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Harry Potter and the Secrets of Magic	By : Jacenthedarkknight Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 39602 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter trademark/fandom, nor am I making any money from this story

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or related characters or concepts. Not making money off this story, simply writing for both my enjoyment and hopefully the enjoyment of my readers.

A/N:Well, hello folks, in case you didn't gather from the summary, this will be a post-OOTP fic, showing my version of Harry Potter's sixth year adventures. This will NOT be a "Harem" fic - the pairing is Harry/Hermione/Gabrielle, and will remain just that, a look at the development of a menage a trois, if you will, amongst the two best friends and the younger girl who finds herself inserted rather prominently in their life. This fic will generally be book-canon, but I'll occasionally use movie-canon if I liked how they did something better. Gabrielle, in the first 5 books, was not given a definitive age, so I will be playing freely with that - she will definitely notby 8 years old. One of the movie-canon things I'm picking up on is that she's already at Beauxbatons, and that will play a role here.

I know Veela Bonds have been done, but I'm one of those folks that feels that there is no such thing as a "cliche" that can no longer be used - it's simply a matter of how well written your story is and how well the "cliche" is handled in the story, and hopefully this will be one that you all will enjoy.

Anyway, that's enough of my blabbering, on with the story!

Chapter 1

Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, France - June 14, 1996

          A warm summer breeze floated in through the open window, bringing the saltiness of the nearby seashore with it. The young woman inside the room tucked back a strand of her silvery-blond hair from where the breeze blew it across her face, and she stuffed her last piece of clothing into the expandable rucksack resting on her neatly-made bed.

Gabrielle Delacour took a final look around her room, making sure that she had taken everything that she needed. She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to keep the sadness that tugged at her heart at bay. She knew it wasn’t even her sadness. Sure she would miss her parents, and her home, but this sadness was to a depth she’d not felt until a few weeks ago, and she had to act.

Gabrielle pulled the top of the rucksack shut and tossed it over her shoulder before leaving the room that had been her home for much of her childhood. She shut the door behind her, and turned to walk down the high-ceilinged hallways of the Delacour Mansion.

She brushed her fingers slowly down the banister of the stairway as she walked downstairs – saying goodbye to her house, unsure of when she might come back. Her mother – tall, regal, with the same long blond hair as her both her daughters – was standing near the bottom of the stairs waiting for her. Gabrielle smiled, almost shyly, at her mother.

Apolline Delacour looked appraisingly at the form-fitting designer jeans she wore, her eyebrows rising slightly at the powder-blue t-shirt – it was one of the few times her daughter had ever worn one, much more often preferring elaborate blouses. Then again, she’d had a hard time getting her to refrain from showing off her body once her daughter had reached Maturation only a year before.

“You look every bit the young Muggle woman, my little Gabrielle.” She said softly. “You will fit in quite nicely. I talked to your father. He’s finally…. seen the light, shall we say?”

Gabrielle’s face lit up and she broke into a grin and threw her arms tightly around her mother. “Thank you, Maman. I was worried I would have to leave without his blessing.”

Apolline shook her head, holding her daughter close. “No, your father is stubborn, but not without sense. He just needs the right persuasion, and a few kicks in the correct direction.”

Gabrielle smiled, and pulled away slightly. “Thank you.”

Apolline nodded, and kissed her daughter on the forehead. “Be careful while you travel. Sometimes being a Veela can be a curse whilst amongst some of the people you may run into. Remember all I and your Grandmere have taught you, and you will make us proud.” Apolline paused and then smiled slightly. “And owl us. I don’t want a repeat of your First Year.”

Gabrielle flushed. “Maman,” she groaned – her first year at Beauxbatons, she’d been so caught up in the excitement of the experience and in her studies that she had forgotten to write her parents, or even respond to their owls. Her father had finally Apparated directly to the school shortly about a month into the school-year to make her sit down and write out a letter to her worried mother to assure her she was all right. Her family had never let her live that one down.

“I know, my sweet. Now, your father is waiting in the study, so go talk to him so you can go to your beloved.”

Gabrielle nodded, holding a hand up to her chest, a haunted look in her eyes. “He hurts so much, Maman. I only hope I will be enough.”

