if she gives birth to a boy, then that boy is just a boy, although it could be said that that boy will likely be especially handsome. The Veela powers I possess are not any different from what my grandmother possessed."
"I didn't know that. Everyone talked about you being the granddaughter of a Veela."
Fleur shook her head in exasperation. "That is what I am talking about—it is a common misconception about Veela, which most people simply do not understand. It is true that my grandmother was the first Veela to marry into my mother's family line, but that is the extent of the truth about what is 'commonly known' about me.
"You should also know that Veela almost always give birth to girls and that Veela find it very difficult to become pregnant—most Veela give birth to only one child, and two is generally about the limit."
Harry was puzzled, uncertain of what this had to do with their present conversation. "So, we are likely to have only girls?" he queried.
"Yes, but that is not why I bring it up. I'm merely trying to point out that much is assumed or completely misunderstood about Veela. As for your question, I should explain in greater depth.
"Other things which you may have heard about Veela also have a grain of truth to them. I can, generally when I am angry or afraid, turn into a large bird-like creature and cast balls of fire, although I can control it to a degree. We are generally taught to control it as much as possible, as to Veela, losing oneself in one's emotions enough to undergo the transformation is considered to be a failing and one to be avoided assiduously. Because of this ability, I cannot become an animagus.
"Of course, you have heard about a Veela's looks—all Veela are hereditarily born with great beauty, which is passed down from our predecessors.
"The final thing which you may know about is the Veela allure. Tell me, Harry, have you ever seen the effects of the allure?"
"When I was at the World Cup," Harry began thoughtfully, "a group of Veela came out and danced in front of the crowd, causing most of the men to… to go a little crazy."
"Yes, that's it," Fleur confirmed, while looking at him with a speculative eye.
A little intimidated by her gaze, and guessing her thoughts, Harry became somewhat defensive. "I wasn't affected much by it. Not like Ron and his brothers. Hermione shook my shoulder, and I was fine."
A warm smile lit up her face. "I see my father was right about you," she murmured. "Harry, it takes great strength of mind to resist the allure of a Veela, and the fact that you were able to throw it off, especially when there were many Veela exerting their powers, is a testament to your strength of will and mind."
A blushing Harry ducked his head, embarrassed at the praise, but a quick look at Fleur merely showed her amusement.
"Do not be uncomfortable, Harry; there is no quality which is more highly sought after by Veela than the ability to resist the allure."
Harry simply nodded, not wishing to continue the conversation any further—it was just another example of his being different from everyone else when all he wanted was just to be normal.
"So, would you it surprise you to learn that I have difficulty making friends?"
Though his first instinct was to gawk at her, other thoughts intruded, and the impact of what he had been told, both by Fleur and her father, brought him up short.
"I suppose the allure makes having friends difficult?" he ventured.
Fleur laughed. "A little. I'm impressed, Harry—most would not know what I am speaking of. All they see is my looks, and they automatically assume that I am the most popular girl in my school, when the opposite is true. Those who are not intimidated or outright jealous of my looks are afraid of my ability to steal their boyfriends by simply exerting myself. I have a tendency to have acquaintances rather than friends, and if any of those acquaintances begins a relationship with a boy, they tend to start avoiding me."
"And I suppose your beauty doesn't help in obtaining a boyfriend," Harry guessed. "I tend to have the same problem with my fame, although I'll admit I've never really tried to find a girlfriend."
"Exactly," Fleur said with a smile. "And I do not want a mindless, slobbering fool for a boyfriend… and believe me—I could have them by the dozen if I really wanted."
Harry snickered in response, certain she could.
"So, that is why the ability to resist the allure is such a prized commodity to Veela," she continued. "If I should ever be fortunate enough to have earned your love, I will know it is for me rather than the allure. And trust me—Veela have a tendency to… lose…"
Fleur blushed furiously and trailed off before visibly screwing up her courage and looking Harry in the eye. "What I mean to say is that Veela lose control of the allure when being… intimate… with a man—it tends to turn the man into a gibbering idiot. With your ability to resist the allure, I never need to worry about that, and it will help make our encounters much more… satisfying."
