Fleur's wand slipped from her fingers, clattering to the ground as she stared at the woman before her. For so long, she had believed her mother was dead or worse—enslaved. The thought of Apolline being taken as a concubine, a fate many Veela faced due to their carnal allure, had haunted her nightmares. Veela were highly desired, not just for their beauty but for the power they could wield in the wrong hands. The thought had twisted in Fleur's mind, gnawing at her every time she closed her eyes.
She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat as she forced the words out. "Maman... est-ce vraiment toi?" (Mother... is that really you?)
Apolline's eyes filled with tears as she nodded, the droplets running freely down her cheeks. "Oui, ma chérie, c'est moi." (Yes, my darling, it is me.)
In an instant, Fleur rushed forward, throwing herself into her mother's arms, engulfing her in a hug so tight that Apolline nearly lost her breath. Fleur sobbed against her, the dam of emotions she had held back for so long finally breaking. "Je t'ai tellement manqué, maman... je pensais que je ne te reverrais jamais..." (I missed you so much, mother... I thought I'd never see you again...) Her words tumbled out between sobs, her grip on Apolline only tightening with each word.
Apolline stroked her daughter's hair, her own tears mixing with Fleur's as she whispered, "Ce sont les pensées de toi et de Gabrielle qui m'ont gardée en vie, ma fille." (It was thoughts of you and Gabrielle that kept me going, my daughter.)
Louis stowed his wand, the relief evident in his eyes as he approached them. He wrapped his arms around both Apolline and Fleur, pulling them into a protective embrace. "Je suis heureux que tu sois en sécurité, Apolline." (I am happy you're safe, Apolline.)
Apolline looked up at him, a gentle smile on her face, one that spoke of shared history and the pain they had both endured. Before her disappearance, their marriage had been strained, the distance between them growing wider with each passing day. Louis's absences, driven by his duty, had created a rift neither of them had known how to bridge. They had even begun the painful process of separating, their once strong bond fraying at the edges. But now, in this moment, none of that mattered.
"Gabrielle?" Apolline asked switching to English, concern creeping into her voice as she glanced around, searching for her younger daughter.
"She's in the safe room," Louis replied, his voice soft. "You gave us all a fright."
Apolline nodded, her heart aching at the thought of her youngest daughter locked away in fear. But before she could say more, Louis spoke again. "Would you like to introduce your companions to us?"
Apolline turned to the two girls who had remained by the thunderbird, their expressions cautious but curious. "Ciri, Yennefer," she said, gesturing for them to come closer. "Zese are my daughters, Fleur and Gabrielle. And zis is my 'usband, Louis."
Ciri and Yennefer stepped forward, offering shy smiles, though their wariness was clear. The tension in the air was thick, but Apolline's presence seemed to soothe it, at least for the moment.
"And zis..." Apolline hesitated, turning to the thunderbird, "is 'Arry."
Before their eyes, the majestic creature began to shift, its form rippling and shrinking until, in a matter of moments, a young man stood where the thunderbird had been. Fleur and Louis both gasped, unable to hide their shock. They had seen Animagi before, but this was something else entirely. Harry's transformation was seamless, as if the line between man and beast didn't exist for him.
"'Arry," Apolline said with a small smile, "zese are my family."
Harry nodded respectfully, though there was a weariness in his eyes. Fleur couldn't take her eyes off the young man standing before her. He was covered in filth, wearing torn rags that clung to his tall, lean frame, but there was no mistaking the sharp features beneath the grime. His pale skin, striking white hair, and those impossibly clear blue eyes made him look almost ethereal. She had heard of Harry Potter, of course—who hadn't?—but seeing him in person was something else entirely. If it weren't for the fact that male Veela didn't exist, she might have thought she was looking at one. There was something otherworldly about him, something that made him seem immensely powerful.
