Champions » Harry takes a moment to help another Champion during the Second Task, and the unexpected aftermath forever changes his life.Harry Potter, T, English, Adventure & Romance, chapters: 48, words: 187k+, favs: 16k+, follows: 13k+, updated: Feb 8, 2022 published: Jul 25, 2010, [Harry P., Fleur D.].
Chapter 1
The Trouble With Veela
Fleur Delacour was often overlooked. Oh, she was noticed – as a veela it was hard not to be, to her ongoing distress – but that was only her beauty. Fleur herself, the person within the shell, was a complete unknown to all but her family.
She spent many years perfecting her outer image, the perfect combination of snobbery and shallowness, which she used to push ordinary people away. It offered a counterweight to the natural magical allure that drew them to her in the first place, resulting in a scenario where people loved to watch from afar, but were unwilling to approach her directly. It was the only way she could have any peace.
Unfortunately, it also meant that she had no friends.
Oh, there was the occasional acquaintance, but she had yet to meet someone outside her family who could manage to enjoy her company without becoming either intimidated by her beauty, or enthralled by it. Her few attempts at friendship had ended in rapid disaster: the boys did nothing but drool, and the girls hated her for the way the boys acted. Fleur could never understand their jealousy; why would they desire such a lonely existence?
The result was that she spent a great deal of time on her own, taking solace in books and homework, and academically she was at the top of her class. Of course, this just made things worse: beauty and brains? Impossible! She must be cheating! And on it went.
And if that weren't bad enough, now she was in this stupid Tournament!
Her Headmistress had been quite convincing, playing on her insecurities as she had: wouldn't the students love you if you brought home such glory? Wouldn't it prove once and for all that you earned your grades? Fleur had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker – and worse, it was backfiring spectacularly!
Her performance against the dragon was reasonable enough, though what they were thinking with such a task was beyond her. Even Maxime was angry at the dangers involved, as she had been promised that the Tournament would be safe! But the contract was binding, and Fleur had to compete; and somehow, by some miracle, she had prevailed against the most frightening experience of her life to date.
It seemed a good thing, for once earning the adulation of her fellow students even if she didn't take first place, but she could hear the quiet murmurs in the background. Some wondered if her performance relative to the other Champions – especially a fourteen-year-old who wasn't even supposed to be there – was indicative of her future in the Tournament. Was she really good enough to represent such a prestigious school as Beauxbatons?
The Second Task only leant credence to their fears. Never mind that she was terrified for the safety of her sister – and whose idea was that, anyway? – and never mind that Veela and water don't mix. The fact that she had to be rescued, and came in dead last, had fanned the flames, and the murmurs became a dull roar. She feared her return to the school, as she was likely to be lynched before she could even graduate, for she had no doubt that she was going to lose!
Sadly, though, for all that she was worried about these things, they were the least of her problems at the moment.
Harry Potter, bless his soul, had acquiesced to her request to keep quiet about what had truly gone on in the depths of the Black Lake. She wasn't sure why it bothered her at the time – she was too emotional after her rescue at his hands, let alone that of her sister – but made the request just the same, and he was kind enough to agree. It wasn't until several hours after the fact that her thoughts finally calmed enough that she could think about it.
And now that she had, she was terrified! She stood outside the door to her father's guest accommodations, trembling in fear, clueless as to how he would react. Her father was opposed to this from the beginning, and now that she understood the real danger, she wished that she would have listened! It was too late now, though, and it was time to face the music.
And so she knocked tentatively on his door.
Her mother was unable to get away, and so he and Gabrielle had come to watch. She knew him to be incensed about the kidnapping of her sister by the Hogwarts Headmaster, and he was unlikely to be in a good mood as a result. She loved her parents dearly, and they her, but she never wanted her father's anger aimed in her direction.
He was an intimidating man, high up in the upper echelons of the French magical government, and could be downright scary at times. He had never been so with his family, but she had seen enough of his dealings with unpleasant people to know that she never wanted to be the one to feel his wrath. This was the first time she could recall that she truly feared it, however!
The door creaked open, and Gabrielle's shining blue eyes peered out for a moment before she squealed and threw it wide, jumping into her sister's arms. In spite of the situation, Fleur had to smile as she hugged her; she loved her sister dearly, and the warmth of that love was a sorely needed balm to her troubled soul. She lingered as long as she could before finally making her way inside, where her father was reading by the fire.
He looked up at her, and his brow creased in concern when he took in her tattered appearance. "Fleur?" he called worriedly. "What's wrong, chérie?"
Fleur shifted uneasily, and unable to meet his gaze, she stared for a moment into the crackling fire. It was quite frigid in Scotland at this time of year, so the heat was a welcome respite from the cool air in the halls. Still, as much as she would like to have curled up and forgotten all about it, she forced herself to press on.
"We need to talk, Papa," she informed him nervously.
Sebastian Delacour was nothing if not perceptive, and upon hearing her voice crack, he slowly closed his book, his eyes never leaving her face. She could feel his gaze burning into her, and her cheeks heated in embarrassment and shame. This was the worst day of her life to date, and she wished desperately that she could go back in time and change it!
"Sit down, chérie," he urged softly. "Tell me what's wrong."
Fleur dithered for a moment before finally giving in and gliding gracefully into the armchair nearest the fire. Still holding Gabrielle in her arms, she settled on the edge of the seat, unable to relax in the slightest. Her sister must have sensed her distress, for she tightened her grip, and Fleur soaked in that much-needed feeling of love.
She opened her mouth to speak, but she could not for the life of her figure out where to start. How was she to tell him this? How would he react? Frustrated, she closed her eyes again, tears beginning to leak from them against her will.
She heard her father shift, and sensed him kneeling before her, felt him placing one gentle hand against her cheek, careful not to jostle the bundle in her arms. The gesture of comfort almost broke her completely: how could she accept it when she was about to make him so very ashamed of her? It was almost too much to handle!
"Fleur?" he prompted in deepening concern.
Fleur swallowed thickly, and finally forced herself to confront her fears. "Papa," she began, her voice crackling with emotion, "do you– do you know what happens when– when a Veela owes a life debt?"
Her father sucked in a sharp breath, and his hand stilled. She dared not open her eyes, lest she see his horror: his reaction told her that he knew, and she did not want to see it.
"Did someone save your life, Fleur?" he asked carefully.
Fleur nodded and choked back a sob. It was out now, too late to stop the telling, and she was terrified! "The Grinydlows almost killed me," she admitted tearfully. "'Arry, he– he saved me, Papa, and– and it's the reason he was hurt. His time ran out early because he saved me!"
Her voice rose in pitch as her feelings struggled for release, and her entire body vibrated with the pressure of her pent up emotions. It was too few hours since the event for her to even remotely come to terms with it, not that she knew how! Her life was forever changed, and she could do nothing about it, and that was to say nothing of what it might do to Harry when he found out!
Would he even deem her worthy of saving a second time, especially at so high a cost?
As her mind whirled, she dimly registered that Gabrielle was being pulled away from her, and another sob escaped her at the loss of her sister, who felt like her only anchor in the storm. Moments later, however, even as Gabby's weight disappeared completely, she felt her father's arms come around her in a warm embrace, and he pulled her close, holding her tightly.
