CHAPTER 34: WRAPPING UP THE FESTIVITIES
The jubilant ambiance permeated every nook of the room, and the cheerful banter of guests reverberated through the opulent hall. After Sirius Black's impassioned, if somewhat awkward, address, the festivities seamlessly transitioned to the sumptuous feast embellishing the lengthy tables. The setting was a peculiar amalgamation of brilliance and discomfort.
Sirius, flanked by Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks, held a regal presence at the head of the table, exuding an aura of authority. However, on the opposing side, Harry found himself relegated to the utmost corner, starkly distanced from his godfather. Fleur and Daphne Greengrass occupied seats on either side, creating a dynamic that was both fascinating and disquieting. Meanwhile, Hermione, unable to suppress her inquisitiveness, secured a place next to Fleur, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to delve into the intricacies of Harry's unforeseen connections.
As the feast unfolded, the clinking of silverware against porcelain and the delightful aroma of enchanting dishes filled the air. Sirius engaged in animated conversation with Andromeda and Tonks, their voices carrying across the expanse of the grand hall. Fleur, with her characteristic elegance, exchanged pleasantries with Daphne, forming an unexpected camaraderie.
In the farthest corner, Harry observed the scene with a mixture of emotions. His godfather's newfound companionship intrigued him, yet the distance between them left a lingering sense of isolation. Fleur and Daphne's presence added an intriguing layer to the celebration, their interactions sparking both curiosity and a hint of tension.
Amidst the revelry, Hermione seized the chance to strike up a conversation with Fleur. "This is quite the gathering, isn't it?" she remarked, a glint of excitement in her eyes. Fleur, with a subtle smile, replied, "Indeed, it is. The unexpected connections woven into this tapestry of celebration make it all the more fascinating."
Harry, catching snippets of their dialogue, couldn't help but wonder about the intricate web of relationships forming around him. The celebratory atmosphere, initially a beacon of joy, now held the promise of unfolding complexities and untold stories, leaving everyone on the edge of anticipation.
As the banquet unfolded, Harry purposefully ignored the inquisitive glances Hermione shot his way, fully cognizant that an impending interrogation awaited him. Across the expanse of the table, Draco Malfoy sported a perpetual scowl, openly displaying his disdain for sharing space with the Weasley clan. Narcissa, Draco's mother, engaged in spirited conversation, perhaps even flirting, with Rufus Scrimgeour, while Cornelius Fudge reluctantly provided company to the young Malfoy, drawing on years of deference to the elder Malfoy.
Alicia, the Chaser, blushed as Angelina lamented the looming shortage of teammates in her final year. On the contrary, Oliver Wood, the current Keeper of the Falmouth Falcons, enthusiastically discussed potential reunions with his former teammate. Meanwhile, Joshua, deeply engrossed in conversation, explored promising business opportunities with esteemed figures like Lord Burke and Augusta Longbottom.
After the midday repast, as the attendees gracefully made their way back to the formal parlour for departure, Ron seized a moment to confront Harry about the unexpected presence of Draco Malfoy. Harry, employing a diplomatic yet honest approach, explained the familial ties that brought Malfoy into the fold. Though Ron wore a displeased expression, Augusta Longbottom intervened at precisely the right moment, offering him the chance to delve into estate management alongside Neville. Grateful yet cautious, Harry deferred his decision, recognizing the importance of consulting his godfather on this significant matter.
The evening's surprises were far from concluded, and an unforeseen revelation awaited Harry as Madam Bones introduced her clandestine guest. Apparently, the man had discreetly arrived during the feast, patiently biding his time until the festivities reached their conclusion.
"Harry," the man commenced, his voice carrying an authoritative tone that demanded attention, "if you don't mind, we can have a brief conversation now. It won't take long."
Caught off guard, Harry hesitated momentarily before agreeing, "Sure, but can we do it after I've seen off the guests?"
The man, with well-maintained greying hair and a neatly trimmed beard, assured him, "Trust me, Mr. Potter, it won't take any time at all."
