Nothing is mine.

Harry delivers some post...

The Owl Service

Gentle drizzle drifted down from a hazy grey sky; it settled on the grass and the branches and leaves of the young willow in a thick, shining sea of droplets, soaking through Harry's feathers and bringing a soft chill creeping through after it.

He flapped his wings, spattering Katie with little flecks of water, and fluffed up his feathers against the cold.

'Bad bird,' his daughter scolded, dabbing the water off her face with the sleeve of her thick grey jumper. 'You got me all wet.'

Harry croaked at her.

'Don't deny it, Monsieur Raven,' she muttered. 'I felt it.'

He poked her on the shoulder with his beak.

'Sorry, Henri.' Katie patted him on the head with a small hand. 'Maman taught me about veela things after I showed her my tooth came out.'

Ah, bird-girl magic.

His daughter folded her arms. 'I wanted to learn fun magic things but all maman does is tell me that people won't understand our magic and that's why I can't go anywhere. She's just making up new reasons to keep me here.'

She just wants you to be happy, little chick. Children can be cruel. And selfish.

'She's lying.' Katie glowered at the grass, her green eyes darkening. 'It's not my fault I have lots of veela magic. Nobody would get that upset about it if I was good with it. And I'd be good at lots of things; she said so!'

Harry offered her soft caw, resting the top of his head against her cheek.

'It's silly. Maman doesn't make any sense. It's only school and making friends.' Her irises bled black. 'I know it's about my papa. It's always about him.'

I don't think so, baby bird. I've got nothing to do with Beauxbatons or veela magic. A croak of laughter escaped. Well, Mithras destroyed the old school, I suppose. But Fleur is just worried you'll be unhappy there, like she was.

'What?' Katie stroked two fingers down his back. 'Maman won't ever tell me. She just makes up new things to say why I can't leave. She probably tried to keep my papa here so much he wanted to leave, and now she thinks if I leave, I'll find out about him and leave to live with him. I'll have to find out myself. Then maman will let me go, because I'll already know.'

You won't find your papa, mon petit ange. Harry stretched his wings, brushing her cheek with the tips of his dark feathers. That's the price, I'm afraid.

'Don't worry, you can come and be my friend at Beauxbatons,' his daughter said. 'But first we need to find out. Maman doesn't have anything that belongs to my papa except his wand and a painting.'

Gabby's gift to us. A bittersweet ache cut through him. From when things were more than just perfect enough.

'I stole it,' Katie whispered in his ear. 'Maman just kept it in a big box under her bed, so I took it out and put it under my bed so I could see it. It has my papa in it. He has green eyes like me. And hair as dark as your feathers, Henri.' She giggled. 'And he is called Henri, too. Henri Delacour. Maman at least told me his name.'

As good a name as any. Harry fluffed all his feathers up. But I'm sure Fleur knows you've got that painting. She always knows.

His daughter huffed at him, ruffling all his feathers.

He croaked his displeasure at her, prodding her in the shoulder with his beak as she giggled and patted his feathers back into place.

'You have tufts everywhere,' Katie smoothed them down with one little finger. 'That's better.' She bounced him on her shoulder. 'How can we find out, Monsieur Raven? There's nothing here. I searched all the chateau last year when I found the painting and there's nothing else.'

Fleur probably got rid of everything. There wasn't much to begin with, either.

His daughter shuffled her feet in the grass. 'I don't thiiiink I'm adopted. I look a lot like maman. And I have the same colour eyes as my papa in the painting. And even if maman did some magic to make me look this way, I have the same veela magic as she does.'

Harry leant his head against her cheek. You're not adopted, baby bird. I was there when you were born. You're the most beautiful thing we ever did.

Katie sighed. 'Maybe you can help, Henri?' She drew her knees into her chest. 'The only people I know to ask are my godmothers, but they never come visit, because maman probably doesn't let them. I wrote a letter asking them about papa, but I can't send it because we don't have an owl. Maman enchants them and if I ask her, she'll say no, or want to read it.'