Louis, on the other hand, was trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. The boy's appearance was shocking enough, but those eyes... Those crystal blue eyes were more than just striking—they were a symbol, a mark of something far greater. As a younger man, Louis had been obsessed with family magics, poring over old tomes and manuscripts in search of rare traits passed down through bloodlines. He had come across the legend of the Six Eyes only once, in a book so ancient most believed it to be filled with myths rather than truths. The Six Eyes, said to grant its bearer an unmatched perception of magic, was one of the rarest gifts in the Potter bloodline. So rare, in fact, that many believed it to be a mere legend. Louis had never thought he would see it in his lifetime, let alone in the eyes of a boy who had already done the impossible by surviving the Killing Curse and defeating a dark lord. And now, that same boy—no, that young man—was standing in front of him.
"Welcome, Harry Potter," Louis greeted, his voice steady, though his mind was racing.
Harry nodded in acknowledgment, his expression distant. "Since you're safe, I'll be going now," he said bluntly, his tone making it clear that he had no intention of staying a moment longer than necessary.
Before anyone could react, Harry had already turned to leave. But before he could take a single step, he was stopped—Apolline, Yennefer, and Ciri all reached out, grabbing hold of him. Fleur watched as her mother held onto him, tears glistening in her eyes. There were no words exchanged, but the message was clear: they didn't want him to leave, not yet.
"Please, stay until you're fully rested," Apolline implored.
Ciri, her young face full of hope, echoed her words, "Yes, you must rest."
Even Yennefer, who rarely showed her emotions so openly, nodded in agreement, her gaze fixed on Harry with a look that spoke volumes.
Harry sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. After a moment, he nodded. "Alright," he agreed, his voice quiet. He brushed past them all and headed into the house without another word, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Louis watched him go, frowning slightly as a thought struck him. The wards around their home were some of the strongest in all of France, designed to keep out even the most skilled intruders. And yet, Harry had walked through them as if they didn't exist. How had he done it? And what did it mean?
"'E is not very friendly, is 'e?" Fleur commented, her eyes still on the door Harry had just walked through.
Apolline, her expression filled with understanding and something close to sorrow, shook her head. "'Arry is kinder than most, ma fille. 'E is just struggling at ze moment," she said softly.
Fleur nodded slowly, though she didn't fully understand. There was clearly more to Harry Potter than met the eye.
Louis, too, was deep in thought. He had been prepared for many things, but meeting Harry Potter—the bearer of the Six Eyes—had not been one of them. This was a power that could change everything, a power that could shift the balance in the war against Grindelwald. But for now, Louis set those thoughts aside.
Louis, regaining his composure, ushered the group inside. He gave a quick series of instructions to the house-elves who were already bustling about the entrance hall. "Prepare new clothes for our guests," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for question. One house-elf nodded and popped away instantly, while another stepped forward, ready to guide the newcomers to their rooms. "Lead them to the guest rooms. Make sure they have everything they need."
He turned to Apolline, his expression softening slightly. "Your belongings haven't been touched. Everything is still in your room."
Apolline managed a small, grateful smile. "Merci, Louis. But, before zat, I wish to see Gabrielle first."
Louis nodded in understanding, and together with Fleur, they made their way to the safe room. As they approached the heavily warded door, Louis raised his wand, carefully deactivating the layers of defensive magic that protected their youngest daughter. The door creaked open, revealing the small, dimly lit room where Gabrielle had been hiding.
The moment Gabrielle saw her mother, she froze, her wide eyes taking in the sight of the woman she thought she had lost forever. Then, with a cry, she rushed forward, throwing herself into Apolline's arms. "Maman! Maman! Je t'ai tellement manqué!" she sobbed, her small frame shaking as she clung to her mother.
Apolline held her daughter tightly, tears streaming down her own face as she whispered, "Moi aussi, ma petite. Moi aussi." Fleur joined the embrace, wrapping her arms around both her mother and sister. Louis stood nearby, watching his family reunited with a rare expression of tenderness, he stepped forward and enveloped all three in his arms, the family finally whole again.