Curious yet wary, Harry accompanied them to a relatively secluded area in the southern part of the room, where an imposing grandfather clock stood as a silent witness to their impending discussion.
"It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter," the man greeted with a nod, his dark eyes complementing his distinguished mustache. "I've been looking forward to this for a very long time, especially after your successful excursion during your third year."
Harry's frown deepened as he tried to process the cryptic reference to a round trip in his third year. What could this man possibly be alluding to? The mystery hung in the air, adding an intriguing layer to the already eventful evening.
"Lord Potter," Madam Bones interjected formally, capturing Harry's attention, "allow me to introduce Saul Croaker, Voice of the Unspeakables and Head of the Department of Mysteries."
The weight of those words hung in the air, and realization dawned on Harry. The Department of Mysteries—a realm veiled in secrecy, where the enigmatic Unspeakables conducted confidential magical research. Sirius had previously mentioned the term during his explanation of the DMLE interrogation. The Unspeakables operated under strict confidentiality and secrecy oaths, rendering even the Minister of Magic with limited authority over their activities. In essence, the Department of Mysteries operated as an autonomous institution within the magical world, shrouded in mystique and intrigue. The mention of Harry's "successful round trip" in his third year added a layer of mystery to the encounter, leaving him with a myriad of questions and a growing sense of anticipation for the conversation that lay ahead.
Harry's mind raced, connecting the dots in a sudden revelation. The Time-Turner, the enigmatic device that granted Hermione the ability to manipulate time itself, originated from the Department of Mysteries. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning, elucidating why Hermione had been sworn to secrecy about its existence. The notion of a thirteen-year-old entrusted with an artifact capable of manipulating time seemed unfathomable, raising questions about the Department's involvement with such a device and its seemingly incongruous purpose.
As Madam Bones gracefully stepped aside, allowing the formal introduction to settle, Saul Croaker, with an air of quiet authority, extended his hand towards Harry. "A pleasure to meet you, Lord Potter. Your endeavors have not gone unnoticed within our department."
Harry, though taken aback by the unexpected attention, shook Croaker's hand, his curiosity reaching new heights. The grandeur of the evening had transformed into a tapestry of secrets, each thread weaving a tale of intrigue that promised to unravel in the presence of the enigmatic Head of the Department of Mysteries.
Lost in these contemplations, Harry was momentarily distracted until Madam Bones gently nudged his attention back to the present moment. "Harry—?"
"Right, sorry," he interrupted himself, shaking off his inner musings. "Pleased to meet you."
But before he could delve further into the curious implications of the Time-Turner's origin, Croaker, with a glint of amusement in his eyes, interjected, "Do not be concerned, Amelia. He's just had an epiphany."
Madam Bones rolled her eyes at Croaker's teasing comment. "Always reinforcing stereotypes. I'm surprised you didn't arrive wearing your hood and cloak."
Caught in the whirlwind of thoughts and revelations, Harry cautiously glanced around before tentatively inquiring, "You knew about that... trip?"
Croaker chuckled and, with a snap of his fingers, triggered an unexpected phenomenon. The constant hum of conversation that had filled the room since the start of the party abruptly ceased, as though a silencing charm had been cast over the guests. Yet, as Harry surveyed the room, he soon realized that it wasn't just a mere silencing charm at play.
Everything had frozen.
The guests, mid-sentence and mid-laughter, stood motionless, caught in a suspended moment of time. Wine glasses hovered inches from lips, and expressions of joy or surprise were frozen on faces. It was an eerie tableau, as if time itself had yielded to the whims of Saul Croaker.
"Time manipulation," Croaker explained, a wry smile playing on his lips. "A little display to drive home the point. The Department of Mysteries deals with matters beyond the conventional understanding of magical folk. Time, among other things, is within our purview."
Harry's eyes widened as he absorbed the surreal scene. The realization that he was standing in the midst of a frozen celebration, a tableau frozen in time, left him both awestruck and unsettled. The mysteries of the magical world had just unveiled a new layer, and he was about to embark on a conversation that promised to unravel even more secrets.
