The Lie I've Lived
Head Games
By JBern
Author Notes:
Disclaimer — Nothing but fanfiction
Acknowledgements — As always, the hard work of Alpha Fight Club, and my editing team of Aaran St. Vines, Le Rob, Zanymuggle, and Sparky40sw also, is greatly appreciated. Take a bow, guys.
Chapter 22 — Head Games
"I agree that this doesn’t bode well, Harry. However, your methodology for defeating the privacy wards is spotty at best. Your mind could be hearing precisely what you want it to hear."
I shake my head and continue to pet Fawkes. "And I plucked Pettigrew’s name out of my head at this particular instant in time? That seems pretty unlikely. They’re hiding something! Do we wait for the usual end of the year surprise, or are we going to be proactive about this? I think you know how I feel."
Dumbledore smiles at me and I can feel my blood boiling. "We will take precautions, Harry. Inside this castle, all the elves—except, of course, your free elf, all the paintings, and the ghosts are loyal to me by virtue of my position. I have been somewhat lax in asserting this authority. Outside, we cannot control what Headmaster Karkaroff and our former professor are up to, although I will remind you that you forced this matter with Severus."
"If Voldemort is fool enough to believe that Snape would be useful as a spy inside of Hogwarts, after you defended him in front of the Wizengamot, he’s addled, and our job will be that much easier."
"True, but you removed his opportunity to side with us."
"Do you really want to go there, Headmaster? Best I can tell, he was all for Harry’s death. It was only the debt owed to James and the fact he was chasing after my … after James’s wife that he came running to you."
"And we all know that debt fell to you."
In a battle of wits, I am unlikely to beat this man. If I let this go on enough, he’ll probably trick me into saying something like how much we need Snape, and then I’ll want to go kill myself. Best not to let that happen.
"I’d rather he falter during an attack and be forced to save me, rather than having him as a reluctant ally. He doesn’t owe anything to Moody, Shacklebolt, or any of the rest. He’s a toxin in our midst. The sooner he leaves the better off we all are."
He leans forward and rubs his beard between his thumb and forefinger. "There is little to be gained in beating this particular dead horse. Choices have been made, let us move to the matter at hand. You wish to be proactive, Harry. What would you have me do? We cannot control their comings and goings. The ship is beached, and will take at least two months to be seaworthy again."
"We could work with the Merfolk and place runic mines in the Great Lake. If Karkaroff tries to make a quick run of it, we can seal off his exit route."
"And suppose the Giant Squid decides these baubles are its newest playthings?"
"We could keep them inert and keyed to either you or me." I can already tell he isn’t interested in the idea.
"Possible, but I cannot foresee Karkaroff fleeing without hostages. Would you be so keen to activate those mines if Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, or Miss Delacour were onboard as captives, bound and without their wands? History has shown that Tom’s followers do not let notions of collateral damage hinder their actions and I do not wish to sink to their level. Besides, he only has to reach the middle of the lake before he can Apparate or Portkey away."
"Yeah, I considered that much as well. Several Golems buried in the sand at the beach might also do the trick."
"A rather pricey option, Harry. I can think of better uses for our resources, such as working to improve our relations with the Centaurs in the forest, and putting our finest foot forward when in view of the public eye. I hear you’ve been invited to a dinner at the French Embassy."
"Word travels fast."
"There is a reason the Hogwarts gossip network is legendary. As for your plans, I salute your ingenuity, Harry. You obviously came up with them last night on short notice. It is the kind of thinking we will need moving forward. Take your time and give me better solutions that you, Sirius, and Remus all agree on and I will do my best to enact them. You are brash and powerful, Harry, and possess a distinct view of what needs to be done. Use your other allies as a sounding board to see what you do not."
I hesitate before answering. "That sounds reasonable enough. What are you up to, then?"
"Courting allies, as usual. One beneficial side affect to all this calamity we have experienced this year is that my colleagues abroad are more receptive to the possibility that the Dark Lord is trying to return."
"Perhaps it’s time to restart the failed Hogwarts Dueling Club?"
"Yet another good idea, Harry. Though it is most assuredly too late for it this year, I think the popularity of the dueling contests during the tournament will open the minds of the Board of Governors to allow this next term. Naturally, if Harry Potter were to be involved in this club in a meaningful way, I expect membership in such a club would be valued."
A sinking feeling comes over me. "I walked right into that, didn’t I?"
"Indeed you did, my boy." He says with a cheeky smile. "Call it another lesson in considering the ramifications of not thinking your ideas through before you give them voice. I’ll bring it up at the next staff meeting and see which Professor would be interested in helping you sponsor the dueling club. I daresay that whoever it is, they might be interested in picking up a few pointers from you, as well."
I should have kept him in the dark about me—seriously.
------
"Well, except for that patch of blackened earth that gives me the shivers, this isn’t such a bad place. Honestly, I think we should just go ahead and pull that bush. Nothing short of a miracle can save it." Hannah Abbott says aloud, more to her ‘date’ Neville than to the rest of us.
It probably wasn’t exactly what she expected when Neville asked her if she wanted to spend the day with him and have a picnic later with me and Fleur. Still, she’s being a good sport, and I know she’s equally as fascinated by Herbology as he is.
Neville’s been looking for a way to help me ever since I agreed to pay for his mum’s treatment. I definitely don’t want to let him know how deeply I’m really involved in that anytime soon. Fleur’s not-so secret grotto is a good place to let him start. Most of the flora is damaged and in need of professional care. Plants aren’t really my field of expertise. Fleur isn’t terribly bad at the subject, but she isn’t particularly good, either.
Besides, we have cleansing rituals to get to, and they aren’t exactly a walk in the park either.
"Find anything useful, ladies?" I ask Hermione and Ginny. As I get closer, they look panicked and embarrassed. The cover of my anybook, which is linked to a book of rituals in the Potter vault, gets slammed shut. I have a good idea why. There are several rituals with rather explicit diagrams. Ron, if he were here, probably would be trying to take notes. I asked him if he wanted to get up early on a weekend and go perform a cleansing ritual. His response was to throw a rather crude gesture in my direction and burrow under his pillow.
"Not really. There was a really good one in there, but we don’t have the dragon to purify the soil with flaming breath. And some of the others…"
Fleur looks up from the candles she’s lighting. "If they are the ones that I am thinking of, I doubt that Harry or I meet the criteria."
