CHAPTER :5 FLUCTUATIONS IN PUBLIC OPINION
The general populace, particularly the wizarding community, proved to be an unpredictable entity. What constituted popularity and admiration one day held no assurance of the same the next, regardless of the individual's stature.
Harry Potter was a prime example of the ever-changing nature of public sentiment. Revered for an event he could scarcely recollect, Harry Potter made his entrance into Diagon Alley as an eleven-year-old to the adoration of crowds he hadn't encountered before, individuals whose existence he had been oblivious to until that moment. His arrival at Hogwarts brought about similar reactions, with whispers, pointed fingers, and cheers from Gryffindor house, as well as groans from the other houses.
However, by the midpoint of his second year, the cheers and acclamations had morphed into angry murmurs and speculations about his involvement in the Chamber of Secrets debacle. Once the chamber's mystery was resolved, Harry's reentry into the good graces of the masses was swift—albeit short-lived, as his participation in the Tri-Wizard Tournament led to accusations of seeking attention and chasing glory.
Indeed, as Harry had pondered earlier that morning, it was not just challenging to be Harry Potter at times, but also to be anyone in the public spotlight.
The Minister of Magic was no exception to this rule; in fact, the Minister had a traditionally love-hate relationship with the public. Similar to the coach of a professional Quidditch team, the prevailing sentiment among the Minister's supporters often boiled down to, "What have you done for us lately?"
Cornelius Fudge sat comfortably in his office, contemplating the injustices occasionally heaped upon the Minister and himself, in particular.
As a new Minister, Fudge had generally enjoyed popularity, partly because he was not Millicent Bagnold. Not that the previous Minister was despised—far from it. But she had always been perceived as a stern, no-nonsense figure who strictly adhered to the rules. She governed with a focus on reforming the wizarding government to better represent the people it served. In essence, she was considered a progressive reformer. While this position would typically endear her to the masses, Bagnold's governance style closely mirrored her personality—well, what personality she had, as some cynics would jest. It was indeed a pity that she lacked people skills, as a touch of charisma might have allowed her to connect more closely with the populace and create a more effective catalyst for change in the British wizarding world.
Regrettably, Millicent Bagnold lacked even a hint of charisma, which explained why, despite her administration's generally favorable policies, she herself had never truly garnered much popularity. Her progressive agenda had also made her a fierce adversary of the Pureblood faction, whose ideals revolved around a single focus: advancing their own interests at the expense of all others. Although their numbers were small, a disproportionately large share of the wizarding world's wealth rested in the hands of Purebloods, making them the most influential group in Britain. What was even more critical, however, was that the seats in the Wizengamot were all hereditary and largely occupied by ancient Pureblood families.
The consequence of this was that Bagnold, despite achieving some success in pushing her progressive agenda, had faced relentless opposition from a hostile Wizengamot. Even Dumbledore, once he had become Chief Warlock, could offer only limited assistance. Eventually, she had resigned and left the country, weary of the ceaseless battle against an unyielding adversary capable of using its enormous wealth and influence to preserve the status quo as much as possible.
Enter Fudge, and the Ministry's character underwent a transformation. Although Fudge had run on a platform that was somewhat more conservative than Bagnold's, he had privately conveyed to select Wizengamot members that he was open to negotiation—meaning his support and policies could be swayed by those willing to offer a monetary incentive. Since only Wizengamot members had the vote in selecting the next Minister, this had perhaps been Fudge's most brilliant political maneuver. The combination of those who believed he would slow down the pace of societal change to a more manageable level and those who knew they could purchase his support with the right amount of Galleons had tipped the scales in his favor, ensuring his election.
Sadly, he had been in office for less than six months before it became widely understood that he was a figurehead Minister, one with no agenda beyond accepting substantial bribes in exchange for influencing all branches of his government.
Undoubtedly, Fudge's most generous contributor had always been the Malfoy family, seemingly endowed with boundless wealth. Lucius Malfoy had offered bribes for a wide range of favors, from securing support for his extreme proposals in the Wizengamot (necessary because the Malfoy family, despite their great wealth, lacked a seat) to ensuring Fudge's interference with various departments that might have otherwise investigated his family's activities.
Curiously, it had completely eluded Fudge that Malfoy hardly needed his assistance at all. Malfoy's Pureblood associates in the Wizengamot could introduce his proposed laws and actions without the Minister's involvement if they chose to do so. If Fudge had ever bothered to investigate, he would have noticed that many of the initiatives he sponsored were routinely defeated, leading him to the realization that he was often used as a mere diversion.
However, it was possible that Fudge wouldn't have cared even then. His primary concern had always been the money flowing from Malfoy's vault into his own. Whether Malfoy succeeded or not held little significance for the Minister—what mattered to Fudge was that he was well compensated for his services.
On this particular day, though, Fudge believed his popularity had plummeted into an abyss, thanks to his failed attempt to prosecute young Harry Potter. It had been a valuable lesson—to take on one of the nation's greatest heroes, you needed to ensure your case was airtight, especially when that hero had another powerful ally.
Fudge was convinced that Dumbledore had orchestrated the entire encounter with that detestable French wizard. Even worse, Fudge believed it was all designed to make him look as bad as possible, a mission in which they had succeeded spectacularly.
