Albus Dumbledore's latest dilemma was one of the most troubling that he'd ever had to face in all his years.
He'd not slept properly in more than three weeks now, and a large part of his insomnia was contributed to by a festering guilt. He'd made many mistakes in his long life, and unfortunately, simply because of who he was and the number of people that depended on him, each of his mistakes had cost him dearly.
But again, none had come as close to the one he'd made on that Halloween night.
When Voldemort had visited the Potters to kill the child that could become his greatest enemy, he'd left a mark on each of the one year old twins. It had landed on Albus to judge which one was to be Britain's saviour and judging from the magic emanating from the twins, one calm and soothing while the other dark and angry, one cheerful with waves of hope emanating from his self while the other brooding and visibly unhappy, he'd declared John Potter as the boy who had survived the Killing Curse.
He winced once more when he realized how over-confident he'd been when he'd relayed the news to John's parents. They'd been surprised, ecstatic and anxious simultaneously and not for the first time, Albus wished that he'd left his interference in the Potter family at simply that. But he hadn't.
James and Lily had been proud and hard working members of The Order of the Phoenix, and like always, were dependent on his good advice from time to time.
It had all started with one evening when he'd come to their manor in Wales as one of his regular visits to his favourite former students. When he'd asked to see the children, Lily had casually mentioned that the twins were visiting their Aunt Petunia in Surrey and the sisters were sleeping upstairs. Through that conversation, he'd come to know of the existence of Lily's little sister who had married a muggle man by the name of Vernon and had a son who were the same age as John and Harry. Later, when the twins had come home, John had bemoaned that he'd hated his Aunt and her strange muggle home and didn't ever want to go there again. When Harry was asked to offer his opinion, he'd simply nodded and quietly said, 'The house looked a bit too clean, but otherwise okay'. The Potter parents had laughed and John had made fun of him but Harry had humorously endured it all. Then Albus had then mentioned some of the Ministry events that the Potters should be attending. James and Lily had been hesitant to do so but he'd assured them that it was a meet and greet they should not miss. Forming strong relationships with both the Light and Neutral families was important in this time when Lord Voldemort had been reduced to a mere wandering soul without any influence and they'd eventually agreed. Looking at the twins, he'd seen that while John had perked up at the sound of a party, Harry had glared and left the table to go read in his room. That night, as he was leaving the Potter household, Albus had had a terrible idea.
But he hadn't needed to act on his idea for almost a year. Harry had somehow taken to visiting his Aunt often and even spending some weekends there while John refused to have to do anything with the muggle family. That alone was a promising thing according to Albus, for what he was going to be mentioning to the Potter parents. But it had still not been as radical as the one he'd eventually suggested to James and Lily.
Initially, his plan had been to suggest that Harry be given more opportunities to spend his time away from his twin if he so wanted to, simply because John's fame could be a hard thing to get used to for him. Fame also had a way of causing irreparable cracks in the deepest of relationships, and for some reason, Albus had never noticed that great of a bond between the twins as he was used to seeing in twin children that usually attended Hogwarts under his care. James and Lily had easily agreed to his suggestion, saying that Harry liked spending time with his sisters more than he did with John anyway.
It was when a few weeks later when John had gained enough notoriety to be obligated to show his face at some important summer galas held by important families, Albus had one day suggested his idea to let Harry spend the summer with his Aunt in order to quell the jealousy and bitterness that he may otherwise develop. James and Lily had been unsure and he'd departed the Potter household on amicable terms, saying that he wouldn't mind if they didn't act on his advise as they knew their children better than he did anyway. The Potter parents had bid him goodbye and that day, he'd never expected that his relationship with them was soon going to be soured forever.
"Oh, how wrong was I, Fawkes," Albus murmured to his faithful companion who was peering at him intently with his beady grey eyes. "How so very wrong."
The phoenix let out a trill that was somehow neither comforting nor distressing in feeling. Albus chuckled to himself, remembering his many failings.
