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ACT4CH17 - Accord
🕑 Added 2024-04-20 19:32:16 +0000 UTCIt had been a very, very long time since the Immortal Alchemist felt this strongly about someone that he had only recently met and knew little about.
He had not been joking when he claimed that the Wardens to the Sunken Vault were part of an exclusive fraternity — Trismegistus, Ekrizdis, Wenlock, and of course, Nicholas’s own teacher Myrddin Emrys himself, all of them either became heralds of great progress or harbingers of cataclysmic destruction, and thus, reshaped the world in their image to varying degrees. Each of them had their own myriad and disastrous quirks — Trismegistus’s lecherous side, Ekrizdis’s tide of bestial monstrosities, Wenlock’s taking his new rules and ramming them upon Raw Magic like a freaking truck, and Myrddin being… Myrddin.
All Wardens kept careful tabs on each other, about their powers, ancestry, abilities, quirks, the nature of their future discoveries and whatever insanity they sought to acquire from the realms of the Abstract. Being the oldest living one among them, Nicholas was no different than the rest. That he had an everlasting supply of gold and the ability to create the world’s most potent healing potion brought fame and wealth in unimaginable proportions, and enabled him to prepare for the others and whatever nonsense they brought about.
Harry Potter though… he was different. The Boy-Who-Lived myth described the boy like an ordained manifestation of Destiny, sent forth to destroy and vanquish Evil that the Dark Lord had brought to British shores. For Nicholas who had treaded the living world for over six centuries, it was seeing one necromancer and his merry band of acolytes trying and failing to conquer an island nation, even with half the Wizengamot and the major market movers on his side, despite having over a decade. And if that wasn’t enough, Voldemort got himself blasted apart by a one-year-old. Truly, whatever little respect Nicholas had for the man for being a fellow Warden died a pitiful death when he heard the news.
The same couldn’t be said about Harry Potter though.
He was different. And absurd.
Not strong, but could hit hard enough to actually hurt.
Not from a line of some great, noble ancestry, but was able to manifest the long-lost Peverell Family magic.
Lived the better part of his life as an abused muggle child, yet achieved some of the most spectacular magical feats the world had recently witnessed despite his young age.
Wasn’t a genius, or a naturally born adept at some magical discipline, yet he still managed to carve out a unique new thaumaturgical discipline based on a power that nobody knew existed.
He lived and breathed as a wizard, yet somehow channelled the power of Death and its derivative attributes like a walking-breathing paradox.
He was not on par with any of the Wardens, or even worse, a certified Master of any magical craft, but he sure as hell wasn’t someone to ignore.
But to think his calculations would prove so far wrong? That Harry Potter would actually ignore an offer that Nicholas had assumed was ‘beyond refusal’?
“He refused it, I see,” said Perenelle Flamel, as she slid next to him, an amused smile floating on her lips. Before Nicholas could even look at her, she continued. “Oh no, don’t be disheartened. I’d have been more surprised if he agreed so quickly. I know his kind. Brian has had years to infest him with his puritanical nonsense.”
His wife Perenelle was not a fan of Albus Dumbledore. For a man that was claimed to be one of the world’s foremost experts in Battle Transfiguration, Albus was oddly reticent and almost impervious to change. The man had lived over a hundred and fifty years and seen political regimes rise and fall, seen new laws, policies and norms rise up and get shredded apart, as newer policies and thoughts took their place. And yet, he stubbornly retained his thinking, a magical juggernaut that stood in the march of Time, doing his best to resist massive change.
The norms of society were much like fruits. Bitter when they were first born, and only a few forward thinkers could accept it wholeheartedly. Then, as it ripened, everyone fell in love with its taste and having it as part of their culture. And when it grew old, decaying with a rotten smell, nobody wanted it anymore. Such fruits were to be thrown away, emptying the branch, for newer rules, newer systems, newer sense of right and wrong to rise in its place.