“I know, so go, don’t leave him waiting. I love you, Gabrielle,” she said, kissing her daughter’s cheek, before putting her hands on her shoulders to turn her in the direction of the study and giving her a firm shove, so her daughter didn’t see the tear that ran down her cheek.

‘He needs you now, more than we do,’she thought sadly to herself as she watched her daughter go, remembering the owl post that had arrived several weeks before from Fleur. It had been shocking, but it had explained why she’d had to calm her daughter for hours two nights before the letter when Gabrielle awoke nearly catatonic, convinced that her father was dead.

******

          Gabrielle knocked softly on the solid oak door of her father’s study, and only had to wait a few moments before she heard him call her inside. She turned the doorknob and opened the door to find her father sitting at his writing desk, which rested in one corner of the room – the rest of the room was taken over by tall bookshelves of his personal book collection, and several magical filing cabinets in which he kept his paperwork and records.

          Jean-Pierre Delacour was a short, barrel-chested man, and it always amused Gabrielle the interesting ways she and her sister took after their parents. Fleur was tall and regal, just like her mother, yet she had the same stubbornness and straightforward bluntness that her father was well known for. While Gabrielle took after her father physically somewhat – she doubted she’d grow much more, leaving her only an inch taller than him – she had more of the sly and mischievous personality of her mother.

          Jean-Pierre finished signing the bottom of a long parchment, and set his eagle quill down and closed the ornate gold inkwell before turning his chair around and standing up. He walked over to the window where a small brown owl was perched, and tied the parchment off on one of its legs and let it flap away to its destination.

          He finally turned, and smiled wearily at his daughter, lines visible on his face, even around the sharply trimmed black beard covering his chin. He opened his arms, and she felt tears come to her eyes as she ran forward and let him hold her tightly.

          “I’m sorry for how I’ve behaved, Gabrielle,” he murmured softly. “I was wrong to treat this like some flight of fancy you’d come up with, I see that now – it’s just, we never had to deal with this with Fleur…. Your mother explained it fully to me, and I understand now. Forgive me?”

          Gabrielle nodded into his shoulder. “Oui, Papa. Thank you.”

          Jean-Pierre sighed, and slowly pulled back, reaching down to tilt his daughter’s chin so she met his eyes. “I hate this…. Letting you go like this. It seems like just yesterday you were learning to walk, and now….this.”

          “Papa,” Gabrielle said softly, “I’m still your daughter, it’s not like I’m disowning you and leaving forever.”

          “I know, I know,” he said with a soft smile. “You are legally an adult now. And I hope I’ve taught you enough about defending yourself. Don’t forget your magic as well.”

          He let go of her and turned back to the desk, picking up two items. He handed the first to her, and she nearly gasped when she recognized a Gringotts key. “This is a trust vault I’ve set up for you. Whatever you end up doing, whenever you need something, this will be here for you.”

          He raised a finger as she began to thank him, and then handed her a silver necklace with a plain mirror-like oval locket on the end. “Arranging a permanent International Portkey is impossible with what is going on, so this is an emergency device. You simply place it in contact with your skin and flip the locket open, and this will send a message to an instrument I have both here and at the office. I’ll come to wherever you are, and I’m quite certain most of my Aurors will come as well.”

          She smiled warmly at him, especially at this last gift. He was the Head of the Ministére de Justice Magique, the French equivalent of the English DMLE, in command of the country’s force of Hit Wizards, Aurors, and a number of smaller departments. He commanded a lot of respect in the government, his position third in the hierarchy behind the Deputy Minister. All he needed was to ask and he’d have dozens of Aurors jumping over one another to volunteer to help his daughter.

          “Thank you, Papa, but the most important gift you could give me….”

          He smiled. “I know, my blessing. You do have my blessing, Gabrielle. I’ve spent the past few weeks investigating your boy. He’s… headstrong and prone to reckless heroic actions, but he’s a good young man, and I… I suppose he will be a good Mate for you. He’s willing to risk his life for even complete strangers, so I know he will do that much and more for one he loves. Just… when you get there, get him away from his Muggle relatives – his mother’s sister and her family are said to not treat him very well. It’s mostly speculation and rumor, but I don’t believe he had a kind childhood with them, and likely still isn’t, if Fleur’s information is correct.”

