The International Confederation of Wizards conference room was a vast, grand chamber, almost too large to feel intimate, with rows of curved seats arranged in tiers facing a central dais. The seats were filled with representatives from magical communities around the world. Tall columns lined the walls, reaching up to a ceiling adorned with glowing runes that provided dim, ethereal light. The air was thick with tension, the noise of raised voices echoing through the chamber as delegates from various countries argued, their frustrations palpable.
At the center of the room, standing where Albus Dumbledore normally would have, was Babajide Akingbade, a tall and imposing man with a deep, booming voice. He pounded the gavel in front of him, trying to bring some semblance of order to the assembly. "Order! I call for order!" Babajide's voice cut through the din, but it was a struggle to keep the room under control. The representatives, mostly from European nations, were locked in heated debate.
"We cannot afford to be drawn into a war that isn't ours!" shouted Magnus Lundström, the representative from Sweden. He was a lean man with sharp features and a stern expression. "Our neutrality has served us well. Why should we endanger our people for a conflict that doesn't concern us?"
"How can you say that?" barked Pietro Conti, the Italian delegate, a broad man with a thick mustache that twitched as he spoke. His voice was thick with anger. "Grindelwald threatens all of Europe, not just the countries he's already targeted! We must unite to stop him before his power grows any further!"
"Easy for you to say, Conti," snapped Viktor Krauss from Austria, a lanky man with pale skin and cold eyes. "Italy is far from the heart of the conflict. It's us who would bear the brunt of his wrath if we openly defied him!"
"Indeed," chimed in Lothar Müller, the German representative, his tone calculated. "We need to consider the safety of our people before jumping into a conflict that might devastate our homes and families."
"Are you suggesting we just roll over and let him win?" spat out Katarzyna Nowak, the Polish representative, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned forward, glaring at Müller. "Grindelwald's already invaded my country. Do you expect us to just accept that and do nothing while he continues his conquests?"
Müller met her gaze without flinching, his voice cold. "I am suggesting that we proceed with caution. This war will not be won by rash decisions or by provoking a man who has already shown his willingness to massacre those who oppose him."
"Enough of this cowardice!" shouted Antonio Garcia from Spain, slamming his fist on the table in front of him. "Every day we delay, Grindelwald grows stronger. We should have crushed him already!"
Several heads nodded in agreement, but just as many turned away, unwilling to commit.
A representative from Bulgaria, Nikolai Petrov, a wiry man with a calculating look in his eye, spoke up. "We must think strategically. Rushing into a war unprepared could spell disaster for all of us. Perhaps there is wisdom in biding our time."
"You mean waiting until he's already won," muttered Giuseppe Rossi, the delegate from Belgium, who had joined the assembly only moments before. His words were met with a round of applause from those who supported an immediate stand against Grindelwald.
"Where is Dumbledore in all of this?" demanded Bjørn Eriksen, a red-faced delegate from Norway. "His absence speaks volumes, does it not? And what of the British? Why are they silent?"
Several other representatives murmured in agreement, the absence of Britain and the Supreme Mugwump being a glaring omission. Babajide Akingbade rapped his gavel again, the sound echoing through the room, but his voice was weary. "The situation is complicated," he began, but his words were drowned out by a new wave of arguments. The factions were clear: those who wanted to stand against Grindelwald, those who were intent on staying neutral, and those who, unbeknownst to most, were already in league with him.
"We cannot just sit here and do nothing!" demanded Ludovica Rossi from Portugal, her voice cutting through the noise. She was a tall, severe woman with eyes that blazed with hatred. "Every moment we waste in this room is a moment Grindelwald uses to solidify his power!"
"Do not be so hasty, Signora," said Petrov Kosta the representative of Slovakia with a sly smile. "War is not won with haste. We must be careful, Grindelwald is a near invincible enemy, it would not be wise to defy him so blatantly."
"Is that what you call it? Careful?" Rossi shot back. "Or is it cowardice?"
The room erupted into another round of shouting, and Babajide Akingbade's patience was clearly wearing thin.
"Enough!" he bellowed, slamming the gavel down with force. "We will not resolve this by shouting at each other like children!"
The room quieted slightly, though the tension was still thick in the air.
"And where is France in all of this?" came a voice from the back, laden with frustration. It was Antonin Dragomir from Romania, a grizzled old wizard with a harsh demeanor. "The French are the ones with the most at stake, yet they are absent from this council!"
