AFiF 4, Chapter 28: The End Draws Near

XXVIII. The End Draws Near

Fwoosh.

Pillars of marble surrounded him. Harry’s jaw clenched as he returned his invitational card to his pocket, glancing around.

He was in a large, gilded room. Gold and ivory stretched on for as far as the eye could see, a number of well-kept fireplaces lining either side. Harry inspected the room carefully.

This must be the -

“Er - sir?”

Harry turned. A tall, thin man stood before him, adorned in what could only be a waiter’s robes. A polite smile concealed bright blue eyes bathed in bewilderment.

“You - you are here for the gala, no?” the man asked curtly.

Harry nodded slowly. The man paused, his eyes darting to a few younger waiters by the room’s end. He quickly replaced his confusion with an easy smile, holding out a hand.

“Might I offer you a change of robes?” he suggested. Harry followed his gaze to find the other waiters holding a crisp white wizarding suit.

What?

The hem of his ratty robes flickered in the corner of his eye. Realisation slipped over Harry like a particularly warm blanket.

Oh . . . of course.

“Evanesco,” Harry murmured, idly brushing his wand over his chest. The decrepit robes he’d worn to Knockturn Alley vanished, replaced by the elegant robes he’d worn below. Across from him, the waiter sighed with relief before laughing heartily.

“Of course,” the man smiled. He placed a gentle hand atop Harry’s left shoulder, “You had me worried there for a moment, my lord.”

“Sorry,” said Harry politely. He cleared his throat, “Could you point out where I’m meant to go?”

He watched as the waiter spun around, his finger pointed at two tall, narrow doors at the hall’s end.

“Just through there, sir. You’ll find that most guests have already arrived. You are fashionably late.”

Shocker.

Harry thanked the man with a quick smile before setting off. His fingers combed nervously through his hair as he paced, his mind and heart still racing from the culmination of his earlier adventure.

Dead. The vampire’s definitely dead.

The vague outline of a pale-skinned woman slipped before his mind’s eye. Blood dribbled from sharp, pointed teeth.

She was only trying to help me.

Harry forced the unease out of his mind, straightening up. He silently stepped through the large double doors. His jaw dropped.

The foyer, he’d thought, had been rather large. As such, the main hall was simply unimaginable. A hundred gilded diamond tables were scattered about the room, entrapped by four walls and a floor made of pure marble. A golden sun and silver moon hung overhead, glistening in the way that only unalloyed metals could.

Mad.

The people beneath them seemed to take the absurd display of opulence as something of a challenge. Each was dressed to the nines, glistening with gemstones Harry was almost positive he could not afford. A hollow pit grew in his chest as he continued to look around. He felt rather out of place.

“What Petunia wouldn’t give to see this . . .”

His lips curled with distaste. Frowning, Harry stepped further into the room, eyeing the crowd for familiar faces. It didn’t take long to find some.

“Harry!” Aurore cried, waving him over. She was adorned in an emerald dress, surrounded by people seemingly their age, “Harry, over here!”

Harry smiled, hurrying over to her. He ignored the many eyes that tracked him as he went.

“Aurore,” Harry smiled as he drew closer. With the distance shortened, the identities of her table-mates became clear, “Bardot, Helene. You three look lovely.”

Hélène and Aurore smiled cheerfully. To Harry’s slight amusement, Bardot seemed annoyed. She held her head in her hands.

“Go away, Potter,” Adeline Bardot’s voice was little more than a whisper, “The last thing I need is for my mother to see me with you.”

Harry blinked.

“What? Why?”

Hélène and Aurore exchanged glances.

“It’s not your fault, really,” Hélène assured him, “Lady Bardot’s just a bit wary of all Hogwarts students after - well, you know . . .”

Harry stared at her impatiently.

“Well?”

“The golden fiendfyre, you dingbat” Bardot reminded him irritably, “Mother’s under the impression that hanging around Hogwarts students might get me killed.”

