On Monday evening after the break ended, Harry and Fleur found themselves ascending the stairs to Dumbledore's office yet again. They were summoned in the middle of dinner – both of them this time, oddly enough – and weren't thrilled about it. The old man was probably trying to meddle again, and they had better things to do than deal with him.
The day had gone surprisingly well, and much as it hurt, Harry found that Ron's absence was actually a good thing for him. Hermione was so angry that she went to McGonagall, and to hear Hermione tell it, the woman had outright exploded. Ron was therefore suspended for two weeks, making for a much more pleasant environment at meals.
Gone were the arguments between Ron and Hermione. Gone were the yelps when she kicked him in the shins. Gone were the jealous stares that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end. And, perhaps most importantly, there was no longer anyone leering at his wife from across the table.
All in all, despite his initial pain over the loss of his first friend, he was beginning to think it was actually a good thing, and probably should have happened a long time ago.
Even his classes were better. Always before, Ron spent most of every period distracting Harry from his schoolwork. Now he finished in record time; he'd learned to work hard to make up for Ron's short attention span, and he could now accomplish twice as much. Given his concerns over meeting the scholastic expectations that Sebastian set out for him, it made for much less stress.
Frighteningly enough, his grades were already nearing — and occasionally even outstripping — Hermione's at this point, and this would only push them to new heights. What was surprising, though, was the way she was taking it. Where he worried that she might be offended, she was instead very supportive, and frequently asserted that she always knew he was smarter than he acted.
Of course, he'd never told her why he was holding back, and it made him wonder if he ever would. If anyone apart from Fleur deserved to know the truth, it was Hermione – she'd stood by him through thick and thin for four years running – but it was still hard to talk about. He made a mental note to sit her down someday and tell her everything, though he wasn't sure when that would be.
First he had to deal with a meddling Headmaster who was getting on his last nerve.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Oui," sighed Fleur. "Let us get zis over wiz."
Harry snorted – when it was it ever over? – and offered his free arm to Fawkes, who immediately hopped down off his shoulder. He had the sneaking suspicion that the phoenix knew exactly what he was being used for, and wholeheartedly approved. It would gall Dumbledore to see Fawkes with him, but that was a good thing as far as he was concerned.
As ever, the man invited them in before they could knock, and Harry examined the office with a critical eye as they entered, making sure to avoid the old man's gaze. Apart from the absence of a certain perch, nothing ever seemed to change. The portraits pretended to snooze in their frames; the sword of Gryffindor gleamed in the torchlight in its case; and a multitude of odd contraptions clicked and whirred, creating an atmosphere like some kind of bizarre laboratory.
This time, however, there was a new addition in the form of Madame Maxime.
He exchanged a bemused glance with Fleur when he spotted her. Numerous scenarios that might require the woman's presence flashed through his mind, but none of them made any sense. Besides, it wasn't very likely that she would come down on Dumbledore's side of their little feud...
She sat facing them in a plush armchair to the side of the Headmaster's desk, calmly sipping dark red liquid out of an elegant crystal glass. Her enormous form positively dwarfed the Headmaster; had Harry not known better, he would have assumed that she was in charge. She was perfectly at ease, even if she did appear somewhat confused.
With matching shrugs, Harry and Fleur moved to sit in the chairs provided for them.
They were straight-backed and highly uncomfortable, and Fleur sat for all of a second before snorting and bouncing back to her feet. Harry joined her when she drew her wand, and then she carelessly waved it at the chairs. Ten seconds later, they were once again seated, this time on a cushy couch.
Maxime's lips twitched in amusement at the display, but Dumbledore was clearly perturbed by it. Harry had no doubt that he'd made them uncomfortable on purpose, especially given what happened the last time Harry was in his office. It wasn't going to work though; they were on to him.
Harry stole his hand back from his wife and scratched Fawkes' neck as the silence thickened.
He had to wonder if Dumbledore had done anything new at all in the last hundred years or so. All visits to his office started the exact same way: with a silence clearly designed to unsettle his students, forcing them to admit things they had no need to admit. The man was so set in his ways that even his last experience with Harry apparently hadn't taught him anything.
Maxime's eyebrows went up in bemusement after another few seconds, but Dumbledore appeared to be in no hurry. Instead he studied Harry intently, as though searching for a chink in his armor. Interestingly, he didn't spare Fleur so much as a glance, which was probably a mistake since she was the original cause of all his troubles if you really thought about it.
And then, finally–
"Would you care to tell me where you've been?" he asked at last.
Harry blinked.
Fleur, on the other hand, frowned. There was a malicious sparkle in her eye as she examined him, as though waiting for him to make even the smallest mistake so she could pounce. Of course, Harry knew this to be the truth; she was almost as angry at Dumbledore as Harry himself was.
