Since her talk with Hermione, Fleur was feeling much more comfortable. It took most of a sleepless night to sort it out, but in the end, all that mattered was that Hermione was correct: if there was one thing that Harry lacked in life, it was love and affection. And as she watched him more closely in the intervening days, she began to see the girl's other point, too.
He was exceedingly reserved even with his friends, including Hermione – who, near as Fleur could tell, truly was his best friend in the entire world – but with Fleur it was different. There was a softness about him when he looked at her, a tenderness that was otherwise well hidden. She had somehow penetrated a wall that even Harry himself probably didn't realize that he had built.
The result of this discovery was much more obvious flirting on her part, which he did not seem to mind, even if he was unsure how to respond to it. He was learning, though, and even responded in kind on occasion, which made her smile every time it happened. He was a natural charmer, and not one of those boys who would go through several girls before he figured out how to treat them.
Fleur was currently at the Gryffindor table, which had become her home at Hogwarts, listening to yet another argument between Ron and Hermione. The twins were even scoring it, as had become commonplace, much to Ron's disgust and everyone else's delight. It made an otherwise obnoxious event at least somewhat more bearable.
Neville and Harry were ignoring them, chatting quietly about Potions of all things. It sounded like Neville would do much better in that class – which was now being taught by Dumbledore himself, to Harry's displeasure – but she could not otherwise discern the nature of their talk. She smiled softly as she watched them; Neville seemed a much better friend than Ron.
Just after the meal was served, a short redhead approached the table. She was quite pretty: her long hair fell in a plait down her back, her rosy cheeks spoke of good humor, and she had a lithe, well-shaped form. Fleur suspected she could have her pick of whatever boy she wanted, and wondered after the shy expression she was wearing.
"Erm, Harry?" she called quietly.
Harry looked up from his conversation, and a small, genuine smile lit his face; he obviously liked this girl. Fleur had noticed that, whether he talked to them or not, he knew almost everyone in the castle. And for those who he genuinely liked, he always had that friendly smile ready.
"Hi, Susan," he greeted warmly.
"Hi," she smiled back. "Auntie wanted me to deliver a message. She said she couldn't get ahold of your guardian yesterday."
Harry indicated the spot next to Hermione that Neville had earlier vacated so they could talk. "Have a seat," he offered politely. "Erm, I think you know everyone but Fleur. Fleur, this is Susan Bones."
Susan smiled hesitantly, and Fleur gave her a warm one in return. She was not accustomed to showing her true feelings – even when she thought someone was nice – so it actually took effort for her to do.
"Bonjour," she offered kindly. "Your Aunt is Amelia Bones, per'aps?"
Susan blushed lightly and nodded, and then her gaze tracked back to Harry. "She wanted me to tell you that Snape's trial is set for the second," she informed him. "She might need you to testify, but she doesn't know yet."
Harry's smile turned grim and evil. "If it's against Snivellus?" he mused. "She only has to ask."
"You and most of the rest of the school," grinned Susan – and then she ducked her head as though only just realizing who she was talking so openly to.
Fleur examined her critically; she was obviously starstruck, but also was making a supreme effort not to be. It gave one the sense that she knew Harry in passing, but not well – and that she genuinely liked him as a person, not as The Boy Who Lived. Fleur appreciated that, and so decided to put her more at ease; the more friends Harry had, the better.
Besides, his friends were rapidly becoming her friends, which was a new experience that she was enjoying greatly...
"We must thank 'er," she mused with a grin. "We did not expect zat it would 'appen so quickly, and ze show was quite enjoyable."
Susan smiled at her, some of the tension leaving her. "She was happy to do it," she said quietly. "He never dared to pick on me, but she's heard rumors for years. She was thrilled to have some actual evidence."
"And we are not done yet," Fleur chuckled ominously.
Susan's eyes widened, and she tentatively opened her mouth to ask after the statement, but then Harry suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, his gaze traveling upward to the rafters. The color drained from his cheeks, his eyes widening in alarm. Fleur frowned worriedly at his expression.