Oh.

“Well, I suppose I’ll be on my way,” Harry murmured, “The last thing I need is more people to deal with.”

He smiled at the other two. Aurore smiled back.

“While we’re on the subject,” she started, “Cerise was looking for you. She wants to introduce you to her family.”

Harry almost choked. Bardot snorted.

“I - she what?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing to stress yourself over,” said Hélène almost placatingly, “They’re alright, the Rosiers. You’ll be fine.”

“I - I will?”

Bardot looked unimpressed.

“Probably not,” she decided aloud, “But there’s only really one way to find out, so might as well get to it.”

With that, the girl returned her head to her hands, dropping her fingers only to pluck cheese from the platter resting before her. Harry sighed. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Cerise is, would you?” he asked Hélène and Aurore.

“They’ll be at the very center,” Aurore supplied, pointing at a throng of people across the hall, “They’re always greeting the guests.”

Harry grimaced, eyeing the crowd of people obscuring Cerise from view.

This might take a while.

He turned back to the two French girls, who smiled up at him.

“I’ll make my way over there eventually,” he decided aloud, “It’s not like there aren’t any other interesting people here.”

“Like the Toussaint twins?” Aurore asked, chuckling. Harry snorted.

“I’ve absolutely no interest in dealing with them right now,” he murmured, “You tell them that too, if you bump into them.”

“Will do.”

Harry smiled.

“Right. See you in a bit.”

He graced the girls with a final wave before turning around. A vast room awaited him. Harry’s eyes lingered in the center once more, his lips curling as his gaze jumped from one besuited guest to the next. 

I think I might prefer to deal with the Toussaints over Politicians.

Harry pointedly ignored them, waving his wand over his chest.

“Dissimulo.”

A smooth wave of subtle magic slipped over him. Behind him, Hélène and Aurore looked away.

Notice-me-not Charm must be working, then.

Harry slipped along the edge of the hall and down its length. There were far fewer people here. Instead, a long silver table stretched from one wall to the other, covered from end to end in all sorts of dishes. Harry reached to grab an empty plate, carefully piling what he imagined was caviar atop it.

Aunt Petunia really would be jealous.

Harry eyed the fish eggs gingerly, his nose furrowing with distaste. They didn’t look very appetizing. 

“That is a delicacy, you know.”

Harry jumped. A thin, brown-haired girl appeared to his right, adorned in flowing yellow robes. Her dark eyes were practically brimming with intelligence.

“Anaïs,” Harry nodded, frowning, “You . . . can see me.”

“I can,” the young woman agreed, “Though you’ve quite the talent for Notice-Me-Not Charms, I must confess.”

Harry shrugged.

“Not enough, clearly.”

He watched as Anaïs pulled a plate of her own, adding several different dishes to her platter. The woman turned back to him a moment later.

“You know, it’s awfully convenient that I found you,” she admitted, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you since you and Gabby visited last Friday.”

Harry frowned. Something tugged at his mind, a slight blur appearing momentarily a few feet before him.

“If it’s about Gabrielle -”

“It’s about Fleur,” said Anaïs clearly, “More specifically, the little dip you took into her mind.”

Harry felt his heart stop beating. The blur vanished.

I wonder if she’s mad . . .

Harry thought for a moment. After a long time, he met Anaïs’ blank gaze.

“If you’re asking for an apology, you’re wasting your breath,” he said firmly, “Gabrielle asked me to, and for good reason.”

“Oh?” Anaïs seemed intrigued, “And, may I ask, what is that reason?”

Harry stared at her.

“I think you know.”

Anaïs said nothing. Harry watched as she popped a spoonful of caviar into her mouth. His curiosity piqued.

“How’d you know, anyway?” he asked, “I didn’t know Legilimency could be detected by someone other than the user or the target.”

Anaïs’ brow rose.

