Hey all you lovely people - as promised here is the next chapter for you all to digest. Not much happening in this one but it is a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. So hold on. :) This was a lot of fun to write and for the beautiful individual that made suggestions re translations - thank you! I hope the translations in this chapter are better. But please know I am always open to ideas and suggestions.
Anyway I wont ramble much longer, this chapter is a long one 10255 words long - I cant promise this will be the length of every chapter but I'll try. As always thoughts, kudos, feedback are always appreciated.
Until the next update y'all
- much love Nell xoxo
~ September 5th 1994 ~
~ Fleur's POV ~
~Beauxbatons Carriage – Hogwarts outer Courtyard ~
"Throughout the next several months, our schools have been given a unique opportunity—one that has not graced our world in quite some time. We will each have the chance to grow: in character, in knowledge, and in friendships, creating memories and bonds that could very well last a lifetime."
His words echoed in Fleur's ears as she forced herself to remain seated. It took every ounce of her self-control not to scream. The welcome feast felt as though it would never end, stretching on endlessly while she sat, trapped. Merlin knew how close she had come to grabbing Gabrielle's hand and fleeing the hall the moment he began to speak. She felt cornered, her Veela instincts raging against the invisible cage that held her. Surrounded. Forced to sit still while the very monster who had stolen their sister lurked in plain sight. Gold-trimmed robes, twinkling eyes, and a gentle smile—such a carefully constructed disguise, one meant to disarm and reassure. To make him seem harmless.
But Fleur knew better.
She knew exactly what he was. As surely as she knew her own name.
His image had been seared into her memory since she was three years old—etched there alongside Gabby's agonized screams and the fearful, hiccupped cries of their baby sister, Adharia. She knew what he was, and yet, she had never felt more terrified than she did now, trapped in the Great Hall under his watchful, ever-alert gaze. Every time his eyes flickered in her direction, she felt it. A crawling sensation across her skin, an instinctive urge to run. And yet, her magik still whispered of something unknown—an urgency, just as strong as the pull she had felt in the entrance courtyard earlier.
Was that it?
Was her magik warning her? Urging her and Gabrielle to get as far away from this vile man as possible? Could it somehow recognize him—the man who had shattered their lives?
He had addressed the hall once everyone was seated, placing Beauxbatons with the Ravenclaws and Durmstrang among the Slytherins. His voice had been warm, inspiring even, and it made Fleur's blood curdle. Every hair on her body stood on end as she watched the room—students and professors alike—hanging onto his every word, enthralled by his message of hope and unity.
Fleur, however, felt nothing but revulsion.
Beside her, Gabrielle trembled, her delicate hands clutching Fleur's arm in a bruising grip. Fleur knew that if she looked down, she would see crescent-shaped nail marks embedded in her skin. She could feel the simmering fury in her sister's magik, a barely contained storm of rage. Gabrielle had always been the more volatile of the two—freer, unburdened by the weight of the clan's responsibilities, unshackled in a way Fleur had never been. And Fleur loved her for it.
Gabrielle was light and laughter, always unafraid to speak her mind, always open with her emotions. But now, Fleur prayed that her sister would keep her anger in check. Not here. Not under his watchful eyes.
There was no doubt in Fleur's mind that he knew who she was.
But she could only hope—pray—that he did not yet realize she had recognized him.
Not before she could speak to her family. Not before she could seek their guidance.
Once the feast had ended, they were instructed to retire for the evening. Tomorrow was Tuesday, and they would be expected to attend classes alongside the students from the other schools. Fleur doubted the lessons would present much of a challenge, but she understood the importance of appearances. Beauxbatons needed to be seen cooperating, adhering to the expectations set by the ministries. Her mother had mentioned that the French Minister for Magic was watching the event closely, and Britain's conduct during this exchange would significantly impact future diplomatic relations.
The bond between France and Britain had been fragile for decades—fractured first during the First Wizarding War and then further shattered by Adharia's kidnapping. The French Ministry had taken the disappearance of the International Liaison Officer's child as not just an affront to the Delacour Clan, but to France itself.
Even now, Fleur could see the differences between their two countries. In France, magical beings were valued as equals. In Britain, they were not.
She had heard the whispers in the Great Hall during dinner—speculative murmurs of Veela and creatures, spoken as though her people were something other. Something less.
It had sickened her. If she hadn't been so on edge—so intent on avoiding Albus Dumbledore's gaze—she might have called out the few Ravenclaws she had overheard speaking so snidely of the Veela. But tonight, she had held her tongue. For now. Though she silently took note of the faces whom had uttered her people's names in hate. For a time in which all her energy was not solely focused on simply surviving in the hear and now.
As it was, Fleur could do little more than cling tightly to the fragile control she had over her own magik. So, like her peers, she endured the whispers in silence, even as their inner Veela bristled against the restraint. The other Beauxbatons students were taking their cues from her. She was their leader—had been since they were children—and that only made Fleur feel guiltier. In any other situation, she would have encouraged her girls to stand up for themselves, to challenge anyone who dared to speak of them with such ignorance. But this was bigger than school pride. There was far too much at stake, and she couldn't risk either herself or her flock losing their composure. Despite the tension, the Ravenclaw table—their assigned seat for the year—had been, for the most part, welcoming. There had been kind faces among them: Chang's daughter, the Lovegood heir, Edgecombe, and Crouch, to name a few. Both Cho Chang and Luna Lovegood had gone out of their way to make the Beauxbatons students feel at ease, engaging them in conversation. They had even shared an interesting discussion on Transfiguration Theory, and Fleur had made a genuine effort to be polite and participate.
But the longer she sat beneath Albus Dumbledore's gaze, the harder it became to maintain her patience. And the less tolerance she had for those around her.
"Miss Delacour doesn't seem to wish to speak to us anymore. She's just being polite. We should perhaps move on to other topics before those pesky Nargles come for us too." The Lovegood heir's voice had been light and airy, her hands moving in a gentle batting motion as if fending off some unseen force. Fleur had been taken aback but secretly grateful. She flashed the younger girl an apologetic smile as Luna and Cho shifted their attention to others at the table, giving Fleur the moment of respite she so desperately needed.
She took a slow, measured breath, exaggerating the motion as subtly as she could. Beside her, Gabrielle caught on immediately, mimicking her movements in an effort to regain control of her own spiralling emotions. When the dismissal came promptly at 8 p.m., it took every ounce of restraint Fleur possessed not to seize Gabrielle's hand and flee. Instead, they forced themselves to move with dignity—leading their peers from the Great Hall with their heads held high, shoulders squared with the practiced elegance expected of them as Delacour's.
