As promised, here's the next chapter. I know you're all eager for Hermione to be reunited with her sisters and it's coming I promise.
But in the meantime please enjoy Apolline Delacour being bad ass and Albus being his sneaky creepy little self.
As always though, i appreciate you all so much. Your words and feedback mean everything and i am so grateful that you're all still on this journey with me.
All my love,
~nell xoxo
~ September 6th 1995 ~
~ Hermione's POV ~
~ Ravenclaw Fourth Year Girls Wing ~
Hermione woke with a start, her sharp mind immediately alert. Anxiety clung to her like a second skin, and her wide brown eyes darted around the room, squinting into the darkness. The room was shrouded in shadows that stretched across the walls, broken only by the faint glow seeping out from beneath the curtains – A feeble shield between her and the outside world. Though the dim moonlight provided little aid in easing her dread. Her magik stirred restlessly, pulsing beneath her skin with frantic urgency, heightening the suffocating sensation pressing down on her chest. It felt as though unseen hands were tightening around her throat. Her clothes clung too tightly, the air felt too thick. The only sound was the quiet rhythm of her friend's breathing—a gentle reminder that she was not alone.
Desperately, she tried to steady her breathing, drawing in stilted deep breaths, her hand groping for the familiar weight of her wand. Her damp palm closed around the smooth Vine wood, gripping it like a lifeline. A comfort amid the storm. "Lumos" she whispered, her voice unsteady, nervous energy coursing through her. A soft glow bloomed from the wand tip, casting flickering light across her room. Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow, frowning as she scanned her surroundings. Nothing seemed out of place, yet the unease remained steadfast. A silent confirmation that everything was not fine. Not that she could identify what exactly that was. Every book, every chair, every picture lay exactly where she always had them and even Crookshanks lay sound asleep at the bottom of her bed. Beside her, Cho shifted slightly beneath the quilt, dark locks spilling across the pillow in an undisturbed mass. Hermione exhaled, a wry, self-deprecating thought flickering through her mind—at least one of them was sleeping peacefully.
The brunette sighed. Running a shaky hand through the tangled mop of curls atop her head. With a subtle flick of her wrist she wordlessly cast "Tempus." Groaning quietly. The glowing numbers hovered in the air.
5:05 a.m.
It was too late to salvage any more rest, too early to start the day without exhaustion gnawing at her. Frustration simmered beneath her skin. She wanted nothing more than to curl back into the warmth beside her friend, to steal just a little more of that rare, dreamless sleep. The kind where her mind had finally quieted, where the loneliness had slipped away—if only for a few precious hours. Morgana knew Hermione hadn't slept for that long since she was a small child. But, of course, it hadn't lasted. It never did. Now, it was back, coiling around her spine, whispering doubts with cruel precision. Every muscle in her body was wound tight.
Hermione rose quietly, already deciding on a shower to clear her head. The day ahead loomed in her thoughts: double Potions first, then Transfiguration and History, followed by lunch. Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures would fill the afternoon before dinner. Best to focus now, organize her thoughts and push away the lingering dread. She couldn't afford distractions—not even the one that was curled up beside her. Admitting how much Cho mattered had been a mistake. A dangerous one. So what if Hermione saw Cho as the best friend she had ever had. It was dangerous to have admitted it, especially to the pure – blooded witch herself. And Hermione knew, with a certainty that made her chest ache, that by morning, it would all be over. Whether Cho left the moment she woke or lingered just a little longer to revel in Hermione's misery, it was only a matter of time before she was gone too. It was inevitable. It happened every time Hermione started to feel as if she had finally found someone she could call her family.
Hermine entered her bathroom, wandlessly summoning her uniform to her as she closed the bathroom door behind her quietly.
Hermione stepped into her dorm room thirty minutes later, feeling a little more refreshed but far more anxious than before. The warm spray of water had done nothing to soothe her anxiety and trepidation. If anything It had only intensified as she stood under the warm stream of water, hoping it would ground her. By the time she stepped out, she felt as though she were suffering from a muggle caffeine withdrawal - or perhaps she had become the unfortunate victim of one of the Weasley twins cruel but undeniably clever pranks. She hadn't quite decided which was more likely yet, but really she was leaning towards the caffeine withdrawals. The twins had always been respectful of her, after all, and she often wished they had been sorted into Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor. Maybe then, they could have been friends.
They were certainly clever enough for Ravenclaw. Over the past four years, Hermione had taken the opportunity on several occasions to examine a number of the Twins' inventions, each one had been as ingenious as it was catastrophic for its intended target. Their intended targets were usually the professors, the Slytherin students, and, to Hermione's constant quiet amusement—Harry and Ron. Ron, being their younger brother, seemed to be a particular favourite. The dynamic between him and the twins had always puzzled Hermione. There was a deep-seated animosity between them, one she couldn't quite understand. It almost made her sad. She had spent her entire life wishing for a sibling, yet here were people who had them and seemed to wish they didn't. How was that fair?
"What has your mind so preoccupied at this - Merlin awful time in the morning Mia?" A groggy voice pulled Hermione from her thoughts, and she glanced sheepishly toward her bed. Cho was watching her through half-lidded eyes, her sleep-addled tone carrying a hint of concern. It was only then that Hermione realized she had been standing frozen in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her head, staring blankly at nothing discernible.
"Uh…" she murmured uncomfortably, shifting on her feet. She wasn't ready for this. Wasn't ready for Cho to tell her that she never wanted to speak to her again. That she was an orphaned nobody who should have stayed in the Muggle world. She flinched at her own thoughts and closed her eyes hard. Wishing she could dispel the horror she felt swallowing her whole.
"Hermione?" Her friends voice came again, only this time it was clearer, closer and filled with a warmth the brunette was sure she was only imagining. Wishful thinking she was sure her matron would call it. A gasp escaped the brunettes dry lips as she visibly jumped, startled by the soft weight of a hand on her shoulder. She hadn't seen or heard Cho move. There was something so earnest in the way Cho looked at her, so full of concern, that Hermione found herself unwillingly meeting her friends gaze. She braced herself for the disgust, the rejection and the hatred she was certain she would see — except it never came. Instead, all she saw was warmth. Cho stood mere inches away, her hands raised in a silent gesture of reassurance. Her usually immaculate locks of hair appeared slightly mussed, the remnants of sleep still evident in her expression as she studied Hermione carefully.
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, running her hands down her robes in a futile attempt to steady herself. Her anxiety causing her palms to sweat and shake visibly. Cho raised an eyebrow, silently prompting her to continue—an expression Hermione had come to recognize as her friend's way of telling her she was being a little ridiculous. "I… I know you probably don't want to be my friend anymore. After… after…" Hermione's voice cracked, barely above a whisper, as she tried desperately to find the words to explain her upset. She dropped her gaze, unable to look at the girl who had become her safe place.
