Chapter 15
Fleur's Sorrow
They say that ignorance is bliss, and Fleur could not disagree with the sentiment. She felt bad for cornering Harry as she had two days prior, but after hearing the Dursleys mentioned in the interview – and gathering that Dumbledore was involved with them somehow – she could not stop herself. And now she knew beyond doubt what his childhood was like, and was horrified.
Of course, it had not all been Harry's doing. She recognized early on that he had not truly said much – only enough to confirm her suspicions, and to clue her in that he was still deeply affected by his past – but rather than press him for details, she had spoken with her father. And what she learned was far worse than anything she could have imagined.
After trying to dissuade her, he finally gave in and told her some of what he witnessed in Vernon's mind. Tale after tale of slavery and torture flowed from his mouth, and she found herself wondering how Harry could even have survived it. Her only consolation was that her father flat out refused to show her the memories – which she was now very thankful for after hearing the stories.
How anyone could live through that, and still be as kind and gentle as Harry, was a complete mystery to her. It only underscored how special he was, and just what Fate had blessed her with in their upcoming marriage. She no longer had any doubt that he would give her a happy life; it was simply who he was, down to his very soul.
But that left her wondering what exactly Fate was giving him in return.
Near as she could tell, she was getting the better end of the deal by far. Sure, she was beautiful, and perhaps even smart, but that was the only special thing about her. She did not have the same noble streak that he did, nor his unparalleled strength and bravery. She was just an ordinary person with a lot of social baggage.
Harry deserved so much more, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her only alternative was to accept death, and that was no longer an option. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was actually willing to do so for his sake – which frightened her – but her death would utterly destroy him, simply because knew that he could have prevented it.
His whole life had been stolen away from him from the very beginning. After losing his parents, he was placed in a home that was not merely loveless, but instead full of hatred toward him. He had no pleasure in his childhood like most children did, and it was a miracle that those people had not outright killed him, to hear her father tell it.
And now he was having his future stolen away as well, and that did not sit well with her, especially since she was the one who was stealing it. Never would he have the opportunity to go out in the world and find love for himself. Never would he have the joy capturing the heart of some lucky woman. He no longer had a choice.
He would already be married when his friends were out cavorting in bars and taverns, "chasing tail" as the Muggles would say. He would be facing family issues while they lived carefree lives, and would only be able to watch from the sidelines. His fate was sealed, his choices made for him by some unfeeling cosmic force.
Fleur would offer him everything she could, but would it ever be enough to make up for what he was sacrificing?
These thoughts had been running through her head for two days now, and she couldn't shake them. It was all she could do to keep them off her face during meals, which were almost the only times she could see him. So far her efforts appeared to have been successful, but she wouldn't have been surprised if Harry knew that something was bothering her; he was perceptive that way.
Nothing was different when Friday morning rolled around, and once again she did her best to push her dark thoughts to the side as she approached the table for breakfast.
Hermione smiled when she caught sight of her, and Ron's reaction was the same as it always was. The twins were chatting quietly with each other – probably up to some prank – and Neville kept his gaze fixed firmly on his girlfriend, most likely to avoid the pull of Fleur's allure. And then Harry turned around, and a small, shy smile lit his face.
"Bonjour, ma belle déesse fleur," he greeted quietly.
Fleur smiled delightedly, and gave him a peck on the cheek in greeting as she slid into the seat next to him. "Beautiful flower goddess?" she echoed back in amused English.
"Sounded good at the time," he shyly shrugged. "It's true, isn't it?"
Fleur chuckled, pleased by his good mood. "Per'aps," she replied noncommittally. And then she added, "mon beau héros."
His forehead scrunched up in concentration, before– "My handsome hero?" he asked tentatively, even as a blush suffused his cheeks.
Fleur's eyes widened. "Oui, I am impressed!" she said with a bright smile.
"Me too," smirked Hermione, "but I think he's only looking up terms of endearment."
Fleur snorted, grinned at Harry, and gave him another peck on the cheek; the compliment he'd given her was easily worth the reward.
And then Ron had to go and ruin the moment again by making gagging sounds.
Harry turned to glare at him, and Fleur closed her eyes, her lips tightening into a thin line. The boy was getting on her last nerve; she was rapidly reaching her limit. If he wasn't careful, he would earn a dose of her temper rather than merely her usual attitude, which would not be fun for him. She could only hope that Harry wasn't too put out with her when it happened.
When, not if, of this she was certain.
"Knock it off, Ron!" scowled Hermione. "How would you like it if we did that to you?"
And Fleur just couldn't resist. "Zat would require 'im to 'ave a girlfriend first, 'ermione," she said archly, pinning the idiot boy with a stare. "I do not zink 'e will evair 'ave to worry."
Ron flushed in anger and scowled at her, seemingly at a loss for words, even as several nearby girls nodded their agreement. The twins sniggered loudly and winked at her for her troubles. Hermione and Neville both smirked, the former nodding sagely. And Harry–
Well, Harry focused stubbornly on his breakfast.
He did this frequently when she came out with a nasty comment for Ron, and now that she understood his past a bit better, she understood why. Her father hinted that the Dursleys never allowed him to have friends, and his cousin chased off the other children at school. The baby whale even bragged about it to his parents, and they praised him for it!
He was completely friendless his whole life, and then he had the mixed fortune of meeting Ron Weasley.
Simply put, Harry did not want to lose his first friend. Never having had one prior to Hogwarts, he viewed all friendships as precious, something to be cherished. And though it was likely that this one was doing more harm than good at this point, she suspected that it would be a while before he was finally willing to cut his losses.
The saddest part of the whole thing was that Ron actually had a fair amount of potential. By all accounts, he was a good friend to Harry in the early years, and the roughness around the edges was easily excused because of his age. But he stubbornly refused to grow up, and the constant jealousy and insensitivity was quickly eroding their relationship.
It was no surprise that he had not yet been informed of their predicament. The moment he learned of it, his jealousy would likely soar to new heights, and that would be disastrous. She was uncertain how Dumbledore might react to the situation, and she did not want to find out – but there was no doubt that he would learn of it if Ron was told.
But before she could get any farther in that train of thought, she was startled out of her reverie by a condescending voice, speaking in her native language.
"Why are you sitting with these losers?"
The stream of French – or the actual question, depending on who was doing the listening – halted all conversation at the table, including Hermione's current argument with Ron. Hermione herself turned narrowed eyes on the girl standing behind Fleur, though she remained silent. The twins and Neville simply watched, while Harry continued eating, though a frown did appear on his lips.
Margeaux, the girl who issued the question, was very angry over the loss of the opportunity to become the Beauxbatons Champion, and never failed to let it be known. She wasn't bad looking – tall, with blue eyes and long blonde hair that made her look like a wannabe veela, and possessed of an attractive figure – but her expression usually ruined her appearance.
Of course, the entirety of the Beauxbatons contingent at Hogwarts was now firmly on her side. With Fleur's dismal performance in the Tournament, and the fact that she had been avoiding them completely for more than a week now, they would all quite happily tar and feather her given half the chance. Not that she cared; none of the students at Beauxbatons had ever been friendly with her in the first place.
She was finding more acceptance among Harry's small group than she had since she was twelve.
"Zey are better company zan you are, Margeaux," she replied in English without turning.
"Why must you speak in that horrible language?" the girl scowled.
Fleur sighed; Margeaux was spoiling for a fight, and it looked like she would have to oblige. Unfortunately, she knew what this was really about: Harry Potter. Her schoolmates were upset not only that she was dating an opposing Champion, but also that she had somehow managed to snag the most desirable boy in the entirety of the Wizarding world. His age mattered not; it was the principle of the thing.
