Unveiling Destiny: Harry Potter and the Triwizard Revelation

"We are so glad you could make it Monsieur Potter."

Harry looked up, after dusting himself off from the floo travel, and saw a rather fierce-looking man. "Please, come in. I'm Patrice Delacour and it is a pleasure to meet another Potter."

Patrice reached forward and grasped Harry's hand.

"Thank you for inviting me. You have a lovely home." Harry said as he looked around at the elegant entry hall he'd stepped into.

"Fleur told me she wasn't sure you would have gotten it." He said with a rueful smile.

Harry blushed slightly; Fleur must have informed the man of what she had done. The brushing of her hand against his leg was not her flirting with him. Actually, it might have been that too. The brushing of her hand up against his leg was a disguise for depositing a letter. It was his best guess as to when it had happened. The only other thought was when they had danced together but it seemed less likely to him.

"Let us stop the formalities and you can call me Patrice. Under different circumstances, you should have grown up calling me Oncle Patty."

Harry nodded as he followed the man. Patrice was outgoing, and although he was teasing Harry, he had a way about him to be able to draw him into being comfortable around the man.

"Have you eaten lunch?" The man asked kindly. The two of them walked further into the immaculate home. Harry had no idea if the artwork and other art pieces were of any significant value or not.

"Yes." It was not the early afternoon. The letter had stated they hoped he would be able to make it and to come any time of the day today. He hadn't wanted to skip his training and given it was a ritual day, he had to complete that too.

"Ah, well you did catch us at a less the opportune time. My youngest, Gabrielle, is out with my wife, Apolline, and I will fetch them. How about I let Fleur show you around our home and by the time that is done I can introduce you to my family?" Harry blushed and nodded. They continued walking through the vast hallway.

Patrice stopped in front of a door that was marked with the name Fleur Delacour.

With impeccable timing, the door opened and out walked Fleur. Harry gulped as he took her in. Her long silver-blonde hair free to flow down her back, skin-tight soft blue jeans and a top that looked like a second skin with the way it hugged her body, though it did not bare any part of her breasts. She didn't need to stoop to such measures to catch the attention of the opposite sex.

"'arry! I'm so glad you were able to come." Harry had a serious love-hate relationship going on with that tone. It did unnatural things to him when he heard her say his name and speak to him in such tones. He hated it because it did affect him even if he was able to keep it from being a noticeable one. Maybe the magic Natalia warned him about was in her voice…

"Bonjour, Fleur." He managed to say confidently. She sauntered to him and hugged him. "I was worried you might not come." She whispered into his ear as she embraced him. For a moment Harry forgot it was not just the two of them in the room.

"I must be off. Be a dear and show Harry around until I am able to fetch your mother and Gabrielle." Patrice said as he clapped Harry on the back.

She tilted her head as she looked at him. "Did Papa show you around at all?" She asked.

"No, I was brought here right from the entry."

Harry offered his arm and she led him through the home. Opulent was a good word for it. From what Harry could recall there were ten lavish bedrooms, art pieces displayed all over the property and a number of specialized rooms, including but not limited to; art room, music room, reading room, and more. The ballroom and formal dining rooms were the most ostentatious of them all. The final place they got to on their way was the garden of the ballroom.

The two of them continued out into the garden arm in arm. They had made general polite small talk as they toured the home, though mostly Fleur explained out about various aspects of their lovely estate home. It was out in the garden that Harry planned to have some more frank conversation with the Delacour heiress.

"I'd like to preface my question by saying I know virtually nothing about veela. Is it okay to ask something that could be offensive?" Harry started out carefully.

Her head dropped slightly as she looked at him challengingly. "Oui."

Undaunted he continued with his question. "I have heard people call you a creature. I, uh, saw the veela at the World Cup but I don't quite understand. I've read that veela aren't magical creatures… why is that?"

When Fleur heard the word 'creature', her eyes narrowed dangerously. It hadn't stopped him from asking his question, he had just taken note of it. Her lips were thinned and Harry would have to be blind to not see she was upset.

"It is a… euphémisme dérogatoire, how is it you say in English deroatoiree euphen?" The scowl adorning her face could either be from failing to find the correct English word or still from the topic.

"Derogatory euphemism." Harry corrected gently and she dipped her chin in acknowledgement. "I thought so. I don't understand… why is it a bad thing? Shouldn't it be a compliment?" He asked with repressed shoulders, his voice had a downward lilt to it.

Fleur looked at him rather oddly before she cracked up. Her musical laughter filled the garden. "A compliment? 'ow so?"

"Well, true magical creatures are powerful and beautiful in their own way. Dragons, phoenixes, unicorns, and basilisks are terrifying and amazing. I'd take it as a compliment to be compared to any of them. I could see how basilisks might feel like a negative thing but even they are amazing." The sincerity Harry spoke with matched the serenity of the garden and was wholly contrasted by Fleur's giggling.

She was trying to stifle them but was failing, she. "'arry, you are manifique."

He wasn't really sure how to respond to that.

When she had calmed her giggling, she put the poor boy out of his confused misery. "Being called a 'magical creature' is meant to say we are not 'uman'. Similar to a muggleborn being called a mudblood. Though, your thoughts on it are rather amusing, 'arry." She giggled again.

"I see."

Harry waited to see if Fleur was going to say anything further but she did not. He still had more questions he wanted to be answered.

"Why have you changed how you acted towards me?"

"How have I changed?" Her forehead scrunched as her eyebrows closed together. "Do you mean from the task to the ball?" She voiced her thought aloud.