The walk from the Great Hall to the courtyard had never felt longer. Every step was agonizing, the weight of the evening pressing down on them, their tempers fraying at the edges. By the time they reached the sanctuary of the Beauxbatons carriage, both sisters were ready to scream.
"Directrice, nous devons parler à nos mères immédiatement!" ("Headmistress? we must speak with our mothers immediately.") Fleur's voice was sharp with urgency, the demand spilling from her lips the moment their peers had cleared the hallway. In her haste, she nearly collided with the headmistress, barely stopping herself in time.
"Pour quelle raison, Fleur ? Vous avez seulement dit au revoir à vos mères ce matin, n'est-ce pas ?" ("Whatever for Fleur? You only said goodbye to your mothers this morning, correct?") Madame Maxime's tone was light hearted, almost amused, and Fleur had to swallow back the hiss that threatened to escape at the woman's dismissive wave. Instead of addressing Fleur's urgency, the headmistress merely continued ushering them toward their rooms. "Il se fait tard, mon enfant. Tu bénéficierais sûrement de quelque repos, et tu pourras écrire à tes mères demain matin." ("It is getting late child, surely you would benefit from some rest and you can write your mothers in the morning.") The Headmistress spoke gently but firmly, utterly unaware of the anxiety twisting within her students.
"Non! Nous ne pouvons pas attendre, Madame Maxime. S'il vous plaît, nous devons leur parler immédiatement!" ("No! We cannot wait Madame Maxime, We must speak with them immediately!") Gabrielle's voice rang out beside her, her frustration spilling over at last. A sharp hiss followed—her inner Veela breaking through slightly, adding a rasp to her words. It was a clear sign of just how deeply upset she was, and Fleur found herself feeling a spark of pride for her little sister. Gabrielle had managed to hold herself together until now, and that was no small feat. Especially for her usually un contained sister. "Contactez mes mères d'urgence! Ce n'est pas un débat. Je vous en prie, faites ce que je demande. Je n'insisterais pas s'il y avait une autre solution." ("Get a hold of my mothers urgently!. This is not a debate. I beg of you to do what I ask. I would not insist if there was another way.") Fleur's voice was firm as she spoke again, placing a reassuring hand on Gabrielle's shoulder—a silent message of comfort and restraint. But she too allowed her Veela nature to seep into her words. Her usually captivating ocean-blue eyes flashed deep red for just a moment as she locked gazes with Madame Maxime, letting the storm of emotions raging inside her show on her face. Desperation, fear, and anguish battled within her, raw and unguarded.
"S'il vous plaît Madame Maxime" ("Please Madame Maxime") Her voice was softer now, vulnerable, as she held her headmistress's gaze. And when recognition flickered in the older woman's eyes—when understanding finally dawned—Fleur let out the smallest sigh of relief.
"Très bien, mes filles." ("Very well, girls.") Madame Maxime sighed, the weight of the moment settling on her broad shoulders. Fleur could see the concern creeping into her pale features—subtle, but unmistakable. The half-giant witch was not one to wear her emotions openly, yet Fleur had spent years training herself to read the unspoken language of those around her. She could tell that Madame Maxime was both curious and troubled, but propriety dictated restraint. As headmistress, she would never openly pry into the affairs of a future Veela leader, no matter how unusual the request.
And for that, in this moment, Fleur was grateful.
She had no idea how she could possibly explain this—to put her emotions into words, to justify the desperation that had driven her and Gabrielle to such urgency. And even if she managed, she wasn't sure she could hold herself together long enough to repeat it all to her mothers.
"Je dois contacter les ministères pour connecter le Réseau de Poudre de Cheminette. Attendez dans votre chambre jusqu'à ce que je parvienne à les joindre, si cela vous convient?" ("I need to contact the ministries to connect the Floo network, wait in your room until I can reach them if that agrees with you.") Madame Maxime continued, her deep voice laced with exhaustion as she ran a large hand through her short brown hair. Fleur remained silent, though she found herself wishing the woman would let her hair grow out. The severe bob she wore was far too reminiscent of that dreadful Muggle woman who had been the UK's Prime Minister in the eighties. Her grandmother had made sure she was well-versed in the world's leaders—both magical and non-magical—throughout her upbringing. A necessary, if unfortunate, part of preparing for her future role within the clan.
"Oui, merci, Madame la directrice." ("Yes, Thank you, Headmistress.") Fleur murmured her response, allowing her tense posture to ease just slightly. Yet guilt still simmered beneath the surface as she watched their headmistress deflate, exhaustion weighing heavy on her frame. Madame Maxime had always had their best interests at heart. Fleur knew that. And demanding to speak with their mothers—while not the gravest transgression a student could commit—still felt wrong. She valued kindness, respected her elders, and having to force her will upon someone she held in high regard unsettled her deeply. She would have to apologize to her later.
For now, though, the words simply wouldn't come. Instead, she extended her hand to Gabrielle, fingers curling gently around her sister's as she led her up the grand staircase toward their rooms.
They could change into more comfortable attire while they waited, and perhaps Fleur could even convince Gabby to sleep a little. The thought lingered as they ascended the stairs slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. Fleur knew her sister was doing her best to hold herself together, but the way Gabrielle's hands clung to her like a lifeline spoke volumes. She could feel the younger blonde's magic tightly wound around her, as if anchoring herself to Fleur was the only thing keeping her steady.
In response, Fleur tightened her own grip, a silent reassurance that she was there—that she always would be.
Neither of them spoke. Not here, not now, not beyond the privacy of their dorm. There was too much to say, and yet so little they could do.
The older blonde Veela paced back and forth in front of her bed. As soon as they had arrived in the dorms, they had changed out of their formal school attire, seeking comfort in their softer clothing. Gabrielle had insisted on staying up with Fleur to wait for their family, both having so much to say but so little words available to express them. Though the weight of the day's emotions and sheer exhaustion had quickly caught up with Gabby. Within an hour of settling into Fleur's room, the younger blonde had drifted off into a deep sleep, leaving Fleur alone with her restless thoughts.
