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Black Phoenix	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21568 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Twenty-Seven—Other Solutions
            “We have the soul here.” A pause that took a long moment to register in Harry’s ears, although not as long as it had taken him to realize that Madame de Lis was the one speaking. “My Lord.”
            Harry took a deep breath and looked up from his notes on Persephone. He took a moment to reorient himself to the problems of the other magical creatures who occupied his court and were looking to him for a home, then nodded and put the book aside. “All right. Have you put it in a room somewhere that I should go and see?” He knew he hadn’t felt the change in Hogwarts’s wards that should have resulted if they brought a different kind of being that had never been here before into the castle, but then, he hadn’t been concentrating on anyone except Persephone for the last day.
            “It is still outside the wards.” Madame de Lis watched him closely enough that Harry tried to muster up a smile. She would expect him to be attentive to more things than just his phoenix, even if the Veela felt some sympathy for Persephone because they were both from the stocks of magical birds. “Would you still like to see it?”
            “Yes. I would.” Harry rose to his feet and neatly squared the notes on his desk. Persephone was asleep on her perch at the moment, and showed no sign of either rousing or wanting to follow him, which was good. Harry thought the fewer people who saw her symptoms of weakness and recognized them for what they were, the better.
            He followed Madame de Lis through the corridors, aware that some of the people of his court bowed and murmured when they saw him, and that others openly stared. Harry ignored both kinds of “tribute.” He didn’t care. He wanted to get back to his office and continue to research solutions for Persephone as soon as possible. Hermione had helped him with some Arithmancy equations that were supposed to tell him how much flesh he could safely cut off and survive. They were getting close to an answer.
            And then Harry would only have to wait for her burning day.
            He lengthened his stride as they came out of the entrance hall, not caring for the way Madame de Lis minced along. Harry ignored the murmur of Hogwarts beneath and behind him, too, stone caressing his feet, warmth trying to rise through the floors to his defense. He loved Hogwarts, yes, he was bonded with it, but it couldn’t do a thing to help him with Persephone. And that was the problem that consumed him right now.
            The distance between the edge of the wards and the doors of the castle had never seemed so long, or a smile so hard to hold on to. Harry summoned all his patience and made it walk with him and cling to his face so that no one would see him and know what was wrong.
            Except the people who already did, like Hermione and Ron, and who were part of the anxious crowd gathered around the portable soul the Veela had brought. Harry paused when he saw it, then came on more slowly, trying to clear all the preconceptions from his mind.
            It did resemble a tree, in some ways. It looked like a dry little stick that had a cluster of leaves at one end, or maybe like a huge piece of celery. Harry examined it attentively. The leaves were the deep green of the Forest in summer. Harry looked at Madame de Lis. “Is it all right if I touch it with my magic?”
            Madame de Lis had opened her mouth for what Harry suspected would probably be a denial, but when she heard what he’d said, she hesitated and closed it again. Then she jerked her head down in a sharp motion. “I cannot deny you the right to do that, I suppose,” she said. “You will want to make sure that we do not bring something dangerous within your wards.”
            Harry let her think that if she wanted. In truth, he was more curious about what the soul would feel like than anything else.
            He stood where he was, and thought of Hogwarts deeply rooted behind him, and Persephone containing part of his soul. He thought of how deep the one was, and how strong the other, and took some of that strength and honed it down to a thin filament, something that would tell him a lot about the soul but touch it gently. Then he reached out.
            For a moment before he connected with the soul, he thought there was a shimmer surrounding it, a golden and blue coruscating aura like the kind that Hermione had tried so hard to learn to see a few years ago.
            Then his magic touched the soul’s, and he felt as though he had become rooted, not in Hogwarts, but in rich and crumbling earth.
            He felt it, then. How a tree survived, how it felt the sap run through it like blood, how it reached to the sun and flowed into the ground with its roots at the same time, how it changed all the time without movement. How it leaned on the wind, and leaned on something else beyond it, those changeable souls of its who moved around. The blossoming they would do, together.
            The blossoming was between the tree and the Veela. The blossoming was everywhere, and if he could wait long enough and listen long enough, he would break out into blossom himself.
