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Rise of the Dark Angel	By : isabel88 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 61368 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 12
Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does, as such, I am NOT making any money off of this....

Chapter List
- 19
- 20
- 21
Title: Rise of the Dark Angel

Author: Mykkila09

Co-Author: Tonks-is-cool

Chapter: 20: The French Connection Part Two

Settings: AU after OOTP: It's canon up to the beginning of the battle at the DOM when they are in the veil room, after that, it's AU and mine and Tonks.

Pairings: HP/DM; LV/SS; LM/RL; NL (CL)/LL; RL/BL

Warnings: This story will contain mentions of Violence, Child Abuse, Adult Language, Alcohol Use, Slash/Het Sexual situations and Death. Please discontinue reading if such scenes or themes are offensive to you.
A/N: here is the new chapter. Hope you guys like it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing…if I did, Ginny would have died in the CoS, Dumbledore would have choked on his lemon drops and Harry would have stood up for himself against Molly and Dumbledore.

Disclaimer 2: this story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
“Talking”

'Thinking'

|Hedwig’s mental speak|

<Sesshomaru/Fawkes’ mental speak>

Harry’s mental speak

Letter or commentary/introduction and flashback

{Parssseltongue}

~…~ indicates scene change

Last time on RDA:
“He is clean,” LeBlanc said after a moment, stepping back from Harry.
“Now that that is out of the way,” Marcellin stepped forward, “We can head to dinner at my family home.”
He held out a blue and yellow silken scarf that he had formerly carried in his robes’ pocket. Everyone stepped close, each of them grabbing the Portkey. With a whispered word, they disappeared.