At first, Gabrielle had demanded answers from her older sister, but Fleur couldn't bring herself to dwell on it—not yet. She needed their family with them first. Her inner Veela made it painfully clear that she felt unsafe, and the only way to ease that unease was to be surrounded by older, more powerful Veela, like their mother and grandmother. Judging by Gabrielle's expression, Fleur could see that her sister felt the same. Once Gabrielle realized Fleur wasn't ready to talk, she had settled on the older witch's bed, quietly recounting everything they had seen at dinner in an attempt to keep their minds off the proverbial elephant in the room. It had amused Fleur slightly to see how taken Gabrielle was with Luna Lovegood—just as she had been every time they'd crossed paths while growing up. Fleur was beginning to think their mothers were right: Luna would likely be her sister's Mate when the young Ravenclaw came of age. Luna was two years below Gabrielle, but despite the age difference, the two had always shared a bond no one else could match.
It was sweet, and Fleur hoped their mothers were right. After everything their family had endured, it would be a blessing for something in Gabrielle's life to be simple, peaceful, and easy—at least for once.
Once her sister had finished her rambling, she had accidentally dozed off on Fleur's bed. The older blonde knew Gabrielle would be disappointed she hadn't been woken, but after such an exhausting day, Fleur didn't have the heart to disturb her. Merlin knew they would need all the rest they could get in the coming months, and for now, there was nothing they could do but wait for their family. Letting her sleep wasn't doing any harm. In fact, the quiet was a welcome relief to the Delacour heir's fragile state. It gave her a rare moment of solitude to silently process the day's events without worrying about who was watching. Fleur seldom craved isolation, much preferring the warmth of her family and her Flock over being alone. This moment was no different—she could barely wait for the reassurance of her loved ones. She longed for their presence just as much as she burned to confront Albus Dumbledore.
It was close to midnight when Fleur heard the soft knock at her door that indicated there was news for them from Madame Maxime. Amélie, one of the younger flock members, stood there, her expression uncertain as she relayed the message from their headmistress: she wished to see them in her office. The message was short and succinct but did nothing to reassure Fleur that the elder woman had been able to make contact with her mothers. Fleur turned back toward the bed, unwilling to allow her thoughts the opportunity to spiral once more, her voice gentle as she called, "Gabrielle." She brushed a few stray curls from her sister's face. The older blonde was unable to suppress the fond smile as sleepy sea-blue eyes fluttered open to meet her own.
"I fell asleep, didn't I?" Gabrielle mumbled, stretching stiff limbs. But as wakefulness settled in, so did the unease. Fleur could see the way her delicate features tightened with anxiety as memories of the day's events resurfaced in her little sisters mind.
"You did," Fleur confirmed, smoothing a hand over her sister's arm in reassurance. "But don't worry, you haven't missed anything. But we need to go to the headmistress' office just now, Madame Maxime sent Amélie to fetch us." At that, Gabrielle sat up straighter, her lips pressed together in thought. She bit down lightly, a nervous habit she had developed as a toddler, her wide eyes seeking Fleur's for reassurance even as she pushed aside the remnants of sleep and carefully composed herself, smoothing out her rumpled clothing and assembling the mask of the Delacour heir with practiced precision. Fleur noticed the shift, filing it away for later—when things weren't so uncertain, when fear didn't cling to them so tightly, she would tease Gabrielle about knowing exactly how to conduct herself like a proper lady of society.
They moved swiftly, their steps precise and fluid—a testament to years of rigorous training at the hands of their pure blooded mother. Yet beneath that practiced grace, unease simmered unpleasantly, an undercurrent of turmoil threading through their magic. that any trained witch or wizard could sense a mile away Fleur could feel her inner Veela stirring restlessly, pacing like a caged predator. The distance between them and their family stretched unbearably, a sensation so foreign and disorienting for the family orientated Veela girl. It wasn't a sensation she ever wanted to become accustomed to. As Veela, they were strong, magically gifted beyond that of their non Veela peers, bound tightly to their family by unbreakable ties of love and protection, their family magik fierce in its devotion.. To feel exposed, vulnerable—adrift—sent both Fleur and her instincts reeling. Anxiety gnawed at her resolve, sharp and relentless, and worst of all, she had no idea how to shield Gabrielle from any of it. Nor could she, there wasn't a world in which she would willingly conceal the truth from her sister. Gabrielle would always be her little sister but Fleur knew she would never be okay with being left out of the loop by anyone. Let alone by Fleur and especially not in regards to something that had shaped them and their family so profoundly. Though Morgana knew the more information they both had about that man the safer they would both be.
They both quickened their pace, the looming presence of their headmistress' quarters both a relief and a burden to their anxiety ridden minds. The conversation that lay ahead would be an unpleasant one, they knew, but it didn't matter their sense of urgency remained despite the unpleasantness. Safety, family, protection—that was all that mattered in this moment to both Veela girls.
Gabrielle reached the heavy oak door first, seconds before Fleur did. Her small fist rapping briskly against it. Her other hand hovered over the brass handle, poised, ready to let them in to the office the moment Madame Maxime permitted it.
~ Amilie Delacour's POV ~
~ 5th September 1995 ~
~ Madame Maxime's office - Beauxbatons Carriage, Hogwarts ~
Amilie Delacour was a patient, kind-hearted woman—one who had lived long enough to witness the vast spectrum of humanity, in all its beauty and cruelty. Her life had been a full one, woven with love and laughter, duty and success. She had raised two extraordinary daughters – daughters who were as strong as they were kind, everything Amilie could ever wish them to be - and she had led her people with wisdom and grace for most of her adult years. But her greatest joy, the very light of her sea-blue eyes, was undoubtedly her grandchildren.
Her mate, Adharia, often teased her for being too much of a soft heart when it came to Fleur and Gabrielle, and Amilie—though proud and resolute—knew it was true. She simply couldn't help herself. Her granddaughters had endured so much in their young lives. Their entire family had. But after losing her youngest grandchild—her mate's namesake, baby Adharia—Amilie's protectiveness over Fleur and Gabrielle had sharpened into something fierce and unyielding. She would not—could not—allow them to suffer such heartbreak again. And she would not rest until she brought her missing grandchild home.
Because Amilie knew Adharia was alive.
Her daughters had long since abandoned any sense of hope that they would get Adharia back, unable to bear the torment of false promises any longer, but Amilie could feel Adharia as surely as she knew her own name. She sensed her in her own magic, in the magic of Fleur and Gabrielle—a faint, flickering presence, like a candle barely clinging to its flame. If Adharia were truly lost, that connection would have vanished. But it hadn't. And that was how she knew.