"After what, Hermione?" Cho's voice was sharp, her tone suddenly laced with something fierce, and Hermione flinched, curling in on herself instinctively. "After you opened up to me? Trusted me? You think I would discard you?" Cho's voice grew stronger, almost angry, but not at her. "You think I would prove those awful Muggles right?!" Hermione barely had time to react before Cho grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her gently.
"You listen to me now Hermione Granger and you listen to me good." The dark hair girl demanded, her grip firm but not unkind. "I think those muggles are vile. You deserved better than to be discarded. You deserved to have been loved and cherished." Tears welled in Hermione's eyes, blurring her vision as she looked up at Cho's unwavering sincere gaze.
"You are my best friend Hermione, my family!" Cho continued, her voice softening but losing none of its conviction. "I would follow you to the ends of the earth and back without question. No matter what you've been through, good people exist—and this one thinks the world of you." She gave Hermione's shoulders a final squeeze. "We'll figure this out together. You are not alone. I promise." Hermione barely registered the movement as she let herself be pulled into Cho's embrace, clinging to her tightly. Relief, confusion, and lingering anxiety warred within her, but she held on, letting herself believe—for just a moment—that Cho meant every word.
Cho didn't hate her.
Cho thought of her as family.
The notion was foreign, almost unbelievable, yet Hermione felt herself sink further into her friends embrace. They held onto each other tightly, neither in a hurry to let go — Cho relieved that Hermione was finally opening up, and Hermione overwhelmed but somehow… lighter. Her breathing slowly steadied, her control slipping back into place bit by bit.
When they pulled apart, Cho offered Hermione a watery smile. "Should we freshen up and head to the hall early for some breakfast?" she quietly suggested, patiently waiting for the brunette to answer. Hermione nodded, giving Cho a small smile in return.
"Refreshing your face is a good idea," she murmured, flicking her wand—first at herself, then at Cho—casting a quick Scourgify before fixing her friend's hair with another wave. "Wouldn't want to scare the elves." She quipped with a giggle, feeling an easy sort of contentment settle between them.
Cho let out a startled laugh, shoving Hermione playfully. "You're such a prat."
Their quiet giggles followed them all the way to the Great Hall.
~ Appoline's POV ~
~ British Ministry of Magic, Minister's Private Office. ~
~ September 6th 1995 ~
Apolline and Amilie strode through the Ministry side by side, radiating power with every step. It was early—8:30 a.m., to be exact—but the wait for the Ministry to open had been agonizing. They had spent the early hours of the morning deep in discussion with their mates and the headmistress—scheming, planning, and scheming some more.
For Apolline, there were few things she enjoyed more than a well-executed strategy—aside from time with her family. She had spent countless days holed up in stuffy offices, surrounded by equally stuffy, self-important pure-blooded men who valued their own status over public relations—let alone international diplomacy. Over the years, she had mastered the art of manoeuvring through their fragile egos, crafting careful plans to get exactly what she wanted while ensuring they believed it had been their idea all along.
It was a skill she had honed to perfection during her years as the International Liaison Officer for the French Ministry of Magic. And now, it would serve her well—because today marked the beginning of their carefully orchestrated strategy. Albus Dumbledore had stolen her baby, her littlest daughter, cruelly robbed them of countless years together. But Apolline could feel it—a bone-deep certainty thrumming through her very magik. They would right his crime. They would find her daughter.
She was not leaving Britain without her.
Not this time. Not ever.
Fourteen years ago, they had left Britain to protect Fleur and Gabrielle. But Apolline had never truly left. She had returned time and time again, conducting search after search for her lost daughter. She had never wavered in her belief that Adharia was alive—she could feel her. Over the years, her searches had become more discreet, carried out beyond her mate's line of sight. The repeated heartbreak felt when every search yielded no results had become too much for her wife to bear and Apolline had taken to shielding her wife from the heartbreak.
But this time would be different.
This time, they would not leave empty-handed.
This time, they were bringing their daughter home.
"Remember to let me lead, my Apple," her mother whispered, and Apolline nodded, though she internally rolled her eyes in fond exasperation. Amilie had called her that since she was an infant — the apple of my eye, darling, my little Apple — always murmured with a kiss to the forehead before tucking her into bed. "Hopefully, we won't have to set you lose" Amilie added as an afterthought. Apolline grinned, the expression unsettlingly reminiscent of her love's childhood best friend—manic and edged with a cruelty that was seldom seen on the usually humorous blonde. Her inner Veela stirred, its hunger for vengeance briefly colouring her expression.
"Of course, Maman," she agreed smoothly, stepping slightly behind her Clan Leader. They were here on official business, after all.
Amilie was resplendent in deep rouge silk robes, accented with gold trim. Apolline, by contrast, wore a pale grey business suit—elegant yet formidable. Together, they cut an imposing figure, and as they were ushered into the Minister's office, Apolline suppressed a smirk. Cornelius Fudge looked pale behind his desk, his beady green eyes darting up at them with barely concealed alarm. Sweat beaded along his receding hairline, painting a rather pathetic picture.
This was the man the British had chosen to lead them?
Apolline resisted the urge to scoff. He looked nothing like his campaign portraits and certainly not how she had expected. Was he using illusion charms on the public? If so, they weren't very effective up close.
She was silently grateful she had never had the displeasure of meeting him before. Usually, she dealt with his lackeys—or, better yet, sent her assistant to do it for her.
"Good morning, Monsieur Fudge" Amilie greeted smoothly, her voice laced with the effortless elegance and authority befitting a Veela leader. The man gaped openly for a moment before scrambling to his feet, his movements unsteady and stilted as he extended a clammy hand. Amilie took it, her lips curling in barely concealed distaste, though her grip remained firm.
"Cornelius, please." He prompted, with a small awkward wave of his hand.
Amilie nodded. "Allow me to introduce my daughter, Apolline—International Liaison Officer of France," she continued, deliberately emphasizing her title. They wanted this man to know he was in the presence of power—power that, should they choose, could end his career for, simply put, nothing more than their own amusement.
"N-nice to meet you, Madame Delacour," Minister Fudge stammered, offering Apolline his hand just as he had her mother. Apolline forced herself to take it, her own grip firm despite the revulsion curling in her stomach as his sweat-slicked palm met hers.
"Please, take a seat" he said, regaining some of his composure.
"No, thank you. This won't take long" she replied curtly, subtly wiping her hand against the back of her suit trousers. Cornelius gulped, his beady eyes darting between them before lingering a little too long on her. Apolline grimaced as his gaze shamelessly fixated on her chest. Wonderful, she thought dryly. The Veela Thrall had caught the attention of yet another repulsive man. Beside her, Amilie bristled, her displeasure evident. Apolline knew her mother had noticed the blatant leering—and she was not pleased.