They reappeared in the foyer at Delacour Mansion. Voldemort, Lucius, Harry and Draco righted themselves quickly and instinctively stood close together; shoulder to shoulder, back to back, each scanning a quadrant of the entrance hall for any potential threat.
“Welcome to my home,” Marcellin stated as he gestured for them to follow him, completely ignoring their defensive stance. He and Bill thought it best to carry on as if everything was alright, which it was. There were no Aurors supposedly lurking in the corners, waiting to attack the British group.
“Please.” Marcellin cast a pointed glance at LeBlanc and Aristide, shooing them forward and out of the way.
“Come along Harry,” Bill said.
“This is very beautiful,” Harry said as he looked around.
“Thank you,” Marcellin said, “the Manor has been in my family for two hundred and fifty years. It was initially a hunting lodge before the French Revolution.”
The eight of them stepped into the drawing room, drawing the attention of the room’s occupants.
“’Arry!” Fleur was all smiles as she got up from her seat and headed towards the teen, pulling him into a hug. “’Ow are you?”
“I’m fine,” Harry grinned as he squeezed her briefly before letting go. “I heard congratulations are in order.”
Fleur looked from him to Bill and back before she laughed, “Yes, zey are. Come. You remember Gabrielle.”
“’Ello ‘Arry,” the girl smiled shyly at him but didn’t move any closer. She was a little awestruck as she remembered that he had saved her life just two years ago.
“Gabrielle,” Harry nodded. He turned back and gestured for Draco to come to him, “I’m sure you remember Draco Malfoy.”
Fleur turned to the blond and gave him two kisses, one on each cheek, “Yes. I remember. So, you two are together, no?”
“Yes,” Draco nodded with a smile as he slipped his hand into Harry’s. “We got together over the summer.”
“You must tell me all about it,” Fleur grinned as she stepped between the boys, wrapping an arm around each of them, “Come, come. We eat and zen, we talk.”
With that, she led them to the dining room, leaving everyone else to follow.
Lucius and Voldemort exchanged smirks, each remembering how nervous Harry had been but seeing nothing of said nerves now. They turned to courteously greet Apolline Delacour, who had just entered the dining room through another door from the garden terrace, along with a cheerful, portly wizard, clad in flamboyant robes. In contrast, Madame Delacour was sophisticated, nonchalant elegance in a dream of dark blue silk.
~…~
The dinner was delicious and went off without any troubles. They had been joined by Louvel Beauchene, the Head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation, and despite the obvious tensions, everything had been okay.
Harry’s fears were unfounded as Draco had been right; he had been seated next to Fleur, who was only happy to help him with his silverware.
After dinner was over, while Harry, Draco Aristide and Lucius stayed with the Delacour women, venturing outside to admire the beautiful garden, Voldemort, Marcellin, Louvel and Roger, retired to Marcellin’s study to talk business.
~…~
“Forgive me your Lordship,” Louvel Beauchene said, eying Voldemort warily, “but it is quite difficult to fathom that you now want anything like peaceful negotiations and that you claim to be working to change the British magical government only for the best intentions. After all, that is what the instigators of a coup d’état always say, no? During the seventies, you acted not only like a revolutionist, but more like a terrorist leader who was intent on destroying the status quo in Britain, threatening to expose the magical community.”
Voldemort sat quietly, only arching an eyebrow. He wanted to wait and see where this would go.
“Is it not true that your Death Eaters attacked and killed random Muggles and Muggle-born wizards and witches?” Beauchene continued to list the crimes of the Dark Lord and his followers in the first war, “that you and your warriors were using the Imperius curse and blackmail to gain secret servants in high places, intending to destabilise the British Ministry of Magic? That you used Giants to attack England, and that your warriors, the so called Death Eaters, massacred hundreds of pure-bloods?”
Voldemort nodded gravely. He had no intention of denying what he had done. “Indeed. It is true that I planned, and continue to plan, a revolution against the British Ministry of Magic and especially Albus Dumbledore and his followers. But,” he pointedly raised his right index finger, “it is a Light side myth, a lie, that I or my Death Eaters murdered hundreds of pure-blood wizards and witches. We did no such thing! I believe we are responsible for eradicating a few hundred Muggles, Muggle-borns and half-bloods over a period of ten, almost eleven, years. As far as I remember, I only killed one pure-blood wizard intentionally and that was James Potter. He and his Mudbl-,” he cut himself off and cleared his throat, “his Muggle-born wife were also Order of the Phoenix members, constantly attacking my people. Despite this, I was willing to spare them before October 1981. I first asked them to join our cause; when they refused, I gave them both two chances in combat situations to escape. They were very obstinate, very fanatical and completely loyal to Dumbledore. Those young fools, it was a shame, such a waste of magical potential.”
He shook his head and added contemplatively, “Well, I was a fool too, to walk into that death trap as I did.”
“Order of the what?” inquired Beauchene, unnerved by the casual attitude of the Dark Lord, who appeared to be only disappointed that he had had to kill the Potters, then next alluded—astonishingly frank—to that mysterious night when he lost his powers. The man in front of him, Voldemort, had seemed slightly angry at the fact that the British Ministry and media accused him of too many murdered pure-bloods when he had obviously not done so.
“Ah,” Voldemort tilted his head in question. “You do not know that term?”
Marcellin answered. “Bill explained it to me, but I got the impression…” he trailed off.
Beauchene looked back and forth between the two other wizards, clearly not happy that his employee had withheld information.
LeBlanc frowned. He didn’t know this term; Order of the what? Phoenix?
Voldemort clarified, “This information is restricted for a reason. Dumbledore keeps his chicken club a secret from the public, so it is prudent not to let anyone know that you know as that could impair William Weasley’s cover. Is that understood?”
Beauchene nodded, “Certainly.”
LeBlanc also nodded affirmative.
“You see Monsieur Beauchene, back in the seventies, my forces and I mainly fought with members of Dumbledore’s own army. They call themselves the Order of the Phoenix, which is a secret organisation that he founded and led to defeat me. They aspire to protect all Muggles, Muggle-borns and Half-bloods and to fight against dark magic in general. We strove to eradicate the Mudbloods and Muggles if they either represented a threat to the magical community, or they had harmed wizards on an earlier occasion. The Order of the Phoenix tried to stop us. They also searched some of my people out and attacked them in an ambush. In most cases, completely unprovoked I might add. Then, we retaliated, and sought them out ourselves. We killed a few of them, maybe five or six in total. And that’s it,” Voldemort explained, locking eyes with the uneasy Head of the French Department of International Magical Cooperation.
The portly wizard seemed to fight the urge to draw his wand, or to stand up and make a signified retreat. “So you do not deny that you killed some wizards?”
Voldemort smirked and emphasized, “Three pure-bloods on purpose in the first war. The Prewett twins were killed by a group of my followers because they were Order of the Phoenix members, Dumbledore’s warriors, and had become truly irksome. I personally fought and eventually killed James Potter, who was one of the main, full time warriors of the Order of the Phoenix. Three pure-blood wizards, not hundreds.”
As if killing a few hundred Muggles, Muggle-borns, half-bloods and only three pure-bloods wasn’t so bad. Well, to pure-bloods it wasn’t. Not really.