The problem was that Brian didn’t see his stagnancy as what it was — a problem. He was in the wrong, knew himself to be right, and that made him dangerous. He refused to see that these power plays were just nature’s way of fulfilling a vacuum, of setting a ‘Survival of the fittest’ situation where there is none.
That Brian stuck to following a ridiculous morale only made it difficult for others to spot his stagnancy as the rotten thing that it was, and instead, viewed him as a grand old wizard to depend on for everything.
“We have to give him time,” He said at last. “Very few that make the jump from human to… the Other, ever manage to make the transition so quickly.”
“You truly believe that? That he has yet to make the transition?”
“Of course. It’s preposterous to think otherwise. For all his achievements, he has only been brushing with the Abstract for what… months now?”
Something dark flashed across his wife’s features. “You might be the Immortal Alchemist, husband, but I am the one that was exposed to the Abstract. Unlike you, I do not hide away behind a stone. I am exposed… like a nerve. He tried very hard to hide it, but he is no Occlumens. That boy might be able to cast magic, but he is no more a wizard than you are. That unholy power singing in his veins, that putrid yellow stare, so like a basilisk… it saw through me. I’m curious what he saw when he looked at me. A woman? A monster? A hybrid? Or something else together?”
“Feel free to find out,” Nicholas half-scowled. “It’s not like he will work with us unless I agree to his terms.”
“And what terms are those?”
Nicholas laughed. “He wants to learn Materia Phase Transmutation. The little brat thinks he’s being funny. He wants to learn to create his own version of the Philosopher’s stone — or perhaps, one should say, a Death stone, empowered with Peverell family magic. I’d go out on a limb and claim that he wants to reverse-engineer the Miraculum Operarius’s ability, and employ the same for Death-thaumaturgy.”
“A wish granted on the foundational basis of Death?” Penerelle frowned. “Potter didn’t seem like that madman Ekrizdis.”
“Death is the great neutralizer of the universe, dear,” said Nicholas. “His words, not mine. He is already invested in attempting to utilise Death to counter, if not erase the malediction that cripples his betrothed. I believe he intends to utilise Death as a precision tool to sever certain aspects of magic, while letting the rest stay as they are.”
Perenelle frowned. “A precision tool. Apolline informed me that he was working on her daughter’s little ward scheme. I looked into it. A neutralising barrier that negates all magic coming at it. A fantastic development except for that one little snag.”
“Only Potter can harness Death energy,” murmured Nicholas, noting the look his wife was giving him. “My word, I refuse to believe that Potter is so foolhardy as to get into a wrangling match with me, to finish the girl’s little project.” He shook his head. “No, I have observed him. The malediction, the ward… these are but short-term accomplishments towards a larger goal, one I’m uncertain if he truly understands, but if he ever succeeds, then Perenelle —”
He fisted his arms.
“He could shatter Hecate’s Principles. I believe he could selectively sunder threads of Magic, and manipulate the barriers between this world and the Anima. For aeons, we have worked to harness the power of the Anima, and the most that mankind has gotten this far has been nothing more than keyholes, peering into the vista beyond the gates. But Potter? He can shatter those barriers. All that we desire can become possible, and all that we fear can also become possible. Should he want it, he could slam those gates open, or….”
“Seal it closed forever?” Penerelle whispered.
Nicholas clenched his teeth. Potter didn’t know it, but back when he had refused Nicholas’s offer, it was the closest the Alchemist had ever come to wanting to kill anyone in cold blood. Not even Grindelwald provoked that kind of rage, and Grindelwald had set him back by several decades by destroying multiple of his ongoing projects. Potter… just his being present had accelerated Nicholas’s progress by decades if not centuries…
To think that the boy would hold his thaumaturgy hostage to demand things from him like that…
“I miscalculated and misjudged him, dear,” he said at last. “Harry Potter is undoubtedly worthy of being called Warden. The fool from the Department of Mysteries tells me that Harry Potter is the subject of a Prophecy, which only makes me hesitate to pull the strings. Even Tycho Dodonas….”