The guests, the ambiance, even the air itself seemed suspended in a state of absolute stillness. It wasn't just a selective silencing; it was as though time itself had paused, leaving Harry standing in the midst of a frozen tableau.
Harry's eyes blinked rapidly as he processed the surreal scene unfolding before him. The room remained frozen, suspended in a temporal stasis that defied the natural flow of time, resembling a widespread Immobulus spell. Confused and about to voice his concerns regarding the unauthorized use of magic on the guests, Harry turned to address the man responsible.
"Do not fret, Harry Potter," the man reassured, his voice resonating with an air of mastery over the extraordinary. "This isn't an Immobulus. It's a temporal embolism—a complex effect that halts time within this room. I'm skilled at maintaining it for a short duration. Here, we exist in the space between tick and tock, allowing us the luxury of time to converse. The world beyond this room remains perfectly still, affording us the opportunity to discuss whatever questions you may have, provided they fall within my purview."
Harry's disbelief shifted to a sense of awe as he absorbed the explanation. The enormity of the situation sank in as he observed the grandfather clock frozen in mid-swing, its once rhythmic ticking silenced. Checking his wristwatch, a gift from Mrs. Weasley, he confirmed that time outside their enclave continued unabated. His gaze returned to Croaker, who wore a confident smile, and Madam Bones, who seemed thoroughly amused.
"The embolism stops relativistic time," Croaker elucidated, "allowing us to discuss matters without concern for the passage of time, ensuring we don't impinge on the courtesy owed to your guests."
As the implications of this magical feat settled, Harry realized that he stood on the precipice of an extraordinary conversation—one that transcended the boundaries of conventional time. The mysteries of the Department of Mysteries beckoned, and the frozen room bore witness to a discourse that would reshape his understanding of the magical world.
Thus, the peculiar conversation unfolded in this pocket of halted time. In frozen poses, guests stood mid-action, and even Augusta Longbottom found herself caught in the midst of Floo travel, half-disappeared into the emerald flames. Harry, a mix of wonder and trepidation, refocused his attention on the enigmatic man before him, ready to navigate the uncharted waters of a conversation beyond the confines of time itself.
Harry listened with a mix of astonishment and curiosity as Croaker delved into the Department of Mysteries' long-standing interest in him. The revelation that he had been earmarked as a Person Of Interest since the fateful events of 1981 caught Harry off guard.
"Wait, you wanted me to intern as... an Unspeakable?" Harry queried, his surprise evident.
Croaker's eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement. "And just what exactly do you think Unspeakables do, Mr. Potter?"
"Well," Harry hesitated, "Sirius told me you research... stuff."
Croaker nonchalantly shrugged. "He's not wrong."
"I've never really been the researcher-type," Harry confessed. "That was all Hermione."
Croaker nodded in acknowledgment. "Miss Granger is indeed high on our list of potential recruits. Naturally, we'd prefer if you refrain from discussing this with her, given the nature of the secrecy ward tied to this temporal embolism. Besides, your talents lie elsewhere. Not every form of research is confined to academic pursuits. Some are conducted in the field, with a more direct application, if you catch my drift."
As Harry absorbed the implications of this revelation, a sense of destiny unfolded within the frozen room. The Department of Mysteries had cast its gaze upon him, offering a path that intertwined with the mysterious workings of magic, beyond the conventional understanding of wizards. The frozen tableau, once a symbol of temporal suspension, now became the backdrop for Harry's introduction to a world where time itself bowed to the will of those who dared to unravel its secrets.
While Harry wasn't entirely clear on the implications, he chose not to delve deeper at the moment. Instead, he questioned, "Okay, but my fifth year hasn't started yet, so why...?"
Croaker appeared content with Harry's response. "It was the standard plan. However, your revelation as the Peverell Vessel, coupled with other undisclosed factors, has accelerated our timeline. While I can't disclose everything before you take the necessary oaths, suffice it to say that recent revelations have prioritized your involvement."