"I never understood what happened after I left, my friend," he said over his half-moon glasses, "James and Lily were not going to be acting on my advise, I had determined that much from their surface thoughts quite easily. But somehow, Harry had still left to go live at the Dursley home for the summer and then never returned to his family again."
Fawkes shook his head and fluttered his wings to come stand on the desk. This time, he trilled a long and mournful tune.
"I wish they had talked to me," Albus said, waving his fingers through the red-gold feathers of his companion, "I wish I knew what happened after I left."
That was the most glaring mistake of his life, perhaps even greater than the one he'd made when he'd proclaimed the wrong twin to be the Boy-Who-Lived.
And now, Albus thought morosely, the twin that he'd unjustifiably scorned was the man on which the entire country, perhaps even the entire continent, had put its faith to defend them from the greatest and most terrible Dark Lord to have ever lived.
"What am I to do, Fawkes?" he said to himself, "Harry is going to be resuming his education soon. Should I approach him then? Or should I approach James and Lily and ask for their forgiveness first?"
Not for the first time in his life, Albus wished there was someone on whom he could depend on for advise. Normally, the entire world wanted his advise on one thing or another, but he? He had no one to turn to.
The chaos that had already descended upon them was only beginning, after all. Britain was already on the brink of an emergency, The ICW had straight up refused to sound an alert to all member nations, and not for the first time, he wondered whether Tom had somehow managed to rope in the Heads of other countries in his movement as well. But that was still speculation at best, because he'd waited to proof but to no avail. Whatever Tom was up to, he was being too cunning to leave behind evidence of his shenanigans. Normally, he'd adopt a wait and watch policy, but somehow, he felt that he'd exhausted his patience with these things. Just like the Dark Lord that had taken Europe by storm some fifty years ago, Tom Riddle had become too dangerous to be left alone for any amount of time. He had to be fought on equal grounds, both politically and magically. And fate had decreed that only one wizard had the power and skill and the destiny to do so.
Once again, his thoughts circled back to the Potter child who he'd done the most injustice to. Harry Potter had stayed a quiet kid, who had gone on to become bitter and scornful of his family, and then unexpectedly reconciled and come out as the real Boy-Who-Lived, and Albus was left to ponder as to how he'd not identified the burgeoning young man who had been attending his school for three years. Had he been so blind to have put all his faith in John Potter, and so utterly ignorant of the other twin who had almost faded into obscurity in Slytherin?
He wished he had the answer to these questions. But getting these answers meant reconciling with the Potter family, and gaining the trust of Harry Potter. The fates had been truly cruel to him in his case because the one Potter he had ignored the most had ended up becoming the most important one of them all.
Realizing that pondering over the matter any longer wasn't going to be any helpful, he rolled up the small bunch of missives that he'd written for reviving his old group and held it out to Fawkes.
"Will you do the honours, old friend?" he asked as the majestic phoenix chirped his acknowledgement and flamed away in a flash to deliver them to the intended recipients.
Standing up, he left his office to go meet Hagrid and take his mind off the distressing topics. His friend was busy preparing a pocket in the Forbidden forest for use by the upcoming Tournament officials, and although it was a daunting task to be amidst so many unknown and dangerous beings, Hagrid had agreed easily, almost too easily. and Albus was eager to see how he was faring.
"Good afternoon, Hagrid."
The gentle half-giant looked from where he was tending to a tree bark with his umbrella and smiled.
"Professor Dumbledore!" he exclaimed happily. "How are yeh, sir? Have a look here sir."
Albus walked nearer to see a few tiny creatures with mossy, green skin within the small hole in the bark of the tree. "Who are these, Hagrid?" he asked curiously. These looked too small to be dangerous, at least from the first glance.