Cursing softly to herself, she finally turned in her seat to spear the girl with a look, unsurprised to see several other Beauxbatons girls standing around her.
"Because it would be impolite not to," she said flatly. "Or did your muzzer not teach you proper manners?"
"These idiots are no more polite," snarled Margeaux, still in French. "They're barbarians! They can't find the proper end of a wand! And you sully yourself by sitting with them?"
"Hush, little girl," said Fleur condescendingly, stubbornly refusing to match her language. "Someday you will understand ze true nature of ze world, but it will be many years before you will be ready for such adult concepts."
Harry eyed the girl with distaste and finally spoke up, his voice as soft as ever, but with a slight patronizing edge. "Maybe we should offer classes in spoken English," he mused. "She seems to understand it well enough, but I don't think she can speak it."
"You are so pathetic," Margeaux spat at Harry, and then she turned back to Fleur. "Too bad you're limited to dating little boys!"
Harry snorted and, to Fleur's surprise since the girl was still speaking French, responded without missing a beat. "Pathetic?" he echoed bemusedly. Turning to Fleur, he continued, "Is that really the best she can do?"
Hermione's smirk was audible as she added, "And if she thinks Fleur can't get any date she wants, then she's dumber than she looks. Little boys! Honestly!"
"Too right!" gushed Ron, usefully for once.
"I think she's just jealous–" began a twin.
"–because Harrykins is the ultimate prize–" inserted the other.
"–and Fleur is the only one–"
"–he even looks twice at–"
"–even though he's completely–"
"–immune to her charm!"
Margeaux was positively mortified when she realized that the British students understood her language perfectly – or so it appeared – and were unaffected by her comments. She clearly had not been willing to risk offending their hosts, but had badly miscalculated. Her jaw dropped open in horror as she stared back at them.
"Now run back home to your muzzer, little girl," said Fleur in her best condescending tone. It was an art form to stare down your nose at someone standing while you were still seated, but she had long ago perfected it. "Zese people are far above trash like you."
"Et apprendre quelques insultes décent!" smirked Hermione.
The girl paled, and then whirled and pushed through the small group of students, who looked uncertainly back at Fleur for a moment before following in her wake. Fleur smiled faintly; that girl needed to be taken down a few pegs, and it was even better for their British hosts to do it. She'd been beaten by people she looked down upon.
"What did you say, Hermione?" asked a grinning Harry.
"I told her to learn some decent insults," Hermione grinned back.
"Nice," he snorted. "We should use that on Malfoy next time he bugs us."
Fleur shook her head and went back to her food, amused by the idle banter.
The incident with Margeaux made Fleur's day a little easier at least. The girl was embarrassed by her error in judgement, and was therefore leaving well enough alone for a change. Other students were not so kind, but she was the worst of the lot, so it was a definite improvement.
Unfortunately, though, her mood could not last. Thoughts of Harry frequently distracted her in classes, always coming back to that same question. He was an amazingly sweet boy – how many would bother to learn any French, even if it was only terms of endearment? – and that just made her feel that much guiltier because he was trying so hard for her.
He obviously cared how she felt, even though he was the one that was paying the price.
After somehow managing to make it through her classes for the day, she took to wandering the grounds of Hogwarts and allowing her mind to wander. There was no solution to this, and she did not know what to do. Her mind kept whirling, trying to figure out how to make it up to him, but nothing was forthcoming.
She eventually looked up to find herself standing next to the very same rock where they first discussed their newfound relationship. With a snort at the irony, she levered herself up and sat down facing the water, drawing her knees up under her chin. Her emotions were very near the surface, and she could not stop a tear from escaping.
Images whirled through her head, imagined events that took place in that house in Surrey, and she could not stop them. Had he survived it only so he could have the rest of his life taken away from him as well? Was he merely Fate's whipping boy, created solely so she could have somebody to torture?
It was appalling, and Fleur felt completely trapped. She could not call off the marriage because that would destroy him. She could not go through with it because it would take his choices away completely. What was she to do?
It never even occurred to her that she was just as much a victim, but that was neither here nor there.
She had no idea how long she was sitting there before she was finally interrupted. The rhythmic sounds of the lake had meshed with the looping horrors in her thoughts, blinding her to all else, freezing her where she sat. But then–
"Fleur?" called Hermione's tentative voice. "Are you alright?"
Blinking a few times to pull herself out of her daymares, she turned to see the girl standing at the base of the rock, staring worriedly up at her. Hermione was something of an enigma; where other girls would have been terminally jealous within days, she had gone for almost two weeks without seeing Fleur as a threat. And now she wanted to help?
It was not something she was accustomed to, and a ray of hope surged through her – not for Harry, but for herself. She had long since given up on having female friends the way other girls did, but was it possible that this girl might be the first? And she really didneed someone to talk to who wasn't her parents...
"Non," she forced out, shaking her head.
Hermione's brow creased in concern, and she climbed up without invitation, one hand holding her skirt against the light breeze. Her bushy hair blew about her face, a strand catching under her nose. It was her eyes that caught Fleur's attention: speckled brown, full of genuine concern for someone she barely knew.
"Is this about that girl?" she asked cautiously. "You really shouldn't worry about her. We can always turn the twins loose if she gives you anymore trouble."
The comment startled a choked laugh of out of Fleur, but there was no joy in it. "Non," she said again. "It is zis 'ole situation, 'ermione."
Hermione's frown deepened. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Are you having second thoughts?"
Fleur examined her closely, but to her surprise, there was no bite in either her voice or expression. If that was what she was guessing, then Fleur would have expected her to somehow come to Harry's defense, but she did not seem concerned about that. No, her concern at the moment was only for Fleur.
"Not in ze way you mean," she sighed tiredly. "'Arry is wonderful, 'ermione. Zis is just not fair to 'im."
"It's not exactly fair to you either, Fleur," pointed out Hermione. "You're just as stuck as he is."
Fleur sighed and shook her head resignedly. True, she was stuck, but somehow she felt that she had been blessed rather than cursed. And no matter how she looked at it, the same could not be said of Harry; he was paying far too high a price.
"I am ze 'ole reason we are stuck," she countered, unable to keep a bit of her latent anger at the situation from edging into her voice. "'E did not ask for zis, and 'e does not deserve to 'ave to give up 'is life zis way."
Hermione's brow creased in concern, and she shifted to settle in more comfortably, clearly sensing that it would be a long conversation. She turned out to look over the lake for a long moment, her gaze going distant as she thought about the statement, and then–
"I don't think he minds, really," she said slowly.
"'E should," replied Fleur darkly. "What do I 'ave zat can compare wiz what 'e is giving me? 'E deserves better zan to be forced to settle for me."
"Don't sell yourself short," said Hermione earnestly. "You do have something, Fleur, and it's something he needs. I don't think anyone else can give it to him."
Fleur blinked slowly back at her, confused by what she was seeing and hearing. Hermione looked almost desperate to make her point, but it wasn't in that know-it-all fashion that so many of her classmates accused her of. This was something much more important, but for the life of her, Fleur could not even guess what the girl was getting at.
"What do you mean?" she prompted quietly.
Hermione held her gaze steadily, as though to convince her of the truth of her words. "You care about him," she said quietly. "You lovehim, and you love him for who he really is, not for who everyone wants him to be." In a darker tone, she added, "Even I can't always do that."
Fleur stared blankly back at her. She did not love Harry, at least not how Hermione meant. Did she care for him? Yes, a great deal. But love? That was something much deeper, much more profound, and she did not believe it for a moment.
Before she could retort, however, Hermione looked away again, her gaze going distant. "And he's falling in love with you," she said, barely above a whisper. "I don't think he knows it yet, but I've never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you before. The way he lights up when he sees you coming..."
