A/N – Part 4 happens a few months after Part 3. Harry and Fleur have since moved to France, and Harry is ready to begin work with the British Delegation at International Confederation of Wizards. Thanks to Thoth for all her work in helping me finish this story, and especially for her help with the French dialogue.
Part 4 – Start Of Something New
The International Confederation of Wizards is an organization similar that of the Muggles' United Nations. The Confederation was designed to promote cooperation between the various international members, peacefully resolve any disagreements between nations, and to provide other international needs. One of their most significant acts was the creation of International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy in 1692, the act that founded the movement to keep the Wizarding World a secret from its Muggle counterpart.
It was from this view that Harry had entered his new position. While he hated politics, he had the slimmest hope that maybe he could do something. After his first full meeting with the British Delegation to the Confederation, he realized he had gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick. The reality wasn't all that it was hyped up to be.
While they did do a lot of good, that was just a small portion of what they did. The majority, like all other Ministries Harry assumed, was bureaucratic give and take.
Exiting the British Delegations offices, Harry rubbed his temples and hoped the growing headache would simply go away. Once a week, Chief Representative John Long would gather his staff and go over the week's work. One of the items had been an upcoming resolution about decreasing the thickness requirements of the iron in cauldrons sold internationally.
Being his first staff meeting, Harry had made the mistake of innocently asking what difference did losing an eighth of an inch to the thickness of the metal of a cauldron would cause, and was soon bombarded with a lecture worse than any Hermione had ever given him. Also, as a result, Long felt his first task should be to help prepare British Ministry's position and response to the resolution; that the standards for all cauldrons sold internationally and domestic should remain at the current safety limitations.
Walking down the hallway, Harry felt the weight of the leather briefcase Fleur had purchased for him, tugging down on his arm. He sighed softly, knowing inside the amount of scrolls and paperwork that were there for him to review over the weekend. I thought the weekend was a time for rest? he thought sarcastically to himself. I wonder what I should send Kingsley for a thank you gift for my new position.
Distracted by his thoughts of the spoiled weekend, Harry didn't notice that, as he approached a set of stairs to go down, there was a group coming up the same stairs towards him. The group coming up was comprised of a tall, distinguished looking man, dressed very elaborately. He had a full head of salt-n-pepper colored hair, with a small, perfectly groomed moustache of the same color.
Surrounding this man was a trio of French Aurors, distinguishable by their charcoal cloaks with a small gold fleur-de-lys emblazoned over their right chest.
At hearing rushing footsteps, Harry looked up just in time to see two of them rush at him, blocking his path. Stopping, Harry returned their cold stares. While the two men postured, trying to look intimidating, Harry arched an eyebrow and began to come up with various ways he could dispatch these two fools.
Looking past the two directly in front of him, he saw the other two coming up behind them. The third Auror took a defensive stance towards the other man.
When one of the first two Aurors stepped forward, and tried to push him back, Harry quickly knocked the man's hands off him and dropped the briefcase. As all three Aurors reached for the wands, Harry loosened his control slightly off his power. "I really wouldn't do that," Harry warned in a low, dangerous voice. The Aurors stumbled back a step as they felt the temperature of the hallway begin to dip a little.
Harry watched the Aurors talk amongst each other, in French. He could tell they had no idea what to make of him, and Harry sort of enjoyed that. Too many people underestimated him.
The impressively dressed man, the one who the Aurors seemed to be trying to protect, looked up from the scroll he was reading. He glared at the Aurors around him and then looked at Harry for a moment, before addressing who Harry assumed was the one in charge. "Deplacez-vous le long, je n'ai pas le temp pour gaspillé sur un paysan."
As the Aurors placed themselves between the man and Harry, the group moved past him. Harry wasn't exactly sure what he said, his own French was a work in progress. But he was able to get the gist of it. Whoever this pompous tool was, he didn't have time to waste.
As the party passed him, Harry caught the eye of the man. Harry bristled under the man's scrutinizing glare, and then dismissive finale. Harry suppressed the urge to slice through the Aurors and wring the man's neck. Realizing he was loosing his temper, he took a deep breath to regain full self-control, before picking up his briefcase and continuing on his own way.
As Fleur stood at the window of their apartment, and looked out at Paris' beautiful skyline, she felt like a Princess standing atop a castle. A smile graced her face as she repeated to herself, their apartment. While technically not their full time home, that would be the Black's Mediterranean House in southern France, it was still a beautiful place to stay. This apartment was for show mainly, though they could stay here if they wished.