            Harry wrenched himself free of the connection with an indignity that he thought must be visible on his face, although he didn’t do more than take one staggering step backwards. He shook his head and glanced at Madame de Lis. “Do you really both blossom at the same time?” he asked. He couldn’t remember seeing any Veela walking around with flowers in their hair, although it might explain why Madame de Lis was named after a flower.
            “Oh, yes,” said Madame de Lis, in a voice that made Harry eye her intently. But she didn’t sound smug or glad that he had staggered that way. She was watching the tree, and although it still looked like nothing from the outside—no trace of the intense life Harry had brushed against—she still smiled at it. “Not in the literal way for Veela, of course. But when the tree is in blossom, we are more likely to discover our mates, the other part of our souls. And we may be more likely to have children, if we are paired to someone who can give us children. And we are sometimes more likely to have new ideas, and start new projects.” She glanced at him. “I wanted to wait to come here until the souls were blossoming and the ideas seemed more deeply rooted. But other people convinced me it would not be a good idea.”
            Harry opened his mouth to ask who those people were, and then closed it again. For all he knew, those Veela hadn’t even come to Hogwarts, or he wouldn’t know them if they had. He was just supposed to make a decision about whether this particular portable soul was dangerous or not.
            He nodded briskly and turned back to the soul. It rustled its leaves in the wind, and swayed back and forth a little. Harry wondered if it was already digging roots in. He hoped not. They would have to dig it up again to plant it under Hogwarts. “It’s fine. Bring it in.”
            Madame de Lis gave him a smile that would have annoyed him under other circumstances. It was too triumphant. But Harry had other things to worry about than a bit of triumph, and he remained supreme within Hogwarts. If the portable souls started causing trouble for him, along with the Veela, he could bring the full power of his bond with Hogwarts down on them and force them out that way.
            “Does that mean that you have considered our request for sanctuary and found it not wanting?” Madame de Lis murmured, casting her eyes down to the ground.
            Harry sighed and paused, rubbing his forehead. Sometimes it was hard to remember why he had wanted to bond with Hogwarts and declare himself a Dark Lord in the first place. Constant, constant politics, constant decisions on matters that people were always asking him to make when he was tired and off-guard.
            Of course they do, he knew Hermione and Draco would say. They know that they stand the best chance of getting something out of you if they can do it then.
            Harry bit back the harsh response he wanted to give to his own conscience, and nodded briskly to Madame de Lis. “You can come here. You cannot use allure on any member of my court, or on me, or the people in the Forest and Hogsmeade who are living under my protection. If I hear that you’ve charmed anyone into doing something for you that they didn’t want to do, then that Veela will be cast out of my court and the rest of you placed on sufferance. Do you understand?”
            Madame de Lis’s eyes were a little wide. Harry felt a trickle of some strange enjoyment move through him; it was hard to identify it as political enjoyment, even though that was probably what it was. She had thought that she would get everything she wanted because she had caught him off-guard, and it was a shock to her that he was still coherent enough to demand some things.
            “But what if someone uses their charm or allure without meaning to?” she demanded. “Are you going to insist on questioning everyone who does something nice for one of us, to make sure that they had their free will when they did it?”
            Harry met her gaze. “If that’s what it takes. Encourage your people to restrain their allure and their charm. There are better ways of getting what they want.”
            Madame de Lis looked away from him, but a few other Veela were ready to take her place, perhaps from having heard their conversation. A young female Veela leaned forwards aggressively. Harry just looked at her. His head was full of Persephone, and of Draco, if he concentrated and needed to have a reason to think about sex with someone. She just couldn’t compete with either one of them.

            “We are not always in control of our allure,” said the Veela, with an accent a little heavier than Madame de Lis’s. “Do you intend to punish us if our control on it slips?”
            Harry smiled at her, and had the impression it was an unpleasant smile from the way that she stepped back from him and lifted her arms as if to shield others from his sight. Well, he couldn’t help that. So far, the Veela had contributed little to his court while being a great deal of trouble.
            “Maybe you didn’t need to control yourself when you were living in France,” he said. “If you spent all your time around your own kind and you didn’t have any normal humans to charm. But you tried to use your allure on me the minute you arrived here, which suggests that you also regard it as a weapon. Learn the control. I’ve said you can live in my court even after you lied and tried to twist the truth. Don’t make me regret granting the permission.”
            The young Veela looked a little shaken, but also as though she was thinking about what he had said. Harry hoped so. He didn’t want to deal with this nonsense forever. He started to turn away.