It was too much for her – she didn't deserve it – and she finally lost what little remained of her control, her sobs echoing in the chamber. He murmured soothingly to her, but she was so distraught that she could not hear his words. Why had she done this? Why had she ignored her parents and gotten herself into such trouble?
She had no idea how long he held her, but soon she cried herself out, and he gently drew away, lowering himself to stare into her eyes. She was startled to see nothing but concern there; there was no anger, no shame; only the love that he had always given his daughters, whether they needed it or not.
And for the first time in many hours, a tiny sliver of hope arose.
"We'll get you through this, chérie," he soothed. "I promise you, we'll get you through this. Now, why don't you tell me what happened?"
And so she did. She told him of her panic when she discovered that Gabrielle was missing, and how that awful song said that if she was not found, she would never return. She told him how she was so lost in the lake, completely unable to orient herself, her senses and magic disrupted by the unfriendly alien environment. And she told him of how those awful Grindylows sensed her presence and swarmed her like a pack of angry hippogriffs.
"I thought I was going to die, Papa," she whispered. "I knew I was going to die! And next thing I know, they start letting go of me. The last thing I remember is seeing 'Arry casting spells at them like a wild man. I couldn't get any air, and–"
She choked up again, and again her father gave her a hug. There was no possible doubt that the debt was real: had she lost consciousness unattended, not only would her charm have eventually failed and caused her to drown, but those infernal creatures would eventually have found her and killed her anyway! She felt a brief surge of anger at the carelessness of the Tournament organizers, but it disappeared again quickly, buried under her grief.
"Let us be sure," suggested her father, drawing his wand from a pocket in his elegant robes. "Afficher toutes les dettes!"
A pale shaft of white light left the tip of his wand and struck her in the chest, just over her aching heart. She was not surprised when the glow spread, turning a faint gold as it encompassed her entire body, and then brightening into the deepest golden glow she had ever seen. She knew what that meant, and it did nothing to reassure her.
She was right!
He sighed heavily and moved back to his seat, his face drawn, his eyes downcast as he thought it through. There was a palpable sadness about him that made her heart ache all the more. He was about to lose his daughter, and he knew this, but there was nothing to be done. She wanted to take it back, to tell him it was all a mistake!
"Tell me of 'Arry," he said softly. "What do you know of him?"
Fleur drew her legs up beneath her and shrank back into the plush armchair, recognizing that now they were down to serious business. She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the unnatural cold she felt, and did her best to order her thoughts. What did she really know of him?
"He is... different, from the others," she said slowly. "I first saw him when he came to tell us that he was selected as a Champion. He denied his involvement, but nobody believed him." Her lips quirking slightly in wry amusement, she added, "I think I called him a little boy."
Her father snorted in spite of himself, and motioned for her to continue. She remembered the incident clearly – but she had a very different perspective on it now. The things that had transpired in the interim painted a very different picture of the so-called Boy Who Lived...
"I think he was telling the truth, Papa," she said after a while. "He was not happy to be there, and he was quite vocal about it. He had no fear of Dumbledore or that awful Potions Professor, and I think he was greatly angered by them."
"Go on," he nodded.
Fleur sighed, her emotions settling as she focused on less troublesome memories. "I remember one boy passing out horrible badges," she frowned. "They were quite rude, but 'Arry said nothing. What I don't understand is why the Professors did not act. It was terrible."
Her father cocked his head to the side, listening as he often did to what she wasn't saying. "What were these badges?" he asked with a frown.
"They said 'Potter Stinks'," she scowled. "And alternately that Cedric was the 'real' 'ogwarts Champion."
His lips thinned as he listened to her explanation. "And this was a 'ogwarts boy that was passing them out?" he asked with an edge to his voice. "And the Professors did nothing?"
"Nothing," she confirmed.
A brief silence fell as Fleur remembered. Even though she was upset that Harry was present at the time, she had never held it against him, choosing instead to take him at his word after she'd had some time to think about it. Because of that, her sympathy for him was pronounced; he was being ridiculed by his own school in front of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and for what?
For the pleasure of a jealous little boy, near as she could tell. But that the Professors didn't stop him, that had truly incensed her! She herself had been the subject of much ridicule, and knew what it was to see one's enemies tacitly supported by the very people who were supposed to protect her! It was much the same.
"He was very nervous at the wand weighing," she recalled after a moment, "and I do not think he knew what to do when that reporter approached him. He was angry when he returned with her, and I remember thinking that she was not a nice person. Her name is Rita Skeeter."
Her father sucked in a sharp breath at the name. "They allowed that woman to interview a student without supervision?" he asked incredulously.
"You know of her?" she asked, curious despite herself.
"She is a piece of work," he scowled. "She twists and invents words, and never are her articles truthful. She should not have been anywhere near a school."
"Many things are happening that should not," grumbled Fleur.
He snorted in agreement with the sentiment. "Go on, Fleur," he urged. "Tell me more."
"There is not much more to tell, Papa," she frowned. "The rumors say that he is arrogant and prideful, but I have never heard him boast. He is very quiet, and always he is with his two friends, a boy and a girl." Snorting to herself, she added, "The boy is very obnoxious. He even tried to ask me to the Ball, but he left before I could answer. He is very immature."
Frowning in memory, she continued, "And I do not think 'Arry even wanted to be at the Ball. He looked terribly annoyed. It is as if he is being pushed from place to place, forced to do someone else's bidding."
"He did well in the First Task, did he not?" asked her father curiously.
"Yes," she nodded. "He should have been first, Papa, but that idiot Karkaroff will not score fairly."
He nodded his understanding, and silence fell as he pondered what he'd heard so far. Fleur, too, thought of her recollections of him; he was not what he appeared if her suspicions were correct, but nor was he what others wanted the public to believe. There were hidden depths in his eyes, eyes that had seen far too much. He was older than his years for some unfathomable reason.
She'd seen it enough in her father's Auror friends to know what to look for. He had the eyes of a battle-hardened veteran, but not the age for it, which was confusing! What could he possibly have been through in only fourteen years?
"And what do you think of him?" asked her father into the silence, interrupting her musings.
Fleur shrugged. "I do not know, Papa," she sighed sadly. "He is very quiet, as I have said, and I do not think he has a mean bone in his body. He is capable, and he is honorable. He is so very young, and yet so very old. I do not know what to make of him."
Slowly he nodded. "Then we will find out," he declared. "If he is as honorable as you say, then he will do the right thing, but I want to know more about him. Much more. Some of what you told me is worrisome."
Completely unsurprised by his decision, she simply nodded. "What do I do until then, Papa?" she asked quietly. "I do not know how to deal with this! What am I to say to him?"
He shook his head at her. "You will say nothing, Fleur," he told her. "Whether you are of age or not, I am still your father, and it is my place to handle this. I will speak with 'Arry when I am satisfied that I have enough information. Do not worry yourself over it."