The apartment would serve two basic purposes. For entertaining guests when the need would arise, and Fleur told Harry that they would have to host the occasional party or get together, it was just a part of the game that Harry would have to learn. The second came from something Moody had drilled in to Harry, Constant Vigilance! When returning home, instead of going directly home to the Mediterranean House, they would detour here. They both felt they had every right to be a little paranoid after recent events.
As she gazed out the window, a side of her that hadn't really reappeared until recently, started to take over. While she knew Harry hated the formal parties, Fleur greatly enjoyed them. She grew up in this lifestyle, and it felt natural. She remembered when her parents hosted the parties; her mother was a natural hostess. Fleur had learned so much from her mother, and she looked forward to showing everyone else and her mother that she could do the same, if not better.
As the Floo fire roared in the fireplace, Fleur turned from the window and watched as a tall, distinguished figure emerged from the emerald flames. Smiling, "Papa."
"Darling, little Fleur," Mr. Delacour teased his eldest daughter in greeting while shaking some soot out of his greying hair. Fleur had grown in to a tall, willowy, beautiful young woman, but to him, she would always be his little girl petite fille. Mr. Delacour rubbed his clean shaven face as he laughed as his daughter gave him a playful glare.
"How are you?" he asked her in French. "Settling alright?"
"Yes, Papa."
"So, where is this boyfriend of yours?" he asked sarcastically, and noted that his daughter's smile widened just a bit at the thought of Harry. He knew his daughter was strong, intelligent, and capable, just like her mother. But this young man had also brought something out of his darling Fleur. There was a more, subtle, confidence. From the way she talked in a less condescending way, something that he always scolded her for, to the way she moved more with a purpose, instead of showing off.
"He should be along shortly," she responded in French. "The two of you still have not crossed paths at the Hall?" Mr. Delacour shook his head as he walked over to the window where Fleur stood, and the two looked out.
"It has been far too long since I've seen you truly smile," Mr. Delacour told her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I just wish it was under better circumstances," he said sarcastically, teasing her yet again.
Fleur rolled her eyes at her father. "He's a good man."
"There is a lot of danger that follows him around. I've heard bits and pieces of what happened in London."
Fleur shifted uncomfortably. Even in her mid-twenties, her father could still lay on the guilt. But there was one other person whom she held in even higher regards, and Fleur really didn't want that person to find out the full extent of what she had done. "Does mother know?"
Mr. Delacour gave her a smirk. "Do you think either of us would be standing here right now, if she knew? She knows what happened to Harry, but not how her eldest daughter decided to wage war to see to his release."
"Not one of my finer moments," Fleur conceded.
Letting go of her, Mr. Delacour walked a few feet over to get a better look at the Arc de Triumph in the distance. "Love makes us do strange things. It took me six months, and many... embarrassing actions, for me to finally win over your mother."
Mr. Delacour glanced at his daughter, "Mother has said you're having some nightmares?"
"A few," Fleur answered dismissively. "They come and go. I think it has to do with my new conditioning. We've been trying some new meditation techniques-"
"It just proves that you have a conscious," Mr. Delacour interrupted, knowing she was making up excuses. "I wish you never needed to get your hands dirty, but even those with the best of intentions have to live with their actions. I think your dreams are more about you trying to come to terms with what happened back there."
"Perhaps," Fleur admitted reluctantly. "Harry said that his own have lessened over the years."
"As will yours," he told her. Their conversation was interrupted by the roar of Floo fire in the large fireplace. "Ah and here comes; the man himself."
As the flames reached their highest and brightest, Harry emerged from them. Standing on the hearth for a moment, Harry shook the soot off him and adjusted his robes. He still much preferred flying, but he was improving on his landings while exiting the Floo or emerging from an Apparition. Putting his briefcase down on the floor, Harry looked up, seeing Fleur standing at the window with another man.
Giving Fleur a puzzled look, Harry looked over at the other man. While the clothing didn't match, everything else did. Harry instantly felt his temper rise as he thought he recognized the man before him as the same man who he met on the stairs.
"Where are your guards, Monsieur?" Harry mocked, while he took a defensive posture. "Or don't you have time for them as well?"
