Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Diseased	By : Ladygreychaton Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 3562 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter, characters, rights to, any books, movies, songs, poems or references made. Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, this is just for fun, with no intentions of profit.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
[[IMPORTANT:: Before you read! I do not speak French. I used Google Translate, it is not my attempt to offend anyone, their culture, etc. I do not own these characters and am just going off how they are described. That is all.]]
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Harry slept through dinner, waking to Flue's early morning nudges to a frantic burn in his belly and a bit of a headache. Groaning, he realized he needed to eat before he could even begin Lucius' cleaning routine-- to eat before breakfast! He'd have to be careful never to skip a meal again, apparently, it had dire consequences.
Pale and shaking, dizzy and sweating, Harry turned to his elf companion--only to find the delightful thing holding out a chocolate scone and some orange juice.
"It is being small, but you can make it on this till breakfast. Young Master is low on energy, should rebuild with sugars and slow-burning carbohydrates until he gets to breakfast."
Harry hurriedly devoured the scone, groaning gratefully and mumbling between gulps of freshly squeezed orange juice. "You are Merlin-sent, Flue!"
The soot-elf blushed a strange shade of lavender but nodded. "Flue is knowing this, but young Master is needing to hurry. Master Malfoy is wanting yous to be doing lots of washing and dressing before proper breakfast."
The wizard whined as he recalled, stuffing the last bit of his scone in his mouth and licking his fingers clean. His headache was slipping away and he was starting to get a bit more energy. His body was feeling like it was eating itself less and more like it was willing to expend other uses. Really, regeneration was not such a grand ability, it was rather costly. Just what exactly was he regenerating anyways?
Grumbling, the green-eyed boy moved to the shower, scrubbing, exfoliating, shampooing and conditioning. Then moving out of the shower to brush and Sleekeazy his hair, lotioning his skin while it was 'still damp to lock in the moisture'. At least he got to choose a scent for himself, rather than have Lucius choose for him, choosing a combination of pine needles and sandalwood. Somehow, it reminded him of flying and... well, home? It was a strange thought, but there it was.
With that finished, Flue admitted that he had to choose some clothes for the day. Disturbed, he grabbed a similar outfit to yesterday-- this time with a royal blue tunic, and silver embroidery rather than gold. The silk edging was in white around the seams, off-setting the blue rather sharply, but it made him comfortable. Nothing too flashy.
The Egyptian cotton really did feel nice against his skin, and the tunic folds made him look taller, not as thin. Slim, but not thin. There was a cut in the neckline, a scoop that dipped just below his collarbone. Overall, the past two days outfits made him feel comfortable and it was something he liked. Though he had admit to himself that the silver was probably real and rather liberally used.
Breakfast went well, with considerably less stinging hexes applied. Harry was getting better at eating with a straight spine, though he found it easier to eat foods that did not roll off his spoon or fork as of this moment.
Some rules of etiquette still went over his head. For example-- did you know that when buttering your bread, you were supposed to scoop a liberal amount of butter and place it on a separate plate or your own saucer? It was to prevent 'double-dipping' and considered rude otherwise. To continue to reach for more butter from the platter was terrible manners. Harry was not sure he understood this but did admit that although it wasted time in the beginning, and he was never sure how much to take, it did prevent his sleeves from catching in the spread.
When the breakfast plates had cleared, vanishing away to the kitchens to be cleaned by the rest of the house-elf staff, Lucius turned to Harry.
"Now! Seeing as you seem less than open to some of my teaching methods-- or perhaps my company," Lucius began, making the teen arch a brow at him. "I have contacted some extended family of mine..."
Harry's mocking expression turned alarmed. "Are you crazy?! I'm supposed to be hiding, I'm supposed to be safe! Your family bloody hates me, you can't--"
Lucius held up a hand, cooly. "I am well aware of the situation and my family matters. I did not mean the Malfoys when I mentioned that we would be joined by my family relations."
Harry's expression turned into one of confusion. "The... the Blacks then? I mean... I only really know of your wife and Sirius, and while I like Sirius, I'm not supposed to see him till next week. Your wife wouldn't exactly be thrilled to see me--"
The elder male was shaking his head still, letting out a sigh. "Harry, I'm afraid the Malfoys have many family relatives, being intermarried into many pureblood families as we have been." Harry snorted, recalling Ron saying something similar. Even Hagrid had mentioned that most purebloods to be something like fifth cousins. "Yes, it is common for most pureblood families to be related, but that is not what I was getting at."
He paused to look seriously, trying to implore the teen with his eyes to see that he had thought this through. "What I am saying, is that I sought out the relatives directly connected to your heritage, Harry."
Green eyes dimmed a bit, the brow above them wrinkling. "What do you mean, my heritage?"