"'Arry?" she called.
"Bugger!" he breathed urgently. "Did the invitations already go out, Fleur?"
"Oui," she nodded. "Why?"
"Because that's a Molly Weasley Howler!"
All three Weasley boys turned to look, and quailed when they saw the red envelope winging its way toward them in the talons of a decrepit owl. Fleur's eyes narrowed: Harry had warned her that the woman might not be happy, and that she might not readily accept the situation, but to send a howler? That could ruin everything!
It exploded just as the owl reached the table, blowing the poor creature off target and sending it on a collision course with Hermione's head. A shrill, obnoxious voice rang out, and Fleur couldn't get her wand out fast enough to be rid of it.
"HARRY JAMES POTTER! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? SHACKING UP WITH–"
Fleur flicked her wand and whispered a hurried incantation, and a privacy bubble sprang up around their part of the table, thankfully enclosing the shouting envelope in its protective sphere. Unfortunately, that meant they had to listen to the voice echoing around inside.
"-SOME VEELA HUSSY! I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU WOULD DO SUCH A FOOLISH THING! I AM SO ASHAMED OF YOU! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE SWEET BOY WE THOUGHT WE KNEW? I WILL NOT LET YOU TURN INTO SOME KIND OF JIGOLO! I WILL BE CALLING ON YOUR RELATIVES STRAIGHT AWAY, AND WE'LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN SOMEONE RESPECTABLE DEALS WITH YOU! I THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THAN THIS! YOU ARE AN UTTER DISGRACE! THERE WILL NOT BE A WEDDING, YOUNG MAN, YOU ARE NOT OLD ENOUGH! YOU HAD BETTER NOT HAVE GOTTEN HER PREGNANT!
And with that, the envelope burst into flame, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
Fleur quickly took stock of the situation. The twins, Neville, Ron, Hermione, and Susan were all inside the bubble, and heard every word. She trusted all but Ron and Susan, and had much more faith in the shy redhead than the obnoxious one. But the real problem was Harry.
He flinched away from the howler as though physically struck, and his face lost more color with each word. Every new statement struck another painful blow, and there were tears brimming in his eyes by the time it was over. Devastation was written across his features, plain as day.
She reached out to him to offer comfort, but before she could even get close, he bolted.
Fleur sucked in a breath as he tore from the hall, heedless of who was watching. She had no idea where he would go, and no clue how to fix this. He respected the elder Weasleys greatly from what she knew, and that woman had just lit into him like nobody's business. The slight against her never even registered except as a distant fact.
But the rest made her angry.
Very angry.
It was all she could do to keep herself from transforming on the spot, and she was well aware that her arms were gaining a soft downy coating. Rather than try to get it under control, ahe redirected her anger into action. This had to be dealt with.
She was going to have words with that woman!
Her gaze swept the table, and the reactions were not terribly surprising. Hermione, who knew everything, was in tears. Neville was worried, and Susan pale. Fred and George were angry, which was no surprise as they liked Harry – and Fleur suspected that they had already figured it out anyway. And Ron looked confused, like it was all some kind of joke.
She immediately locked onto the biggest problem at the table.
"Not one word, Ronald!" she hissed quietly. "If you reveal zis to anyone, I will show you ze definition of a veela in full rage! Do you understand me?"
Ron glanced at her lightly-feathered arms and gulped audibly, quickly acquiescing with a nod. She was not sure it would hold – the boy was a menace – but she prayed that it would. They could not afford for anyone to find out yet.
Her expression softened as she turned to Susan and Neville, both of whom nevertheless quailed under her stare. "Please do not say anyzing," she said in a much gentler tone. "I will explain later."
They both nodded; it was clear that they were concerned about Harry and would do as she asked. They cared about him, and it was only too obvious what would happen if it got out. Neither of them would feed the rumor mill.