Mr. Delacour didn't know what to make of Harry's words, but knew, even without what his daughter had told him, that he should tread lightly. Keeping his hands open and in front of him, he addressed Harry in almost flawless English. "You have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Potter. To the best of my knowledge, we have never looked upon each other before now." Aside from being the Supreme Mugwump, Mr. Delacour had been in international politics, representing France for decades. He had a command of many languages, much like his predecessor Albus Dumbledore. He was also a large reason for Fleur learning other languages than just her native French.
"Ah," Harry continued to mock. "How quick we are to change our words when we know who we are addressing. "Je propose… que vous… choisissiez vos… mots sagement… la fois prochaine," Harry said, managing to correctly inform him in French that he should choose his words wisely next time.
"Harry!" Fleur scolded, but didn't go further as her father raised his hand to hold her off.
Mr. Delacour had a feeling he understood what was happening, though Harry's reaction concerned him, especially as he was together with his eldest daughter. "Mr. Potter, I assure you we have never met. But if I may, did the man you meet, while appearing similar to myself, also not have a moustache?"
Harry paused as his brain remembered that little piece of information. Straightening up, Harry gazed at Mr. Delacour in a puzzled way.
"I thought as much," Mr. Delacour said with a small nod of the head. "It was not I that you met, but my brother."
"Uncle Philippe?" Fleur asked rhetorically, and Mr. Delacour nodded yes.
"He is always about the Hall. Doing one thing or another for the French Ministry," Mr. Delacour told Fleur in French. He then slipped back into English. "My brother and I do not see eye to eye on some things. If he has offended you, then, on his behalf, I apologize. Philippe can be a bit-"
"Arrogant?" Fleur finished in French.
Harry smirked, and Mr. Delacour gave her a frown, but couldn't hide the amusement in his eyes.
"Well… I…" Harry fumbled for words, realizing he just had made a great first impression.
Mr. Delacour tried not to laugh as Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps we should try this again, another time." While he still had reservations, from what his sources told him about the young man in front of him, what he had just witnessed was a rare side to him. "Sunday supper. Marié is very interested in meeting you."
Mr. Delacour chuckled softly as Harry groaned and nervously rubbed the back of his head. Walking over, he kissed his daughter's cheek and gave Harry a polite nod. "See you in a few days," he told them before Flooing away.
Fleur glared across the room at Harry, to which he could only give an apologetic shrug. I'm going to hear it tonight, he thought as the pair headed towards the fireplace to Floo home.
The next morning found Harry sitting at the desk in the study, staring at the various documents opened in front of him. Rubbing his jaw, feeling the day's worth of stubble, Harry grumbled as he reached for his cup of coffee.
Fleur had lit in to him last night about how he treated her father, and then given him the cold shoulder the rest of the night. This morning, Harry had woken early, and felt it best to just stay out of the way for a few hours, at least until Fleur had cooled off. Besides, he had work to do.
As he felt his eyelids fall, Harry took a large gulp of the coffee. He sighed as the words seemed to blur together. He was learning far more than he ever wanted to know about the making of cauldrons and their limits. Placing the cup down, Harry slipped his fingers in to his hair and vigorously scratched his scalp in frustration.
Fleur could help him make sense of all this, but Harry didn't think she'd be in very giving mood this morning. Leaning back in his chair, Harry decided a break was in order and he stared off at the far wall.
His heart just wasn't in this, the cauldrons and the Confederation, and he knew that he had no interest in making a career of this. But it was a challenge, and he was never one to back down until he at least tried. Plus, according to everyone else, this was a great learning experience. But at the moment, his mind was working on a way to get to Fleur to forgive him for going temporarily off the deep end last night.
As he thought about Fleur and her family, his mind briefly wandered to his own family. He wondered what had happened to them after the War. For a moment, he thought of his Uncle. If there is a pound to be made from a deal, I'll be damn certain I get a piece of it, Harry remembered his Uncle saying often at the dinner table. It was then that something clicked. The safety standards have been in effect for decades, why would someone want to suddenly lower them? he asked himself rhetorically.
"Because someone is looking to profit," Harry muttered to himself as he quickly jerked up right in his chair and began rifling through the scrolls.
So wrapped up in trying to prove his theory, he failed to notice Fleur standing in the hallway, just outside the study. Leaning forward against the doorframe, Fleur smiled softly as she watched Harry hard at work.