            “Lord Potter?”
            Harry restrained a snap, with an effort. He wanted to be back in his office working on Persephone and his notes. “Yes, what?” he asked, not turning around but waiting until the Veela who’d spoken stepped in front of him.
            She looked young and scared, and a little familiar. She bit her lip and looked at me. “Do you remember me?” she asked. “I just arrived from France yesterday. I’m—I’m Gabrielle Delacour.”
            Harry nodded slowly, trying not to show his surprise. He had sort of assumed that anyone of Fleur’s family who wanted to come to Britain would stay with her first, and only contact him if they wanted to stay longer and the Ministry was watching the Weasleys too closely. “Yes, I remember you.”
            Gabrielle seemed to stand up a little straighter after that. At least she didn’t do something stupid like flutter her eyelashes at him or blast him with the allure. That meant there were some smart Veela among this delegation, and maybe Harry wouldn’t regret giving them his permission to live at Hogwarts after all. “Good. Um. I did want to say thank you for letting us live here, and make sure that you know some of us can be in control.”
            Harry restrained a shrug. He thought Gabrielle was trying to be friendly, but he didn’t give that much of a shit, not when Persephone was dying. “You’re welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
            Gabrielle plunged ahead then, as if afraid of him walking away. “I think I might be able to help with your bird.”
            Harry paused, and Gabrielle flinched a little. Maybe she could feel the magic poised around him, crackling. Maybe Fleur had told her stories. “What do you mean?” he asked softly. “What do you think is wrong with her?”
            Gabrielle lifted her head. “I work with the souls like the one we brought today,” she said. “I don’t have a mate yet, and that’s the kind of thing the tree-souls need, someone who’s unmated working with them. I can see the connections between souls and—and different kinds of souls. Souls in human bodies, and souls outside them.”
            Harry was silent, his mind working. Maybe she had recognized Persephone as joined to his soul, the way that Gorenson had said, but he didn’t want to give too much away in case it wasn’t that and Harry was leaping to conclusions.
            “She looks like a tree-soul that is sick,” said Gabrielle, and clasped her hands together in front of her waist, giving him a little bow. “I think that I might know a different solution, whatever you are contemplating could be dangerous, will you let me take a look at her?” The last sentences were all said together as one breathless sentence.
            Harry favored her with a long, slow, freezing stare, and Gabrielle flinched a bit, but didn’t back down. In fact, she seemed to stand taller under it, as if that was the kind of challenge she needed to break her free of restraint. She didn’t say anything else, but waited there like someone who was confident that he would say yes.
            Harry fought hard not to just close his eyes and give in because he was exhausted. He had tried and tried, but he still thought the best solution would be something that disgusted both Draco and Hermione, and even him, if he thought too much about it. The solution was not thinking much about it, just doing it. The Arithmancy calculations said about a pound of flesh would be enough. No more than two pounds. It wasn’t that great a sacrifice, was it, when it came to the bird that he was responsible for bringing into existence? If he hadn’t wanted this to happen, he should have thought harder about what having her feed on Yaxley would mean, instead of doing it as a kind of sweeping publicity gesture.
            And on top of that, Gabrielle had just revealed Persephone’s weakness in front of people that Harry didn’t trust. He hadn’t wanted many people to know Persephone was sick at all, never mind these people.
            On the other hand, there wasn’t any harm in letting Gabrielle look Persephone over, as long as Harry made sure that he was in the room when she did it.
            “Fine,” he said abruptly. “Come with me. I don’t think you can do any harm.” He would make sure of that.
            Gabrielle bobbed what looked like a cross between a bow and a curtsey, and followed him swiftly back into the castle. Harry did wind a tendril of magic down into the ground, and use that to open an unobtrusive pair of eyes on the castle gates so that he could watch Madame de Lis. If she was smiling or smirking, that might be a sign that this plea of Gabrielle’s was a plan of hers.
            But Madame de Lis only looked thoughtfully as she joined the crowd of Veela hovering around the tree-soul. Thoughtful, and a little stunned.
            Well. Harry could live with that.
*
SP777: Well, the centaurs are pretty sure that it’s human flesh. After all, she’s been eating animals for some time.
My bird’s fine. Although eating less human food than he would like.
amothepirate: Thanks!
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Black Phoenix