In the meantime, Ciri and Yennefer were being led up the grand staircase by a house-elf, its small feet pattering quietly on the polished wood floors. Yennefer, still weak from her recent ordeal, leaned heavily on the elf's guidance. As soon as they reached the room, Yennefer moved directly to the bed, the soft, welcoming mattress a stark contrast to the cold, hard surfaces she had become accustomed to. She sank into it with a deep sigh, her body protesting any further movement. She barely noticed when Ciri ran off into the adjoining bathroom, too lost in her thoughts. Ciri, however, was filled with childlike wonder, her voice echoing in excitement as she explored the spacious room. "Yennefer, look! There's a bath! A real bath!" she shouted, her voice brimming with excitement.
But Yennefer did not respond. She lay still, her mind churning. The past months had been a blur of pain and confusion. The sickness had overtaken her quickly, clouding her mind and stealing her strength. She had fought so hard, but it had all been for nothing until Harry had come. He had saved them, had carried them out of that hellhole. But now that they were free, Yennefer found herself at a loss. 'What do I even say to him?' she thought, curling up on her side, pulling the thick blanket over her.
...
Harry wandered the halls of the Delacour Château, a plate of food in hand. He hadn't planned on grabbing it from the table, but instinct had taken over. He'd learned to seize any opportunity for food back in the pit. He knew it wasn't polite, but old habits were hard to break. As he walked, he kept hoping that he hadn't picked up too many more of these instincts from his time in that hellhole.
The château was grand, with high ceilings and ornate decor that spoke of generations of wealth and magic. Harry barely noticed it, though. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the thoughts that had plagued him since they had escaped. His feet eventually led him to a door at the end of a corridor. It was warded, but Harry saw the magic as clearly as if it were written out before him. He could see how the wards were tied to the Delacours' magical signatures. A simple adjustment of his own magic, a subtle shift, and the door opened without protest. While it might sound easy, he doubted anyone else could do it. It required a level of control over magic that most wizards couldn't achieve, even with a wand.
He walked inside and found himself in their library. The room was massive, lined with shelves that stretched up to the ceiling, filled with books of all shapes and sizes. A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the dark wood and leather-bound tomes. Harry's eyes roamed over the shelves, taking in the sheer volume of knowledge stored within. He absently took a bite of the food he had brought with him. The flavors exploded on his tongue, overwhelming him. It was the first real meal he'd had since leaving the pit, and it was nothing short of extraordinary. It was a far cry from the tasteless gruel he had survived on for so long.
Harry sighed as he continued to look around the library. Most of the titles weren't in English, and many were in languages so old that he couldn't even recognize them. He'd need to learn a translation spell or something if he wanted to make use of any of this. As he reached for a particularly old-looking book, someone cleared their throat behind him.
Harry turned to see Louis Delacour standing in the doorway, watching him. Harry had known the man was there. He had seen him enter under a Disillusionment Charm but had chosen not to say anything. If Louis wanted to watch him, that was his business.
"We have one of the most extensive libraries in France," Louis commented, stepping further into the room. "Behind the Flamels and Beauxbatons, of course."
"The benefits of being an old family," Harry replied, letting his hand fall back to his side as he continued to walk among the shelves.
"You know, many would be insulted for a guest to break through their wards and start looking through knowledge gathered over hundreds of years," Louis said, though there was no anger in his voice.
Harry didn't respond immediately. He finished the food on his plate, then set it down on a nearby table. "You're right," he said, turning to face Louis fully. "I do apologize. It seems I'm not quite used to being outside yet."
Louis waved off the apology. "You brought back my children's mother. There isn't a place in my home where you aren't welcome. I just came here to thank you again and ask if there is anything I can do for you."
"I have many contacts in the British Ministry," Louis continued, his tone more businesslike. "I can organize an international Portkey, or perhaps you'd like to use my owl to send a letter."
Harry shook his head. "I'm not interested in dealing with the Ministry at the moment. There is only one thing I plan to do."
Louis felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up as a wave of magic rolled off Harry. The air seemed to crackle with energy, and Louis instinctively knew this wasn't the magic of a normal wizard.
"I'm going to kill Grindelwald," Harry said, his voice steady and full of cold certainty.