Voldemort continued, “Do not forget that Aurors led by Mad-Eye Moody killed two of my best men, young pure-bloods whose names were Rosier and Wilkens. And several Black family members, of course all pure-bloods, were killed too during the last war, most unfortunately. The last direct heir, Sirius Black fell recently through the Veil of Death; although Madam LeStrange did not intend to kill her cousin. But, that is all in the past.”
LeBlanc was not to be deterred however. “And what about Madam Bones? Didn’t you recently assassinate her? And do you deny responsibility for damaging that bridge, so that a couple of Muggles lost their lives? Dumbledore claims you are responsible for murdering several people, for example Igor Karkarov and Hestia Jones.”
Voldemort made a move with his hand, as if to chase a fly away. “Alright; last year and this year, we did kill a few more, but not a large number and only if really necessary. Or, to make a point of what we could do, if Fudge didn’t step down and yield to my demands. Now, Ms Jones was an Order of the Phoenix member, a warrior, therefore not an innocent casualty. Igor was a spineless traitor, so I sent my people to hunt him down. But, as they say, that is all in the past.”
He stopped speaking and took a sip of his exquisite Tessoron cognac. Setting his tulip glass down, he laced his fingers below his chin, looking intently at both Louvel Beauchene and Marcellin Delacour. “My goal has not changed so much, but my methods have due to certain information that has come to my attention. What has not changed is that I have huge numbers at my command, once again, and not just witches and wizards, but all manner of Dark creatures. Several Vampire Clans and all of the British Werewolves have pledged themselves to me; they will fight…if necessary.”
The two French wizards listened, curious as to what new information and methods the British Dark Lord meant, and registering the impressive force this wizard could lead into battle.
Voldemort sat back, crossing one leg over the other. He smiled a thin smile. “Now, I have to admit that I behaved officiously during the seventies. My followers acted rashly in their fervent desire to stop the destruction of our world, so rashly that we almost destroyed it ourselves. We were overzealous, hasty, and rued that bitterly. After my near death experience at the hands of Mr Potter’s dear mother, I had a decade to observe and contemplate as I could do nothing else. After I returned, I started to rebuild my forces. I was lucky that Mr Potter decided to approach me. Our discussions led to a re-evaluation of my goals and plans.”
“Could you elaborate on that please?” Roger LeBlanc asked, hiding his astonishment well.
“Certainly,” Voldemort nodded, “my intentions towards Muggles are not as homicidal as they once were. I have come to the realization that it is not feasible to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns, like I envisioned the new order during the seventies; at least, not for a long while.”
“Oh?” Marcellin asked, “And may I ask what changed your opinion?”
“This summer, Mr Potter and the young Mr Malfoy conveyed a survey of the modern Muggle world. They drew my attention to the extraordinary power of modern Muggle weapons,” Voldemort explained, “the existence of satellites surveying Earth from space, and video cameras surveying Muggle shops, banks and all kinds of public Muggle venues and traffic.”
Both French wizards nodded gravely. They did not look as shocked and surprised as Voldemort’s followers did when he had told them about the Muggle technology; so he concluded that the French wizards, or at least these Ministry employees, were well aware of the Muggles immense technological progress.
“I understand now that open warfare against them, like Grindelwald did, or I attempted, is suicide,” Voldemort continued. “Their numbers are simply too great to eradicate or to subjugate them. The threat they pose to us if they ever discovered the magical people is immense. For the foreseeable future, we have to adhere to the Statute of Secrecy. Once the British Wizarding world is under my control, and we have established a new working government, I plan to encourage research of further options with the ultimate goal of ensuring a safe world for all magical beings and creatures.”
“That sounds reasonable your Lordship,” Beauchene nodded. “Could you give me an example of your current and future methods and the reasons you employ them? Why do you believe Muggle-borns pose a threat at all?”
“For the time being, we have to solve the problem of too many Muggles in Britain knowing too much about the Magical world. Any operations against Muggles connected to Mud—Muggle-borns, and half-bloods that spread the knowledge about magic must be clandestine operations, disguised as accidents,” Voldemort said. “Their science, medicine and surveillance technology are developing so fast. It is only a question of time until some Muggle crime or military researcher finds incontrovertible evidence of magic and gets his—or her—hands on some stupid Muggle-born who tells them all about us; about our strengths and weaknesses.
“Imagine what would happen when Muggles realize that most wizards are helpless without their wands? Alternatively, imagine how magical people shall be treated when Muggles try to study us? How will wizard children or adults suffer when the Muggle government attempts to persuade, or rather, force them to aid the Muggles in their everyday chores, businesses, healing endeavours or even their armed conflicts with other Muggles?”
Louvel Beauchene was taken aback. “Excusez-moi?!” he exclaimed incredulously, “My government was under the impression that only the British Prime Minister was informed by your Minister for Magic that magic is real and that occasionally, he is appraised of what happens in our world.”
“That is not the case,” replied Voldemort, shaking his head minimally. “Well, in theory, you are correct of course. You see, Monsieur Beauchene, through the neglect and carelessness of the British Ministry for Magic, and deliberately through the exaggerated Pro-Muggle attitude of Albus Dumbledore in his function as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, not only are many Muggle parents and the siblings of Muggle-borns or half-bloods aware of our world, but also some of their close relatives, good friends or even work colleagues.”
That statement was met with incredulous exclamations.
“What?!”
“Pardon?!”
The three French wizards were aghast at hearing these facts and looked at Voldemort with disbelief and dismay, which pleased the Dark Lord immensely. This was what he was hoping for.
Voldemort continued to explain in a casual tone, “For now, all my people can do is identify and find these Muggle-borns or half-bloods and their families. They research all connections to friends, colleagues at work and any others they have told anything about magic, and eradicate the potential risk of discovery before this situation becomes uncontrollable. They do this in a circumspect way, not like in the first war. No burned houses with the Dark Mark cast in the sky above to cause panic. That would be counterproductive.”
“I see,” said Beauchene. “Couldn’t you just—oh, of course not. How unfortunate that so many Muggles lose their lives, but now I understand why you do it. Not that I agree, mind you. And-and your Ministry does not try to control the Muggles? Your DLME has a squad of Obliviators. Why do they not nip this problem in the bud?”
“No they do not. They do send Obliviators out to control the sighting of magic, but it is more in the cases of accidental magic. Mr Potter could tell you about an unpleasant incident three years ago at his Muggle home, for instance. Obliviator squads are also sent out when magical creatures have been sighted, like when a dragon sweeps down over a beach like it happened in Wales, or in cases where some wizard plays a prank on Muggles, which happens rather frequently,” explained Voldemort.
“And what do you plan to do once you have won this war and gathered the control over the Ministry and the British Wizengamot?” Marcellin asked.
“One immediate step towards more safety shall be a changed approach of Muggle-borns or Muggle raised half-blood children, like Mr Potter, that are about to start Hogwarts in the next year or years,” Voldemort said.
“What do you have in mind, your Lordship?” Beauchene asked.