          “Take care of him and be careful. We will always be here for you if you need us.” He said, kissing her softly on the forehead as he helped her clasp the necklace behind her neck.

          Gabrielle nodded, tears no longer being held in, instead running freely down her cheeks. “I love you Papa.”

          “I love you too, sweetheart. Your mother has your Portkey – it will get you to the French ministry offices near the Channel Tunnel. You’ve taken the International Floo before, and this will be a short trip across the Channel. You’ll be alright finding him?”

          “Oui, I will be able to find him – my heart knows where to go. Goodbye, Papa.”

          He inclined his head and hugged her one last time before letting her walk toward the door, where they both now realized Apolline had been quietly watching them.

          Gabrielle stepped over to her mother, who handed her the Portkey – an official Ministry one in the form of a golden eagle feather. Gabrielle kissed her mother before she stepped back, looking longingly at both of them as she pulled out her wand and tapped the Portkey, which whisked her away in a whirl of color.

          Jean-Pierre smiled sadly at his wife. “We really had no choice?” He asked softly, his lips quirking downward into a slight frown.

          She shook her head and drew closer, letting his arm wrap around her waist. “Non, my love, she was going with or without our approval – she needed to go. This was the right thing.”

          He sighed and nodded. “I guess – and I’m glad we gave her our approval, at least now we will know if she is in danger. Just hurts letting our last daughter leave like that and for that reason, while she’s so young….” He shook his head, and looked back at the large stack of papers on the desk.

          “Duty calls?” Apolline asked knowingly.

          “Unfortunately. These Death Eaters seem to be branching out, recruiting from our country as well as others. I fear it may not be long before we are forced to stand united with Britain and be pulled into this war.”

*************************************************************

Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging

          Harry Potter pulled a well-used, slightly oversized shirt over his head, as he got ready for his daily run. It was a habit he’d developed over the last several weeks since he’d returned from Hogwarts, to go for a run in the streets of Little Whinging once he’d finished his Dursley-assigned chores for the day.

          He’d started the second day back, and found that running several miles every day on top of the current garden renovations at the Dursleys' house exhausted him enough to sleep through the night, even through the ever-present nightmares that haunted his sleep.

Ever since that night at the Ministry, he’d been having them and they taunted him over and over with Sirius’ death and the injuries of his friends. The worst was when the dreams strayed away from what had actually happened, and instead took a life of their own, often ending with him forced to watch the deaths of all of his friends.

The physical exertion itself was also a good way to get his mind on something else, when every time he closed his eyes he could still see the surprised expression of Sirius’ face as he fell through the Veil, as if it were painted on the backs of his eyelids.

Harry pulled on his trainers and laced them up before standing up from the bed. He’d almost made it to the door when he heard a soft thump behind him that he recognized instantly as his snowy white owl Hedwig.

He turned quickly – he’d only just sent her out with a letter to Hermione several minutes before – and found her resting on the windowsill looking rather cross. Her feathers were ruffled up, many out of place, and she held the torn remnants of his letter within her right talons.

“Hedwig, are you alright?” He exclaimed, moving quickly over to the window.

She gave him a very put-out glance, and lifted one of her wings and he saw where several feathers along her side were broken, as well as what looked like a long scratch as if something had scraped past her skin. It was puffy and red, but fortunately not bleeding.

He put the injury and her ruffled appearance as well as the torn up right half of the parchment together and realized what had happened. “You were attacked – was it Death Eaters?” He asked, glancing quickly out the window to scan the street.

She just stared at him, the sort of look Professor McGonagall would give a student who was being particularly dim in one of her classes.

“Erm, another bird?”

She let out a single hoot.

He glanced out the window again and looked up this time, to see a shape in the distance that looked like another bird that seemed to be circling in search of prey. It definitely wasn’t an owl. Perhaps a hawk?

He looked back to Hedwig. “It’s stopping you from delivering letters, isn’t it girl?”