Next she turned to Hermione, who was staring at the doors that Harry had just disappeared through. A single tear ran down her cheek, and her brow was creased in deep concern for her friend. Fleur was genuinely thankful for her presence; she needed someone she could trust completely with Harry's wellbeing, and Hermione was it.
"'ermione," she called quietly, drawing the girl's gaze. Hermione turned, her concern even more apparent from the sympathetic pain that shone in her eyes. "Go to 'im," she ordered gently. "I will be zere soon enough, but I must deal wiz zis woman first."
Hermione nodded and bolted from the room without a second thought, not even bothering with her things. Fleur could only hope she knew where he might go; it would be hard enough to find them later, and she really did not want him to be alone right now. Indeed, her first impulse was to go after him – but there were larger concerns, such as what would happen if that woman really did try to talk to his relatives.
Finally she turned to Fred and George. "You know?" she asked flatly.
"We guessed after the Task," nodded Fred, more serious than she'd ever seen him before.
"We're not saying a word," George assured her, even as his brother nodded in agreement.
"Zank you," she said gratefully. "Please keep your bruzzer in line, for 'is own sake. I do not make idle threats."
"No worries," said Fred.
"I must speak wiz my fazzer," she sighed. "Your 'ome is ze Burrow, non?"
"That's the address," nodded George. "Just please don't kill her."
Fleur snorted in response to that – she was barely holding onto her temper as it was – and then rose gracefully from her seat. After sweeping her gaze across Harry's friends one more time, meeting each pair of eyes in succession to remind them silently of her demands, she swept out of the Hall with purpose. She would find her father, and they would go set Molly Weasley straight. She would not allow anyone to harm Harry!
The few students that crossed her path wisely moved out of the way when they saw her coming. Not even the Beauxbatons students had ever seen her in a rage before, and it was something that they universally hoped to never see again.
Little did they know that what they were seeing was only the tip of the iceberg...
==========[break]==========
When Fleur explained the events of the morning to Sebastian, he demanded to see the memory – and then had to sit for ten minutes to get his sudden rage under control. He was so incredibly angry that, for the first time in years, his aura had even reached visibility. It did not help that he had never before seen his daughter with feathers; his wife, yes, but not his daughter.
But after seeing that memory, he did not blame her in the slightest, and was quite proud of her for preventing the full transformation.
She badly wanted to show Molly Weasley exactly what a 'veela hussy' was capable of, but fortunately for Molly, he managed to convince her that Harry was more important right now. And that was how he found himself alone, knocking on the front door of the Burrow, not thirty minutes after the incident took place. And he was not a happy camper.
The door opened to reveal an obviously irritable Weasley.
"Call your 'usband," he said gruffly, without preamble. "We need to talk."
Molly's eyes narrowed. "And just who are you?" she scowled.
"I am Seigneur Sebastian Alexandre Delacour," he said dangerously, "Director of Foreign Affairs for ze French Ministry of Magic." His voice lowered to a hiss as he added, "And I am ze fazzer of a young woman whom you just referred to as a hussy!"
Molly's cheeks lost their color at the revelation of who she was dealing with, and Sebastian continued to stare her down, using her shocked silence to his advantage. "Now," he said in a low tone, "go call Arthur before I am forced to embarrass you publicly. And I assure you, I will use far more effective means zan a 'owler!"
Fear blossomed on her features, and she backed away before turning to rush off to the fireplace. Sebastian took the still-open door as an invitation; he stepped inside, and was barely polite enough to remain in the entryway so as not to eavesdrop. His continuing anger made it very difficult to keep his magic restrained while he waited.
He knew Arthur in passing from the last war, and respected the man greatly – but his wife was another matter entirely. He did not exactly dislike the woman before today – he did not truly know her – but had thought that Arthur could do better. He even recalled musing aloud at one point that her temper would one day get them into a great deal of trouble.