She trailed off and left the statement hanging, but Fleur was too stunned to notice. Trying to swallow the idea that she could love Harry was one thing, but that Harry could love her? It struck her as preposterous. He had only known her for a mere two weeks, and still did not know much about her. They hadn't even spent much time together.
But she could not deny the memories that flashed in her mind's eye, especially of events that followed their discussion in the kitchens. When he looked at her, his eyes held a different look – a softer, more vulnerable, somewhat more open one – ever since. It was as though he had granted her his trust, and that was not something to take lightly.
But was it even possible that what Hermione was saying was true?
"Per'aps," she admitted grudgingly, still not truly believing it. "But it changes nuzzing, 'ermione. I can do nuzzing for 'im zat will evair compare to what 'e is doing for me."
Hermione shook her head and focused in on her again, a stubborn look appearing in her eyes. "Just love him, Fleur," she said softly. "It's what he needs the most, and the most important thing any of us can ever give."
Fleur blinked.
They both fell silent then, each lost in their own thoughts, and Fleur could not avoid trying to wrap her head around the girl's assertions. It would be wonderful if it was all true – if they could have the loving marriage that they both wanted – but there were no guarantees in life, and honestly, she thought that Hermione was jumping to conclusions.
It was still a nice dream, though, and if there was one truth that she could agree with, it was that love was what Harry needed the most. She did not know how much she could give him, but she would give all that she could. It was the least she could do.
And somehow, that simple decision eased her conscience considerably.
They sat for perhaps ten minutes, neither speaking, and Fleur had the sense that Hermione was simply giving her the time to think about what she'd said. She genuinely appreciated the gesture; having company was a nice change to her usual way of life, especially when that company could respect that she needed to think. Finally, though, Hermione changed the subject – sort of.
"So when are you going shopping for the wedding?" she asked with genuine interest.
Fleur smiled. She had never imagined having someone to talk about girl things with, but here she was. Perhaps she could put her troubles aside, and at least enjoy the moment.
For the first time since she was a child, Fleur had found a friend.
Chapter 16
Hidden Wealth
On Saturday, Sebastian corralled Harry for a trip to Diagon Alley. Fleur had gone off with Arienne and Hermione somewhere – Harry didn't want to know where – and so it was just the two of them for the day. The goal was to get fitted for wedding robes, but Sebastian hinted that they might have one or two other things to buy.
He was truly lost when it came to preparing for a wedding that was only a week away. He knew very little in the first place, and on top of that, they had virtually no time left. Part of him felt like he'd wasted what little he had, but when he looked back, he realized that apart from that one date, he really hadn't stopped just to have fun.
And the date was a necessity given that he was marrying the girl!
But the fact remained that he was completely out of his depth, and was only just realizing that he hadn't done Fleur any favors. From what he'd seen, most girls wanted romance, and apart from that one date – which barely counted – he hadn't done a single thing. There were no elegant dinners to get to know her, no down-on-one-knee proposal, no gushing declarations of his undying love...
Really, she was getting shafted, and he didn't know what to do about it. In fact, he was increasingly of the opinion that there wasn'tanything he could do about it. The problem was that, as much as he wanted her to have these things, he felt that having them be insincere would be worse than not having them at all.
"Do wizards ever renew their wedding vows?" he wondered as they wandered up the moderately-populated alley. "I mean, I know Muggles do, but is it different for Wizards?"
"I 'ave never 'eard of it being done before," said Sebastian thoughtfully. "Why do you ask?"
"Just thinking about the future," he said absently as he watched a hump-backed hag roll a rather large cauldron up the street. "This is really unfair to Fleur is all."
"I am not sure that I understand."
Harry shrugged and elaborated, feeling remarkably comfortable with the man, especially given that he was her father. "Well," he said slowly, "don't girls want all the stuff that goes with it? I mean, I never even proposed. Wouldn't she want that?"
"Ah," said Sebastian in sudden understanding. "And you were thinking of per'aps making it up to 'er?" he asked curiously.
"Something like that."
Sebastian chuckled good-naturedly and guided him up the stairs into the lobby of Gringotts. "And that is why I like you, 'Arry," he smiled. "Always thinking of others. And to answer your question, I think it is a wonderful idea. But do not feel too bad about it, you 'ave 'ad quite a lot occupying your time these past weeks."
"I'm not so sure that's a good enough excuse," grumbled Harry.
Sebastian just gave his shoulder a squeeze and steered him to the nearest counter. "You will make it work," he chuckled. "I 'ave faith in you, and I know that you will make my daughter a very 'appy woman."
"Key please."
Still wondering how Sebastian could have so much faith in him, Harry fished in his pocket, drew out his little golden key, and handed it to the goblin. The creature examined it for a moment before looking up and squinting at him. "Name?" he asked suspiciously.
"Harry Potter."
The goblin stared at him for a long moment, and then– "Wait here," he ordered.
Harry blinked.
"That was... unusual," frowned Sebastian as the goblin scurried off, leaving them standing alone in front of the counter.
Harry privately agreed. While the goblins were not exactly friendly with him, they weren't in the habit of making him wait either. Although he had noticed that they often kept other wizards waiting, now he thought about it. Had he been getting special treatment because he was famous? That thought had him scowling a little by the time the goblin returned a few minutes later.
"Your account manger would like a word with you, Mr. Potter," the goblin told him. "This way."
"I have an account manager?" asked Harry blankly.
"Yes."
Harry almost snorted at the goblin's brevity, but otherwise ignored it as they followed the gnarled creature down a long hall. Sebastian looked surprised by the development, but not overly so; if Harry had to guess, he probably had some idea of what was going on. Unlike most people in his life, though, Harry actually trusted the man to tell him what he needed to know, before he needed to know it. He'd been very open about things so far.
The goblin led them through a maze of corridors to a large, opulent office deep in the bowels of the bank, and Harry wondered if he could even find his way back out again. He didn't have time to worry about that, however, because behind the desk sat a middle-aged goblin who was watching him expectantly. Confused, he moved forward.
"Er, hello," he offered cautiously. "I'm Harry Potter."
The goblin stared at him for a few beats. "I know who you are," he finally growled. "I am insulted that you have not returned my correspondence, and I would like to know the reason. Most wizards would not be given this chance."
Harry's eyes widened at the rebuke – and the implied threat. "Er, correspondence, sir?" he asked faintly. "I haven't had any from Gringotts."
The goblin's eyes narrowed. "I will not accept 'the krup ate my homework', Mr. Potter," he warned.
Harry cringed away from the clear anger in the goblin's eyes. He had never wanted to offend them; not only was that not his way, but they were bloody scary when they were angry. He'd had that beaten into his daydreams in History of Magic...
"If I may?" Sebastian butted in.
The goblin turned and studied him, his eyes narrowing to barely more than angry slits. "You may," he nodded.
"'Arry, I would like you to tell your account manager what your Gringotts assets consist of," said Sebastian bluntly, catching Harry completely off-guard.
Not knowing why, but trusting Sebastian, Harry shrugged and answered. "Er, okay," he said slowly. "I have a few thousand Galleons in my vault." Then he frowned and added, "Monsieur Delacour thinks my family was wealthy, but I don't know anything about it."
"Then how are charges being authorized against your holdings, Mr. Potter?" asked the goblin. "They contain your signature."
Harry blinked. "Wait, what?" he asked blankly. "I've never signed anything at Gringotts. I've only had to give you my key before."
"'Arry," said Sebastian slowly, with a worried frown. "'ow many transactions 'ave you made?"
"I've taken about a hundred Galleons a year for school," he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets and feeling like a little boy who'd been called on the carpet. "Mrs. Weasley made the withdrawal this year since we went to see the World Cup."