"No, well yes, but there's more to it. You told me the Potter and Delacour families were close but you ignored me until the First Task and then you were helpful. Then last night you were rather close, even when I was on a date with another girl." Her eyebrows may have been scrunched together but Harry's weren't. His eyes were narrowed and he was trying to concentrate on her body language.

To ensure he was mollified, Fleur knew she was going to be honest with him. "I thought you wanted nothing to do with our family…. You had never responded to any letters and so I left you alone. I thought you may be… presidenced…"

Harry looked at her quizzically as he tried to figure out just what she was trying to get across. He smiled faintly when he realized the word she had meant to use. "Did you mean prejudiced?"

This was one of the things he was finding such joy in. How he had never branched out beyond his two former best friends astounded him. There was far too much fun to be found in teasing pretty girls.

Harry decided to move on and end her embarrassment, for not knowing his native language well. "That explains the first part but what about at the first task and the Yule Ball?

She recognized his gesture and let him know by flexing her arm, the one that was conjoined with his. "After you were missing and I knew you didn't know about the Delacour-Potter connection, I wanted to 'elp you."

Harry nodded and waited, expecting her to continue on. He did his best not to react one way or the other.

"As for the ball… I had 'oped to see you and be your date as well." She didn't blush but she did look somewhat bashful. "I ended up going with Viktor since neither of us could attend with the people we wanted so we went together. He's been around veela so he had no issues."

The two were still walking along the unnaturally smooth pathway through their large outdoor garden. Immaculate shrubs, blooming flowers, gorgeous trees and so well manicured.

"Why would you want to go with someone so young? You're what 17? I'm 14." There were quite a few things Harry planned to try and wrangle out of the Delacour's while he visited them today.

"You don't know, 'arry?" The look she gave him was half perplexed and half predatory.

The shiver that ran down his spine had equal parts to do with the way she purred his name and how she looked at him.

"Veela have…" She paused to think of the correct word to use as she tilted her head in thought. "Unique magical traits that normal witches lack. You feel the allure we give off passively, oui?"

Maybe this is what Natalia was so concerned about the previous evening. "No."

Fleur's upper teeth protruded over the top of her bottom lip and attempted to connect to her lower teeth as she hummed while processing his response. The two of them still had linked arms as they continued to saunter along the garden pathway. Fleur had decided to stop at two trees that had formed one massive stump. It had been carved down so part of the trunk was a bench seat with sides being the two tall tree trunks. Harry noticed it looked to be well worn from regular or prolonged use. They sat closely together but not how he would have sat with Natalia. There was a space between them and neither were trying to bridge the gap.

When they had gotten comfortable, she'd answered his earlier denial. "I had noticed but thought you would still feel something. You don't feel it at all, non?"

Harry shook his head to indicate the negative.

"Veela have another trait. We are drawn to wish to mate with the strongest, the ones fit to protect us and breed strong offspring." At this Harry, had a minor red tinge develop across his skin. "Those blessed with more magical power often aren't affected by it."

"Ah, that makes sense," Harry agreed.

"It does?" She asked as it wasn't really all that well understood. There was a strong correlation but it wasn't a theoretically understood concept.

"Of course, magic is sentient." He repeated the oft read mantra of his deceased mentor.

Fleur stared at Harry as she tried to puzzle out whether he was being facetious or if he was being serious. His face, tone and body language all suggested serious but it could be veiled sarcasm.

"Quoi?"

Harry noticed the young woman sitting beside him wasn't understanding the concept. Hogwarts had not taught him it and it seemed Beauxbatons did not either.

"All wizards are imbued with magic. More than likely the stronger wizard's magic seeks to protect them. Although I'm still a novice in trying to understand it, I believe that my magic reacts to my innate wishes. I do not wish to be controlled and if your allure would control or change my behaviour it will resist." Harry explained some of what he had been learning and dwelling on to her. He'd been giving a lot of thought to how the sentience of magic could be affecting him. All the rituals and how Cuddles came into existence, most specifically.

"Are you sure?" She was sceptical of a fourteen-year-old explaining magic in a way she'd not heard from her parents nor from her prestigious school.

Harry shrugged. He trusted Salazar as far as magical theory was concerned. He wasn't going to defend himself nor explain just who he was learning from. Regardless of his failed attempts at understanding how the Chamber of Secrets even operated.

"So you are, uh, interested in me because of my power? Is it magical power, political, economic? I'll guess magical." The way in which he had phrased the question had made it seem it was just any old standard question. Not one of a fourteen-year-old sitting with a supremely gorgeous seventeen-year-old female in close proximity alone in a quiet corner of the garden, when not even her family was home.

"Oui and non…" Fleur started out. "Veela have the ability to… to feel? Sense? Discern? It's hard to explain to a non-veela… I can tell what you feel about me."

Harry's face was furrowed, frowning deeply.

The ability deeply disconcerted him.

"I can tell when a man only wants me for my looks, for example. It is a trait to allow us to tell whether a romantic partner has genuine feelings for us or not. I cannot sense your emotions, we are not empathetic beyond that singular situation. It is part of our passive magic."

The limited nature was more comforting to know but still had him somewhat on edge.

"We are tactile beings. When I touch you, or you touch me, it is when I can sense it. When I put my hand on your shoulder before the first task, I was happy to feel you were not among the many who were vying for me sexually. Then when you placed your hand on me, I could feel the intention was genuine. Not even a flicker of depraved desire."

Fleur was looking at Harry with unbridled emotion.