Many of these rituals start with a base element of purity—fire, earth, air, or water. Some of them add a somewhat interesting twist on things.
I laugh at the redness of their faces. "Most of those will only work if one or both of the participants in the ritual are virgins. Let’s stick with the one we’re using now and see how well it works."
Trust me, I’m all for a little rain-soaked afternoon tryst, but warming charms would likely interfere with the magic and it isn’t really all that warm out. Late April or early May—at the very least—for that kind of frolicking, thank you very much.
Hermione, embarrassed, stammers for a moment before what I just said hits her. She looks at me with brow furrowed so hard that it must be giving her a headache. "What about what you said in the Common Room the other night?"
I clear my throat and look over at Neville and Hannah, who are pretending—albeit poorly—not to be listening to this fascinating-but-private conversation.
"No, we haven’t," I say, in the vaguest terms possible. "It was someone else."
"Ohmigod." Hermione shoots a glance at Ginny. "No wonder Fred and George hate you!"
"This is all news to me," Ginny says, sounding slightly dejected. She’s finally warming up to the idea that I’m not available.
"No it wasn’t Ginny, or Katie Bell either, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s a good thing that there are privacy wards on this grotto." I’m half annoyed and half amused at Hermione. "Just let it go. Quite frankly, it isn’t anyone’s business."
A quick glance at Fleur ascertains her opinion of things. The expression on her face clearly says, "These are your friends, Harry Potter. It wasn’t my idea to let them help."
"Help" is indeed a four letter word. I could probably summon Dobby out here and make things even worse.
"Oh sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to pry." She looks both hurt and embarrassed. Great, she’s the one butting in to my personal life, and somehow I’m the bad guy for telling her it’s none of her bloody business.
"I’m a virgin, Harry," Neville offers, trying to be helpful Perhaps hopeful is a better word.
"And you’re likely to stay one for the foreseeable future," Hannah says, cutting in rather forcefully.
"I’m afraid you’re not my type either, Neville, but thanks for telling me." Much needed laughter ensues.
I take this time to get the owl feathers out of the bag to represent the air in the ceremony and hand them to Fleur. She starts inscribing runes into them using ink made from fresh water collected from a nearby stream. Hermione, Ginny, and I begin drawing runes at the edge of the blackened earth. Odds are that this won’t completely work, but it should dramatically reduce the size of the cursed area.
Eventually, the ten feathers ring the blackened area and the runes scribbled in the dirt are deemed to be correct. Fleur walks slowly counter-clockwise and begins her chant, as I begin lighting the feathers on fire with the tip of my wand. Behind each feather is a bucket of freshly tilled earth from Hagrid’s garden. Once the feathers are ash, the earth is mixed with what remains and that dirt is used to cover affected area.
Nothing too tricky and nothing that requires the sacrifice of someone’s virginity—only time and patience and delicate rune work on Fleur’s part.
Just as I expected, the tainted land is halved in size. Hannah, Neville, Ginny, and Hermione team up to remove eight of the ten damaged bushes and are now debating what should be replanted in their place. Fleur’s only stipulation, delivered with a teasing wink, is that the replacements be something with edible berries.
I move up alongside her as she stares into the murky pool of water. "Is it clearer?"
"Somewhat. I suspect that we still have our work cut out for us," she replies, stirring the surface of the water idly with her Veela hair wand. "The hour is almost up, so we need to leave and let the grotto return to its holding place. Do you wish to continue tomorrow, or do you want to save your strength for the dinner at the Embassy?"
"What do you recommend?" I defer to her.
"We should wait. You will need to be rested and on your best behavior with my mother. Plus, wherever you go, mayhem and chaos often follow." she says with a note of pragmatism.
"I’d deny it, but we both know it’s true. Any advice would be greatly appreciated. I’m guessing Gabrielle will be no end of trouble."
She nods sagely, and says as she stands up, "If I could convince Mother to give her a Sleeping Draught, I would try. Many of those that try to date me try to ingratiate themselves to my sister in the hopes that it is something I would find attractive in a boyfriend. I love my sister dearly, but she is a menace. Do not feel that you need to give her special attention on my behalf. Other than that, be yourself. Be Harry Potter—you have faced Dragons, Dementors, and Dark Wizards. Mere aristocrats should be no cause for alarm."
The mischievous smile on her face leads me to believe that I’m walking into yet another trap.
------
"You look very nice, Harry Potter," Fleur comments, as she meets me at the gate. Several of her classmates from Beauxbatons are also going on this little trip. There are a couple of other Hogwarts students and a pair of Durmstrang students as well.
I kiss the back of her hand. "You clean up nicely as well, Fleur." It's a joke, she’s simply stunning. She could be dressed in Dudley’s clothes…ugh, bad image. Let’s forget about that! She could be dressed in just about anything and still be a knockout. This evening she’s using a light green dress, instead of the dress she wore to the Yule Ball.
I actually went away from the bottle green robes Molly bought for me and ordered some others from Gladrags. They work with her dress slightly better, and have the added benefit of making me look older. Of course, I’ve added on about nine months, courtesy of the aging potion up in my room that I finally broke down and brewed. Harry Potter at fifteen doesn’t look that much different than fourteen, but it blends into my look much better, for at least the next eight hours.
The fact that I brought new robes isn’t lost on my date. She rubs the fabric around my wrist between her thumb and forefinger. "Soft. Very comfortable, I’d imagine. Not wearing your Order of Merlin?"
"No, seemed too garish. Besides, I suspect that your parents care little for English awards."
She laughs, and allows me to escort her down the path to Hogsmeade, where our group will use the Floo at Madame Rosemerta’s to travel to London. Madame Maxim leads the way. I recall her dancing with Hagrid at the Yule Ball, but he’s nowhere to be found this evening. I’ll have to ask the big guy where he thinks they are headed. She’s refined and he’s been known to refine his own whiskey.
Inside the Three Broomsticks, I give a brief nod to Kingsley and who must be Tonks playing an ‘Ebony Goddess,’ probably just to yank her partner’s chain. I’m slightly biased, but there is something to the debate about which is hotter—the Veela, or the Metamorph. Shacklebolt drops some coins on the table and heads in front to use the Floo, as Maxim is sorting us out for our trip to the French Embassy. It would take some seriously ridiculous magic to redirect a Floo, but we all think that’s what happened to Dorcas Meadowes and the two bodyguards she was traveling with in the last war, and Dumbledore obviously isn’t taking any chances this time.