As if on cue, the doors to the chamber slammed open, and all heads turned. Louis Delacour burst into the International Confederation of Wizards' chamber with a force that made everyone present pause. His robes were tattered, smeared with dirt and blood, and his usually immaculate appearance was marred by fresh scars that ran across his face and arms. The aura he exuded was that of a man fresh from the battlefield, not a politician, and his disdain for the assembled representatives was palpable as he scanned the room. His eyes softened only slightly when they landed on the few who had openly supported France in the war. The rest, especially those who had pushed for neutrality, received a look that could have cut glass. . "I apologize for my tardiness, but I've had more pressing matters to attend to—like the defense of my country from the madman you all seem so reluctant to fight."
He walked down the aisle to the centre where he stood in the empty space where France's Delegation usually sat. "Twenty people!" Delacour's voice boomed, immediately silencing the low murmur of conversations that had been ongoing before his arrival. Confusion spread across the faces of the delegates as they exchanged puzzled glances.
"I have witnessed twenty people die today while you all sit here deciding whether there is a threat. Deciding whether you should get involved!" His voice was sharp, filled with anger that reverberated through the chamber. The Scandinavian delegates, who had been vocal about maintaining neutrality, shifted uncomfortably in their seats under Delacour's accusatory glare.
"Have you all forgotten how close Grindelwald came to conquering Europe the first time?" Delacour demanded, his voice rising with each word. "And yet most of you sit here, hoping neutrality will protect you!" He pointed a finger at the Scandinavian representatives, who looked down, avoiding his gaze.
His eyes then turned toward the delegates from Germany, Hungary, and Bulgaria—nations rumored to be secretly supporting Grindelwald. "And the rest of you," Delacour sneered, his tone dripping with contempt, "hope that by submitting to him, you'll maintain some autonomy. You are all delusional or you are cowards!" His words hung in the air like a death sentence, and the room was silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.
"Even as I stand here now," Delacour continued, his voice lowering but no less intense, "there are people on the frontlines fighting and dying as they protect critical areas in France. They don't have the luxury of sitting in comfortable chairs, debating whether or not to do what is necessary!"
The delegate from Bulgaria, Ivanov, attempted to interrupt, but Delacour cut him off with a fierce glare. "Do not," Delacour growled, his voice laced with warning, "even think about defending your cowardice. There is no defense for inaction in the face of evil."
Delacour took a breath, his rage simmering just beneath the surface as he continued. "Grindelwald is the closest thing to immortal that a wizard could be," he said, his voice hard. "The man has not aged a day since he turned twenty-five! Is this what all of you want? An immortal Dark Lord ruling over Europe, dictating the future of our children and grandchildren?"
The chamber remained silent, the delegates stunned into submission by the sheer force of Delacour's words. His eyes then locked onto Babajide Akingbade, the Supreme Mugwump, who had been sitting in stoic silence throughout the tirade.
"And where is Dumbledore?" Delacour demanded, his voice carrying an edge of accusation. "Where is the man who defeated Grindelwald the first time? The man you all call the Grand Sorcerer, the strongest wizard to ever walk the earth?"
All eyes turned to Akingbade, waiting for his response. The Supreme Mugwump met Delacour's gaze, his face impassive, though the tension in the room was palpable. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice calm but firm.
"Albus Dumbledore has stepped down as Supreme Mugwump for the foreseeable future," Akingbade announced, his words slow and deliberate. "He has chosen to focus on his duties within Wizarding Britain."
The chamber erupted into chaos, with voices shouting over one another in disbelief, anger, and confusion. The delegates from France, Spain, and Poland were the loudest, their outrage clear as they protested Dumbledore's decision. But amidst the uproar, Delacour's voice once again cut through like a knife.
"Coward!" Delacour roared, his face twisted with fury. "Dumbledore, the great defeater of Grindelwald, the man we all looked to for guidance, has turned his back on us in our time of need!" He shouted.
The anger that rolled off him was palpable and those beside him found themselves palming their heads wands. "Those of you who will not support France in wartime will not benefit from us in peace!" He declared.
His declaration sent shockwaves through the room, the implications clear and dire. France, one of the most powerful magical nations in Europe, was drawing a line in the sand, and those who chose the wrong side would face severe consequences. "Britain, and those who claim neutrality, are banned from entering France on pain of imprisonment," Delacour continued, his voice as hard as granite. "And to those of you who support Grindelwald..." His eyes narrowed as they landed on the representatives from Germany, Austria, and Hungary. "We will raze your Ministries to the ground and turn you into nomads!"