You want me to fly it to them. Harry's blood ran cold. To my sisters.

'But you're not an owl.' She pouted. 'I don't even know how'd you find them.' Katie picked him off her shoulder and set him down on the grass. 'But it's worth trying or I'll be stuck here forever. I'll get the letter and give it to you and maybe there's some magic that happens when you give a letter to a smart bird like an owl.'

That's not how it works, little chick. Je suis désolée.

His daughter scrambled away toward the chateau.

Harry's heart sank as she disappeared beneath the cherry blossom. I can't fly there. If they catch me, it'll all be ruined. Everything. He stalked in circles through the flattened grass beneath the willow branches, clacking his beak and flapping his wings. I can't. I can't do it.

Katie skipped back down, pulling a small white envelope from the front of her grey jumper and waving it. 'I got it.'

So you did.

She came to a stop just before him and crouched down, holding the letter out. 'Look—' his daughter tapped the address scrawled across the front in big, childish letters '—this is where it has to go, this is the address they always give us to write back.'

Harry peered at it. Mes Marraines. Trois Rue des Cygnes. Paris.

'S'il te plaît,' Katie pleaded, her bright green eyes huge and wide. 'S'il te plaît, Monsieur Raven.'

His heart lurched. Baby bird, I can't.

She waved the letter a bit closer. 'I hope there's some magic that does it. Maman said there are enchantments all across the country and even one that went across the whole world when I was a baby.'

Dawn. Harry felt the storm stir, just the faintest whisper of heat in his heart. A world perfect enough for you to be happy. But you aren't. You're lonely. And you're sad. The storm swelled, tearing at him, razor-sharp and searing hot; a yearning scream stuck at the back of his throat. You're meant to be happy. That's what it was all for, so little girls like you would grow up and be happy.

He tugged the letter from her fingers with his beak and took wing, drifting downstream along the bends of the small river and alighting on the rocks of the little lake.

Only Fleur knows I'm an animagus. It'll be fine. Harry shifted back, shivering in the cool drizzle. No, there's so many ways this could go wrong. If they tell Fleur about a raven…

Tucking the letter under his ragged, patchwork robes, he pulled up the hood. 'I need a plan. A proper one.' He rubbed some warmth back into his fingers and clawed his long hair back over his shoulders, swiping his beard into shape. 'I need to find Rue des Cygnes first. Which means talking to someone.'

I can go to our old café and ask some stranger with my hood up. I can still use legilimency without a wand. Harry pressed the letter to his ribs. And then I can go the rest of the way as a raven.

'Bonne chance,' he whispered, apparating onto the cobbles with a soft snap.

A pair of passing witches shot him an odd looks and hurried past on the far side of the street.

I know, not very fashionable. Harry tugged his hood forward to cover his face, anxiety coiling in the pit of his stomach. But I made it out of leaves without a wand, so it was never going to be chic.

He stepped across the path of an older wizard. 'Pardon. Je cherche La Rue des Cygnes.'

The wizard chuckled. 'You're on the wrong side of the river,' he replied in swift French, pointing down the street past Madame Antoinette's. 'Follow this street to the river and apparate right across, then walk upstream along it until you find the famous swan fountain. That's the way in.'

'Merci beaucoup,' Harry murmured.

The old wizard tipped his hat and continued on.

Better to fly. Nobody can recognise me that way.

Harry glanced around and ducked into a small side-street, placing the letter on a dry cobble beneath his foot and shifting back into the form of a raven. He grabbed the envelope in his beak and flapped his way up above the café. The neat, grey, slate rooftops drifted past beneath his wings as he floated toward the broad glittering waves of the Seine, and a few gulls eyed him as he passed over their heads.

Upstream and then left. He angled his wings, arcing over the river and the muggle boats chugging along under the bridges. And there's some swan fountain I can probably spot.

The streets passed by as he swooped low, tracking the small square street name signs and weaving through the trees along the riverside.

