Disclaimer: Story based on characters and plot owned by J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
My thanks go to beta readers ParseltonguePhoenix, Fenraellis, and Vlad the Inhaler; and thanks to Tinn Tam for the incantation of Sandrine's privacy charm.
CHAPTER 14
Manipulations and Machinations
“My wayward apprentice has returned, I see,” Professor Dumbledore says, striding into the darkened infirmary with rose-coloured robes flaring behind him.
The matron finishes tracing tiny circles near her patient's Adam's apple with the tip of her wand to coax a syrupy, cream-coloured potion into his mouth and down his throat. She looks up, her forehead lined with concern. “I don't recognize the spell that hit him, Albus,” she say, her voice low, “We may want to consider moving him to St. Mungos.”
Dumbledore nods, glancing at Fleur, who sits next to Harry's bed on a lightly padded wooden chair. “While I have no doubt you are correct, Poppy, would you indulge me a few minutes alone with Harry and Miss Delacour? I might learn something germane to his condition.” The matron nods and gathers her medicines.
“Professeur?” Fleur asks as the older witch departs.
The Headmaster makes a subtle flick with his wand and Fleur and her chair slide slowly back from the Harry's bed. The venerable wizard sits between the two on the edge of the mattress, his back to Harry. He swishes his wand again and Fleur feels a breath of magic mist over her.
“A privacy spell. Harry needs his rest and I do not wish for our conversation to disturb him or any of the others who may be in this ward. Though I understand that my Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and Miss Granger have been released?”
Fleur nods, cautious, her father's warnings coming to the fore.
“Dear girl.” He pats her on the hand. “I hope that your own suffering in this ordeal has not been too great.”
“Sir, I am fine, thank you for asking,” she replies politely. “I am more worried about Harry.”
“Ah yes, Harry. I am rather disappointed that he violated my instruction not to get involved in your unfortunate situation.” He smiles reassuringly. “Not because I do not care for you, for I do, child, but because of the danger to both of you. Alas, I am not surprised at his actions--young Harry was sorted into Gryffindor for a reason. I know that Harry would move heaven and earth, would lay down his own life if necessary, for those he... loves.”
He hesitates on the last word, lending it additional weight, and her breath catches.
The Headmaster seems to read her thoughts. He turns and pats Harry gently on the leg and sniffs sadly. “Such a rare talent Harry is, a treasure--he is the one I have waited a century for.” After a pause, the man's eyes glisten. He conjures a lime green handkerchief and wipes his eyes and nose. “He must bear a terrible burden for all of us...”
“Headmaster?”
The ancient wizard looks into her eyes and Fleur feels her soul bare, as if the man were weighing her worth. “I cannot share the details, child, but it suffices that Harry has a great destiny laid before him. I do not exaggerate when I say he bears the fates of all of us.” The two sit in silence for several minutes. “Alas, so much responsibility for one so young...”
Fleur's heart wrenches with guilt. “This, sir, it's... it's all my fault...”
The Headmaster places his left hand on her shoulder and conjures another handkerchief in his right. “Please, dear girl, tell me what happened this evening? I'm sure it's not as bad as you say.”
She takes the handkerchief and blots at at her eyes. Looking at the man, with his kind eyes that sparkle in the candlelight, she finds herself trusting him and stammering through a retelling of her story. She is forced to stop occasionally for tears that fall unabated.
The elderly wizard pats her hand. “That you were able to fight the compulsion is truly remarkable, Miss Delacour. Do not blame yourself--you saved Harry, and for that we all are in your debt.” He pauses before continuing. “You say you saw a burned body, one which you believe was your fiancé's?”
She nods.
“I know this is difficult, dear child, but was Mr. Dupuis's body merely burned, or was it perchance consumed by flame, incinerated?”
“The latter,” she whispers.
He nods gravely. “Dear girl, I'm going to ask something difficult of you. Do you know what Legilimency is?”
She nods, recoiling slightly.