Yet despite all her resources, skill, and power, Amilie had failed to find her daughter's youngest child. They had searched high and low and tried every spell that they knew, several times over the years to no avail. Not that she would ever stop trying. In the meantime, she would do what she did best—protect the family she had.
So when the urgent Floo call came from Madame Maxime, her granddaughters' headmistress, looking unusually flustered, Amilie felt her heart lurch into her throat. Her inner Veela roared to life, her magik bristling with sudden, razor-sharp urgency at the potential threat to her darling girls.
Something was wrong.
Amilie had wasted little time in calling for her wife and both had gone through the Floo into the headmistress' office without second thought. Their Daughters were non contactable for the night. Apolline having taken her own mate away for the night, a feeble but necessary attempt to distract her wife from their daughters absences. This was the first time Fleur and Gabrielle had ever been apart from their family overnight. After Adharia went missing, they had vowed never to risk the other two girls in such a way and therefore both Fleur and Gabrielle had been kept within the safe confines of their home in the beautiful Rhone-Alpes. The school trip and the knowledge that both girls would be away from home for several months had been a difficult pill for all of them to swallow, but this was especially true for their mothers. Amilie knew her daughter-in-law had suffered terribly in the days leading up to their departure. Apolline's decision to whisk her wife off to a Muggle spa in Europe had been an attempt to ease that anguish, leaving Amilie and Adharia in charge of the manor in their absence.
Now, standing before Madame Maxime, Amilie was grateful her daughters were elsewhere rather than at home. Seeing the headmistress in such a state would have sent them into a horrific panic. Better she and her wife learn the truth first—then she would decide whether to call their daughters home because Amilie refused to panic them if there was an alternative.
The half-giantess stood before them, a sheen of sweat on her forehead, fidgeting in a way that was utterly unlike her. Her fingers drummed against her long cloak, her weight - shifting from foot to foot in visible discomfort. "Eh bien, qu'est-ce que c'est, Olympe?" (Well, what is it Olympe?) Amelie's wife demanded immediately, her tone sharp as she addressed the half giantess before her. Her wife had never been one for hesitation when it came to tense situations or the safety of her own flesh and blood.
Madame Maxime gulped subtly under the force of their combined intensity before hastening to reassure them. "Les filles sont indemnes, Mesdames" (The girls are unharmed, Mesdames.) she said quickly, though the tension in her voice only made them stiffen further. Seeing their expressions darken, she rushed on. "Elles ont exigé que je contacte leurs mères immédiatement, elles semblaient toutes deux très bouleversées et étaient absolument catégoriques. Elles étaient insistantes, vous voyez, et j'ai craint qu'il ne se soit passé quelque chose de terrible, mais elles ne m'ont pas dit quoi. Juste que c'était urgent et, eh bien, il a fallu plus de temps que prévu pour convaincre les ministères d'accepter de connecter le réseau de la poudre de cheminette à votre domicile, et encore plus de temps pour obtenir la permission d'un lien actif plutôt qu'un usage unique du réseau et…" (They demanded I contact their mothers immediately, they both appeared quite upset and were absolutely adamant. They were insistent you see and I worried something terrible had gone wrong but they didn't tell me what. Just that it was urgent and well It took longer than desired to get the ministries to agree to connect the floo network to your home and longer still to get them to permit an active link rather than a onetime usage of the network and..) the giantess rambled.
"Assez!" (Enough!) Amilie cut in, losing patience with Madame Maxime's rambling explanation. "Je me fiche de connecter le réseau de la poudre de cheminette et de toute cette politique, Olympe. Où sont les filles maintenant ? Est-ce qu'elles vont bien?" (I don't care about connecting the floo network and the politics of it all Olympe. Where are the girls now? Are they alright?) She knew the woman was nervous – an unfortunate side effect of being faced by a clearly agitated powerful Veela. Coupled with the knowledge that she and Adharia cut quite an impressive image when they stood side by side ready for war. Both of them slender in appearance, though Adharia had angular, aristocratic features and jet black straight hair that she always wore in a tight bun at the base of her neck. Amilie herself had softer, more angelic features and soft golden locks – a gift from her Veela ancestry – that she currently had pinned half up, half down at the back of her head. But intimidating presence or not she really did not have the time to console the anxiety in the headmistress, her sole focus, like her wife who stood rigid beside her, was on her grandchildren's whereabouts and their wellbeing. The British Ministry were incompetent at best, an outright nuisance at its worst. None of that mattered however, the older Veela saw no benefit to engaging in the British Floo network policies. All that mattered was finding out what was going on and why her precious grandbabies were so distraught.
"Elles sont en chemin ici, Amile, elles sont en sécurité comme je l'ai dit. Simplement bouleversées, je vous assure" (They are on their way here Amile, they are safe as I said. Merely upset I assure you.) The headmistress continued, finally shaking off her momentary lapse in courage as she brought her worried brown eyes up to meet the blonde's gaze in front of her. The Veela matriarch felt herself relax, if only slightly. The reassurance that her granddaughters were unharmed and on their way to her eased some of the tension coiling in her chest. Clarity would come soon enough.
She took a breath to centre herself, turning towards her wife she slowly guided Adharia to sit upon one of the high-backed chairs that had been positioned in front of the headmistress's desk. Subtly gesturing for Madame Maxime to follow suit, an invite that the woman excepted without complaint, only mildly irritated at having been offered a seat in her own office as opposed to her being the one offering the Delacour women a seat.
"Puis-je vous intéresser à une tasse de thé?" (May I interest you in a pot of tea?) The headmistress offered quietly as all three women settled into their seats comfortably. "Non merci, Olympe." (No thank you Olympe) Adharia replied dismissively and without much contemplation, barely sparing the other woman a glance as she surveyed the contest of the headmistress's office. Amilie on the other hand nodded, recognising the headmistress was merely trying to be helpful. She offered the woman a warm smile, tacking on a "Ce serait merveilleux." (that would be lovely.) to soften her wife's harsher tone. Anyone that knew Adharia knew the woman meant no harm to anyone, however she often came across abruptly and quite harsh when she was worried over anything. Especially when that worry was for her family.
Just as Madame Maxime dismissed her personal house elf Tyra who had quickly brought them a Tea tray when instructed, their wait was ended by a rather firm knock at the office door. Amilie's lips twitched into a subtle grin. She knew that knock—impatient and forceful. It was her youngest grandchild. That same sound had echoed through their manor countless times as the girls had grown whenever Gabrielle was upset or growing restless.