This is Muggle Paris still. Harry drifted over a bustling market and a small patch of green gardens about an old canal, but spied the marble statue of a woman standing above the spread wings of a great swan. Swan. He drifted down and landed on the woman's head, tucking the envelope under his feet.

Coins gleamed beneath the shallow water ringing the statue and the little jets of water rose and fell with gentle splatters and splashes.

Harry fluffed his feathers out against the chill. Now we wait for someone to come and let me through to the magical street. Hopefully it won't be long.

A few people wandered past along the canal path, strolling through the shade of the trees and into the clamour of the market. He hunched over the top of the statue's head and tucked his beak into his wing, watching the path to the fountain with one eye as more people walked back and forth before the canal and the boats crawled across the river.

The sun drifted across the sky and the shadow of the statue slipped across the path from one patch of grass to the other.

A young boy pushed his bicycle down the canal path, glancing back and forth all around him as he clutched a handful of leaflets to his chest. He darted along the path to the statue and pulled a bronze knut from his pocket.

Harry cocked his head and flapped his wings, warming the muscles, and picked up the letter in his beak.

The boy threw a quick look back over his shoulder. 'La Rue des Cygnes—' he tossed the knut '—s'il vous plaît.'

It flashed in the sun and splashed into the water, sinking to the bottom.

The boy frowned. 'Er…'

The coin zipped back out of the fountain into his hand and Harry leapt off the statue's head, floating down to perch on the bicycle's saddle.

'Ohhhh.' The boy consulted his leaflet and shook his head. 'La Rue Des Cygnes?'

The fountain lurched sideways with a loud crack and Harry hopped off the bicycle, fluttering up above the neat broad flagstones onto the ornate iron guttering of the smooth, pale stone facade. A dozen shining bronze swans and countless lilypads floated in the deep pond surrounding a towering pillar of weathered stones. The road ran dead straight from it past rows of identical tall arched windows and broad double doors down to a small square.

'Incroyable…' The boy stared around in wonder. 'C'est vrai…' He grabbed his bicycle off the street and hurried along it to the nearest building, propping his bike against the wall and dashing inside beneath the giant banner of two proud parents smiling at their son as he held his glowing wand.

Harry caught the number one on the door beneath the foot of the laughing mother. Next one along then. He swooped down to the next building, wriggling in through an open window and alighting on the back of a mahogany chair.

A fierce screech tore through the room.

Harry clacked his beak at the tall tawny owl in the large birdcage near the fireplace.

'Charles!' The floor creaked and Isobel poked her head into the room. 'No more of your silly screaming!' Her grey eyes caught sight of Harry. 'What do we have here?'

Bonjour, ma sœur. Anxiety coiled itself into a tight, taut trembling knot in Harry's stomach, but he dropped the letter onto the chair.

'A post raven,' Isobel murmured, stepping forward and picking up the letter; her eyes widened. 'Sisters! Come and look!'

Two loud cracks filled the room.

'Ow.'

'Sister get off my foot,' Celine said.

Colette shook her head. 'That's my foot, sister.'

'Sisters…' Isobel sighed. 'You are both standing on my foot. And look!' She waved the letter. 'Our little goddaughter has finally written us a letter!'

'Or her pretty maman did.'

'Not unless her handwriting has suddenly regressed to childhood, sister,' Colette said.

'Our distant sister doesn't reply to us often,' Celine replied, 'but she doesn't use birds to send her letters.'

Isobel swatted them both on the head with the letter. 'Let's just read it.'

'Me first.' Colette grabbed it.

Isobel snatched it back. 'I found it.'

'So?' Celine demanded. 'It's my turn.'

'You already did your turn with the post this morning; this is the next bit so it's mine,' Colette said.

Celine shook her head. 'It came on the same day, so it's mine.'

'Sisters…' Isobel held out her fist. 'The winner gets to read first.'