"There is a draw to your magical power, as you say, 'arry, but it is more than that. We are more passionate, more touchy-feely, than witches. We crave physical intimacy. You will see Gabrielle, my sister, who clings to my parents to feel their love and affection. She clings to me and I suspect she will love to be in physical contact with you too. From most boys, I can sense the lust when they touch me and I hate their tainted touches. I 'ad 'oped you would not feel the same and you didn't. The entire walk you did not lust once. There is desire but natural untainted desire. You do not covet a conquest. I can touch you and sate my desire for positive physical contact."

That was quite the information dump.

"And you have no problem being interested in a fourteen-year-old? Isn't that, err, irregular?" Harry didn't know much about the wizarding world but he wasn't interested in eleven-year-olds or even twelve-year-olds.

"Non, my magic and instincts believe you could be a highly desirable mate. We will not always be fourteen and seventeen forever. By the time you are seventeen, it will not be odd, not at all. By the time you are twenty-five, it will be far beyond being an issue. Though I am not a witch so I don't perceive it. Normally, a veela is more interested in men older than them because they are more powerful and set in their lives. My mére would not be surprised if I dated a man seven years older than I am." She was enjoying spending time with Harry. Not many males in her age group was she ever so comfortable with.

"Do you normally share all this kind of information with everyone?" Harry didn't believe so and Fleur's response showed his line of thinking was correct.

"Non, but the Potter family has been close to ours and we trust you will not spread it around."

Harry gave her a reassuring look. If Fleur had let him know information normally kept private, he would not betray her trust.

"What about diner then? What was that between you and Natalia?"

Fleur stiffened slightly with the question. "It's complicated. We knew each other from ballet lessons but mostly discord between our families."

Their time together was broken by a voice calling out to them. It carried to their unseen position.

Before Harry could try and pry more he heard a new voice break out. "Fleur, Harry?"

"Papa."

"Come let me introduce you to Apolline, my lovely wife, and Gabrielle, my youngest."

Harry had no expectations for what an afternoon of leisure with the Delacour family would include. A chat with Fleur in the immaculate garden, being dragged off to Gabrielle's room to see it and be shown all of her possessions while she had rapidly talked at him in French, and then having a snack with tea wasn't exactly what he had expected. It wasn't the sitting around and watching the telly that he'd seen from the Dursleys.

It was nice, relaxing and refreshing.

He was still marvelling at how much Apolline, Fleur and Gabrielle were alike. Though separated in age, they all had the same silver-blonde hair and blue eyes. Gabrielle is exactly what he would have imagined a young Fleur looked like. If Apolline was anything to go by, they would remain remarkably beautiful women for many years to come.

The most striking thing about the afternoon was how comfortable it was. They had accepted his presence as if he'd always been there. Gabrielle treated him like he was an older brother. Apolline was polite and warm, kind and affectionate, without being overbearing.

It was a look into a different type of wizarding family. One not in a home bursting at the seams with an overabundance of energy and with a total lack of space. Where there is a single washroom for so many and chores abundant to keep the household sane.

"Are you sure you can handle, moi?" Fleur taunted him out of his musings as she stood opposite from him in the duelling room.

"I won't go easy on you just because you are younger." She smirked at him.

Harry already knew she was skilled in the magical arts. Beauxbatons did not have an official duelling club, and Fleur was never going to be allowed into the grimy duelling circuits, but she still was considered the best of her peers as her father had trained her since she was eight.

He just nodded at Patrice who was overseeing the spar. Salazar had lambasted useless words and banter. Banter had uses for unsettling an opponent or forcing them off their guard. There was a time and place for it and neither were now.

Harry readied himself and waited for the duel to begin.

The second he saw the spark to start, he began his barrage. He had four simple spells he spammed: a shield breaker, stunner, body-bind and disarming spell. The shield breaker to be used just before one of the ones that would end it. There were very little tactics involved here. His plan was to be fast, hit hard and be utterly relentless in the pressure he poured on. Overwhelm her with speed, accuracy and power all while moving erratically for his form of defence.

Fleur had been overconfident and had let the barrage commence. She'd never faced anyone like this. She didn't have time to think. Spell after spell was wearing out her defensive capabilities faster than she could ever imagine. Every shield she threw up was decimated with powerful shield breakers. Constant jets of magic flowed at her like she was trying to stop the tide from coming in.

It didn't take long. She was petrified and almost simultaneously disarmed of her wand. If she could have moved her jaw, she would be grinding her teeth together in frustration.

"Winner, Harry Potter," Patrice said still somewhat in shock over what he had just witnessed. He wasn't even sure if his heir had got off a single offensive spell. "Your tutor has been drilling you on the basics?" He asked Harry after getting over his stupefaction.

"Something like that," he said as he shrugged. He was always as cagey as possible with information on his training and education.

Patrice took a moment to unpetrify his daughter and float her wand back to her. He looked at the winner and saw he didn't even have a sheen of sweat on him after that display of intense casting.

Fleur was fuming mad. She'd never fought a duel in such a way and had let him get the opening advantage. He'd taken that small advantage and used it to keep her off balance and on the defensive until she broke. She would not tolerate losing so handily for their only bout.

"I demand a rematch." She snarled as she moved back to her spot.

Patrice knew this wasn't a great idea. Whoever was teaching Harry Potter was forcing him to perfect the very basics. His speed and stamina were phenomenal. Once the foundations of speed, strength and stamina were at obscene levels, they would begin tactic training. It spoke of dedication and repetitive training.

His daughter was skilled and knowledgeable at battle tactics but he knew she was no match for Harry. She was a house built on sand and deep strong waves were coming to knock it over. He had not pushed her as hard as he should have since it was a time of peace.

Now, he was facing the consequences of the decision.