Silence fell in the wake of his statement, and the goblin closely watched Harry, who shrank further into himself. He had no idea how to handle this. His flight instincts were screaming at him to run – he was going to be punished – but Sebastian's gentle grip on his shoulder kept him still.
After a minute of this, the goblin abruptly heaved himself out of his chair and moved over to a large filing cabinet. He flipped through the contents for a few moments before finally extracting a large stack of files and carrying them back to the desk. Then he motioned for them to take seats – but he still didn't look happy.
The next five minutes were spent waiting for the goblin to read through his files, with Harry getting more and more nervous by the minute. Finally, though, he picked up a piece of parchment and handed it to Harry. "Sign that," he ordered bluntly.
Frowning, Harry pulled it over.
"Erm, may I ask why, sir?" he asked in a small voice. "This is blank."
"Correct," said the goblin, snatching it back from him. Then he settled in to stare Harry down. "Are you willing to submit to Veritaserum to verify the statements you have made thus far?"
"Er, I guess so," frowned a very confused Harry. "I don't understand what's going on, sir."
"That much is obvious," said the goblin condescendingly. "Wait here."
The goblin scrambled out of the room, leaving a shell-shocked Harry in his wake. He'd never been offensive to the goblins, so why were they treating him this way? The way things were going, he wouldn't be surprised if this ended in another goblin rebellion. It would be just his luck!
"Try to relax, 'Arry," soothed Sebastian. "Goblins are fierce, and some would say greedy, but they are also honest. They will not 'arm you for something you 'ave not done."
"What's going on, Sebastian?" he asked in a low tone.
"I do not know," frowned Sebastian. "But I suspect that we are going to be dealing with your estate issues much sooner than we planned. This is not a positive sign that things are well on that front."
Harry snorted morbidly. "And things are well with me... when,exactly?"
Sebastian chuckled darkly. "Too true, mon fils, too true. We will get it sorted out soon, this I promise you."
Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He honestly didn't know how much more he could handle. He was engaged to be married, had a new family to get to know, was dealing with Ron's idiocy, and had gotten Snape arrested, all in a matter of two weeks. How much more could one person take?
Although, he was honestly glad that Sebastian was there to help him, for he would still have been in the dark otherwise. True, it took the engagement to make it happen, but he honestly couldn't complain much about that. If things with Fleur continued the way they were going, they likely would be happy together, and he could only hope she felt the same.
The goblin returned before he could get very far in that train of thought, this time accompanied by another, shorter goblin, who looked rather bored. He walked straight up to Harry and stuffed a phial in his hands that had a few drops of clear liquid in the bottom.
"Drink," he commanded.
"Er, is this Veritaserum?" asked Harry nervously.
"Yes."
"Go on, Harry," urged Sebastian. "I will make sure that they stick to your financial issues. You need not fear for your other secrets."
Harry looked to him for reassurance, and upon finding it, nodded and popped the top off the phial, quaffing it under the goblin's scrutinizing gaze. Unlike most potions he'd encountered, this one tasted like nothing, and at first he thought it was actually water. But then his vision clouded over, and his mind settled into a warm haze.
He liked the goblins! He trusted the goblins! He would tell them anything!
"Have you ever received correspondence from Gringotts?" came a voice.
"No," he answered immediately.
"Describe your transactions with Gringotts to date."
And he did, without hesitation.
"What vaults are you aware of that you maintain with us?"
"My trust vault."
"Who is your financial guardian?"
"Albus Dumbledore."
And now a different voice came to him. "'Ow long 'ave you known that Albus Dumbledore is your financial guardian?"
"Two weeks."
And then the first voice came back. "Who are your legal guardians?"
"Sebastian and Arienne Delacour."
"Enough, give him the antidote."
"Wait, please. 'Arry, 'ow long have I been your guardian?"
"Two weeks."
"And who were your guardians before that?"
"Vernon and Petunia Dursley."
"Antidote please."
Moments later, Harry felt an odd sensation in his mouth, and his vision cleared. The expression on the goblin's face was very different from how it had been only a few minutes ago; he looked troubled now. And when he looked up at Harry, it was with an apologetic expression.
"Mr. Potter," he said formally as the other goblin left the room, "I am Account Manager Riptooth. I would like to apologize on my own behalf and that of Gringotts Bank for our disrespect. I was unaware of the nature of the situation, and believed that you had slighted me."
Harry blinked his eyes clear of the last of the haze. "Er, that's okay, sir," he frowned. "I'm still not sure what's going on, though."
"Indeed," nodded the goblin. "What I can tell you right now is that your accounts are being illegally accessed to transfer funds, and I have ordered a full audit. We should have a preliminary answer shortly. In the mean time, if you are willing, I would like to know your current situation. It sounds like there have been recent changes."
Sebastian squeezed Harry's shoulder and took over. "If I may, Riptooth?" The goblin nodded. "Are you familiar with the interaction of veela magic and life debts?"
"I am."
"My wife and daughters are veela," he informed the creature, "and 'Arry saved the life of my eldest a little over two weeks ago. In investigating the situation, I discovered numerous irregularities in 'is records, and several indications that 'is living situation was... less than ideal. So I made arrangements to take custody, and 'is former guardians were only too 'appy to comply."
Sebastian paused for a moment before darkly adding, "They found themselves in jail just recently, and will likely be in prison for a very long time to come. They are Muggles who are aware of and bigoted against our world."
The goblin frowned slightly. "I see," he said slowly. "Please continue."
"'Arry 'as agreed of 'is own will to marry my daughter in the coming weekend," he explained, "and as you can imagine, our opportunities to look further into 'is situation 'ave been limited. Shortly after the guardianship was transferred, I did discover that 'e was unaware of any major inheritance, and 'ad intended to look into it after the wedding. This 'as taken us quite by surprise."
Riptooth nodded slowly in understanding. "This explains a great deal," he said with a goblin sigh as he turned back to Harry. "The correspondence that I believed you ignored was an inquiry regarding Mr. Severus Snape," he explained. "We know that he is being held for trial, and that invalidates his position as your proxy for the Wizengamot. This is an inherited position, and it falls to us to contact you for a replacement."
Harry stared blankly at the goblin for a moment and then turned to Sebastian, who looked angry. "What does that mean, Sebastian?" he asked slowly, his own anger stirring under the surface at the implications.
"It means, 'Arry," said Sebastian in a low growl, "that your family 'as a seat on the British Wizengamot, and Snape was occupying it, probably on Dumbledore's orders."
Fire ripped through Harry's veins at Sebastian's explanation. He slowly stood and went to stand facing a nearby wall as he tried to get himself back under control. The goblins would probably not like it if he lost his temper.
Finally he turned around and stared over the goblin's shoulder so as not to direct his anger at him. "How did this happen?" he asked with quiet rage. "My father and Snape were enemies, and the git is no better to me. So how in bloody hell did he get my family's seat on the Wizengamot?"
"The audit will tell us that, Mr. Potter," Riptooth explained. "I understand your anger, and I assure you, this matter will be resolved to your satisfaction. By not informing you of your inheritance, your financial guardian has abdicated his position under goblin law. You now have direct control of your accounts."
That statement brought a grim smile to Sebastian's face, but Harry ignored it and resumed his seat, doing his best to master his anger. "Thank you, sir," he nodded eventually. "What else do I have that I don't know about?"
"Your wealth is quite substantial," Riptooth informed him, "and you have the most extensive holdings in Wizarding businesses of any currently known family. This makes you a very powerful wizard in the political sense."
"And who is presently managing this?" asked Sebastian.