A faint croak of laughter escaped Harry. My sisters, you're just the same. A bittersweet pain knifed through him. Vous m'avez manqué.

'On three,' Celine said. 'One—'

All three thrust out their flat hands.

'No.' Isobel sighed.

Colette laughed. 'Sister…'

They held out their fists.

'Stop it, sister,' Celine chided. 'That's cheating.'

They went again.

'Ha,' Isobel waved her split pair of fingers in the air. 'Scissors always win, sisters.'

'Read,' Colette demanded.

Isobel unstuck the top of the letter and tugged it out; her two sisters wrapped their arms around her waist, rising onto their tiptoes to peer over her shoulders.

'She is very sweet,' they cooed.

Three pairs of grey eyes met.

'What do we say?' Colette asked. 'What do we tell her?'

'Everything,' Isobel declared, setting the letter down on the small desk beside Harry's chair. 'She asked.'

'I don't think Katie's maman knows she sent this letter,' Celine said. 'If our goddaughter had just wanted to send us a letter, she would ask her maman, who would send it her way, not with a raven.'

'Do we know it's really from her?' Colette asked.

'Who else would it be from?' Isobel huffed and pulled across a piece of parchment and a silver-nibbed, blue-feathered quill. 'It is from our goddaughter. She is asking about her papa, our little brother—'

'She is asking us because her maman hasn't told her,' Celine said.

Isobel's brow wrinkled. 'She would ask her maman—'

'Before asking us,' Colette murmured. 'That's why the raven; she sent this without her maman knowing.'

'Where did she find a raven that can deliver a letter?' Isobel mused.

The three of them drew their wands and the window snapped shut.

Merde. Harry held his breath. It's fine. I am the raven. Only soul magic will reveal me.

'Sister, check—'

'I am,' Isobel retorted, poking the tip of her wand into Harry's stomach feathers.

He cawed with as much indignation as he could muster and pushed it away with his toes, clacking his beak.

'It's a real bird, not a conjuration,' Isobel said. 'It's magical, so possibly a familiar of some sort, but there's no enchantments on it we need to worry about.'

Relief flooded through Harry and he fluffed all his feathers up at his sisters as they tucked their wands away.

'You upset it, sister,' Celine chided.

Colette patted him on the head. 'Poor bird. Do you have a name? Is it a girl or a boy?'

'It's smart enough to find us; it must be a girl,' Celine said.

'Girls are much better than boys,' Isobel declared with a grin.

His sisters giggled to themselves.

'We're not that hard to find; it's a famous street,' Colette said. 'It could be a boy. It has a big beak.'

'All ravens have big beaks, sister,' Isobel said.

'But it had to work out how to get through the fountain.' Celine hummed. 'The owls can get through the wards, but a raven couldn't. Which makes it smarter than a lot of these poor muggleborns they give leaflets and knuts to. Smarter than most people.'

Isobel's grey eyes sharpened. 'Wait.' She snatched her wand back out. 'Homenum revelio.'

A fist of panic clamped about Harry's heart and he hurled himself from the chair, smashing into the glass and bouncing back. Black spots swirled before his eyes as he staggered across the floor; the world spun in a panicked eddy of deafening noise and blurred colour.

'Get it!' Celine cried as the door slammed shut.

Blue ribbon looped around his wings and legs, pinning them together.

'An animagus,' Colette whispered. 'They're rare.'

'Hush, sister,' Celine murmured.

Colette pointed the tip of her wand at him. 'Change back, animagus.'

No. Harry cawed at her. Kill the raven if you must. I'll come back. And Katie will still get her letter somehow else.

Isobel crouched down, her grey eyes soft and heavy as rain clouds. 'Change back, petit frère.'

No. I can't.

'Sister…' Celine shook her head.

'It might not be him,' Colette hissed.

Isobel shared a brief glance with her sisters. 'Nine years is a very long time to be a bird, Henri,' she murmured. 'Change back.'

I can't. Harry pinned the raven over all his thoughts. I can't. I can't.