As for Maxime, she looked honestly confused by the question, and it rapidly became apparent that she had no more idea what was going on than they did. Her eyebrows knitted together as she tried to puzzle it out, but she was clearly coming up empty, and elected to remain silent for the moment.
"I zink you will 'ave to be more specific zan zat," said Fleur eventually, in a much thicker accent than was normal for her. Harry suspected she was doing it on purpose just to be difficult.
Dumbledore's gaze shifted to her, taking on a calculating look. His persona was that of the disappointed grandfather forced to punish his wayward charge, but Harry didn't buy it for an instant. The look was eerily reminiscent of how he was after they announced their marriage, and that did not bode well...
"You have been missing for a week," he announced somberly. "I do not think it unreasonable to ask after your whereabouts."
Harry scowled faintly. So this was about their Easter vacation? He hadn't signed the list to stay at Hogwarts, so it was really none of his business. And how had Fleur gotten dragged into it, anyhow? Speaking of which–
"I am an adult, 'eadmaster Dumbledore," she scowled. "I neither require nor desire your permission to go where I will."
Given what he'd heard of their last encounter, Harry figured she was only being as polite as she was because Madam Maxime was present.
"All students require permission to leave the grounds regardless of age, Miss Delacour," countered Dumbledore sternly. But then Maxime coughed and gave him a pointed look, at which he corrected, "My apologies, Mrs. Potter."
"She is not one of your students, Dumbly-dorr," frowned Maxime. "Beauxbatons is not so... controlling. She 'as ze right to go where she wishes."
Harry smirked.
And Dumbledore scowled at the reminder. Harry guessed that he dearly wished he could order Fleur around. If he could, he would then probably forbid her to see Harry, given how incredibly determined he was to deny their marriage. It really was a waste of time, though; that ship had long since sailed.
"That may be," he countered, "but that does not apply to Mr. Potter."
Harry remained as he was, leaning up against Fleur and scratching one of Fawkes' favorite spots. The creature's nearly inaudible trills of pleasure brought a soft smile to his face, but it disappeared quickly when he remembered where he was. It would not do to become distracted from the proceedings.
"Mr. Potter?" prompted Dumbledore finally.
"Yes, sir?"
A scowl flickered on the man's face. "Where were you?"
"At home," he replied honestly.
As he said it, Harry was startled to realize just how truthful the statement was. The week at the Chateau was wonderful, even in spite of his troubled state. His new family made it clear that he was not only welcome, but truly loved – and it was the first time he'd ever experienced something like that. A small smile appeared on his face at the thought, causing Fawkes to bump him happily on the chin.
Not privy to Harry's thoughts, however, Dumbledore took his smile as mocking.
"Do not try my patience, Mr. Potter," he warned. "This is a very serious matter. You are facing possible expulsion."
Harry suppressed a derisive snort. He'd thought long and hard about it, and even discussed it with Sebastian, and the only conclusion he could come to was that Dumbledore would never actually go through with it. After all, he couldn't control Harry if he didn't have access to him.
He also wasn't surprised at the faint smirk that appeared on Maxime's lips. She was clearly toeing the line – Fleur was her student, but Harry wasn't – but she was also clearly on his side. Really, what business was it of Dumbledore's where he went on vacation?
As the silence continued to spiral in the wake of the grave statement, Fleur reached out and threaded her fingers into his hair, which made him smile up at her. She smiled in return, her eyes twinkling mischievously: she was clearly enjoying the old man's frustration. Harry was only too happy to provide the entertainment, too.
"Mr. Potter?" called Dumbledore quietly. "Are you going to tell me where you were?"
Fleur rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I believe 'e 'as already answered zat question, 'eadmaster Dumbledore," she reminded him. "Are you 'ard of 'earing?"
Maxime's smirk became more pronounced.
Seeing that he wasn't getting anywhere, Dumbledore scowled deeply and rose from his chair to lean forward on his hands in a pose that was clearly intended to intimidate. Harry could feel the man's gaze burning into his ear, and didn't dare look his way for fear of having his mind invaded. Some instinct told him that Dumbledore was rapidly reaching the end of his rope.
"Mr. Potter was not at his home," he all but growled. "The wards there would have registered his presence. Harry, if you do not tell me where you were, I will have no choice but to expel you."
Harry sighed. That was the second time he'd heard that threat in as many minutes, and he was surprised to find that he had a deep desire to see if he could actually push the man into making good on it. It wasn't like he didn't have options; Maxime would love to have him, as it would make Beauxbatons look very good.
And why was he staying at Hogwarts anyway? True, he had friends here, but was it worth it to be under the thumb of a criminal who wanted to steal his inheritance and control his every move? Was it worth having his life gravely endangered every year? Or to endanger his friends by mere association?
His time here so far had been an unmitigated disaster. Every year, something went wrong. Every year, someone came after him. And every other year, his fellow students placed the blame for whatever was happening directly on his doorstep. Was this the kind of life he wanted to lead?