"Uhm, of course, of course, dear." Fudge muttered, sitting up straighter in his high-backed chair, as if the shift in posture might somehow disguise his discomfort. Though his actions hadn't fooled either of the Veela in the room. His behaviour was, regrettably, all too common amongst British wizards. Their ingrained prejudices had meant that they rarely interacted with Veela the way most other witches and wizards around the world did. As a result, they had never quite adjusted to the Veela Thrall – often leering and tripping over themselves to bed them, much to the Delacour clan's irritation. But that was a battle for another time.
Clearing his throat, the Minister forced himself to meet their gaze—just barely. "What can I help you with?" he queried, eyes flickering past them nervously as though afraid of being caught leering once again.
Amilie didn't waste time on pleasantries. "I'll cut to the chase, Cornelius—this Ministry owes our family a great deal" she stated, her tone sharp and unwavering. Her eyes, steely with determination, locked onto his. "We've come to collect on that debt, and you will cooperate." Apolline remained silent, observing the tension in the Minister's posture. His hands twitched atop his desk, his gaze darting toward the door as though expecting someone—anyone—to walk in and rescue him from this conversation. But they all knew the truth: this was no mere discussion. It was a demand and no one was coming to rescue him.
"We have reason to believe that the kidnapped daughter of Clan Delacour—yes, kidnapped, Cornelius, I won't entertain the Ministry's absurd claims about a house-elf—has in fact been hidden within Hogwarts school, attending classes under a false name," Amilie continued, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "We want the Ministry to impose a school-wide, compulsory blood test for all students." Fudge blanched, and Apolline could see his objections forming before he even opened his mouth.
"Preposterous, Amilie! Absolutely not, no! Think of the scandal! The public will call it an invasion of privacy!" he spluttered, his face reddening, outraged, as he leaned forward in protest. Amilie, completely unruffled by his outburst, merely arched a well-shaped brow, waiting for him to finish his performance.
"It is not an invasion, Cornelius," she said smoothly, hands clasped lightly in front of her. "The Ministry already collects blood samples from pure-blood children at birth to confirm their family lineage—surely you haven't forgotten that, have you? What difference does it make here? Keep the results private if you must, disclosed only to the individuals themselves. Don't even store the records." She leaned in slightly, her voice like silk wrapped around steel. As gentle as it was deadly. "But you will do this for my family."
The threat in Amilie's voice was unmistakable, yet Apolline could tell that the minister wasn't finished his protesting. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, beads trickling down as his face deepened from red to purple. He sucked in great, gasping breaths, as if utterly horrified by the implications of her words. Apolline saw it—the sheer disbelief on his face - that they knew. That they had uncovered a secret passed down from minister to minister, hidden for centuries within the Ministry's walls. When Cornelius turned his panicked gaze on her, trying to gauge where she stood, Apolline smirked.
"Apolline, you must see how disastrous this would be," he urged, voice thick with barely restrained desperation. "Not just for Britain, but for any future international relations we may have with France. To institute mandatory blood tests at the behest of the French Ministry—" Despite his horrified facade, Apolline sensed the calculation behind his words. He was stalling. Buying himself time. Fool. She flicked her gaze toward her mother, silently seeking permission to speak. Permission that was granted with a single subtle nod of the older Veela's head.
Did he truly think that she wouldn't support her own mother in this?
"Lady Delacour speaks sense Cornelius, I won't tell you different." Apolline replied coolly, her tone laced with disinterest, as if the matter was already settled.
Cornelius bristled. "The board will never agree to this, Amilie. You forget—the Wazengamot will not tolerate an outsider making such demands. It won't stand." His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"You seem to think I care about the British Wazengamot, Fudge." Amilie's voice was razor-sharp. "You are this country's minister. A directive from you is law, and you know it. The Wazengamot doesn't have a say in all ministry affairs." Amilie spat back. Apolline could hear the growing impatience in her mother's voice.
"You owe us a debt. We have come to collect. It is as simple as that. Unless"—her voice turned deadly soft—"you would prefer war." She let the words hang, a blade poised to strike. "And I assure you, Cornelius, you would regret it." She finished, danger threaded through every syllable she spoke.
The minister visibly blanched, his puce-coloured face turning an unhealthy shade as he shoved himself to his feet, hands slamming onto the desk with a sharp crack. The sound echoing around the minister's office, reverberating in the air around them. "Now see here, woman," he spat. "It is unwise for your kind to threaten war in the same breath that you ask anything of me. You are here as a courtesy to the French embassy—nothing more." He leaned forward, as if to intimidate, as if to make himself appear larger than he was.
"How dare you presume you have any right to threaten the British Minister of Magic—especially over a measly child?"
Apolline didn't let him finish. Her patience snapped, rage surging through her at the disrespect aimed at not only her mother but her child as well. Before he had the chance to react, she had rounded his desk in two strides and seized him by his robe collar, hoisting him clean off the ground with the effortless strength of her Veela blood.
"Non," she hissed, her breath hot against his paling face. "How dare you threaten the head of the Veela clan in the presence of the International Liaison Officer Cornelius?" Her grip tightened, drawing the vile man closer. "You forget," she murmured, voice dripping with false sweetness, "that the measly child you speak of is my child – My daughter." Cornelius trembled. "You will do this," she continued, eyes gleaming with dangerous promise, "or you will face the consequences of turning us away. Tell me, Minister" – She emphasised his title snidely — "can you truly defend yourself against the millions of Veela across the world and against the entirety of Wizarding France?" Her query as condescending as it was deadly.
His silence was answer enough. Yet Apolline did not lower him. Suspended midair, he must have felt utterly vulnerable—his wand lay useless on the desk, just out of reach. British wizards had the predictable habit of relying too heavily on their wands, never truly honing their magic beyond their use of them. Cornelius Fudge, it seemed, was no exception.
"Understood?" she hissed, her grip unrelenting. She saw the defeat settle in his eyes, the moment he realized there was no escape. He nodded quickly, avoiding her gaze, doing everything in his power not to meet the eyes of either Delacour woman. Apolline felt vindicated at his fear. Fitting that he should feel such a way when he had been part of the Auror team all those years ago that had failed immeasurably to find her little girl.
"Now, Cornelius," Amilie's voice cut through the room, both smooth and unyielding. She stepped forward, each step deliberate and measured, making sure the minister's full attention remained focused on her. "My daughter is going to release you. And now that we have reached an understanding, you are going to take a little Unbreakable Vow." Fudge's eyes widened comically, panic flickering to life. "No, no," Amilie continued, her tone almost soothing, as if speaking to a cornered animal. "There will be no protest. Simply uphold your promise, and you needn't concern yourself with the consequences of breaking an Unbreakable Vow." She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. And Cornelius Fudge, still dangling helplessly in Apolline's grasp, looked as though he might faint.
Twenty minutes and an Unbreakable Vow later, both Veela women strode out of the minister's office, a distinct lightness in their step. Step one of their plan was in motion. Now, all they could do was trust their instincts—that their little one was indeed hidden within Hogwarts, unaware of who she truly was. They just had to be patient once more.
