Gears Grinding Into Motion

July 6th, 1995

Paris, France

Harry, Daphne, and Tracey all stepped off the train on the station, the sun baking down on the city beyond the roof of the platforms, and Tracey dragging her trunk behind her. The three of them wore light, semi–formal clothes, well–suited for the warm weather; both girls wore summer dresses, wide–brimmed hats, and low–heeled sandals in bright colours, and Harry stuck to khaki slacks, brown leather loafers, and a white polo–shirt, topped with a pair of sunglasses. Daphne and Tracey skipped ahead with bright smiles to look out over the city, awed at it's summer splendour. Harry smirked as he watched them, having gone to Paris on business quite a few times himself. He slipped his hands into his pockets and looked around. There weren't many people on the station that morning, but Harry did spot a somewhat familiar face.

A woman, eyes as blue as the sky and bright hair shining in the sunlight. If it wasn't for the few, small lines in her face, Harry would have mistaken her for Fleur Delacour, but it was precisely that fact that told him she was the French Triwizard champion's mother. Her eyes locked on him, and she began making her way over. Her face was as neutral as the expression Fleur had nigh–constantly worn, and Harry was a little apprehensive at her motion; did she feel he had wronged her daughter? Would she yell at him? Slap him? At least he would find out in another twenty seconds.

"Bonjour, monsieur Potter," she said in French and stuck out her hand. "My name is Apolline Delacour. I would like to extend my thanks for entrusting mademoiselle Davis in my care for apprenticeship."

"So, it was you she contacted?" Harry asked, also in French, which did make Apolline's eyes widen in slight surprise as he shook her hand. "She only ever gave me your first name. If I had known her would–be master was Fleur's mother, I would have at least tried making more of an effort in terms of compensation."

"What does my daughter have to do with this?" Apolline asked, switching over to nigh–perfect English. "The way she describes it, you hate her."

"I never said anything of the sort," Harry shook his head. "I respect Fleur. She's a formidable witch, with a sharp mind and ambition to put it to good use. I'm sure she will go far."

"She did say you were quite rude," Apolline crossed her arms beneath her breasts, emphasising them some, and Harry had to struggle with himself not to look. He had a feeling it wasn't intentional, seeing as she was a veela.

Ever since his emotions had fallen into place and his mind had cleared of Tom's influence, he had found that he actually really liked Daphne. He wouldn't go as far as to say that he loved her, but he was certain that in a couple of years, he might very well love her. She was gorgeous, smart, witty, occasionally even funny, and she cared. She put on a face of indifference and superiority whenever she was around those she didn't trust, but when she was with him, Blaise, or Tracey, she was a warm, kind, and compassionate girl who would always have a smile for them. Harry would freely admit that he felt a strong attraction to her, and he would just as freely admit that he was growing closer to loving her with each day.

But Fleur and Apolline… they were goddesses; divinely beautiful and radiant women, and even Apolline, who was in her late forties according to his contacts in Paris, was a beauty to rival Aphrodite. Harry could feel the pull of her veela's allure, as weak as it was with his strength of will, but her face, her body… she and Fleur, in Harry's brutally honest opinion, were indeed more physically attractive than Daphne, by far. But their beauty was artificial; a mechanism to lure in prey for them to continue their species. It was designed with the explicit purpose of being the perfect beauty to draw in men. Daphne's beauty, on the other hand, was natural, and real. It took a lot of Harry's mental power to resist letting his eyes roam every inch of the veela in front of him.

"I suppose I might come across like that," Harry said somewhat absentmindedly. "My father is quite influenced by Scandinavian culture. Danish, to be precise."

"I thought your parents died?" she asked with a frown. "That is part of the biggest reason for your fame, after all."

"My adopted father," Harry clarified. "The man who took me in when I was orphaned."

"And, what does being rude have to do with being Danish?" Apolline practically demanded, the frown still resting on her face.

"Nothing if you're Danish," Harry smirked a little. "But most foreigners' biggest complaint is that they're rude and impolite. They base that assumption in that the Jutes, the ones on the Danish mainland, don't really use 'please' and 'excuse me'."

"That is quite rude," Apolline nodded her head.

"Maybe to you, but you're French. Not Danish. To the Danes, it isn't about politeness, but efficiency. If they bump into you, they will say 'sorry', even if you don't hear it because they mumble. To them, it's a matter of wasting time; they've already wasted a bit of your time and patience by bumping into you, so they want to waste as little more as possible. A lot of people also point out that they don't say 'would you please pass me the sauce?'. They say 'pass the sauce'. It's all about efficiency. It's part of why they're lousy small–talkers; they're perfectly content with silence when there isn't a need for words."