What troubled Fudge was his uncertainty regarding Dumbledore's true intentions. Was the Headmaster merely trying to defend Potter, or did he have grander ambitions? Did he aspire to the Minister's office for himself or one of his associates? The notion that the Minister's office had been within Dumbledore's grasp when Bagnold had resigned (had he only declared his candidacy rather than declining due to disinterest and contentment with his current roles) didn't cross Fudge's mind.
No, Fudge was certain that Dumbledore was up to something, and whatever it was, he believed it wouldn't bode well for Fudge's long-term stay in the Minister's office.
"Two can play that game!" Fudge snarled to himself.
It was time to fight back.
"Minister? Minister, did you hear me?"
Fudge blinked and refocused his eyes. Across his desk sat the annoying, pink-clad woman whose grating, high-pitched voice had interrupted his thoughts. Umbridge was a menace, but he had promoted her for one reason alone—she blindly aligned herself with whatever schemes he promoted, even if it furthered her own agenda of bigotry and hate, something Fudge did not openly endorse but didn't particularly oppose either. Unfortunately, despite her usefulness, he could only tolerate her in small doses. Her voice grated on his nerves, and her constant harping didn't align well with his personal agenda of self-enrichment.
"I'm sorry, Madam Undersecretary—I'm afraid my mind wandered for a moment. What were you saying?"
She shot Fudge an imperious glare. "I had finished my report on the plans for my time at Hogwarts, Minister. But I believe I may have a plan to deal with the Delacour girl before the next school year starts."
Privately, Fudge doubted she could do anything to influence the attendance of the Veela girl in any way, but he had not remained in power as long as he had by ignoring the schemes of his subordinates. He motioned for her to continue, nodding thoughtfully and responding in monosyllables when she expected it.
All in all, it was a plan that might have succeeded if it had been conceived several months earlier. In the current environment, though, Fudge was certain she would face difficulties—Dumbledore would crush her without hesitation.
Yet anything that diverted Dumbledore's attention was welcome in Fudge's opinion. For him, the main thrust was her installation at Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and the slow and careful way she would take over the school... that would have to be handled with delicacy. The fact that Umbridge had no true mastery of the subject and had been, at best, an indifferent and pampered student during her time at Hogwarts did not factor into Fudge's thinking. Her usefulness to him in the school was to find a way to have Dumbledore removed and to ensure Fudge was not challenged as Minister.
Of course, the scheme she had devised to address the news of the Delacour girl's entrance into Hogwarts would be annoying for his opponents, although somewhat heavy-handed. Fudge immediately threw his support behind her efforts.
"Very well, Undersecretary, you have my permission to proceed," Fudge responded magnanimously. "Thank you for your time and efforts."
Umbridge's response was a most unpleasant smile, causing Fudge to shudder as she scurried out of his office. The woman made even him uncomfortable!
In the north of Britain, an old manor stood. It was the estate manor of a long-forgotten landowner, a relic of the past, reflecting a time when things were different in the kingdom. The building still stood, surprisingly well-preserved despite years of neglect and indifference. If one looked closely enough, hints of its former grandeur could be seen in the chipped and cracked marble floors and the faded, peeling wallpaper—evidence that it had once been the home of a wealthy and influential family.
Now, it was the dwelling place of individuals with far less savory reputations. The newly resurrected dark lord, Tom Marvolo Riddle, or the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort, had made this old house his base of operations.
Voldemort cared little for his surroundings or the state of the old house. If circumstances had been different, he might have chosen his ancestral Riddle manor as his home. Unfortunately, Harry Potter's escape from the Little Hangleton cemetery and the proximity of this house to that event meant that the location was compromised, necessitating his relocation. It was an annoyance, nothing more or less. Voldemort knew there were more pressing matters to attend to than creature comforts and the location of his hideout. Soon, the British wizarding world would be his once again, and places like this crumbling, dilapidated old building would hold no significance for him.
His minions were currently carrying out his orders, except for the sycophantic fool Pettigrew, who was stationed in an upstairs room, keeping watch for any signs of trouble. Voldemort did not believe anyone would find him in this hideout, but he had not become one of the most feared and hated figures in wizarding history by being careless.
Left to his own devices, the dark lord immediately delved into one of his specialties—plotting and pondering his next moves.
The recent news of French involvement with Harry Potter was troubling. Not that he had expected Fudge's persecution (at Lucius' insistence, of course) to succeed—on the contrary, he had fully expected Dumbledore to dismantle the Minister's initiative with ease. However, the manner in which Fudge's defeat had transpired had been unexpected. Though Voldemort lacked any concrete evidence, he was certain that the way it had unfolded had been orchestrated by Dumbledore for a specific purpose, a purpose not yet apparent to Voldemort. After all, Dumbledore had allowed the French ambassador to do most of the talking and to dismantle Fudge's arguments. While age might be catching up to some, Voldemort did not believe it was the case for the formidable Dumbledore. The Headmaster's actions in recent years suggested he was still fully in command of his magical and mental faculties. Dumbledore had not reached his current position by being politically naive.
The dark lord curled his lips into an unsettling sneer. Voldemort's own ascent to power had certainly not been characterized by incompetence; even his adversaries acknowledged that much. Dumbledore was a formidable opponent; he would need to be eliminated to secure Voldemort's ultimate victory.