The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning, and that instant of clarity changed everything.
He finally allowed his pleasant mask to fall, only to be replaced with an utterly serious look as he turned to Madam Maxime. She was scowling at Dumbledore, but she sensed his attention quickly enough, and as she turned to him, he took a deep breath. This was going to complicate things – they hadn't planned for it – but for the life of him, he could not think of a better solution to many of his problems.
"Ma'am?" he called quietly. "If your offer still stands, I'd like to take you up on it immediately. Would that be a problem?"
Fleur's head snapped toward him, her eyes widening in surprise. Maxime's eyes also widened for a moment, but then a calculating glint appeared there. Her nod was all he needed to see; the rest was just details.
"Are you certain zis is what you want?" she asked carefully. "It will not be easy."
"Yes, ma'am," he said firmly.
"Pardon me, Olympe," frowned Dumbledore, "but what offer is this?"
"Monsieur Potter is transferring to Beauxbatons," she explained with a calm and eminently pleased smile. "'E will begin attending in ze morning, and I will expect 'is records from you by ze end of ze day tomorrow."
Dumbledore's forehead creased in confusion, and he remained silent as he processed her statement.
Meanwhile, Fleur watched Harry with a surprising amount of concern. She knew full well what he was asking for, but they hadn't discussed it at any length, and she was caught off guard. He smiled gently at her, silently telling her that everything was alright, and that they would talk later.
"I'm sorry," said Dumbledore slowly, "but Mr. Potter cannot transfer from Hogwarts."
Harry sighed heavily; this was going to get sticky.
"Oh?" challenged Maxime. "'E made zis request of me ze last time you threatened to expel 'im, and I 'ave granted 'is application. I see no problem wiz zis."
Shock flickered on Dumbledore's face at that tidbit, but it cleared quickly. He was still perfectly confident, and that told Harry that he would go with the only counter he would think he had available. And sure enough–
"His guardians would need to approve any transfer," he said serenely, "which I can assure you they will not do. I do not believe they will want him attending school in France."
Maxime blinked bemusedly at Dumbledore for a few moments, and then turned a quizzical expression on Harry, her eyes full of worry. "Is zis true, Monsieur Potter?" she asked cautiously.
"No, ma'am," said Harry with a shake of his head. "My guardians will be thrilled with it."
"Oui," confirmed Fleur. "Zey will."
"Zen I do not see ze problem," shrugged Maxime, turning back to Dumbledore with an expectant look.
Harry watched closely as Dumbledore's expression changed, melting into what would appear to be a sympathetic one. Harry knew better – the man didn't have a sympathetic bone in his body – but it was interesting how good an actor he was. Though he was coming to loathe the old man, even Harry could admit that Dumbledore was usually very good at what he did.
"Harry, they would not even sign your Hogsmeade permission form," he said heavily, injecting sorrow into his voice. "Why do you believe they would approve a transfer to another school? And are you truly so unhappy at Hogwarts that you feel the need to leave?"
"Was 'e not just trying to expel you?" asked Fleur in a stage whisper, causing Dumbledore to scowl again.
Snorting his agreement with the sentiment, Harry ignored the old man and turned his attention back to Maxime. "Just tell me what you need signed, ma'am," he shrugged. "I'll have it back to you in the morning, and they'll probably want to meet with you."
"The Dursleys will not sign your transfer, Harry," said Dumbledore firmly.
And there it was.
Harry had no choice. While he didn't have a clue about how admissions and withdrawals worked at Hogwarts, it was a safe bet that he would need signed permission. And that meant that it was time to let Dumbledore in on the one bit of information that could have saved him a whole lot of trouble.
Honestly, he was completely shocked that the man hadn't gone to the Dursleys the first time something unexpected happened. It was almost as though he was so confident in his plans – and so stuck in his rut – that he believed that nothing could interfere with them. Wasn't he in for a shock?
Of course, that didn't mean that Harry had to make it easy for him...
"Sorry sir," he frowned, pasting a look of confusion on his face, "but what do the Dursleys have to do with anything?"
Maxime blinked in confusion. Fleur faintly smirked, her eyes widening in anticipation of the fallout. And Harry? Harry was having one hell of a time keeping a straight face.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, was baffled by the question. "They are your guardians, Harry," he explained slowly. "They would need to approve any transfer, and you know as well as I do that they will not."
"Ah," nodded Harry, feigning innocent surprise. "I think you missed a memo, sir. The Dursleys aren't my guardians anymore. Haven't been for a while now, actually."
Silence fell, and Dumbledore stared blankly back at him as the statement sank in. He was clearly shocked. Uncertain of the outcome of the revelation, Harry mentally tallied how long it would take to draw his wand. He didn't trust the Headmaster as far as he could throw him, and while he could throw off the Imperius Curse, he had no idea what else the man might have in his arsenal.