Patrice looked to the boy and he had indicated he was ready. He started the second spar.

Fleur threw spells out with righteous fury. None came close to touching Harry. His movements too quick and erratic to pin so easily. The worst part was his grin. He was enjoying the exercise and had no qualms about it.

Harry had yet to fire a spell back. Patrice watched and earnestly tried to figure out the ploy. He saw Harry had the time to return fire but he would not. He jumped, ducked, dodged and dived around as he expertly avoided everything Fleur threw at him. She lit the ground on fire around him and he had made himself immune already. Everything she sent his way, he avoided, or dispelled.

Patrice could not be more impressed. He'd been too young to have fought in the Grindelwald war but had trained against those that had. Few of them remained in any kind of active duty and those that were still in law enforcement had been dulled from their peak. There was little incentive for anyone to maintain wartime aptitude. Budgets wouldn't allocate paid time to train nearly long enough and most of the interested individuals went into the duelling circuits. With such strict rules and ticket sale based financial incentives, it was far too showy and rigid to be considered real combat.

The young man he was seeing in front of him was preparing for war. There was no other reason he was in such good shape, physically and magically. Fleur was tiring from her barrage yet Harry looked as if he could continue in perpetuity. All the reports that he had read about the boy were wrong. With his OWL scores, which he had thought were boosted or inflated by favourable media coverage, and now this impressive display, he had no doubts whoever was training him had a purpose. You don't push a fourteen-year-old this hard for no reason and you don't train that hard just because your tutor told you. There must be something driving him.

Fleur was magically exhausting herself and she recognized it. Patrice recognized her change in strategy. Staying at a distance wasn't going to allow her to win and if he was going to dare to mock her, by not fighting back, she would close the gap so he had to fight back.

The young veela was beyond incensed, she was exasperated by her ineptitude. As they got closer, Patrice expected to see Harry move away or start a game of cat and mouse. Instead, he didn't try to impede her and the size of his grin grew.

Fleur didn't have the same pace of offensive magic coming at him any longer. Her body was drained and Harry was still untouchable. She got within five feet and Patrice almost keeled over in laughter. Not even once had he been forced to shield. He'd countered or dodged every attack so far. Now that she was so close, he added a new element. She was so close as she held her wand in front of her that Harry could direct it away from him or slap at her wrist. Just as she completed a wand movement, he'd direct it away from herself. She had but one option, and it was not one she was ever trained for, physical violence. Patrice knew his daughter wouldn't try for that now. She was too weary to do much more than stand. Sweat was dripping down her face, pooling on her chin and it drizzled off.

He'd never seen his daughter in such a state. Too tired to maintain her rage and looking at him like he was inhuman. The spar ended with Harry plucking her wand from her hand. Harry had both wands in his hands and this time he was sweating as well. Although he was not anywhere close to the dire straits Fleur was in.

Knowing it would make his daughter seethe, and the all-important factor that she was too tired to retaliate in any manner, he patted her head gently, akin to patting your pet dog's head lovingly, and spoke to Harry.

"That was quite impressive." There was nothing insincere about the comment. "Up for one more?"

Harry looked at him oddly with a raised eyebrow. "There's no way she could."

Patrice took off his outer, heavier, robe and began moving to the starting position that Fleur occupied previously. "Duel me."

Harry shrugged and moved into the starting position. Fleur dragged herself to the side, where she was protected behind the duelling wards. Harry had enjoyed the first two spars; it was nice to have a change from his solo work in the Chamber every day.

He didn't know much about Patrice but he had seen the man's body language change. He was no longer the idly sitting by as he watched his daughter practice. He was a predator on the prowl and his entire demeanour changed as he stood across, ready to duel.

Harry prepared himself and Fleur started the match. Harry wanted to see the tone Patrice set before he engaged. A cutting curse at his neck made it obvious. He wasn't going to hold back. Just the way, Harry would have wanted. The single, neck high, cutting curse was fired before there was a short pause. Patrice ensured Harry and he were on the same unspoken terms. A nod from Harry and the match began in earnest.

Harry's wand was a whirlwind of motion, casting his offensive spells with power and precision.

Patrice, unknown to Harry, was a retired former law enforcement officer. His role had been similar to a special forces member in the muggle police forces. He had been trained by the best veterans of the Great War, in law enforcement. He was retired now and had not kept his skills from atrophying. It did little to temper his overwhelming experiential advantage.

Patrice was a different behemoth. A single shield breaker and simultaneous second spell weren't enough to break his defences. He could counter the second spells easily and his shields were far stronger.

He was cunning and far more dangerous, offensively than his undertrained daughter.

Harry began throwing different combinations at him. A shieldbreaker wasn't useful for anything beyond breaking shields. It was essentially a magical sledgehammer meant to blow through a shield but its effectiveness ended there. There was no versatility in the spell. Smash shields and wash over humans. They'd fallen out of favour because you could try and use a spell like bombarda and accomplish a similar feat, with lesser results, but if it broke through it would still be useful.

Salazar had him using it as one of the four for a very specific reason: it was identical to a stunner. It was a deception that had no real counter. If they didn't shield, or dodge, it could end things. If they did and it was just a shield breaker, it would eviscerate the shield or wash over the wizard. The key was ensuring the wand movements matched. Harry had been ceaselessly practising the spells and had minimized the wand movements so they looked exactly the same. It had the same effect as a baseball pitcher using the exact same delivery for their fastball and breaking ball. The same delivery at vastly different pitch speeds threw off batters and the results were similar here.