A tear slithered down her cheek in silent relief. Telling Harry what was to become of him was the most frightening prospect of all! That her father would take it on, took an enormous burden from her shoulders! There was still more than enough to worry about, but one less thing was truly welcome.
"Who will tell Maman?" she asked quietly.
He smiled a wry smile back at her, understanding her point completely. "I will do that as well," he assured her. "And put your fears away, chérie, you have done nothing wrong, understand?"
When Fleur finally crawled into bed that night, it was with equal measure of relief and terror dominating her thoughts. Her terror was simple to define: she was facing a life-changing event that had never been part of her dreams, and it would forever alter her future in ways that she could not know. Either she would be dead in a month, or–
–she wasn't ready to think about that just yet.
She did not want to die, and truly, she did not think it would come to that. It was simply not Harry's way. If he was willing to assist her at his own expense when there should have been no danger, would he ever let her die when he could prevent it? No, she wasn't worried about that, and she would deal with the rest later.
She was, however, very relieved that it would not be her that broke the news.
Chapter 2
Investigating Harry Potter
The tall, thin, Armani-clad form of Sebastian Delacour stood silently on the walkway in front of Number Four, Privet Drive, simply taking everything in. His jet black hair had acquired an edge of grey over the years, and made him look quite distinguished among the would-be royalty of Little Whinging, Surrey. His brown eyes scanned the scene with a keen intelligence that tended to frighten anyone who ended up in his political sights.
The investigation that led him to this place was fraught with dead ends. As a celebrity, there was no shortage of information available about Harry James Potter, but there was also no mistaking the multitude of contradictions amongst the sources. If he didn't know better, he would say that every last story about him was a complete and utter fabrication.
And standing here in this austere neighborhood, he began to truly believe that.
One thing the stories all had in common was that they started with the boy growing up in either a magical castle that bore a suspicious resemblance to Hogwarts, or an enormous manor house with hundreds of servants to cater to his every whim. His records at the Ministry of Magic, however, told a very different story: his home was in a Muggle neighborhood, and his guardians were Muggles themselves. It had taken quite a lot of effort to retrieve that information, but Sebastian was certain of his facts.
Those same records painted an unusual and troublesome picture, too. For one, while he lived with the Dursley family in Little Whinging, his finances were controlled by Albus Dumbledore himself. Having those responsibilities separated in such a way was virtually unheard of in their world, so it raised an immediate red flag.
For another, guessing that the Potter Will would explain the division, he had immediately looked it up – only to find that it was sealed, again, by Albus Dumbledore. No amount of wrangling could get that document released. It shouldn't have even been legal, but there it was, certified by the Chief Warlock himself!
And finally, there was a tiny note from the British Department of Mysteries: Harry Potter was the subject of an active Prophecy, no additional information available.
Apart from his average Hogwarts grades, there was nothing further in the Ministry files, which was strange in and of itself. Most children had at least one warning for accidental magic, and there should have been Social Services inspections for his safety, but none of those things existed. To say that it was bizarre was a huge understatement: something was rotten, and he was a good enough politician to know that it went all the way to the top!
Since he couldn't obtain anything particularly useful from the Wizarding records, he next turned to the Muggle world – and there the story took a decidedly darker turn. While there were no complaints recorded against the Dursleys, the number of times their nephew visited the hospital was beyond suspicious. Digging in further, he discovered that the visits were never for illness, but rather for violent injuries like broken arms, broken legs, broken ribs, and concussions.
Either Harry Potter was an unthinkably accident-prone child, or something awful was happening in that house.
His school grades were interesting as well. At first they were quite impressive for his age, but then, at the beginning of the second quarter of his first year at school, they fell dramatically. There was no explanation given, but the reviews from his teachers changed from glowing to derisive, virtually overnight! He could only guess why it happened, and was certain that the reason was nothing good.
The Dursleys themselves were much less interesting, at lest according to their records. The family consisted of Petunia, a housewife; Vernon, the managing Director of a Muggle power tool manufacturer; and Dudley, the son, who by all rights was as dim as Harry's grades made him appear to be. They hadn't so much as a parking ticket on their records, and they were quite well off financially.
Again, the lack of blemishes was a blemish in and of itself. Everyone had at least a late credit card payment or something of the sort, or some other thing that would count against them in some small way! There was nothing where the Dursleys were concerned, and that caused him to wonder if there had been some sort of intervention by Wizards.
And once again, there were no Social Services inspections.
Sebastian did not yet have a complete picture, but the pieces he had so far clearly indicated that it would be a highly disturbing one. The tone of his investigation changed quickly: he was now working not only to ensure his daughter's safety, but Harry's as well. Regardless of anything else, the boy had saved his daughter's life, and without any expectations whatsoever of receiving a reward of any kind. It was the only way a life debt could form!
Looking up again at the startlingly plain house that stood in front of him, he had a disturbing feeling that he was about to find the missing pieces.
A two-story affair in typical Muggle style, the house would probably have been quite nice in the care of the right family. Instead, it was devoid of personality: from the bright white paint, to the white picket fence that surrounded the yard, to the perfectly-spaced roses under the windowsill, it looked like it was inhabited by machines who had no concept of art or beauty. Even the silver Mercedes that stood in the drive was perfectly parked, positioned like something out of an architectural magazine for the rich and famous!
The rest of the neighborhood was only marginally better, as though they were trying to keep up with the Dursleys. Hints of life shone thorough in various places, but only just. They were also apparently quite nosy: women had peeped out at him from the windows of at least four different houses in the first thirty seconds alone.
Realizing that he looked rather strange standing there on the sidewalk, he turned and made his way calmly up to the front door, his professional mask automatically slipping down over his emotions. He already had suspicions about these people, but it simply would not do for them to know, at least not yet. He would play it straight with them, and react accordingly.
After taking stock of himself and making sure that all of his preparations were in place, he casually reached out and pressed the buzzer.
The door was opened by a tall, sickly-thin, horse-faced woman, whose nose was stuck firmly in the air, her attitude perfectly matching her environment. She wore a bad copy of a designer dress, and a gaudy gold chain hung around her neck, with a ghastly-looking heart-shaped pendant hanging in the valley between her sagging breasts. Her high heels added an inch or two to her height, but again they were bad knock-offs.
As a man who spent considerable time around full-blooded Veela, he would know: they certainly talked about their fashions enough!
"Yes?" she asked snootily.
"Petunia Dursley?" he queried.
"What do you want?" she snapped back.
"I am Seigneur Sebastian Delacour," he told her smoothly. "If you 'ave a few moments, I 'ave important business with you and your 'usband."
When he saw her eyes travel down from the clouds and over his well-dressed form, he was very glad that he'd thought ahead. From their finances he guessed that they might be impressed by money – and if they weren't, it wouldn't matter – and so he put on his best Muggle attire, which was far better than the vast majority could afford. And unlike the woman in front of him, his clothing was the real deal!
And sure enough, her eyes turned calculating as she studied him, probably trying to figure out how she could best take advantage of his presence. He didn't really care; as long as he got inside, he would gain the information he wanted. He just had to get off the street first.
"Very well," she said finally. "You can wait in the living room, and I'll get Vernon."
"Merci."