Hagrid beamed at him. "They are Bark Buddies sir," he explained, "real, gentle souls. They mostly keep to themselves, livin' right under the outer bark, like they're part o' the tree itself. They don't bother nobody, just nibble on the sweet sap – keeps the tree healthy, some say, like a natural sort o' cleanin' crew for the bark."
"Were they here before? I believe I haven't noticed them, not that I venture out here often."
Hagrid shook his head. "No sir, I think they're new! They're shy though, real shy. Takes a keen eye and a gentle heart to even spot one."
"They seem harmless," Albus said, looking at the bunch of them burrowing into the bark, making small mewing noises. Their large, gentle, amber eyes that seemed to glow faintly in dim light of the forest.
"They are. They ain't got no real magical powers, not in the flashy sense, but they got a real peaceful sort o' magic about 'em. I reckon the trees they live in are always a bit happier, a bit stronger, yeh know? Never heard o' anyone tryin' to hurt 'em – wouldn't sit right, would it? Such tiny, peaceful things. Always felt like they were a good sign, seein' a Bark Buddy, meant the woods were healthy and happy."
"I'm glad," Albus nodded, "so would you say that this clearing is ready for occupancy?"
Hagrid nodded quickly. "Right sir. Aye, it's all set. Cleared out the Snargaluffs – nasty business that was, had to lure 'em away with pickled slugs. And I've charmed the ground so it'll stay dry, even if it rains somethin' awful. Put up them sturdy benches like you asked, and even made a little stand for… well, for whatever bits o' official business they need doin'. Hope it's alright, Professor. Didn't want to… well, didn't want to muck it up, not with the Ministry officials comin' and all."
"That's perfect, my friend, thank you for being so prompt with the demands," Albus complimented the man.
"It was no problem, Professor," Hagrid replied somewhat bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not like I 'ad much on me plate this week. Kept meself busy."
Albus looked out across the clearing, the afternoon sun glinting gently through the trees that bordered the space. It was charming in a rustic way—perfect for the quieter Ministry arrangements that would need to be conducted away from the chaos of the castle when the Tournament began.
"I must say, my friend," he said at length, "it is good to see you so calm amid the storm. The entire Wizarding World is in disarray, and yet you carry on."
Hagrid gave a small shrug. "Well, sir… always been that way, ain't it? World goes mad every few years. When you've got acromantulas to feed and thestrals to brush, you don't get much time to go frettin' about Dark Lords."
A soft chuckle escaped Albus, the corners of his eyes creasing faintly. But it quickly faded, as his gaze turned distant.
"He was so young, Hagrid," Albus murmured, almost to himself. "That boy… Riddle. And yet, in front of all those people, he wielded power as though he were born for it."
Hagrid's brow furrowed. "Aye. He looked like a prince, didn't he? All fancy and smooth like. But I saw the way he was lookin' down at everyone. Like we were insects. Gives me the bloody chills, sir."
"I was struck," Albus said, voice low, "not just by what he did—but by how easily the crowd turned. They cheered him on, Hagrid. Even as our wards collapsed, and the thousands unaccounted-for wizards materialized, they applauded."
Hagrid grunted. "Folk always did like flash. Same in my school days. Always go for the shine before they know what's beneath."
Albus nodded quietly. Then, after a pause, he turned, his voice more tentative now.
"Do you know, Hagrid… there was a time when I could say, with confidence, that I knew every child in this school. Their fears, their dreams, the things that made them tick. And yet… I realise I hardly know Harry Potter at all."
Hagrid glanced over, frowning. "You've always kept an eye on him, haven't you?"
"To a degree," Albus admitted. "But not as I did with his brother. John was… very visible. Talented, boisterous, occasionally reckless. There were so many people telling me to look at him. And so I did."
"And Harry?" Hagrid asked.
"Quiet. Unassuming. His professors always said he was clever, but he never drew attention. He walked behind his brother, in the shadow of a legend. Now I wonder if I've failed him."
There was silence for a moment as Hagrid picked up a large branch and tossed it into the nearby cart.