There’s a joke to be made about Tonks bringing up the rear, but it will have to wait for another day. It seems wasted without Hat around.
The Headmistress of Beauxbatons has to go to one knee to enter the Floo. I notice how close her hand is to her wand, and wonder exactly how much Albus has told her. I go next and Fleur follows.
If Madame Maxime expected to be assaulted, it probably wasn’t by me flailing my way out of the exit fireplace. I bounce off where she is standing and trip to the ground. She reaches down and hauls me to my feet while using her wand to clear the ashes from her dress.
"You do not travel well, Mister Potter," the giantess says.
"Never have, never will, I suspect. I make up for it with charm."
"You should try holding a glass of water in your hand during transit."
"Just so I can make more of a spectacle when I exit?" I ask with a sarcastic grin.
"No, with your concentration fixed on the glass and not on your feet, you may have a better trip. I’ve known many people who have used that technique to help make Floo travel a better experience."
"Well that makes sense. Thank you. I’ll give it a try sometime." Naturally, as I am saying this, Fleur exits as if she has simply walked from one room to the next—the very picture of grace—and immediately vanishes the dust particles clinging to her form.
I can still beat her in a duel. That’s got to count for something.
Cleaning myself off, I join Fleur and she escorts me through the entranceway of the French Embassy.
"I have noticed that you look like you do in the Pensieve—somewhat older," she says as I take her arm.
"Really?" Next time I go into mine, I’ll have to pick a memory with a mirror in it. I’ve heard that a person’s self image defines how they appear in a Pensieve, but had never really given it much thought. My ‘self-image’ must be a couple of years older.
We wait at the doorway to the embassy’s great hall to be announced. I take Fleur’s white gloved hand in mine.
"Fleur Delacour of the House of Delacour and her escort, Harry Potter of the House of Potter."
I weather the near blinding glare of cameras going off as we descend the stairs. I’m guessing the pictures will make me look like I’m under the influence of a stinging hex. Fleur immediately leads me to her parents, Gabrielle, and the actual French ambassador, who is a second or third cousin. I manage to spot Penny with Ollie, who is doing double duty as her date and photographer—I’ll have to make sure to tell him how whipped he is.
I kiss the back of Madame Delacour’s hand and dust off my French. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame."
"And you as well, Harry Potter. I look forward to speaking with you at great length."
"As do I, Madame. Minister, Ambassador—good evening to you both." I execute a quick bow to them both and accept their handshakes, making certain that I’m following proper protocol as even more cameras go off. Some are directed at our group and others at those being announced after us. Honestly, it’s like being at a disco or something with all the flashes of light.
"We meet again, Harry Potter. I congratulate you. You’ve survived over a week of my daughter’s affection. That in itself is a remarkable achievement."
"Papa!" Fleur protests. It’s obvious he can push her buttons when it humors him.
"She is a remarkable witch and a credit to both her family and her country," I reply working the situation to my advantage. "Hello, Gabrielle. It is good to see you again." I bow to the bane of my girlfriend’s existence and she smiles and curtsies.
"You’re much younger than Fleur’s usual boyfriends," she says with the blunt honesty that only a preteen has.
"Gabrielle!" her sister admonishes Gabrielle, clearly not enjoying the awkward moment.
I’m just happy that it’s not me they’re having a go at. I stick to being gracious. "Your sister sees something in me that she likes. For that, I am grateful."
"She still beat you in that duel." Gabby shifts tactics and tries to rile me up.
"Yes, but there is always the rematch coming up. I’m looking forward to it."
The question and answer session goes on for a few more minutes. I sense that I’m being used as a method of needling Fleur. Even the ambassador gets in a few good ones. It frustrates me, but I do my best to remain the model of English stoicism.
"How interesting," Madame Delacour comments. "After my conversation with Rochelle Beaucourt, I expected someone a bit less refined. What a pleasant surprise."
I don’t pretend to understand the dynamics between the Beaucourts and Delacours. Politically, they are enemies, but socially they seem like friends (with an emphasis on seems that is). Madame Delacour is much older than I expected, but her Veela charm is there, regardless.
"I’m afraid Madame Beaucourt caught me at a very bad moment, and we got off on the wrong foot. Do you have news about Aimee’s recovery?"
"The healing goes slowly, but progress is happening. The doctors expect she will be able to speak soon."
Smiling, I say, "That’s good to hear. I don’t mean to be rude, but I should really go and pay my respects to Minister Fudge. Would you care to accompany me, Fleur?"
She nods and we make our way towards Fudge and his circle of social followers. "They were enjoying themselves, weren’t they?"
Fleur sighs and answers, "Yes, they’re looking for cracks in your armor. So far, you are performing admirably."
"Perform makes me sound like some kind of actor. I’m wounded, Fleur. I am a deep and complex person quite capable in matters of diplomacy."
Her eyes roll at my fake sincerity. "Until you need to destroy something, Harry."
"For tonight, I will do my best not to resort to violence, but if violence is required, I’ll be polite about it."
Fudge is entertaining his group recounting some humorous occurrences at the last meeting of the Wizengamot. It’s the kind of stuff you’d have to be present for and probably English—to enjoy.
Midway through the story about a maintenance dispute at the Ministry of Magic, he spots me, or at least Fleur. "Harry Potter! Good to see you!"
"And you as well, Minister. I hope all is well."
"Yes, yes, dear boy. Come stand next to me for a moment. We should get a quick picture for the society papers. Bring your lovely date as well. I haven’t had the pleasure of being formally introduced, but surely all of Britain knows about Fleur Delacour."
We squeeze in next to Fudge and his ego. I’ll be amazed if they get us all in the shot. After exchanging a few pleasantries with him, the chime sounds mercifully and we head to our tables for dinner.
Except we’re sitting with Fleur’s parents, so perhaps mercifully isn’t the correct word. I pull the chair out for Fleur like a proper gentleman and then take my seat. Funny, James Potter used to love this rubbish, but I'm more irritated than anything else.