Harry did a double take. "You want to hire me—"
Croaker interjected with a chuckle. "Goodness, no. Not at this moment. As you are currently, you are of little assistance, both to yourself and to us. However, we propose an accelerated training course. If you're interested, we'll assign you a Handler to guide you through specific skills we urgently need you to acquire. Following your OWLs, you can seamlessly transition into our Internship program."
Harry's brow furrowed, a contemplative expression settling on his face. There was a dissonance in the air, an unsettling feeling that lingered after his conversation with Croaker. He mentally revisited the intricacies of the dialogue, carefully dissecting each word, each nuance. The introduction, the facilitator, the seemingly casual delivery of crucial information—all of it played in a loop in his mind.
As the frozen room bore witness to this moment of reflection, Harry realized the gravity of the proposition. The Department of Mysteries beckoned, offering him a path laden with mysteries and untold secrets. The choice before him wasn't merely about accelerated training; it was an invitation to navigate uncharted territories of magic, to become a key player in a realm where time itself bowed to the will of those who dared to unravel its secrets.
As he mulled over the encounter, Harry delved into the depths of his thoughts, dissecting the layers of meaning inherent in every exchange. Croaker's demeanor struck him as peculiar, and the weight of the information dumped on him so nonchalantly raised more questions than answers. The offer itself loomed before him like a puzzle, and he sought to comprehend the intricate pieces that composed it.
In his contemplation, Harry considered the implications of his presence, what he symbolized to them, and conversely, what they represented to him. The offer, the stakes, the unspoken motives—all of it demanded closer scrutiny. Factoring in his understanding of the wizarding society and the Department of Mysteries, Harry attempted to unravel the underlying motives behind the carefully constructed offer.
His voice, when he finally broke the contemplative silence, carried a note of uncertainty. "Mr. Croaker—Saul," he corrected himself, emphasizing a semblance of familiarity, "can I be candid with you?"
Croaker's eyes flickered with an affirmative glint. "Certainly."
Harry hesitated for a moment, choosing his words with care. "This... offer. It feels like there's more to it than just wanting me for my magical abilities. What is it that you truly seek, and why now? Why involve me in this enigmatic world of yours?"
Harry continued, a thoughtful cadence in his words, "What's the real reason behind all this?"
A subtle tension enveloped the room, a pregnant pause preceding Croaker's puzzled response, "Excuse me?"
Harry repeated the question, his gaze shifting momentarily to Madam Bones, whose scrutinizing eyes bore into him like a hawk assessing its prey. "What is the real reason?" he pressed on, maintaining his unyielding gaze. "Sirius mentioned the autonomy of the DOM, the influence wielded by the Voice of the Unspeakables. If you're going to such lengths, assigning me a handler, yet postponing my internship until the end of the fifth year—it can't be solely about my OWLs."
Amelia Bones interjected, her tone acknowledging the complexity of the situation. "You're a celebrity, Harry. It complicates matters."
Harry nodded, acknowledging the reality of his fame but probed further. "Maybe, but is that the real reason?" His eyes narrowed, focusing intently on Croaker. "What is it that you're not telling me, Mr. Croaker? Is this about Voldemort? Do you think—"
Bones interjected with a knowing snort, "Told you he'd see through it."
The revelation hung in the air, a palpable acknowledgment that Harry's discerning nature had cut through the veils of ambiguity. The frozen room, suspended in time, bore witness to a moment of truth and revelation. Harry, unyielding in his quest for clarity, awaited Croaker's response, aware that the real answers lay hidden in the enigmatic corridors of the Department of Mysteries.
Undeterred, Harry maintained his gaze, demanding answers from the Unspeakable Head. "Well?"
The man sighed, weariness evident in his expression. "Our Divination department strongly advised against hiring you until the upcoming Summer Solstice. We hold their counsel in high regard."
Harry's gaze narrowed, seeking confirmation. "And that's the real reason?"
The man nodded. "It is as close to the truth as I can offer, and it's the closest you can get to accepting."
"If you're willing," he continued, "we have a handler prepared for you. Someone you're already acquainted with."
Her?