“The wizards have thrown Dodonas’s name in vain whenever they could,” snapped Perenelle. “Prophecies are woolly things best left to interpretation in hindsight. Surely you have not forgotten all that foolishness about that prophecy over the supposed Lestrange child that turned out to be a Dumbledore in the end. For all we know, Potter might not even be the subject of this prophecy you speak of.”
Nicholas winced. He should’ve known that throwing Tycho Dodonas’s name in front of his wife was a bad idea. But he also knew that he was right this time around.
“Perhaps,” he said at last. “But I have seen the signs. Felt the tremors. You know perfectly well of what slumbers beneath the Sunken Vault. Part of my reason behind purchasing the basilisk was to step into the Lair one last time, and observe things for myself. I couldn’t, of course, for Potter is the new Warden, but I could sense the turmoil in the barriers, held in place by an iron will. The Anima is in pandemonium, and if this is what Dodonas —”
“Nicholas Flamel,” Perenelle snapped. “Those within the Anima meander between nothingness and non-existence. Even the powers inside, these… Family Magics,”she spat the phrase out like it was the vilest insult imaginable, “are nothing but powerless gods waiting for a vessel to slip into the earthly realm. They are outside the ebb and flow of true Time, and no Seer, no matter how powerful, can divine that which is outside Time!”
“Outside, perhaps, but not beyond it,” said Nicholas sternly. “I have consulted the ectomancers, and they agree. The barrier is stirring, the Family Magics are causing chaos, and it all started around the time the boy unveiled his Peverell heritage in front of the world. Something is out there, something ancient yet unseen and wondrous, something that is acting from the shadows. Moving him through specific paths, ushering him with knowledge while also meandering him through difficulties. Perhaps this is the hand of Destiny at work, or Reality reacting to the enactment of our plans, Perenelle? Is that what has spurred his development?”
“You laud him and insult him in the same tone, husband,” laughed Perenelle. “A lesser man would claim that you’re confused.”
“A lesser man would be correct,” Nicholas admitted, shocking his wife. “Harry Potter has significant potential. Given a few decades or so, he should reach a level that would make him worthy of at least being considered one of our equals, if not a potential threat. Give him the correct guidance, and he has the potential to change the world forever. From what I can see, he has very few desires save protecting those he cares for. As blase as those connections are, tangle with them and we’ll see an odyssey that would rage and devastate the world. I’m not sure if Harry Potter will bring salvation or damnation, but not knowing is half the fun, isn’t it?”
“Then what is it that you desire, husband?” asked Perenelle, narrowing her eyes in distaste. “Apolline will be here tomorrow, and she will need an answer to progress things further.”
“From Harry Potter?” asked Nicholas, the amusement in his voice fading to something brief, as if he himself was uncertain why he was smiling. “Hmm, I am not sure myself to be honest. The more I try to figure it out, the more enticing it becomes.”
“Your answer makes little sense.”
“Now you know how I feel about it. I cannot do the equation unless I have all the variables.”
Perenelle couldn’t tell if her husband was more amused or frustrated by the fact.
“Ironically, it is my own fault to not see this twist coming,” Nicholas admitted. “I should’ve seen it back then in Salazar’s Chamber. A simple truth that has evaded us all.”
He met her eyes. “Harry Potter is Death’s Vessel.”
“What a surprise,” Perenelle drawled. “I could never work that out by myself.”
He laughed. “I don’t think you could.”
His wife looked at him oddly.
Nicholas rubbed his chin in thought. In trying to know Potter’s advances with his unique thaumaturgy, they had forgotten a basic truth about him.
He was the Peverell Vessel.