Luckily patience was something they had always been good at.
~ Fleur's POV ~
~ Great hall – Breakfast time ~
~ September 6th 1995 ~
The cold, wet morning did nothing to lift Fleur's already exhausted spirits as she and Gabrielle made their way from the Beauxbatons carriage towards the great hall with their peers. The chill bit through her robes painfully, but it was nothing compared to the weariness weighing on her. She hadn't slept. Even after their mothers had sent them to bed, urging them to rest—to gather their strength—Fleur had spent the night tossing and turning. Logic had told her to listen, to prepare for what lay ahead of them. But her magic had other plans. It surged and whispered, urging her to seek the force that called to her own. For hours, she had focused on that pull, tracing its edges, studying how it felt. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced—something ancient, something warm and missing. And as she had let herself feel it fully, she realized just how much her magic craved the unknown presence.
Gabrielle had put it into words the night before: "As if we will never be complete without it." And Fleur knew she was right. They would never be whole until they found the source of the pull. But that thought had led her to the fear that had haunted her most—Adharia. Adharia, the sister she had lost. Her sister who, she was certain, was at the other end of this connection. The sister she would do anything to find, yet Fleur didn't know her.
She knew Gabrielle better than she knew herself, but Adharia? She didn't even know her baby sisters favourite colour.
What if she couldn't be the sister Adharia needed? What if Adharia hated her? Blamed her? Fleur was the eldest. She was meant to protect her sisters. And she had failed. It didn't matter that she had only been three years old when Adharia had been snatched. It didn't matter that Adharia hadn't even been three months old. There should have been something she could have done. Surely, Adharia would see that. Surely, she would know Fleur had failed her.
The questions had tormented her all night, each scenario shattering her heart even as she clung to hope—a desperate, fragile hope—that they were right. That their littlest sister was waiting for them.
She had lost count of how many nights she and Gabrielle had lain together, piecing together an image of Adharia in their minds. Gabrielle was convinced that she would have the same wild curls that she did, Fleur's nose, and their shared eyes. But Fleur had never agreed. In her mind, she pictured Adharia to be a younger version of their mother, Apolline—gentle honeyed waves, eyes as strikingly blue as theirs, the unmistakable mark of Veela blood. She would no doubt be shorter than Fleur but taller than Gabrielle. And If they had grown up together, Fleur could easily imagine the playful squabbles over height, Gabrielle and Adharia bickering while she played the role of peacekeeper, as the eldest always did.
It hurt to think about—to acknowledge all they had lost, all that had been stolen from them. In many ways, her sister's kidnapping had shaped Fleur in every way, forging her into someone wary and vigilant, stoic and sensible. Every part of her life had been touched by it. Their parents had been terrified to let Gabrielle or Fleur out of their sight as children. They had grown up well-loved and happy, but Fleur had felt the weight of her parents' sorrow as surely as she had felt her own. Every joyful memory they had as a family was tinged with the ache of absence. And now, she didn't know what the future held. She only prayed it included her baby sister.
"You need to focus, Fleur," Gabrielle murmured from beside her as they walked, arm in arm, huddled together for comfort as much as warmth. "Grandmaman told us to focus only on the day ahead," she added in a quiet, concerned whisper. Fleur knew her sister was trying to reassure her, sensing the weight of her worry. But there was nothing that Gabrielle could do to ease the anxiety churning inside her. It wouldn't leave her anytime soon—not with so much at stake. Dumbledore circling. Adharia so close. Their family's fears pressing down on her like a storm cloud. It was a lot to bear, but Fleur knew she had to keep it together. For Gabrielle. For all of them.
She took a steadying breath and forced a warm smile for her sister. "I know, Gabby. I do. But it is hard to truly relax when Dumbledore is so near and our magik feels so unsettled." She spoke honestly—there was no point in pretending otherwise. Gabrielle, for all her lack of a filter, was Fleur's closest confidant and always would be. Only two years separated them in age, and in many ways despite the small age gap, they had always been of one mind.
"I understand, sister, truly." Gabrielle said sincerely, before a glint of mischief began to sparkle in her eyes — one that promised Fleur that Gabrielle had a plan that would clearly spell trouble for them both. "But think about this." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "We attend school like Maman instructed, but we search for our sister too. This castle is only so big. How hard can it be to find someone when there's literally a magical connection leading us to her?" She arched an eye at her, the challenge evident.
"What do you propose, sister of mine?" she asked, already suspecting the answer. A slight smirk appearing on her face as she awaited her sisters reply.
Gabrielle's smirk widened. "What better way to help our little sister and stick it to that vile man than finding her before he even realizes his secret is about to be exposed?" Her voice was sharp with determination. "If we were to reach her first, if we tell her the truth, then there's less chance that—" she spat the word with clear disdain, pausing for effect, "—that man can twist the outcome in his favour. If she knows to look for the deceit, his lies will crumble before they can ever take root." Fleur considered her words carefully, the gears in her mind turning rapidly. Gabrielle had a point.
Albus trying to rig the blood tests was something they had discussed at length the previous evening and her Grandparents were certain it wouldn't truly be a problem. Her Maman and Mother hadn't been completely sure however and Fleur hadn't been either.
They had all spent the previous evening discussing, at length, Albus Dumbledore's likely attempts to manipulate the blood tests. Their grandparents were confident it wouldn't pose a real obstacle—anything he tried, they believed, would be quickly caught and stopped by those administering the tests. But Maman and Mother weren't as certain. Maman knew Albus better than anyone, and Fleur had seen the fear and devastation in her eyes when she learned of his deceit.
If her Maman wasn't convinced, then neither was Fleur.
"You have a valid point, Gabrielle," she admitted. "It's a wise plan. However, we must be careful." Her grip tightened on her sister's arm, her tone turning serious. "Please do not approach our sister alone. If Dumbledore sees you with her, you'll both be far more vulnerable than if we are all together." She stopped just before the entrance to the main school, ignoring the light drizzle beginning to fall around them. This was too important. Gabrielle needed to understand the danger. She used her grip on Gabrielle's arm to turn her sister towards her. "Please do not go rushing in without thought." She continued, letting the desperation bleed in to her tone, her eyes flashing red for a second as her Veela voiced her agreement with Fleur's ask. Gabrielle's eyes flashed red in turn, an acknowledgement from the younger girls Veela to her leader.
"I promise I wont Fleur, But you must promise the same. I cannot risk harm to one sister while trying to save the other. We have all suffered enough." Gabrielle whispered back in a rare display of sincerity. Damp hands pulling her sister in to her arms tightly. Fleur sighed into the hug, letting her little sister cling to her for a moment before she pulled away.
"I promise I wont either. You and our little sister are far too important to me. I won't risk you – either of you - for anything. " Fleur confirmed and she could see the relief on Gabrielle's face as she reassured her. "Now come, Lets investigate what the British eat for breakfast." The older Veela declared, ushering Gabrielle towards the hall and out of the rain. She cast a quick drying spell on them as they went.