The implication hung in the air, and Harry's mind raced with possibilities. As he awaited further explanation, the frozen room seemed to amplify the weight of the revelation. The mysteries of the Department of Mysteries, the prophetic counsel, and the impending involvement of someone familiar—all merged into a tapestry of enigma that awaited unraveling. In this suspended moment, the trajectory of Harry's journey within the clandestine world of magic took an unforeseen turn, promising both answers and new mysteries.
"Nymphadora Tonks," Bones revealed. At Harry's quizzical expression, she added, "Yes, she appears as a junior Auror on paper, but in reality, she's an Unspeakable specializing in field research. The DMLE requires her unique skills on occasion, hence the 'Junior Auror' cover. This is strictly confidential, and we intend to keep it that way."
Tonks, an Unspeakable? Harry couldn't help but feel as though life had taken another unexpected turn.
"... I see," he responded, though the confusion lingered in his eyes. He was attempting to grasp the intricacies of this new revelation, but it felt like trying to catch smoke with bare hands.
"What talents does she possess?" Harry finally managed to ask, his voice a bit strained.
"A very special kind," Madam Bones replied cryptically, "and one you'll soon be exposed to if you decide to accept Saul's offer."
Harry frowned, a sense of unease settling over him. "Honestly, Madam Bones, this doesn't sound like an offer. Can you genuinely say I have a choice in this matter?"
Bones met his gaze with a level stare. "Actually, you do," she asserted. "The Department of Mysteries usually gets what it wants, but you, Mr. Potter, are an exception. The Divination Department made that quite clear. You can join us, or you can choose to walk away. We won't approach you again. However, I must impress upon you, Mr. Potter, that whatever decision you make, it has to be now."
"Now... as in, right now? I don't get to think about it?" Harry questioned, a note of incredulity in his voice. The weight of the decision pressed upon him, and the urgency of the moment left him little room for contemplation.
Croaker and Bones exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them.
"I assume it's not too difficult to give you a minute to think it through…" Croaker offered.
Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. The illusion of choice was apparent; he knew all too well that declining wasn't a realistic option. Whether he said yes or no, the decision would shape the course of his life, and the weight of that knowledge settled heavily upon him. Accepting meant keeping secrets from Sirius until the official internship letter arrived, a burden he wasn't sure he was ready for. But, he reasoned, they chose Tonks as his handler to ease the transition, considering their existing rapport.
"Alright, I'll play along," he consented with a wry grin, "does this mean I'm about to let down Mr. Scrimgeour? He assured me an Auror internship post my OWLs." Amelia Bones chuckled, her amusement evident. "Someone with your skills will undoubtedly find a purpose within the DMLE." "Understood," Croaker interjected, his demeanor now strictly professional. "You'll be notified by the Department in due time, Mr. Potter. I anticipate collaborating with you." With a snap of his fingers, the world around Harry shifted. The grandfather clock swung once more, and an unusual sensation hinted at time reverting to its customary flow. Harry took a moment to collect himself, glancing around to locate Croaker—only to realize that the man had vanished. He blinked in disbelief. Still nowhere to be seen. Turning to Madam Bones, who sported an entertained expression, he sought clarification. "He has a tendency to do that," she remarked, providing a succinct yet cryptic explanation for the mysterious disappearance. Harry, still grappling with the surreal nature of the encounter, couldn't help but ponder on the myriad secrets and surprises awaiting him as he ventured deeper into the mysterious realm of the Department of Mysteries.
As he mulled over the recent turn of events, Madam Bones leaned in, her eyes gleaming with a conspiratorial light. "You're stepping into a world of wonders, Mr. Potter. The Department has its ways of keeping things intriguing."
Harry raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Wonders and mysteries, I suppose?"
She nodded, a mysterious smile gracing her lips. "And a fair share of challenges. But don't worry, you'll learn to navigate them. Now, off you go. The Department awaits."
With that, Harry found himself standing in the same spot, surrounded by the enigmatic artifacts of the Department of Mysteries. The air was thick with an aura of secrecy, and he couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of an extraordinary journey filled with surprises, challenges, and revelations.