“Instead of executing them all, as was my former approach, I want to improve the methods of first contact,” Voldemort explained, “I plan to send out better prepared, better trained wizards to make this crucial first contact with these Muggle-born children and their parents or guardians.”
Beauchene frowned. “I am delighted to hear that you plan to refrain from murdering innocents, but why do you deem it necessary to change how the future students are approached?”
“I do not know things are done here in France,” Voldemort said calmly, “but, are you aware that all magical children of the appropriate age to start Hogwarts on the first of September, meaning all eleven year olds, get an invitation by owl post the previous summer? And that British Wizarding parents are seriously discouraged to teach their children any magic before they come to Hogwarts as a first year?”
The French wizards frowned. They were not aware of that and could not understand why the British wizarding world would allow that to happen.
“But, why so late?” Marcellin asked.
“That is just the way it is in Britain,” Voldemort sneered his voice fairly dripped of contempt. “Peoples like Dumbledore and former Minister Fudge argued that all children should enjoy their childhood and that their magical core is too weak to train them with a wand in serious magic anyway. Dumbledore and his followers are of the opinion that it would not be fair if wizard-born, or pure-blood, children have already learned to cast simple magic at home. They felt that the Muggle-borns, and the Muggle raised half-bloods, would be at a disadvantage.”
Beauchene, LeBlanc and Marcellin exchanged exasperated glances and shook their heads at the idiocy of Dumbledore and Fudge.
Voldemort went on to explain how things were handled currently by the Hogwarts staff. “Sometime sooner, or later, depending on the whims of the Headmaster, and the time schedule of the Heads of Houses, a professor from Hogwarts visits this Muggle family and they explain briefly about magic and Hogwarts. They then accompany the Muggle-born child, and usually the Muggle parents also, for a first outing to Diagon Alley, our main Wizarding district. This is a hidden area, in the heart of Muggle London, near Leicester square, accessible from Charing Cross Road. There, they will buy the necessary school supplies.”
At this point, the French wizards nodded, but they also frowned. Beauchene and Delacour had both visited Diagon Alley during the summer two years before, and LeBlanc had at least heard of the street. Diagon Alley was in their mind, a weak copy of the obviously superior Rue Magique here in Paris, which was hidden in the Latin Quarter. Of course someone had to show the young wizard or witch where to get there school supplies; if it was organized that way in Britain. However, they were a bit astonished at hearing the Muggle parents actually going along to Diagon Alley.
“During this visit, the Muggles are shown to Gringotts to exchange their Muggle British Pounds into galleons,” Voldemort continued, “So, they now know where Diagon Alley is and how to find the entrance, the Leaky Cauldron, if they accompany a magical person like their child. In theory, they can tell others. Of course, most of these Muggles keep quiet; they simply tell their neighbours that their child has been accepted at a school for the especially gifted. But some, however, are not so careful. Mr. Potter can tell you more, especially that in his house—Gryffindor House—the security is extremely, criminally lax. To my mind, it is imperative to ensure that these Muggles do not spread word about the magical world.”
Marcellin exclaimed, “But, this is—is—irresponsible!”
Beauchene commented, “Are you sure it is handled this way by the Hogwarts staff?”
Voldemort simply inclined his head. “Absolutely. I shall swear it is the truth. If you do not believe me, go and ask the Malfoys and Potter.”
“But why?” wondered LeBlanc. To him, this seemed not only strange, but absurd. Why risk the safety and security of the British wizarding world like that?
The French wizards were appalled and very worried.
“Certainly Muggles should not witness so much,” Beauchene remarked, “and they should not be able to talk freely about our world.”
“In all our dealings with our counterparts in the British Ministry,” Marcellin said, “we have never been informed about this problem.”
“We have spent days negotiating about the best way to ensure that Muggle civilians travelling in airplanes, or Muggle soldiers flying their training sessions in Tornado jets do not see a glimpse of the Winged horses or cause a terrible accident,” said Beauchene. “We worry about the dangers that the superfast, modern Muggle ships, or the huge gas or oil drilling platforms pose to the Sea Serpents and Merpeople. All of that is important, of course. But it is nothing compared to the danger of actually allowing an increasing number of Muggles to become aware of the magical world!”
“Yes of course,” Voldemort agreed immediately. “Do you begin to see that we, the Dark side, do not oppose the current British administration just out of spite or a misguided sense of clinging to some barbaric ‘Old Ways’ traditions? Can you accept that there is more at stake here than my personal quest to eradicate all Muggles, just because I am simply the incarnate evil, as you have been led to believe?”
Beauchene sighed, “Merde. I beg your pardon, but—
“It is alright, that is a superb word to describe the current situation in Britain,” Voldemort said grimly. “There is something else, something equally important.”
Beauchene exchanged a look with his two companions and muttered, “What else? This is already a most appalling state of affairs.”
Voldemort frowned at the interruption, but was pleased nonetheless with the trepidation on the French wizard’s faces. He shifted in his seat, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, the relaxed pose in stark contrast to the gravity of his words. The men hung on his lips, waiting what new calamity the Dark Lord would disclose.
“Many Muggles do not react favourably to a magical child, be it a Muggleborn or a half-blood. In the past and present, these innocent children were, or are, often neglected, abused and suffer. It is cruel to deny them to stay in the magical world during summer holidays. Currently, the Headmaster of Hogwarts insists that such students are forced back to their Muggle families or guardians, who abhor, loath and fear them, because he believes that they will benefit from the experience of staying in contact with their ‘Muggle side’.” Voldemort sneered at this, showing his disgust and exasperation, but not letting on that once upon a time, he had been one of these unfortunate students.
The trio of French Ministry representatives glared at him incredulous, aghast, disgusted and shocked, uttering a variety of swearwords under their breath that he didn’t catch.
“In Britain, all magical children are forbidden to use any magic during the holidays, so they cannot defend themselves or at least threaten any Muggle trying to hurt them with magic. This has to be resolved,” Voldemort continued, “I want the Hogwarts professors, or other wizards that interact with Muggle families, additionally trained to recognize the first signs of abusive behaviour. I want to change the law so that such adult wizards are allowed to intervene and remove those children a once from the abusive situation.”
“Oh mon dieu!” exclaimed Marcellin. He was horrified at what he had just heard. Children were sacred, especially wizarding children, and to hear of them being treated so horribly. “You have my complete support Lord Voldemort.”
He stopped speaking for a second, wondering how to correctly address the man in front of him. Should he say Your Lordship, like Beauchene did? But that was a bit pretentious, wasn’t it? This Lord Voldemort was after all self-styled, as far as Marcellin knew, but of course this dark wizard was the most magically powerful person he had ever encountered.
He forgot his hesitation almost immediately when he imagined how an innocent magical child could be forced back into the care of a Muggle family that did not want the child and where the child did not want to stay. Why ever were these students not properly cared for in Britain? Why did Albus Dumbledore always talk about progress at ICW conferences, and more understanding between Muggles and wizards? That was an illusion, wishful thinking! It was possible on a small scale certainly; there were some decent Muggles around. But the masses were dangerous, prejudiced and only too ready to point their fingers at any scapegoat they found.