“Now you know,” she said simply, “There is a thin sliver of magic connecting the attacker to their victim. Those particularly adept at sensing magic may be able to pick up on it.”

Harry nodded.

“Is that how you did it, then?”

“No,” said Anaïs pointedly, “Fleur and Gabrielle are Veela. Their innate magic is abnormally loud to the point of drowning out everything else.”

Huh. Interesting.

“Then how?”

“Gabrielle,” the woman spoke as though it were obvious, “She walked in with you, asked her sister - who she’s hardly seen during the past few months - a singular question, then departed. It doesn’t take a genius to decipher what happened.”

Harry nodded, gritting his teeth.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

A stark silence fell upon them. Harry’s eyes wandered, tracing the faintest ripples in the nonexistent wind. Anaïs turned to him.

“Gabrielle’s been in a particularly good mood as of late.”

Harry’s expression became something between a frown and a blush.

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve seen her much.”

Anaïs shrugged.

“I saw her today. She seemed more lively than usual. That’s quite odd, given her particular distaste for formal events like this.”

Harry’s mind churned as he tried to piece together whatever Anaïs might have been accusing him of.

I don’t - oh.

“I didn’t tell her about your little scheme with Fleur,” Harry whispered, “That’s why she’s in a good mood.”

Anaïs yawned.

“She’s in a good mood because of you,” she corrected, “She’s not in a bad mood because you didn’t tell her about our plan.”

There was something indifferent in her voice. Harry decided he didn’t like it very much.

“You two were pretty selfish, by the way.”

Anaïs turned to him. Her eyes were narrowed.

“Elaborate,”

“Faking a relationship so Fleur could duck her responsibilities,” said Harry quite clearly, “I think that’s rather selfish.”

Anaïs nodded slowly.

“In many ways, I imagine it is,” she admitted, “Still, that does not mean it can not benefit her in a great many ways.”

Harry scoffed.

“Yeah, like what?”

“A surplus in responsibility tends to invoke character growth,” said Anaïs simply, “That’s quite the boon for someone like Gabrielle, someone still yearning to discover themselves -”

“You’ve burdened her with another weight,” Harry argued, “Another obstacle that’s impeding her growth. Another mold she has to fit into as opposed to giving her the space to be herself.”

“A mold she would have been held to regardless, being born a Delacour,” Anaïs sniffled, “Now, however, she at least demands the respect of greater France and her parents.”

“Something she doesn’t want, you mean.”

Which you’d know if you ever bothered talking to her.

He watched irritably as Anaïs stabbed a strand of chicken with a fork.

“How often do people want what they truly need, Harry?” the woman asked, “You can be upset with me - that’s understandable, really, - but it was the right choice. Gabrielle’s innate confidence in herself has grown tenfold in the last few months -”

“- because of the Triwizard Tournament, not because of you -”

“- and she now holds the direct notice of her mother and father,” Anaïs finished cooly, “Something she has craved for far longer than you have known her.”

Harry grimaced.

“She didn’t want it like this,” he snapped, “She wanted to be seen for who she is, not for some empty titles.”

The air before him churned vaguely. Harry’s heart lurched.

“You and Fleur were selfish.”

“I’m sure that played a part,” Anaïs whispered, “That is simply human nature. After all, you have yet to tell Gabrielle of her sister’s actions. Is it not selfish to withhold information she specifically requested of you?”

Harry glared at the brown-haired girl.

“I’m doing it for her,” he hissed, “She doesn’t need to be brought down just because others chose to throw her under the bus.”

Anaïs sighed.

“I spent weeks ensuring it was the best decision for both Fleur and Gabrielle,” she said earnestly, “Though at this rate, I doubt you believe me -”

“There you are!”

Harry turned. Striding towards him was none other than Cerise herself. With her flowing white robes and long, braided hair, she looked nothing short of spectacular. The girl eyed Anaïs as she approached.