She breathed a sigh of relief and continued on in a calmer tone of voice. "And, given what I know about you, I will not have to worry about your using me for my looks. That is why, although this has been a shock and not entirely welcome, when I found out it was you, I knew that it could be much worse. I am willing to do whatever it takes to make sure our relationship works."
With those quiet words, Harry finally understood what the situation meant to her and how she viewed their future. It was humbling to know that she trusted him to the extent she did, and though he still did not feel like he knew her well, he was willing to ensure her future was everything she could ever hope it would be.
He smiled at her and reached across to give her a hug, an action with surprised her no more than it surprised himself—he normally was not one to initiate much body contact. Fleur, though, was pleased, if the beaming smile which adorned her face was anything to go by. It gave Harry a warm feeling inside to know he could be the means of making her happy.
"I understand, Fleur," he finally responded, trying to inject every bit of warmth he felt at that moment into his voice. "I think we have common goals and desires in a companion—I hope we can work it out between us."
"I am certain we can," she assured him. "We will have lots of time this year to work everything out—I am to attend Hogwarts for my last year of schooling."
Now Harry was confused. "Last year? I thought you were in seventh year during the tournament—you were seventeen, weren't you?"
"Yes, but I turned seventeen in October, so I was just within the rules. If you recall, all the Headmaster said was that contestants needed to be of age by the start of the tournament, and I was."
And Harry did see—after all, if they had been two years older, Hermione would have been eligible to enter the tournament due to the same circumstance.
"I understand," he responded with a smile. "I have a friend who was born in September, so although she's in the same year as I am, she is almost a full year older."
"That brown-haired witch that Krum rescued under the lake?"
"Yeah, that's her. Hermione is great—my best friend."
Fleur cocked her head to the side and peered at him with curiosity. "Then why was she not your hostage during the task? For that matter, if she is your best friend and you did not have a girlfriend, why did you not take her to the ball?"
"Hello? What do you see here? Male? Teenager? Clueless?"
His irreverent statement caught Fleur by surprise, and she descended into a fit of giggles while Harry grinned at her.
"I know I should have asked her, but I was too worried about being on display for all the school to see, not being able to dance, and I was afraid I would be rejected by anyone I asked."
Harry was silent for several moments, thinking about the events around the ball; knowing what he knew now about his relationship with his closest friend, he knew he had been a fool to have let the opportunity slip away. Not that it mattered now…
"I should have asked her," he repeated quietly.
"Hindsight is a wonderful thing, is it not?" said Fleur, breaking him out of his introspection.
"I suppose so," he replied with a sigh before visibly shaking himself out of his thoughts. This was his betrothed, and it would not do for her to see him pining over another woman.
"So, is there anything else you wanted to know about me?"
The twinkle in her eyes was reminiscent of a certain Headmaster. "Many things, I should imagine…"
They laughed together, and Harry was struck by the thought that just as the Delacour family had not been what he had expected, neither was Fleur personally. Regardless of the way she had acted when he had originally met her, she was very friendly and personable now—Harry was becoming more accepting of the way things had turned out and was hopeful life with her would be all he had ever hoped for.
Upon spending some hours talking and laughing together, Fleur and Harry left the sitting room to rejoin her family, both still somewhat uncertain about the situation yet confident in the fact that they had begun to take steps to get to know one another.
They were greeted by the other family members, particularly by one young blond girl who had been sitting rather impatiently with the adults, eagerly awaiting Harry's return. His attention was immediately commandeered, and she led him over to a sofa and proceeded to chatter away at him, completely oblivious to the fond looks directed at her by the rest of the family.