“This is horrible! Bill Weasley had already talked about this topic to me,” Marcellin resumed speaking, “but I did not fully understand just how dangerous it was or that the British Ministry and Mr Dumbledore are acting so irresponsibly.”
Beauchene began speaking animatedly and gesturing with his hand in enthusiasm, “Here in France, we do have such a programme. It is sponsored by our Ministry for Magic. All Muggle-borns and half-bloods are searched out and evaluated early on. We do not wait until they are eleven years old. Seven is the age by which most experts agree that magic will have revealed itself, if present, in the child.”
He shook his head in disbelief at the idea that they would leave magical children on their own for that long. “It is the general consensus in the French wizarding community that wizard children living in the Muggle world are not safe there. There are some notable exceptions of course, as there are decent, intelligent and tolerant Muggles out there. Nevertheless, all wizard children do experience small incidents of magic, accidental magic, as they develop. They make flowers grow faster, or let a ball hover in the air, or summon toys or banish food they dislike.”
Marcellin, LeBlanc and Voldemort nodded in agreement.
Beauchene continued, “I remember my son when he was age three, four, five and the temper tantrums he would get; tantrums that came with accidental magic. That would’ve been impossible to hide from the Muggles, and it would scare the child and of course the parents or any friends witnessing such a magical outburst if no one had told them what to expect.”
“So our goal is to find magical children growing up in the Muggle world as early as possible and to remove them if necessary,” Marcellin explained, “A Ministry of Magic representative from the Department of Childcare would arrive to speak with the family. If the circumstances that the child live in fails our Ministry’s standards, the child would be removed immediately and given into the temporary care of a group home until a suitable foster family has made its choice. The Muggles in the know would be obliviated; the Department engineers a convincing cover story for the Muggle police and newspapers depending on the age of the child. It is astounding how many young Muggle children suffer fatal traffic accidents, or drowning in lakes or rivers, you know?”
“Yes, I know that Muggles suffer all kinds of ‘accidents’,” Voldemort replied, sharing a conspiring smirk with the French wizard. “You mentioned ‘to remove them if necessary’. What did you mean?”
“Well, if the family environment is understanding and supportive, they may keep the child,” Beauchene clarified, “but the family is then entered into a mentoring programme. There are monthly visits to ensure the quality of education and necessary care, and that the Muggles do not talk about the magical world. We place a special hex, which is a blend of the Confundus charm and the Imperius curse, on the parents and any Muggle siblings so that they literally are unable to utter words like magic, sorcery, magical school, witch, wizard, Beauxbatons in connection with their child’s person or school when speaking to people not already in the know.”
“Creative,” commented Voldemort, “And as it should be.”
“And in the first place,” Marcellin pointed out, “French Muggle parents do not know as much about us as your British families do know about you. What I mean is; there is no need for the Muggle parents to go along to Rue Magique to shop for supplies or to Gringotts Paris to exchange their funds, like you described are common for British Muggles.”
“Oh?” Voldemort raised an eyebrow in surprise. “How so?”
Marcellin smiled, proud to be able to explain their system, which was far superior to the British in his opinion. “In France, the magical school also sends them a letter—however not by owl, but by regular Muggle post—with a list of equipment their child is going to receive or use at school, and how high the cost of school is, including everything; boarding, education, school robes, cauldrons, quills, parchment and so on for seven years. The parents then give a modest, monthly pay cheque in Francs to a Muggle bank account at Crédit Lyonnais, which is secretly charmed to transfer this Muggle money to Gringotts Paris and as galleons into the school’s vault; very ingenious of the goblins, and an easy way to ensure more secrecy and security.
“And, of course, the initial letter is charmed so that any other Muggles besides the parents, or guardians, of this specific Muggle-born first year reading it won’t get suspicious.”
“I see; ingenious,” Voldemort nodded thoughtfully. Why ever had nobody in Britain come up with a similar idea? Maybe Dumbledore and those idiotic, like-minded Light wizards actually wanted the Muggle-borns or half-bloods and their Muggle parents, siblings, spouses visiting Diagon Alley each summer to further more interaction between them and to show off the fantastical magical world to them?
“And how do the children get their supplies?” he asked.
“On the day before the first day of school, the first years are all assembled at the Beauxbaton School,” Marcellin explained, “All children that have grown up in the wizarding world went to Rue Magique with their wizard parents or guardians in advance during the month of August, so they should have all the necessary supplies already. They prefects check to make sure.
“The very few new Muggle-borns or half-bloods that still live with their Muggle families get their outfits at school. The shops in Rue Magique provide a starter package for the beginning of term. During their first year, they get introductory lectures to our world, building upon what they have already been taught during the past years in the mentoring programme. A teacher together with one or two prefects shows them how to use the Floo network and accompanies this group on visits to the wizarding district. They are shown where the entrance from the Muggle side is only later, when they have grown accustomed to our world, have come to love magic, and have it drummed into them how important secrecy is.”
“That is fascinating!” Voldemort was stunned, though he didn’t show it. He knew that the British wizarding world was behind when it came to certain things, but he had had no idea just how behind they were. This, this! is what they should be doing, and should have been doing from the start!
“So he asked, “Do you know how this situation is handled in other countries? For example, Germany perhaps?”
“In Germany and other countries in the European Union, they have similar procedures. Such abused children as you mentioned tend to try to defend themselves with burst of uncontrolled, accidental magic. That is cause for concern as such incidents alarm the Muggles, and alert them to the existence of something “supernatural”.” Beauchene mimed quotation marks with his fingertips on that last word, “Many Muggles are not as oblivious as the British wizards believe they are. I personally know quite a few open-minded Muggles that do consider the possibility of supernatural beings or powers as not only fictional. I met some who actually can feel magic to an extent; they are able to correctly identify magical items, plants, or places with strong, natural environmental magic. Like in some old forests, or so called holly wells, or what I believe they call the crossings of Ley Lines in English. We surely do not want to encourage that!”
“No we wouldn’t,” Voldemort agreed. He noticed Madame Delacour standing in the doorway looking inquiringly towards their group, and the tall, black haired wizard rose from his place on the sofa.
Showing his respect and appreciation by nodding to both of them, he spoke sincerely, “Thank you Messieurs, for listening to my arguments, and in turn explaining this topic so thoroughly. I shall endeavour to employ your methods in Britain as soon as possible. I am sure you could arrange to compile a manual with all of these details for my future administration. It shall save hundreds of lives.”