The room exploded into chaos, with delegates shouting and arguing, some in support of Delacour's words, others in vehement opposition. The German representative rose to his feet, his face red with anger, while the Hungarian delegate, a thin man with a hawkish nose, watched Delacour with cold, calculating eyes. As Delacour turned to leave, the Hungarian delegate stood abruptly, raising his wand in a swift motion. A dark spell shot from the tip of his wand, a lethal curse aimed directly at Delacour's back. But the spell never reached its target. It splashed harmlessly against a shield that seemed to appear out of nowhere, a barrier Delacour hadn't even needed to conjure.
Without missing a beat, Delacour spun around, his wand already in his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent a stunning spell at the Hungarian delegate. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious before he even knew what had happened. Delacour's gaze swept the room one last time, his disdain clear as he looked at the assembled delegates. "You are all fools," he said, his voice cold and final. "And when this war ends, don't expect France to come to your aid."
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The Delacour estate was nothing short of breathtaking, nestled in the heart of the French countryside. The château, a grand structure of pale stone and elegant spires, stood tall amidst vast stretches of lush green fields and vibrant gardens. The sky above was clear, the sun casting a golden glow over the entire estate. Flowers bloomed in abundance, their colors a striking contrast against the deep green of the grass. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the towering trees that lined the garden, carrying with it the sweet scent of blooming roses. In the middle of this picturesque scene stood Fleur Delacour, a girl of sixteen, whose beauty seemed almost to rival the nature surrounding her. Her long, silvery-blonde hair caught the sunlight, shimmering with every slight movement. Her pale blue eyes were narrowed in concentration as she practiced her spells, her delicate features set in a determined expression. Fleur's figure was tall and graceful, her movements precise and fluid as she flicked her wand towards a training dummy that stood a few meters away.
She had been at it for hours, perfecting her offensive spells, each one more powerful than the last. The dummy, enchanted to move and react to her attacks, was a worthy opponent, but Fleur was relentless. After a particularly fierce burst of magic, she paused, taking a deep breath. It was time to try something different—something she had been working on in secret. She aimed her wand at the dummy, her hand steady. The dummy, in response, raised its training wand, preparing to fire a spell at her. Fleur muttered the incantation under her breath before shouting, "Flippendo Reditus!" A white jet of energy shot from her wand, aimed directly at the spell the dummy had launched.
But as the two spells collided, Fleur's attempt at altering the spell failed. The opposing spell broke through her white jet of energy, striking her with full force. Fleur was thrown backward, landing unceremoniously in the grass with a dull thud. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and she lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Putain," Fleur cursed softly in French, frustration evident in her voice. She pushed herself up, sitting on the ground as she caught her breath, her eyes narrowing in anger at the stubbornness of the spell.
"Fleur!" A young girl, no older than thirteen, came rushing across the garden towards her. Her hair was the same silvery-blonde as Fleur's, though slightly shorter, and her wide blue eyes were filled with concern. "Tu vas bien?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Fleur looked up at her sister, her expression softening slightly. "Gabrielle," she said, her tone more reprimanding than comforting. "Eenglish, please."
Gabrielle bit her lip, her accent thick as she tried again. "Are... are you okay?"
Fleur sighed, brushing dirt off her robes as she stood up. "I am fine," she said, though there was an edge to her voice that betrayed her irritation. "I am close to making it work, but zere is still something missing."
Fleur had been experimenting with spell crafting for the past year, an endeavor that was both ambitious and dangerous. She had started by attempting to alter simple spells, like the first-year spell Flippendo. Normally, it would only work on physical objects, but Fleur wanted to modify it so that it could deflect spells—sending them back at the caster. If she could perfect it, she would have a significant advantage in dueling tournaments... or even in the war. The thought of the war made her frown, her heart heavy with frustration. Her father had refused to even consider letting her join the fight, barely allowing her to stay in France at all. She had to fight to stay and not be sent away to continue her schooling in another country. The thought made her feel helpless, trapped in this beautiful cage while others fought for their lives.
Gabrielle shifted nervously, sensing her sister's turmoil. "Will you come inside now?" she asked quietly, her voice hopeful.
Fleur felt a pang of guilt as she looked at her younger sister. She had been so focused on perfecting her spell that she had neglected Gabrielle, who looked up to her so much. But she was so close—she couldn't stop now. "I need to get this spell right before I take a break," she said gently. "It won't be much longer, Gabby, I promise." Gabrielle nodded, though her disappointment was clear. She turned and walked slowly back towards the château, her shoulders slumped. Fleur watched her go, the guilt gnawing at her, but she quickly pushed it aside, turning back to the dummy. She had to focus. She had to get this right.