The difficult part for Monsieur Delacour was the tenacity of his opponent. Harry's constant attacks still came as quickly as he had thrown them at Fleur. He was out of shape, physically and magically, and tiring. He'd been tagged by two shield breakers and was thankful they weren't stunners. He'd been confident he could beat the younger man but hadn't known how seamlessly Harry could incorporate his exceptional defence into his potent offence. While he dodged, he fired accurate spells and when his shield dropped his blurred wand was immediately counter-attacking. It was hard to get him on his heels.

The longer the spar went on, the better Fleur felt. Her papa was far stronger than she was and she could tell even he was being taken down by Harry's harrying hailstorm.

Patrice needed to win now or he was going to lose on attrition. He was slowing down and wouldn't be able to continue to keep pace with the younger man.

The spells kept coming at a pace that seemed inhuman to have continued this long. The boy was a blur. The constant red spells were making it difficult, he had no tells to differentiate between them. The simple body bind and disarming charm were exceptionally quick spells to cast as well, thankfully they were not the same colour as the other two. It may be simple but it was damn effective.

Drenched in sweat, the elder man decided to call a draw. He didn't need to get stunned or see if the boy put enough power in a disarming charm to bodily throw him when his wand was ripped out of his hand. He also had other plans and wanted to stay fresh. He could pull out his top tier spells but it wouldn't be worth it. He could pull up a mage level shield and transfer it to his off-hand and then begin to use transfiguration to turn the duel. It would tire him out far more than he wished and he had seen more than enough now.

Patrice wanted to see how skilled the boy was. He had a relentless offence but could he seamlessly add in the defensive show he had just put on in the second duel? If he could, nobody his age would touch him. Without the catalyst of a war, the wizarding world grew lax.

This was not a true test of his capabilities. It was a charms duel. Transfiguration brought a whole new element. He could conjure up a solid wall and no longer need to use standard shields at all. He could conjure offensively, or defensively, and even if they were destroyed they would add a whole slew of easily transfigurable material into the duel. This wasn't the time to go all out, he wanted to gauge the boy and now he had. Much could be inferred by this showing.

Using his ability to control the wards in the home, Patrice raised a protective shield between them which stopped the duel.

"Very impressive." He commented, hoping neither realized he ended it to save face.

He was glad to see the boy just nodded and muttered something incomprehensible. His daughter had a different countenance now. She was fuming at her embarrassment but now she was looking at the Potter scion in a way a father never wished to see his precious daughter look at any person of the opposite sex, no matter how much he liked the young man. He fought off the grimace that tried to form on his face.

A small part of him, a tiny fraction that had as many iterations of zero as the number pi followed by the digit one, felt concerned for Harry Potter. Veela were not normal witches and had stronger instincts and he had first-hand experience being hunted by a bird of prey.

"There is a reason I asked you here today beyond visiting with my family and a friendly duel."

Harry had wondered why he was being invited here today. Fleur's note had an urgency to it. It was imperative to be here today and the very reason should be coming now. He was in Patrice Delacour's private study and was letting the man take control of the situation. He was interested, especially when Fleur mentioned their families had connections.

"Your grandfather and my father fought with the ICW against Grindelwald. Charlus and my pere were close friends after the war. We went on a holiday with the Potter family every summer. We had tried to keep the tradition going but were refused contact with you. Relations between England and France are rather cold."

Harry wasn't sure how he could really confirm or deny the story. It seemed credible and it sure would have beaten being at the Dursley home, even for just a short respite, but how could he trust it to be true?

Patrice had waited years to get Harry into his home and he was going to repay the aid the Potter family had given in previous generations.

"The United Kingdom did not officially participate in the war against Grindelwald. Your history books will tell you that Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald in some epic fight and everything ended with rainbows and fairies. The reality of that war still echoes across the continent. It was a long bloody war that had already turned against Grindelwald and his allies. Dumbledore may have stopped their leader from going on a bloody rampage but the rest of his forces were going to lose.

"Charlus Potter was one of the men that volunteered and fought under the ICW banner instead of a national army. He rose through the ranks quickly and captained his own squad. There are three ICW captains of renown from the war: Charlus Potter, Antoine Delacour and Dorea Black."

Seeing the shocked look he stopped here, just as he expected. He could see Harry was hanging on his every word.

"Antoine was my father, Charlus your grandfather and Dorea your grandmother." He smiled fondly before he continued as he recalled the grandparents of the boy in front of him. "Your grandparents married after the war. The bonds made in a time of war were forged and those three were as close as they could be."

He flicked his wand and a picture floated to Harry. A man with a strong resemblance to Patrice was on the right. A grizzled man with a thick black beard was in the middle with his two arms around the man on the right and the woman on the left. The woman was beautiful, in a fearsome way, not that it made sense to Harry. She had black hair tied up in a ponytail and elegant regal features.

"That is the three of them. This picture was taken when their division was discharged after the war had ended. It was taken right here at our estate. If you notice on the left, that is the seat you and Fleur sat in today."

Sure enough, he was right. The odd tree bench with two connected trees was there. Harry's fingers traced the images of his grandparents. He'd never seen them before and it was precious to him, as his photo album from Hagrid.

"That is for you to keep by the way. We have copies. One is displayed in this room." Harry followed the man's gaze to see there was a photo of them standing and laughing together. "There is another downstairs and another in the family wing. I wanted to reconnect our families as I know it would have been important to my father and I believe your family as well."

He had this one specifically for Harry. Fleur had told him he knew nothing of the Delacour family and therefore he would not know of their shared history. Harry held onto it with reverence.