Upon entering the Hall, Fleur and Gabrielle were surprised by the sheer liveliness of the scene before them. The long tables were packed with students either side, and nearly every professor had already taken their place at the top table for breakfast. The atmosphere buzzed with an energy that had been absent the previous evening. From the Slytherin table, Fleur could hear the Durmstrang students boasting loudly. Among them, Lord Malfoy's son—apparently a Slytherin as well—held conversation with his usual entourage. He and his friends hovered around the Durmstrang boys, blatantly vying for their favour, no doubt acting on instructions from their parents. It was pathetic. The very sight of Draco made Fleur feel ill. The thought that this miniature version of Lucius Malfoy was, in fact, her own little cousin was almost unbearable. Not that they had spent much time together. As much as her mother's adored their nephew, they had little patience for Lucius Malfoy's overt prejudice against the Veela and his obsession with blood purity.
Her grandmother had often scoffed that her Maman's brother had no understanding of what "pure blood" truly meant. While Lucius droned on about the importance of lineage and DNA, the term had historically referred to those who honoured the ways of old Magik—not simply those born to witches and wizards. His narrow-minded rhetoric had always been dull and tiresome, and Fleur had mastered the art of avoiding him on the rare occasions they were forced into the same vicinity as one another. Unfortunately, it seemed Malfoy junior had taken to imitating his father. Even from this distance, Fleur recognized his all-too-familiar posturing, puffing himself up like a peacock. It made him look like an arrogant fool.
"I see you have spotted our dearest cousin, Sister?" Gabrielle murmured sarcastically as they settled into their seats at the Ravenclaw table. Nestling themselves between Elodie and Carmel. Fleur caught the flicker of disappointment in her sister's eyes—she had noticed it too, the way Draco was slowly becoming a mirror image of their delightful uncle.
"Unfortunately," Fleur muttered back, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as they watched Draco animatedly recount a story they couldn't quite hear. "I wonder if he's perfected Uncle Lucius' 'I am chewing on a wasp' expression yet." She smirked at the laugh her remark drew from Gabrielle, feeling a small victory in the way her sister's usual boisterous nature flickered back to life. Fleur giggled alongside her, mimicking the look she was talking about, allowing herself, for a fleeting moment, to simply enjoy the warmth of the bustling hall and the melodic laughter of her sister. Just two ordinary sisters, lost in a moment of shared amusement—pretending, if only for now, that their family had not endured all that it had and there only care was in fact the blonde haired arrogant boy who was now rather extravagantly gesturing about something or other.
But the illusion was fragile. The closer they were in proximity to the castle, the stronger the pull became—a silent, insistent tug that demanded she seek out the one at its source. Gabrielle's words echoed in her mind as Fleur let her gaze drift slowly across the hall. But she already knew the truth. Their sister wasn't here. Her magic lingered, a faint trace in the air, but the pull—the tether—lay deeper within the castle. The ache in Fleur's chest felt like a stone, the longing as raw and unrelenting as ever. Beside her, Gabrielle's hand slipped into her own, a gentle grounding force. Fleur knew her sister felt it too—the same relentless pull, the same desperate call of their youngest sister's magik.
The noise of the Great Hall faded into a distant hum. Conversations blurred, the weight of meaningless chatter paling against the only thing that mattered. Fleur clenched her fingers around Gabrielle's, her resolve hardening.
She wanted nothing more than to follow that invisible thread—to let it guide her straight to their sister. But knew they had to be cautious. To search so openly with Albus Dumbledore merely feet away would be as foolish as her dear cousin's posturing. So Fleur forced her gaze back to the table, giving Gabrielle's hand one last gentle squeeze before she began to dish out her and Gabrielle's breakfast plate.
The other Veela girls sat eagerly, their eyes fixed on Fleur as she finished, for Veela etiquette dictated that their leader be seated and begin eating first. It was a silly tradition that Fleur despised, but the girls clung to it nonetheless, finding comfort in its familiarity—something that seemed to soothe their inner Veela in such a strange place. Fleur sighed fondly, looking at them all. "Allez-y quoi," ("Well, Go on then.") she said affectionately, gesturing toward the table in front of her. Her Clan was her comfort, and she felt truly blessed to be their leader. Moments like this served as a reminder of that blessing as they eagerly tucked in. Their voices rose in excitement as they sampled the food, critiquing each bite with gusto.
Fleur and Gabrielle, however, chose something lighter for their breakfast: some toast and scrambled eggs with a glass of pumpkin juice. The full English breakfast, while delightful in moderation, was simply too heavy for such an early hour.
"So Fleur, what is our game plan for the day?" Carmel queried before taking a dainty bite of her bacon. Ever the lady her mother wanted her to be.
"Just go to class, mingle, but behave!" Fleur responded with a smile, cutting herself off to give Elodie a pointed look. She knew the younger girl had a tendency to get into mischief. "We want to make friends here, so be friendly, but don't let anyone disrespect you." She softened her tone, though it remained firm. "For that reason, I want you all to stick together in pairs, especially after some of the comments last night." Her voice had grown serious yet gentle. Several of the girls had come to her on their way to the castle, worried about the inappropriate comments aimed at them from the other students—mostly the boys. Many making lude and suggestive comments. Unfortunately for them all, they had been warned that such attention could be common at Hogwarts due to the sudden exposure to their Veela Thrall, something that many of the Hogwarts students had never experienced before but Fleur would not tolerate any such behaviours toward her girls. They would always have her full backing to handle anyone and everyone who dared overstep in any way.
Elodie giggled, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Who, me?" she asked, feigning innocence, a faux gesture of hurt being aimed at her. Fleur, however, knew the girl well enough to see that she took the warning seriously. Relieved, Fleur smiled back at her, before being drawn into a conversation with the Ravenclaw girls on their timetables.
Halfway through breakfast, however, the light atmosphere at the Ravenclaw table was abruptly interrupted.
"Where's Cho and Hermione this mornin', Looney?" demanded a strained voice from Fleur's right. The older Veela bristled at the insult that had been directed toward her little sister's friend, turning just in time to see a petite dark-haired girl with sharp features take a seat at the table. The girl immediately began shovelling a handful of sausages into her mouth as she spoke. The sight made Fleur grimace, a reaction mirrored by most of the students around them.
Marietta Edgecombe had never been particularly fond of Fleur, and Fleur had never been particularly fond of her either. She found the younger pure-blooded girl to have a bit of a vindictive streak, one that her Maman had once mentioned was unfortunately reminiscent of Marietta's mother – Lady Millicent Edgecomb.
"Hermione and Cho have already been in for breakfast this morning, Milli," came Luna Lovegood's serene reply, her voice completely unfazed by the insult directed at her. The younger blonde girl, sitting across from them, maintained a calm expression as she continued eating her toast and jam—one of Luna's favourites. She displayed a visage that suggested she was utterly unaffected. Fleur silently wondered just how often Luna had been subjected to insults like that for her to brush them off with such ease, as if they were meaningless.