No matter what Dumbledore was plotting, Voldemort was sure it had been meticulously planned and executed, leaving nothing to chance. This indicated that Dumbledore had a specific reason for orchestrating the incident. Did it involve forging an alliance with the French, or did he have a more elusive motive that Voldemort had yet to discover?
No matter—the time would come when Dumbledore would be forced to reveal his hand, and Voldemort would be ready. Moreover, two could play at this game; Voldemort was confident that there were just as many discontented Purebloods in France as there were in Britain.
The problem of Potter was a complex one; twice now, he had defied and defeated, or at the very least escaped from, a fully empowered dark lord. It was deeply troubling. Perhaps there was more to the prophecy that Voldemort had not yet considered. Perhaps there was more to it than he had been led to believe. It was a matter that required further contemplation.
As for the meddling foreigner, he needed to be taught, in the harshest way possible, the perils of involving himself in a matter that was none of his concern. A clear message had to be sent, a warning of what would happen if he continued to support the boy. It was crucial that Harry Potter be isolated from the rest of the wizarding world as much as possible. Malfoy's task was to plant the seeds of Harry's estrangement from the general public, particularly through the trial proceedings, among other plans. That was the top priority at the moment.
Yes, a message would be dispatched—one that would instill fear in the hearts of Voldemort's enemies. It didn't need to happen immediately; they could wait several months if necessary, until the opportune moment presented itself. He would have to discuss it with Lucius and make the necessary arrangements. The dark lord smiled malevolently—the world would soon remember to fear the name Voldemort.
Dumbledore apparated them to a small park not far from the Dursleys' residence. Once they had confirmed that their arrival had gone unnoticed, Dumbledore and Jean-Sebastian exchanged a handshake, and the Headmaster disapparated, leaving Harry to lead the way to his relatives' home. Jean-Sebastian noticed the trepidation in Harry's eyes and frowned, realizing that Harry's life with his relatives had not been a pleasant one. Whatever reservations Harry had, they would need to be addressed and resolved to allow his future as Jean-Sebastian's son-in-law to progress.
"Perhaps not," Jean-Sebastian replied, "but I believe it's important to make sure. Besides, we should at least inform them of your change in circumstances and let them know you will not be living with them anymore."
"Like they care," Harry muttered under his breath, his words almost lost to Jean-Sebastian. The faint words carried heavy implications, and Jean-Sebastian realized that he would need to uncover the details of Harry's upbringing sooner rather than later.
With a somewhat abrupt turn, Harry started walking down the street, prompting Jean-Sebastian to follow closely. "They won't be pleased to see us, sir," Harry said in a hushed voice. "They've never wanted anything to do with my world before."
"Do not worry, Harry. I can handle them. They can't be any more challenging than dealing with Fudge."
Harry flashed a wry grin back at his companion, and they shared a chuckle, Jean-Sebastian relieved that he had managed to ease some of the tension in his young charge.
The distance was short, and soon they arrived on a quiet-looking street. A row of Muggle houses met Jean-Sebastian's gaze, and while the area had a slightly aged appearance, the houses appeared well-kept and in good condition. It resembled any other Muggle neighborhood, with no signs of it being out of the ordinary, except for the fact that it had housed the most famous wizard in magical Britain for nearly the last fourteen years of his life—a fact that made it extraordinary in the eyes of the wizarding world, at least.
The house to which Harry led them was as ordinary as the rest—comfortable in size but not overly large, with well-maintained lawns and neatly trimmed foliage.
They reached the front door, where Harry raised his hand and knocked. This action surprised Jean-Sebastian; he had assumed that having lived there for many years, Harry would simply walk in the front door. It seemed that either something had transpired to revoke his rights to such an action or he had never truly felt welcome there in the first place.
After a brief moment, the door swung open to reveal a young boy about Harry's age. Though Jean-Sebastian knew he must be Harry's cousin, there was barely any family resemblance. The boy had a stocky build in contrast to Harry's slender frame, and their features were quite dissimilar.
"Hi, Dud," Harry greeted the young man with a degree of hesitation.
The young man's eyes narrowed, and he cast a furtive glance over his shoulder before responding. "Harry, what are you doing here?"
"We've come to collect my things and speak with your Mum and Dad," Harry replied, his voice wavering with nervousness.
"Dad doesn't want you here. He said you're not welcome."
Jean-Sebastian decided it was time to step in. "Mr. Dursley, I assure you we won't be staying long. I only need to speak with your parents, after which Harry and I will leave. Would you please call them?"
Dudley seemed to ponder this briefly before fully opening the door and motioning for them to follow him. "You can wait in the living room—I'll call Mum and Dad," he said, retreating into the house.
Following Harry's lead, Jean-Sebastian entered the house. A short walk through the entranceway led them to a comfortable living area filled with various Muggle gadgets. As a Pureblood, Jean-Sebastian had grown up in the wizarding world, but he possessed more knowledge about the Muggle world than most of his contemporaries. After all, they shared the world with Muggles and were greatly outnumbered by them, so it seemed prudent to understand their customs. One thing that caught his attention, however, was the conspicuous absence of anything suggesting that more than one boy had ever lived in this house—there were numerous pictures of the young Dursley, but not a single image of Harry could be found in the entire room. Such an oversight did nothing to ease Jean-Sebastian's concerns about how Harry had been treated over the years.
They took a seat on a couch, and within moments, an imposing man with a walrus mustache and a thin woman with blond hair entered the room. Their faces clearly displayed their anger, although they made an effort to keep their tempers in check.