"I mean, I contacted the Veela side of the Malfoy family, Harry." Lucius continued. "They do not willingly associate with us, but have an ongoing bargain that should someone with creature blood ever inherit, they will answer the call of blood. Family to family, blood to blood."
He paused. "They do not like me or mine, but they come for you, you understand? They want to help you."
Harry puckered his lips, twitching his mouth from one side then to the other. Quirk, pucker, twitch. Pucker, twitch, quirk.
"Who is this person? What will they teach me?" He finally said, green eyes brightening with curiosity.
Lucius smiled slowly, nodding in approval.
"This is the daughter of one of the Delacours, as we Malfoys were originally a French family who traveled to England during the Norman invasion. We are related to them through our Great great great great Aunt, watering down the Veela blood on our side. Though I believe the girl, herself, is something more of a quarter-Veela." He stood from the table, smoothing down his robes as he did so and folding his arms behind his back as he began to walk, snobbishly assuming Harry would follow. "She will teach you a bit about Veela, but also about etiquette. How to handle your instincts, and how to be a bit more like a natural pureblood. How to handle creature inheritance as a proper wizard and behave with dignity."
Harry's eyes shot daggers into Lucius' stiff back, wondering if he could melt through his skin. If he had even inherited the Gorgon's stare, yet--- one could hope.
"You'll learn a proper waltz, how to walk and perhaps-- if we have time, conversational French."
Harry balked, stopping in his tracks, as he had frustratingly been following the blond ponce. "Excuse me? How to walk? What am I doing now if not walking?!" He gestured to his legs and feet as if the man was blind. For clearly, he needed a bit of help in that department.
Lucius cast a bored gaze over his shoulder. "Ah, yes. You were galumphing along beside me, knobby knees turned out. Occasionally knocking your limbs together noisily whilst you stub your toes repeatedly against my beautiful marble floors in a most clumsy manner." His sneer was present here, the way he enunciated each word a tender blow to Harry's fragile ego. "No, I would not call that 'walking', Harry."
Harry's ears burned with embarrassment, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks and his mouth wanting to open in an angry retort. It stung because it was partially true. He was far more graceful in the sky, but what did that matter? Mrs. Weasley had often said it was common of growing boys, stumbling around on their growing limbs. It had eased a spot in an open wound, something that was festering and gaping. That part of him that had yearned for the warmth of a mother. Would she still think that now, now that he was a cambion? Would she call him Diseased?
All of his anger deflated at the thought, taking the fight right out of him. Harry nodded slowly.
"As long as she's better at teaching than you, I suppose I'll give her a chance," Harry muttered darkly, chin tucked low, guarded.
Lucius stared, a pale brow rising. Slowly, he nodded and continued down the maze of halls and doors, leading the boy to a large room with a fireplace ten times the size of the one in his room. It seemed to loom above him, large enough to be a door. And, considering the wizarding world, he supposed it was.
"This is one of the Greeting Rooms, where guests arrive by floo travel. Your tutor will be arriving in five minutes, so I shall make myself scarce."
Harry frowned, confused at the blond's hasty retreat. "You're leaving me alone with someone I haven't met? Are you sure it'll work out that easily? Aren't you supposed to be protecting me as a temporary guardian and finding out her intentions?"
Lucius just smiled at him, a secretive sort of smile. "Harry, Veela would rather die than harm their own kin. It's the one thing that has saved my own neck quite a few times. However, I've cut it close a few too many, to the point where they'd rather not kill me, but there is a lot they might do." He paused, carefully. "You, however, have a clean slate. You are a pure child, a creature child. I know you'll be safe. They cannot take you from here, and you can summon me. Do not think me so heartless as to not protect my investment."
Harry huffed but nodded. It was... mildly reassuring, coming from the slippery Politician. There was little he knew about Lucius Malfoy, but he knew enough about him and his son. Slytherins, in general, he understood to feel comforted by that knowledge. With that in mind, he paid little attention to Lucius slipping out the door and watched the fireplace impatiently.
A few minutes ticked by, and just when Harry was about to ask Flue, who was always nearby, the tricky elf that he was, for something to amuse himself with-- the fireplace roared to life. Flames turned green and a small, diminutive figure stepped out.
In fact, the figure was smaller than he had been expecting. Girls were supposed to be small, but this girl was frail, doll-like, and lovely. Silvery-blond hair wafted around her like a cloud and she tossed her curls over her shoulder. Wide blue eyes glanced around the room, painted almost like a china doll. Harry had seen figures like this one in the window store, something Petunia had exclaimed excitedly over, but turned her nose up when she realized the price. Surely she'd love to have one, but she pretended disinterest when it became apparent how ghastly expensive they were.
But this girl, she was so tiny! So young! She couldn't be more than, maybe, eight years old at the most!