"Entrez, les filles." (Come in, girls.) Madame Maxime called, her voice once again the perfectly composed tone of a headmistress.
All three adults turned towards the door as it creaked open, first Gabrielle's mop of blonde curls so like her own appeared, closely followed by the pin straight blonde of her eldest grandchild Fleur. It had always amused Amilie how wildly different the girls hair was, yet somehow both girls suited their hair in a way the other wouldn't. Gabrielle's hair could be wild and untameable, as her spirit had always been. Fleur on the other hand had always had a sensibility and wiseness about her that shone as she grew.
Amilie's first instinct was to greet both girls with a warm smile—but the moment their magic touched hers, her inner Veela growled in protest. Their magic was coiled tight, thrumming with distress. Fear. Anxiety. It clung to them, foreign and unnatural. Fleur, especially, radiated an unease that sent Amilie's instincts into overdrive. Before she had even fully processed it, she was on her feet, closing the distance in an instant. Her hands and eyes flitted over both girls, searching frantically for any sign of harm, her panic overriding everything else.
They were here. They were whole. But something had shaken them in a way the elder Veela had never seen before.
Fleur was the first to speak, her slender hands gripping her grandmothers in desperation as both girl flung themselves in to Amilie's arms. "The man that took Adharia is here!" Fleur blurted out all in one breath, her voice a frenzy of emotion. Amilie went rigid. Her breath caught as she met her wife's gaze over the tops of their grandchildren's heads. In that instant, she saw it—the exact moment Fleur's words registered. Adharia too froze. All colour draining from her already pale features, her earlier worry swallowed by raw, unfiltered horror.
"What did you just say?" Amilie hissed after a beat, her Veela instincts flaring further at the perceived threat to her family. Her once-blue eyes darkened to a startling deep crimson, and her usually gentle grip became ironclad as she took Fleur's chin in a pale hand, guiding her to meet her gaze. Though she was careful not to hurt her granddaughter, the message was clear—this was no longer just Amilie speaking. The Veela Matriarch had taken control and was demanding clarity.
"The Headmaster, Grandmama. Albus Dumbledore." Fleur confirmed, her own Veela instincts surging forward at the sight of their leader. Beside her, Gabrielle's eyes turned crimson as well, both younger Veela drawn out instinctively, seeking the safety and protection that their Clan leader offered freely.
"It's him, Grandmama. He's the man who has haunted me all these years… and I don't understand why I'm only recognizing him now." Amilie felt a flicker of relief when Fleur abruptly stopped speaking, as if sensing her own impending spiral. The younger girls eyes were wide, scared and did nothing to alleviate the anger of Amilie's Veela. Before panic could take hold, a gentle, grounding hand landed on her eldest grandchild's shoulder.
Adharia.
"It is alright my flower." Adharia soothed, her voice a balm against the tension crackling in the air. Amilie's Veela cooed at the tenderness on her mate's face—tenderness directed at their grandchildren. "We will look into why you only recognized him in person, darling. But first, I need you to be absolutely certain you have the right man." There was a quiet, lethal edge to Adharia's tone, one that made pride swell in Amilie's chest. It was moments like this that Amilie saw the fierce Lestrange blood in her normally sweet wife, not that she would ever admit that out loud. Even as she observed the interaction in silence, she knew her mate wasn't just stepping in to reassure the girls. Adharia was also giving Amilie a moment to process the revelation, to rein in the storm of her Veela instincts and regain control of the anger that coursed through her in waves at anyone daring to scare her babies in any way. It was a balance they had perfected over a lifetime of loving one another—an unspoken system honed through years of partnership.
"Why don't we sit, hmm?" Adharia continued recognising all three Veela's needed a moment, gentle but firm hands leading all three towards Madame Maxime's desk where the headmistress still sat, her face a picture of shock and uncertainty. Again Adharia was reminded at just how truly special her wife was, to face three Veela lost to their emotions without blinking was no small feat. Yet somehow Adharia made it look like simple work. The Veela woman followed of course, allowing herself to be led and seated as she worked on her control. "Now my Flower, Albus dumbledore?" Amilie could almost taste the venom in which Adharia spat the man's name with, but she too looked at her eldest grandchild, waiting patiently for the clarity she sought.
Surely the man that had helped them search Britain, who had turned over every rock and crevice in his attempt at helping them track their Grandchild, was not the man responsible for her disappearance in the first place? She desperately hoped she had misheard. Though by the grimace on Fleurs face at mere mention of him had already confirmed her fear without Fleur's verbal confirmation. "I am certain Grand Mother. It is him. Gabby and I felt weird approaching Hogwarts, when we landed our magic reacted strangely. It was pulling us away from the courtyard towards the Tower. We thought it strange and decided to investigate after we were settled. That's when he called for our attention. When I saw him… when I saw him, that night came flooding back. Suddenly I could see him clearly and I knew." Fleur confessed, her voice filled with pain. A hint of her Veela still glimmering from within her tormented eyes. Amilie frowned deeply, unwilling to show the girls how deeply betrayed she felt at the news. Albus Dumbledore had wrote her consistently from the moment Adharia was abducted. She thought he was her friend. He had been a confidant to her when she had been in Brittian on Clan business and he had been present in the days following Adharia's abduction, offering her and her family all the support he could. Yet what hurt most, was not just the betrayal, but the fact that his presence was causing so much distress to her girls now. Even after all these years he had somehow found more ways in which he could harm her family and it was something she vowed never to forgive.
"We must contact our daughters, Addi." Amilie murmured quietly, regret etched on tense, upset features. She hated knowing that this was about to rip her family apart once more. There wasn't a world in which it wouldn't but maybe – just maybe - this was the opportunity needed for them to learn the truth once and for all? The older woman sighed wearily, running slender fingers through her hair. Amilie only waited long enough to see Adharia nod in agreement before she retrieved her wand from her left pocket, casting a patronus and sending it off to her daughters with strict instructions for them to come straight here. She knew it might take a few minutes, but hopefully it wouldn't be long before they could discuss this further.
"Excuse me, Amilie, Adharia. I hate to feel as if I am intruding, but something in Fleur's statement struck me as curious," Madame Maxime interrupted softly, her voice gentle as if aware of the fragile tension in the room. Amilie raised an eyebrow, silently urging the woman to continue. "Fleur you said your magic was pulling you toward the tower. What do you mean?" The headmistress queried turning to address her student directly. Fleur frowned, her expression pensive as she considered the question. Amilie was just about to prompt her for an answer, eager to understand herself, when a sudden green flare lit the room. The panicked voices of her daughters immediately drew everyone's attention away from the matter.