"My husband tells me that during your battle with this Poltergeist, you practically destroyed the sanctuary I made for Fleur."
Yeah, this is going to be a long night, so I parry with a compliment. "There was considerable damage, but it will be made whole again. I learned a long time ago that with magic, anything is possible. You do very nice work. The amulet is a complex weaving of charms and transfigurations."
Her mother smiles at me and says, "When I first met my husband, he found me enchanting in both the literal and figurative aspects of the word. So, you live with Muggles, dear. Tell me what that is like."
I’m sorely tempted to ask if she is any relation to Lucius Malfoy, but I honestly don’t want to know the answer. "My relatives dislike magic or anything to do with it. It’s just a place to live."
The questioning continues as our salad plates vanish and are replaced with soup bowls. "And will you be living there this summer or will you be following my daughter on the racing circuit?"
I smile at the fuming Fleur, "That remains to be seen. Things are still very early. I am more concerned about right now rather than worrying about months from now."
"Dear— ," the Minister comes to my rescue, "let the boy eat his meal. You can dissect him after dinner at your leisure."
Okay, maybe that’s not a rescue, per se—more like a stay of execution, but I’ll take it. The meal is excellent. So far, I can tell that Fleur’s father is somewhat in my favor, but I sense a distinctly hostile vibe coming from her mother.
Fleur tries to change the subject by asking about family friends back in France. She has only moderate success. I search my mind and look for some slight that’s occurred, but can’t come up with anything that I’ve done wrong so far.
Maybe she just doesn’t like the English. I should introduce her to the Sorting Hat. They’d hit it off.
Madame Delacour intervenes once again, saying, "Tell me, Harry, what is your impression of Delores Umbridge’s stance on Dark Creatures?"
"I know she is one of Minister Fudge’s undersecretaries, but I’m afraid I do not know her positions."
Her husband answers rather abruptly. "She introduced the Dark Creature Registration and Control Act in your Wizengamot just last week."
"My apologies, Minster. You’ve caught me somewhat unprepared. With everything going on at Hogwarts, I haven’t been able to follow political matters. From the sound of it, the legislation sounds oppressive." I sense his wife baited a trap, I took the bait, and her husband pounced.
"A word of advice young man — not all battles are fought with wands. You would do well to remember that and pay attention to the world around you."
Bugger, I seem to be losing ground with the father as well. I’d break out some of JP’s famed wit and charm, but it doesn’t seem like I should bother.
"Could you explain the legislation to me, Father?" Fleur asks.
If he is surprised about his eldest daughter turning the tables only the quiver an eyebrow betrays it. "It is more drivel by the English to further discriminate against Veela, Werewolves, and Vampires. Were it enacted, I would be forced to acquire a permit for your mother’s presence in England, as she is half-Veela."
"What about Gabrielle and me?"
"I do not believe so."
This is troubling. It sounds like some people in the Fudge administration are looking to capitalize on the undercurrents of fear out there. "Not the Goblins, then."
"Of course the Goblin nation is exempted," he answers my comment dismissively.
I can’t seem to make a point with these people. Instead, I try to concentrate on the dessert that just appeared in front of me.
------
Forty-five minutes later the meal is over, the dance floor is clear, and I happen to have a perturbed French witch in my arms.
"Two years ago, one of my supposed boyfriends attempted to ensnare me with love potions. He was from a well-connected family, and we saw him three months after our break-up. My parents treated him with more courtesy and respect than they afforded to you! I am truly sorry, Harry."
"I make lousy first impressions." I brush it off. "Besides, there’s only one Delacour with an opinion I care about."
Her scowl slips into a brief smile. "You should say more things like that to me."
"I’ll try." The waltz ends and I feel a tap on my shoulder. Her father is cutting in. Madame Delacour has already left the dance floor. This leaves me without a partner for a brief moment.
"Fancy a turn, Harry?" A familiar and welcome voice asks. Her dress is a rather attractive red affair and the heels have her towering a good four inches over me.
"I’d be delighted, Miss Clearwater. You look beautiful this evening. I see you’ve finally found Ollie some gainful employment."
She laughs and says, "I’m positively dreading what his photos will look like. Hopefully, one or two will be salvageable. You looked uncomfortable during dinner."
"I don’t think the Delacours like me. That’s not for print by the way."
"Wouldn’t dream of it, Harry. You’d be surprised how nervous Ollie was meeting Mum and Dad."
"How’d that go?" Considering we both know her ‘real’ dad is a Death Eater in Azkaban, I let that slide.
"He was a bloody awful wreck. I was tempted to conjure a Quaffle and let my parents take turns throwing it at him. In the hoops he can hold his own, but he might as well have been Confunded. It was almost cute—almost."
Another touch on my shoulder and I spin expecting to see Oliver Wood. Instead, there is a middle-aged French witch in nice robes standing eye to eye with me.
"Mr. Potter, my name is Olivia and I am Chief of Security for the embassy. Would you please come with me?"
"Is there a problem?"
"That remains to be seen."
I nod to a suddenly anxious Penny, and follow the witch back through the kitchen to the servant entrance. Kingsley Shacklebolt falls into step beside us as we arrive at the back door.
"A Muggle under a Compulsion dropped this off. I have some of my people questioning her right now. After we’re done, we’ll turn her over to your Aurors for processing and Oblivation. She in a bit of a state as you English say—can’t even tell us her name. Until we cast our spells on it, it was free of residual magic."
I look at the box on the table. It has a Clearview Charm on it already. I ignore the red and gold bow on top with my name on a tag and instead look at the contents. Suddenly, I'm regretting the oysters with dinner, I'm fighting the urge to vomit. Lifeless eyes stare back at me. There's a look of horror frozen on the young man’s face. The bottom of the box is saturated with blood.
"Is it one of your classmates?" Shacklebolt asks.
"A long time ago, yes, but he's not magical. His name is … was Piers Polkiss. He was a Muggle living in my relatives' neighborhood, a friend of my cousin. The woman who brought the box, was she a brunette in her late forties? Large glasses?"
"Yes."
"It’s his mum, Dottie Polkiss."
The Chief of Security sighs, "At least it was a Muggle. There won’t be any uproar over this, and the paperwork will be minimal. Mr. Shacklebolt, I will leave this in your hands since the crime obviously occurred off the property of the embassy. It plainly falls under your jurisdiction. If you’ll excuse me, I need to inform my superiors."