"He's not angry, y'know," Hagrid said suddenly. "Not at you, not even at his parents I think. Least, not that I've seen. Just quiet. Thinks a lot."
Albus watched him. "You've spent time with him?"
"Aye," Hagrid said. "Not as much as I'd like, but enough. He's helped me now and then in the Forest. Likes the creatures. Doesn't say much, but he listens. Makes you feel heard too, if you get me."
Albus folded his hands behind his back and exhaled slowly.
"He's a good kid, sir," Hagrid added, more firmly now. "Bit too serious sometimes. But good. Thoughtful. There's summat in him. Fire."
There was something raw in Hagrid's voice now, and Albus turned to look at him properly. The half-giant hesitated.
"Can I tell you something I ain't told anyone, Professor?"
Albus inclined his head. "Of course."
Hagrid's voice dropped, his gaze fixed on the edge of the clearing. "Back in Harry's second year. When that business with the Chamber happened. Spiders goin' mad, all that."
Albus nodded slowly. "Yes. I remember the chaos."
"Well, the night John and Ron flew the car into the Forest," Hagrid said, "I… I may have called it."
Albus blinked. "You called the car?"
Hagrid gave a sheepish grin. "Well, the old girl was still wanderin' in the woods after what happened in their second year. I'd gone lookin' for her, seein' as how the forest was restless. Found her. And I… charmed her to go fetch the boys. Sort of. Gave her a push, if you will."
"Why?"
"Because Harry asked me to," Hagrid said simply. "Just… he looked at me, and asked if I could help his brother and Ron. Said they were in trouble. I didn't ask questions. I saw it in his eyes."
Albus stood silently, processing this.
"He didn't want any credit," Hagrid continued. "Didn't want anyone knowin' he was involved. Just wanted to make sure his brother got out safe."
There was a long pause. Albus's fingers tightened slightly on his cane.
"I did not know," he murmured.
"No one does. He never said a word about it after. But I remember. I've never forgotten it."
They stood together in silence, the air humming faintly with distant birdsong.
Albus looked pensive now, his gaze on the canopy above.
"Perhaps," he said quietly, "the quiet ones are the ones we should be watching most carefully."
"Aye," Hagrid agreed, smiling slightly. "Funny thing, isn't it? How you can miss someone even when they're right there."
The silence stretched again, companionable this time.
Finally, Albus sighed and gave Hagrid's arm a gentle pat.
"Thank you, Hagrid. For the clearing, and for the story. You've given me something important to consider."
Hagrid flushed. "Just doin' what I can, sir."
As Albus turned to leave, his steps a little slower than before, he felt the weight of new awareness settling over him. He had underestimated Harry Potter, and now, the fate of the world might rest on the boy he barely knew.
He knew he had work to do.
He had to go ahead and extend the olive branch to the Potters, and he had to do it quickly. He had to take charge of the movement against the Darkness once again, or at least do his part with his Order, and most important of all, he had to meet with Harry and discuss some important things with him.
~~ .
Fleur Delacour didn't remember when was the last time she'd spent so long in front of the mirror.
The flutterings in her chest—of both nervousness and excitement—refused to die as she stared back at her reflection. The girl—no, the woman that looked back at her was one of the most beautiful and sought-after witches of France. Her father was the Director of the DMLE, she was two-time Under-17 duelling finalist and to top all of that, she was also a Veela. If not for her achievements or connections, her beauty alone was enough to open any door she wanted in the wizarding world. She'd always thought herself to be a powerful and skillful witch. For as long as she could remember, Beauxbatons had been full of witches who were jealous of her and wizards who wanted her. The power she wielded over her school was something of a prideful thing for her, and she revelled in it.
But now, after having done her part, albeit a small one, in fighting against the most dangerous and terrible Dark Lord of all time, she understood what power truly meant.