"Maman, we came at once—the girls!" Apolline's melodic voice rang through the office, breathless and filled with alarm.
"What happened? What's wrong?" Their daughter-in-law's voice joined Apolline's, high-pitched and trembling with worry. Both women looked frantic, their wide eyes scanning the room until they found Fleur and Gabrielle. The two girls, though visibly calmer than before, still bore the marks of their distress in their expressions and the volatile flicker of their magic. Amilie said nothing at first, allowing the new arrivals to fuss over their daughters, reassuring themselves that they were physically unharmed. She couldn't help but smile softly at the sight of the girls clinging to their mothers, finding comfort in their arms, as they had their whole lives. Despite the turmoil, the bond between them warmed her heart. But the thought that not all of her family was present soured her brief solace, and her frown returned. Her whole family wasn't here and she now knew the man responsible.
"Maman?" Apolline asked hesitantly, her gaze catching the sombre expression on Amilie's face. Amilie grimaced in response and gestured for them to take a seat. Once everyone was settled, she began explaining what Fleur and Gabrielle had revealed. The anguish on their faces as they listened felt like a dagger twisting in her chest. Apolline and her wife clung tightly to each other and the girls, tears streaking down the blonde's face while Apolline's protective grip only tightened. Amilie could see the telltale flash of the Veela in her daughter's eyes and knew Apolline was close to losing control.
"Calm yourself, Apolline," Amilie murmured, reaching over to place a steadying hand on her daughter's arm. "Fleur and Gabrielle are safe, and now we have a chance to understand what happened. We must remain calm." She continued, flashing a small smile at her daughter when she began to take in deep breaths, her face buried in her wife's hair.
"What do we do, Ami?" her daughter-in-law whispered, her voice trembling. "This is a man who taught me as a child—who became a friend, a confidant. How do we navigate this?" Her voice was quiet but laden with emotion. Amilie's own feelings mirrored hers. She had known Albus Dumbledore for over fourteen years, and for Apolline's wife, he had been a steady if not central fixture for most of her life.
He had taught at Hogwarts for more years than anyone and had been Headmaster for years. He was a trusted man, revered across the nation over and had been looked to many a time for guidance, and support. It unsettled her greatly that such a man had and continued to hold a position of such power and prestige over so many. If they were to confront him about Adharia directly, would he admit to wrong doing? Or would they find themselves accused of lying? She didn't have the answer but she knew in order to protect those she loved, she had to ensure she knew the answers before moving forward. They had to ensure they covered every base, and left no stone unturned if they wanted to snare him in his own deceit.
"We need to find evidence of his wrong doing." Appoline said, her voice taut with both apprehension and fury. "We cannot accuse the head of the British Wazengamot and esteemed Hogwarts headmaster of committing such an atrocious crime, no one would believe it without proof." Amilie nodded, glad that her daughter was thinking clearly. She hummed in agreement, reaching out to fiddle with the hem of her wife's sleeve as she thought, a habit she had done for years when she needed to concentrate.
"The question is, how do we get that evidence?" Adharia added, catching on to their thoughts. "We must be as discreet as possible. He thinks we know nothing. He believes himself above suspicion. We cannot risk him catching on to our knowledge and acting rashly to cover his tracks." Her voice was calm and firm but Amilie could see the undercurrent of anger and heartbreak in her wife's eyes, simmering just below the surface. She could see it on all of her family, Her grandchildren wore their emotions most visibly, their magics curling protectively around their family, seeking comfort and reassurance from their kin. Appoline and her wife held themselves rigid, appearing composed and calm on the outside as they strategized. But their magik too was tense and brimming with barely contained fury. Amilie herself fared no better. But for the sake of her family, she had to remain grounded. She had to resist the pull of her Veela instincts—the raw, primal urge demanding that she hunt Albus Dumbledore down and eviscerate him for his crimes. It would be so easy, her Veela whispered in vengeful excitement. Albus Dumbledore may have been powerful, but even he could not stand against an entire clan set on his destruction. She doubted he would survive a night faced with the fury she herself felt, without adding in her Grandchildren's mothers, their aunts and cousins and the wider Clan. They out numbered him vastly.
Amilie shook her head, allowing herself to entertain such dangerous thoughts, though satisfying to her Veela, served no purpose in their current circumstance. Out the corner of her eye, Amilie could see her eldest grandchild's face turn pensive and curious. "We could use that to our advantage. Fleur, do you think he suspected you?" she asked, hoping that drawing Fleur directly in to the conversation would help rid her of the anxiety etched all over her face.
"I don't think so, Grandma," Fleur replied after a moment's thought. "I believe he was too preoccupied with everything happening around him. I agree with Grandmother—he thinks himself above suspicion." Her voice wavered slightly, but Amilie felt a surge of pride as her granddaughter lifted her gaze to meet hers. Fleur's normally luminous blue eyes remained free of the crimson red that signified her Veela's rage. —a testament not only to her ability to fight for control but to her victory over her Veela. An impressive feat for a seventeen-year-old who had only gained full access to her Veela nature a little over a year ago.
Nearby, Gabrielle, still cradled in her mother's arms, struggled valiantly to suppress her own instincts. She had only recently come into her Veela heritage, and Amilie could see the effort it took to resist its fiery pull. Yet, beyond the sheer force of will it required, something else stood out—awareness. Gabrielle knew she had to regain control, and she was actively fighting to do so. Such self-possession was rare in young Veela, typically taking years to develop—never before graduation. Amilie had always known her granddaughters would be strong, blessed by their Delacour ancestry, but their resilience was incredible.
It made the matriarch wonder of what they could have been, had all three of them—Fleur, Gabrielle, and little Adharia—grown up together as they should have. She had no doubt they would have been formidable. They would have caused so much mischief, Adharia the balancing force between Gabrielle's wild spirit and Fleur's sensibilities. She would have been…
"Hush Ami, hush now." Her wife's voice cut in, tender and soothing. Interrupting her escalating thoughts.
Amilie glanced up, meeting the concerned gazes of her family. Her mate hovered nearby, eyes filled with quiet worry, and guilt twisted in her chest. She hadn't meant to alarm them. But the delicate narcissus vines that had begun creeping over the ancient oak seat she sat upon betrayed just how deeply she had failed in keeping her emotions contained. "I apologise my heart." she murmured sheepishly, sitting up straighter in her chair and banishing the telltale vines with a casual flick of her wrist.