Now it looked like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
His anger continued to boil as he waited – but Molly did not return, and it was perhaps two minutes later when Arthur himself finally stepped into the room. He stared for a long moment, clearly surprised to see such an old acquaintance in his entryway.
"Sebastian?" he frowned. "Are you alright?"
"Non, Arthur, I am not," replied Sebastian tightly, meeting the man's gaze. "Let us discuss zis over tea. Ze conversation will be neizzer short nor pleasant."
Arthur's eyes widened, and he beckoned for Sebastian to follow him into the kitchen. Molly stood at the sink, staring angrily out of the kitchen window, so he went to make the tea himself. For his part, Sebastian removed a small bowl from a pocket and placed it on the table before tapping it with his wand, causing it to grow into a full-sized Pensieve.
He swirled the memories for a moment to make sure they were all there, and was satisfied.
Just as he was finishing, a deeply-concerned Arthur returned and placed a mug of tea in front of him. Unable to smile, Sebastian merely nodded his thanks; he was not angry with the man, but very little could have made him smile at that moment. The sequence of events he was about to show them kept playing itself over and over in his mind.
Finally, Arthur took his seat and frowned at his wife. "Come sit down, Molly," he said quietly.
Molly whirled, her growing anger apparent in the way she stood, her body vibrating, arms akimbo. "You're going to listen to this?" she hissed angrily. "They're taking advantage of Harry!"
Sebastian's eyes narrowed. He was well respected for a reason, and the slight against his honor only served to anger him further. This woman had no understanding of just how much fire she was playing with, or how close she was to getting burned – literally, if Fleur had any say in the matter!
"I would suggest, Madame," he growled harshly, "zat you sit down and shut your mouth. Or are you too foolish to learn ze truth?"
Molly scoffed, but Arthur cut her off. "Enough!" he snapped. "Sit down, Molly!"
She scowled and dropped heavily into a seat, and Arthur turned to Sebastian with a deepening frown. "This had better be good, Sebastian," he said with some heat. "I don't appreciate you speaking to my wife that way."
Sebastian arched an eyebrow. It was a rather hypocritical comment coming from a man whose wife apparently had a penchant for sending deeply embarrassing howlers to school children in the middle of public meals. Whatever she got, it was well deserved as far as he was concerned.
But still, he let it go; they had more important things to deal with.
"We will start wiz ze disrespect shown by your wife zis morning, Arthur," he said tightly, looking the man in the eye. "And zere will be no lies 'ere today. Let us enter ze memory and see it for ourselves. I would suggest zat you pay close attention to 'Arry."
Arthur nodded and then gave Molly a stony look that demanded obedience. This was one of the reasons Sebastian liked the man: he normally appeared as a genial and, frankly, bumbling fool, but when he was serious or got angry, people – including his own wife – tended to stay out of his way. He was an incredible actor at times.
Molly was reluctant, but still she complied, scowling at Sebastian as she leaned in. Nothing was said as they slipped into the memory and took in the scene. The conversation was light and pleasant at the Gryffindor table, and under other circumstances he would have found the topic amusing; Harry was in surprisingly good spirits on this particular morning.
But then the howler arrived, and they watched the carnage begin.
It was only some quick thinking on Fleur's part that prevented the ultimate disaster – and it still wasn't enough. Harry heard every word, and his reaction was anything but good. Each new assault from the howler was like another bullet from a Muggle gun, striking him right in the heart.
It was absolutely heartbreaking to watch Harry shatter like so much spun glass.
There was a brief silence when they exited the memory, and Sebastian noted that while Molly did show regret at Harry's reaction, she still was not budging. He had a feeling that he would have an uphill battle with this woman, and if necessary, he might even have to obliviate her. That was not a happy prospect.
"Ze slight against my daughter was contained, as you saw," he said finally, his tone quiet and deadly. "But 'Arry is also a member of my family, and I do not mean zat metaphorically."
"I'm sure he'll manage," scowled Molly.