Every seeker of the Abstract always knew and respected one fundamental truth. Seeking truth in the Anima was like staring into the Abyss. The more you stared into it, the more the Abyss stared back at you. Most people failed to keep their minds from being twisted badly from what they saw, and it changed them for good. Reality was no longer good enough for them. The illusions of the Anima, its whispers, its allure, that became their new Reality. More often than not, the seeker lost himself in the wildness of the Anima, eventually becoming its instrument.
A puppet, a tool, an orifice — a way for the Anima to penetrate into Reality.
A path for the Abstract to become Real.
That went double for Family Magics. To gain the providence of a universal concept was one of the greatest achievements one could attain. But the moment one gained a Family Magic, it altered them in a way most people couldn’t even register, much less understand. It changed them, twisted them, and reflected on their very souls. It was why developing the mindset, apart from the bloodline and affinity, was an important part of one’s training in Family Magic.
A Vessel on the other hand, was simply born for it. Born with the mindset, with the affinity, and the bloodline. And for all Nicholas had studied, he hadn’t really understood it back then. He, and the rest of the world had been so focussed on how Harry Potter evoked the Peverell bloodline, that they ignored the more vital question.
Why did the Peverell bloodline manifest in him?
“Harry Potter is Death’s Vessel, Perenelle. He accepts, reflects and welcomes Death in a way that no entity alive would ever willingly recognize.”
Perenelle stilled. “Do you mean —”
“He is not suicidal,” Nicholas shook his head. “No, he fully intends on living on for as long as he can. In fact, he will go out of his way to survive and spend the rest of his life with the people he loves and cares for. But he finds a natural beauty in Death. Whereas every seeker out there wants to grow past the shackles of mortality and ascend in their own way, Harry Potter accepts that the End will not only arrive, but that it should. It is why my Philosopher’s stone holds no sway over him. Even the Mirror of Erised showed him with his dead parents, if Brian is to be believed. He refused my offer, not because he is greedy for more, but because he truly believes that his way would protect his loved ones better than the temporary stopgap I was offering. I am absolutely certain if we can cure the girl’s malediction and fulfil all of Potter’s aspirations tomorrow, he would have no qualms about walking to his death with a smile on his face, because in his mind, he already had gotten what he wanted, and so, it was time for him to meet his End.”
“Like an old friend,” murmured Perenelle. “As equals.”
“Precisely.”
His wife took several seconds to digest that fact. “What are we going to do about this?”
Nicholas shrugged. “Play things by the ear, I imagine. Harry Potter is the sort to hold himself hostage, if we try to force him, or worse, manipulate those close to him. And I have no desire to recreate the events of the Third Task of the Triwizard. Our best option is to go with his offer, while searching for a way to truly control and dictate his actions.”
Perenelle registered all that. “Fine. Uniting the Hallows it is.”
Nicholas laughed. “Yes. I suppose it is.”
....
....
....
When daylight arrived, a house elf informed Harry Potter that he would be having breakfast in the south garden of the Flamel mansion. Rejecting the little tyke’s offer of apparition, he had chosen to stroll to the location himself, and narrowly ditched a heart attack.
Two monsters sat around the table, sipping tea. Neither of them moved for anything apart from sipping the beverage, and looking at his approach in beatific smiles.
The one on his left looked like she came from a perennial beauty. Her hair was whiter than freshly gathered snow on Christmas morning, and her silvery eyes reflected light more ominously than anything Harry had ever seen. Her teeth were white and perfect, and her smile looked sharp enough to cut a throat. She was wearing a white suit, and sat with her legs crossed, and her hands holding the tea cup and plate.
“Ah, ‘Arry Potter,” she said. “We meet again. On second zot, you do pull off being a Lord quite well.”
“He does,” said the second monster, a woman seated beside the first. She was as lean as a rod of rebar, only colder and harder, and her dark hair and dark eyes had an unexplainable inhumanness to them. “If nothing else, his greed fits in the definition of a noble Lord quite well.”