“Miss Auclair,” Cerise bowed her head respectfully, “It is good to see you.”

“And you, dear,” Anaïs smiled faintly. She stepped away, “I’ll give you two some time to catch up. Take care, Harry, Miss Rosier.”

With that, she left. Harry watched as she departed, a slight frown coating her features.

“You seem troubled.”

Harry glanced at the girl. She studied him carefully, her blue eyes drinking in his besuited appearance.

“Of course I do,” he murmured eventually, “Aurore said you wanted to introduce me to your parents.”

Cerise snorted.

“They’re not bad, don’t worry,” she assured him, grabbing ahold of his wrist, “We just might have to wait a while, that’s all.”

-(xXx)-

Harry ran his fingers along the length of the gilded table, sighing in annoyance. It’d been about fifteen minutes since Cerise had left him here in search of her parents, and with no one to talk to, Harry felt on the verge of losing his mind.

Well, almost no one to talk to.

Harry eyed the excitable little girl sitting across from him. She couldn’t have been older than seven.

“You’re Harry Potter!”

“I am,” Harry murmured blankly, “You’ve said that nearly a dozen times now, by the way.”

The girl didn’t seem particularly apologetic.

“My name’s Belle,” she smiled cheerfully, “Cerise is my older cousin.”

“You said that eight times, I think.”

The girl giggled.

“You’re my hero, you know,” she told him earnestly, “I’ve wanted to meet you for as long as I can remember.”

About two or three months, then.

“I can’t imagine there’s anything particularly heroic about me, Belle,” Harry yawned, “And don’t say the Voldemort debacle, either. I was one year old.”

“I know!” Belle seemed awed by the fact, “Isn’t that wondrous?”

Harry shrugged. The faintest memory of Emily Riddle pressed against the surface of his thoughts.

“Not really,” he shivered.

If Belle had noticed his discomfort - which she almost certainly hadn’t, given her age - she didn't voice it. Harry watched as she practically leaned over the table.

“But - but what about the rest of it?”

“Rest of what?” Harry frowned.

“You know,” Belle began, “Your adventures! With that defense teacher, the Chamber of Secrets, and Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Harry’s heart lurched. He stared at the little girl in surprise.

“You - you know about that?”

Belle frowned.

“Of course I do. Everyone does, silly.”

They do?

“I’m like Bellatrix Lestrange too, you know,” the girl whispered, “Do you want to know why?”

“Not particularly,” Harry noted.

Though to be fair, they do have the same mildly mad feel. Even if one of them is seven.

“Well, my first name’s Belle!” the girl started, “And - and Lestrange is a French family, you know. We’ve got some of them in our blood!”

“Blood,” Harry repeated. He eyed the little girl draped in extravagant violet robes curiously, “Does that matter, blood?”

The little girl shook her head vehemently.

“It shouldn’t,” she suggested, “That’s not fair. It’s got to be about talent -”

“Hey, Harry.”

Harry looked up. Oliver Garnier stood beside an aging man, each adorned in traditional muggle suits coloured a pale blue.

“Oliver!” Harry grinned, standing up to greet him, “You clean up nicely.”

“Thanks,” the boy blushed faintly, “You do too. You should probably wear your glasses less often. It suits you.”

“‘Course it does,” the older man yawned, “People think it’s a sign of weakness. What a terrible thing, underestimation is . . .”

He shook his head, turning to Harry. He curled his long, thin beard around his finger all the while.

“Inspector Garnier, dear,” he said, holding out a hand. Harry shook it, “You must be Harry, then. I’ve heard many good things about you.”

Harry’s eyes went as wide as galleons for little more than a second. He quickly forced himself calm, smiling as the pair sank into seats at his and Belle’s table.

“I’d better thank Oliver, then,” he said unnaturally smoothly.

“Not just him,” the Inspector noted, “My goddaughter, too. I hear she’s quite smitten with you.”

Harry blinked. Across from him, Oliver was blushing furiously.