Hedwig let out a mournful hoot and slowly extended her talon so he could grab the ruined letter.

He took it and gently ran a finger across her head. “It’s okay girl, you did your best. Thank you for saving what you could so I know what’s going on.”

Hedwig puffed up her chest proudly, and then spread her wings and flapped over to makeshift perch he’d set up outside her cage. He frowned slightly when he noticed she seemed to favor the wing that had been covering up the scratch.

“Sure you’re okay, Hedwig? Is your wing going to be alright?” She was, while an owl, one of the closest friends he really had and his only company during summers, and he’d rush her to a veterinary clinic if need be, to hell with what his Order minders had to say.

She gave a reassuring hoot, and bent her head to begin slowly preening herself, trying to get her feathers back into place.

He sighed, and then looked down at the mangled letter he’d been trying to send. He had a niggling suspicion that the bird out there belonged to the Order. Last summer he’d been left to stew, his friends told to send him little or no news, so he wouldn’t put it past the Headmaster to have decided to cut him off completely – which explained the main thing that had been bothering him: he hadn’t gotten a single owl from any of his friends.

Sure, it wasn’t unusual for Ron to not remember to send a letter until a month into his break. But he’d become closer with several more people the previous year, notably Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, and even Ginny Weasley who seemed to have overcome her crush on him that had once left it difficult to speak with her without her turning tomato-red and stammering – surely they would have sent something.

And to not get a letter from Hermione for nearly three weeks was staggeringly unheard of. He’d been fine with the lack of communication for the first week or so, but now longed to talk with someone, even if it was just about something besides Voldemort and his Death Eater attacks that had ramped up following his appearance at the Ministry.

He had begun to wonder if perhaps things between him and his friends weren’t exactly as rosy as it had seemed when he’d stepped off the Hogwarts express. Did Hermione and the others blame him for them getting hurt at the Ministry? He wouldn’t blame them for that – he felt sick at what he’d put them through, dragging them down there to get injured. Hermione had almost died – the curse Dolohov used, according to Madam Pomfrey, had only been less-than lethal because of the silencing spell Hermione had used which forced him to cast it non-verbally.

He’d finally written his own letter to her, apologizing to her for leading her into the trap despite her warnings and pleadings that it could be one, and practically begging her to write – this was the ripped up one he now held in his hands.

Now, he realized, letters were being intercepted, and his friends were likely thinking the same about him – that he didn’t want to talk with them. He balled the parchment up in anger and frustration, and dropped it onto the desk.

Dumbledore had promised to be even more open to him, and here he was most likely the person behind blocking his contact with the outside world. It certainly wasn’t Voldemort – if he knew where Harry lived, he wouldn’t be resorting to stealing his mail. The only one that made sense was Dumbledore and the Order.

Harry took a deep breath when he realized he’d been clenching his fists tightly in anger as he thought about Dumbledore and what he’d lived through because of the man’s idea of ‘protection’. He relaxed his hands and sat back, suddenly feeling the anger drain out of his body and be replaced with a calm that let him think clearly.

He’d made a promise to himself, after his talks with Luna and Nearly-Headless-Nick after Sirius’ death, to try to reign in his anger issues. While he still felt it, he had to try to at least not let it cloud his judgment. The last few weeks with the Dursleys he’d found it become easier to quell his stronger emotions.

He rubbed his forehead absently as his mind ran over the problem. It was at times like these that he tried – and often failed – to think like Hermione would. Obviously there was no way to get owl post out, he wasn’t going to risk Hedwig getting hurt worse. Giving a letter to the Order to pass along was out as well – no doubt Dumbledore had already instructed them not to be post carriers given the blockade on post he’d already set up. Phoning her would be impossible, the Dursleys would never allow that.

Harry snapped his fingers when he heard the postman’s lorry rumble up outside the Dursley’s house. It would take some looking to find Hermione’s address, but if he could figure out the right Granger listing, he could send her post Muggle-style. One thing he’d noticed was that Wizards tended to be rather ignorant of Muggle things, and often overlooked them. All he had to do was post it from the local office during one of his runs, and there was a good chance she’d get it.