The child examined the room, almost as though she was ensuring there weren't any traps or hidden agendas, finally stepping away from the hearth and into the room proper. She was dressed in deep blue with silver accents, bows, and lace sewn to delicate skirts and reminding Harry more of a long forgotten age. Really, with her pale beauty, she didn't seem human. And thinking further upon it, he supposed she wasn't, not entirely.
"You are Harry Potter, non?" Her voice had an airy quality to it, especially with the way she rolled her "r's", her accent coming through with the softness of her vowels.
Harry winced, glancing around curiously. "Ah, that-- I mean, I'm not supposed to-- that is..."
He reached up to ruffle the back of his hair, unsure what he was supposed to answer in this situation. He didn't like the idea of lying, but then, what was he supposed to say?

The doll-like girl giggled, a bell-like sound. Apparently, she found his predicament amusing. Her blue eyes crinkled a bit, long eyelashes upturned as she covered her small pink mouth with a white-gloved hand. "Oui, I will take that as a confirmation, you are." She ceased her soft giggling and moved into a smooth curtsy, dipping her head just slightly, curls bouncing, before rising gracefully. "I am Mademoiselle Gabrielle Delacour, and ve are somezing like 5th or 6th cousins, Harry Potter."
She beamed, dimples appearing in her soft and full child-ish cheeks. "I shall tutor you on your entrée dans la société, and perhaps ve shall find out a bit more about each ozther and our creatures, non?"
Gabrielle, who seemed to shine so brightly, held her hand out for his and Harry had to agree that it did seem like a better option than Lucius. With this in mind, Harry accepted the small gloved hand. So tiny and soft, it made him feel a lot warmer than any fire in the Manor thus far had.
It turned out Gabrielle had a wicked sense of humor, getting along brilliantly with Flue. They were all as thick as thieves in no time, causing chaos in the Manor and searching out the kitchens for something to munch on. While Gabrielle chattered excitedly about her Papa and Ma'man, eating delicately and chastising him with swats of her hand.
As she put it, it was quite normal for him to eat so often, as Veelas often had a high metabolism. Especially those with half or more blood in their inheritance. Her Ma'man was half, tending to eat quite a bit more than both her daughters and her husband, doubly so even, but she easily did not compare to their full-blooded grandma'man.
"It is really all about vhat you eat, 'Arry," Gabrielle admitted, eating slices of mango with a delicate three-pronged fork. "The French, oui, and the Veela, ve do not eat heavy meals early in the day. Non, we eat grains, toasts, boiled soups and lots of delicious fruits throughout the morning and afternoon. This keeps up our sugar and stamina, oui? You understand?" Harry nodded and she continued. "Before bed, Ma'man always has a heavy meal, something with strong... ah... meat? Rich in ze... blood and iron. Lots of ze... digestion and calories."
She was floundering to explain herself, but Harry could imagine that might help before bed, something that took his body a bit longer to break down than a lighter meal.
"Myzelf? Non, I could not do that, do not have ze stomach," the small girl admitted, shuddering as she admitted she didn't fancy eating like her mother.
Harry smiled. "But it might help me, right? So I don't wake up with such a headache and feeling so sick. Or have to wake up in the middle of the night for snacks..."
The little French girl nodded, small blond curls swaying around her face. Somehow, even when she was stern with him and corrected his posture or scowled at him for calling her cute, he didn't seem to mind as much. Lucius just didn't have her adorable appearance going for him, so perhaps that was part of it?
Later he worked with her on what she called 'le comportement', or the way he held himself, in simpler terms. Though she hated to agree with Lucius, she did admit that walking was an important part of a first impression. Shuffling about, head-downwards and scuffing his toes made for a rather poor image, apparently.
To help with this, Gabrielle, who was quickly becoming Gabi, had offered to give him a corset to which he had vehemently denied. "Never while I'm still breathing, thanks but no thanks. Really, I don't care if it helps!"
Gabi had rolled her baby blues and put her hands on her slim hips, tapping her tiny shoes on the floor in an annoyed fashion. "Ack! Men are c'est une impossibilité! Did you not know zhat many men of fashion 'ave vorn corsets in the past? Kings and princes, 'Arry!"
But Harry wouldn't budge, so the two had to find a way around it. In the end, they balanced books on his head, making him march a drawn line along the marble floors. Flue used his elfish magic to adjust magical weight around Harry's waist and pulled it in a line down his back. Like this, it was almost like his spine was pulled taut like a bow, shoulders apart and forced backward. His waist firm and stomach smooth, not sucked in. It was an unusual feeling, a bit like floating, but it allowed him to concentrate on his steps and make further progress, faster than one would expect. Plus, it had the added bonus of shimmering sparkles and lights around his midsection that made Gabi giggle and remark that Harry was wearing the most fabulous tutu, prancing along a tightrope.