After glancing at Harry for approval, the goblin turned to Sebastian. "In truth, Mr. Delacour, nobody is," he said bluntly. "It has been a complaint of mine for some time, but as we were not able to correspond, it could not be changed. We will accept verbal instruction from Mr. Potter at this time."
Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. "I assume the Goblin Nation is still the best?" he asked bluntly.
"Not if you ask Wizards," snorted Riptooth, "but our returns are better than any other."
It was immediately clear to Harry where Sebastian was going with the question. "How much would it cost to have you manage it?" he asked curiously.
"Under normal circumstances, a hefty percentage," admitted Riptooth, "but for an account as large as yours, we generally operate for either a flat fee of fifty thousand Galleons per annum, or a percentage of the profits, usually one half percent."
Harry's eyes narrowed slightly as he thought it through. "And it's still good for me even if you take fifty thousand a year?"
"That is the most profitable option for you usually," nodded Riptooth. "As I said, Mr. Potter, your holdings are quite extensive. Fifty thousand Galleons is petty cash."
"And the percentage is better for the goblins?" asked Harry.
"Much better."
"Then take the percentage, sir," decided Harry. "That way we both win."
Sebastian gave an approving nod, which made Harry feel a little better. He actually felt quite foolish; he didn't even know what he was negotiating the investment of. But it was more than he'd had before the day began, so he supposed it didn't matter – and with the percentage, he didn't have to worry about going broke because they lost his money.
Riptooth made a few notations on his parchment. "Consider it done," he declared. "I will assign one of our best investment managers."
Harry nodded his thanks, and then the door opened to admit a new goblin, this one older than Riptooth and dressed much more finely. He eyed Harry as he approached, ignoring Sebastian. His hands contained a single scroll.
"Mr. Potter," he greeted in a gravelly voice. "I am Ragnok. This is the current summary of your accounts."
"Thanks," he said with a faint smile. And then he unrolled the scroll and caught sight of the contents, and the blood drained from his cheeks. "Bloody hell!" he breathed.
"'Arry?" prompted Sebastian.
Harry merely handed him the scroll as he tried to recover. He hadn't even looked at the details; the totals were startling enough. Rich didn't even begin to cover it! Harry was a billionaire in Muggle terms, and had never even known it. In fact...
"Why did I not know about this?" he whispered faintly.
"Dumbledore," growled Sebastian, handing the scroll back to him without fanfare or reaction to its contents. "'E should 'ave told you about all of this a long time ago. I 'ave no doubt 'e assigned Snape your seat on the Wizengamot as well."
Ragnok turned to Riptooth, suddenly appearing angry. "Am I to understand that the Potter Heir was unaware of his estate?" he growled.
"He has not been receiving his correspondence, Director," nodded Riptooth. "That is why I had him brought to this office. I had originally believed that he was insulting us, but we have discovered otherwise. He was only aware of the educational trust vault."
Harry had no idea that goblin skin could change colors like human skin did, but he knew it now. Ragnok's obvious rage appeared as dark orange-brown blotches on his light orange-brown cheeks, and his eyes narrowed, sparking in anger. He was also producing some kind of magical aura if Harry wasn't mistaken, though it wasn't visible to the naked eye.
"No, Riptooth, Mr. Potter did not insult us," he growled. "Albus Dumbledore, on the other hand, has slapped us in the face, and I will not tolerate that." Turning back to Harry, he continued on his tirade. "Over the last year and a half, over eighty million Galleons have been removed from your estate to fund an organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. Albus Dumbledore is the head of that organization. I do not know its purpose."
Harry shot out of his chair. "WHAT?" he roared. "That bastard is stealing from me now, too?"
The goblins both took a step back, but Sebastian moved toward him and lowered himself to eye-level. "Calm down, 'Arry," he ordered firmly. "I am angry as well, but this will not 'elp. We will deal with Dumbledore."
Harry could indeed see the anger simmering behind Sebastian's eyes, almost as hot as his own, and it calmed him greatly for some reason. He nodded sharply and dropped back into his seat, trying desperately to reign himself in as Sebastian was doing, with only marginal success.
"Our apologies, Director Ragnok," offered Sebastian deferentially. "'Arry 'as been through more in the past two weeks than anyone should 'ave to take."
"He is planning to save a veela who owes him a life debt," added Riptooth helpfully.
"My daughter," agreed Sebastian.
Ragnok was visibly surprised by this information, and turned to Harry with an almost reverent expression that all but erased his former anger. "You would do such a thing?" he asked quietly.
"Why wouldn't I?" frowned Harry bemusedly.
Ragnok shook himself. "I do not mean any disrespect to your intended," he said slowly, "but she is only part human, is she not?"
Harry frowned even more deeply at that, offended by the insinuation. "So what?" he asked flatly. "She's a person, sir, and my friend. I don't care what she is, just who."
The comment earned him a genuine smile from Sebastian, and Ragnok nodded slowly. "Then you have my respect, Mr. Potter," he nodded. "As does Mr. Delacour. Your race as a whole is highly prejudiced, and it is good to know that there are those who do not subscribe to such beliefs."
Harry just blinked. "Oh. Er, thanks, I guess."
Ragnok chuckled and shook his head in amusement. "Mr. Dumbledore will be finding it difficult to access his accounts in the future," he decided. "We will complete the full audit, and will have any money that was taken illicitly returned to you. We do not take kindly to people who take advantage of our account holders, especially when they are of the importance of the Potters."
"Thank you," nodded Harry, still too angry about that to say much more.
"I 'ave a proposal, 'Arry," offered Sebastian. "If you will provide authorization, Arienne and I can monitor the situation and 'andle this aspect of things. You still 'ave school to deal with, and this will need considerable attention."
Harry nodded. "That's fine, Sebastian," he said quietly. "I don't know what to do anyway. How do I give you authorization?"
Ragnok inserted himself back into the conversation. "You are aware that this will give them the ability to remove funds?" he asked neutrally.
Harry nodded; he wasn't, but it did make sense. Even so– "I trust them, sir," he said firmly.
Ragnok nodded. "Very well, your authorization is noted. We will send your statements to Mr. Delacour until the situation with your correspondence can be resolved."
"Thank you for your assistance, Director Ragnok, Account Manager Riptooth," said Sebastian formally. "You have my word that the Delacour family will see justice done on behalf of my new son. There are many other issues related to this, and Dumbledore is at the center of them all. We will not stand for it; nobody 'arms my family and survives it intact."
"And you may rest assured that we will place our full might behind your efforts," offered Ragnok. "We tolerate neither insult nor harm to friends of the Goblin Nation."
Harry, who was still trying to process the fact that Sebastian had just claimed him as a son, was fairly certain that he missed some hidden meaning in Ragnok's words, at least if the way Sebastian's eyes widened was any indication. And sure enough–
"We are honored, Director Ragnok," breathed Sebastian respectfully.
Ragnok chuckled. "I look forward to doing business with you," he said. "May you go with honor."
Confused and overwhelmed, Harry blinked up at Sebastian. He wanted to know what he missed, but something told him that he would be better off leaving it alone for the moment. Things were far enough out of control as it was...
"Do we 'ave any further business, Riptooth?" asked Sebastian politely.
"I do not believe so," said Riptooth. "May you go with honor."
"And you, Riptooth," nodded Sebastian. Then he turned to Harry with a kind smile. "Come, 'Arry," he offered gently, one hand coming down gently on Harry's shoulder to steer him toward the door. "Let us go shopping. I believe you need something mindless to do for a while."
Harry could not have agreed more.
Chapter 17
The Howler
Since her talk with Hermione, Fleur was feeling much more comfortable. It took most of a sleepless night to sort it out, but in the end, all that mattered was that Hermione was correct: if there was one thing that Harry lacked in life, it was love and affection. And as she watched him more closely in the intervening days, she began to see the girl's other point, too.