Harry looked back and forth between the two women. His heart rate began to slow as he started to catch on to the fact that he was not, apparently, under attack.
Which wasn’t to say that he wasn’t in any danger.
Despite his young age, Harry could claim that he had to face some really spectacular things and people without backing down. From the troll in the bathroom, to the basilisk, to the horde of dementors and the dragon in fourth year, he had faced off some really terrifying monstrosities over the years. That record was only bested by his record of surviving really terrifying people and living to tell the tale. From facing Professor Quirrell down in the third corridor, to the Riddle from the diary, to a wild werewolf under the full moon, Voldemort, thrice over, and finally Nicholas Flamel himself — it had just been one terrifying entity after another. He had seen more sheer nasty violence than most wizards in the business. And he had survived them all, if not beaten, and had the scars to show for it.
Somehow, this meeting with Apolline Delacour and Perenelle Flamel scared him more than any of them.
He silently counted to five while he took a slow breath and decided to be calm and cautious. And polite. Andy always told him that it was best to be polite to everyone. It cost one nothing and could potentially change the flow of events.
“Madame Apolline Delacour,” he said to the first monster, inclining his head slightly. Then, he turned towards the second monster who was also his host and did the same. “Lady Flamel.”
“So nice to see you so soon, Monsieur Potter,” said Delacour, her sharp smile widening as she put the tea cup on the table and tucked a lock of silvery hair behind her hair. “I’m so glad you could make it. Sooner zan expected, in fact!”
“Your request was unexpected,” said Harry frankly. “And both Christmas and my engagement are right around the corner,” said Harry. “I’d rather be done with all this before the holidays begin.”
He glanced around. Had Fleur not come to this meeting with her mother? He hadn’t seen the girl since she had departed from the Rosier wedding with the elder veela, and was wondering if she was involved in another mess, thanks to her mother’s shenanigans.
Especially with the entire Cabal thing.
“Oui, zat is good,” said Apolline. “If zis meeting is a success, zen mah dahling Fleur shall meet you at your wedding celebration, Monsieur Potter,” said Apolline, as if reading his mind. “Zen again, if zis meeting is a success, ‘Ouse Delacour might ‘ave much to say and do at your wedding. I was most surprised upon receiving your letter, Monsieur, about setting ze venue of our meeting with ze Flamels. Even more surprised when Perenelle here mentioned your… collaboration with Nicolas.”
Codswallop, Harry thought. If this bitch really didn’t know about his previous encounter with Nicholas Flamel or that the Flamels wanted to meet him, he’d eat his wand arm.
“Even ma fille mentioned so many wondrous zings about you. ‘Ow you are using… Death, I theenk you call it? Zat which takes life used to protect life. De toute beauté, I must zay! I ‘ad read about ze murder of all zose purebloods in Le’ Angleterre and your trial, and your résistance to our allure. Just ‘ow does zat work, Monsieur Potter?”
“It’s my Family Magic,” said Harry with slight irritation. “Quite naturally, I’d like to keep its mysteries to myself and those in the family.”
He disliked Apolline Delacour and just being in Perenelle Flamel’s presence was getting on his nerves. Both of them together were a recipe for disaster, especially this early in the morning. “And I’d rather not talk about the event and my trial. It’s not exactly something I’m fond of.”
Apolline laughed, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. “Désolée, monsieur. You are quite right. It was quite rude of me to inquire about such zings. Non, ze reason for this meeting is more… personal.”
Harry arched an eyebrow. “I believe we’ve only met once, Madame. I hardly think I have anything personal with you.”
“But you do,” said Apolline, still smiling. “But first, allow me to zank you, Monsieur Potter, for protecting mah dahling’s reputation at ze wedding. We are in your… ‘ow do you wizards say it? Un debt?”
And that, Harry decided, was how these crafty entities trapped others.