"Boy! I told you when you left that you were no longer welcome in this house, and now you're bringing your freak friends with you?"
Jean-Sebastian's expression turned stony, and he regarded the corpulent man with disdain. "Mr. Dursley, I presume?"
The hefty man grudgingly nodded and continued to glare at them. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get out!"
"Mr. Dursley, I am Jean-Sebastian Delacour, and believe me, nothing would please me more than to take Harry away from here and never return," Jean-Sebastian replied, his voice carrying the icy chill of a winter wind. "But Harry's circumstances have changed, and I believe you have a right to know. Shall we sit and discuss this like adults?"
"We don't care what happens to the freak," Mrs. Dursley interjected with obvious distaste. "Our Dudders was nearly killed by those creatures. Having him here is dangerous."
A derisive laugh escaped Jean-Sebastian's lips, and he rose from his seat, turning his full glare upon the rude couple. "Do you truly believe you could stop Dumbledore if he decided that Harry needed to return here?"
The woman's face paled at his suggestion, while the corpulent man's face reddened with anger. "We don't care! Get out!"
"Sit down!" Jean-Sebastian thundered, brandishing his wand and pointing it at them. Startled, they muttered but complied, though their faces still displayed the sulky anger of truly small-minded individuals.
"Now, we will sit and converse like rational adults," Jean-Sebastian declared firmly. "There will be no more outbursts using derogatory terms like 'freaks' or any of the other names you've called Harry over the years."
His voice was stern and unyielding, and while Jean-Sebastian had the impression that Harry's relatives had rarely been spoken to in such a manner, they reluctantly nodded their heads in agreement while casting apprehensive glances at his wand, which he still held in his hand.
"Thank you. I understand there was an incident this summer before Harry left your care."
They nodded, and Jean-Sebastian continued, "He has been exonerated for his actions during that incident, but due to certain circumstances, his guardianship has changed, and he will no longer be required to live with you."
The couple exchanged a triumphant glance.
"Good!" the woman exclaimed. "We never wanted the little fre... our nephew to live with us anyway. That Headmaster of his forced him on us, and we had no choice."
"We want nothing further to do with your strange world!" the man added, his voice filled with disdain. "You people aren't natural, and his parents weren't any better. We'll be happy to be rid of him!"
Jean-Sebastian leaned back and studied the three of them for a moment, feeling more resignation and annoyance at their attitude than any true anger. He had seen this behavior many times, although it was usually magicals disparaging Muggles rather than the reverse. Still, it was evident that these ignorant people harbored deep-seated prejudice and hatred for something they couldn't possibly understand. Jean-Sebastian was relieved to be taking Harry away from this environment.
He glanced at Harry, who appeared relieved and somewhat happier, likely because he would never have to return to his relatives' house. However, Jean-Sebastian couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Harry's upbringing, perhaps physical abuse, that had led to his slumped posture and reluctance to meet his relatives' eyes. He was determined to uncover the truth and make sure these people faced consequences if they had mistreated Harry.
As silence hung heavily in the room, the couple's discomfort became palpable. Dudley, their son, seemed to be an exception, openly gazing at Harry as if he were seeing him for the first time. Dudley's gesture was uncommon, if not unheard of, given the glances of surprise he received from his parents and Harry. However, Harry ultimately relaxed, offering a half-smile in response to Dudley's earnest expression.
Ignoring the Dursleys' reactions, Jean-Sebastian spoke up. "Shouldn't you be thanking your nephew for his actions? If not for Harry, your son might have been killed by those Dementors."
"And if he wasn't here, your freaky creatures would never have been here either," Mr. Dursley retorted with a sneer. "He's been nothing but trouble since he showed up, and we're well rid of him."
"He did save me, Dad," Dudley chimed in.
The Dursleys exchanged incredulous looks with their son, and Jean-Sebastian realized that Dudley's support for Harry was an unusual occurrence. However, Harry seemed relieved and content with this newfound approval.
"Thank you, Dud. It was no problem," Harry replied.
Mr. Dursley snorted, but Harry's response seemed to diffuse the tension momentarily. However, Jean-Sebastian had no intention of letting them off easily.
"Mr. Dursley, I fully understand that you want us to leave, so I'll get straight to the point. I'm not impressed with what I've seen here today or what I've heard about Harry's home life. You clearly know nothing about nurturing a young man properly, and if I didn't consider you to be worth nothing more than an ant to crush beneath my boots, I might take offense at the things you've said today."
Mrs. Dursley paled, and her husband's face turned a shade of purple in anger, but Jean-Sebastian continued, "Be that as it may, I'm happy to inform you that Harry will never have to suffer your presence again. I'll certainly never allow him to return here, and I can't imagine him ever wanting to come back once he comes of age."
A quick glance at Harry confirmed what Jean-Sebastian already knew—Harry would undoubtedly be relieved to never return to his relatives' house.
"But I also feel it necessary to warn you," Jean-Sebastian added.
Dursley let out a sigh and said, "Why can't you freaks just take a hint and understand where you're not wanted? We didn't want anything to do with him. We wanted him to live normally without all his parents' freakiness, but we were forced to send him to that school. Why do you people insist on doing this to us?"