"I know you are fond of me Ami, but I would really rather you kept growing my name sake flowers in more appropriate places!" Her daughter's wife quipped, humour lacing her voice and Amilie smiled gratefully at the petite blonde. "Apologies ma'am." She teased back effortlessly, relieved that her family were willing to move on so quickly from her momentary slip in control. It had been fourteen years since she had last lost such control over her magic. Back then, it had been Adharia's disappearance that had unravelled her. Perhaps, given the recent revelations, her slip was inevitable. But that didn't mean she would forgive herself for being so openly frayed in front of the girls, who's wide eyes watched her with worry. She smiled at them in reassurance, warmth filling her chest when they both smiled back immediately, both girls glancing at one another before launching themselves in to her arms in a manor so unprofessional but so like them that she couldn't help the laughter that slipped past her lips.
"If eet elp's any, I 'eard at ze dinner zat some of ze staff here are beginning to question ze 'eadmaster." Amile had momentarily forgotten that Madame Maxime was in the room, but the woman's statement immediately drew all the Delacour women's attention to her once more. Amilie made a mental note: Madame Maxime would have to choose between keeping the knowledge she had gained and taking an unbreakable oath not to discuss it in any way with anyone outside of this room or being obliviated of the knowledge. Though she was a family friend of Apolline, Olympe was now privy to parts of their lives that Amilie would have preferred she wasn't. It was best to eliminate even the slightest chance that anyone could extract information from the half-giantess. The safety of her family was not something she was willing to gamble with—especially when magic provided such a simple solution.
"That is….. interesting." Apolline replied before Amilie had the chance to say exactly that, again causing her to smile slightly at just how similar her daughter was to her. Not only in looks but in thoughts as well. Merlin knew Adharia had been driven half mad when Apolline and her sister – Camille had been young. Their daughter's had been a handful, but both had grown to be two very strong and capable witches.
"Which professors are questioning him, Olympe?" Her daughter continued, turning toward the headmistress. Beside her, Apolline's wife also turned to face the half-giantess, curiosity evident in her aristocratic features.
"Ze dark 'aired man who 'as ze greasy 'air, ze older woman zat turns into ze cat, ze grey 'aired woman wiv ze short spikey 'air and ze plump lady who 'ad ze plants in zer 'air." Olympe informed them, pausing for a moment to recall their appearances as she hadn't caught their names. Truth be told, she had not at all been at ease while sitting at the professors' table. There had been an unpleasant atmosphere all around her, and to make matters worse, the half-giant Hagrid had taken a fancy to her. He had spent the majority of the feast attempting to awkwardly flirt with her. She didn't mind a bit of harmless flirting, and Hagrid seemed sweet, but she had been deeply unsettled by how unaware he seemed of the professors' attitudes toward him. Their tones were equal parts patronizing, dismissive, and annoyed whenever they addressed him. Especially the headmaster Albus Dumbledore. By the end of the meal, she had been relieved to return to her students, having grown increasingly uncomfortable and frustrated not only on her own behalf but for poor Hagrid also. He had a sweet disposition and was adorably shy, but Olympe had the unsettling suspicion that the other professors despicably took advantage of that kindness.
"Professors Snape, McGonagall, Sprout, and Madame Hooch—all the Heads of Houses," Apolline's mate clarified, recognizing the individuals Olympe had described. "What were they questioning him about? Did you hear?" she continued, and Amilie nodded in support of the petite blonde's query.
"Zey did not like ze way ze 'eadmaster 'ad put ze students at risk by agreezing to 'ost ze tournament. Zey 'ad been upzet zat 'e 'ad not fought 'arder to protect ze children, zat 'e vas being – 'ow you say il est inconsient des risques?" the brunette headmistress replied, her English hesitant and patchy having never really being required to use what she did know all to often. She had never truly needed to master the English language, always either having translators or simply being in environments where French had been the majority. Amilie knew Olympe understood enough to follow conversations but struggled with translating between French and English.
"Reckless about the risks?" Amilie clarified, looking thoughtful. When the headmistress nodded in agreement, she continued. "The houses? This is the schools silly way of differentiating children based on their traits?" The older Veela's question was directed at her daughter-in-law, who had attended Hogwarts and experienced the house system firsthand for years as a teenager.
The younger woman nodded, grimacing slightly. Amilie smirked, suddenly recalling the numerous rants she had overheard between Apolline and her wife about the absurdity of segregating children based on their most apparent juvenile traits. The idea of forcing them to wear the label of their assigned house for the rest of their lives had always struck them as archaic and foolish. Amilie wholeheartedly agreed. In her opinion, the system was both outdated and barbaric—designed to encourage division among the masses. It was little wonder that Britain had struggled so greatly with bigotry and classism—after all, they taught it in their schools, for Morgana's sake. She was relieved her daughters had returned to France; the thought of her granddaughters growing up in such a warped system was far more than just unsettling.
"So, we have at least four Hogwarts staff members dissatisfied with the Headmaster, the girls' magik behaving uncharacteristically, and Albus Dumbledore is unequivocally responsible for Adharia's disappearance—correct?" she summarized, scanning the room as if ensuring they were all on the same page.
"Wait a minute!" her daughter-in-law cut in, her voice sharp with alarm. "What do you mean the girls' magik is behaving uncharacteristically?" Her tone pitched, laced with fury as she turned a lethal glare on Amilie. Beside her, Apolline's expression darkened—a mix of worry, anger, and exasperation written across her pale face, no doubt directed at her mother.
Amile tensed.
"Ah…" Amilie scratched the back of her neck awkwardly, suddenly feeling as though she had stepped into a trap of some sort. She wasn't sure why her daughter and her mate looked quite so furious with her, nor was she certain how to explain what Fleur and Gabrielle had told them. Subtly, she glanced at the girls in question, wondering if she could simply tell Apolline to ask her children about it instead. But something told her that wouldn't go over well. Her daughter loved her—of that, there was absolutely no doubt—but Amilie, usually so assured and confident, felt off-kilter. She was the strong, flawless Clan Leader. She had been for most of her life. And yet, something about this entire situation unsettled her, made her feel as though she were treading uncertain ground. She couldn't pin point the specifics but she did know she wasn't grasping the whole picture, if she had she might be understanding why her grandchildren's parent's were so furious with her. Merlin help her. She wracked her brain, trying to piece together what in her sentence had caused such alarm.