“Thank you, but unnecessary,” said Harry, raising one hand in denial, as he took a seat. An elf appeared right next to them with his breakfast. “I regard Fleur as a friend and more, and whatever Malfoy and Chang might have attempted to do, they did it to provoke me and make me suffer, both in fortune and peace of mind. If anything, I’m sorry that Fleur got pulled in because of my issues with Malfoy and Chang.”
“Zat might be,” said Apolline. “But I ‘ave spoken to zis Chang girl at length. You and ze Greengrass girl sorted everyzing out with ‘er before ze Malfoi brat released ze memory, no? Zat ‘ad nozzing to do with you. ‘E just wanted to ruin ma petite fille. If ‘e had succeeded, ma Fleur would’ve lost everyzing! Ze loss would’ve killed her!”
Harry was getting frustrated now. Whatever the veela was up to, she was dead set on acknowledging this debt. And if that was what she wanted him to accept, it was probably a good idea not to do it.
“Technically,” he said. “I wasn’t the one that stopped Malfoy. Daphne was the one that found out about Chang and Malfoy’s plan, and she crushed them. I don’t even know if Malfoy even had the right memory vial, or if there was a memory vial in the first place.”
He expected that to be the end of it, but Apolline continued to argue with him and try to convince him to agree to the debt in the first place. When she realised that she was going nowhere with the Rosier-Santos wedding issue, she jumped back to the older events, like the one where Harry had saved her from the attack in Diagon Alley, and even earlier, from the night of the Third Task. She wasn’t one to give up easily, and her prodding was starting to anger him.
“Madame Delacour,” he said sternly. “Why don’t you actually tell me what this is really about? Why are you so insistent about having this debt acknowledged in the first place?”
The veela’s face twisted into a smile. “So you acknowledge zat there is a debt.”
“...Yes.”
Her expression twisted, becoming more fox-like, as she took a sip of her tea. “Let me tell you why I’m asking. On ze night of ze Third Task of ze Triwizard, ze heir of ze ‘Ouse of Potter protected mine. Oui?”
Ah.
Bugger.
He had hoped that Apolline would not press the matter any further in that direction. Although, he noted with wry amusement, she was recognizing that there was a life debt between the Heir of House Potter and the House of Delacour, not between the Heir of House Black and the House of Delacour; a subtle difference that highlighted her politics.
Harry fisted his hands. As much as he hated to admit it, he had indeed saved Fleur’s life in the Third Task. Life-debts were tricky things, and Sirius had told him that saving someone without any obligation or expecting anything in return often resulted in a debt being formed that could influence the indebted to act in ways to save their saviour’s life on a later date. And despite whatever transpired between them later, he had to reluctantly agree that he had no obligation to save Fleur that night.
“I can understand zat your godfather, Sirius Black, would not accept zis issue,” Apolline went along smoothly. “And given zat you were not welcomed into ze ‘Ouse of Black until much later, zis debt has nozzing to do with ‘Ouse Black, of which you are… heir.”
Only years of having to deal with shocks enabled Harry to keep his expression intact. “Even if I helped Fleur out that night, she has been an indispensable aid during the summer. She has helped me deal with the Potter investments —”
“It was ‘er job.”
“And she got attacked in Diagon Alley because of it too,” snapped Harry. “Because the attackers targeted me.”
“It is ‘ardly the fault of ‘Ouse Potter zat my heir was endangered because someone attempted to attack Lord Potter,” said Apolline, a facsimile of a smile forming on her face. “Ze only ones who endangered my heir were ze ones zat attacked, and you did nozzing but defend my daughter.”
Harry stared at her hard. Apolline was truly determined to place Fleur under House Potter’s debt, while also acknowledging her status as her heir. The question was why?
He sipped the tea, inhaling the rich aroma and letting the taste soothe him. One of the benefits of having Death-energy flood through him was the freedom to eat and drink whatever he wanted without worrying about being poisoned or magically influenced.
“Let’s agree with that for a moment,” he said. “What are you proposing as a settlement?”