"There is so much to tell you about your family and our shared history. I wanted to make it clear I, and the entire Delacour family, wish to help you. I'd like for you to be able to trust me and see me as the uncle I should have been for you. I'd like to advise you and for you to be close to my wife and daughters." He held his hand up to stop Harry from responding until he was able to get the final word in. "And I know it is not my choice for those to occur. I am espousing my desire and you can accept or reject them. You don't have to decide now either. I would like to be open with you and let you know where we stand."

There was an utterly serious face on the man as he spoke. He was sincere and had obviously had careful consideration in his actions. Harry could tell the man had planned this talk out delicately. He knew that as much as this was a meeting between two previously friendly families it was also the first meeting between the powerful Delacour patriarch and the rapidly rising Potter scion. The boy was already famous and recent results showed endless potential.

Harry chose not to respond verbally. He nodded and tried to keep his expression neutral. He felt he could trust the man at his word, that he was being honest and upfront, but he wasn't naive to think he could not be swindled.

Harry watched as the man opened a drawer and pulled out a number of file folders. He took the top one and handed it to Harry. "Please leaf through it."

Harry frowned as he wondered just what all this was.

There was a name on the folder he was handed.

His name was written on it.

He opened it up, hesitantly, and began to read.

Harry James Potter.

Date of Birth: July 31, 1980, Godric's Hollow.

Parents: James Potter & Lily Potter nee Evans.

Lineage: Potter, Peverell through Potter. Evans? (unknown).

Characteristics: Harry has been observed to be totally unfamiliar with the magical world. First-hand reports indicate he was muggle raised and unaware of magic prior to his eleventh birthday. The boy had perplexing characteristics. Quiet, shy, unconfident, emotionally immature…

"What the bloody hell is this!?" Harry demanded to know. He hadn't consciously done it but he was out of his chair and he drew his wand.

Patrice put up both of his hands in a gesture known far and wide to mean surrender.

"Harry, will you put away your wand?" His eyes flicked down to the wand in Harry's dominant hand before they returned to looking him in the eye. "I've brought this to your attention to inform you, as a gesture of goodwill." Though the man's hands were raised, he was ready to silently command the wards of his office to render the young man incapable of harming him.

Harry took in the man's posture and breathed deeply, centring himself. He was embarrassed that he was standing with his wand in his hand. He felt violated. The report in front of him had too much private information on the first page, and he'd only read the top part of the first page, and there might be a hundred in the folder for all he knew.

He put his wand back into his holster and sat back down. There was a sour expression on his face. Anger that yearned for release was boiling just below his skin, it did not abate. He was furious this was a long detailed report on him. He could see the table of contents on the inside of the file folder. He had started reading the general overview and executive summary component. There were multiple parts, including psychiatric evaluation and recommendations for interacting with him. He could see appendixes noted. There was a whole appendix for photographs of him and evidence for parts of the report.

"Harry" The elder man drew his attention when he spoke his name. "This is a report I wanted to make you aware of." He waited to make sure he had the teenage wizard's full attention before he continued. "There are powerful families that pay for these kinds of reports. It allows them to keep abreast of major players and important information about them. It is…" He paused and frowned. "Well it's not common at all levels but it is among the very elite of our society. Knowledge is power and if you can pay for these kinds of reports they can pay off handsomely."

Harry gave the man a tight nod and he sat rigidly. He wanted to know more before he reacted again. He beckoned the man to continue.

"You are already aware the Pavlova and Delacour families are acquainted through the Lacroix Ballet Academy. The Black, Pavlova and Delacour families have long been leaders within their spheres of influence. I know, for certain, all three receive this intelligence." He paused to let that sink in.

"From what I have heard, you seemed rather close and familiar with the youngest Pavlova, Natalia. Thought I cannot say unequivocally, I would bet a considerable fortune she has read, and would be familiar with, your file. May I ask you a few questions about your interactions with her?"

Harry took some time to respond. He did not want to talk about whatever was going on between him and Natalia. Yes, he wanted to date her but they hadn't discussed it. He really liked her and they got along so well. He wouldn't divulge anything he thought was private but it wouldn't hurt to answer some innocuous questions.

"Sure, though I may not answer at my own discretion." He responded with a cautious tone. He was seated further back in his chair, not in a position that showed he was fully comfortable though.

Patrice seemed to have expected that response and made nothing of it.

"When you met, was she shy and hard to get more than a few words out of?" He asked with a curious glint in his eyes.

Harry wasn't sure what to make of it and his thoughts were far from it. It may have been a lucky guess but it was rather spot on.

"Was she demure and somewhat plain looking?" He shrewdly moved on to the second question.

"What do you mean by plain?" Harry wanted clarification. He wasn't sure about plain, he remembered being blown away with how beautiful she was.

"She wasn't in anything fancy, her hair was kept plain, probably up in a messy way, and she would not have been dolled up with make-up. Unremarkable clothes that were of muggle origin too."

He hadn't noticed at the time but as he pictured their initial meeting, it was accurate. Her hair was up, she didn't have make-up and when they went to the park she was in muggle clothes, none of them were remarkable. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he tallied up all the correct guesses.

"Did she let you lead the conversation? Did she start out shy and insecure? Would you say it took emotional investment from you to get her to open up a bit?" He fired the questions off after reading some section of the paper.

The sinking feeling plummeted further. The details he was relaying were too eerily similar to what actually occurred. He didn't trust his vocal cords to function properly. He felt like his emotions were a mess. His anger was abating but a whole slew of new ones were swelling up inside him. A storm was about to be churned by the torrent he was flooded with as he answered with an incline of his head.