"Ugh, great!" Millicent grunted, chewing loudly with her mouth open. It was a sight that was both jarring and unpleasant for those sitting around about her. Fleur couldn't help but wonder how Millicent could be so unaware of how impolite and repulsive she appeared. Surely, she must have realized how inappropriate her behaviour was. Was she chewing like that just to provoke a reaction from someone? Or was she genuinely unaware?
"Oi, Milli, you look like Ronald Weasley," called out one of the Ravenclaw boys, causing the hall to erupt in laughter. Millicent turned an awful shade of red in embarrassment, her earlier bravado faltering. Fleur, though not laughing as audibly or as visibly as everyone else, couldn't help but feel a sense of amusement. It seemed like a bit of instant karma. Perhaps Millicent would think twice before insulting others in the future—though Fleur didn't truly believe that would be the case. It was, however, a pleasant thought to hold on to.
Despite all the commotion around her, Fleur had been paying attention to both girls mention of the name Hermione. It wasn't a name she had ever encountered before, and she'd grown up around many of the pure-blood girls—or at least in their general vicinity. She knew Cho, but this Hermione was unfamiliar to her. Fleur filed the name away for later, intrigued. Was this girl a muggle-born? Why did Millicent appear to say her name with such contempt? Could Hermione perhaps be Adharia? Was that why the magic she sensed here felt muted? Because Hermione had already been to the great hall and left already?
"Who is Hermione?" Gabrielle asked the Ravenclaw girls, her tone light with curiosity. Fleur could tell, yet again, that her sister had been wondering the same thing she had.
"Nobody. Just a swotty orphan Cho seems to pity," Millicent replied with a sneer, her confidence seemingly restored after her earlier embarrassment. Her bravado returning as she latched on to the new conversation and the chance to belittle Hermione.
"Hermione Granger is Cho's best friend, Millicent," Luna said sharply, her usual dreamy air replaced by something far more grounded. "Being bitter that Cho doesn't want to be friends with you doesn't give you the right to insult her. I think Hermione's lovely. She just doesn't get the chance to show it, that's all."
Fleur arched a brow. Interesting. Luna Lovegood, of all people, was defending this Hermione with unexpected fervour. Clearly, the girl meant more to Luna than Fleur had assumed. It seemed Hermione Granger had a talent for provoking strong reactions—loyalty, bitterness, curiosity. Fleur found herself wondering why. For Luna to defend her so ardorously it meant she must be someone incredible. It took a lot for the usually whimsical blonde to appear so angered by something.
"That's not true!" Millicent snapped back at the little blonde, her irritation flaring. Conversations around Fleur's clan faltered, weary expressions turning toward the brewing conflict. Yet beneath that weariness, Fleur caught the glint of curiosity in their eyes—a curiosity she couldn't deny sharing. "Cho does want to be my friend. She just hasn't realized yet that Hermione isn't worth her time," Millicent huffed, petulance seeping into her voice like a crack in fragile glass. Though Fleur could see the insecurity in the other girls actions.
Luna tilted her head, her gaze steady and unsettlingly clear as she locked gazes with the dark haired girl. "Oh, Millicent, if you really believed Hermione was as inconsequential as you say she is, you wouldn't be so threatened by her brilliance." she said softly, but with undeniable conviction. "You know as well as I do that Hermione will change the world one day." Fleur's interest sharpened. What does Luna know that the rest of us don't? she wondered. Though if Fleur had learned anything in the many years she had known the younger girl it was best never to bet against Luna Lovegood. The girl had an uncanny knack for predicting the most improbable things, as if plucking truths from thin air. Fleur had long suspected Luna might be a Seer—just one the world hadn't recognized yet.
Seers, like the Veela, descended from long lines of ancient Magik, a gift passed from mother to daughter. However, unlike Veela—who were always born True Veela, whether from two Veela parents or from a Veela and a witch or wizard—Seers were far less predictable. Their gift often skipped many generations, sometimes disappearing for so long that families forgot the talent had ever been part of their lineage, until it unexpectedly resurfaced in a new descendant many years later. Fleur was certain that if someone traced Luna's ancestry, this would be the case for her.
Millicent simply huffed and left the table, clear irritation etched across her face. Luna giggled softly, turning back to face the wider table, that same dreamy, faraway look settling once more on her delicate features. Fleur couldn't help but smile fondly. It was refreshing to see Luna so effortlessly herself, her light unbothered by the cruelty of others. Often, as they grew, Luna had been overlooked by others—deemed too much like her father, full of whimsical nonsense that society never cared to understand. But Gabrielle had never seemed to mind. In fact, Gabrielle adored her as she did Gabrielle.
"So, who is this Hermione?" Fleur asked, repeating her sister's earlier question. Now that Millicent had vacated the space, she hoped to get a clearer picture of the girl who seemed to inspire such strong emotions.
"Hermione Jean Granger," Luna replied in her lilting, melodic voice. "She's a fith-year, but the same age as me. 14. She was admitted a year early because Dumbledore said her accidental magic was too noticeable to the Muggles. She's a muggle-born orphan, but she really is lovely. She likes to grow flowers when she's sad." Fleur found herself smiling at the soft fondness in Luna's tone, a warmth woven between her words like threads of sunlight.
"She was a Hat Stall," piped up a younger boy from farther down the table, his voice tinged with reluctant admiration. "The Hat sat on her head for nearly eighteen minutes—that's longer than anyone. Even longer than Dumbledore and McGonagall. The hat told a student last year that he only picked so quickly because she demanded he hurry up." He continued, emphasising the hat's words. Fleur turned her smile to the boy, thanking him for the additions details about Hermione.
"Merci," she said graciously, though she inwardly cringed when the boy's face flushed pink, and he scrambled to his feet, puffing up with the kind of bravado only adolescent boys could muster.
"Terrance Boot's me name. Friends call me Terry," he announced with a smirk, extending his hand as if she'd been waiting for the honour. "You can call me anything you want." Fleur barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There was a smugness in his tone, a misplaced confidence that suggested he thought himself charming. Instead, she found it mildly repellent, though she masked her distaste behind a polite, diplomatic smile—the kind she'd perfected over the years. Sending a quiet 'thank you grandmaman.' to the powers that be for the many lessons Amilie Delacour had tutored her through.
"Fleur Delacour. Future leader of the Veela clans. It is nice to meet you Terrance." She introduced back, her tone polite but not warm. She did not want to encourage this boy in whatever ideas of grandeur he had created for himself.
"We must go Fleur, let us leave the little boy to his illusions, no?" Gabrielle spoke up from beside her, deliberately placing herself in front of her sister. Her actions forcing distance between Fleur and Terry Boot much to the blonde's relief.