Harry had a good sense of humor, giving in and deciding that he might as well laugh at himself, pretending to curtsy for his audience. Flue and Gabi laughed delightedly, clapping as he pretended to balance an umbrella (which Flue had helpfully procured, immediately), in one hand and traipse across the imaginary rope, nearly falling to his 'death' many times.
Dramatically, he would step forward and back, his toes across the line as he 'wobbled' in alarm, fearful during his death-defying odds. His audience gasped and cheered at the appropriate moments, and for the first time since the Gryffindor had been whisked away from the Hogwarts Express, he felt a bit like a normal teenager.
Things like this, they made it easier to practice. Easier to get his head around the idea of having a straight spine if he recalled Gabi's smiling face, her mischievous dimples and Flue falling backward off his stool. He really wasn't going to ever let the elf live that one down, the fact that he had gasped so hard he'd fallen overboard, unable to right himself. Harry had gotten so much better at coasting, floating along, rather than shuffling and hunching if he recalled that Gabi had shocked herself with how she had snorted. Flue still in a toppled huddle, holding his heaving stomach as he pointed a finger at the offended French girl.
They'd called it quits after a while, Flue removing the sparkling spell and Harry setting aside the books from his head, taking a break.
"Will you be staying the night?" Harry asked the young girl. "I imagine your mother will miss you, but I don't have much time to learn. And-- truthfully, you're a much better teacher than Lucius. I'm sure we have a spare room for you..."
Gabrielle blushed a bit, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her skirts and petticoats as she stood. "Ah, I am not certain, but vith time being of ze ezzence..." She glanced around, looking suddenly shy. Tucking a curl behind her ear, she avoided his eyes. "Perhaps I could floo my Ma'man and azk?"
Harry was confused at the sudden switch of her mood, noting that the young witch wasn't usually so meek. What had caused her to act this way? Whatever it was, she seemed to be agreeing, so he nodded.
"Sure, I don't think Lucius would mind. I pretty much have full reign of the Manor right now. He really didn't give me any rules, so... why not?" He smiled widely at the little blond girl, receiving another bright blush in response. "C'mon, let's go ask her now, alright?"
Gabrielle nodded, her gloved hand slipping into the dark haired teens with a small smile. Flue began to laugh again, earning a confused look from Harry as they all headed back to the Greeting Room. Really, that elf could be so strange. He continued to chortle behind them, however, covering the sound behind his fingers for quite some time, much to Harry's confusion. This only seemed to make poor Gabi red with discomfort, and the cambion sent his elven companion a glare.
In the Greeting Room, Harry glanced around above the fireplace, finding a small pot on the mantle, similarly as there had been at the Weasley's. It was a bit more exaggerated, but just the same. Floo powder was inside the jar, expectantly waiting for guests for their use. The teen retrieved the small pot, finding it just out of reach for the little witch and offered it to her. She made no comment but smiled once more, taking a pinch, throwing it into the fireplace and calling out an address of what he could only assume was her family home.
A moment later a woman's head appeared in the green flames, confusion marring her lovely face. Gabrielle greeted her and began to excitedly chatter in French, receiving similar replies, though several times the woman glanced at Harry and shook her head. Gabrielle seemed determined, leaning forward and arguing now, taking on a pleading tone. Harry had no idea what was being said, but he could very well guess enough of it, based on the tone and the expressions. Based on the way it was spoken, he imagined Gabi's mother did not approve of her staying the night and would prefer to have her home.
A second face appeared in the fire, pushing their mother over and began to argue heatedly with the small witch as well. The new face was similar, looking and resembling both the mother and Gabrielle, so he could only guess it must be a sister of some sort. His tiny tutor had mentioned a sister, so that would match up with the way things were going-- hardly surprising. However, Gabi seemed to be thoroughly upset by the appearance of this second person, her tone rising childishly. It appeared that the argument was coming to a close, and rather abruptly the floo connection ended.
Gabrielle's chest rose and fell, heaving with frustration as she clenched her fists at her sides. Her face looked tight, drawn in anger.
"Er... didn't go well, I take it?" Harry offered curiously, unsure how to broach the subject. "When are they expecting you home?"
"Non, 'Arry, they are not expecting me home. Instead, I have un chaperon, my elder sizter, Fleur," The small quarter Veela admitted with obvious dislike. "My Ma'man did not like the idea of me staying alone vith you, though she knows I can protect myzelf. This way, she knows I vill be with my sœur, unable to enact anything... undesirable."
Harry found himself very confused, but wanted to make sure she was alright. "Well, I mean... we'll still be able to work together tomorrow, right? So what if we have a bit of a tag-along, it can't be that bad..."