While Jean-Sebastian was tempted to leave them to their fate, his sense of responsibility compelled him to deliver his message. Dumbledore had convinced him that, regardless of their worthiness as guardians or human beings, the Dursleys deserved to be warned because they were Harry's relatives.
"Mr. Dursley, are you familiar with the story of Lord Voldemort?"
Mrs. Dursley gasped. "Wasn't he that madman who was after Lily?"
Jean-Sebastian nodded. "He was after the entire family, but more specifically, he was after Harry, I suspect."
Mr. Dursley seemed utterly lost. "What are you talking about?"
"Lily told me about him before she died," Mrs. Dursley interjected. "He was after them for some reason or another—he's the one who killed them."
With a grunt, Dursley glared at the two wizards. "What about him? He died back then—what does he have to do with anything now?"
Jean-Sebastian turned to Harry, raising an eyebrow, prompting Harry to speak. Harry sighed and muttered, "They wouldn't have listened to anything I had to say anyway. They don't want to hear it."
Returning his attention to the Dursleys, Jean-Sebastian decided to give them a warning, even if they might not take it seriously. He felt a sense of duty to inform them, and their safety would be their responsibility.
"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, we're here today not only to tell you that Harry will be leaving your residence but also to warn you that you may be in danger if you stay here. Voldemort, the man who tried to kill Harry when he was a baby, has recently returned. If he learns of your connection to Harry, he may try to harm you. You may not have familial feelings for Harry, but Voldemort won't know that."
"But he died!" Mr. Dursley scoffed. "Are we supposed to fear a dead man?"
Mrs. Dursley seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. "Vernon, I think we should consider the warning."
"Frankly, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, it matters little to me whether you heed the warning or not," Jean-Sebastian replied with a shrug. "I have done my duty. But I strongly suggest you listen to me and take steps to protect your family. Voldemort does not reason with or reward Muggles; he kills them. It's your choice, but I urge you not to underestimate him. Harry and I will collect his remaining belongings and leave you now."
As they turned to leave, Dudley, the Dursleys' son, called out to them. Jean-Sebastian stopped, allowing Dudley to speak.
Dudley appeared nervous and hesitant as he spoke to Harry. "I just wanted to say… I know I haven't treated you well, but... thanks for saving me from those ghost thingies."
Harry smiled genuinely, surprising Jean-Sebastian. "It's okay, Dudley. I couldn't just leave you behind. Don't think anything of it."
Dudley continued, "I think a lot of it, Harry. The way I've treated you, I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd left me in the dust."
Harry smiled again. "You're welcome."
Dudley expressed his hope that they might see each other again someday, and Harry agreed, offering to look him up once things settled down. Dudley seemed touched by Harry's words, and Jean-Sebastian could see the emotional impact this reconciliation had on Harry.
After their conversation, Dudley addressed Jean-Sebastian, showing respect and gratitude. Jean-Sebastian nodded and thanked Dudley for his kind words, advising him to take the warning seriously and try to convince his father to do the same.
Once they left the Dursleys' house and reached a nearby park bench, Jean-Sebastian decided it was time to discuss Harry's time with his relatives.
"Harry," he began, "I wanted to speak with you about your time with your relatives."
Harry nodded, his expression a mixture of relief and apprehension. He had clearly been holding back his emotions in front of the Dursleys, and now that they were alone, he seemed more willing to open up.
"I appreciate you talking to them and helping Dudley understand," Harry began, his voice subdued. "I never thought I'd hear any of them say something nice about me. But, sir, it's all right. I've been dealing with them for years, and I've learned not to let their words get to me."
Jean-Sebastian listened attentively, his concern for Harry evident in his eyes. "Harry, I know you've had a difficult life with them. I want you to understand that you don't have to pretend everything is fine. You're not alone anymore. Fleur and I are here for you, and you can talk to us about anything."
Harry seemed to relax a bit, taking a deep breath as if he was preparing himself to share something he hadn't spoken of before. "It's not just about their words, Mr. Delacour. They... they didn't treat me well. They barely fed me, and my room was like a cupboard under the stairs. I had to do all the housework, and they never bought me new clothes. Everything they told you was true—I was their burden, their freak."
Jean-Sebastian's anger simmered beneath the surface, but he kept his composure, knowing that Harry needed support and understanding, not more anger. "I'm so sorry, Harry, that you had to endure all that. It's not right, and it's not your fault. You deserved so much better."
Tears welled up in Harry's eyes, but he blinked them back. "Thank you, Mr. Delacour. I don't want pity; I just want to move on and have a better life."
Jean-Sebastian reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "You will, Harry. We'll make sure of that. You're strong, and you've already faced so much. Now, you have a family that cares about you, and we'll do everything we can to help you heal and build a brighter future."
Harry managed a small but genuine smile, his gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thank you, sir. I couldn't ask for better people to be with."
As they sat there on the park bench, Jean-Sebastian and Harry shared a moment of understanding and support, knowing that the road ahead wouldn't be without challenges but that they would face them together as a family.
Jean-Sebastian could see that Harry had been through unimaginable emotional and psychological trauma during his years with the Dursleys. The pain in Harry's eyes, despite his attempts to mask it, was palpable. It was evident that Harry had developed a coping mechanism of emotional detachment to endure the abuse he had suffered.