Fleur was amused at her sister's antics, reflecting that from the time she had emerged from the lake and discovered the identity of her savior, the only subject which held any interest for her was Harry Potter. She appeared to have come down with a serious case of hero worship for the young man, and Fleur knew that although she was close as ever to her sister, Gabrielle was envious of the betrothal contract—Fleur was certain that if possible, Gabrielle would have traded places with her in an instant.
Knowing the benefits of the betrothal and having come to know Harry better by means of their conversation that evening, Fleur was beginning to feel better about the circumstance in which she found herself. She was by no means reconciled to it and was still somewhat anxious about what the future held for them, but she could see now why her father had acted the way he had, and she knew her chance for happiness was as good as any. She had put on a brave face for Harry—and suspected he had done the same for her—but hoped that everything would work out for the best.
The Delacour family, along with Sirius and Harry—who Fleur already knew were considered part of their extended family by her parents—discussed the upcoming week, noting that there was much to be done. First, her father brought up the fact that Harry had very few possessions—particularly clothes—and suggested the entire group go out on a shopping trip the next day to buy Harry some new things. Harry, of course, declined, stating that he had always done with little and did not need new things. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he had been overruled by the female members of the family, whose ears perked up at the word "shopping", and Fleur's mother had immediately began sizing up Harry and planning his wardrobe, if Fleur knew her mother at all. Sirius and her father had merely smirked and gone along with the trip, teasing Harry to beware of females afflicted with "shopping disease". It had not taken much for her mother to quell their joking, merely a glare at Sirius along with an upraised eyebrow at her husband which promised a long, unpleasant discussion later if he continued to bait the young boy.
When Harry grudgingly agreed to the excursion on the condition that he would be allowed to pay for his own clothes, her father had once again stepped in and told him that the Delacours were quite well off and that he could consider the new clothes a gift from his new family. His reaction to that had been rather surprising, as he had colored, disbelieving it and ultimately having to be convinced that his hosts were in earnest. Fleur had heard stories of his upbringing by what she was rapidly coming to think of as nasty Muggles, but she had not thought it to be as bad as it now appeared. She was left thinking that perhaps some day she would have to pay a visit to the reprehensible family and explain a few things to them…
Then they began discussing the impending move to the ambassador's manor in England, which, her father had informed the family, was to take place over the next several days. The house-elves would begin to move the family's belongings over to their new home the next day and would have it completed by Sunday at the latest. This would allow the family time to prepare and move at their leisure and perhaps even take Harry and Sirius to a few of the more famous sights in France. Needless to say, Harry was once again taken aback and embarrassed by the attention shown to him by his new family.
It was not until the talk turned to Harry's experiences that it really became interesting and Fleur began to truly understand exactly what life in the wizarding world had been like for the young man. And of course, it was her father who broached the subject.
"Harry," he stated into a lull in the conversation, "I would like to ask you about the return of this dark lord and the things I have heard about you over the past few years."
Harry shyly ducked his head, mumbling about how he had not really done anything special.
But her father was not amused. "Really, Harry, there is no need to be overly modest or ashamed of your successes. You have had a remarkable life thus far, and you should be proud of all that you have accomplished—do not be afraid to take credit for the things you have done well."
Fleur watched her betrothed very carefully, wondering how he would react to her father's admonition. He was a very modest young man, to be certain, but beyond that, Fleur was certain that his upbringing was a major contributor to his self-effacing attitude and inability to take praise. Her father was right—the ability to be proud of one's accomplishments without being overly arrogant was an important life skill, and Harry's inability to see any good in his experiences bespoke a disturbing lack of confidence, especially if, as rumored, he was to be at the forefront of the struggle against the dark lord.
At length, Harry gave a tentative smile back at his new guardian. "I will try, J.S."
"Good. Now, please tell us about your adventures, and there will be no holding back."