The inside of the house was just as sterile and lifeless as the outside. Only a few portraits lined the bright white walls, each showing a family of three. Nowhere in those images was Harry, which began to confirm his suspicions. The husband and son were disgustingly large, too, as though gluttony was their favorite hobby.
Petunia's heels beat a staccato rhythm on the spotless hardwood floor as she led him to a living room that was just as immaculate as everywhere else. And again, the only pictures present were of the Dursley family, no Harry. His hackles were starting to rise; it was quite clear that these people had no love of their nephew from that one clue alone!
Depositing himself on a sagging sofa – apparently ruined by the average weight of her family – he waited patiently for her return, images of hospital forms floating through his brain. He wanted to tie these people down and feed them Veritaserum, but it wasn't yet time for that. Caution was warranted so nobody could claim that he had done something wrong.
Finally Petunia returned with her husband, and Sebastian rose respectfully from his chair to greet the man. He badly wanted to act like he owned them – which he did if he so chose – but he pushed that impulse down. He had met people like this before, and they would make their bed soon enough.
Vernon was even more disgusting in person than in the pictures. He was dressed in an absolutely horrid gray suit, and the sport coat left a two-foot gap that his enormous stomach hung in. The white dress shirt was over-starched and looked like it was made of cardboard, and worse, there were a multitude of food stains on it! His large tie was bright orange, and scalded the eyes.
He had to ruthlessly suppress a disgusted grimace as he held out a hand.
"Bonjour, Mr. Dursley," he offered. "Seigneur Sebastian Delacour. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me."
Dursley grunted and shook his hand, all the while eying his expensive Armani suit. Clearly this was a man who judged others by their means, rather than their motives. Not someone that Sebastian would willingly associate with to be sure.
"I'll get the drinks," simpered Petunia. "Please, Sebastian, do make yourself comfortable."
He was unable to prevent the very slight narrowing of his eyes at the rudeness of her form of address. In the circles he ran in, one did not use one's given name without permission! He said nothing, however, instead nodding and retaking his seat. Let them think they had the upper hand; they were in for quite a surprise.
It took almost the entire time Petunia was gone for Vernon to wedge himself into an easy chair. The man was four hundred pounds if he was an ounce, and barely fit! That alone would have had Social Services up in arms, especially since his son was just as bad! Sebastian had no illusions of it being a medical condition: the man was just plain lazy, and liked his food too much.
Petunia bustled back in carrying a tray of elegant faux-crystal glasses and a bottle of wine. He hoped she wasn't planning on impressing him with it: he could see from where he was that the bottle was indeed from a famous winemaker, but it was a particularly awful vintage. That batch had almost destroyed the business utterly, and had been sold off at an extremely steep discount.
He waited patiently while Petunia passed out the glasses and took her seat, noting that the woman didn't even know how to properly serve wine! Sebastian was not a snob by any means, but as a politician he knew his stuff – and to see such a pathetic attempt at impressing him was actually rather sad. And they didn't even know yet why he was here!
"So what's this about?" asked Vernon gruffly, taking a rather large swig from his glass.
Stretching the moment, Sebastian slowly took a sip, and had to suppress a shudder at the taste. No matter, though, it served its purpose: he was in control of this meeting, and they could wait. Finally he set the glass on the table, hoping never to see it again.
"I am 'ere to speak with you on a matter of much importance to my family, Mr. Dursley," he said with utmost seriousness. "Your nephew, –" their eyes bulged at the reference "– and my daughter have experienced something that will 'ave grave repercussions for both of them."
Sebastian had chosen his words carefully, and was curious to see the reaction – but what he got was far worse than he expected!
Petunia went white, and Vernon's face purpled instantly, and he surged up from his chair, disgusting ripples rolling through his great girth. "WE'RE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT FREAK!" he roared abruptly. "WHATEVER HE DID IS ON HIS OWN HEAD! CALL THE POLICE! TAKE HIM AWAY FOR ALL I–"
"SILENCE!" interrupted Sebastian harshly.
Silence fell, and Sebastian rose slowly to his feet, allowing his disgust for these people to show for the first time as he moved to face Vernon. He couldn't help it; to essentially disown the boy at the drop of a hat over a perceived slight, and with no investigation? It was appalling!
"Your nephew saved my daughter's life, Mr. Dursley," he growled slowly.
Vernon paled at the revelation, and slowly backed off to sink into his seat again, apparently having seen something in Sebastian's eyes that had frightened him to the core. Petunia, on the other hand, was just getting started: her face pinched like she was smelling something rotten, and when she spoke, her voice grated on his nerves.
"I'm quite sure you are mistaken," she spat. "That boy tells all manner of lies! You would be better off making sure he doesn't corrupt your daughter with his freakishness!"
Sebastian's eyes narrowed further as he turned to study the woman, and a disturbing suspicion formed in his mind. In contrast to his feelings, he allowed a puzzled expression to appear on his face; he needed to get to the bottom of this, and fast! Once again he chose his words carefully.
"Freakishness?" he asked without venom. "What do you mean by this? Is my daughter in danger from 'im?"
"He's unnatural!" said Petunia shrilly. "You wouldn't understand, but mark my words, he will bring you nothing but trouble!"
As she spoke, Sebastian did something that he only rarely did: he extended his mind to cull her surface thoughts. He was a Master Legilimens, trained by the best the French Auror Corp had to offer, and it showed in his subtlety. He hated the skill – it was a violation of the highest order – but under the circumstances, he didn't see a choice.
The things he saw in her thoughts brought a sick feeling to his stomach.
The "freakishness" and "unnaturalness" she was referring to were, quite simply, magic! They were bigots of the worst kind! The poor boy had been raised by people who hated him for his very existence, and from her thoughts, she had known of it the entire time! It begged the question: who in their right mind placed him with these monsters?
"I see," he said slowly, giving away nothing of his thoughts. He sat back down in his chair, keeping a steady gaze on Petunia while Vernon watched him warily. "If 'e is so troublesome," he continued, "then why did you take 'im in? I am led to understand that 'e is an orphan."
Petunia snorted, and her eyes narrowed in anger, vitriolic thoughts flowing so freely through her head that he barely needed his skills to sense them. "You think we have him by choice?" she asked disgustedly. "He was left on our doorstep, and we can't escape his kind! They would find out!"
"His kind?" asked Sebastian skeptically, just to twist the knife.
"The freaks like him!" spat Vernon, finally having regained enough courage to actually speak. "They're a blight on our society! Bunch of useless beggars, the lot of them!"
Petunia shot him a quelling glare for his outburst, and Sebastian suppressed a smirk. As much as he hadn't wanted to believe the implications behind the Muggle hospital records, he had prepared for it! All he had to do was enact his plan, and the poor boy would never see these people again. And once that was done, he could find out how far it really went and decide what their punishment would be...
Sebastian Delacour would not abide child abuse!
A shark-like smile appeared on his face as he leaned forward in his seat, pinning Petunia with his stare. "What if I could make 'im go away?" he asked seductively, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Would that work for you?"
Petunia narrowed her eyes at him, but her interest in the concept shone through. "I thought he saved your daughter?" she asked suspiciously.