He looked at his watch and groaned, when he saw that he only had time for a short run. He’d have to post the letter tomorrow, when he had time to rewrite it.

Harry took one last glance at Hedwig, who seemed to be recovering nicely, and then walked out of the small bedroom, down the stairs, and out the front door.

He glanced around, knowing the Order member on duty was watching from under Invisibility Cloak, and then walked down the drive. As his feet hit the sidewalk he turned and started with a slow jog to warm himself up.

As he slowly but surely added speed to his gait, he realized that even if the short run didn’t get his mind off of the events at the Ministry, fuming to himself over the letter embargo would certainly do the trick.

*************************************************************

French Ministry Border Office, Coquelles, France

Gabrielle landed neatly on her feet – all her years of dance and ballet lessons truly paid off when landing after Portkey travel, leaving her without even the customary stumble upon that wizards twice her age experienced and certainly not the crash-landing that those unfamiliar with it received.

          She stepped quickly out of the Portkey point, designated by a circle painted on the floor, and walked past several other identical points. She stopped at the main desk of the large empty room where she gave the attendant the Portkey and signed her name on a long list of travelers. Ministry Portkeys were quite regulated, and needed to be signed in and out, before and after their use.

          She thanked the bored-looking woman at the desk, and walked toward the low door that led out into the rest of the building. It opened up on a long, brick-walled corridor, and she followed the signs to the International Floo Station.

          Gabrielle glanced into the large room and sighed to herself at the crowd that gathered as their turn was called, before they walked forward in a line, disappearing one after the other in a flash of green fire from the five large fireplaces on the side wall.

          She made her way through the mass of bodies, and fought down the bile that rose in her throat as men pressed against her – most of them accidentally, but the few that did it on purpose, looking at her with interest, caused her to shudder. She clamped down on her Veela Allure, ensuring that none of it escaped and made things even worse, and finally made it up to the desk.

          A harried-looking man glanced up at her as she stepped up to the desk, and he held out a hand. She placed her magical passport in it, and he turned the small booklet to flip through it and scan his eyes down the information alongside her picture.

          He nodded and flipped it shut. He passed it back to her, and then handed her a slip of paper, with the number ‘139’ on it. “There’s a sitting area over there,” he said pointing to a large area away from the mass of people. “Please wait there until your number is called and then move forward. We have enough idiots standing out of turn already,” he nodded to the crowd.

          She smiled politely. “Of course, sir. I don’t wish to brave that crowd more than I have to.”

          He seemed to relax slightly, and a thin smile came to his face – so few people listened to the instructions. “Have a good trip, miss. Remember, this is a closed Floo circuit with only one destination, so you merely need to step into the fire, don’t say any destination. Too many people don’t listen and arrive in England having inhaled a cloud of Floo Powder. Have a good trip.”

          “Thank you,” she said, and gave him another smile before turning to walk over to the near-empty chairs of the waiting area, taking a seat in the most unoccupied section as she heard the number ‘120’ being called.

          She settled into the seat, knowing it would be a long wait – each of the numbers would be called, and a line of five would form in front of each of the five fireplaces. Once all twenty-five were through, they would wait until England sent their batch along in the opposite way, alternating trips.

          Gabrielle glanced around at the others in the waiting area, feeling a hint of worry in her chest, but no one seemed to be paying her any mind. It was only when she felt a spike of anger that left her breathless and caused her hand to shoot up to her chest, that she realized the worry had – much like the sadness earlier – not been her own.

          She took several deep, calming breaths and closed her eyes, letting her consciousness drift down through her Veela senses, to the link between her and her Mate. She focused and sent the calm feelings down the link, the only thing she’d been able to do all these weeks to help him.

          She smiled softly to herself as she felt the anger lessen, and fade away – either she was getting better at sending it, or he was becoming better at receiving her emotional nudges. Her eyes finally opened, bringing her reluctantly back to the warm, odor-filled Apparition room, just in time to hear her number called.

          Her eyes widened slightly – oftentimes accessing the Bond like that took much longer than it seemed, minutes passing in what seem like seconds. Glancing down at her watch as she stood up and shouldered her bag, she realized a good twenty minutes had passed.