Arthur paled at her words, apparently having a clue as to the gravity of what had taken place. Sebastian turned slowly toward her, anger blazing behind his eyes. "Are you truly so callous?" he whispered dangerously, reaching out to select a different memory in the ornate bowl. "Are you truly so 'eartless? Do you not know what that boy's life 'as been like? No? Zen per'aps I shall show you!"
And with that, he snapped his hands out to grab theirs, plunging them into the Pensieve without warning, making sure to take a tight hold on his temper against what they would shortly be seeing.
"Don't you touch me!" spat Molly, quickly shaking him off.
Sebastian ignored her. "Zis memory," he said quietly, "is from when 'Arry was all of five years old. It was taken directly from ze mind of Vernon Dursley. Watch, and learn."
Wisely, the Weasleys remained silent.
The memory Sebastian chose was one of the more horrific of the lot. They watched as a bedraggled young Harry, dressed in little more than rags, was rousted from his room – which happened to be a broom cupboard. Today was little Harry's birthday, and he was woken at five in the morning to 'celebrate'.
They watched as Vernon Dursley told him that the cooking was now his responsibility. He liberally used words like 'worthless' and 'freak'. And then he grabbed little Harry by the back of his pants and quite literally threw him into the kitchen.
The door was closed at the time; the little boy was lucky that it wasn't latched.
They watched as Vernon stalked after him to lord over the process, and they watched as five-year-old Harry accidentally dropped an egg and bent over to clean it up – and was punished with a kick to the ribs that resulted in an audible snap. They watched as a still-stoic Harry continued trying... and trying... and trying.
By the end of the memory, the young birthday boy had two visibly broken limbs – an arm and a leg – several broken ribs, and numerous second-degree burns. And then he was unceremoniously tossed back into his cupboard with orders to 'heal up'.
It was enough to make one vomit, and when they returned to the kitchen table, both Weasleys nearly did. He allowed the stark silence to continue for a long moment as he reached into his coat for the now-familiar file and tossed it on the tabletop in front of Molly.
"Zat memory was one of many," he finally whispered. "It was not a flight of fancy, nor were ze ozzers. Zey really 'appened." He rapped a finger smartly on the closed file folder. "Zese are 'is Muggle 'ospital records. Zey are ze reason I was willing to mentally rape Vernon Dursley to find ze truth."
Looking Molly in the eye, he continued, "For ze rest of zis conversation, bear in mind zat as far as I am concerned, zat boy is now my son. I will go to very great lengths to protect 'im. Do not test me!"
He hissed the last, and Molly quailed as she turned to the folder that she now held in trembling hands. She flipped slowly through it, and as she continued reading, tears began to run down her cheeks. When she looked up again, she looked like he had finally gotten through to her, at least a little.
"Where are those bastards?" she whispered.
"Prison," he said flatly. "Zey 'ave been dealt wiz, and nobody can send 'im back zere evair again."
"How did we not know about this?" asked Arthur in genuine anguish.
"You did not wish to see," said Sebastian simply. "You trusted Albus Dumbledore, and believe me, I 'ave discovered 'orrifying zings about Albus in ze last two weeks. Not only did 'e leave 'Arry wiz zose monsters, but 'e 'as also stolen over eighty million Galleons from ze Potter estate. 'E nevair even told 'Arry zat it existed."
Both Weasleys paled again. "What?" whispered Molly.
"We 'ave proof," sighed Sebastian, "but zat is for me and 'Arry to deal wiz. You will say nuzzing to anyone. If you do, zere will be severe consequences for all involved."
"This conversation will be kept confidential, Sebastian," said Arthur quietly. "You have my personal word of assurance on that."
Sebastian nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you," he nodded. "And now zat you understand 'ow little you know about 'Arry, we move on to ze reason for zis morning's disaster. Ze wedding."
"I don't know how you can justify that!" said Molly in a harsh, broken whisper, her anger warring with her grief over what she had just seen.
Rather than answer her, however, Sebastian turned to Arthur. "'Arry saved Fleur's life," he said bluntly.