“‘Ouse Delacour has a prestige to maintain ‘ere in France. I would accept responsibility for paying off ze debt by at least addressing some of ze issues ‘Ouse Potter faces. I would not mind settling for wiping ze Malfoi family out entirely once your Wizengamot meets zis month.”
It was the ease that she spoke with wiping out the Malfoy family that sent a chill down Harry’s spine. He knew she was fully capable of that feat, but it was another thing for her to genuinely contemplate it.
“Uh, there is no need for that,” said Harry quickly. He wouldn’t trust Apolline Delacour as far as he could throw her. “You can just declare a treaty of mutual support with House Potter.”
Apolline threw her head back in a scornful laughter. “‘Ouse Delacour ‘as no place in Le’ Angleterre. We are…. ‘Ow do you say it? Minor ‘Ouse?”
Harry decided not to point out that the so-called Minor house was one of the most feared names in the entirety of Europe. There was a reason why nobody fucked with House Delacour, and that was ignoring the Cabal business.
So she was making a play, there were hidden factors involved. And the only one Harry could think of right now was sitting right next to them.
“Ideally, I would want to ‘elp you with resources, but I don’t zink it will be of ‘elp. You will be working with Nicholas, no? Zat means you will be spending time ‘ere in France. Zat is wonderful, no? House Devereux ‘as good zings to say about you, Monsieur. So perhaps, something to give ‘Ouse Potter a firm standing ‘ere in France, when ze inevitable happens and your war begins? I was zinking…. Marriage, to ma Fleur.”
Bugger. Turns out Daphne was right after all.
“You want me to acknowledge the debts just so that you can marry Fleur to House Potter?” Harry asked, half amused and half flustered. “I was ready to do that either way.”
“Oui, zis cuts down several agonising steps and makes ‘Ouse Delacour directly tied to ‘Ouse Potter, like ‘Ouse Greengrass is.”
Everyone felt dead silent as he slowly digested her words.
“You expect me to believe that you went through all this, brought me here in France, only to talk about offering your daughter’s hand in marriage to House Potter?” He couldn’t help keep the sneer off his lips. “I don’t believe for a second that you didn’t know that Fleur was working for me, for House Potter. House Delacour could’ve come forth at any time during the summer to resolve this debt. But instead you waited. You waited all this time, and now you’re in this hurry to acknowledge this debt? I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Perenelle Flamel winced. Apolline, though, continued to smile.
He eyed her dully. “And that little charade at the wedding didn’t fool me. I can’t believe that somebody witnessed Fleur when she… when the incident happened, yet law enforcement found nothing. And now that witness sold her memories to Cho Chang of all people so that she could blackmail me with Malfoy’s help? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Hmm…” purred Apolline. Harry didn’t know if Perenelle Flamel was simply immune to Veela allure or if Apolline was keeping it to a minimum, but either way, she was clearly pushing for this marriage. “What are you insinuating, Monsieur Potter?”
“That you were the one that gave the evidence to Chang in the first place,” he accused calmly. “You played along, set Chang and Malfoy up, in true, treacherous tradition of House Delacour. You let me protect Fleur’s honour. Even that pointless antagonism earlier was just another test. You throw out a heavyweight like House Malfoy, make it look like it’s victory, and ingratiate yourself to my House and tie your House to mine through marriage.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, her expression giving no hint to the direction of her thoughts. “Look at you. You’ve figured me out completely. And now perhaps you think I’m going to manipulate my daughter to turn you into my tool.”
“Slugging matches aren’t your style, Madame Delacour. If you play your cards right, it will only further your reputation and influence. Why jeopardise it by something so crude?”
“Oui, if I do it, what zen? What’s stopping me?”
“I am.”
Neither of them spoke for a while.