Inside the château, Gabrielle made her way up the grand staircase, her footsteps echoing in the silence. She reached her room, closing the door behind her before throwing herself onto her bed. She buried her face in her pillow, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. Everything had been so hard since their mother had disappeared. Their father was rarely home, always off dealing with the war or handling affairs she was too young to understand. And Fleur... Fleur was distant, always busy with her spells and dueling, leaving Gabrielle feeling more alone than ever. It was as if her family had disappeared, one by one, leaving her behind.
...
The day passed slowly, and by the time dinner was served, the atmosphere in the château was heavy with silence. Fleur sat at the dining table, her nose buried in a thick book on elemental spells. She absently forked food into her mouth, her mind clearly elsewhere. Gabrielle sat across from her, her head down, pushing her food around her plate without eating. Tinky, the house-elf, stood nearby, her large eyes filled with concern as she watched Gabrielle.
"Mees Gabrielle, please eat," Amelie urged, her voice trembling slightly. But Gabrielle didn't respond, too lost in her sadness to even acknowledge the elf.
The silence was abruptly broken by the sound of the Floo network activating, followed by the distinct sound of footsteps entering the château. Both girls looked up as the door to the dining room swung open, and their father, Louis Delacour, stepped inside. Gabrielle's face lit up, and she jumped up from her seat, rushing over to him.
"Papa!" she cried, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. "I missed you so much!"
Louis smiled down at her, hugging her back warmly. "I missed you too, ma chérie," he said, though there was a weariness in his voice that hadn't been there before.
Fleur remained seated, though she looked at her father with a mixture of relief and frustration. "Are you well, Papa?" she asked, her tone polite but distant.
"As well as one can be," Louis replied with a nod, his expression guarded. He didn't have the energy for pleasantries, not after everything he had been through.
Gabrielle looked up at him with hopeful eyes. "Ow long will you stay zis time?"
Louis sighed, his heart heavy as he looked at his youngest daughter. "I'll be home until the morning," he said gently. "But I will try to enjoy the time I have here."
Gabrielle's face fell, but she nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. Louis turned to the house-elves, giving them a series of orders regarding his clothing. "Make sure they're cleaned and repaired," he instructed, his tone curt but not unkind. The elves scurried off to do as they were told, and Louis sat down at the table, where a plate of food appeared in front of him.
"How has school been for both of you?" he asked as he began to eat, trying to sound interested despite his exhaustion.
Fleur, who had gone back to her book, glanced up briefly, her voice clipped. "It is fine, Papa. Ze classes are challenging, but nothing I cannot 'andle." She didn't elaborate, clearly still upset about their earlier argument regarding the war.
Louis gave her a brief nod, understanding the tension but too tired to address it directly. He turned to Gabrielle, who was practically bouncing in her seat with excitement.
"It is so wonderful, Papa!" Gabrielle exclaimed, her English faltering slightly as her enthusiasm got the best of her. "Ze Professors are so kind, and I 'ave made so many new friends! We are learning so much, and ze castle is beautiful. Zere are secret passages and ze food is... how do you say it... délicieux! And zere is ze most wonderful librarian who lets me borrow extra books—" Gabrielle's words tumbled out in a rush, her excitement contagious, though Louis couldn't help but notice the sadness in her eyes. He knew she was trying to make the most of things, despite the upheaval their family had experienced.
"That's good to hear, ma petite," Louis said, smiling warmly at her. "I'm glad you're enjoying school. And what about your studies, Fleur? Anything you're particularly focused on?"
Fleur finally set her book down, her expression serious. "I 'ave been working on a new spell. It is a variation of Flippendo." She hesitated, clearly wanting to say more.
Louis raised an eyebrow. "Spell crafting? That's advanced for your age."
"I know," Fleur replied. "I am close. I just... need more time."
Louis looked at her, recognizing the determination in her eyes. "Be careful, Fleur. Spell crafting is dangerous, especially without proper guidance."
"I know what I'm doing, Papa," Fleur said, her voice edged with impatience. "I just want to be ready... for whatever comes next."
The unspoken words hung between them, the tension thick. Gabrielle, sensing the shift in mood, looked down at her plate, suddenly less eager to share her thoughts.