“You are very welcome Lord Voldemort,” Beauchene nodded in reply. “I am pleased we came to an understanding. It was an interesting experience to say the least and I am glad that my misgivings were cleared.”
“Thank you,” Voldemort replied. He waved a hand towards Madame Delacour, “Shall we re-join the charming ladies?”
The men agreed and they all followed Apolline back to where Harry and the others were.
The rest of the night passed and the atmosphere was a lot more relaxed than it was at the start; something that everyone was happy about it and they spent the time talking about nothing and everything.
~…~
The next day, Bill, Fleur and Gabrielle showed up by Floo travel early in the morning to take Harry and Draco out and about Paris while Voldemort and Lucius were supposed to sleep in.
Bill had of course gained permission for this outing from the adults at Delacour Manoir the previous evening, so he knew Lucius would set a charm up that opened the otherwise strictly warded Floo connection at precisely five minutes to eight to allow him and the Delacour girls access to the Malfoy suite. When they arrived, Draco and Harry were already alert and half-dressed…well…somewhat.
Bill laughed when he saw them, “Should we have come back at a later time?”
Harry scowled at his friend. “No. We’re ready. Just give us a few minutes.”
He dragged Draco back into the bedroom. Five minutes later, they returned, this time, both were fully dressed.
“So what are we doing today?” Harry asked as he looked at them.
“Well,” Draco spoke up, “Bill and I thought we’d give you kind of an overview of the city.”
Harry turned confused eyes to his boyfriend, “What do you mean?”
Bill grinned, “He means fly. We thought we’d use broomsticks and fly over the city for a while.”
Harry’s eyes lit up, “Yes! I’m all for that.”
Gabrielle and Fleur giggled while Bill laughed and Draco shook his head with a smile at his boyfriend’s enthusiasm.
“Great!” Fleur grinned after she got her giggles under control. “It ‘as been a vile since I last flew.”
Gabrielle looked at her big sister, “You flew just yesterday afternoon.”
Harry laughed as Fleur flushed and playfully smacked her sister’s shoulder, “On my side…not against me.”
Draco turned to Harry, “Hurry up and eat so we can go.”
Harry nodded and quickly downed his breakfast—buttered croissant and a large café au lait—and soon enough, the five of them were ready to leave.
Bill cast Disillusion Charms on all of them and the broomsticks too. “Ok. We’re going to fly in a hawk formation. Keep away from the Eiffel Tower at least two hundred yards. Also, no loud noises or exclamations of surprise.” He turned to grin at Harry, “And please, no wild stunts or anything. We don’t want any Muggle to notice us.”
Harry huffed, “Why are you looking at me? And anyways, how would they notice us considering you just put us under the Disillusion Charm?”
“Better safe than sorry,” Bill remarked as he lightly cuffed Harry on his shoulder.
Harry grumbled good-naturedly but couldn’t stop the grin from taking over. Not only was he going flying, but he was spending the day visiting one of the most romantic places in the world with the young man he loved and friends he cared about.
“Let’s go!” Harry bounced on his feet prompting the others to laugh.
Soon enough the quintet was in the air. As they flew from the building, Bill got another idea. Quickly, and discreetly, pulling out his wand, he cast another charm over the five broomsticks. This time it was a charm that worked similarly to the way a flock of birds maintained their formation. His broom was the leader and with the way the charm worked, if he curved to the right, sped up or slowed down, then the other brooms would follow his own in direction and speed.
With that out of the way, the group truly took off.
For Fleur and Gabrielle who’s lived in France their whole lives, and Draco who’s visited with his parents more times than he could count, and for Bill who’s visited Fleur enough times, although they’ve all seen Paris before, somehow, knowing that they were with Harry, who has never been on a trip like this before, made them feel as if they were about to experience the place for the first time, the way he would be.
Harry had the widest grin and he thought that it would never fade or that the fireflies buzzing in his stomach and heart would jump out of his chest. Everything was so bloody fantastic! Seeing all those places…he couldn’t remember the last time he truly enjoyed himself this much.
After about twenty minutes of sightseeing, the quintet landed on the balcony of the Malfoy suite again. They quietly returned the brooms to the wardrobe. Since they had no intention of disturbing neither the Dark Lord nor the elder Malfoy as both wizards had a meeting scheduled for eleven o’clock with Louvel Beauchene and Marcellin Delacour, they slipped out the entrance door into the Muggle part of the hotel.
“So where to now?” Harry asked as he looked around.
Fleur looped her arm through his and suggested that they took a walk along the grand boulevards like the Muggle tourists did.
“Zat way,” Fleur explained, “you could entrench yourself into Paris’ lively atmosphere.”
“Sounds fun!” Harry grinned. “Let’s do it.”
With a few flicks of her wand, Fleur changed all their clothes into what was the latest trend amongst well-to-do Muggle teenagers so that they would only standout in the crowds positively.
“On we go!” Bill gestured forward and the five proceeded with their walk.
Their first stop was the Louvre Palace and the vastness and grandeur completely overwhelmed Harry. Their next stops after that were the gardens, the Jardin des Tuileries. There were composed of many different structured parts, with perfectly tended lawns and artfully arranged flowerbeds. There was an octagonal water basin sixty metres in diameter with a fountain in the centre, some labyrinths and a fan of low hedges radiating from the arch of triumph in the square.
The scent of the flowers was just about everywhere and Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath to further take it in.
“You ok?” Draco whispered in his boyfriend’s ear when he saw his eyes closed.
Harry reopened his eyes and turned to look at the blond. “Yeah, I’m fine…I’m just taking it in. it’s so amazing!”
Gabrielle giggled at his enthusiasm and delight. It really was infectious.
The day was sunny and beautiful, and it seemed as if everyone had decided that the Tuileries gardens were the place to go as it was full of Parisians and thousands of Muggle tourists, all laughing and just enjoying themselves.
Harry looked around, eyes bright with wonder, “You know, for such a large place, it seems a bit, I don’t know—
“Intimate?” Draco supplied.
“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “So, how did they build it?”
“It was created by Catherine de Medicis in 1564,” Fleur answered as she walked next to him. “Zey first opened it to ze public in 1667 and zen, after ze French revolution, it became a public park.”
“Amazing,” Harry breathed. He was truly enjoying himself.
As they walked by the statues, Fleur explained to Harry how they were many copies and the originals were exhibited inside the Louvre museum. She told him that most of them were hew or carved entirely by Muggles, but she—as well as Draco—pointed out a few that they knew had been created by magic.
Harry was captured by the statues that he was seeing. He found just a little hard to understand just how Muggles had been able to form solid stone—such as marble, granite, bronze—into such life-like sculptures. There was one of a galloping centaur carrying off a captured young woman—a nymph—but it was nothing like the real life centaurs he had seen in the Forbidden Forest back at Hogwarts.
And if that wasn’t enough to hold his attention, then the sculptures of humans did. Many of them were of the male form and they were beautiful and erotic.
After walking for another half an hour, Bill thought they should stop for lunch.
“Where are we going to eat?” Harry asked as he looked around, trying to find a restaurant.
“What about Café Rennard?” Gabrielle suggested.
“Where’s that?” Harry asked.
“It’s in the Grand Couvert,” Draco replied. “It’s over there in that area covered by trees.”
Harry shrugged and grabbed Draco’s hand, “Alright. Let’s go.”
The quintet took off for the café, talking amongst themselves.