Gabrielle smiled half-heartedly, looking miserable. "Just promise me you'll think the same when you see her, my 'Arry."
The teen nodded, readily agreeing. Still very confused what she meant, but before he could question her further, the fireplace roared to life once more.
Harry's head jerked at the sound, glancing at the green flames with a curious expression on his face. A tall, slender and feminine figure rose out of the flames, gracefully walking into the room with a small bag on her shoulder. She was blond like her sister, with silver curls delicately pinned back to frame her face and slightly deeper blue eyes than her smaller sibling. Her bone structure was flawless, sculpted and smooth, porcelain white skin and perfect lips neither too full nor too thin. Cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass.
Harry had to admit she was lovely, rather elegant, too. Her figure was probably something most boys would enjoy staring at, something that Ron would have nudged him at. The thought gave him another pang, thinking of the redhead. She had filled out considerably, but was slender overall. Feminine, that was what her figure seemed to scream. Her clothes seemed tailor-made to express this, sleek robes flaring out around her hips and hugging her small waist.
Her bust was visible beneath a small capelet that fell just beneath her shoulder blades. Overall, she was a statuesque picture, her appearance not something you could compare with another witch. In truth, Harry had never seen another like her.
Curiously, he glanced at Gabrielle, finding her biting her lip, her chin dropped and bright blue eyes a bit dimmed. She seemed resolved, depressingly convinced of something he couldn't put his finger on, almost as though she was headed to the gallows.
The boy wizard slid his hand reassuringly into hers, squeezing his newfound friend's small fingers in the hope that his positive emotions reached her. She seemed startled by this action, glancing at him with wide eyes, then slowly she began to smile. Green eyes met blue and he winked, relieved to see that smile again.
The elder French witch, Gabi's sister, began to speak. "I am Fleur Delacour, and I am here to be your chaperon, 'Arry Potter."
Her accent was thick, and for some reason, there was... something about her that made the teen think of magic. Heavy in the air, almost like a storm, just before it was about to rain. Like walking through the wards at Hogwarts, or the charm on the Leaky Cauldron, the one that made it impossible for the Dursleys to look that way, only in reverse. It was like that glassy instead of sliding away, something was trying to make him look back. But that wasn't what he wanted to, he wanted to check on Gabi!
Like breaking a cord between them, Harry shook his head, brushing off whatever strange feeling that was. His bewildered green eyes sought out the shocked face of the young girl beside him, finding her glowing with wonder and pride.
"You did it, 'Arry! You fought off le charme! Vatching you break it was tre magnifique. Truly something only a Veela of the Delacour bloodline could do!" She was leaning forward to hug him, excitedly bouncing and Harry got a mouthful of curls as she threw herself at him. This was hardly something new, something Hermione had often done, but again, he had to wonder what she was going on about. Another thought stumbled in his head, making him wonder if encountering females and befriending them meant you had to put up with large amounts of hugs that were full of hair in your mouth or face. He supposed it was worth it, albeit strange.
"The--uh, charm? What charm? That-- that heavy thing that tried to make me look?" Harry mumbled around the hair, awkwardly hugging the small girl in his arms. She really was so very small, she fit inside his arms easily. How could she have so much hair?!
Fleur had crossed her arms, staring imperiously down her nose at him, but seemed to nod a bit. Somehow, he got the feeling that the elder girl was a bit impressed, despite herself. That he had not only broken it but felt the magic's intentions.

"Oui, that is one of le charme's abilities. To make otherz ztare, become entranced, further enznared by the Veela beauty and then do our bidding. Magnetic charm." She paused, "However, it has side effectz. Men become vengeful, they are villing to hurt uz in order to get our company. They claim ve have done... awful things. Vomen are no better, enviouz creatures vho vill hate uz because their zcum boys look our vays simply because ve valk."
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, a carefully practiced measure that seemed designed to make her appear dangerous, haughty, and beautiful. Displaying slender fingers with long nails, her thin shoulder as she turned away, and exactly how dark her eyes were. Yes, it seemed to spell out exactly how coldly she felt towards everyone. "Nevermind if ve vant the attention, the vorld iz a terrible place for Veela, Harry Potter. You are lucky to have come into our family and only have a partial inheritance."
Gabi had slowly loosened her hold, instead latched tightly to his arm with a wide smile on her lips. Harry allowed this as it seemed to soothe his tutor-turned-friend, not wanting to see her so upset again. Somehow, he sensed she needed the comfort.
"I have a lot of creature inheritances coming, actually, so I don't feel very lucky," Harry admitted. "But the family is always something I like meeting, not counting Lucius. I mean, I know he's trying, and he's done a lot for me, but-- well, at least we can say we're not enemies anymore. That's the best I can say."
He shrugged a bit, feeling that honesty was the best bet. Especially seeing how difficult it looked for Fleur to open up in the first place.