The revelries had drawn to a close, and Harry now found himself on the way to Gringotts with Fleur, precisely timing their arrival for the meeting she had orchestrated via the letter dispatched a few days earlier. Navigating his way out of the party without arousing the suspicion of Barnabas Cuffe required some deft maneuvers, but a timely intervention by Sirius provided the perfect distraction, allowing him and Fleur to make a swift exit through the Floo network.
As they walked side by side, Harry couldn't help but observe the striking proximity of their heights. Nearly identical, though Fleur held a slight advantage, he mused. A passing thought crossed his mind regarding the anticipated growth spurt that he hoped would elevate him to a more imposing stature. If only he could sprout a bit of stubble and shed the perpetual look of surprise etched on his face, he pondered. Perhaps then, he could envision himself as ruggedly handsome—a notion he entertained with a touch of self-deprecating humor.
He absolved himself, reasoning it wasn't entirely his fault. In the presence of Fleur Delacour, even Gilderoy Lockhart might question his own allure.
"That was quite the splendid party, 'Arry," Fleur remarked, her soft accent lending a charming flair to the nickname, as she gently kissed his left cheek. There was a brief moment of hesitation, as if she had realized something, and then she gracefully moved away. "I enjoyed it immensely."
"Only you could call that enjoyment!" Harry shuddered. "Bloody exhausting is what it was. How can any sane man willingly subject himself to such social acrobatics?"
Fleur chuckled, her laughter carrying a musical quality. "Ah, but 'Arry, it is part of the wizarding world's charm, n'est-ce pas? The art of diplomacy and the dance of conversation—sometimes, it's like casting a spell with words."
Harry rolled his eyes playfully. "I prefer casting spells with a wand, thank you very much. All this dancing and small talk—too much like a potion's class with Professor Snape."
Fleur's laughter bubbled again, and she nodded in agreement. "You 'ave a point, 'Arry. Let us leave the social potions to those who enjoy them, and we shall navigate the more magical aspects of our world together."
Fleur's laughter, light and contagious, echoed through the corridor. "Because those are the places where people who matter gather. It's where real transactions take place, and relationships are formed."
Harry snorted, his skepticism etched across his face. "Hippogriff dung! None of that is sincere. Do you think my conversation with Fudge was genuine? Deception upon deception, and everyone wanting to exploit each other."
A sense of relief washed over Harry as he contemplated not having to navigate the intricacies of a Wizengamot sitting. One such encounter had proven more than enough for him, and he was perfectly content to let Sirius handle the formal and backstabbing realm.
"Ah, but that's the beauty of it, 'Arry," Fleur chimed in, her voice carrying a certain wisdom. "The strong will always prey on the weak. And you showed yourself as strong the other day. That's why you have so many people flocking to you. The game is still the same; only the rules have changed."
Barbaric, Hermione would have called it, Harry mused internally. He couldn't shake off the distaste for the political machinations of the wizarding world. "I don't want to play this game, Fleur. It's not my idea of a fair contest. I'd rather face a dragon than navigate through these political mazes."
Fleur's eyes sparkled with understanding. "You don't have to enjoy it, 'Arry. But understanding it and playing it strategically when necessary is crucial. Think of it as dueling with words instead of wands. Sometimes, it's the only way to protect what matters."
Harry crossed his arms, still unconvinced. "I just hope I don't end up hexing myself in the process."
Fleur chuckled, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "With a mentor like Sirius and friends like us, you won't be left to face the politics alone. We're here to guide you through the twists and turns of this magical dance, 'Arry."
"You truly don't understand what today was about, do you, 'Arry?" Fleur inquired as they navigated through the antechamber, delving deeper into the premises. Her role as an Account Manager granted her unrestricted access to these areas. "You're 'Arry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Noble Lord. Celebrity. And most recently, wronged by the Ministry yet strong enough to walk free. People want to know you, want to be seen with you. You had the Chief Warlock, Head Auror, DMLE Director, and the Minister at your party today. Do you not see what that means?"
Harry, still grappling with the intricacies of wizarding society, ventured a hesitant response. "That... they accepted Sirius's invitation?"