"Really?" Apolline asked with a slight chuckle. "Interesting. Well, you will have to forgive my presumptions, then. And Fleur's, too. She is quite…"

"Judgemental?" Harry suggested with a smile. "Haughty? Snobbish? Bit of all three?"

Apolline didn't look all that amused, but she didn't look like she could disagree.

"She's special," Apolline finally stated, "and let's leave the matter there."

"Let's," Harry agreed. "So, tell me about your business."

"Well, I'm an enchantress," Apolline said and flipped her hair behind her shoulder, remarkably similar to how he had seen Fleur do it when she was at Hogwarts. "I enchant things; rugs, pots, pans, knives, spoons, forks… you probably wouldn't believe the kind of things people want enchanted with certain properties. Sometimes I can't help but think that we will eventually go extinct, simply because wizards and witches are too lazy to continue our species."

Harry couldn't help the laughter at that comment, and the sound drew the attention of Daphne and Tracey, who turned around. Daphne's expression turned sour immediately, and she was about to stomp over until Tracey grabbed her wrist and muttered something in her ear. Harry could only guess that she was informing Daphne that it was Apolline, and not Fleur, since Daphne calmed down quite swiftly.

"She seems like she has a temper," Apolline muttered to Harry.

"Well, you do look stunningly similar to Fleur, who is already stunning on her own," Harry said, "not to mention that Fleur attempted to use her allure on me at the Yule Ball to pull me away from Daphne," he nodded in said girl's direction to let Apolline know who he was talking about.

"She did, did she?" Apolline muttered with a disappointed tone. "I will have words with my daughter about that."

"It isn't necessary," Harry tried to assure the woman. "It didn't work, an–"

"It doesn't matter that it didn't work," Apolline said and looked him in the eye. "It is the fact that I have always taught her that actively using her allure on another's partner is against our rules."

"Veela have unified laws?" Harry asked.

"No, it's a Delacour law," Apolline smiled apologetically at him. "She was usually so good at following it. I suppose there might be something about you that might influence her to… disregard the rules I've drilled into her head throughout her childhood," she said, and her eyes visibly roamed Harry's body, clearly appraising his form. "I see plenty of reason for envying your girlfriend. If I were unmarried and twenty years younger…" she lightly bit her lower lip.

"Well, thank you," Harry chuckled, turning his head a little to hide the small flush of his neck. "I'll admit, if that were the case… well, let's say I definitely wouldn't be opposed to it. But that ship has long sailed."

"It has, indeed," Apolline agreed and smirked. "I will take care of Ms Davis, don't worry."

"Thank you again, Apolline," Harry said and turned back to her. "If there's anything I can assist you with, besides the fee I'm paying you, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you for the generous offer, Harry," she slightly drawled his given name as he had so casually used hers. "A favour from you, I suspect, could become quite handy sometime."

"It very well may. Have a good day, Mrs Delacour."

"You as well, Mr Potter."

Apolline then made her way over to Tracey, and the two Slytherin girls quickly hugged and exchanged goodbyes before Daphne walked back over to Harry and they watched and waved at Tracey, who waved back as she followed Apolline off the station.

"You made sure to apologise before we left, right?" Daphne asked as the couple stepped back on the train, which was headed back to England.

"I did," Harry said with a nod as they found their seats again. "She took it much better than I'd even hoped she would. Although, she did slap me," he added sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head.

"Serves you right," Daphne muttered and leant into his side, planting her head on his shoulder. "Wake me when we get back."

It wasn't a request; it was an order.

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered and leant his head on hers.

•••

July 7th, 1995

Diagon Alley, London

Harry sat in an armchair by the cosy fire in the rented room of the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for someone. Daphne sat on a sofa close to him, her eyes running along the lines of writing on the sheets of parchment in her hands. Harry simply stared into the fire, his mind idly wandering as he waited. He didn't have to wait much longer, though, as the knocks on the door announced the arrival of the visitors.

Harry and Daphne both stood up and walked over to the door. Daphne opened it to reveal an assembly of ten, maybe fifteen witches and wizards, all of more advanced age than the couple who still attended school.

"Mr Potter," the first of them, an elderly man, greeted and stuck out his hand. "Ms Greengrass."