I watch the French witch walk away, washing her hands of the situation. It’s a sad truth. Olivia and most of the people dancing the night away inside could care less about a Muggle boy’s head in a box. Up until fifteen years ago, you could buy them openly from stands in Knockturn Alley. They’re probably still there, if you look hard enough and wave a coin or two around.
Kingsley removes the lid and looks inside. "Looks like the Black family crest is carved into the top of the skull—a crude attempt to frame Sirius." He floats the head out of the box and looks at the fatal blow. "Boy wasn’t killed by magic. A knife or sword did this."
"He wasn’t worth wasting magic on. It’s a message from Pettigrew and his master. They know where my relatives live. They’ll need some protection. I doubt Fudge’ll go for it, so it’s going to have to come through the Order."
"Get back inside, Potter. I’ve got to get an Oblivator team over here to take care of this mess. Send Tonks out here to help, and then stay inside until we fetch you. Be prepared to leave thirty minutes earlier than we planned."
------
I can’t hear the music through the privacy wards. I’m upstairs in the Ambassador’s office. There’s nothing like getting a bloody Muggle head as a gag gift to kill the mood. The Ambassador, the Minister, his wife, and my date are also here with me. They’ve just gotten an explanation about the events from a few minutes ago.
"This is most unsettling, Mr. Potter," the Minister says.
"I agree." I didn’t really care for Piers, but hell, the kid didn’t deserve that.
Fleur’s mother, quiet up until now speaks, "Your patron, Monsieur Dumbledore, he believes this Dark Lord of yours is planning to return. He makes a considerable stir in front of the ICW. What say you to this, Harry Potter?"
I clench the armrests of my chair several times. "I have seen the wraith with my own eyes, Madame Delacour. Powerful magic keeps him from passing on. The fact that he’s out there is a heavy burden to the Headmaster and I'm not very happy about it either. One of his people put me in this tournament. I'm sure he gave the orders."
"And should this wraith manage to return to human form?"
"Let’s hope that isn’t anytime soon, Milady."
"Of course, Harry Potter. Still, you and any around you would be targets, would they not?"
I nod. There’s little use in denying it.
"Now, let me give you a history lesson, Monsieur Potter, something my mother and I only rarely speak of. I was but a tiny child when Grindelwald’s forces ravaged our Veela enclave in search of a relic we did not possess. When they realized we did not have what they sought, they showed us what barbarism wizards and witches are capable of."
"Precisely what does that have to do with Harry, Mother?" Fleur asserts herself; strong will does run in the family.
"Do I have to spell it out for you, daughter? Either this boy and Dumbledore are delusional liars, or he is correct that their Lord Voldemort will return. If so, Harry Potter and all those around him are marked for death. I have nothing against you, Harry Potter, but my mother ended up burying her husband and my older sisters. I have no intentions of letting something like that happen to my family."
I try to find my ‘inner Dumbledore’ and craft a solution to this. Unfortunately, all I have is my ‘inner Sorting Hat’ and what I’d like to say wouldn’t be helpful.
Fleur shakes her head in frustration. "So this is what this is all about? This! You scare too easily, Mother."
"Don’t you take that tone with me!"
"I’m sorry. What tone would you like me to take?"
That’s not really helpful either, but since it’s not coming from me, it’s pretty damn funny.
"Quit being an insufferable brat, Fleur. Your father and I have already discussed matters and we have decided. We do not approve of your dating Harry Potter. If it was not for this idiotic tournament, you would already be back in France. We have decided that you can train for your events at our estate and we will transport you to Hogwarts for those events. This is for the best."
Fleur is angry—very angry. "No. I am seventeen years old, Mother. I am capable of making my own decisions."
Her father jumps in, probably because his wife’s whip told him to. "This is no broom race, Fleur! You will heed your mother."
"What? Are you saying that I am not capable of looking after myself? Would a feeble witch be selected as a Triwizard Champion?"
"That’s not it."
"Then what is it?" Damn! Look at her go!
"Tell them," Madame Delacour instructs her husband.
"It is a matter of State, my dear."
"State be damned! Tell her now, or I will!"
He pauses and considers his options. Turning to me, he says, "Very well. I consulted with our equivalent to the English Department of Mysteries. In France, we have some of the finest Arithmancers and Diviners in the world. Their predictions are remarkably accurate. The consensus is that, within a year your Dark Lord will return and war will soon follow. Are you prepared to face a Dark Lord that is more than just a wraith, Harry Potter?"
"I’ve beaten him before. I can do it again, as many times as it takes." I give a short answer and try to keep my temper from getting the best of me.
"Harry," Fleur says. "Please wait for me in the hallway. I will be out shortly."
"I’ll stay if you need me."
"No, this is something I must do for myself."
I exit beyond the privacy wards and stare at the fine artwork lining the hallway. I suppress the urge to eavesdrop. Fleur will tell me what she wants to tell me.
Five minutes later Fleur emerges, face flushed, angry, and with tear streaks down her face. She takes a moment and casts a few charms that fix her makeup and soften her appearance.
"I wish to go back to Hogwarts now, Harry. Will you please escort me?"
"Just let me grab Tonks and we’ll leave. Are you okay?"
She gives me a sad look. "No, I am not. Perhaps tomorrow I will be."
Tonks takes us back through a different Floo—the Hogshead's. Dumbledore’s brother is there. He motions us into the back room and flips over a map of Hogsmeade that looks eerily like the Marauder’s Map. "The road’s clear up to the castle. I suggest you three hightail it on up there. Professor McGonagall will be waiting for you. I’ll monitor things from here and if you see red sparks coming from Hogsmeade, it means somebody is coming who shouldn't be there. Now, go on and git!"
With that, Aberforth pushes us rudely out the back door and we’re off.
We head up the trail with wands drawn. Tonks is more than a little uneasy and I take point. She’s still an Auror trainee. It’s a long, silent ten minutes up the path to Hogwarts, but we make it without incident. McGonagall and Filch let us into the castle. It’s quiet after curfew.
"Do you want to go down to my workshop and talk?"
She nods and I lead her down there. Once inside, she wraps her arms around me and I hold her while she sobs. I let it go on for as long as she wants. She’ll talk when she’s ready—or not at all.