"I won't continue Harry. You deserve privacy and I can see you are already uncomfortable." Patrice saw the relieved look cross the young man's face. He had already guessed, accurately it would seem, that Natalia had used the recommendations in the briefing to get close to the boy. Ironically, his daughter had done the opposite by being haughty and unapproachable. Arrogance and any form of bullying would set off the boys guards quicker than he could dive for the snitch.

He took the file and turned it back towards the boy. "Read the recommendations section here."

Harry saw why the man had asked such jarring questions. It was a recommendation for how to successfully approach him with romantic notions based upon the compiled reports and understanding of him.

It read like a script of what their opening date was like. Be calm and reserved. Shy and demure. Plain and simple. Wealth, power, and arrogance will drive him away…..

His limited social skills will require patience. Allow him to draw you into conversation….

Fancy makeup, hairstyles and displays of wealth will drive him away…

He will not make the first move physically. He shies away from physical contact…..

The more he read the worse he felt. Had Natalia used this to get close to him? To make her like him?

"When you're ready, I'd like to discuss the Pavlova family with you. Natalia, her parents, siblings and family profile. It would be most beneficial to your circumstance…." He trailed off as he spoke letting the suggestion hang.

Patrice took the remaining file folders and spread them out in front of him.

"Ivan and Sylvia Pavlova." He said gesturing to the two files immediately in front of him. "The head of the family and his wife. They oversee the big picture for the family and set the overall strategy." He didn't have time to consider it as Monsieur Delacour moved on right away. Harry's attention was drawn to the two beside it. "Sasha and Elena Pavlova. Sasha is the eldest and married a Bulgarian bride. They are responsible for their Bulgarian holdings."

Harry saw just how much information was contained when he opened it up. Their table of contents was far greater than his own had been. The file was many times larger as well. Even the wife, Elena, had a larger folder than his own.

"Hans is the second oldest and runs the family affairs in Germany, along with his wife Lea. Though the family is strongest in Bulgaria, they have extensive sway in parts of Germany." Harry was now beginning to understand the kind of power and reach this family might have. It explained why Lacroix was hesitant to even introduce him to Natalia in the first place.

"Next we have Igor and his Russian bride Yulia. Though Magical Russia is still rather desolate, they run that theatre of the family operations. The Pavlova family hailed from Russia. When Tsar Nicholas II was overthrown, wizards were hunted and killed off if they had not fled the country."

That was quite a bit of information to unpack. He recalled a Tsar from his muggle classes but it was hard to recall more than mere minute details from those classes. If his memory was advising him correctly, the event would have taken place around the First World War. Patrice moved onto the final pair that he had laid out for him.

"Maria, Natalia's older sister. She married Klaus Ehrhoff. It was a shrewd pairing to further consolidate their political prestige and economic interests in Germany."

Patrice waited until he garnered the boy's full attention again. "As you can see, the family is not one you can just waltz into with a casual dinner invite from a girl who has caught your eye. You need to read Natalia's file and familiarize yourself with it." He had been talking to Harry as if he was briefing or lecturing him in politics. He broke from this to make his final point.

"I've never met Natalia. I cannot say if she genuinely is interested in you nor do I know if it was a machination of her family. I believe you need to have your eyes opened and have all the facts so you can make informed decisions. You will find our two families are not on the best of terms. And that brings me to another matter I wanted to do in person."

He dropped his hand below the height of the desk and when he brought it back up there was an envelope in his hand. He handed it to Harry without comment. Harry saw it was addressed to him and opened it up. It was an elegant and elaborate invitation to the Delacour Ball. Harry noticed the date: Dec 27th. It was scheduled for tomorrow night.

"The ball is typically held on Yule. As Fleur would not have been able to attend, we moved it to the 27th. I have tried to owl you an invite ever year only for all of them to fail to be delivered, it was no different this year. I hope you will be able to attend on short notice. If you wished to bring Natalia Pavlova, I will not raise an issue even though the Pavlova family has long been barred from attendance."

Harry rose his eyes to look back at the man, pulling his eyes off the flashy invitation. "Why are they barred?"

Patrice sighed and had a melancholic look to him as he explained. "You were at the World Cup, yes?" When he received Harry's non-verbal affirmation he continued, "Bulgaria and France make up the two predominant areas for veela. You may find them in other countries but almost all of them are situated in one of the two countries. Since the fall of Russia's magical world, many of their policies have slipped into Bulgaria. France and Bulgaria used to both recognize veela as humans with magical traits and not as second class citizens, as inhuman creatures. Veela are protected and treated like any other wizard or witch in France. Bulgaria was that way until earlier this century. The small-mindedness from Russia insidiously crept into their legislation and since Grindelwald's rise, they have been classified as creatures. The Pavlov family was a part of it."

Harry saw the man looked tired and somewhat saddened as he educated him. It was either a very good act or genuine emotion for a topic he was passionate about. As Harry was learning, it was very difficult to understand another's true motivations. He'd thought Natalia was totally genuine but now he had no idea.

Patrice sighed before he finished his explanation. "When you are married to a veela and have two veela daughters, you'll find you can't imagine letting someone treat them as second class citizens. To call them inhuman and degrade them for their lineage. The Pavlova family was a part of the Russian nobility that left after the fall of their Tsar. They openly supported Grindelwald until they turned on him at the very end of the war. Even now, in the ICW, they do their best to block legislation that would require member nations to recognize all veela as equals with ordinary wizards and witches. And I will not let those kinds of people into my home for a festive celebration." There was an underlying strength carried in his tone, steel tempered with adamant resolve.