"Yes you are right sister. We must go. Goodbye monsieur Boot" Fleur caught on, her expression matching the urgency her sister was creating. She silently made note to buy her sister an extra large box of Caramel Comets – A favourite of the younger blondes. The group silently picked their things up and set of for their first class of the day. Fleur had Transfiguration first with the seventh year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Gabrielle had a double potions with the fourth and fifth year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs. Though they both knew Fleur had got the better first class.
They had heard the rumours about the potions professor – Snape and both Blonde's had hoped to avoid him.
As they left the hall a gentle hand was placed on Fleurs arm, drawing her attention to Luna who had followed them out. Her first class was also potions. "It will all work out, you'll see." The younger Blonde murmured as if to reassure them, before grabbing Gabrielle's hand and skipping off, dragging the Veela girl with her down the corridor. Fleur stared after them in confusion. The blonde's parting words were confusing and vague.
What did she mean it would all work out? Fleur gently ran her hands down her robes, the action bringing her comfort in her confusion. Before setting off towards her first class.
~ Same Day ~
~ Albus Dumbledore's POV ~
~ Headmaster's office ~
Albus Dumbledore had always been a very patient man—calculated, calm, and always unyielding in his control. For as long as he could remember, he had always had a plan, a way in which he could spin any situation to his advantage, given enough time. He loved being in control of everything around him. He prided himself on always being several steps ahead, playing a long game in which his opponents rarely knew they were even part of the game, until it was too late for them.
This strategic brilliance was what had earned him his reputation, a mind and magic so revered by those who followed him that no one ever dared question him or his motives.
Over the decades, Dumbledore had carefully crafted plans upon plans, each person—a pawn in his grand design—positioned with such precision that the pieces always fell into place. Nothing had ever been left to chance. Every move he made was strategically analysed from all perspectives, making his plans infallible.
He scratched his chin thoughtfully, a bemused expression overtaking his usually composed grandfatherly features as he gazed at the official parchment. The Ministry's seal was stamped boldly in red on the top-left corner, confirming the authenticity of its contents.
But how?
How had he missed something as vital as this was? Where had he been when Cornelius Fudge had ran this decision past the Wazengamot? Surely, Fudge had never had an original thought in his life, let alone one that Albus himself hadn't carefully maneuvered him toward, spoon-feeding him bit by bit as he had always done. The idea behind this new decree was baffling to him. It served no one's interests—absolutely not his, nor the Ministry's, not even the students would benefit much from it. It was an unanticipated complication in an already delicate plan. One in which he hadn't for the first time in his life saw coming. It quite simply baffled him.
With a growl of frustration, Albus forced himself to remain seated, trying to maintain his usual calm. His senior staff would arrive soon, and there was far too much to figure out in the time between now and then.
He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself a brief respite before blindly reaching for the jar of lemon drops beneath his desk—his personal stash, not the ones on the desk for students. The sweets he left for the students were more than a simple treat; each was carefully infused with a subtle dose of Veritaserum. Not that he'd ever tell anyone that—particularly given the tendency for staff and guests to help themselves from the bowl. It would, after all, never not benefit him to know those in front of him couldn't lie to him.
After popping the sweet into his mouth and savouring the sharp tang of lemon sherbet on his tongue for a few moments, he read the letter once more. His eyes scanning the lines much more carefully now, looking for some type of clue, or thread of information he could pull on to unravel the ministries unexpected move.
Dear Albus,
I hope this letter finds you well Albus. I write to you in my role as minister of magic.
Unfortunately it has come to my attention that many witches and wizards at Hogwarts know very little about their families and their inheritance as a result of the harrowing events of the first wizarding war. So it is with pleasure I inform you of a new ministry initiative that will commence tomorrow morning the 7th of September 1995. With the help of our Goblin friends at Gringotts every student within Hogwarts will partake in a one off lesson throughout the day.
In this lesson they will be taught the basics of family inheritance and the steps to lord and ladyships. They will also undergo a mandatory blood test. The results of which will only be known by the student taking the test and the goblin administering the test. I will repeat that this is mandatory and all students currently registered at Hogwarts as of today will be required to under take the blood test. This is non-negotiable and I am relying on your support to help ensure that this goes off without a hitch. The blood results will not be held on official records so please take the time to ensure the students are reassured by this.
To ensure that all runs smoothly tomorrow the students will be called to the great hall by year group where they will take part in the one off lesson and blood tests. Starting with the first years at 8:45am, just after breakfast.
I will also be in attendance tomorrow to help ease any and all worries.
Kind regards,
Cornelius Alexander Fudge
Minister of Magic
The more he read the letter, the more Albus doubted the sincerity of Cornelius's words. But there was little he could do now. The letter had been sent in an official capacity, and the Goblins had already confirmed their attendance. Parents—both wizarding and Muggle—had already received notice. There was no postponing or bargaining he could do at this point.
That left Albus with less than twenty-four hours to formulate a plan—one that would allow him to turn this unexpected decree to his advantage. His greatest concern, however, was ensuring that Hermione Granger remained under his influence. Losing her now would be a costly mistake in his grand design. He silently cursed the minister. He had picked the worst possible time to initiate a plan.
Especially with the girls sisters at Hogwarts for the year.
It wasn't as if he could simply do nothing. The Delacour sister's would be unaware of Hermione's relation to them. The plan was for them always to remain ignorant. But that would be foiled if the girl where to reveal her blood results to them. Unless…
Albus paused, a look of elation overtaking his features. That was it.
He just had to make sure Hermione Granger didn't want to reveal her results, let alone to the Delacour sisters.
He would pull her aside, explain what he knew to be true. Of course she didn't need to know it was in fact the opposite. He would explain the Delacour's disgust that she wasn't born Veela, how it was suspected that her Malfoy mother was nothing but a harlot and Hermione was the shameful result. With the girls life experiences she would be do afraid to risk reaching out to her sisters. Especially if he told her just how elated the Delacour's were when they were rid of her. How they had packed up and moved country just to be as far from her as possible.
Yes! That was what he would do. He nodded smugly to himself. He placed the letter face down on his desk with a satisfied glint in his eye. He was glad the minister had given him notice. It had always been wise of him to keep the minister as an ally.
He had proven useful on many occasion and this was no different.
Just as Albus reached for another sherbet lemon, a brisk knock sounded at the door of his office, immediately followed by the arrival of his four Heads of House. Their expressions were still laced with the irritation they had been harbouring towards him since he had agreed to host the Triwizard Tournament here at Hogwarts. He had hoped they would come to understand his reasoning—that the school needed allies and exposure. He had never been secretive about his belief that Tom Riddle – Lord Voldemort, was not truly dead. It was only a matter of time before he resurfaced again, and Riddle had already made several attempts, of which they were aware.
Yet his staff had not cared for his justifications. They had called him an old fool, demanded that he think of the children. The children, he scoffed internally. Children were merely smaller versions of their parents—only more malleable. He could shape them in ways their elders could not be moved. Of course, he had considered the children. A little exposure to other schools, a real challenge—it would do them good. And if they got hurt? Well, it would surely serve as a much needed lesson to them all.