'We should write to Fleur,' Celine said. 'If anyone knows whether there's a chance he was a raven animagus, she will.'

Cold dread crushed the breath from Harry's lungs. No. You can't write to Fleur. She'll know. He clawed through jagged, panic-fogged thoughts, his heart hammering against his ribs and ringing in his ears. Think. Improvise something.

'So we write to Katie first,' Isobel said. 'And we tell her about Henri Dufort.'

His sisters exchanged a glance.

Not yet. Harry held his breath and forced the simmering panic down. When they get distracted and squabble, change and apparate out through whatever wards there are.

'Yes,' Colette said.

Celine nodded, keeping her wand fixed on Harry. 'Then we write to Fleur.'

'But Fleur will see our first letter,' Isobel said.

Colette picked up the quill. 'Write to Fleur and tell her we'll bring the raven—'

'Then we can slip the other letter to our goddaughter,' Celine said.

'And we should buy her another present.' Isobel pursed her lips. 'More fun sweets. Fleur says little Katie likes them still.'

Harry bent and tugged at the ribbon with his beak, testing its strength.

'No,' Celine murmured and the ribbons tightened, sinking into his feathers. 'Do that again and we'll put you in with Charles.'

Colette shook her head. 'No—'

'Sister, Charles will scream all day,' Isobel said. 'Just put them in the small cage downstairs. We can take them to Fleur.'

Celine glanced up.

Now.

Harry shifted shape, tearing through the ribbon, and wrenched at the world.

It hung still as stone.

A flash of white light struck him and his muscles seized, clamping tight as he clawed for the form of the raven.

'Merde,' he rasped. 'Wards.'

'Blood wards,' Celine murmured. 'Our blood.'

Isobel stepped around her and swept Harry's long hair away from his face. 'Bonjour, petit frère.' She patted his bearded cheek and wrinkled her nose. 'You smell. And what are you wearing?'

A strangled little laugh burst through Harry's lips. 'Bonsoir, mes sœurs.'

'You are a stupid boy,' Celine chided. 'Look at you.'

'Don't tell her,' Harry whispered. 'She can't know.'

'Who can't know? Our little goddaughter?'

'Fleur,' he breathed. 'If she knows, she won't feel safe, she can't be happy; it would all have been for nothing.'

'A very stupid boy,' Colette said.

Isobel patted him on the jaw and stepped back. 'Let him go, sister. He'll be a good boy and listen to his sisters—'

'Or we can put you in the cage,' Celine said, a sharp gleam in her grey eyes. 'And do what we planned.'

Harry swallowed hard. 'I'll listen. Whatever you want, just… you can't tell her. You can't.'

'Hush.' Isobel pushed him into the chair. 'Now, you owe us an apology.'

A fierce rush of shame stung him. 'Je suis désolée. I… I had to,' he whispered. 'It had to all be worth it. It was happening anyway, I just… made sure it wasn't for nothing.'

'Not for that.' Colette rolled her eyes. 'For Beauxbatons.'

'Sorry,' he muttered. 'But… you were trying to stop me.'

'We were trying to stop Grindelwald massacring billions,' Celine said.

Colette nodded. 'Which you were also trying to stop—'

'We told you—' Isobel's grey eyes were sharp and hard as steel '—suffering in isolation is the chrysalis of monsters. We were right there!'

'I'm sorry.' He flexed some feeling back into his fingers as the magic eased and his muscles relaxed. 'I am. It's just…'

'The world is lucky you were a kinder monster than most,' Celine murmured. 'A monster fighting for hope is better than one fighting for despair.'

His sisters exchanged a sharp glance.

Isobel tore their half-written letter into pieces. 'We aren't going to tell them anything.'

A rush of relief swept through Harry's heart.

'But you are,' Celine said.

'No, I can't,' he pleaded. 'I can't. It will ruin everything.'

I'll ruin everything again.

'Yes, you can,' Colette replied. 'Violette is needed after all the mess of your dawn. Henri Dufort can come back and finish what he started.'