The next two hours were incredible in the description of the sheer number of dangerous escapades in which Harry Potter had been embroiled throughout the course of his first four years at Hogwarts. The family listened as he described his experiences with the Philosopher's Stone in his first year, shuddered in stunned disbelief when he told them about fighting the huge basilisk, and were awed by the story of the rescue of Sirius and the pure power of Harry's Patronus which had driven off dozens of the foul Dementors. And although Fleur herself had lived through much of his fourth year herself—bar the duel in the cemetery, of course—hearing Harry detail the events from his own perspective brought Fleur new understanding, giving her an even greater respect for the young man. He had truly undergone an incredible number of challenges in his short life, and with the dark lord's unhealthy interest in him, Fleur felt certain it was only a matter of time until his next escapade. Her future with him, at least in the short term, would be anything but boring.
"That is a truly remarkable story, Harry," Jean-Sebastian said at length, once Harry had finished his narration. "I do not know that I have ever heard of such heroism in an adult, let alone a teen such as you."
Harry blushed in response but had the presence of mind to murmur a quiet thank you to his host. "I had the help of my friends."
"I am sure you did, Harry, but you were obviously the catalyst for these events as well as the main participant. There are a few things I would like to clarify, though."
At Harry's nod, he continued. "In your second year, you say you fought a basilisk under the castle. Just how large was this basilisk?"
"I was a little too busy to take measurements," Harry responded cheekily.
Sirius let out a guffaw among the Delacours' laughter and slapped his godson on the back. "Spoken like a true Marauder!"
When the laughter had died down, her father said nothing—he just raised his eyebrow at Harry and waited for him to continue.
"My guess would be about fifty to sixty feet," Harry finally responded after a moment's thought. "At the end, I was standing about twenty feet up on Slytherin's statue when the basilisk reared up and faced me, and I'm guessing that as much or more of it was still on the ground."
A stunned silence met Harry's declaration. Fleur did not know much about basilisks—they were incredibly rare and illegal to breed, after all—but she did know that the bigger they became, the older and more deadly they were. One over fifty feet long would have to have been several centuries old. It was obvious, though, that Harry himself did not know anything of them beyond that which he had experienced first hand—that was probably enough for him. It would be enough for anyone.
Sirius whistled in awe. "I knew it had been a nasty piece of work there, Pup, but I didn't know the full extent. You really don't know what you have done, do you?"
At Harry's blank look, Jean-Sebastian took up the discussion. "Harry, not much is known about basilisks beyond the obvious and their abilities. They are illegal to breed, and as the circumstances of their birth are specific, it is almost impossible for one to have been born naturally. You are aware of how they are bred?"
"Hermione researched in second year," Harry confirmed.
"Of course. Then you must realize that in order for a basilisk to exist, they almost had to have been created specifically by one with the knowledge, the will, and the reason to do so. They are truly foul creatures and are illegal to breed—it is one of the tenets agreed to by all member states of the ICW. Therefore, the fact that you not only killed a basilisk but also one of that size underneath the castle is astonishing."
"Not only that, but you did it as a twelve-year-old, without any training," Sirius added. "I don't doubt there are few fully trained adults who could accomplish such a feat."
When Harry was about to protest, Sirius waved him off. "I know, Harry—you had help, and without the Headmaster's trusty phoenix, you would likely not be here to talk about it today. But it still is a marvelous feat, whether you did it yourself or not."
"And that brings us to another point," Jean-Sebastian interjected. "Given the dark lord's interest in you, I think it is high time you receive some training to combat him. Has Dumbledore provided any additional training for you?"
Harry shook his head no.
"I am not surprised," Jean-Sebastian responded, stroking his chin absently. "You are still young and just coming into the age of being able to handle some of the more powerful spells."
"Don't forget the fact that he mastered the Patronus in his third year," Sirius interrupted.