After a short lunch, they walked some more until they came to the Louvre Pyramid, which was in the centre of the Napoleon Courtyard of the Palais.
If Harry thought the statues in the garden were captivating, then it was nothing compared to when he they got to the museum. The entrance itself was stunning.
As they walked around the vast courtyard, Harry took in the carved pilasters, arches and pediments of the imposing buildings.
They went down the spiral stairway to the underground lobby, so that they were underneath the famous steel-and-glass pyramid. There, Gabrielle took Harry’s hand, pulling him along; she wanted to show him something she thought was really special.
“Come ‘Arry,” Gabrielle grinned. “You vill love zis.”
Having a hold of Harry’s hand, the younger girl led him and the others to the La Pyramide Inversée, which was a skylight constructed in the Carrousel du Louvre shopping mall.
The moment he took in the pyramid, Harry was in awe. To him, the pyramid felt very magical, somehow, as if the power of the Earth and of Ancient times connected straight with the heavens above and the future beyond. Still in awe, he looked around and saw the same expression on the faces of the hundreds of Muggle tourists around them.
Giggling, Fleur grabbed Harry’s arm, steering him around the masses of Muggles milling about.
“So ‘Arry,” Fleur grinned as she led him to the entrance, “You liked the statues outside, no?”
“They were amazing,” Harry breathed out with a nod.
“Good,” Fleur smiled, “zen you vill like zis. Zere are many more inside. You love Draco, so you vill love zese.”
Harry looked at her, taking in the knowing smirk on her face and her tone, but didn’t dispute her words. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, “What does me loving Draco have to do with anything?”
Fleur just grinned, “You vill see.”
They bypassed the Egyptian antiquities and most of the countless oil paintings of modern artists and headed straight to the ground floor of the Denon wing, which held Italian sculpture.
As they walked, Fleur prattled on about how the Louvre held thousands of the finest works of erotic art in the world, celebrating the glory of the male and female body.
In the corner of the fourth room, they stopped as Fleur wanted to admire her favourite sculpture.
Bill groaned as he stood next to his fiancée. “Really? This again? Haven’t you seen it enough times now?”
Fleur smacked him on his chest with her free arm, “’ush you. I love it. It is my favourite.”
“I know,” Bill pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
“I can see why,” Harry said as he reached out and grabbed Draco’s hand, tangling their fingers together.
The sculpture was of a winged young man and a swooning woman in a tender embrace, their lips about to join in a kiss.
“It’s Pysche and Cupid by Antonio Canova,” Gabrielle said.
“It’s beautiful,” Harry said, “you can practically feel the love between the two of them.”
He turned to say something to Draco, but something caught his eye.
“What is that?” the question came out almost breathlessly and as if in a trance, Harry walked over what had caught his attention.
There stood two different figures, but they were similar in a way that he could guess that the same artist had crafted them. They were made from marble, and were over two meters tall. One, known as the Dying Slave, was superbly young and handsome and seemed to be in a trance or deep sleep; the other, titled Rebellious Slave, was a coarser figure with bulging muscles, whose body seemed engaged in a violent struggle, trying to break free from his restraints.
“Who’s it from?” Harry asked, unable to tear his gaze away.
“It was crafted by Michelangelo five hundred years ago,” Draco told him. His gaze however, wasn’t on the sculpture, but rather, on his boyfriend. “They are called the chained slaves, but that isn’t really an accurate name. This one over here, he is a warrior, a fight—possibly a gladiator—engaged in a fight to the death against a rider charging upon him. He strains his muscles, ready to wield his weapons.”
Harry didn’t reply to the blond’s words. He was too transfixed by the sculptures. Both spoke to him deeply, on an emotional level—one that perhaps only Voldemort or Snape could fully understand. Feeling overwhelmed, he tightened his grip on Draco and pulled him close in an almost desperate embrace; he just held him, breathing in his scent and feeling his warmth.
He thought he was done with these feelings—that he was over them. He wasn’t chained anymore in a role he despised, or forced to go to sleep forever, to die young as a human sacrifice because Dumbledore thought it was the best thing for everybody. He had discovered a way to free himself, and by proxy Voldemort, from the strings of Dumbledore’s manipulations. If he hadn’t found his powers and the courage to do what was necessary, then…
When Harry pulled him into his arms, Draco had been startled, but he quickly wrapped his arms around the dark haired teen’s neck. He could sense that his boyfriend was disturbed by the sculptures and he had a feeling as to what his thoughts were like.
There was nothing he could say right now; he just had to let Harry work through his emotions and that he was here if he needed him.
“You ok?” the blond asked.
“I will be,” Harry mumbled into Draco’s neck.
“Good,” Draco pressed a kiss to the side of the teen’s head before pulling back. “Come on.”
He led him away to look at other sculptures—beautiful, perfectly proportioned, sweet, innocent virgin girls that didn’t look so tormented or sorrowful.
Fleur, Gabrielle and Bill exchanged worried glances, though Bill felt that he might have had inkling as to what Harry had been thinking about, and they followed the two boys.
As they continued on with their tour, admiring centuries of male and female seduction in countless statues and sculptures, Harry had wondered just how Fleur and Gabrielle didn’t blush once, to which both girls promptly explained that they had seen it before and that they focused more on the artisanship and incredible craftsmanship instead of the forms themselves.
After two hours had passed, they left the Louvre.
Fleur led the way out of the alcove of Denon wing, and after making sure no Muggles were near, she pulled out her wand and tapped a cornerstone (one that had looked absolutely ordinary to Harry). An instant later, the faint outline of a doorway appeared. Without any sound, it swung open to reveal a small stone chamber.
“In ve go,” Fleur said cheerily as she stepped inside. The others followed, and once all of them were in, the door swung shut behind them.
A large fireplace, high enough for a tall man to stand inside, revealed itself.
Fleur walked over to the mantle where a golden box was resting. She grabbed a handful of Floo powder, enough for the five of them, and then they were off with a short swirl that brought them to a cosy wizard pub on Rue de Ursins. They had arrived right on the island in the middle of the stream—called Ile de la Cité—the same one that Harry had noticed the day before from the balcony and again this morning from the air.
After a short visit of the island, and admiring Notre Dame, the walked across the Pont de l’Archevéché towards the Latin Quarter—one of the oldest areas of Paris after the island in the middle of the Seine herself, where Paris had been founded twenty-three hundred years ago.
The Delacour sisters exchanged looks and giggles. They were extremely excited to show off Rue Magique to the others, especially Harry.
Because their group was walking along the Quai de Montebello, Bill lead them to where the entrance for the Muggle-borns or half-bloods that couldn’t use Apparition or the Floo network for some reason.
They stopped in front of a narrow, black wrought iron gate decorated with two gilded medallions in the guise of a lion’s head. It was set in the wall of an otherwise ordinary yellow stone house. Apparently, this gate was charmed with a kind of Notice-Me-Not just like the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross road, so that it was overlooked by the Parisians or tourists walking along the lively Rue Saint-Andrés des Arts.
Harry watched a couple of Muggles; not one of them tried to approach the gate.
“So does this work like the one back in London?” he asked. “I mean, do I tap my wand against this in some kind of pattern?”