He was exceedingly reserved even with his friends, including Hermione – who, near as Fleur could tell, truly was his best friend in the entire world – but with Fleur it was different. There was a softness about him when he looked at her, a tenderness that was otherwise well hidden. She had somehow penetrated a wall that even Harry himself probably didn't realize that he had built.
The result of this discovery was much more obvious flirting on her part, which he did not seem to mind, even if he was unsure how to respond to it. He was learning, though, and even responded in kind on occasion, which made her smile every time it happened. He was a natural charmer, and not one of those boys who would go through several girls before he figured out how to treat them.
Fleur was currently at the Gryffindor table, which had become her home at Hogwarts, listening to yet another argument between Ron and Hermione. The twins were even scoring it, as had become commonplace, much to Ron's disgust and everyone else's delight. It made an otherwise obnoxious event at least somewhat more bearable.
Neville and Harry were ignoring them, chatting quietly about Potions of all things. It sounded like Neville would do much better in that class – which was now being taught by Dumbledore himself, to Harry's displeasure – but she could not otherwise discern the nature of their talk. She smiled softly as she watched them; Neville seemed a much better friend than Ron.
Just after the meal was served, a short redhead approached the table. She was quite pretty: her long hair fell in a plait down her back, her rosy cheeks spoke of good humor, and she had a lithe, well-shaped form. Fleur suspected she could have her pick of whatever boy she wanted, and wondered after the shy expression she was wearing.
"Erm, Harry?" she called quietly.
Harry looked up from his conversation, and a small, genuine smile lit his face; he obviously liked this girl. Fleur had noticed that, whether he talked to them or not, he knew almost everyone in the castle. And for those who he genuinely liked, he always had that friendly smile ready.
"Hi, Susan," he greeted warmly.
"Hi," she smiled back. "Auntie wanted me to deliver a message. She said she couldn't get ahold of your guardian yesterday."
Harry indicated the spot next to Hermione that Neville had earlier vacated so they could talk. "Have a seat," he offered politely. "Erm, I think you know everyone but Fleur. Fleur, this is Susan Bones."
Susan smiled hesitantly, and Fleur gave her a warm one in return. She was not accustomed to showing her true feelings – even when she thought someone was nice – so it actually took effort for her to do.
"Bonjour," she offered kindly. "Your Aunt is Amelia Bones, per'aps?"
Susan blushed lightly and nodded, and then her gaze tracked back to Harry. "She wanted me to tell you that Snape's trial is set for the second," she informed him. "She might need you to testify, but she doesn't know yet."
Harry's smile turned grim and evil. "If it's against Snivellus?" he mused. "She only has to ask."
"You and most of the rest of the school," grinned Susan – and then she ducked her head as though only just realizing who she was talking so openly to.
Fleur examined her critically; she was obviously starstruck, but also was making a supreme effort not to be. It gave one the sense that she knew Harry in passing, but not well – and that she genuinely liked him as a person, not as The Boy Who Lived. Fleur appreciated that, and so decided to put her more at ease; the more friends Harry had, the better.
Besides, his friends were rapidly becoming her friends, which was a new experience that she was enjoying greatly...
"We must thank 'er," she mused with a grin. "We did not expect zat it would 'appen so quickly, and ze show was quite enjoyable."
Susan smiled at her, some of the tension leaving her. "She was happy to do it," she said quietly. "He never dared to pick on me, but she's heard rumors for years. She was thrilled to have some actual evidence."
"And we are not done yet," Fleur chuckled ominously.
Susan's eyes widened, and she tentatively opened her mouth to ask after the statement, but then Harry suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, his gaze traveling upward to the rafters. The color drained from his cheeks, his eyes widening in alarm. Fleur frowned worriedly at his expression.
"'Arry?" she called.
"Bugger!" he breathed urgently. "Did the invitations already go out, Fleur?"
"Oui," she nodded. "Why?"
"Because that's a Molly Weasley Howler!"
All three Weasley boys turned to look, and quailed when they saw the red envelope winging its way toward them in the talons of a decrepit owl. Fleur's eyes narrowed: Harry had warned her that the woman might not be happy, and that she might not readily accept the situation, but to send a howler? That could ruin everything!
It exploded just as the owl reached the table, blowing the poor creature off target and sending it on a collision course with Hermione's head. A shrill, obnoxious voice rang out, and Fleur couldn't get her wand out fast enough to be rid of it.
"HARRY JAMES POTTER! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? SHACKING UP WITH–"
Fleur flicked her wand and whispered a hurried incantation, and a privacy bubble sprang up around their part of the table, thankfully enclosing the shouting envelope in its protective sphere. Unfortunately, that meant they had to listen to the voice echoing around inside.
"-SOME VEELA HUSSY! I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU WOULD DO SUCH A FOOLISH THING! I AM SO ASHAMED OF YOU! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE SWEET BOY WE THOUGHT WE KNEW? I WILL NOT LET YOU TURN INTO SOME KIND OF JIGOLO! I WILL BE CALLING ON YOUR RELATIVES STRAIGHT AWAY, AND WE'LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN SOMEONE RESPECTABLE DEALS WITH YOU! I THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THAN THIS! YOU ARE AN UTTER DISGRACE! THERE WILL NOT BE A WEDDING, YOUNG MAN, YOU ARE NOT OLD ENOUGH! YOU HAD BETTER NOT HAVE GOTTEN HER PREGNANT!
And with that, the envelope burst into flame, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
Fleur quickly took stock of the situation. The twins, Neville, Ron, Hermione, and Susan were all inside the bubble, and heard every word. She trusted all but Ron and Susan, and had much more faith in the shy redhead than the obnoxious one. But the real problem was Harry.
He flinched away from the howler as though physically struck, and his face lost more color with each word. Every new statement struck another painful blow, and there were tears brimming in his eyes by the time it was over. Devastation was written across his features, plain as day.
She reached out to him to offer comfort, but before she could even get close, he bolted.
Fleur sucked in a breath as he tore from the hall, heedless of who was watching. She had no idea where he would go, and no clue how to fix this. He respected the elder Weasleys greatly from what she knew, and that woman had just lit into him like nobody's business. The slight against her never even registered except as a distant fact.
But the rest made her angry.
Very angry.
It was all she could do to keep herself from transforming on the spot, and she was well aware that her arms were gaining a soft downy coating. Rather than try to get it under control, however, she redirected anger into action. This had to be dealt with.
She was going to have words with that woman!
Her gaze swept the table, and the reactions were not terribly surprising. Hermione, who knew everything, was in tears. Neville was worried, and Susan pale. Fred and George were angry, which was no surprise as they liked Harry – and Fleur suspected that they had already figured it out anyway. And Ron looked confused, like it was all some kind of joke.
She immediately locked onto the biggest problem at the table.
"Not one word, Ronald!" she hissed quietly. "If you reveal zis to anyone, I will show you ze definition of a veela in full rage! Do you understand me?"
Ron glanced at her lightly-feathered arms and gulped audibly, quickly acquiescing with a nod. She was not sure it would hold – the boy was a menace – but she prayed that it would. They could not afford for anyone to find out yet.
Her expression softened as she turned to Susan and Neville, both of whom nevertheless quailed under her stare. "Please do not say anyzing," she said in a much gentler tone. "I will explain later."
They both nodded; it was clear that they were concerned about Harry and would do as she asked. They cared about him, and it was only too obvious what would happen if it got out. Neither of them would feed the rumor mill.
Next she turned to Hermione, who was staring at the doors that Harry had just disappeared through. A single tear ran down her cheek, and her brow was creased in deep concern for her friend. Fleur was genuinely thankful for her presence; she needed someone she could trust completely with Harry's wellbeing, and Hermione was it.