"If 'e is a danger to 'er, then I must take steps to mitigate that danger," he said easily. "I am a man of many secrets, Mrs. Dursley, and one more will not 'urt."
Petunia stared at him for a long moment, and Sebastian congratulated himself on his quick thinking. He hadn't intended to portray the outcome this way, but there was no turning back now! This would seal their fates quite handily, even in the Muggle courts. It was an unexpected bonus!
Fleur was a good judge of character – she did little but observe thanks to her social issues – and she would have known if Harry was the type of boy to deserve this sort of treatment, which he clearly was not. There was no question in Sebastian's mind that it was in his best interests to get him away from here!
Vernon was wide-eyed, and the hope in his eyes was truly disgusting. Petunia, meanwhile, was developing a slow, cruel smile, her vindictive glee visible a mile off. His stomach churned that much more for it.
"Are you sure you can do it?" she asked conspiratorially. "They're tricky blighters!"
"I assure you, it will be no trouble," he replied honestly. Then he reached into his pocket and drew out a roll of parchment and a jet black quill. "You see, I am aware of what he is," he admitted, "and I know 'ow to deal with 'is kind. Just sign this form, and 'e will disappear forever. They can't touch you."
Petunia's eyes widened when she saw the quill, and then narrowed again as she listened to what he was saying. It was mark of how truly shallow they were that they took him at his word: they never even considered that he might be a Wizard! Apparently they didn't think Wizards could blend in!
She grabbed up the form and read it, and as she did, her vindictive smile returned. Then she turned and handed it to her husband, who was equally as taken by the prospect of 'getting rid of' their nephew. "He's right, Vernon!" she breathed. "He gets custody and it's his problem! And if he gets rid of the freak, they won't have any reason to come after us!"
Vernon's smile slowly mirrored his wife's. "Yes," he nodded slowly. "Yes, I think that might be just what we need, and Dudley can have his second bedroom back!" Turning back to Sebastian, he added, "Where do we sign?"
And just like that, they signed the document, not once even complaining about the use of a Blood Quill! Sebastian was appalled! These people had just given up custody of their nephew based on the word of a man they had never met before, and worse, with the apparent assumption that he would be killed! It was only years of experience in politics that kept his rage off his face!
And then they grabbed their glasses and raised a toast.
"Now that that is out of the way," said Sebastian politely, "there is just one more matter to deal with." As he spoke he drew his wand, and the Muggles paled as he smiled a cruel smile, not the least bit sorry for giving them what they deserved. "Now we find out exactly 'ow you 'ave treated your nephew!"
Chapter 3
Amelia
Sebastian was pale and shaking by the time he left for the British Ministry of Magic, and it was all he could do to keep his stomach from rebelling. In all the long years he spent fighting depraved Dark Wizards as a younger man, he had never seen such horrors! He had some serious words for whoever left the boy there, and was bound and determined to get to the bottom of it!
The downside was that all roads led to Albus Dumbledore, and that was a problem.
But that was an issue for another day, however; at the moment he was more concerned about finalizing his plans. Based on the memories of the Dursleys, Harry truly was as good-natured as Fleur believed him to be, and her comments about his age suddenly made horrifying sense. The abuse that those despicable people had heaped upon him was extensive and painful.
Between his anger, his disgust, and the fact that he was sick to his stomach, he was in no mood to put up with bureaucracy today. He completely ignored the wand checker – a privilege few could get away with – and headed straight for the Auror office. When he reached it, he bypassed the spluttering secretary and made his way straight to the back.
He had been here many times as an Auror on foreign exchange, and was quite well acquainted with the current Director. While he himself had moved on to politics, Amelia Bones had risen through the ranks of the male-dominated profession and done quite well for herself. She was a fair-minded woman who was all about protecting the public, which made her the perfect person to go to.
He knocked on her door just as a young, flamboyantly-dressed Auror caught up with him.
"Excuse me sir!" she called. "You can't be in here without an appointment, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave!"
Amused in spite of himself, Sebastian turned to her with a quirked eyebrow. "And you are?"
The girl's hot pink hair practically wilted in confusion at the question, and Sebastian wondered if it was a trick of the light. "Er, Auror Tonks, sir," she frowned. "Really, you'll need to come with me."
Before he could respond, the door behind him opened to reveal Amelia herself. Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing him, and then narrowed when they landed on Tonks. Finally, she smirked.
"Do you have to give my Aurors such a hard time, Sebastian?" she asked him with audible amusement.
"That is 'alf the fun, Amelia," he grinned, genuinely pleased to see his old friend. "Though I 'ave to admit, your latest batch is certainly more... colorful." Smirking himself, he added, "I believe she chased me up three floors before she caught me."
Amelia snorted in amusement.
"Erm, you know each other?" asked Tonks hesitantly, and this time Sebastian was certain that her hair wilted! It was now almost flat against her scalp, perfectly mirroring her nervous state!
Amelia nodded and resumed the stern façade that she almost always wore in public. "Auror Tonks," she offered, "Meet Retired French Master Auror Sebastian Delacour." Turning back to Sebastian, she added, "Nymphadora here is our newest graduate from the program."
Tonks went wide-eyed at the introduction, and he caught the edge of a wince at the use of her first name, which he filed away for future reference. It was always good to have a little extra ammunition about people; you never knew when you might run into them on opposite sides of the negotiating table. Outwardly, he just shook her hand.
"Take care of yourself, Auror Tonks," he said seriously. "It's a dangerous world."
"So what brings you here, Sebastian?" asked Amelia. "It's been an awfully long time since you've graced these halls."
The momentary improvement in his mood vanished under the weight of his purpose. "Business I'm afraid," he said, looking her in the eye and allowing her to see just how much he was affected. "Serious business, of a most sensitive nature."
Amelia studied him for a long moment, and then turned back to her underling. "Auror Tonks," she said formally, "Master Auror Delacour is permitted in the building at all times. Please remember that in the future. Dismissed."
"Yes, ma'am," nodded Tonks. "Good luck, Master Auror."
"Sebastian will do, Auror Tonks," he smiled.
Tonks smiled brilliantly back at him, her pink hair perking right back up. He had no idea how she could possibly do that, but had to admit that if he was thirty years younger and unmarried, he would have thought it quite adorable. But then, he married a veela, and really had nothing at all to complain about!
As she turned and flounced off into the bowels of the Auror office, Sebastian followed Amelia inside. He drew his wand and scanned for listening charms as soon as she closed the door, and then cast a privacy bubble around them for good measure. He did not like what was going on.
"That serious, Sebastian?" frowned Amelia.
"Worse," he nodded. Spotting a bowl on the counter, he added, "Is that your Pensieve?"
Amelia nodded and moved to retrieve it while Sebastian gathered his thoughts. They worked closely together in the last war, and she knew when and when not to make small talk, which he genuinely appreciated. Had he stayed in the Auror Corps, he might have tried to lure her to France on a permanent basis; she was very good at what she did.