“For Harry's sake, I wish to view your memories of the clearing. We may find something that can help him. I give you my word that I will not stray beyond the events of this evening.”
She hesitates, reticent about allowing another into her mind. Glancing at Harry's pale face, the deep rents in his cheek closed with silvery scar tissue, she swallows and nods. He pats the witch's hand again and peers deeply into her eyes. Unlike Harry's intrusion, the touch on her mind is almost imperceptible. After several moments, she blinks.
The wizard turns toward Harry with closed eyes. Folding back the blanket, he lays one hand on the bared chest and with the other, moves his wand in slow circles while chanting faintly. After a few minutes, he opens his eyes and peers closely at Harry, his face only a few centimeters from his skin.
He sighs in relief and turns back to the witch. “Do not fear, Miss Delacour. I believe I understand what has happened and, if my guess is correct, then Harry should recover, eventually. I fear he might be weakened for some time, however.”
He looks at her for a long moment and continues, “You said you were unable to resist your fiancé's commands. Exactly why is a matter which I urge you to take up with your father. You have a right to know.”
“Father? He knows?”
“Yes. Ask him to tell you of the Rosicrucians. I shall say no more, for that is his purview, although I do know that he has the answers you seek.”
He furls his brow, deep in thought, and then stands, patting her hand. “I know this is difficult for you, child, and it pains me that it will devastate Harry, but if you truly love him, then you must let him go. As you shall no doubt learn from your father, the two of you cannot be together, especially now. The danger is far too great, for you, for Harry... for all of us.” He maunders to the door with a slump in his shoulders.
Tears fall from Fleur's eyes, silver rivulets on perfect skin. She meets the Headmaster's cerulean eyes with her own and she nods, biting her lip. Moving to Harry's side, she gives him a gentle kiss on his lips. “I shall always love you, my brave rogue.” She glances up again and catches a glimpse of the Headmaster's robes in the doorway as the dagger twists in her heart.
After several paces, the corners of the Headmaster's mouth curl into the faintest of smiles.
“How's the shoulder, kiddo?” Sirius asks as he transforms from dog to man. He casts a series of locking charms on the door to the Room of Requirement, arranged in the familiar form of their dueling and training chambers.
“Still hurts,” Harry says, rolling his arm. “I can move it okay, but there's a lot of pain. Pomfrey says I've got soft tissue damage and that it won't heal right until summer, if even then. At least it was my left arm, not my right.”
Sirius sighs and pulls Harry into a one-armed hug. “And your magic?”
“That came back pretty well, actually, so I won't be a squib like I was for the third task. If I lost anything, I don't notice it.” He smiles weakly. “Small miracles, eh?”
“Yeah, small miracles.” He grumbles. “So what did that guy hit you with?”
“Some bastardization of the telikos lexi rune cluster we think--I don't know much about it, but apparently it's one that fires when you die and taps your magic for a final, concentrated spell blast. Thanks, by the way. If it weren't for the transhield, I'd have died for sure.”
“Don't mention it.”
“Anyway, it wasn't all bad. It gave Albus and me an idea to lay a surprise for Voldemort in case he ever manages to off me...”
“You can't be serious, Harry!”
“No, you are.” Neither even smiles at the tired pun. “The trouble is that like all runes of this type, absorbing it changes you, turns you into a completely different person. This one is pretty bad--we think it makes a person fatalistic, makes him seek death. That Dupuis tosser's days were numbered once he took it; even if he had managed to kill me, the Rosicrucians would have needed to keep sending him after others until he finally died.... I'd almost feel sorry for him if it weren't for that little thing about his raping Fleur and ruining her life.”
He notices the shocked expression on his godfather's face. “Don't worry. It'll be a last resort, I promise. I'm not suicidal... yet.” He winks and flashes a fake smile at his godfather. “So, Uncle Paddy, what nastiness are you going to teach me today?”