Fleur stared at him curiously for a moment. "Family... oui, it iz... très important, that iz very much the same. Other creaturez? Ze family was not informed of this, 'Arry Potter. Vhat do you mean?"
The bottom fell out of Harry's stomach. What exactly had Lucius told them? Just that he had sired some bastard that had inherited the Veela genetics? Maybe that it had Dhampir abilities, but Veela was the primary concern? His insides were wriggling, screaming, clenching in terror.
Harry glanced covertly at Gabi, finding her blinking curiously at him.
When he had been asking her about the food cravings, did she think was referring only to the Veela habits? Or perhaps about the Malfoy Dhampir genes he might have picked up? What should he say now? His mouth was drying out quickly, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.
"...'Arry?" Gabi asked curiously, noticing her companion's stiffness. "Iz somezing the matter?"
Something told him this problem was not going to go away without an answer. The girls were still looking at him, one with an expectant and worried look, one with a suspicious and narrowed set of eyes. He'd simply have to bite the bullet and hope for the best, really, there was no way around it. If Lucius had invited this part of the family, surely they were safe?
Harry sighed deeply, inhaling through his nose and then exhaling all at once through his mouth. It came out in a whoosh of air and his shoulders drooped. "I... I am a cambion, actually," He began carefully, watching their expressions. Gabi still looked confused but there was a light behind Fleur's shrewd eyes that said she knew what he meant. "That's why I'm here, putting up with Lucius. I am the son of Lily and James Potter, but I am also the seed-son or magical son of Lucius Malfoy. I have other seed-fathers as well, and I need to complete the ritual before my fourteenth birthday at the end of this month."
Green eyes met dark blue, wondering what the elder Delacour was thinking. Ultimately, it would be her that he had to make an impression on. Gabi he could hope for the best with, hope she understood. But in the end, she was too young to make a decision. It would be Fleur and their mother that would decide whether he was 'Diseased' and dangerous.
"I have never hurt anyone, not even Voldemort; that was all my mums'-- both of them-- that was all their doing. They saved me, saved the world, really. I didn't do anything extraordinary that night, besides survive and become what they created, thanks to their sacrifice." He paused. "Really, I'd give all this up to have a normal life, to have parents and a family, to have my mum and dad-- but I can't do that. So I'm going to stick this out, and do what they wanted. I'm going to be alive, to be strong and try and make something of myself. Try and protect the people important to me, dodging Voldemort and Dumbledore all the while."
The teen smiled crookedly, feeling a bit foolish. He was exposing very vulnerable parts of himself, hoping to-- no, he didn't want sympathy, he wanted-- understanding? Really, he just wanted to be seen, really seen. Somehow, he wanted someone to look at him, just him. Even through this whole mess that his life had continued to become.
"Bon, I zink ve can do zat, 'Arry," Fleur decided, her blue eyes seeming to melt from the ice they resembled-- just a little. "Family iz, after all, vhat ve are. Ze Delacours vill help you as best as ve can. Zough if you'll excusez, I need to inform Ma'man and zen I vill be looking for accomadations for le petite sœur and myself."
The teen nodded, turning to Gabrielle, still in a bit of shock while Fleur retreated back to the fireplace to help herself to the floo once more.
Gabi looked confused but seemed to be thinking. "...'Arry?"
His focus turned to the small girl at his side, a smile tugging at his lips. He had enjoyed their day together, regardless of what had transpired after. "Yes, Gabi?"
Baby blue eyes searched his, the small face tipping up. "You are... still you, oui? And you are still family..."
Slowly, he blinked, then nodded. "Yeah, Gabi, I am. Nothing has changed since we met, nothing at all."
"Non, 'Arry, it is 'oui' or 'non', we do not say such plebian words as 'yeauh'," Gabi mocked. Her thick accent making it sound more like she was saying 'yuck' rather than 'yeah'-- which was probably how she felt.
Harry laughed, amused that the tutor in her was back, things having proven to stay the same. "Yes, Mademoiselle Gabi, far be it from me to sound so plebian!" He sniffed, sticking his nose so high in the air he nearly tipped over backward.
Gabrielle giggled, and the boy knew it was truly alright between them. Not once had either of the girls called him Diseased. In fact, Fleur only seemed to want more support from her family. Harry felt... warm, welcomed, and safe. It was a nice feeling, a comfortable feeling.
Fleur had ended her quiet conversation at the fireplace, dusting non-existent soot from her elegant robes and bustling back to the two with a stern but warm expression.
"Ma'man iz disappointed she did not know sooner, but iz delighted to know of your existence. Should need of it arise, she is villing to find you a match in the Troupeau when you come into saison if you have not found a partner yet," She announced happily.