"'ermione," she called quietly, drawing the girl's gaze. Hermione turned, her concern even more apparent from the sympathetic pain that shone in her eyes. "Go to 'im," she ordered gently. "I will be zere soon enough, but I must deal wiz zis woman first."
Hermione nodded and bolted from the room without a second thought, not even bothering with her things. Fleur could only hope she knew where he might go; it would be hard enough to find them later, and she really did not want him to be alone right now. Indeed, her first impulse was to go after him – but there were larger concerns, such as what would happen if that woman really did try to talk to his relatives.
Finally she turned to Fred and George. "You know?" she asked flatly.
"We guessed after the Task," nodded Fred, more serious than she'd ever seen him before.
"We're not saying a word," George assured her, even as his brother nodded in agreement.
"Zank you," she said gratefully. "Please keep your bruzzer in line, for 'is own sake. I do not make idle threats."
"No worries," said Fred.
"I must speak wiz my fazzer," she sighed. "Your 'ome is ze Burrow, non?"
"That's the address," nodded George. "Just please don't kill her."
Fleur snorted in response to that – she was barely holding onto her temper as it was – and then rose gracefully from her seat. After sweeping her gaze across Harry's friends one more time, meeting each pair of eyes in succession to remind them silently of her demands, she swept out of the Hall with purpose. She would find her father, and they would go set Molly Weasley straight. She would not allow anyone to harm Harry!
The few students that crossed her path wisely moved out of the way when they saw her coming. Not even the Beauxbatons students had ever seen her in a rage before, and it was something that they universally hoped to never see again.
Little did they know that what they were seeing was only the tip of the iceberg...
==========[break]==========
When Fleur explained the events of the morning to Sebastian, he demanded to see the memory – and then had to sit for ten minutes to get his sudden rage under control. He was so incredibly angry that, for the first time in years, his aura had even reached visibility. It did not help that he had never before seen his daughter with feathers; his wife, yes, but not his daughter.
But after seeing that memory, he did not blame her in the slightest, and was quite proud of her for preventing the full transformation.
She badly wanted to show Molly Weasley exactly what a 'veela hussy' was capable of, but fortunately for Molly, he managed to convince her that Harry was more important right now. And that was how he found himself alone, knocking on the front door of the Burrow, not thirty minutes after the incident took place. And he was not a happy camper.
The door opened to reveal an obviously irritable Weasley.
"Call your 'usband," he said gruffly, without preamble. "We need to talk."
Molly's eyes narrowed. "And just who are you?" she scowled.
"I am Seigneur Sebastian Alexandre Delacour," he said dangerously, "Director of Foreign Affairs for ze French Ministry of Magic." His voice lowered to a hiss as he added, "And I am ze fazzer of a young woman whom you just referred to as a hussy!"
Molly's cheeks lost their color at the revelation of who she was dealing with, and Sebastian continued to stare her down, using her shocked silence to his advantage. "Now," he said in a low tone, "go call Arthur before I am forced to embarrass you publicly. And I assure you, I will use far more effective means zan a 'owler!"
Fear blossomed on her features, and she backed away before turning to rush off to the fireplace. Sebastian took the still-open door as an invitation; he stepped inside, and was barely polite enough to remain in the entryway so as not to eavesdrop. His continuing anger made it very difficult to keep his magic restrained while he waited.
He knew Arthur in passing from the last war, and respected the man greatly – but his wife was another matter entirely. He did not exactly dislike the woman before today – he did not truly know her – but had thought that Arthur could do better. He even recalled musing aloud at one point that her temper would one day get them into a great deal of trouble.
Now it looked like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
His anger continued to boil as he waited – but Molly did not return, and it was perhaps two minutes later when Arthur himself finally stepped into the room. He stared for a long moment, clearly surprised to see such an old acquaintance in his entryway.
"Sebastian?" he frowned. "Are you alright?"
"Non, Arthur, I am not," replied Sebastian tightly, meeting the man's gaze. "Let us discuss zis over tea. Ze conversation will be neizzer short nor pleasant."
Arthur's eyes widened, and he beckoned for Sebastian to follow him into the kitchen. Molly stood at the sink, staring angrily out of the kitchen window, so he went to make the tea himself. For his part, Sebastian removed a small bowl from a pocket and placed it on the table before tapping it with his wand, causing it to grow into a full-sized Pensieve.
He swirled the memories for a moment to make sure they were all there, and was satisfied.
Just as he was finishing, a deeply-concerned Arthur returned and placed a mug of tea in front of him. Unable to smile, Sebastian merely nodded his thanks; he was not angry with the man, but very little could have made him smile at that moment. The sequence of events he was about to show them kept playing itself over and over in his mind.
Finally, Arthur took his seat and frowned at his wife. "Come sit down, Molly," he said quietly.
Molly whirled, her growing anger apparent in the way she stood, her body vibrating, arms akimbo. "You're going to listen to this?" she hissed angrily. "They're taking advantage of Harry!"
Sebastian's eyes narrowed. He was well respected for a reason, and the slight against his honor only served to anger him further. This woman had no understanding of just how much fire she was playing with, or how close she was to getting burned – literally, if Fleur had any say in the matter!
"I would suggest, Madame," he growled harshly, "zat you sit down and shut your mouth. Or are you too foolish to learn ze truth?"
Molly scoffed, but Arthur cut her off. "Enough!" he snapped. "Sit down, Molly!"
She scowled and dropped heavily into a seat, and Arthur turned to Sebastian with a deepening frown. "This had better be good, Sebastian," he said with some heat. "I don't appreciate you speaking to my wife that way."
Sebastian arched an eyebrow. It was a rather hypocritical comment coming from a man whose wife apparently had a penchant for sending deeply embarrassing howlers to school children in the middle of public meals. Whatever she got, it was well deserved as far as he was concerned.
But still, he let it go; they had more important things to deal with.
"We will start wiz ze disrespect shown by your wife zis morning, Arthur," he said tightly, looking the man in the eye. "And zere will be no lies 'ere today. Let us enter ze memory and see it for ourselves. I would suggest zat you pay close attention to 'Arry."
Arthur nodded and then gave Molly a stony look that demanded obedience. This was one of the reasons Sebastian liked the man: he normally appeared as a genial and, frankly, bumbling fool, but when he was serious or got angry, people – including his own wife – tended to stay out of his way. He was an incredible actor at times.
Molly was reluctant, but still she complied, scowling at Sebastian as she leaned in. Nothing was said as they slipped into the memory and took in the scene. The conversation was light and pleasant at the Gryffindor table, and under other circumstances he would have found the topic amusing; Harry was in surprisingly good spirits on this particular morning.
But then the howler arrived, and they watched the carnage begin.
It was only some quick thinking on Fleur's part that prevented the ultimate disaster – and it still wasn't enough. Harry heard every word, and his reaction was anything but good. Each new assault from the howler was like another bullet from a Muggle gun, striking him right in the heart.
It was absolutely heartbreaking to watch Harry shatter like so much spun glass.
There was a brief silence when they exited the memory, and Sebastian noted that while Molly did show regret at Harry's reaction, she still was not budging. He had a feeling that he would have an uphill battle with this woman, and if necessary, he might even have to obliviate her. That was not a happy prospect.
"Ze slight against my daughter was contained, as you saw," he said finally, his tone quiet and deadly. "But 'Arry is also a member of my family, and I do not mean zat metaphorically."
"I'm sure he'll manage," scowled Molly.