“No,” Gabrielle laughed and walked forward, going straight through the gate. Or rather, the black, straight horizontal rods seemed to bend gracefully to the right and left like willow branches, allowing her to pass without a scratch.
Suddenly, Harry could see a cobblestone alleyway with brightly lit shop windows and pubs beckoning him to enter.
Harry gaped after her, but he wasn’t the only one.
“Ze door is charmed in a vay zat it is easily opened by any magical person,” Fleur explained. “Come; let’s go.”
She stepped through, gesturing the boys after her. The three followed and when they were through, Draco and Harry stopped abruptly to stare wide-eyed at the impressive shopping venue.
Fleur laughed in sheer delight at the looks on their faces. She moved around them proudly, arms spread out wide, and whirled around in joy. “Zis, zis is ze the original. Your Diagon Alley is just a copy!”
“Is that,” Harry pointed to a huge, beautiful carved marble fireplace—one that was high and wide enough that a whole family group could arrive or leave without stumbling or trampling over each other.
“Yes,” Fleur nodded, “Zat is the ze Floo. Trés magnifique, no?”
“Come on!” Gabrielle suddenly ran up to them and grabbed her sister’s arm. “Let’s go!”
Fleur laughed and allowed her sister to drag her off.
The three boys exchanged looks and followed the two girls. The quintet walked from store to store, Fleur and Gabrielle taking delight in showing the three British boys the—in their opinion—original Parisian version of Diagon Alley.
After almost an hour of walking, they decided to take a break. Or rather, Bill and Harry decided to take a break while Fleur and Gabrielle took a very enthusiastic Draco through a couple of fashion boutiques.
The two ended up sitting in a street café, both enjoying café au lait and crepes with whipped cream and fresh fruit.
“This was amazing,” Harry said. His gaze was on Fleur, Draco and Gabrielle and he smiled when he saw how much fun his boyfriend was having.
“And it must’ve been even better with no one being able to recognize you,” Bill added on with a grin.
Before they had left the hotel earlier in the morning, Harry had cast a simple glamour on his hair; it wasn’t a big change or anything. He’d lightened it enough that it came off as dirty blond, and without his glasses and his trademark scar having faded, he looked nothing like the Gryffindor ‘Harry Potter’ that had been in wizarding newspapers—French and British alike—and so, was virtually unrecognizable.
Harry laughed, “Of course. It’s nice to be able to walk down the street without people staring at me.”
“I bet,” Bill murmured and wondered if he should tell Harry that he was still getting stares. The teen was very attractive and if it wasn’t for the fact that he wasn’t gay, and completely in love in Fleur, and saw Harry as a little brother, and afraid of the wrath of Draco Malfoy if he moved on his territory, if it wasn’t for all that, he’d be staring too.
The conversation shifted to Quidditch and the two delved into about friendly discussion about their Quidditch careers throughout Hogwarts, which prompted Bill to talk about Charlie and his talent at the sport before the younger Weasley had fallen for Dragons and working with them.
Half an hour later, Draco, Fleur and Gabrielle re-joined them.
“Did you buy out the stores?” Harry teased the trio.
“No,” Draco grinned as he pressed his lips against Harry’s cheek in a quick kiss. “Almost though; it was a close call.”
“So where to now?” Bill asked looking from his fiancée to the others.
The others looked at each other.
“I’m actually a little exhausted,” Harry admitted. “We’ve been to so many places today, all of them amazing, but right now, I just want to relax.”
“How about we go back to the hotel and just hang out by the pool?” Draco suggested.
“Zat sounds like a good idea,” Fleur nodded.
“Je vais rentrer à la maison,” Gabrielle said to her sister. (I’m going to go home.)
Fleur turned to face with the young girl with a raised eyebrow, “Pourquoi?” (Why?)
“Parce que Marie-Claude et moi tenions une soirée pyjama,” Gabrielle explained. (Because Marie-Claude and I are having a sleepover.)
“Ahh,” Fleur nodded, “Alright.” She turned back to the boys. “Gabrielle ‘as to leave, so she cannot come with, but I vill.”
“Alright,” Draco nodded. “Our suite has anti-Apparation charms on it, but we have a Portkey to take us back there. Let’s get to a safe spot and then we can leave.”
“Wait,” Harry said, “Since Gabrielle has to go home, why don’t we Apparate back to the Delacour manor and then we can either Floo or Portkey back to the hotel from there?”
The others exchanged looks.
“Sounds good,” Bill nodded.
They quickly made their way Apparation point and within minutes, they left Rue Magique.
They reappeared back the Manor and after dropping Gabrielle off and Fleur explaining her plans to her parents, Draco used his Portkey and the quartet left Manor and went back to the hotel.
After conversing a bit with Lucius and Voldemort, the four made their way down to the hotel pool to relax. It was the perfect end to an amazing day.
~…~
It was Sunday night, and it was soon time for them to return to England. As they were packing up to leave, Harry decided now was the time to talk to Voldemort about his idea regarding Dumbledore.
He wasn’t sure how the older man would take it, but he had to at least let him know. So, sighing, he left the bedroom and made his way out to where the older wizard was.
He found him sitting on the couch and sat down on the sofa opposite to him.
“Marvolo?” he questioned, “If you’re not too busy, I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s an idea I have in mind regarding Dumbledore.”
“Oh?” Voldemort turned to give the teen his full attention.
“We both know that if we just outright kill him, it would create too much of a panic,” Harry explained, “and in any case, a quick death would be too merciful.”
“What did you have in mind?” Voldemort asked, curious as to where Harry was going.
“Well,” Harry shifted in his seat. “What if we let the people know about the things he has done? Dumbledore thrives on the fact that so many people look up to him. If we were to remove that, it would damage him. People would pull their support from him. I’ve talked to Luna, who spoke to her father at the Quibbler, and he’s willing to interview me and print what I say word for word.”
Voldemort’s brows drew together as he thought on that.
“My Lord?” Lucius called softly as he walked over to the two. He had entered the room just in time to hear Harry’s words. “If I may?”
“What do you think Lucius?” Voldemort asked.
“I agree with Harry,” Lucius said, “While he is going to die, destroying his reputation and his image would impart more damage and it would make it easier for you to take over.”
Voldemort stared at the two men as he thought over their words. The more he thought about it, the more he was intrigued. He thought of Dumbledore and what he knew about the man; he loved appearing as this kind person, this protector of the innocent and defender of the people. His reputation really was a big part of who he was.
Harry’s plan, it was actually, very Slytherin. Voldemort smirked. “You have my permission.”
Harry grinned and looked at Lucius and the elder Malfoy raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Great! And, if you want, I can have Mr Lovegood send a copy of the interview over to you before he prints it.”
“That would be acceptable,” Voldemort nodded.
Beyond pleased that his idea had been received so well, Harry grinned once more at the two men and then got up and headed back to the room to finish getting ready.
“The boy is becoming more and more Slytherin every day,” Lucius commented.
“I agree,” Voldemort said, “And that is an advantage for us.”
“Yes it is,” Lucius agreed.
No more was said between the two men and they went back to finish up.
Half an hour later, the four were ready to head back to England. The trip had been a complete success and they couldn’t wait to go forward with the rest of their plans to secure their future and their rightful place in the Wizarding World.

A/N 2: the end of the chapter. So, now that you’ve read, review so we can know what you thought.
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Rise of the Dark Angel