Eventually, she breaks away and I conjure a tissue for her. "Better now?"
"A little. I realized something tonight, Harry. My mother does not really love my father. She puts on a mask and acts, but she sought him after Beauxbatons. He was the most powerful wizard she could find. She courted him and she married on his terms. Only after his career was on the fast track did she give him children to ensure he would protect her for all time. I now know why she’s always pushed me to be better and stronger than everyone else, because she was not strong enough to protect herself. Is it terrible, Harry, to look at your own mother and see weakness?"
Boy, she picked the wrong person to ask that to! Tears threaten to overflow from her eyes again as I say, "Parents are people, too. None of us are perfect. They just do the best they can."
My words are just stupid platitudes, but right now they’re all I have, and hopefully they’re enough for her.
"This is all very touching. So, are you two going to shag now? If so, I’d like to get a better angle to view it from," an all too familiar voice says. I look back at the Golem hidden in the shadows of the dark room.
The Sorting Hat steps out. "Maybe you shouldn’t date, HJ. All your previous attempts seem to end up in tears or serious injury. Perhaps you are cursed."
"Riddle sent a Muggle’s head to the party. It was one of Dudley’s friends."
"Is that all?" It says in a mocking tone. "If that floating sack of Manticore shit had any real power right now, he would have sent a hundred or come himself. Instead he sends one head! Right now, he’s weak. And you, Delacour, so you have issues with your mother. I’d cry if I could. There was a time in history where the Veela clans sold off their half-breeds and misfits to noblemen across Europe to support themselves. Why else would Lancelot be so willing to sell out his loyalty for Arthur’s bed warmer?
"I’m not really in the mood for a lecture right now, Hat. Neither is Fleur."
"I was in here, resting and minding my own business when the two of you came in. Perhaps I was in no mood to be disturbed. Did your mind ever consider that, or has too much blood already run down to your pecker?"
"Fine. We’re leaving Hat." I haven’t spent much time with it lately. Is it jealous of Fleur?
I pull her into the hallway and she leads me to what used to be her workshop. I lock the door and she casts the privacy wards.
"How do you stand such a thing?" she asks looking around the mostly empty room.
"Normally, it’s not so bad to me. I think we just caught it on an off night."
"I get the feeling that it doesn’t like me, Harry," she says lifting herself gracefully onto a workbench.
"I could say the same of your family. You didn't really care for me when we first met." I hop up beside her.
She brushes some hair away from her face. "You're not going to let me forget that, are you? My mother scares easily. My father can resist her to a point, but even so, he caters to her whims for fear that she will leave him. I am certain that he went to our Arithmancers on her urging."
"I’m sorry, but I wasn’t terribly impressed by your Arithmancers. I’ve known that he’s coming back since I was eleven. Do you want to talk about what happened after I left?"
"I made certain that she knew I would not cave into her demands. At first she threatened to withhold my access to family funds, but my success as a broom racer has left me comfortable. Then Mother realized she had nothing but empty gestures. Then she tried bribery. The day I graduate, I could have departed on a round the world trip or started decorating my very own estate."
"I’m flattered that you picked me."
"Don’t be. This, what we have … it may not even work out."
"We should stop saying things like that before it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy."
She stops and looks at me. "You are right. I sense both of us are being too cautious. Finally, Mother said many hurtful things, which I would rather not repeat. As I said, I did this for me. Mother excels at—what do you call them? Ah yes, the guilt trip. It is as easy for her as Apparition. If war does break out, poor Gabrielle will be sequestered on the estate and given private tutoring until she is thirty."
I let her rest her head on my shoulder, and try to keep myself from staring down her dress.
"Hat was right about my dates. They don’t seem to go so well."
She chuckles and says, "You are a master of understatement, Harry."
------
"Admit it, Hat. You’re jealous."
"The fact you keep trying to assign human emotions to me only proves what a waste of James Potter’s sperm you are."
"Don’t worry we’ll always be mates."
As it launches into a string of vulgarities, I look around the Flamel estate. I’m definitely ‘ditching school’ in style. Dumbledore sent me here for the week. Fleur’s parents would appreciate the irony. I’m the one training in France.
"You seem to have hit a nerve there, Harry. You could always keep me company here, Hat," Sirius says, stuffing some egg into his mouth. With the full moon approaching, Lupin is sleeping in. Plus, I might have beat the stuffing out of him yesterday.
"Like I’d want a Dementor’s sloppy seconds,"it says without missing a beat.
Sirius shrugs off the insult. "If I wanted to, I’d hop up on this table and transform. You look like you could use a golden shower to start the day."
"You can still urinate out of that shriveled and diseased appendage? I thought females of your species were attracted to the larger ones. Is that why you were never able to keep a girlfriend for longer than a week?"
"We should make it an honorary Marauder," I say, spearing a sausage link. "So, how do you all propose I should respond to Riddle?"
The Hat growls. "Send him little Malfoy’s head as a reply. Tit for tat and all that horseshit."
"Snape’s head would be better, but it has a point," Sirius says. "You have a school full of potential leverage against his followers. Without followers, he's just a powerful wizard."
"I’d rather not involve schoolchildren."
Hat laughs and says, "You’re beginning to sound like Dumbledore, HJ. Do you think for a moment Riddle won’t use Granger, the Weasleys, or anyone else against you?"
"No, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it."
Padfoot changes the subject. "Speaking of Dumbledore, he contacted me by Floo last night. Says that he has lined up a special dueling partners for you today and that they’ll be here today. Looks like Remus and I get the day off."
"Depends. I hear Dumbledore is looking to sharpen his edge. He hasn’t dueled in awhile. If he comes along, you might get a thrashing that makes what I’ve been doing look like a love tap."
Minutes later, the wards on the estate activate and inform us that someone has Portkeyed in. We get up to greet our guests.
Imagine my surprise seeing Fleur and Madame Maxime walk into the building. Fleur is busy taking in the sights and treasures in the entranceway, but immediately stops and greets me with a warm embrace.
"We were on our way back from visiting Aimee. She spoke for the first time, today."
"I’ve missed you." They are the first words that come to mind, so I go with them.
"Aw, isn’t that sweet. Sirius Black at your service, Miss Delacour." He bows with a flourish.
"Greetings to you, Mister Black. Harry speaks of you, often," she says.