He extracted the memory of his afternoon at the Dursley home and dropped it in the Pensieve, and then joined her as they viewed it. His disgust returned in full force as he watched the conversation from the altered perspective, noting that he wouldn't even have to admit to using Legilimency prior to the signing! They had verbally provided everything she needed to know!
She was pale by the time she exited the Pensieve, and he waited for the inevitable questions to start. And sure enough–
"Were you lying about your daughter?" she asked first, her concern audible in her voice. "Did someone really save her life?"
"It is true," he nodded. "I suppose you know what that means?"
Amelia shuddered. "It's barbaric!" she spat, "but yes, I know what it means. We really must find a way to counter life debts for veela."
"I do not disagree," he shrugged, "but we do not 'ave that option at the moment."
"I cannot believe those people would sign away a child like that, let alone a blood relation!" she swore. "Who is the child?"
Sebastian leaned back into the couch. He knew his friend well, and she would not be well pleased when she found out! The whole situation was a scandal of the utmost proportions! It could potentially blow their world wide open, and possibly even result in the deaths of far too many Muggles in misplaced retribution!
Sighing, he gave his friend a sad look. "That is where things get sticky, Amelia," he warned, "for the young man in question is none other than 'Arry Potter."
Amelia reeled back as though slapped, completely thrown by his revelation. Her cheeks drained of color: she, too, knew the significance! Life was not going to be fun for them in the near future, and he still had to explain everything to poor Harry on top of it!
"Please tell me you're joking!" she breathed at length.
"Do I look like I'm joking, mon amie?" he asked seriously. And then he drew the paperwork out of his pocket and placed it in front of her. "'Arry Potter is now my ward," he said bluntly. "We will arrange for a different guardian if 'e wishes, but it is my 'ope that 'e will stay with us." Rubbing his face tiredly, he added, "But it gets worse."
"How can it possibly be worse than this?" she yelled incredulously. "They just signed over Harry bloody Potter without a second thought, Sebastian! Do you have any idea what would happen if this got out?"
"That is the least of our worries, Amelia."
The statement brought her up short, and Sebastian reached into a magically expanded pocket in his sport coat to retrieve a certain file folder, which he handed over. "Those are 'is Muggle 'ospital records," he said heavily. "I used Legilimency on those batards and their abuse is the cause of those injuries. 'ow this was not noticed..."
Sebastian left the statement hanging, and Amelia lost more and more color as she flipped through the file. He considered showing her their memories secondhand, but decided against it: they were far too disturbing, and they had work to do. She knew him well enough to know that he would never lie about something like this.
But that left the problem of how to proceed. The Dursleys could not go unpunished – it wouldn't be right – but nor could they let the situation reach the press! And on top of it all, the architect of the whole mess appeared to be a man who was widely considered to be the leader of the Light for the past four decades!
"I doubt that we 'ave even scratched the surface," he mused quietly after a moment. "Albus 'as a 'and in this, and I am afraid to know the truth, Amelia, but we must find out."
Amelia nodded and rose, moving to stand pensively in front of a window overlooking London. Sebastian gave her the time; he could use it himself. The sour taste in his mouth was one he had not experienced in many years. His heart went out to the boy, and he only hoped that they weren't too late to derail whatever the crafty old man was planning.
While it was entirely possible that Albus thought he was working for the Light, it didn't really matter: meddling in Prophecy was a dangerous business, and more often than not had catastrophic consequences. If, as Sebastian suspected, Albus was trying to ensure that the mysterious Prophecy played out a certain way, then he would likely doom them all!
Was the man really so full of himself that he thought he could control Fate?
"What did you do with them?" Amelia's voice intruded on his thoughts.
"Partially obliviated," he admitted. "They will not remember me, but they know what they did."
"Suggestions?"
"Muggle trial," he said bluntly. "We can take a Muggle recording of the conversation with the Pensieve, and enlist the assistance of MI-5 to bring charges. Conspiracy to murder a minor will gain them a long prison sentence, even if we do not press abuse charges. That should keep it out of our papers."
Amelia nodded thoughtfully, still staring out the window, and the silence returned. It really was an elegant solution: they had all but signed a confession, and they would get what they deserved. The oddities in the conversation could be glossed over as mental instability. It was an airtight case.
Amelia's voice drifted back to him again, soft and hushed with regret. "Susan talks about him sometimes," she said quietly. "Says he's the nicest boy she knows. She asked me once why he dresses in rags, and I thought nothing of it at the time."
"Fleur has said that 'e is quite 'onorable," he agreed softly, "and also that the school does not take care of 'im. They allow 'im to be ridiculed, and do not punish the students involved."
Finally turning to face him, her expression hardened, and a fire appeared in her eyes that he hadn't seen since the last war. Many liked to think that she was just an administrator, having conveniently forgotten that she was also a Master Auror! The latter fact shone in her expression just then, and he imagined that she'd probably kept up on her training; it was her way.
"This stops now, Sebastian," she growled. "I'll see to MI-5, and whether or not I can figure out what Albus is up to. You take care of Harry. I do not want him harmed in any way, including in that godforsaken Tournament!"
"I would do it even were Fleur's life not dependent upon 'im, Amelia," he said seriously. "That boy 'as never 'ad a life of any kind, and I fear what will 'appen if we allow whatever Albus is doing to continue. I will meet with 'Arry shortly, and we will see where we go from there."
Amelia nodded sharply. "Let me know if you need anything," she said firmly, "and I mean anything. I'm pulling out the stops on this one."
"Right now the most 'elpful thing would probably be access to the Potter Will," he sighed. "Albus sealed it illegally, and I 'ave no idea how to gain access without 'im knowing. 'E is also 'Arry's financial guardian, which will need to be changed."
Amelia paled at his latest revelation. "He's what?" she hissed.
Sebastian narrowed his eyes at her. "Is there something I should know about 'is estate?" he asked directly.
Amelia closed her eyes and sighed. "Only that it's one of the largest in Wizarding Britain," she said flatly. "Sebastian, the Potters were exceptionally wealthy, and extremely powerful politically. It's why Voldemort targeted them; he destroyed the entire family except for Harry." She paused to rub her face in her hands before continuing in a softer tone. "If we don't get it away from him," she warned, "then he controls enough that he can overturn just about anything we do."
Sebastian paled at this revelation. He knew the Potters to be wealthy enough, but he hadn't realized they were that powerful! Dumbledore was already politically powerful, but if he had that kind of network behind him? He would be unstoppable!
"I will look into it," he said faintly. "There must be a way."
"See that you do, Sebastian," she said seriously. "I'm reactivating your British exchange commission. I'll slip it into the file when nobody's looking, but you'll have full credentials for your investigation."
Nodding, Sebastian rose to his feet. "Well, then, Director Bones," he said wryly, "I suggest we get to work. I will see 'Arry soon, but I should warn you that I must deal with Fleur's situation first. I do not wish 'im to think that we are trying to force 'im."
"And what if he declines?" she frowned.
"From what I know of 'im, 'e won't," he sighed. "But if 'e does, then we will understand and do our best to move on."