Louis sighed, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. "Let's not worry about that now," he said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters. "For now, let's enjoy dinner." Gabrielle nodded, though the sadness had crept back into her eyes. Fleur, however, remained silent, her thoughts clearly elsewhere as she picked up her book again.
Despite the heavy atmosphere, Louis couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at being home, even if only for a short while. As they finished dinner, the comforting sounds of cutlery and the crackle of the fireplace were suddenly drowned out by the sharp sound of shattering glass, followed by the deafening roar of thunder. The walls of the château trembled, and the windows rattled violently in their frames. Louis Delacour was on his feet in an instant, his face hardening into a mask of cold determination. He drew his wand in one fluid motion, the tip glowing as he activated the protective wards surrounding the main residence.
"Get to the safe room, now!" Louis barked, his voice echoing with authority and urgency. His eyes were fixed on the doors leading outside, but his focus was on his daughters, ensuring they moved quickly.
Gabrielle jumped, her eyes wide with fear. But before she could react, Fleur stood, her expression defiant. "No, Papa," she said firmly. She grabbed Gabrielle by the arm and shoved her towards the nearest house-elf. "Take 'er to ze safe room, now," she commanded the elf, who nodded frantically and took Gabrielle's hand, disappearing with a loud crack.
Without a moment's hesitation, Fleur turned and followed her father, her own wand already in hand. Louis glanced back at her as he pushed open the heavy doors to the outside, but there was no time to argue. The storm was raging with an unnatural fury, the wind howling like a beast as it whipped through the trees, tearing leaves and branches from their places. Rain pelted down in sheets, drenching everything in moments. Lightning flashed violently across the sky, illuminating the scene in blinding white light.
Louis stepped out into the storm, his wand raised defensively, his eyes scanning the sky. What he saw made his breath catch—a massive thunderbird, its enormous wings spread wide as it descended from the storm clouds above. Lightning danced between the clouds and the thunderbird's wings, crackling with energy. The creature's eyes, glowing with a fierce intensity, locked onto the ground below, and it let out a piercing eagle cry that seemed to split the air itself.
Fleur stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening as she took in the sight before her. The thunderbird was unlike anything she had ever seen, its power palpable even from a distance. The very air seemed to hum with energy, and the storm responded to the bird's every movement, as if it were an extension of its will.
Louis didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, his wand moving in a complex pattern as he began to cast a spell. But before he could complete it, Fleur rushed to his side, her wand raised. "Papa, what is zat?" she shouted over the roar of the wind.
"A thunderbird," Louis replied tersely, not taking his eyes off the creature. "And it's not supposed to be here."
The thunderbird circled above them, its massive wings creating gusts of wind that whipped the rain around them in violent swirls. It let out another cry, and a bolt of lightning shot down from the sky, striking the ground just a few feet away from where they stood. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, nearly knocking Fleur off her feet. She stumbled but quickly regained her balance, her grip on her wand tightening.
The thunderbird landed on the ground with a great thump that sent shockwaves through the earth. The sheer force of its arrival caused a few nearby trees to shake, their leaves falling like rain around the creature. The storm seemed to calm slightly, Its massive wings folded in with a loud rustle, and the air around it crackled with residual electricity. Louis and Fleur both had their wands at the ready, a powerful spell forming on the end of each. The tips of their wands glowed ominously, ready to strike the moment the beast made a move. Their eyes were locked on the thunderbird, prepared for the worst. But then, something made them hesitate. From the creature's back, a figure slid down with practiced ease. As the figure stepped into the light, Louis' and Fleur's eyes widened in shock. There, standing before them, was a woman they had never expected to see again—Apolline Delacour. Her clothes were mere rags, and she looked tired, but her eyes were filled with the same warmth Fleur remembered.
Two young girls followed her, carefully sliding off the thunderbird's back. They seemed just as weary but held onto Apolline's hands tightly. Fleur lowered her wand slightly, disbelief etched on her face.
"Je suis rentrée, mes amours," Apolline said softly, her voice filled with relief as she looked at her husband and daughter.
(AN: So we have now introduced the Delacours with Fleur being a bit stronger than in canon due to her mother disappearing and her throwing herself into learning spells. Anyway Harry is here now, right now he has a choice between getting revenge on Grindelwald or going home. We both know what he's going to choose. Expect Harry to get very powerful, becoming an animagus has strengthened his soul a lot and so he will have a few other summons available. The end of year 1 is approaching and with it will be Harry using Limitless for the first time. You'll also be getting a Full fight between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, you'll finally see his Cursed technique in action. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)
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