"All lies, I assure you. The boy is pathological."
"Good day to you, Madame." I greet the half-giantess.
"Albus said he would be joining us shortly."
"Good. He’s bringing a person for me to practice dueling against."
"No, your partner is here already. He will come to critique your performance," she answers, with a large smile. "I must pay my respects to the Lady of the manor and then we will begin Mister Potter."
Surprised, I consider Olympe Maxime with the eyes of a duelist. JP’s memories of Hagrid suggest that he shares a level of magic resistance with his giant kin. He shrugs off lesser spells with ease and at least one Death Eater who thought they could bring him down with a single stunner paid the ultimate price. It is safe to assume she shares those attributes as well.
Given the fact that she is also a highly-trained witch, she should be a force to be reckoned with.
As the woman ascends the stairs with powerful strides, Fleur turns to me. "The oaths they took forbid direct training of their students. Your headmaster has agreed to work with me."
"How good is your Headmistress?"
"No one at my school has ever seen her duel before. I am looking forward to seeing this."
------
Dueling Olympe Maxime is every bit as hard as it sounds. The story of the immovable object comes to mind. She has a sharp eye and recognizes most of the minor hexes and jinxes I hurl at her. Where a lesser opponent would dodge, she simply absorbs the spell. Tripping Jinxes, Leg Lockers, Jelly Legs — all entirely useless.
Since she doesn’t move much, her counter attacks are delivered with accuracy and power. I’ve already had to bring up two Mage Shields to ward off her precise attacks and buy time to plan my next strategy.
She shoots a trio of animated ropes at me, seeking a way around my Mage Shield. I Banish them back at her and turn one of them into a wolf. The creature, looking more like a puppy in comparison, leaps at her.
Her hand snatches it out of the air and she snaps its neck with ease, while simultaneously sending an overpowered Bludgeoner at me.
Bloody effing hell! I dive-roll out of the way and come up hurling a pair of Conjunctive Curses. She sidesteps and gives me only a profile as a target. True it’s a big profile, but it still makes her a difficult target. Her cutting curse is shielded along with the five minor jinxes she follows it with. She conjures and engorges five spiders that race across the pit. I incinerate them using my wand like a Muggle flamethrower and turn the flame on my opponent. For the first time she calls up a powerful Mage Shield and the flames splash against it. As she moves with the shield in front of her, I keep up the intensity. I want it hot and humid around her.
Sadly, I can only keep it up for twenty seconds, but I’m guessing things are a little toasty over there. Olympe can and does cast a Cooling charm, but each breath she will be sucking in hot, dry air.
She hurls a mixed bag of nastiness back at me, and I try retreating behind my shield again, but take a jolt of electricity across my leg. I end up crawling behind my shield for protection. I hear the whooping laughter of Black from his ‘impartial’ referee position. This is both tiring and frustrating. I stand and try high velocity rubber balls to give me some base material for transfiguration. She uses some type of sticky shield that absorbs them like a dartboard. The gooey mass drops to her feet and she transfigures it into a modest gorilla. I blind it instead of killing it. A Banisher flings it away, closer to her than me.
Clutter the battlefield and force her to keep track of more things. A wandering, blinded, and angry gorilla is a problem for both of us, and I’ve been practicing dueling lately. She’s still getting up to speed.
Using my athleticism, I dodge her counter-attack and put my wand to my throat. The Sonorous amplifies my scream into something rather deafening. I follow it up with a burst of light. My spells are only having a limited effect on her, so I’ll try a different strategy and take away her senses one at a time.
I can see her blinking rapidly and trying to shake off the effects, so I snap off an Expelliarmus, which hits, but doesn’t dislodge her wand—damn it to hell! I conjure like the gates of hell are opening in front of me, and send two animated lengths of chain, a Pettigrew horde, and an eagle in her direction. The gorilla beats on her and she knocks it aside with a smash of her forearm before turning towards my oncoming attack. She Vanishes the chains, but it costs her as dozens of rats scurry onto her dueling leathers and she’s forced to use her off hand to fend away the eagle. Her wand creates a vortex of wind scattering the rats, and driving the eagle up into the sky.
I'm tiring, but I still have to finish her off. I batter her with a pair of heavy Bludgeoners. The first one spins her hard, but she shields the second one. The rats are regrouping and the eagle is on another attack run. She stabs her wand and triggers her own flash of light.
Damn, I wasn’t prepared for that! I Mage Shield and try to shake the woolies out of my eyeballs. Seconds later, the pummeling of my shield begins. It is without mercy and I feel my protection starting to give way.
Rolling left, I slap a Dueler’s shield on my arm and try to focus. I knock a Stunner out of the air and send darts her way — drippy pincushion time…Hopefully.
Madame Maxime destroys my darts, but I can see fatigue setting in on her as well. Her hair is a mess from the Eagle. A rat screams as her booted foot crushes it. While I was blinded, she killed off the gorilla, the eagle, and all but a couple of rats that she’s mostly ignoring.
I need something she hasn’t seen before. Maybe Snape’s old spell, Levicorpus. It yanks on her feet, but only trips her, while damn near pulling my arm out of my socket. Still, I got her on the ground. I sink a pair of Stunners into her prone form, but a bright light fills my vision. It’s too fast to get out of the…
My eyes open and I see Black’s face looming above mine. "Wakey, wakey, Harry."
"Damn, I hate losing!"
"Well, technically, it was closer to a draw. She passed out after your second Stunner, but by standard rules, she would have woke up first, so I’m giving the victory to her. Better luck next time, kiddo."
He hauls me to my feet and I walk over to the victor. Seated Indian style, she is almost as tall as I am. She's sipping a flagon of water. Pasting my ‘gracious loser’ face on, I salute her. "Thank you for the duel."
She returns my salute. "You duel well, Harry Potter. It could be that I am rusty, but I am more inclined to believe that you are much better than I anticipated, even after Dumbledore’s warnings. Luck was on my side today. Had you dodged my last desperate shot, it would have been your win—not mine."
Her words are kind and take some of the sting out of the defeat. "I look forward to our rematch."
"As do I."
The old man is waiting for me as I exit the Dueling Pit. "You did well, Harry. Madame Maxime is a formidable opponent, and you proved yourself her equal. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to return the favor with Miss Delacour."