"Harry, I'm so sorry you had to endure all of that," Jean-Sebastian said, his voice filled with genuine sympathy. "You never deserved any of it. You are not a freak, and you are not worthless. You're a strong, brave young man with incredible potential, and I'm proud to have you as my ward."
Harry nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you, Mr. Delacour. I never really had anyone stand up for me like this before."
Jean-Sebastian offered a warm, reassuring smile. "You have a family now, Harry, and we will always stand up for you. You don't have to face your past alone, and you certainly don't have to pretend that everything is fine when it's not. We're here to support you, no matter what."
Harry seemed to relax a little, the weight of his past burdens lifting just slightly. "I appreciate that, sir."
"Now, Harry," Jean-Sebastian continued gently, "I know it's difficult, but I need to ask if there's anything else you haven't told me about your time with the Dursleys. Any incidents or situations that you think are important for me to know."
Harry hesitated for a moment, his gaze distant as he seemed to recall something. "There is one thing. I... I used to get these dreams, nightmares, really. About a dark, hooded figure. He was... he was torturing someone, and I could feel their pain. It felt so real. But whenever I woke up, I couldn't remember the details, just the fear and the pain."
Jean-Sebastian's expression darkened. He had a strong suspicion about the nature of those dreams, but he needed to hear it from Harry.
"Harry, I believe those dreams might have been related to Voldemort," he said, his voice grave. "He's the dark wizard I mentioned earlier. He's returned, and you have a connection to him, a connection he exploited in your dreams."
Harry nodded, confirming Jean-Sebastian's suspicion. "I think you're right, Mr. Delacour. I've been having those dreams for years, but I never understood them."
Jean-Sebastian was deeply troubled by this revelation. Voldemort's connection to Harry was known, but the depth and nature of that connection were still mysteries. "We'll have to consult with experts in magical maladies to understand this better, Harry. But rest assured, we'll do everything in our power to help you."
Harry managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Mr. Delacour. I appreciate it."
With their conversation for the moment at a pause, Jean-Sebastian felt a renewed sense of determination to ensure Harry's well-being and happiness. He knew they had a long road ahead of them, filled with challenges and uncertainties, but he was committed to being the guardian Harry needed and deserved.
Hermione sighed, feeling the weight of the conversation settle on her shoulders. She knew Ginny was hurting, and she wanted to be supportive, but she also needed to be honest. She closed her book and set it aside before turning her full attention to Ginny.
"Ginny, it's not that I don't care about Harry," Hermione began, her voice gentle yet firm. "But you and I both know that he's never seen me as anything more than a friend, just like I've never seen him that way. Our friendship is incredibly important to me, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I know this is difficult for you, and I wish I could make it easier, but I can't change the way I feel or the way Harry feels."
Ginny's eyes welled up with fresh tears, and she turned her head away, unable to meet Hermione's gaze. "I know you're right, Hermione. I've known it for a long time. It's just... it's hard to let go of something you've dreamt about for so long."
Hermione reached out and placed a comforting hand on Ginny's shoulder. "I understand, Ginny. But sometimes, life takes unexpected turns, and we have to adjust our expectations. Harry's happiness and well-being are what matter most. And you know he cares about you as a friend. He'll need all the support he can get, especially after what he's been through with the Dursleys."
Ginny nodded, her tears still flowing. "I know, Hermione. It's just... it's going to take some time to get used to this, to see Harry with Fleur, of all people."
Hermione couldn't help but smile at the irony of the situation. "Well, they do say love is unpredictable. Who would have thought that Harry and Fleur would end up together? But it's not about who we expect to be with whom; it's about finding happiness and love where it's genuine and mutual."
Ginny sniffled and wiped away her tears. "I suppose you're right. I'll just have to find my own happiness somewhere else."
Hermione squeezed Ginny's shoulder gently. "You will, Ginny. You're an amazing person, and you deserve someone who will love and appreciate you for who you are. Just remember, I'll always be here for you, no matter what."
Ginny managed a weak smile through her tears. "Thanks, Hermione. I'm lucky to have you as a friend."
The two girls sat there for a while longer, sharing a moment of understanding and support. Hermione knew that time would heal Ginny's wounds, just as it would help her come to terms with her own feelings. In the meantime, they would face the future together, ready to embrace whatever it held for them.
"I was not aware of this," Hermione said, speaking slowly and carefully. "But there are so many unknown factors, Ginny. Harry may not feel that way about you, and I'm sure his fiancée will not appreciate you dating him in order to try to become his second wife."
"I know," Ginny responded, her features once again assuming the desolate look they had had when she had first entered the room.
"So why do you continue to hope?" Hermione asked her, trying to remain as kind and understanding as she could. "And besides, are you certain you want to share your husband?"
"If you really loved someone and the only way to be with them was to share, wouldn't you?" Ginny challenged.
"I'm… not certain I could," Hermione responded, confused as to her own feelings. Would she be willing to share Harry with Fleur, a woman she did not even really know? It would be one thing with someone like Ginny whom she knew and liked, but to do so with a near stranger would be… difficult. Even if she could manage to reconcile herself to the idea in the first place…
"Ginny, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not certain you love Harry."
When the young girl began to protest, Hermione stopped her with an open hand. "Ginny, you don't even know Harry—you've been too shy to get to know him. How can you say you love him?"