Arthur's face instantly lost what little color it had regained. "Merlin's beard!" he breathed.
"Indeed," nodded Sebastian. "'E is ze most honorable boy I 'ave evair met. 'E is giving much, and I can only 'ope zat 'e receives as much in return."
"What are you talking about?" scowled Molly.
"That's enough, Molly," sighed Arthur as he ran a hand over his face. "Unless you really want Harry to kill Sebastian's daughter, there are no options here. He has to marry her."
"WHAT DID SHE DO TO HIM?"
SLAM!
"DAMNIT MOLLY! WILL YOU SIT THE HELL DOWN AND GET THE FACTS FIRST FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE?"
Sebastian watched with muted interest as Arthur well and truly lost his temper. And Molly, it seemed, had not seen it in a very long time, at least if her reaction was any indication. She nearly passed out, and abruptly dropped into the chair she had risen from, focused completely on her husband.
Arthur closed his eyes and reigned in his temper again before fixing her with an angry look. "She didn't do a single thing, Molly!" he snapped. "Nor did Harry! This is profound Magic, and there is not a damn thing either of them could have done to avoid it!" He stared her down for a moment to make sure she got the point, and then turned to Sebastian. "I assume this happened in the lake during the Second Task?" he snapped.
"Yes," nodded Sebastian. "And Albus 'as much to answer for, for the danger zat 'e 'as put my family into. We were promised ze Tournament would be safe, and it clearly is not."
Arthur nodded and turned back to his wife. "Her veela magic will call the life debt due in short order, Molly," he told his pale wife. "If Harry doesn't marry her, she will lose her magic, and veela can't survive without it. She would be dead inside of three weeks. There's no other way."
Silence fell in the homely kitchen as she absorbed it, and Sebastian waited, sipping his tea with a patience he did not truly feel. He was still dangerously angry, but unless he wanted to do physical damage, all he could do was talk. It was really quite frustrating.
Molly's expression cycled through many emotions before he finally saw the light of realization dawn. She was beginning to understand what she had done to poor Harry, and just how badly she had screwed up. Only problem was, she probably didn't know the half of it.
Finally, Sebastian broke the silence, and he had nothing nice to say.
"'Arry invited you because 'e values your family," he said quietly. "You 'ave meant a great deal to 'im over ze years, because you gave 'im ze first care and affection zat 'e 'ad evair known. 'E wanted you to be zere for such a profound moment in 'is life.
"And you threw it back in 'is face!" he hissed, giving no quarter as he watched Molly's horrified reaction.
"You are lucky zat I was able to convince my daughter not to come 'ere, Molly," he continued relentlessly. "You enraged 'er, not on 'er own behalf, but on 'Arry's. You would 'ave 'ad a visit to St. Mungo's. Even I will not cross a veela in full rage, and I married one! Let alone one 'oo is defending 'er chosen mate!"
There was a brief silence, his statement echoing in air around them, before–
"How bad is this, Sebastian?" asked Arthur faintly. "What should we do?"
Sebastian sighed heavily. "I do not yet know," he admitted. "But I can tell you zat it is not good. 'E is an abused child, and does not trust easily wiz 'is feelings. Molly 'as broken zat trust, and it will be very difficult to earn it back."
Turning back to Molly, he said, "I do not know 'ow you can apologize, but if you truly value zat boy, you will try. At zis moment, I cannot allow you to attend ze wedding. If 'Arry decides to allow it zen I will let you know, but you do not even 'ave a chance until you try to make zis right."
Sebastian's expression hardened again. "And you almost exposed zem to Albus," he growled, "which would 'ave put both of zem at great risk if it got out before ze wedding. Do something like zat again, Molly, and I will not be so forgiving. I do not tolerate threats to my family. 'ave I made myself clear?"
"Yes," she whispered faintly.
Sebastian crossed his fingers, and prayed that she meant it. He truly didn't know how much more pain one boy could take.