I walk over to an anxious-looking Fleur. "Was that you going all out, Harry?"
"Yes."
"Then I am glad that I am not your enemy. I would have pity for Krum, but he deserves what you are going to do to him. Do you have any tips for dueling Albus Dumbledore? I sincerely doubt that I will be able to put on as impressive a performance."
I grab her wrists and kiss each of her cheeks. "For luck, Fleur. He is not very mobile, but his spells are powerful, his shields are quick, and he is even more accurate than your Headmistress. Use your speed and reflexes. Make your spells count. Most importantly, he’s a nice old man. He wants you to do well. Use that against him."
------
Ultimately, Fleur only lasted a little over a minute against him. He is Albus Dumbledore after all. After waking her back up, I watched him duel Fleur, Remus, and Sirius simultaneously. Even beset by age, his wand-work is graceful and his movements are precise and efficient. The trio tried in vain to find a way through his shields, but failed. Remus and his technical precision fell first. Sirius Black’s unleashed fury was like the waves of a storm crashing against the uncaring shoreline before he, too, is trussed up.
I sensed a little bit of fatigue from Dumbledore as he polished off Fleur for the second time.
Afterwards, Dumbledore and Madame Maxime go to spend time with Perenelle Flamel, while Fleur and I inspect the collection of old brooms displayed along the walls of the second floor. Fleur removes one of the newer brooms—well, one from the last forty years—and tests it.
"This one still works, Harry. Would you like to go flying?" She says as she starts pulling her hair up into a bun.
"Sure, let me find one that is still in flying condition."
"Why not ride behind me?" She offers an invitation.
"Two of us on that ancient relic? It's probably older than both of us put together. I'm supposed to be the one with the death wish."
"You showed off your dueling skills. Let me show you how well I fly."
I like her style and follow her to the balcony. The broom is slow by modern standards, but I’m more interested in where my hands are placed as Fleur puts the broom through its paces. The air is crisp, as she leads us over the grounds slaloming over the treetops and getting the most out of this relic with her skills. She is a professional racer for a reason, and I lean on her back and enjoy the ride. Her waist is tiny. If feels like my arms could wrap around her twice.
Passing a waterfall, I pull her out of her tight and compact racers stance, and into an upright position. "Let's stop here for a moment."
With her hair up, it leaves her neck vulnerable to my kisses. The skin is soft and the loose hairs tickle my nose. She hovers next to a waterfall and leans backwards into my body while the sound of the water falling next to us fills our ears. The broom slides with her body motion as she makes room for me to move my head over her shoulder and we start kissing.
Her lips are soft and slightly dry from the wind. I moisten them to the best of my ability. My hands roam over the surface of her dueling leathers and she doesn't protest. As my finger pops one of the metal clasps, she stops for a moment and meets my eyes. With a subtle nod, she tells me to continue. The rest of the clasps quickly meet the same fate and I work my hands inside the leathers and feel the thin fabric of her undershirt. Fleur lets out strangled groan when I cup her breasts.
"Take control of the broom and move us back from the fall," she whispers, using one of her hands to guide my left hand down to the grip. She removes one foot at a time from the broom’s stirrups and waits as my legs slither across hers and slide into position.
We drop a few feet as I start piloting the broom. Fleur pulls her right leg up and under her chin and then twists on the broom until she is riding side-saddle and the unspoken conversation with our mouths begins anew. It’s certainly not my best riding job, but I keep us airborne.
"This is nice. Use both hands to keep the front up, Harry."
It takes me a second to realize that she’s talking about the broom. Sadly, it requires that I take my hand off her chest, but I comply. She reaches back with one hand and arches the small of her back like a gymnast making an acrobatic move. With a quick thrust, her hips move forward and Fleur wraps her legs around my waist. I damn near lose my grip on the broom and we nosedive for a second. I get it back under control, and she releases her grip on the shaft. Her arms encircle my shoulders and neck.
I’m the only one left on the broom. Fleur is riding me, slowly grinding her hips against mine, and smothering my neck with kisses. The broom sways with the motions of our body like an extension of our passion.
JP got around in his life—a lot—and he had more than his fair share of erotic encounters. They pale in comparison to Fleur dry humping me fifty feet in the air while groaning into my ear, as I do my best to keep us from crashing.
It makes flying that broom in the first event with a broken leg seem like a walk in the park, but … Holy shit it’s good to be me!
Fleur eases back and rests her forehead against mine while continuing the slow rotation on my pelvis. I nip at her lips until she stops me. Her hands cup my cheeks. "We’re staying the night here, Harry, before returning to Hogwarts tomorrow. I have no intention of sleeping in my quarters. We have been too cautious and I want more. Let our relationship be like this broom ride. I don’t care if it could end. Right now, I will enjoy the ride to the fullest."
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
------
Many hours later, Fleur and I are comfortably next to each other, naked, and breathing in time. I savor her closeness. This slow dance we’ve been on for the last few weeks finally ended in something special. Was it worth it? Hell yes! When the clouds in the sky obscured the moonlight, we ‘danced’ by the soft light of her aura.
"Fleur?"
"Yes, Harry."
"It’s time for one last confession. I don’t want there to be secrets between us."
She props herself up on an elbow and looks at me. "Go ahead."
The Hat will mock me. I can already hear it saying how easily my tongue loosened the moment she spread her legs, but I tell her anyway. I tell her about the prophecy. I tell her about my memories of James Potter’s life and the reasons I don’t behave like a leetle boy. I admit the lie I've lived.
Fleur listens and occasionally runs her fingers through my hair. She doesn’t ask any questions and just lets me talk. Her eyes hold no judgment.
As I finish the tale, I look for a reaction and some reassurance. "Well, what do you think?"
She smiles and kisses me. "You being with me matters more than how you got to this moment. Get some rest, Harry. I plan to wake before breakfast and watch the sun come up while we make love again. Tomorrow, our ride continues and you’ll need your strength."
Author Notes:
Thanks for reading. Sorry about the delay. I'd hoped to have put this out over the weekend, but things came up. HHH is out in ebook format (visit www.jimbernheimer.com for where to get it) and look for Dead Eye: Pennies for the Ferryman to be released from Gryphonwood Press on the last Tuesday in May. I'll have a preview chapter up a couple of weeks before the release.