Chapter 4
Shocking Revelations
Harry James Potter, otherwise known as The Boy Who Lived, was rather confused. Earlier in the day he had received an invitation to dinner from Sebastian Delacour, who he could only presume was Fleur's father. It stated that they had important matters to discuss, but for the life of him, he could not imagine what those matters might be!
The only thing that came to mind was his rescue of Fleur during the Second Task several days prior. She was attacked by Grindylows numbering in the hundreds, and he just happened to pass by and lend a hand. It wasn't a big deal as far as he was concerned.
But beyond that, there was nothing. Fleur was nice enough after the Task, and her sister apparently adored him, but nothing about that should have interested the man since they were little more than passing acquaintances. They had no other dealings beyond the Tournament.
That said, he also had no reason to decline the invitation. In fact, he jumped at the chance! Ron was telling tall tales about the Task at every opportunity, and Harry was getting sick of it; he needed to be away from his friend for a while, and here was a ready-made excuse!
While the letter said it would be a casual affair, Harry still did his best to dress nicely, wanting to make a good impression. He was well aware that his wardrobe left something to be desired, but there wasn't much he could do about it. They had only ever seen him in the rags his relatives made him wear, and he hoped that he could improve their opinion of him a bit.
It didn't hurt that Fleur was a truly beautiful girl, and was clearly unimpressed with him. Sure, he didn't stand a chance with someone like her – not even counting the fact that she was three years older – but it wouldn't hurt to have her think well of him. He was more or less unaffected by veela now that he understood what they were, but he was still a boy!
Suppressing a minor bout of nerves at the thought that she might be there, he straightened his robes and reached up to knock on the door to the Beauxbatons carriage.
It was only a moment before it opened to reveal a short, curvy brunette in Beauxbatons blue robes. She was probably Fleur's age, and quite pretty. But then her eyes flicked up to his scar and widened, and he lost all interest; he couldn't stand it when people did that, and it turned him off to her almost immediately.
"Er, hi," he said. "I'm looking for Sebastian Delacour."
The girl blinked and shook herself free of her momentary trance. "Droit, de cette façon," she said unintelligibly.
While he couldn't understand her words, she did motion him inside, so he took his cue from that. She only paused to close the door behind him, and he didn't even have a chance to take in the décor before she was leading him down a nearby corridor. The carriage was much like a Wizarding tent: much larger on the inside than on the outside.
There were doors at various intervals along the hall, rectangles of beige against a backdrop of light blue. Harry thought it quite calming, if a little odd. She led him to one marked with the number 42, and knocked; his nerves kicked up a notch, but he squelched them ruthlessly.
And then the door opened, and his guide scampered away before he could even offer his thanks.
Turning back, he found himself staring up at an older, well-built, very confident man. His gray-edged hair and intelligent eyes spoke of great wisdom, and his fine clothes spoke of wealth. Harry felt like little more than errant child in his presence, but did his best not to show it.
"Mr. Delacour?" he queried tentatively.
The man smiled a friendly smile and stepped aside. "Come in, Monsieur Potter," he offered. "It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Er, you too, sir."
Sebastian led him to a sitting area, where two chairs and a stuffy couch were arranged around a roaring fire. Harry was almost constantly cold thanks to his lack of body mass, and such things were more necessity than luxury for him. He accepted one of the squashy armchairs and allowed the warmth to wash over him.
"Thank you for coming," offered Sebastian as he likewise settled in. "And before I say anything else, I want to thank you for what you did for Fleur. You saved 'er life, and that is no small matter in my family."
Harry flushed slightly in embarrassment. "It wasn't a big deal, sir," he shrugged. "I just thought she could use some help is all."
The comment made Sebastian smile, but Harry noted that it didn't quite reach his eyes. In fact, now that he looked more closely, the man looked exhausted and tense! He had the sudden suspicion that something was wrong, and sure enough–
"I am afraid that it is, in fact, a big deal, Monsieur Potter," he said seriously. "But I can see that you don't know what I am talking about."
Harry blinked. "Sir?" he prompted bemusedly.
Sebastian sighed and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. His expression was far from unfriendly, but the look in his eyes made Harry want to squirm. He had a knack for knowing when something was going to bite him in the arse – which was most of the time – and it looked like this was yet another such instance.
In that moment, Harry badly wished that he had Hermione there to watch his back. He wasn't afraid of being attacked or anything, but she would have a better idea of what was going on! Should he have told her what happened in spite of Fleur's request to keep it quiet? He had thought it was because she was embarrassed, but now he had to wonder!
"May I call you 'Arry?" asked Sebastian suddenly.
"That's fine, sir," he shrugged nervously.
"Thank you," nodded Sebastian. "I do 'ope you will forgive me, 'Arry. As Fleur's father, this is very difficult for me to talk about. I want to first assure you that we will not force you to do anything that you do not wish to do, regardless of the consequences. Your life is yours alone to live."
Harry's heart began to race as he registered just how wrong things were! One did not start a conversation that way unless it was going to turn out badly! He had to forcibly squash an urge to bolt, and ended up squirming in his seat instead.
"Er, okay," he frowned. "What's going on, sir?"
"Are you familiar with the concept of a life debt?"
Harry nodded. "I found out about them last year because someone owes me one, but Professor Dumbledore didn't say much, so I don't know a lot about them."
Sebastian blinked. "You mean to tell me that you acquired a life debt and Albus did not explain them to you?" he asked incredulously.
"He just said I might be glad it was there some day, whatever that means," shrugged Harry.
And it was a good point now that he thought about it! Why hadn't Dumbledore told him how it would come in handy? He was increasingly tired of the way the man liked to dole out information in tiny little bits, when he could save so much trouble by just telling him what he needed to know! And now it looked like he was about to be blindsided because of it – again!
"I see," scowled Sebastian. Then there was a tense silence before– "I would suggest that we discuss that later," he decided. "It is important for you to know, but not for this discussion. Right now, what you need to know is 'ow they interact with veela magic."
Harry's brow furrowed in concern as an ugly suspicion popped into his head. "Did something happen to Fleur?" he asked suddenly. "Is she okay?"
Sebastian smiled a genuine smile at him for the question. "She is fine," he nodded. Only, then the smile fell. "But she will not be if the situation is not resolved. You see, 'Arry, veela magic is a strange thing, and among other things, it cannot peacefully coexist with a life debt. Simply put, it will call the debt due within thirty days, which will result in the loss of 'er magic, and because she is veela, 'er very life."
Harry paled at the revelation, and unable to sit still, he pushed up from his chair and paced in front of the fire, his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him. He did not like the sound of that! Why had Dumbledore never explained these things to him? Not that he could have changed what happened, but maybe he could have done something differently!
Budding anger at the Headmaster bubbled beneath the surface of his thoughts. It had been ignited with his entry into the Tournament, but how much more was going to go wrong? Wasn't the man supposed to be protecting him?
Shaking off those thoughts and focusing in on what was important, Harry lifted his eyes to meet Sebastian's surprisingly calm gaze. The man hadn't moved a muscle, but even through his calm façade, Harry could see the turmoil behind his eyes, and couldn't blame him in the slightest. How would he feel if his daughter were in this situation?
There was only one thing for it.