Fleur seemed to think whatever she had said was wonderful news, her eyes sparkling with such excitement that Harry didn't have the heart to admit that he had no idea what she was talking about. After all, he was hardly passing at any sort of French at this stage. His Latin was something else to be said, but give a guy a break with the French!
"Er... that's great, really. Thank her for me when you see her, that sounds... just great," Harry mumbled weakly, trying to smile back. Several times he had to fix his sentence structure, earning a scowl for his troubles from the smallest Delacour anyways.
"Really, Harry, ve shall have to vork harder vith you. Tis' a pity ve don't have more time, but Monsieur Malfoy vas quite certain you needed time to learn about the... inheritance you might receive from his other dalliances as well. Understandably, now," Gabrielle grumbled, receiving a nod from her sister. The girl could be so mature, leaving Harry to wonder if it was a female thing (recalling Hermione) or if it was simply Veela genetics.
"Oh, that," Harry mused, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair out of habit, still surprised that it wasn't stuck up at odd angles or tangling around his fingers. "You see, Lucius has Dhampir blood in him, and we're not quite sure what I'll get. I don't quite like him much, but I do need to bond with him and find out a bit about the family history on that as well. Though I do enjoy the company, your stay has been Merlin-sent."
Gabrielle gasped at the official confirmation, a small hand covering her mouth while Fleur nodded, looking as though she had expected this.
"Ma'man said as much, and it iz further pleasing to hear you do not get on with that... man. He iz not terriblè, more like--" She gestured loosely, her wrist rolling. "--a slippery snake, one that cares more about his own skin than that of others." Her tone was dark and a bit scathing, "You cannot trust him to protect anyone zave him and his very close kin."
Fleur picked at invisible lint on her sleeve, discarding it from between two fingers and lowering her eyes. "Dhampir blood should be an interesting mix with the Veela, I zink. Vhat else do I smell on you? Snake and more. Flamè?"
The teen was further startled, glancing at Gabrielle in obvious wonder, hoping for an explanation.
The youngest in the room waved a dismissive hand. "She has gone through her inheritance, she iz as close to a Veela as she vill ever be. Her quarter instincts are active, since her fifteenth birzday. My own vill not avaken for zeveral more years, slowly, over time." She glanced coyly at Harry, tapping the bridge of her tiny button nose. "I imagine zhe can smell it on you, much like when zhe tried to use le charme, or zhe allure."
Harry still felt a bit out of the loop, but imagined it was something he'd gradually understand. After all, he knew Remus had enhanced senses, perhaps Fleur did too? That might explain a bit, though he wondered what else she had. He really didn't know what all was going on, walking into this whole thing blind, as it were.
"The--uh, snake you're probably smelling might be from the basilisk or maybe from the Gorgon manifesting from Severus, my dad," Harry admitted, noting the way that Gabrielle looked a bit startled and Fleur seemed to have sharper features than before. It was almost as though Fleur's mouth had changed shape-- Or was that a trick of the light?
"The fire-- I'm really not sure what you mean, though that could be one of two things again? There was an accident in the first year. I'm not sure if it was in the papers, Dumbledore tried to keep it 'hush hush'," the teen admitted nervously. "Nicholas Flamel had hidden the Philosopher's Stone at the school in an effort to avoid having the phantom of Lord Voldemort use it, rising again. The elixir could be used to form a body, from what I've been told."
Fleur screeched, making a strange noise that reminded the wizard of exotic birds of prey. That day at the zoo with Dudley, there had been a falcon that had been agitated with its handler-- and now the high-pitched cry the French girl gave off reminded him strongly of that. "Blasphématoire! Abomination! Such a thing...!" She clicked and hissed, sounding angrier than Harry had expected by such a small admission.
Gabrielle was moving, crooning in French to her sister and trying to smooth back the feathers that were blossoming on her arms and in her silver hair. Strangely, she still looked lovely, just fierce and dangerous.
"I can't say I fully understand, but it was a terrible thing," Harry agreed, getting a fierce nod from both girls. "I tried to protect the stone, protect, but not use it-- and as I did so I was-- injured. Actually, the only reason I was able to receive the stone was that I didn't actually want it. The injury, I-- well, part of this is still just theory, but... The stone ended up being broken. Absorbed as the cambion part of me woke up, at least, that's what Severus' thinks. It's not a whole stone anymore, and I didn't even know I had the remnants of it inside me."
His right hand flexed, wondering what the red stone fragments were doing, or what it all meant for his future.
"But really, I can't get it out. It was a defense mechanism," He offered sadly. Somehow, retelling it after Severus' reaction made him feel guilty. "The year after, Voldemort had some type of-- an artifact," He struggled for the right words here. "Something that he tried to use to get control of the school again. He'd awakened a basilisk that had been left in the school by Salazar Slytherin, his ancestor. Through it, he'd possessed and taken control of a little girl, petrified half a dozen students."