For the first time since she had known the young girl, Hermione's statement seemed to give Ginny pause where Harry was concerned. She did not know if Ginny was truly in love with Harry or just infatuated, but she felt it would be better for the girl to let this go—it was almost certain to cause her less heartache in the long run.
"I don't know," Ginny finally stated in a small voice. "I've had this attraction to him for so long… And yet, I guess I really don't know him, do I? I just know the Boy-Who-Lived."
"That can always be fixed," Hermione said with a smile.
At Ginny's raised eyebrow, Hermione continued, "Be his friend, Ginny. Harry doesn't need another fan girl or a potential second wife right now—there will be time enough for that later. What he needs now are friends. You need to let go of your infatuation and get to know Harry as he is, not as you've pictured him all your life. Believe me, treating him as a friend is the best way for you to catch his eye."
The thoughtful look which entered Ginny's eye caused a sigh of relief to the young witch—it appeared she was finally getting through to the younger girl.
"And one other thing, Ginny… I would recommend you give up on your hope—there are too many obstacles to be overcome. If some time down the road it does happen, it will be pleasantly surprising for you, but you're setting yourself to be crushed if it doesn't. Let it go."
The clouded over eyes told Hermione all she needed to know about Ginny's reaction to her second piece of advice, but the girl smiled tremulously after a few moments and nodded bravely. It perhaps was not the best she could have hoped, but as long as the other girl had held on to her fantasy, giving it up would undoubtedly be difficult.
Hermione lay back down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Now if she could only let it go herself…
"I was not aware of this," she said, speaking slowly and carefully. "But there are so many unknown factors, Ginny. Harry may not feel that way about you, and I'm sure his fiancée will not appreciate you dating him in order to try to become his second wife."
"I know," Ginny responded, her features once again assuming the desolate look they had had when she had first entered the room.
"So why do you continue to hope?" Hermione asked her, trying to remain as kind and understanding as she could. "And besides, are you certain you want to share your husband?"
"If you really loved someone and the only way to be with them was to share, wouldn't you?" Ginny challenged.
"I'm… not certain I could," Hermione responded, confused as to her own feelings. Would she be willing to share Harry with Fleur, a woman she did not even really know? It would be one thing with someone like Ginny whom she knew and liked, but to do so with a near stranger would be… difficult. Even if she could manage to reconcile herself to the idea in the first place…
"Ginny, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not certain you love Harry."
When the young girl began to protest, Hermione stopped her with an open hand. "Ginny, you don't even know Harry—you've been too shy to get to know him. How can you say you love him?"
For the first time since she had known the young girl, Hermione's statement seemed to give Ginny pause where Harry was concerned. She did not know if Ginny was truly in love with Harry or just infatuated, but she felt it would be better for the girl to let this go—it was almost certain to cause her less heartache in the long run.
"I don't know," Ginny finally stated in a small voice. "I've had this attraction to him for so long… And yet, I guess I really don't know him, do I? I just know the Boy-Who-Lived."
"That can always be fixed," Hermione said with a smile.
At Ginny's raised eyebrow, Hermione continued, "Be his friend, Ginny. Harry doesn't need another fan girl or a potential second wife right now—there will be time enough for that later. What he needs now are friends. You need to let go of your infatuation and get to know Harry as he is, not as you've pictured him all your life. Believe me, treating him as a friend is the best way for you to catch his eye."
The thoughtful look which entered Ginny's eye caused a sigh of relief to the young witch—it appeared she was finally getting through to the younger girl.
"And one other thing, Ginny… I would recommend you give up on your hope—there are too many obstacles to be overcome. If some time down the road it does happen, it will be pleasantly surprising for you, but you're setting yourself to be crushed if it doesn't. Let it go."
The clouded over eyes told Hermione all she needed to know about Ginny's reaction to her second piece of advice, but the girl smiled tremulously after a few moments and nodded bravely. It perhaps was not the best she could have hoped, but as long as the other girl had held on to her fantasy, giving it up would undoubtedly be difficult.
Hermione lay back down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Now if she could only let it go herself…
"I know this is sudden and not what you wished for, ma cherie, but you know how I worry for you. It could be much worse, could it not?"
As the light of the afternoon gave way to the lengthening shadows of early evening, Fleur Delacour sat on the window seat in her bedchamber, peering out at the beautiful landscapes of the hills and valleys which comprised her home, the words of her father echoing through her mind. For once, the scene in front of her, the mass of verdant green trees and narrow streams amidst the rugged hills of her home, was not enough to distract her from her thoughts and worries.
A small sigh escaped her lips and she pressed her forehead against the window, lost in thought. As every other young girl in the wizarding world, she had been well aware of the fact that her father could negotiate a marriage contract for her, although he had promised her he would only do it if he felt it was in her best interests and the best interests of the family. And of course like any other girl, she had dreamed of a wonderful man sweeping her off her feet, carrying her away to life of love and laughter. Still, as her father said, it was not truly a bad situation. And though she was unsettled over the situation, thinking back on the conversation with her father did bring her some comfort…
Fleur sat down heavily on the chair in front of the desk in her father's study, unable to believe what her father had just told her.
"Marriage contract?" she breathed. "I was not aware there was a marriage contract in existence for me."
"I found out about it just recently myself," her father responded with a kindly smile. "I did not wish to worry you, so I did not say anything about it until I was certain we would be agreeing to it."