"Well, what do you want that couldn't wait until dinner, old man?" Rolanda Hooch asked, as all four took their seats around his desk. Albus suppressed a frown. He had thought that he was making a wise decision when he had appointed Rolanda Hooch as Head of Ravenclaw over Filius Flitwick, believing her to be the more suitable choice. Filius's creature heritage would have been a hindrance to both the school and the students, he had reasoned at the time. But now he wondered if he had miscalculated. Despite his lineage, Filius would never have been as vocally tiresome as the flying instructor had proven to be over recent years. The woman was becoming more of a hindrance to him than she worth.
"Take a seat, take a seat," Albus murmured, his voice warm and inviting. "All will be revealed, Ro, don't worry. Lemon Drop?" He gestured toward the bowl of sweets on his desk, grinning subtly as all four Heads of House reached forward and helped themselves to a Veritaserum-laced lemon drop. All popping them in to their mouths with little thought
"Noo, Albus, dae make haste, will ye?" Minerva interjected angrily, her thick Scottish accent more pronounced than her usual well-spoken twang—a clear sign to all of her heightened emotion. "I really dinnae hae all day, ye know. I hae third-year papers tae mark an' interpret." Albus made a mental note to check in with her later. Though she was often his most vocal critic, Minerva was also his most loyal ally. She questioned him, yes, but she had never strayed from his requests. Always following and doing as asked. A trait that had earned her his trust—though she would never know the full truth.
"Patience, Min," he chuckled warmly. "I'm sure those papers will no doubt be light work for someone with your remarkable work ethic."
Minerva opened her mouth as if to retort back, then closed it again, her thin lips pressing together into that tight line she often wore when biting back sarcasm. Another reason he valued her—Minerva was intelligent but most importantly she was intelligent enough to know when to hold her tongue. To her left, Severus Snape lounged back in his chair, looking thoroughly bored. But Albus knew better; he could see the flicker of curiosity beneath the cold exterior he portrayed to all. Yet another carefully constructed chess piece. Painting the Potters as the parents of the prophesied child had been easy. Swaying Severus into playing the double agent—easier still. It had ensured the man's loyalty, binding him through guilt and the unspoken debt of keeping him out of Azkaban. A debt that Albus had reminded him of often over the years.
On Severus's left sat Pomona Sprout, her plump form as unassuming as ever. She had never been a concern for Albus. Quiet, kind, and utterly unremarkable beyond her love for plants and students, she had neither the time nor the inclination to meddle in his affairs. She filled her position well, and, more importantly, she stayed out of his way. Beyond her expertise with plants, she was of little consequence and therefore Albus had never really paid any attention to her, always choosing to focus his attention on more worthwhile opponents.
"Now," Albus began lightly, "there are two matters of the utmost importance that you must be aware of in the coming days. The first thing for your attention is this:" With a flick of his wand, he duplicated the Ministry's letter and passed it around, allowing each of the professor's time to read and digest the decree. Clearing his throat, he continued once he was sure he had all of their attention once more. "I'm certain you will all have your concerns, and I would very much like to hear them. However, rest assured that I have done everything in my power to halt this foolishness. Alas, it is no use. Cornelius is quite adamant that this will take place tomorrow, and we, as the students' protectors, must ensure that it happens as painlessly as possible."
"Concerns, Albus? Bloody concerns? Merlin's beard!" Rolanda spat, her forest green eyes flashing with fury. "You invite actual danger into the school with this tournament Albus—a tournament that could very well kill our students! Then dismiss the concerns of your staff when they come to you. But now? Now, you take issue with those same students learning about their heritage? In a safe, controlled environment? The audacity of you truly astounds me!" She seethed. Albus sighed, resigned, as he noted the way the other professors nodded along in agreement with Rolanda.
"I can assure you, Ro, that the students are all perfectly safe. The tournament is completely tamper-proof, and no student under the age of seventeen is in any danger of being selected to represent the schools." He waved a hand dismissively, brushing the woman's comments aside before shifting the focus. Hoping to get them to focus their irritation towards him on something more productive to him. "These blood tests, however, could pose real concerns. The Slytherin students alone already present a significant risk to Muggle-born students without literal confirmation of their blood status —this could only serve to escalate tensions between the two groups."
"I disagree Albus." Severus drawled, inspecting his nails, appearing disinterested. "The Slytherin students have been on their best behaviour as of late. There has been no open mention of anti-Muggle-born rhetoric in over a year." The dark haired potions professor continued, looking as if he wished to be anywhere but here. Albus couldn't blame him.
He too would rather not be forced to endure this.
"Perhaps," Albus conceded smoothly, choosing not to press the argument further for the moment. "But it remains a risk. One we must be vigilant about in the coming days." He was growing rather irritated now. They weren't agreeing with him the way he had expected them too.
But he still had one final move to play.
"The biggest concern," he continued, his voice now heavy with carefully constructed gravity, "is not simply the blood test itself. It is the information I am privy to—what the blood tests may uncover, and for whom." He continued, his tone hardening into something akin to concern.
"Spit it out." Minerva hissed tiredly. Her long thin fingers rubbing at her temples.
He sighed, feigning great reluctance. "Hermione Granger is about to discover that she is, in fact, a pure-blood witch. Abandoned by her family." A beat of stunned silence. Then—gasps. Just as he expected. He let the words settle in the air between them, let the weight of his revelation sink in before he continued, filling in the gaps with a carefully woven tale. He spoke of hushed conversations overheard between Apolline Delacour and her wife. Of the betrayal—how Apolline's wife had disregarded their vows, cheating on her wife with an unknown man. How the scandal had nearly torn the family apart, leading to a bitter feud that resulted in their decision to abandon the child in London, only leaving her with a letter that, the orphanage later confirmed, merely disinherited her. A staged kidnapping, a false narrative, a framed house-elf—it was all so tragic, so heartbreaking.
He made sure to pause at key moments, his voice tinged with sorrow. He watched as Pomona and Minerva subtly wiped at their eyes, as Rolanda's face twisted in fury, as Severus, for once, looked genuinely horrified.
Perfect.
Albus continued, filling in details as they asked questions and ensuring he was leaving no possibilities of doubt in their mind. He made sure to emphasise just how heartbreaking things were about to be for the little brunette. Especially with her biological sisters now in the very same castle as her. As he finished his detailed explanation he forced himself not to openly smirk.
A swift scan of their minds confirmed his success—pity, sympathy, even guilt. Severus, in particular, was already considering being nicer to the girl.
Satisfied with the reaction he had orchestrated, Albus dismissed them, urging vigilance.
Then, as the door closed behind them, he leaned back in his chair - smiling, folding his hands together in contemplation.
Now, he mused silently, when did he deliver the news to the girl in question?