“I'd planned to show you a few new charms to help you in the maze--there's a simple one, a 'point-me' charm, that should be dead useful, as well as a wicked curse.... But before we get started, have you talked with Fleur about this?”
Harry snorts. “No.”
“Harry, you really should...”
“Trust me, I've tried. She's avoiding me. Though I saved her life, which should count for something if you ask me, I think she is upset at me--every time I do see her, she either runs away or breaks down. I'm guessing it may be because I killed her fiancé, but Hermione thinks she could still be dealing with the rape as well as maybe guilt for her role in trapping me, fear of me and what I can do, or something else entirely. Or maybe a combination, who knows? I sure don't understand women.” He throws his hands up dramatically.
“Nobody does, Harry. Nobody who stands to piss, anyway.”
"Shall we, Harry?" Remus asks hurriedly. His charcoal and silver dress robes, borrowed from Sirius, lend him an uncharacteristically dignified air. A bit of last-minute tailoring was needed to strip them of the Black regalia and avoid making an unforgivable, if inadvertent offense to the pure-blooded who are in attendance.
"Yeah, let's get this dog-and-pony show over with," Harry mutters.
The two approach the doorway to the hall where the Champions' Reception is being held. They are greeted at the doorway by Percy Weasley, who wears grey and blue robes and a medallion with the symbol of the Ministry about his neck on a gold chain.
"Hi Percy." Harry hands the former Head Boy the engraved invitation that he had secured for Remus.
"Mr. Potter." He nods formally to Harry, then gives Remus an indignant look. "As a Tri-Wizard champion, you may enter, however, your guest may not."
"Sorry?"
He puts on a pair of expensive looking reading glasses and reads from a piece of parchment, "According to the Ministry, Mr. Lupin is registered as being part human, of subspecies canus lupin lycanthropa, a.k.a. common werewolf, which is a Class II Dark Creature and, as such, falls under the jurisdiction of the Beast Division of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Ministry sanctioned events, such as this one, cannot admit such creatures without adequate precaution so as to prevent injury and/or harm to those present, including but not limited to Ministry personnel. I'm afraid Mr. Lupin is not permitted to attend." His slightly nasal, supercilious tone infuriates Harry.
"What? Full moon isn't for another week and a half, Percy! You can't do this!" Harry's raised voice draws the attention of some of the guests inside.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter. It is a matter of Ministry regulation and there is no ambiguity. As the senior Ministry representative organizing this event, I'm afraid I must rule that there's nothing I can do." Percy delivers this speech smugly, his arms folded across his chest.
Remus puts a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, it's okay."
“It's not okay, Remus. It's more Ministry idiocy.” Harry takes a deep breath and glares at his former schoolmate. "I take it you extended similar hospitality to Fleur and her family?"
"Don't be absurd, Potter!” He lowers his voice. “Veela are Class III Dark Creatures, so they fall under different regulations. When we received Miss Delacour's guest list, I immediately filed for exceptions on their behalf. We wouldn't want an international incident on our hands..."
"But you didn't bother to do one for Remus? You were at Hogwarts when his status was made public, Percy. Surely you knew..."
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."
"Fine then. Let's go, Remus." He turns to leave.
"Harry, you really should stay--I'll be fine." Remus's tone is resigned.
"Yes, Mr. Potter. As champion, you are required to serve your part in this function."
Harry glares at Percy and then catches sight of his mentor in the distance, who shakes his head slightly. Harry sighs. "Fine. See you later, Remus." He pushes roughly past Percy and into the reception hall.
"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Diggory, Mrs. Diggory. It's been an honor to compete against your son," Harry says blandly, not at all in the mood to engage in the obligatory "meet and greet."
Cedric's father, a middle-aged, balding man, beams, showing a set of slightly crooked teeth between heavy lips. "Cedric has always made us proud--he's a top student and an exceptional athlete, reminds me a bit of his old man back in the day," Amos Diggory says with a throaty chuckle that only he shares. "And good looking too--like his mother. No hard feelings about Cedric's beating you, eh, Harry?" Mrs. Diggory, a petite, shy looking woman with dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and pouty lips, has the good grace to blush at Amos's compliment.