————————————————————-
Hogwarts was no longer the grand, inviting castle it had once been. The place that had once echoed with laughter and the cheerful chatter of students was now a shadow of its former self. The halls that had been full of life were now grim and dark, the joy stripped away, leaving behind an atmosphere more akin to a military camp than a school. Much to Dumbledore's displeasure, the Ministry had intervened, enforcing a new curriculum that focused almost entirely on offensive and defensive magic.
Six days a week, the students were drilled in these subjects. Two days were dedicated to theory, cramming their heads with the intricacies of spellcasting, defensive wards, and dueling tactics. The remaining three days were spent in rigorous practical training, where wands were drawn and spells were cast until even the most energetic students were exhausted. The only respite was a single day set aside for potions and other subjects, but it did little to lift the spirits of the young witches and wizards. The first years, in particular, struggled to keep up with the pace, their introduction to the magical world far harsher than it had ever been before.
The professors weren't pleased with the changes either. They could see the toll it was taking on their students, the way it drained the light from their eyes. But the horrors they'd witnessed during Halloween, the bloodshed, and the chaos, were still fresh in their minds. None of them wanted to see that again. So, they pushed through, doing their best to encourage the students, offering kind words where they could and extra help to those who were falling behind.
In the Great Hall, the mood was somber as students sat down for dinner. The long tables, once the scene of lively conversation and laughter, were now quieter, with most of the talk subdued and focused on the latest drills or the upcoming exams. Cedric Diggory and Tonks sat together at the Hufflepuff table, the plates before them filled with food that neither of them seemed particularly eager to eat.
Cedric had become something of a guiding light for Hogwarts in these dark times. He had taken it upon himself to bring some semblance of normalcy back to the castle, doing his best to lift the spirits of those around him. It was no easy task, but he had a way of making people smile, even when things seemed hopeless. In recent weeks, he had managed to bring Tonks out of her shell, her mood slowly improving under his influence. She wasn't back to her old self yet, but she was more cheerful than she had been in the immediate aftermath of the attack.
"Christmas is coming up," Cedric said, trying to keep the conversation light. "I've decided to stay this year, against my father's wishes, and organize something for the Muggle-borns and the others who can't go home."
Tonks nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "My mother wouldn't even hear of me staying over Christmas," Tonks added with a shrug. "She wants me home, safe and sound. No arguing with her."
Cedric chuckled, though it lacked its usual warmth. "My dad's much the same. Didn't want me staying either, but I managed to convince him. He knows how important this is."
There was a moment of silence as they both picked at their food. The weight of everything that had happened hung heavy between them.
"How's Susan?" Tonks asked, breaking the silence.
Cedric's expression fell slightly. "I haven't heard from her," he admitted. "I asked my dad to check in with her aunt, but apart from that, nothing. I'm worried about her."
Tonks sighed, a frown creasing her brow. "I'll try to visit her during the holidays," she said, though her voice was tinged with doubt.
Cedric nodded, though it was clear the uncertainty was eating away at him. "Have you talked to Hermione?" he asked.
Tonks shook her head. "She's been holed up in the library most of the time when she's not in class. Barely talks to anyone anymore, not even the teachers. It's like she's shutting everyone out."
Cedric breathed out heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "This is all such a mess," he muttered. "Things weren't supposed to be like this. Everything feels so...screwed up. I don't know what to do."
Tonks reached out and placed a hand on his arm, offering a small squeeze. "You're doing what you can, Cedric," she said softly. "That's more than most. We'll get through this. Somehow."
*Crash*
Tonks and Cedric both turned at the sudden sound of arguing and the unmistakable noise of a scuffle breaking out nearby. The Great Hall had been mostly subdued, so the commotion instantly drew attention. Near the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy stood at the center of it all, his usual sneer plastered on his pale face. If there was one person at Hogwarts who didn't seem to be affected by the events of Halloween, it was Malfoy. If anything, he had thrived on the chaos that followed, using it as an opportunity to cement his control over the Slytherins.