“He’s talking about Gabrielle,” the boy explained hurriedly, “She said you wanted to talk to him about something important.”

Harry paused to think. His heart was still racing.

Gabby always pulls off the best surprises.

He straightened up. Before he could speak, Belle perked up from Inspector Garnier’s side.

“Hello, Uncle!”

“Hello, Belle,” said Garnier kindly, “How are you doing today?”

“Oh, wonderful, wonderful,” she smiled, “You’ll never guess who I met!”

“Oh? Who?”

“Harry Potter!”

Harry snorted. To his side, Oliver had his head in his hands.

“Did you really?” the Inspector giggled, “What’s he like?”

“Everything I imagined and more!” she smiled. She leaned towards Garnier, “You’d really like him. He hates Auntie Rosier too.”

Both Harry and the Inspector jumped at this.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Harry held his hands up in faux-protest, “I was just nervous, Rita Skeeter. Let’s not make up stories -”

But Belle just giggled, cupping her hands together.

“It’s okay!” she whispered, “He hates them too! They fought for Gelly, remember?”

The entire table stared at the little girl as she sank back into her seat, looking thoroughly satisfied.

“I’m starting to understand why your family never lets you out of the house,” Oliver murmured. Belle stuck her tongue out at him.

“Ever the little provoker,” Inspector Garnier laughed, “No matter, no matter. I’ll have to deal with you some other time.”

He turned back to Harry, his expression curious.

“Never before has dear Gabrielle asked any favours of me,” he noted curiously, “And yet she was practically begging me to give you a chance.”

The man paused.

“I can’t help but wonder what you wanted to know.”

Harry straightened up.

“It’s something of a specialty of yours, so I’ve heard.”

Inspector Garnier nodded slowly.

“I imagined as much,” he murmured, “I also imagine you likely know my views on the matter.”

Harry nodded, his jaw clenched.

“I was hoping you’d hear me out.”

The Inspector studied him for a long moment. Harry watched as he withdrew his wand from his suit, waving it between the two. Silencing Wards sprung to life, rendering Belle’s subsequent tirade into inaudible squabbles. The aging man leaned closer.

“Go on.”

“Someone I care about is dying of a blood curse,” said Harry simply, “There isn’t a cure.”

“And you believe ritualistic blood magic can be the cure you need.”

“That’s what my research has led me to believe, yes.”

Inspector Garnier thought for a moment.

“How much progress have you made?”

“I understand the runic aspects almost entirely,” Harry proffered, “More significantly, I know the first two truisms -”

“- which are all but useless without the third,” Garnier finished.

Harry nodded.

“You can see the conundrum I’m in, then.”

He watched as the Inspector’s fingers tapped alongside the gilded table. His heart was going a mile a minute. After what felt like ages, the man spoke.

“This is quite the peculiar case, you know,” he murmured, “Seldom does one come across a supposedly selfless use of blood magic. Were it not for Oliver and dear Gabrielle’s insistence, I imagine I’d label you a liar.”

Harry’s heart lurched.

“But?”

“But,” the old man continued, twirling this thin beard about his pointer finger, “Well, I can’t help but wonder . . .”

He trailed off. Harry leaned closer, his fingers wrapped tight around the table’s edge.

“You don’t have to tell me, you know,” he noted aloud, “I - you could do it yourself. There’d be no risk of Blood Rituals spreading if you told me nothing.”

If he had expected some sort of reaction to this, Harry was sorely disappointed. He watched as Garnier slowly shook his head.

“It isn’t that,” the man murmured, waving a knowing finger. He laughed, “I would never have told you, anyway -”

“Then what?”

Inspector Garnier stared at him for a long moment.

“What exactly do you know about the Truisms, if I may ask?”

Harry blinked.

“They - they’re the three fundamental rules of Blood Magic -”

“Blood Rituals,” Inspector Garnier corrected, “Not Blood Magic. Blood Rituals are, after all, a rather specific branch of blood magic.” 