Arthur paled at her words, apparently having a clue as to the gravity of what had taken place. Sebastian turned slowly toward her, anger blazing behind his eyes. "Are you truly so callous?" he whispered dangerously, reaching out to select a different memory in the ornate bowl. "Are you truly so 'eartless? Do you not knowwhat that boy's life 'as been like? No? Zen per'aps I shall show you!"
And with that, he snapped his hands out to grab theirs, plunging them into the Pensieve without warning, making sure to take a tight hold on his temper against what they would shortly be seeing.
"Don't you touch me!" spat Molly, quickly shaking him off.
Sebastian ignored her. "Zis memory," he said quietly, "is from when 'Arry was all of five years old. It was taken directly from ze mind of Vernon Dursley. Watch, and learn."
Wisely, the Weasleys remained silent.
The memory Sebastian chose was one of the more horrific of the lot. They watched as a bedraggled young Harry, dressed in little more than rags, was rousted from his room – which happened to be a broom cupboard. Today was little Harry's birthday, and he was woken at five in the morning to 'celebrate'.
They watched as Vernon Dursley told him that the cooking was now his responsibility. He liberally used words like 'worthless' and 'freak'. And then he grabbed little Harry by the back of his pants and quite literally threw him into the kitchen.
The door was closed at the time; the little boy was lucky that it wasn't latched.
They watched as Vernon stalked after him to lord over the process, and they watched as five-year-old Harry accidentally dropped an egg and bent over to clean it up – and was punished with a kick to the ribs that resulted in an audible snap. They watched as a still-stoic Harry continued trying... and trying... and trying.
By the end of the memory, the young birthday boy had two visibly broken limbs – an arm and a leg – several broken ribs, and numerous second-degree burns. And then he was unceremoniously tossed back into his cupboard with orders to 'heal up'.
It was enough to make one vomit, and when they returned to the kitchen table, both Weasleys nearly did. He allowed the stark silence to continue for a long moment as he reached into his coat for the now-familiar file and tossed it on the tabletop in front of Molly.
"Zat memory was one of many," he finally whispered. "It was not a flight of fancy, nor were ze ozzers. Zey really 'appened." He rapped a finger smartly on the closed file folder. "Zese are 'is Muggle 'ospital records. Zey are ze reason I was willing to mentally rape Vernon Dursley to find ze truth."
Looking Molly in the eye, he continued, "For ze rest of zis conversation, bear in mind zat as far as I am concerned, zat boy is now my son. I will go to very great lengths to protect 'im. Do not test me!"
He hissed the last, and Molly quailed as she turned to the folder that she now held in trembling hands. She flipped slowly through it, and as she continued reading, tears began to run down her cheeks. When she looked up again, she looked like he had finally gotten through to her, at least a little.
"Where are those bastards?" she whispered.
"Prison," he said flatly. "Zey 'ave been dealt wiz, and nobody can send 'im back zere evair again."
"How did we not know about this?" asked Arthur in genuine anguish.
"You did not wish to see," said Sebastian simply. "You trusted Albus Dumbledore, and believe me, I 'ave discovered 'orrifying zings about Albus in ze last two weeks. Not only did 'e leave 'Arry wiz zose monsters, but 'e 'as also stolen over eighty million Galleons from ze Potter estate. 'E nevair even told 'Arry zat it existed."
Both Weasleys paled again. "What?" whispered Molly.
"We 'ave proof," sighed Sebastian, "but zat is for me and 'Arry to deal wiz. You will say nuzzing to anyone. If you do, zere will be severe consequences for all involved."
"This conversation will be kept confidential, Sebastian," said Arthur quietly. "You have my personal word of assurance on that."
Sebastian nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you," he nodded. "And now zat you understand 'ow little you know about 'Arry, we move on to ze reason for zis morning's disaster. Ze wedding."
"I don't know how you can justify that!" said Molly in a harsh, broken whisper, her anger warring with her grief over what she had just seen.
Rather than answer her, however, Sebastian turned to Arthur. "'Arry saved Fleur's life," he said bluntly.
Arthur's face instantly lost what little color it had regained. "Merlin's beard!" he breathed.
"Indeed," nodded Sebastian. "'E is ze most honorable boy I 'ave evair met. 'E is giving much, and I can only 'ope zat 'e receives as much in return."
"What are you talking about?" scowled Molly.
"That's enough, Molly," sighed Arthur as he ran a hand over his face. "Unless you really want Harry to kill Sebastian's daughter, there are no options here. He has to marry her."
"WHAT DID SHE DO TO HIM?"
SLAM!
"DAMNIT MOLLY! WILL YOU SIT THE HELL DOWN AND GET THE FACTS FIRST FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE?"
Sebastian watched with muted interest as Arthur well and truly lost his temper. And Molly, it seemed, had not seen it in a very long time, at least if her reaction was any indication. She nearly passed out, and abruptly dropped into the chair she had risen from, focused completely on her husband.
Arthur closed his eyes and reigned in his temper again before fixing her with an angry look. "She didn't do a single thing, Molly!" he snapped. "Nor did Harry! This is profound Magic, and there is not a damn thing either of them could have done to avoid it!" He stared her down for a moment to make sure she got the point, and then turned to Sebastian. "I assume this happened in the lake during the Second Task?" he snapped.
"Yes," nodded Sebastian. "And Albus 'as much to answer for, for the danger zat 'e 'as put my family into. We were promised ze Tournament would be safe, and it clearly is not."
Arthur nodded and turned back to his wife. "Her veela magic will call the life debt due in short order, Molly," he told his pale wife. "If Harry doesn't marry her, she will lose her magic, and veela can't survive without it. She would be dead inside of three weeks. There's no other way."
Silence fell in the homely kitchen as she absorbed it, and Sebastian waited, sipping his tea with a patience he did not truly feel. He was still dangerously angry, but unless he wanted to do physical damage, all he could do was talk. It was really quite frustrating.
Molly's expression cycled through many emotions before he finally saw the light of realization dawn. She was beginning to understand what she had done to poor Harry, and just how badly she had screwed up. Only problem was, she probably didn't know the half of it.
Finally, Sebastian broke the silence, and he had nothing nice to say.
"'Arry invited you because 'e values your family," he said quietly. "You 'ave meant a great deal to 'im over ze years, because you gave 'im ze first care and affection zat 'e 'ad evair known. 'E wanted you to be zere for such a profound moment in 'is life.
"And you threw it back in 'is face!" he hissed, giving no quarter as he watched Molly's horrified reaction.
"You are lucky zat I was able to convince my daughter not to come 'ere, Molly," he continued relentlessly. "You enraged 'er, not on 'er own behalf, but on 'Arry's. You would 'ave 'ad a visit to St. Mungo's. Even I will not cross a veela in full rage, and I married one! Let alone one 'oo is defending 'er chosen mate!"
There was a brief silence, his statement echoing in air around them, before–
"How bad is this, Sebastian?" asked Arthur faintly. "What should we do?"
Sebastian sighed heavily. "I do not yet know," he admitted. "But I can tell you zat it is not good. 'E is an abused child, and does not trust easily wiz 'is feelings. Molly 'as broken zat trust, and it will be very difficult to earn it back."
Turning back to Molly, he said, "I do not know 'ow you can apologize, but if you truly value zat boy, you will try. At zis moment, I cannot allow you to attend ze wedding. If 'Arry decides to allow it zen I will let you know, but you do not even 'ave a chance until you try to make zis right."
Sebastian's expression hardened again. "And you almost exposed zem to Albus," he growled, "which would 'ave put both of zem at great risk if it got out before ze wedding. Do something like zat again, Molly, and I will not be so forgiving. I do not tolerate threats to my family. 'ave I made myself clear?"
"Yes," she whispered faintly.
Sebastian crossed his fingers, and prayed that she meant it. He truly didn't know how much more pain one boy could take.