And didn't it just say everything that he half expected Albus Dumbledore to use an Unforgivable?
Fleur watched the old man intently, a small smile playing on her lips as she prepared to enjoy his reaction. Harry was tempted to warn her – this could go quite badly if they weren't careful – but then again, she was smart enough to be on her guard. In fact, now that he looked more closely, he suspected that she was watching him so closely for more than one reason.
And Maxime looked like she was barely holding her laughter inside. Her eyes twinkled a mile a minute, obviously enjoying Dumbledore's predicament. It was well known in the Wizarding world that it was almost impossible to pull something over on that man, but it would appear that Harry had just done so.
But then their momentary enjoyment was over.
"What did you just say?" whispered Dumbledore.
And the power behind that whisper was truly alarming. Harry had heard of Wizards infusing magic into their words, and while he'd suspected it of the man before, now he was certain that he was capable of it. The question filled the room, reverberating off the walls in spite of its lack of volume.
Harry's nerves ratcheted up, but he refused to be cowed. This man had harmed him greatly, and there was no way he was going to back down. He pushed his fears to the back of his mind, just as he'd done when facing so many dangers before, and turned his head such that Dumbledore could see his eyes, but not look directly into them. It would be enough to convey his meaning.
"I said," he repeated slowly, "that the Dursleys are no longer my guardians."
Dumbledore stared back at him, blinking slowly, the aura around him building all the while, slowly transitioning to visibility. Harry had seen him like this once before, but never to this extent – and for the first time, he wondered at the wisdom of his choice in revealing this. It took all of his willpower not to shrink into his wife.
Maxime looked very concerned as the charged silence stretched on. Dumbledore's eyes were unfocused as he lost himself in thought, and his cheeks gained a red tint, reflecting his sudden anger. And then he finally came back to himself and slowly straightened up.
"Look at me, Harry," he said softly, with a dangerous edge.
And the compulsion behind the words was so powerful that Maxime drew her wand. The magic behind it crawled over Harry's skin, giving him a desperate urge to do as he was commanded, but – just like the Imperius Curse – his will overcame it and he shook it off. He stared Fawkes in the eye, and the creature stared back, offering silent support.
"No," he growled. "I will not let you in my head."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed to angry slits, and then – just as Harry thought he might be about to force the issue – he slowly turned and walked to a shelf along one wall of the office. Harry turned his head slightly to keep an eye on him. All he did, though, was open a cabinet and start moving things out of the way with cautious deliberation.
The atmosphere was so charged that Harry had the urge to run. He had not forgotten that Dumbledore was powerful, but he'd never been exposed to the full brunt of that power before. It was daunting, and he knew beyond doubt that, should magic become involved any more than it already was, his only hope was the creature perched on his arm.
He would not survive two seconds in a duel with that man.
The angry Headmaster searched for perhaps twenty seconds before he finally came up with yet another silver contraption, and his expression darkened ominously as he examined it. Unlike the others in the office, this one was still and silent. Harry had no idea what it was or what it did, and he eyed it warily.
But then the Headmaster simply put it back.
His cheeks were white with rage when he turned back to face Harry, and he was so focused that it was likely that he no longer registered the presence of anyone else in the room. His eyes hardened into chips of ice, and his mouth tightened so much that his lips disappeared. But he didn't yell or scream.
"Do you have any idea what you have done?" he whispered in a low, deadly tone.
Fleur's hand came to the small of Harry's back, and it was probably only that – and Fawkes' presence – that allowed him to keep his fear from showing. The danger in front of him was greater than any other he had ever faced, and he knew that instinctively. But still, he would not be cowed.
"What I've done is none of your business, sir," he quietly replied, his tone equally as dangerous.
Dumbledore stared back at him for a long moment, his anger not abating in the slightest, and Harry tightened his hand on the hilt of his wand – when had he drawn it? He didn't remember; he had done so on instinct alone.
And then Dumbledore's wand flashed out, snapping sharply at the office doors, which made a sickly squelching sound as his spell impacted. "You will stay here," he growled harshly, "while I retrieve the Dursleys so I can fix this mess!"
Harry's eyes narrowed, but the Headmaster didn't wait for a response. He eyed Fawkes for a moment, but seemed to realize that it was pointless to ask, and instead headed for the fireplace. Tossing a pinch of Floo powder in, he shouted "Kneazle Warren!", and then stepped into the flames and vanished.
A stark silence reigned in the office for several seconds until–
"What is going on?" asked Maxime fearfully.
Harry turned and exchanged a long and deeply worried look with Fleur. The look in her eyes told him that she was as frightened as he was, and at just as much of a loss. The message that passed silently between them was perfectly clear.
They were in over their heads.