“The ritualistic variant,” Harry surmised. He paused, “Does that mean there are other forms of ritualistic magic?”

The Inspector nodded swiftly.

“There are, or, more accurately, there is.”

Harry eyed him, his question obvious. The man grimaced.

“Soul Rituals, I have been told, are nasty, nasty work. I am eternally grateful they have fallen into obscurity -”

“How?” Harry frowned, “I mean - surely they follow the same general guidelines as Blood Rituals, right?”

I mean, I don’t see why they wouldn’t.

“The Truisms, you mean,” Garnier pursed his lips, “Yes, I imagine they do.”

Harry nodded eagerly.

“Well then, surely it’s pretty easy to decipher what the Truisms of Soul Rituals would be?”

He stared at Garnier. Based on his expression, the man did not seem to agree with him.

“You know the first two Truisms, yes?”

Harry nodded slowly.

“The first is about runes. The second is about the sacrifice being greater than that which you gain. As for the third -”

“Something you’ll never know,” Garnier finished for him, “If I were you, I’d focus on the very first for a moment.”

Harry frowned, puzzled. He mulled over what he had just said.

Runes. I don’t understand.

“The specific of each Blood Ritual are essentially coded for with runes,” Harry said slowly, eyeing Garnier as he spoke, “So . . . I don’t -”

“What are the runes written with, boy?”

Harry blinked.

“Blood, I imagine . . .”

Oh.

“Not so easy to write runes with your soul, is it?” Inspector Garnier laughed aloud, his eyes twinkling, “No . . . they’ll be a bit different, soul rituals. Not that I’m particularly interested.”

He eyed Harry carefully as he spoke.

“I’d advise you against developing an interest as well.”

Harry nodded slowly, a sliver of impatience flickering within him. He slowly leaned back into his chair.

“I - this is all really interesting,” he began earnestly, “But I don’t really understand how it relates to - you know -”

“I imagine you wouldn’t,” Inspector Garnier nodded, “It’s quite difficult to grasp the point when you don’t know the third of the truisms.”

The man leaned closer. Harry’s heart lurched.

“Blood Rituals, Harry Potter, are abhorrent to the nth degree,” the man whispered, “They are the ruin of many, many people - far more than they benefit, of that I have no doubt.”

A hole was carved in Harry’s chest. His jaw slowly clenched.

“You aren’t going to help me, are you?”

Inspector Garnier shook his head.

“I didn’t say that,” he murmured, “But I will have to mull it over.”

“Mull what over?” Harry frowned, “I don’t understand. What - what has you on the fence.”

Garnier stared at him.

“You.”

Harry fell still.

“Me?”

“You,” Garnier nodded, “I know who you are, Harry Potter.”

Harry frowned.

“So does Belle,” Harry muttered, nodding at the little girl sitting at Garnier’s side. She had a hand cupping each ear, desperately trying to listen in on their hidden conversation, “I wouldn’t put much faith in tall tales, personally.”

“Neither would I,” whispered Garnier, “I’m not interested in your legend, boy. I am interested in you.”

The man eyed him from across the table, his fingers tapping rhythmically along the side. Harry felt oddly uncomfortable as he waited for the inspector to speak.

“It’s just odd, isn’t it?” the man said eventually, “Same feel, same glow. You remind me of them -”

“Who?” Harry’s heart raced, “Grindelwald?”

The man laughed darkly.

“Dumbledore,” he murmured, “But, yes, him, too.”

Inspector Garnier straightened up.

“Grindelwald and Dumbledore were both quite the heretics,” he murmured, “I wonder how different the world would be, had they been placated in their youths.”

Harry paused.

“Do you intend to placate me?” he asked almost wistfully.

“I’m not sure,” Garnier admitted, “Too much kindness lessens the spirit. The last thing I need is for you to be spoiled.”