"Um, no, of course. No hard feelings, sir." Harry starts to look for a way out of the tedious conversation.
"Dad..."
"Cedric, don't be so modest. Years from now, you'll be able to tell your kids that not only did you beat the Boy-Who-Lived in Quidditch, but that you bested him in the Tri-Wizard Tournament too! How's that?"
Cedric swallows and looks at Harry, apologetic. "We only won that match because dementors attacked Harry, so it was hardly a fair competition. And you know, anything could happen tonight...."
"Nonsense. The best man won then and tonight you'll show everyone what a Diggory can do when he sets his mind to it." He claps his hand affectionately over Cedric's shoulder.
Cedric looks at Harry and clears his throat, uncomfortable. "Sorry," he mouths.
Harry shrugs, seeing his opening to leave. "I think I'm going to get some more to drink. Good luck tonight, Cedric. Sir, Ma'am, it was very nice meeting you both."
Harry walks over to the table and pours himself some ice water. He takes his time sipping his drink and scans the room over the rim of his glass. To his left, he sees the portly Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, next to a dark, prim looking man with a neatly trimmed beard, Gerard Delacour. Speaking with them is Lucious Malfoy, Bartemius Crouch Senior, and two well dressed, elderly gentlemen whom Harry doesn't recognize. Standing off to the left are Madame Maxime and Albus Dumbledore, who are conversing with the Deputy Headmistress of Durmstrang, a witch whose name Harry has forgotten. Across the room to his right, Harry spies a table full of stocky Eastern European witches and wizards, Viktor Krum's family, who are chatting with Fleur and Sandrine Delacour.
Fleur glances up at Harry and their eyes meet--after a moment, he feels a rush of affection and lonely hurt with a core of pride as she unmasks her feelings for his passive Legilimency. He nods to her and she looks away. Sighing, he walks to a nearby column and leans against it, closing his eyes to meditate on the evening's task.
Several minutes later, Harry's thoughts are interrupted by a sharp tug on his robe near his leg. He looks down and sees a diminutive, platinum-haired girl with bright blue eyes and radiant skin, the same girl who had slapped him after the last event.
"Hi Gabrielle," he says, noticing that Fleur is now speaking with the Minister and other high Ministry officials, all of whom seem to be enchanted by the beautiful witch.
"You look silly standing here by all yourself."
He nods to her and closes his eyes again.
"Ha-rrrry..." She tugs on his robes again, impatient.
"Gabrielle," he says, kneeling, "I think your family would rather if you weren't near me. They think I'm a bad person."
She thinks about this. "Are you a bad person?"
"Sometimes."
She ponders this some more. "I don't think so. Ma soeur says that you helped her and she couldn't have saved me if you hadn't rescued her first."
Harry shrugs. "I'm sure you would have been fine. The mermen only wanted to hurt me and my friends and I didn't even know you then."
Gabrielle whispers in his ear, "She also said that you saved her from the bad man who hurt her." Harry nods grimly at the girl and wonders how much of the story she knows. Gabrielle smiles brilliantly at him and waves, skipping to her mother, who is speaking with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.
Standing, Harry sees Fleur laughing with the Diggorys. He envies the grace with which she can navigate a room and charm all whom she meets.
"Mr. Potter?"
"Oh, hi, Mr. Bagman."
"How are you doing today? Ready for the big event?" The older man's face looks drawn and he has bags under his eyes.
"Pretty well. My shoulder is still stiff from when I dislocated it a few weeks ago,
but what can you do?"
"Yeah, what can you do... what can you do..." He looks crestfallen. "Harry, I know you're pretty far behind the other champions...." Harry nods, remembering that at last count he was 45 points behind Krum, 52 behind Cedric, and 58 behind Fleur, no thanks to his missed task and some dodgy judging. "Promise me one thing, Harry." He clasps his large hand firmly over Harry's injured shoulder.