"And you're willing to let me bring Natalia if I wished?" After hearing just how the man spoke about the issue, he wanted to be 100% sure.

Harry watched as he took a moment to think through his response. "I'd prefer you would find another date or take Fleur, but, I'd rather have you there. I can also admit I do not know if she is like her parents. She's a bit of a quandary. Some reports indicate she may be held in poor esteem by her family and others show she is another Pavlova… I'd like to advise you but I won't make decisions for you. Support not dictate."

It felt sincere and it seemed real.

But was it?

Harry wasn't sure exactly how he'd found his way here. He'd left Patrice Delacour's office and made his way out to the garden. Apolline was assisting Gabrielle with her nightly routine and Patrice had stayed behind to complete some work he had neglected earlier, or so he said.

He wanted to get outside and think. The fresh air and beautiful scenery felt like a balm to his troubled mind. He was so out of his league.

He let his mind wander. There was too much he was unsure about in his world: Voldemort, Slytherin, Dumbledore, Pavlova, Delacour, Sirius, Weasleys, Hermione…. The list just grew all the time. The thing he missed the most about being an orphan was not having someone in your corner as parents were supposed to be unconditionally supportive. He knew not all were but it didn't stop him longing for it.

Unbidden, his feet took him down the same path he'd taken with Fleur earlier in the day. He found her sitting in the same seat they had occupied earlier.

"'Arry, did papa send you to fetch little ol' moi?" She flashed him a sultry smile, she readied herself to rise and go with him.

"No, err… I was just trying to think… and I just kind of walked here?" He sounded unsure, because he was. He'd been totally caught up in his own thoughts and heedless of where he was going.

"Oh" Her smile brightened at the passing thought he may have sought her out intentionally. "Feel free to sit zen 'arry. Anything I could help with?" Her accent was really mild but she seemed to always accentuate his name with a strong french twist. She patted the seat beside her, to beckon him to sit.

Harry did not want to talk to her about who was and was not trustworthy. The gorgeous girl was still a puzzle to him.

"Did you keep your replica dragon?" He did not think anyone else had a 'Cuddles' type miniature dragon. The model he was given at the actual task had been rendered back into a rock.

"I kept it in my room. Ze charms have worn off but I thought it was a good keepsake, non?"

Harry had sat beside her and any gap between them was closed right away. Their hips and legs now touched but she wasn't making a move on him, not this time anyway.

"Yes, I kept mine as well. How long did your charms last?" It was the ritual. He'd messed it up, that much was clear already. He should never have been in such pain according to the book. Having a sentient magical creature, as a result, was another obvious clue.

Harry looked off into the distance. The air was crisp but not too cool. He wondered if there were some environmental charms at work, regulating the temperature.

He hadn't given his little buddy much time the past couple days. He'd been so busy with the ball he'd neglected her. He was certain he would pay for it. The little gremlin would punish him for his gall of ignoring him. With his now closed eyes, he could very well picture the horntail. Though he would never admit it to the blasted beast, Harry enjoyed the comfort and the familiar presence in his lair. Working on his magical skills was gruelling and having Cuddles around was comforting.

He breathed in the fresh air and felt content. His life wasn't perfect but he was happy with where it was trending.

He'd soundly beaten Fleur today. He knew Patrice could have crushed him. He kept it a simple game of checkers. He could have added many layers of complexity to their fight and not even been gracious to allow the ceasefire. Harry wouldn't call it a draw, the man would have beat him if he'd wanted to. He knew the man was powerful and incredibly competent. It was still a more than satisfactory display. He could sleep soundly with his showing.

Something jostled him from his musings. Harry opened his eyes with a start. Fleur was crouched in front of him and shaking his shoulder.

"'arry! Wake up!" She had both of her hands on his shoulders and rocked his body backwards and forwards, trying to jerk him back to consciousness.

"I'm awake! Err… why are you shaking me?" He was startled and confused. Wasn't he just talking to her? If she'd said something he would have noticed. He'd only close his eyes for a minute.

"You didn't answer. Papa called us in and you didn't answer. Zen I tried to get your attention but you were asleep?" She was exasperated and worried about him. He shouldn't have zoned out, nor fallen asleep, so quickly, if that's what happened.

He was as confused as he sounded. "Oh, I didn't hear you? I was… just thinking."

He saw the change in her face and knew he'd left an easy opening for her to tease him. "Well, I did ask if you'd accompany me to our family ball. Thinking of little ol' moi?" The predatory glint in her eye dared him to contradict her.

No chance he was going to open up that can of worms right now. "Oh, did you ask me?"

"You really didn't hear me ask?" She frowned, whether it was due to his avoidance of the question or his lack of hearing her he could not tell, it may have been both or something else too. Who knew what went on in a woman's head.

"No. Did you know your father permitted me to ask Natalia to come?" He was comfortable with Natalia, well somewhat less now. He would not be solely on his own as Natalia would be on her own together with him.

He saw the pout on her face and did not let it affect him.

"Are you sure you'd not go wiz moi?" She asked. The two were up and walked arm-in-arm again as they headed back toward the Delacour home.

"I don't feel right taking her as a date to something on the 25th and then going with another girl two days later." It was a half-truth similar to how Headmaster Dumbledore spoke. He smirked, a little, at the thought.

From the expression Fleur gave, she was aware it was a half-truth.

"Are you sure you can trust her?" He could see how she was trying to undermine their relationship. She wasn't taking a shot at her rival. Instead, she was planting seeds of doubt.

It was a question he was asking himself already.

Could he trust Natalia?

Moreover, who could he trust?

It felt like the only one who he could trust was himself.