An ugly grimace flickered across Harry’s features.

“I wouldn’t consider saving a little girl’s life ‘spoiling’ me.”

“I’m not surprised. Yet when fate itself is defied for the sake of personal interests, no other word seems particularly apt.”

Harry let his irritation dissipate.

“You’ll consider it, then?”

“I will consider it.”

Harry nodded, satisfied, as the Silencing Wards faded into nothingness.

-(xXx)-

A whirl of silver glimmered in the distance. Harry’s head spun, his eyes widening as they landed upon someone familiar.

She was beautiful. She’d always been, of course, but tonight she seemed nothing short of the physical incarnation of the word itself. Her braided hair perfectly framed her flawless features, the silver of her locks and the blue in her eyes matching her dress and jewelry respectively. Harry’s breath left him as he straightened up, striding across the hall towards her.

“I - you look perfect,” Harry whispered, drinking in her appearance, “I - wow.”

Gabrielle Delacour stared at him with blanketed interest.

“I’ve been watching you,” she whispered, her voice faint.

“Pervert.”

The girl blushed. Her cheeks returned to their normal pale, fleshy tone a moment later.

“I heard what you said.”

“To Garnier?” Harry frowned, “But he warded us -”

“To Anaïs, Harry.”

A sensation colder than ice permeated his very being. Gabrielle’s palms suddenly felt cold and frozen within his.

“I - Gabby, I,” Harry began, stammering, “I -”

The girl pressed a single digit upon his lips.

“I know,” she whispered softly, “I heard everything. I know.”

Harry sturred. His heart was still reeling.

“You’re not upset?”

“I - I don’t know,” the girl whispered, “But if I am, it’s nothing to do with you.”

She smiled faintly, pressing her forehead against his.

“Don’t try to hide things from me, in the future.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry muttered, “I thought it would upset you.”

“You know me so well,” Gabrielle joked, “I appreciate what you said, by the way.”

Harry frowned.

“You’ll have to remind me. I don’t exactly remember every word -”

“She didn’t want it like this,” Gabrielle repeated. She smiled faintly, “She wanted to be seen for who she is, not for some empty titles.”

Her grasp along their interlocked fingers strengthened. 

“You got it spot on,” she murmured, “I’m almost proud.”

As if to prove it, she leaned forward, pressing her lips atop his. Harry’s eyes widened.

“Gabby, we - we’re -”

“I know where we are,” Gabrielle sighed, “Why should that have to change anything?”

Harry’s eyes traversed the room. Judging by the many looks of surprise or intrigue, it would likely change a great many things.

“The tabloids -”

“- have been spouting rubbish for ages,” Gabby finished. She looked up at him, “I don’t care. Do you?”

Harry slowly shook his head.

Not even a little bit.

Gabrielle smiled, leaning further into his chest.

“Tell me about Garnier,” she told him, “How did it go?”

“Well enough,” Harry admitted, “Thanks to you, I imagine. You should’ve told me he was your godfather.”

Gabrielle smiled.

“I told you I had a surprise, didn’t I?”

Harry laughed.

“He said he’ll think about it,” he explained, “His reasoning makes me think he’ll come around in the end.”

Gabrielle grinned.

“Another victory,” she yawned, “It does get tiring, doesn’t it?”

“Not to me,” Harry said.

Not with you.

Classical music permeated the hall. Gabrielle lowered his hands to her waist.

“Are we dancing, then?” Harry grinned.

“We are.”

Harry nodded. His eyes slipped past her head, falling upon the form of a silver-haired woman who looked awfully identical to the girl before him. Her lips were thin with disapproval.

“Even with all of them watching?” Harry mumbled, frowning.

Gabrielle’s lips quirked upwards.

“Who’s watching?” she asked, her lips inches from his, “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no one here but me and you.”

Harry laughed, allowing the world to fade away as gentle music pressed against his ears.