Everyone knew Malfoy had been the unofficial leader of the first-year Slytherins, but recently, even older students were falling under his sway. Tonks didn't like the brat, and she didn't much care to know about his magical abilities, but she had heard things. Something about blood. She'd seen him once, casually handing a drop of his blood to Crabbe and Goyle, his two thick-headed lackeys. Whatever it was for, she didn't want to know. The thought of Malfoy messing with blood magic made her skin crawl.
"Coward!" Malfoy's voice rang out, loud and dripping with scorn. He was facing off against Ron Weasley, whose face was quickly matching the color of his hair. "You're nothing but a coward, Weasley," Malfoy sneered. "Your family's always been a disgrace, and now you're just proving it."
"Stuff it, Malfoy!" Ron shot back, but his voice wavered, betraying his nerves. Behind Ron stood a couple of his Gryffindor friends, glaring at Malfoy but not making any moves to step in just yet. "You don't know anything about my family!" He shouted.
"Oh, but I do," Malfoy continued, clearly enjoying himself. "Blood traitors, the lot of you. It's no wonder you're all such a mess. Maybe you should stick to what you're good at—groveling for scraps." Malfoy laughed, a high, mocking sound. "You're just as much of a joke as your father, Weasley. Can't do anything right, can you? You probably ran like a scared little rabbit on Halloween, hiding while others fought."
"Shut up!" Ron's voice cracked as he shouted, his hand twitching toward his wand. "I'm not afraid of you, Malfoy!" The tension in the air was thick, and it wasn't long before older students from both Slytherin and Gryffindor began to edge closer, some drawn by a sense of loyalty, others by the desire to see a fight. Tonks could see the look in Malfoy's eyes—he was enjoying this. He had a crowd, and he was about to put on a show.
"Going to hex me, Weasley? Think you've got the guts?" Malfoy's voice was low now, almost a hiss, and he took a step closer to Ron, his wand already in his hand.
Ron didn't back down, but his friends behind him seemed unsure. It was one thing to face off against Malfoy, but now they had Slytherins gathering behind him, too, and the situation was escalating fast.
One of the older Slytherin, a fifth-year, stepped forward. "Leave it, Malfoy. You don't want to do this."
Malfoy's sneer deepened. "Stay out of it, Fletcher. This is between me and the Weasel."
Tonks exchanged a glance with Cedric, who looked equally concerned. This wasn't going to end well. The last thing anyone needed right now was a full-blown brawl in the Great Hall. But before either of them could intervene, the situation exploded. Ron, whether out of anger or desperation, whipped out his wand and aimed it at Malfoy, his face a mask of fury.
"Obstupescere!" Ron shouted, but his aim was shaky, and Malfoy easily sidestepped the spell, his grin widening.
In an instant, wands were out on both sides, and the Hall erupted in chaos. Spells flew through the air, students ducked for cover, and the noise was deafening. Tonks reached for her own wand, ready to jump in if things got any worse.
But then, cutting through the noise like a knife, came the stern, commanding voice of Professor McGonagall. "Enough!"
The force of her shout was like a bucket of cold water thrown over the entire Hall. Every head turned, and every wand lowered as the Deputy Headmistress strode forward, her eyes blazing with fury.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her voice tight with anger. She looked from Ron to Malfoy, her gaze hard as steel. "Fifty points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin! And all of you involved will serve detention for a week!"
Malfoy's smirk faltered, and Ron's face drained of color. A murmur of discontent rippled through the crowd, but no one dared to argue. McGonagall's word was final, and no one was foolish enough to challenge her. She turned her gaze back to Malfoy, her expression unreadable. "And you, Mr. Malfoy," she added, her voice quieter but no less stern. "I suggest you rethink your behavior. Your father's influence may protect you outside these walls, but inside, you will follow the same rules as everyone else. Do I make myself clear?"
Malfoy's face flushed with anger and embarrassment, but he nodded stiffly. McGonagall didn't wait for a verbal response. She gave the crowd one last sweeping glance before turning on her heel and walking away, leaving the students to slowly disperse.
As the hall gradually returned to its usual hum of activity, Tonks and Cedric exchanged a look. "That was close," Cedric muttered, shaking his head.