She'd never been overtly boastful of her beauty. While it was nice to be so appreciated by the opposite sex, its novelty had quickly become tiresome and tedious when at the age of fourteen, she'd gained her first maturity. Up until that point, her friends had been few and far-in-between, and most of them only sought her friendship for political reasons. After her maturity, when her beauty had begun to eclipse every witch in the school, she'd been completely shunned by them and as a result, her tiny circle of friends had become even smaller.
The annual duelling championships had always been a great way for her to showcase both her abilities and her superiority to the witches and wizards whose memory had turned to ash during the year and desperately needed a reminder of staying away from her. When she returned to school in September, it was always fun to see their seething faces and helpless demeanours. It's not like they had any option other than to accept defeat to her superiority.
For the ones who didn't learn the easy way, there was always her father who could make any problem go away by teaching their families a lesson as to who wielded the power in France.
"Fleur! Don't you dare tell me that you still aren't ready!"
Shaking her head slightly at the voice, Fleur rose from her chair after a long, lingering glance at her reflection and donned her coat. Yes, that will have to do as she waited for her saviour to grace her with his presence as she went back to France.
Her saviour, or rather, the entire world's new hero, who was due to see them off to Beauxbatons.
Somehow, he'd convinced her mother to let her stay at the Black residence for a couple weeks to recuperate after she had come close to exhausting her magic at the World Cup Finals. It had been a nice but short speech that he'd given to her and her worried mother, and since her father wasn't here to object anyway, the word of Harry Potter had been taken as law and they'd all decided to take a mini vacation here in England.
Not that her father would've been too influential if he'd been present anyway. Somehow, Fleur thought that even her father, who was one of the strictest, toughest and most ruthless man she knew, would've been hard pressed to look Harry Potter in the eyes and demand an emergency portkey to France from his super busy godmother who was dealing with the aftermath of the death and destruction left in the wake of the Finals.
"Fleur, what in the Merlin's name are yo—"
The door burst open to reveal one of the most dangerous witches she knew.
"Lost in his thoughts, are we?" Claire teased as she crossed the width of the room in purposeful strides. "Don't worry, he'll be arriving soon. He did promise, you know."
Even though her beauty was nothing special, her power was unquestionably greater than her own and there was a time when it had grated on Fleur every second of every day and kept her continuously angry. But that had lessened to a small, lingering jealousy when she'd had the opportunity to talk to her in her fifth year. Claire was a year younger than her, and so like her in circumstances, close to friendless if it hadn't been for their mutual acquaintance at the school who had unknowingly gotten them to meet and develop a sort of accord in the face of similar struggles. Claire's father was one of the best Aurors in the department, and even her own father, who was a taskmaster at heart, had nothing bad to say about Mathieu Gauthier. No, Sebastian Delacour mostly avoided the name of Mathieu Gauthier if and when it came up in conversation. Somehow, Fleur got the feeling that her father didn't like Claire's father although she didn't have any evidence to support it.
Fleur sniffed, taking her small luggage and striding out of her room. "There are lots of things on my mind. Harry Potter is only one of them."
"Sure, sure," Claire said in English and rolled her eyes in her usual knowing manner as they began to descend down the stairs.
Even her English speaking skills were much greater than Fleur's own and it annoyed her. Then again, never in a million years had she ever thought that she would be remotely interested in a wizard hailing from this wet and gloomy island.
Her mother was waiting for her in the parlour and hugged her quickly, her eyes having a knowing glint within them that almost made her throw her hands up in dismay. Somehow, she, Fleur Delacour, was stuck in between two annoyingly perceptive witches who were too nosy and too stubborn to let go of something that had entered their mind.
"So beautiful, my daughter," her mother praised.
"Maman," Fleur sighed, "We'll be late. Let's just go."
Her mother shook her head. "He told us to wait for him before activating the portkey. I think we can afford our gracious host a little leeway for not being here early."