"Indeed. Maybe you have been there for a while. But the point is that it is generally about fifteen when a young person's magic is deemed stable and powerful enough to handle truly powerful curses and hexes, and you will start learning them during this school year. Still, I think we need to accelerate your learning so you can be ready for Voldemort the next time he comes after you—you may not be able to defeat him yet, but knowing some spells and having some dueling skills may just be enough to keep you alive until you can escape.
"I think we will bring someone in to tutor you for the rest of the summer, and Fleur can join you in your sessions."
Harry glanced over at Fleur with a questioning look in his eyes.
"It would certainly help, Harry," she told him. "The dark lord has shown many times that he takes a specific interest in you, and I would feel much better if my betrothed knew how to defend himself."
The shy smile on Harry's face completely disarmed Fleur, and she responded with one of her own. At this moment, she felt better about the whole situation—sitting with Harry and her family, listening to him talk about his adventures, all in his modest and self-effacing manner, had given her further insight into his character. She had to admit that she was impressed with what she had seen.
"Thank you, Jean-Sebastian I would be happy to receive the additional training," Harry finally responded. "But could I invite my friends to attend, too?"
Jean-Sebastian and Sirius shared a glance.
"Ron and Hermione?" Sirius asked.
At Harry's nod, both of the men chuckled. "That would be fine, Harry," Jean-Sebastian affirmed. "I understand the bond you have with your friends—it would be good for you to have your support group better trained as well."
The talk then turned to other matters and continued for some time, Harry by now completely charming Fleur's entire family. She had not known what to expect from Harry—her interactions with him during the previous year had been sporadic and rather impersonal. He was not as she had expected.
Jean-Sebastian watched his family interact with their guests, especially with one Harry Potter, and he was pleased with what he had seen from their interactions. Harry had quickly and effortlessly integrated with the entire Delacour family, even after only a few short hours, and he was certain Fleur had begun to get to know the young man she would eventually marry. She was a good girl and had always made him proud—he wanted the best for her, and although he had only known young Harry for a day, he was quickly becoming of the opinion that Harry was it. This was working out better than he had imagined.
As for Harry, it was clearer than ever that Harry lacked the confidence that an exceptional young man such as himself should have at his age, and it was also obvious that it was the Dursleys' influence which was at the root of his problems. His association with Jean-Sebastian's family should go a long way to helping him gain that confidence which only acceptance and love could instill. Looking around at his family, Jean-Sebastian could see them all riveted on whatever the young man was saying—Gabrielle (he had to chuckle at the obvious hero worship and infatuation his youngest was showing) seemed almost unable to take her eyes off of him, while his wife was quite enamored of the young man. If they had been young and still in their dating phase, Jean-Sebastian fancied that he might almost feel threatened by the attention she was showing him.
Fleur was the difficult one. Though she was beginning to get to know Harry Potter, her manners and ways of expressing herself were still somewhat reserved, something he knew she had picked up as a defense mechanism against the sometimes open hostility she often experienced from other girls her age. Still, she seemed to have made a good start with him, and he certainly could not expect her to throw herself into his arms and declare undying love only a few hours after his arrival. Jean-Sebastian believed in his heart that they were a very good match—they only needed time to get to know one another better.
The other things he had learned that day—the state of the British Ministry and of the Minister in particular—well, he had known what the situation was prior to his trip into Britain that morning. However, seeing it firsthand was a shock—it was clear that the Ministry, as long as Fudge was at the helm, would be of no help whatsoever. It bore some consideration for their future and could necessitate removing Harry from Britain if things became too bad there. It was a step Jean-Sebastian was loath to take, as he knew that retaking a hostile land would be much more difficult fighting a hostile force from within.
And that was another matter—this secret society of Dumbledore's which Sirius had discussed with him. He would have to contact Dumbledore at the first opportunity and discover what exactly it was, what their goals were, and how they meant to fight the battle he knew was on the horizon. If it was something he could in all conscience support, then he would have to, not only for the sake of his family, but also for the sake of the young man who had entered their lives.
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