“Mmm…” she said, straightening her spine and leaned back just a little, her beautiful pale face full of lust and hunger. She closed her eyes and stretched a little in place, the way cats sometimes did. It was a mind-numbing display of lithe femininity. She nodded slowly, and then rose and regarded him with her cool detachment. And then she spoke again.
“I always enjoy dealing with a man pozezing a well-developed sense of self-worth,” she said, her eyes wandering over him. She idly smoothed her skirt with one hand instantly drawing his eyes to the pale length of thigh showing through the seam. Within a brief couple of seconds, Death’s cold rationality took over, and Harry jerked his eyes away with an effort.
“I understand zat my daughter is attracted to you, to ze point of it being a borderline obsession,” said Apolline. “Regardless of your… ideas, and your fears, ‘Ouse Delacour offers ma Fleur’s ‘and in marriage to you, ‘Arry James Potter. As my heiress, she is entitled to everyzing zat is mine. We are no pureblood ‘Ouse, but we enjoy power and influence. With ‘Ouse Delacour and ‘Ouse Flamel by your side, you can become beeg, ‘Arry Potter. I understand even ‘Ouse Devereaux will offer a treaty to you soon.”
Damn it. This was going too big, too fast.
“I… uh, I thank you for the offer,” he said. “Your idea has merit, and I will think about it.”
Yes. That would do. Nothing too impulsive, and he could use the Christmas holidays to get better homework done about the Flamels, the Delacours and potentially anything he could about Veela and the Cabal to use to his advantage. For a moment, he considered asking them about the Cabal, or what role Apolline Delacour, and potentially the Flamels were playing in it, but decided otherwise at the last minute.
“I told you,” said Perenelle Flamel after all this while. “He might have been raised muggle, but there is a pureblood hiding deep within him. It is why even my husband agreed to his whims.”
Harry was taken aback. Nicholas had agreed to his conditions? He had sort of been expecting some resistance at the very least. As if he didn’t have enough things to be scared about already.
“Oh yes,” said Perenelle, reading his face. “He has agreed to your conditions, Lord Potter. And while we would prefer that you stay here at Flamel estate , and register at Beauxbatons, so that we might begin your instruction in Alchemy at the earliest, we realise it will be unreasonable for you. Clearly, you will prefer acquiring a Hogwarts education, plus whatever other pursuits and obligations you have there.”
She was referring to his status as a Warden. Did that mean that Apolline was ignorant of the vaults? Well, at least there was one thing about this deal that actually worked in his favour. Harry remained quiet, inwardly knowing that he was way in over his head.
“As such, I’ll request that you come here for two day-periods several times a year, and perhaps for longer durations during your holidays. Given your limited and unique magical abilities, I am assuming you won’t be bogged down by the usual academic constraints of your peers.”
Wonderful. At this rate, he would definitely need to ask the Department if he could let him borrow a freaking Time-turner.
“Well?” asked Perenelle. “What do you think?”
Harry licked his lips, thinking hard. Had he left out any openings? Could she take advantage of him in any other way?
Knowing his luck, probably yes.
At the same time, this was the best possible deal he had that could get him what he wanted. With Flamel’s help, he could definitely solve Daphne’s malediction, as well as find a way to ensure that he didn’t remain the only person that could channel Summer or Death. If he didn’t take advantage of this opportunity, he might have to deal with subpar situations after this.
Especially with Voldemort on the horizon.
And the upcoming Wizengamot session, with a horde of extremist purebloods angry at him for overthrowing their status quo.
And all the fuckery that Ignotus had warned him would happen.
The ominous words said by his own Glacius Diabolica avatar came to mind.
“It is only the first.”
“Well, Harry Potter?” asked Perenelle again. “Do we have an accord?”
“Yes,” said Harry, grabbing her hand, and ignoring the desire to blast her with pure Death at the barest point of contact. “Yes, we do.”
Comments
The BlackStaff and NightMarE
yeah, got that bit wrong. I edited it just now.
Ben
Couer is what you mean I think. Heart.