"Too close," Tonks agreed, though being snapped out of her conversation with Cedric seemed to make her conscious of the time. She quickly drew her wand from her pocket and muttered, "Tempus." The time flashed at the tip of her wand, glowing faintly in the dim light of the Great Hall.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath. "I'm late for my patrol."
Without wasting another second, she turned to Cedric, who was still sitting beside her. "I'll see you later," she said quickly, stuffing the remaining bit of food on her plate into her mouth. She grabbed her goblet of pumpkin juice, downed it in one swift gulp, and then shot up from the bench.
Cedric couldn't help but chuckle at her hurried behavior. It was so typical of Tonks—always a little bit scattered, always rushing from one thing to the next. But that was part of what made her who she was. She was always on the move, never wasting time, always focused on what needed to be done.
He watched her rush out of the Great Hall, weaving between the students who were still milling about, before he stood up himself. With a sigh, he decided it was probably best to head back to the Hufflepuff common room.
...
The Hogwarts library, once a grand repository of knowledge, now looked as if it was slowly falling apart. The vast room still held an air of its former glory—towering shelves packed with ancient tomes, the scent of old parchment hanging heavy in the air—but it was in disarray. Books floated aimlessly, some bumping into each other as they hovered in the aisles. Scrolls were piled haphazardly on tables, some unrolling themselves and trailing onto the floor. The absence of Madam Pince, who had been among the fallen during the horrors of Halloween, was painfully evident. Without her vigilant watch, the library was hardly attended to, leaving it in this chaotic state.
Further into the library, past the usual study areas, there was a set of narrow stairs leading up to a large, imposing set of doors. This was the entrance to the Restricted Section, a place most students could only dream of accessing. Warded heavily, the doors would only open to those who had been keyed into the wards or given a special pass. The magic that protected these doors was ancient and powerful, a testament to the dangerous knowledge hidden within.
In a dimly lit corner near the base of those stairs, sat Hermione Granger. Her face was pale and drawn, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. She held her wand tightly in her hand, her knuckles white with tension. Ever since that night—the night everything had changed—she'd been trying, and failing, to bypass the wards and gain entry to the Restricted Section. Each night she tried a new spell, a new technique, and each night she failed. But she wouldn't give up.
Her mind churned with frustration and fear. She had been reading through every defensive spell she could find, combing through book after book, hoping to find something—anything—that could have protected her from what had happened. But nothing she found felt strong enough, secure enough. The truth gnawed at her: she had been powerless that night. Terrified and utterly helpless. The memories of that Halloween haunted her, scarred her. The screams, the blood, the sight of her friends and classmates being slaughtered.
It all reminded her of another time she had been helpless—when she had watched her parents die. She had been powerless then too, and the feeling of being unable to do anything had eaten away at her ever since. She had vowed, after that night, never to feel that way again. Never to be that weak, that vulnerable. But Halloween had shattered that resolve, had shown her just how fragile her safety was, how close death always was.
She couldn't let it happen again. She wouldn't. That was why she was here, night after night, trying to break into the Restricted Section. There had to be something in there, some spell, some piece of knowledge that would help her. Help her stay alive. She wasn't interested in power or glory—she just didn't want to die. She was so afraid of it, the mere thought of her life ending made her stomach twist and her heart race.
That fear had driven her to this point, to sitting in the shadows, night after night, whispering spells and trying to force her way past the wards. She'd do anything to keep death at bay. Anything. The determination burned in her, almost consuming her as she pressed her wand to the barrier once more, muttering the incantation she'd practiced earlier. The magic resisted her, pushing back with an almost mocking strength, and she bit her lip, hard, enough to taste blood.
Hermione didn't notice the darkness in her thoughts, the way her fear twisted her determination into something else, something colder. All she knew was that she had to break through, that she had to find a way to protect herself. To make sure that when death came calling, she could fight it off. No one was going to save her. She had to save herself.
And she would, no matter what it took.
(AN: So finally a glimpse at what's happening at Hogwarts. Not everyone is doing well especially Hermione who seems to me a lot worse off than everyone else. I hope she doesn't do anything foolish. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)
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