"I know he's busy, maman," Fleur persisted, feeling slightly uncomfortable. A large part of her wanted to meet him as they left while the other, shy and anxious part resisted. "That is why I am saying, let's go. I can leave a note for him that it's okay and we left early."
Her mother smiled. "Why? You don't want to say thank you to him?"
Fleur gulped. That was the problem, wasn't it? She had no idea what she'd do or say if she was in his presence again.
"I do, but I can say that in my note too." she answered, though not so convincingly.
"Absolute rubbish!" came Claire's voice from behind her, "you're dying to see him again."
Fleur huffed. She was once again slightly jealous of how much closer the younger witch was to Harry Potter.
"No, I am not. I'm just being practical. He's busy meeting with the Minister herself. His meeting could take longer and I don't want to inconvenience him!" she protested.
Her mother exchanged an amused glance with Claire and Fleur suddenly felt alone, too alone, in her dilemma and her anxiety in facing the wizard who had almost single-handedly saved the country from being taken over by the Dark Lord. Ever since the Disobedience Day, she'd seen him once or twice in the Grimmauld Place, and had shared a meal or two with him as well, but never exchanged more than a dozen words in greetings. It was always Claire or her mother who was the most talkative with him. Somehow, her intuition told her that Harry Potter didn't like her that much. But she could be wrong, as she had been in a lot of things, ever since the day he'd soundly and humiliatingly defeated her in the semi-finals of the duelling championships.
"Fleur, I know that—" began her mother but she cut her off.
"Where's Gabby?" she asked in a hurry, her feet taking her in the direction of the kitchen her little sister so liked to get comfortable in. Somehow, she had become quiet friendly with the old Kreacher the house elf and loved to demand coffee and snacks whenever she could and the elf served her with a smile. Looking at the elf, Fleur didn't think the elf was in the habit of smiling that often, with how strange and frankly, demented his face looked whenever he tried to do so for her little sister.
"Gabby!" she called out which her sister answered.
She walked in to find Gabrielle sitting on her favourite chair with her feet up and folded about on the seat, nursing a pastry.
"Gabby," Fleur sighed, "put that down and let's go. It is time."
Her sister pouted. "But he hasn't come yet! He promised me he'll come to see me off!"
Fleur's eyes widened in surprise. "He who?"
Gabby rolled her eyes in a huff. "The Boy-Who-Lived, of course. He's so sweet and handsome…" she trailed off, taking a bite of the delicious looking dessert. "I really want to see him again."
Fleur sat down beside her. "Gabby, when did you talk to him? When did he promise you that?"
Her sister adopted a dreamy look. "He found me once in here and we talked. I was a bit scared of him but he smiled and told me that he'll always protect me and then he said—oh, Fleur! He's so nice! I like him very much."
Fleur sat there stunned in a mixture of anger and exasperation. How did Harry Potter find time for everyone except her? And most importantly, how was it that her little sister had met and talked to him more than her? It was so unfair! And annoying!
"Regardless, Gabby," Fleur insisted, clearing her throat, "I think we need to leave. Harry must be busy and we're going to—"
"HARRY!" Gabby shrieked and jumped off her chair as she ran.
"Wha—" Fleur barely had time to register before she saw him standing at the entrance to the kitchen, and encased within his arms was her excited little sister.
For someone who was three years her junior, he looked annoyingly handsome and his magic heavy and impenetrably dense. He bore a fond smile as he hugged Gabrielle, and even picked her eight year old self up in his arms as she continued to chatter away nonstop, making him laugh.
He did all of that while barely sparing Fleur a glance, and then he turned and walked out of the room with her sister.
Fleur swallowed the lump in her throat.
She was right. Harry really didn't like her for some reason and she was too interested in avoiding it and him altogether than finding out that reason.
But now, she took a deep breath and followed them anyway. It was time to leave this country for good.
In hindsight, she'd had no idea that she'll be back here in no more than a month's time.