Fleur's frustration bubbled to the surface as she all but yelled, "Non! Mon Dieu! You've just shown the Ministry was in the wrong, and you were right. In front of the whole Wizengamot!"
Harry was uncertain about the significance of his actions, but Fleur seemed to be growing increasingly impassioned.
"They were trying to appease you! Giving you the limelight. Expecting you to demand things. Compromise. That's how things go!"
"Uh... but I... you know... didn't?" Harry replied, a touch bewildered by the revelation.
Fleur stopped, turning to face him with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "Exactly, 'Arry! You didn't play their game. You didn't dance to their tune. And that, my friend, is what makes you a formidable player in this political chessboard. They are waiting for you to make a move, to see what you'll do next. It's a power play, and you unwittingly took a stand without even realizing it."
Harry scratched his head, still processing the newfound understanding. "So, what should I do now? Demand something? Make a statement?"
Fleur chuckled, her eyes gleaming with a sense of camaraderie. "Not necessarily, 'Arry. Sometimes, the best move is to let them wonder. Keep them guessing. The mystery and unpredictability can be a potent weapon. You've already started rewriting the rules; now, let them struggle to catch up."
"Exactement!" she emphasized. "You didn't. Other people would've demanded positions of power, wealth, prestige. Instead, you talked about family! You thanked others—me, Monsieur Black, Greengrass, and... her." He detected a brief hesitation in her voice before she pressed on. "You spoke about the Weasleys, about everything but yourself!"
"And that's a... good thing?" Harry questioned, genuinely perplexed by the intricacies of wizarding social dynamics.
Fleur chewed on her lip, contemplating her response. "My papa would have said no. He'd have leveraged this for benefits. But your guests went home happy, so you'll probably have them on your side. For now. Some people would've thought you a fool for not demanding anything from the Ministry. Others would call you a... 'Good boy.' And then some would think you have secret motives and call you mysterious."
"And is that a good thing?" Harry probed further, seeking clarity in the midst of the convoluted wizarding politics.
"Zut! Of course!" Fleur exclaimed, her lips twisting into a seductive smirk. "Mysterious people are sexy."
Harry raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement on his face. "Sexy? I thought the key was being a powerful wizard or something."
Fleur chuckled, her laughter a melodic tune. "Power is attractive, but mystery adds allure. It leaves people wanting more, wondering what secrets lie beneath the surface. You, 'Arry, have just become the enigma of the wizarding world. It's a desirable position to be in."
Harry grinned, the idea of being an enigma more appealing than the convoluted dance of politics. "Well, then, I guess I'll embrace my mysterious side."
Fleur winked playfully. "Bon choix, 'Arry. Now, let them wonder and keep them enchanted."
The banter lightened the weight of the conversation, Harry's laughter breaking the tension. "Ha-Ha! Seriously, fighting Dark Lords is so much better than this nonsense!"
"I thought you preferred dragons!" Fleur teased.
"Dark Lords, dragons, Death Eaters, Dementors... Give me anything with a D, and I'll give it my best shot."
"What about Delacour? Think you can handle that, too?" she playfully inquired.
Caught off guard, Harry hesitated before responding. However, before he could articulate his thoughts, his gaze met Fleur's. In that moment, she bestowed upon him a slow, tantalizing smile. It was a smile that ignited a palpable response throughout his entire being—a visceral reaction to her presence, her proximity, to her everything. Within that smile, something flashed—an image of Fleur in the throes of ecstasy beneath him, looking up with that captivating smile, lost in sensation. It wasn't just visual imagery; it was a sensory overload, a momentary convergence of touch, taste, sound, scent, and vision. In that brief, intense instant, a dark inspiration seized him, leaving Harry both intrigued and captivated by the allure of Fleur Delacour.
The lingering intensity between them dissipated as quickly as it had emerged. Fleur's enchanting smile transformed into a more somber expression.
"Come," Fleur said, her demeanor shifting. The smile on her face dissolved into a melancholic look. Harry, breaking eye contact with her, realized they were standing in front of a very familiar door.
It was time to meet Griphook.
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