"We feel a pull" Fleur spoke up, mercifully saving her grand-mère from their mothers' withering glares. Her voice was soft, almost apologetic. "Like our magik is demanding we follow it. It hasn't left us since we arrived at Hogwarts." Amilie visibly relaxed as she saw her daughter and her mate begin to do the same. The lethal edge to their glares dulled—slightly as they took in their eldest daughters words.
"A pull?" Apolline questions softly, glancing between her daughters, both nodded in response. "Does it feel like it is good or bad?" Amilie's daughter pressed, her tone serious, her gaze never leaving her children's faces. Beside her, Amilie's daughter-in-law had already begun casting diagnostic charms over both girls, likely checking that their magic was intact—that it hadn't been tampered with in any way. Amilie suddenly felt foolish. Now she understood why her daughters had been so furious. Fleur and Gabrielle's magic behaving strangely should have been a priority for her. She should have performed every spell she knew the moment she learned of it. Instead, she had been fixated on Dumbledore's obvious transgressions, oblivious to what was right in front of her.
"I'm sorry." Amilie whispered. She stood and moved toward her daughters and granddaughters, drawing her wand as she joined her daughter-in-law. Quickly she began murmuring every Veela-born spell she knew, carefully examining the girls' magic and their Veela essence for any sign of ill-health or tampering. Relief coursed through her when her daughter-in-law briefly grasped her arm, offering a reassuring squeeze. A silent acknowledgment—an unspoken reassurance that despite their harshness they weren't truly angry with Amilie. Just worried. As any mother would be.
"Nothing seems out of place." the petite blonde finally declared, relief in her voice as she tucked her wand back into her pocket.
"It doesn't feel bad, only insistent." Fleur answered, looking to Gabrielle for her opinion.
"It feels familiar." The youngest Veela informed them. Her exhausted blue eyes scanning the faces of her family "It feels like we need to find whatever it is, like we wont ever be safe until we do." She continued as she pushed herself into a more upright position, as though speaking the words had given her renewed resolve.
Her family lapsed into silence for a few minutes, and the older witch could tell they were all trying to digest everything that had happened. She herself knew that it would take a little while for them to fully process the extent of this betrayal. For Amilie, the realization was overwhelming. It would take time to fully grasp the extent of Albus Dumbledore's betrayal. He had stolen their lives the day he had stolen baby Adharia from them. He had robbed them of their happiness, stripped Apolline of the carefree nature she had once possessed. Camille and Apolline had been as close as Fleur and Gabrielle were now, but Camille had withdrawn into her grief. To this day, she struggled to be around Apolline and the girls for any length of time without becoming distraught.
There wasn't a single aspect of their lives that hadn't been scarred by the loss of their youngest. But perhaps, Amilie thought, Dumbledore's actions had been most devastating to the three girls themselves.
To little Adharia, most of all.
In separating them, he had denied them the bond they should have shared—the strength that came with it. She couldn't begin to imagine the horror her youngest grandchild had endured, nor could she imagine what her life had looked like, isolated from her family. No Veela should ever have to navigate their life alone, away from their kin. It was unnatural. Painful. Veela were family-oriented, their very essence rooted in love and belonging. To isolate a Veela child was to make every milestone a thousand times harder—their magic was said to be wilder, more volatile and hard to control as they grew.
The pain of coming into their heritage alone? The deep, gnawing sense of loneliness and isolation that her Grandchild would be experiencing?
Amilie Shuddered.
It destroyed her to think that little Adharia was experiencing such a fate. It destroyed her to think of Adharia suffering such a fate. And she doubted Dumbledore had risked placing her with another Veela family—no one would dare raise a Delacour child for fear of her family's retaliation.
Which meant Adharia had been placed elsewhere.
At best, she would have been placed with another magical family.
At worst… with Muggles.
Neither would have been equipped to raise a Veela child in any way. The lack of bond alone would have been—
Amilie gasped.
Wide-eyed, she stood abruptly, one hand covering her mouth as the realization crashed over her like a tidal wave. "Adharia is here," she whispered. Then louder, more certain: "Adharia is here!" Elation and devastation warred within her, colliding at a rate she struggled to process.
"Adharia is here!" she exclaimed again, struggling herself to process her own words.
"What do you mean, Mum?" Apolline whispered, her expression hardening. She stepped protectively in front of her mate and daughters, as if she could shield them from the pain of Amilie's words. Her daughter's wife let out a strangled gasp behind Apolline, eyeing Amilie warily, as though unable—or unwilling—to let herself believe it were possible.
"The bond!" Amilie nearly shouted. "The bond, Apolline!" Her breath came quick, her heart pounding as certainty flooded her. "The girls can feel it! Only family magik could have such a hold on a Veela without outside influence!" She grasped her daughter's shoulders, shaking her slightly in her urgency. "The pull—it's Adharia."
She saw the exact moment realization dawned upon Apolline's face.
Baby-blue eyes turned stormy grey as tears spilled down her daughter's face. Her hands clutched at Amilie's robes as if grounding herself. "The girls' magic is untampered with," Apolline whispered, her voice shook with the weight of her emotion.
Amilie nodded.
From over Apolline's shoulder, Amilie met her daughter-in-law's gaze— one that was hopeful and terrified in equal measure. Her own mate had moved closer to them, a gentle hand landing on her daughters face, gentle fingers turning their daughter's chin towards her mother.
"Their magic is clean," Adharia reassured them softly. "They are not being influenced by a potion, spell, or charm." The warmth and love in her wife's expression was enough to steady them all. And then, as if the words had been the last confirmation Apolline needed, she whirled toward her family, pure elation on her face. She pulled her mate into a tight embrace before reaching for her daughters, holding them both close.
The four of them sobbed—relief, joy, grief—so much emotion crashing into them at once. Amilie and Adharia moved toward them, their own hearts breaking for all that had been lost, for all that had been found. The older Veela wrapped her loved ones in her arms, shushing them gently.
"One way or another, we will bring her home," she vowed solemnly. She didn't know how they would find one girl in a sea of hundreds. But Amilie was a woman who would go to any lengths for her family. She really didn't care who or what stood in her way. She would fight the world, in the coming days, if she had too. She would not rest until her grandchild was safe in her arms.
And Albus Dumbledore - had been destroyed for the unforgiveable crimes he had committed against her family.
"We will bring her home."