Not knowing what to say, Fleur sat quietly in her chair, staring at the wood of her father's desk. Having reached the age of seventeen, she had assumed that as she had not yet been entered into a marriage contract, it was not likely to happen. Erroneously assumed, it appeared. She was well aware of the state of her father's position in both the political landscape of France and the wizarding world as a whole, and try as she might, she could not imagine with whom he would need to cement a political alliance.
But suddenly, the import of the words made its way through her consciousness and she peered up at her father. "You didn't know about it? Then who negotiated it if you did not?"
"It was negotiated fifty years ago for my generation," her father replied. He then proceeded to relate the history of the marriage contract by which she was now bound. But the one thing he did not tell her was the identity of her betrothed.
"I see you are curious of the identity of the young man," he finally said after he had related the entirety of it to her.
"On the contrary," she said with a hint of wry humor which she did not feel, "that is the kind of minor detail which is quite unimportant, given the circumstances."
Her father favored her with an indulgent smile. "That is the spirit, Fleur—and I think you will not be displeased with the young man I have chosen for you."
Fleur glared at her father, somewhat put out that he would not come to the point and tell her to whom she had been saddled.
With another smile of amusement, her father finally relented. "Your new betrothed is Harry Potter."
A stunned Fleur stared back at her father, aghast at the revelation. Never would she have believed that her father would betroth her to not only a foreign wizard but one of the most famous in the wizarding world. Harry Potter!
"Fleur?"
"But Papa, I hardly know him."
"You have met him, yes?" At Fleur's nod, he continued. "I have never met him personally, but from what little I saw at that tournament, he seemed like a serious, competent young man, and he handled himself amazingly well given the circumstances. His godfather, although I suppose he can be considered to be somewhat biased in his opinion, has nothing but good to say about the young man."
Fleur considered all her father had said, certain he believed he was doing as he felt was right. Knowing what she did of Harry, Fleur could not help but agree with her father's assessment. There were certainly worse wizards out there to whom she could be bound, not that Jean-Sebastian Delacour would ever tie her to someone merely for political gain—he loved his daughters too much for that.
"I know this is sudden and not what your wished for, ma cherie, but you know how I worry for you. It could be much worse, could it not?"
And she was aware of what it could be. As a Veela, she knew that many men would seek her out for her beauty and the status of being with a Veela. The burden of distinguishing those interested in Fleur the person from those interested in the Veela was always difficult and uncertain. Surely, from what she knew of Harry Potter, he was not the type who would use her in such a way.
"Yes, father," she whispered, "it could be worse."
"That is one of the reasons why I decided to enter into this agreement. I trust the account of your young man that I have been given, and I believe that he will treat you well. By all accounts, Harry hates his fame and wishes for a normal life, something which I hope you both can build together. In fact, it seems to me that you two share a similar problem: you cannot be certain if a man is attracted to you or the Veela in you, and Mr. Potter cannot be certain if a woman is attracted to him or his fame.
"Besides, given what I have been told of him, I think you will do very well together. At the very least, it is much more than many Purebloods have to look forward to when entering into an arranged marriage."
Fleur flushed and smiled at her father. "I understand, papa, and I appreciate the fact that you look out for Gabrielle and me so well."
"I have only ever wanted for you and your sister to be happy, Fleur," Mr. Delacour said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk while fixing his daughter with a serious look. "All I ask is that you keep an open mind about your betrothed and give him a chance. I think you will be pleasantly surprised."
Although still somewhat shocked and uncertain about the situation, Fleur nevertheless agreed that at this point it was the only thing she could do. Besides, after she had gotten over her initial impression of Harry, she had been intrigued by his heroism and bravery.
"I shall give him every chance, papa," Fleur agreed.
She was still unsettled two days after the conversation with her father. She had undergone several opinion shifts since she had met the young man—from the irritation and condescension she had felt toward the young man when he had unexpectedly entered the anteroom after the goblet incident, to the respect she had grudgingly felt when he had out flown his dragon, to the grateful admiration she had felt when he had appeared from the waters of the lake… Fleur's emotions toward the young man had been in a state of constant flux from the time she had met him.
And now she was all but engaged to him. It was unsettling.
Yet she knew her father was right about Harry—he was not happy with his fame and wanted nothing more than to leave it behind. The young man who had saved her sister and helped her in the maze when he had every reason to ignore her in pursuit of the prize would never mistreat her or hold her up as a trophy.
The other part of her changing circumstances was the prospect of her spending her last year of schooling at Hogwarts, leaving the familiar halls of Beauxbatons and entering the hallowed halls of the oldest school in Europe as a student rather than a visitor. She was ambivalent about that thought—on the one hand, she was leaving the familiar for the unfamiliar, while on the other she really was not leaving much. She had a few friends at Beauxbatons, and none of them were particularly close—a result of her heritage, unfortunately. In some ways, Hogwarts might even be better, as there she would potentially have at least the friendship and support of her betrothed. Yes, it was certainly better to look forward to the future and hope for the best rather than mope at her sudden change in status.
A small pop startled her from her musings. Looking away from the window, she saw the small creature that had joined her in the room.
"Mistress Fleur, the master comes with his guest. You is being wanted in the drawing room."
Fleur smiled at the house-elf. "I will be right there. Thank you, Kappy."
The elf grinned and then popped away, leaving Fleur to look at herself one last time in the mirror before making her way from the room. It was time to meet with her betrothed.
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