"What do I need to do?" he asked flatly. "She doesn't owe me anything, sir. If there's a way I can help, tell me and I'll do it."
Sebastian fixed him with a sad look. "If only it were that simple," he sighed heavily. "You 'ad better sit down, 'Arry. You are not going to like this, and I would rather you did not crack your 'ead on the 'earth."
Harry couldn't suppress a snort at the dry humor. He followed the instruction, but his insides were twisting themselves into knots as he waited for the axe to fall. Never did someone preemptively tell him that he wasn't going to like something, so that meant he probably really wasn't going to like it!
There was another tense silence as Sebastian ordered his thoughts, a deep hesitancy having come over him. It was an odd contradiction: he was a confident man, and yet he seemed so troubled! That could not be a good sign! And when he finally spoke again, his voice was quiet, and faintly pained.
"There is no way to simply forgive a life debt, 'Arry," he said, "and only two known ways of satisfying them. I think we can both agree that the likelihood of Fleur saving your life this month is nonexistent?"
Harry winced and nodded.
The man then took a deep, steadying breath, and Harry knew the end was nigh. He was desperate to hear the verdict – Fleur's life apparently depended on it – but he also dreaded it. It was surely going to end up being something horrifically costly from the way he was acting, and sure enough–
"The only other way," he said slowly, "is for you to take 'er 'and in marriage, 'Arry. The matrimonial bond would cancel out the life debt. As 'er father, I do not like this for obvious reasons, but I also cannot avoid making the request, because I would rather this than 'ave 'er perish."
The floor abruptly fell out from under Harry as he went over Sebastian's words in his mind, trying to make sure that he'd heard correctly. Did the man just say that he had to marry Fleur? No matter how hard he tried to twist the words, he could not make the statement go away! It was bloody insane!
He stared blankly back at the man for a solid twenty seconds, and then–
"Is this a joke?" he asked tonelessly.
"It is no joke," was the simple reply.
The silence that fell in its wake was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and for a long while Harry could not think at all. He was stunned! He had imagined some crazy ritual would have to be performed, perhaps with the risk of death, but this? This was– it was– He didn't know what it was!
"Bugger," he breathed. Then he looked sharply up at Sebastian and asked, "Does Fleur know about this?"
Sebastian nodded. "She is aware," he admitted, "but she did not realize it at the time, I assure you. It was my duty as 'er father to approach you."
"And there's no other choice?" he asked weakly.
Sebastian shrugged. "Your may choose to decline, of course," he said with brutal honesty. "If that is the case, then I will not 'old it against you."
Harry surged to his feet, incensed by the calm delivery of such a callous statement. "But you said she'll die!" he snapped angrily.
"Yes," said Sebastian simply.
Harry's hands clenched unconsciously into fists as he stalked back to stare into the fire. He couldn't believe the unfairness of his life! He had nothing against Fleur – she was a beautiful woman, if a bit snobbish for his tastes – but to be forced to marry her? It was wrong on so very many levels!
And regardless of what Sebastian said...
"No," he declared, still facing the fire, his voice ringing out in the otherwise silent room. "That's not a choice! If I say no, then I might as well cast Avada Kedavra right now, and I am not a bloody murderer!"
More silence was his only answer, and he turned to see Sebastian watching him with a tear running down his cheek. That, more than anything, served to cool his anger; the man clearly did not like this any more than Harry did. He had to give the guy credit: on the outside he was remarkably calm, and it was probably a very useful skill to have.
Harry wondered if he could learn it.
His anger finally abating, he sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. This was a lot to take in, and he had no idea where to even start! And they had less than thirty days? Talk about short notice!
"What does Fleur think?" he asked softly.
Sebastian nodded his approval of the question. "She does not wish to die, 'Arry," he said honestly. "She is no more 'appy with this than you are, but she does not wish to die."
Harry deflated and sank back into the chair. He knew it was the right thing to do. He could not kill someone even through inaction; it simply wasn't a part of him. Vague dreams in the back of his head crumbled and died, but he ignored them as best he could; there simply was no choice.
Hermione was going to flip! She would be beside herself with worry, and probably rail against the injustices of the Wizarding world, which he could only agree with at the moment. Then she would run to the library and research it to death, but he was reasonably certain she would come up dry. Sebastian did not strike him as anything less than honest.
And when Ron found out...
Harry paled at the realization of what that would entail! His so-called best friend had a jealous streak a mile wide, and it was a well-known fact that he could not get enough of Fleur! Harry often caught him staring across the room at her, though he never pointed it out. He could already hear the oncoming tirade ringing in his ears, and a foreboding feeling overcame him.
Closing his eyes, he tried to picture what the rest of the school would say, but all he knew was that it would be a scandal of magnificent proportions! Rita Skeeter would probably spin it as some sort of intentional entrapment by the evil veela, and the public would go nuts! Did Sebastian have any idea just how difficult this would be?
Harry couldn't catch his breath. Scenario after scenario played themselves out in his mind, each worse than the last. He was a celebrity, and the public loved to hate celebrities! Why was his life so bloody difficult? Why couldn't he just be normal?
And then a comforting warmth suddenly overcame him, and as his breathing slowed, he looked up to see a very concerned Sebastian holding a wand on him.
"Just a Calming Charm," he explained. "Better?"
Harry nodded weakly, and Sebastian came forward to kneel in front of him. "I am truly sorry, 'Arry," he said sincerely. "I know that this is difficult for you. I wish that things could be different."
Harry nodded again and put his head in his hands. Calming Charm or not, he couldn't shake the images from his mind! Predominant among them was one of him trying to protect Fleur from a mob of angry wizards in Diagon Alley. It was sadly possible!
But what could he do? How would they get the public to accept it? He was fourteen years old, for Merlin's sake! There was no possible way that he could see, and he hadn't nearly the knowledge to deal with something like this!
Maybe France would be better? At this rate, he would be safer there anyway...
"The press will be a problem," he finally said, his voice hoarse and hushed. "I don't know what we'll do, sir. They'll rip her to shreds, and I don't know how to stop it from happening."
Sebastian placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he couldn't help his flinch at the contact, though the man ignored it. "Let me deal with the press, 'Arry," he offered. "I 'ave a great deal of experience with them. We will find a way, I promise you."
Harry finally sighed and looked up, and once again noted the genuine concern in the man's gaze. He didn't know about Fleur, but her father at least was a decent man, that much he was certain of. If only they had come to know each other under different circumstances...
"I'll do it," he whispered quietly. "I won't let her die."
Sebastian stared into his eyes for a long moment, searching out the truth, before finally nodding and squeezing his shoulder. "Thank you, 'Arry," he said with genuine emotion. "Let us postpone our meal. You are exhausted, and you 'ave a great deal to consider. You may rest on the couch, and we can speak further after you 'ave slept for a time. Your 'ead will be clearer then."
As much as he hated to admit it, Harry had to agree that it was a good idea. His emotions were ragged, and he needed to let all this settle for a while. Maybe then he could find something positive about the situation, which was something he sorely needed.
As he drifted off ten minutes later, he realized that the most frightening thing of all was that he had to talk to Fleur.