Harry winces. "What's that, sir?"
Bagman doesn't notice. "That you'll do your best. That's all--that you do your very, very best and that you don't give up." Harry nods, distracted. "Good boy." Bagman looks away. "Good luck to you this evening, Harry."
"Thank you, sir." Harry says, rolling his shoulder as he watches the heavy-set, former Quidditch star walk away.
"Lord Potter." Harry turns to see an elegant veela approach and offer her hand.
"Lady Delacour, how delightful to make your acquaintance." Harry bows formally and kisses her hand. "I do apologize for being impolite the last time we met."
"Not a problem, Lord Potter. I understand ze circumstances did not admit a proper introduction." She gives him a calculated smile. Looking at him with cold, blue-grey eyes, she whispers, "I hear, Lord Potter, that congratulations are in order, that you have been named heir to the Black family?" Harry stiffens in surprise. This is something that should not be known outside of a very select few. That this woman could have found out is highly unsettling--knowledge that Sirius's will has changed recently could be used to infer Harry's closeness and contact with his fugitive godfather. Worse, she was speaking with the Malfoys just minutes before.
She eyes him with wry amusement and Harry flings up his strongest Occlumency shields. "Indeed, Lord Potter, I have excellent sources, as one must in a position such as mine...."
Harry swallows, but fails to dispel the lump in his throat. "Madame?"
"I merely wish to chat with ze Boy-Who-Lived and get to know him better." Her smile is affected, predatory. Combined with her enveloping aura, Harry starts to feel very uneasy. "This is a lovely reception, non?" She raises a glass of white wine to ruby lips.
Harry nods too quickly and sips his ice water as Lady Delacour makes a subtle gesture with her wand and whispers, “calfeutre,” an incantation, he recognizes, as the privacy charm favored by the French.
"I've been informed that you like matters to be, what is ze word... straightforward? Zen I shall get to ze point. We both know that my family, we are in a difficult position, as my eldest's betrothal has been terminated." Harry nods slowly. "Given recent events, it will be difficult to find a proper suitor." She gives Harry a moment to mull over what she has said and to note how she's subtly put him at a disadvantage. When he fails to deliver the unexpected counterpoint, her smile widens slightly. "Tell me, Lord Potter, are you bothered that my daughter is no longer a maiden?"
Harry coughs. Recovering, he looks the elder veela in the eyes and says, firmly, "I care very much for your daughter. I swear to you that I am bothered far more that she was hurt than whether she's a virgin."
The woman gives him an appraising look. "Indeed. Perhaps we might arrange for a more formal meeting in the future, one where we may discuss matters of... opportunity for both our families." She gives him a curt, formal nod.
Harry considers himself a novice at genteel etiquette, but it doesn't require a sage to recognize that Lady Delacour is initiating a negotiation of arranged marriage between Fleur and him. His affection for the witch notwithstanding, this is something that he cannot abide. Glancing across the room, he spots the witch, who is watching the exchange between Harry and her mother with a shocked, almost horrified expression on her face. This time Harry looks away first.
With a lump in his throat, he decides to risk a faux pas and speak directly to the matter at hand. "Madam, I care very much for your daughter and I'm most concerned with her happiness. My hope for her is that she can marry for love, not alliances or family politics. She deserves nothing less, wouldn't you agree?"
Lady Delacour's eyes widen in shock. She sniffs sharply and Harry mentally curses himself for not paying more attention to Sirius's lessons. “Your reputation for brusque speech and ignorance of niceties is deserved, Lord Potter.” Her emphasis on his title is a slap. “Let us speak again when you are more composed.” Canceling the charm, she flounces away.
Harry cannot help but notice that she did not wish him luck.
A/N: Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. This chapter was a bit of a breather before the next two, which are more action-packed.