"Mr Hutchinson," Daphne greeted in return, and Harry nodded from behind her, both of them shaking his offered hand.

So they greeted all of the thirteen visitors who stepped through the door. Harry closed the door when the final person had entered, and he waved his wand over it, casting some privacy enchantments on it.

"First off, I would like to thank you all for coming," Harry said and moved over to the head of the long table where the people had sat down, Daphne sitting to his right on the longer side, and the seat to his immediate left unoccupied, reserved for a special guest. There were a few murmurs of acceptance of the thanks. "Now, before we proceed, I would like to introduce you to my honorary uncle, Remus Lupin."

With a flick of Harry's wand, the lycanthrope suddenly appeared as the disillusionment charm dissipated. Remus nodded at them all and took the seat on Harry's left.

"He is a werewolf," Harry said, and immediately raised a hand to calm the people down when they started scuffling from shock, "and he is very docile, I assure you. He is only here to inform you of how it is to be a werewolf in our society."

The various people looked nervously at each other, a few short, whispered debates happened, but they all eventually settled down and paid far more attention than Harry had anticipated.

"Now, you are all gathered here because you were interested in my proposal to rewrite the half–creature, half–human legislations, and we begin with werewolves, seeing as I have one ready to expand our knowledge on the subject, not to treat you like an object or beast," Harry quickly added and looked at Remus, who merely nodded with a small smile. "The first thing we need to establish is this; what qualifies a half–creature, half–human?"

Some of the Wizengamot members simply looked at each other, whereas others looked at Harry like they were expecting him to explain.

"A person born of the union between a creature and a human," Daphne said.

"Exactly," Harry said and nodded to her. "But these werewolves… they aren't born lycanthropes; they are always turned. I think, therefore, that we can conclude that they aren't, in fact, half–creature. I think we should instead treat them as completely human subjected to a curse. I think that is much more befitting, at least for now. Remus, how do the werewolves see their lycanthropy?"

"I won't lie, there are those that see it as a blessing," Remus said and crossed his arms, looking at the Wizengamot members seated around the table. "Some see it as a gift that allows them to become stronger and more powerful, and while I don't share the sentiment, I can understand it. It's important to understand how the werewolf curse affects people, though; first of all, it cannot be transmitted to Muggles. It requires the magic innate to witches and wizards to activate and survive. From there, it can go in two directions. Either, one fights it like I do, and we only change on the full moon where we lose all semblance of humanity unless we rigorously take the Wolfsbane Potion; or, one gives in and welcomes it as a gift, and gains the ability to transform at will, along with no longer being forced to transform on the full moon. You might have heard of Fenrir Greyback," a few shivers rolled through the gathered witches and wizards. "He has completely surrendered himself to it, and he has taken on permanent wolf–like features, like his teeth, hair, claws and snout. He always has access to some of the werewolves' powers, like increased strength, speed, and resilience, as well as heightened senses. I've only ever heard of him going so far, though. There have been cases that I have seen where werewolves could shift into the shape of the wolf at will, but while in human form, they only have a fraction of the wolf's powers."

"So when we take these factors into account, werewolves are actually quite similar to witches and wizards, no?" Harry asked the crowd and glanced over them. "As young children, we have no control of our powers, and they appear at random, much like the full moon transformation. When we give in to our magic and learn to wield it, however, we learn to use it at will, and no longer experience accidental outbursts of it. I therefore think we should re–evaluate how we classify, not just lycanthropes, but all creatures. Personally, I do believe that the current 'X' rating system of the Ministry is fair enough, but only for creatures that can't form human–like thoughts or has at least human–like social structures or intelligence. In this system, werewolves, vampires, centaurs, and merpeople would be excluded, whereas acromantulas, dragons, basilisks and such would not. I will concede, acromantulas are known to be able to learn to speak human languages and express ideas at the level of human–intelligence, but they are also vicious and dangerous creatures like basilisks, first and foremost. Werewolves spend one, maybe occasionally two nights every lunar month as wolves, and they can retain their human minds with the use of the Wolfsbane Potion, so I don't think they should be classified as 'creatures'. Along this same line of thought, we should probably come up with a new system of classification or categorisation as to what constitutes 'creature' and what constitutes 'being'. I will personally design this new system from the ground–up, but I need your support and votes if I am to be able to do something with it! We can change the magical society of Britain for the better, but we must take action to achieve it! So I ask you, proud members of the Wizengamot; will you support me and stand by me?"