          She walked reluctantly into the crowd, trying to find small openings in the groups of people until she could reach the lines for the Floo. She even waited several moments so that she ended up squeezed between two witches, rather than the man that had been in front of her.

          That was a side-effect of the Bond: other than her father, there was only one man in the world whose touch would not turn her stomach, and that was her Mate’s. It had wreaked havoc on her since she’d Matured and the link had grown. It had been difficult at Beauxbatons where she was in close quarters with many male students, especially in the first few months as she slowly learned to control the Allure.

          But at least there, there were rules about unwanted touching that kept things somewhat at bay – here, especially in a crowd like this, there was little to stop it, other than making sure that only witches were near her.

          The Floos flared a bright green as the first travelers stepped in, and the line she was in slowly shuffled forward, one at a time as people disappeared through the flames.

          Finally it was Gabrielle’s turn, and remembering the advice of the border agent, she held her breath as she stepped into the green flames, saving herself a lungful of Floo powder as she whirled away through the Floo Network.

          As the high-speed trip came to an end moments later she nearly stumbled on the raised edge of the fireplace, but managed to find her footing as she stepped out into the much larger English Ministry Floo Station. Although it was much larger, the room half again the size of the one she’d just been in, it was also even more crowded.

          She skirted the outer edge of the crowd to get to the door that led to the exit. Once outside she found herself in another line, where several Aurors stood guard as a ministry official checked the passports of each person leaving the room.

          She stepped up to the desk and handed him her passport, which he took gruffly and opened, glancing several times from her picture to herself – thankfully she’d had to get a new one this year, otherwise she knew she looked very little like the girl she had been at the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

          “Reason for your visit?” he asked in a monotone voice.

          “Visiting my sister,” she said, having already planned her answers ahead of time. “And possibly application to Hogwarts.”

          His eyebrow rose slightly, and then he nodded. He pulled out a large metal object, dipped the end in ink, and then stamped her passport, handing it back before giving her a dismissive wave. “Move along now, girl. The Aurors will scan you for Dark objects, otherwise you’re free to enter. Next!”

          Gabrielle continued on to the Aurors who stood on either side of the doorway that led to the exit. She stopped and waited patiently as they scanned up and down her body with their wands emitting a violet light. The female Auror took her bag and ran the same scan over it before handing it back. “You’re free to go, ma’am,” she said kindly. “Enjoy your stay.”

          Gabrielle smiled at her, and walked through the doorway once they stepped to either side of it. She didn’t spend much time in the Ministry building – she’d seen more than enough of it on the little tour her father had been taken on when they’d visited several years ago when the two countries were entering talks on restarting the Triwizard Tournament.

          Instead she found the main hallway that led outside, and walked swiftly down it, dodging people as she went, until she reached the large doors that led outside. She found herself outside a building that had been built right along the shore of the Channel, and she took a breath of the crisp evening air as she glanced out at the twinkling lights of ships navigating the waterway.

          She shook her head slightly and then pulled out her wand, raising it with her arm as she willed a bit of magic through her to call for the Knight Bus – France had its own version, but from what she’d heard from Fleur, the experience on the English version was quite something.

          She waited like that for several moments before a *bang* echoed through the air as the triple-decker bus appeared suddenly in front of her. A young man with protruding ears opened the door and greeted her. She handed him the requisite amount of sickles. “Little Whinging, please,” she said softly, and then moved to the back of the bus to settle in for the coming wild ride through the night streets.

*

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Authors Notes: Thanks everyone for reading thus far, hopefully you'll want to read more! Please, let me know what you think, be it good or bad, things you think could be improved, etc. I listen to all advice (don't always act on it, but most times I do given there are so many better writers out there than me). So please, review, try to remain constructive, although I won't care if you really want to flame me.

Warning - I suck at French, so any French in the story will likely be from online translators which aren't always trustworthy. I apologize to those who speak the language if I happen to butcher it (note that the Gabrielle/parents scene would be all in French, simply written in English for everyone to easily understand)

Hope to have the next chapter up within a week - we'll see a bit of Hermione, and we'll see Gabrielle meet Harry.

Until next time!
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Harry Potter and the Secrets of Magic