Any hard feelings she may have had from last night were fleeting at best. When she had awoken this morning, she was surprised to see him not there. After a moments search, she was happy to find him at his desk, at least looking like he was trying to do some work. Stepping away, Fleur didn't want to interrupt just yet. She'd give him an hour or so, and then they'd have some breakfast and talk.
Sunday afternoon found Fleur strolling through the large flower garden on the Delacour estate. Reaching out, she gently touched the petals on the roses that had started to bloom. Her talk with Harry yesterday hadn't gone as expected. It's that damn lost, little boy look, Fleur thought to herself, with a hint of sarcasm. The worst part is that he doesn't even know he's doing it.
Even before Fleur could start to calmly discuss what happened the night prior, Harry began talking about Representative Long, cauldrons and their thickness, and finishing with a theory that someone had to be making a profit of this, one way or another. She had been impressed with the work Harry had put into it, and for the rest of the day, she became distracted by helping and coaching Harry with his case and line of reasoning.
Glancing across the garden, she grinned wickedly while watching her mother interrogate Harry. I think being raked over the coals by mother is punishment enough for the poor boy, Fleur thought to herself rhetorically, as she watched Harry shift uncomfortably as her mother patiently waited for an answer to something she had asked.
Turning her attention from the pair back to the rose bush in front of her, Dinner had gone well. Father seemed to have taken Harry's outburst in stride. I hope Harry impresses him, should they work together on something. Harry is intelligent; I just don't think he's ever had the encouragement to work to his abilities. Gently cupping a rose, Fleur brought her nose to it and smiled as she inhaled the scent.
"This garden is amazing," Harry said, and Fleur could hear his soft footsteps approaching.
"I see Mother left you reasonably intact," Fleur kidded him as she stood up from the bush. "I guess this time you didn't put your foot in your head." When she noticed Harry's lips twitch, she knew she had said something wrong. "What?"
"It's foot in your mouth," Harry said, trying to hide his amusement. Fleur's English was improving vastly faster than his French, but English was a tricky language.
"Langue stupide," Fleur huffed in French, complaining once again about English slang. Harry smirked; he didn't need to know French to understand what she said.
"Well, zen," she told him, allowing her accent to become more pronounced. "I guess you will just 'ave to work harder on your French, so we can talk in a civilized language."
"Oh, really? And what's so special about French?"
Fleur grinned at him, reached out, and gently trailed her index finger down his chest. "Because 'Arry," she said, loving to say his name that way, "it is also a more romantic language."
Harry felt his throat go dry as he read the look in her eyes. Bloody hell.
The proper motivation, she thought to herself, amusedly. It just so happened that the proper motivation may also be mutually beneficial.
Regaining his senses, Harry smirked a little. "Should we rejoin your parents, or perhaps have a lesson right here?" he asked suggestively, taking her hand and gently pressing it against his lips.
Now it was Fleur's turn to be caught off guard. Rarely, and not until recently, did Harry ever make the first move or say or do anything suggestive. When she saw this side of him, it was a turn on and she wanted to see this part of him more often. It also didn't hurt that he had also struck on a fantasy of her's for her lover to have her in her parents' beautiful flower garden. But he didn't need to know that, yet.
"As tempting an offer as it is," Fleur managed to say. "I think we should head back for dessert."
As they walked back, hand in hand, to the manor, Fleur could tell Harry was distracted about something. "'Arry?"
He glanced up, and she gave him an inquiring look. He smiled back. "Just something your mother asked me. Even though I don't say it, you know that I think you're more than just a pretty face, right?" Fleur nodded; he didn't have to say it, she could tell by the little things he said. "I just wanted to make sure."
"'Arry," Fleur said, "I think you're more than just a scared little boy." She giggled softly when Harry pretended to glare at her. "Come, my champion, you must try my mother's pastries."
Harry smiled as Fleur sped up and began to tug him along. The woman always surprised him with a new wrinkle or dimension to her self that Harry would never expect. She constantly proved that she was far more than just a pretty face. While he still didn't know what he wanted to do with his life, life wasn't wrapped up in a nice pretty bow or given with a map of where and how to go, but Harry knew that he wanted Fleur with him. Tomorrow's a big day, for us. It could be the start of something great.
"'Arry?" Fleur's voice cut though his thoughts again, and once again he smiled at her.
"It's nothing. Come on, we better not keep them waiting," Harry told her. Even if it's for me, she'll still be there, and we'll move on to the next thing.