'But I just want to see Katie grow up and be happy,' Harry whispered. 'That's enough.'

'You are being stupid,' Isobel said.

Celine pursed her lips. 'Sister…'

'He is.' Isobel pointed the blue feather of the quill at him. 'Henri Dufort, our little brother, escapes the secret prison cells beneath Nurmengard and recovers somewhere secret, then he comes back to his sisters and his family. Desrosiers will give you your old job back after a short while and you can help us make sure the world doesn't implode after your ritual. Whatever you have been doing for the last nine years was stupid.'

'I can't.' Harry shook his head. 'If anyone knows. If Fleur knows.'

'Henri Dufort reappearing is good for your pretty wife and little girl,' Celine said.

Colette folded her arms. 'It will convince everyone harbouring doubts that they had nothing to do with Mithras.'

'Neville—'

'Has no way to figure out Violette is back and can do nothing about it anyway,' Celine said. 'Things have changed.'

'Where could you have been for the last few years?' Isobel demanded. 'Someone other than Fleur who's trustworthy enough to lie for us.'

'Zoë de Medici owes me a favour, but that's not why.' Harry pointed at Katie's letter. 'Fleur can't know. Or everything is ruined. Everything.'

It will all have been for nothing. She'll always be scared of me coming back and destroying things or hurting Katie, and she won't ever be happy.

'Hush,' Isobel said. 'We will speak with Zoë de Medici after you have told our pretty sister everything.'

'And you need a bath,' Celine murmured.

'And a shave.' Colette wrinkled her nose at his hair and beard. 'And a haircut.'

'And some proper clothes; where did you get that horrible rag?'

'I made it,' Harry confessed. 'From leaves. I don't have a wand so…'

Isobel's grey eyes softened. 'Little brother, this time, you're going to do what your sisters tell you to do.'

'I can't,' he begged. 'Si'l vous plaît.'

'Yes, you can,' she murmured, her fingers creeping to the pink scar across her throat. 'You can take a bath. And wear proper clothes. And you can sit still and let us cut your hair. And then you can do all the rest.'

'But what if it all goes wrong?' Harry whispered. 'What if I make it worse? That's all I do.'

Celine tutted. 'You defeated Grindelwald and stopped the genocide of nearly six billion muggles.'

'And you might have saved the magical world too,' Colette said.

'She's not happy,' he said. 'I did that to make a world in which she could be happy and she's not.'

'Henri…' Isobel murmured, picking up the letter and waving it at him. 'She is not happy because she has no papa.'

A raw, jagged pang tore through him. 'But she will be even less happy if I ruin things again.'

'Your pretty wife does not like sharing still, and has kept your little girl all to herself,' Isobel said. 'She is lonely. There are tear stains at the bottom of this letter.'

Celine shook her head. 'Don't be impatient, sister.'

'It takes time,' Colette said. 'Monsters—'

'Do not change overnight.' Isobel folded his daughter's letter up and slid it back into the envelope. 'Upstairs, little brother. Bath time.'

The three of them laughed. 'Now you must call us all maman.'

A snort of laughter escaped Harry, but it choked on the small hot lump swelling in his throat. 'Merci, mes sœurs.'

'Do not thank us yet,' Celine said. 'We are not going to let you be a ghost, little brother.'

Harry swallowed hard, shaking his head. 'It's better this way.'

'While one of us lives,' they chorused. 'None of us can die.'

'We will not allow it,' he whispered with them. 'But—'

Isobel tugged at his long ragged hair. 'No buts. This includes pretending to be dead for stupid reasons.'

'But they're not stupid reasons.'

Her grey eyes softened. 'No, they're not. The reasons are good reasons, little brother. You're just wrong.'

AN: Follow the linktree to find Discord and all the rest of my stuff, including a stack of early access chapters and loads of my original works! At least one of them has a happy ending. Probably.

linktr . ee / mjbradley