Harry shook his head, not liking to admit some of these things. It had been different with Severus, he had been there. Somehow, it had felt more factual, less involved. This felt-- personal, showing his unguarded self.
"I was accused of a lot of things that year, and not a lot of people liked me," Harry admitted, shrugging in a nonchalant manner, though it hurt to admit that. Ron had even been frightened of him a few times. Looking back, he should have noticed then. The wizarding world had its clutches on him, he was just as prejudiced as Draco Malfoy. At least he still had Hermione, even if he couldn't see her.
"The basilisk was to blame for the petrification, though they didn't look directly into its eyes. I was hearing its voice and I was suspected as the heir since I was and am a parseltongue. I could hear the whispers in the walls of the basilisk traveling through the pipes," He recalled.
Gabrielle gasped, looking like she wanted to reach for him but he shrugged again, rolling a single shoulder. He couldn't let himself falter now.
"In the end, even my best friend was petrified, so I had to do something. When Voldemort had taken a girl into the Chamber, 'Her skeleton will lie there forever'. I knew I couldn't just... leave it. So I went to face it, ended up alone. The basilisk was blinded, thanks to Dumbledore's Pheonix, but I still had to run and hide. I stabbed the basilisk, but it bit me-- actually, a fang broke off in my arm. Fawkes cried on the wound, but..."
Harry frowned, trying to recall what Severus had said. "From the year before, the... the stone had messed up my blood, my... DNA or something. It had holes it in, stretched out and making it regenerate. A Philosopher's stone is supposed to be the key to eternal life, but I botched that. I was already a cambion, and I was in danger mode, 'fight or flight', y'know?"
Gabrielle frowned at his deteriorating language, but said nothing as Fleur motioned for him to continue. To finish his tale on what had changed from a simple genetic addition.
"I absorbed both--- the basilisk venom, blood, DNA or whatever, and the tears from the Pheonix. We don't know much about what it'll all do, just that-- it will probably influence and combine with things that are compatible with it? As far as we understand." Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling tired. "I have to eat so often because my body is constantly rebuilding all it's reserves, regenerating as though I've been injured. But it needs fuel, and without that, I get really sick and tired super fast. I don't think it's such a great thing, seeing as it could virtually kill me, rather than save me. What went wrong with that, eh?"
He shifted from one foot to the other. "So... I have the magic and essence of the seed-fathers, and the added bonus of those three, er.. creatures or items, I guess?"
Fleur stood silently for a moment. "Just a moment, 'Arry? Let me get one thing straight...."
Harry nodded, wondering what it could be.
"You had your parents, Lily and James Potter." She ticked off two fingers, and Harry nodded. "The Demon mozher," Harry nodded again, so a third finger was added. "Trois magical additions, the Philosopher's Stone, the Basilisk, and the Phoenix?" Three more fingers, totaling six altogether. "Then there is... your seed-fathers, Monsieur Malfoy and Monsieur Severus, if I am not mistaking?" She added two additional fingers, reaching eight.
"Ah, I also have two more seed-fathers," Harry sheepishly admitted, feeling warmth blossom on his cheeks.
Silvery eyebrows rose, and she ticked off an additional two, coming to an even ten.
"If I am not mistook, 'Arry-- vhich I doubt I am, you are going to be a very powerful cambion," The elder witch warned. "You do not have much time, either. Ve shall have to work hard, non?"
Harry groaned. Just what he needed, another tutor to loom over him. But a secret side of him, one that he wasn't comfortable admitting, was delighted that she had accepted him and cared about his future.
"Now! Ve shall have to set up our sleeping arrangements so that ve can continue to vork vith you vith the short time ve have," Fleur managed, earning a scowl from Gabrielle as she clapped her hands together. "Ve must find Monsieur Malfoy immediately!"
Gabrielle's sour expression brightened, making Harry very curious as to why. Though, if the mischievous girl was eager to see Malfoy, it most likely did not bode well for him.
Fleur snapped her fingers, a sound that seemed to echo in the room. Flue ignored the sound, turning his head and looking bored, but immediately a house-elf-- that might have been Twiddles-- popped into the room at their feet.
"Mistress called?" The elf sniffled nervously.
"Summon Monsieur Malfoy for moi zis instant!" F leur said, her tone sounding far more snobbish and nasally than usual. Her head was raised, her shoulders back and Gabrielle struck a similar pose on her sister's side. Curiously, Fleur flashed him a wink, proving that whatever was going to happen next was going to be good.
The elf popped away. Several minutes later the quiet tapping of Lucius' cane and his soft, leather-soled feet following along the corridor till the door opened with a soft 'snick'. He seemed pleased and surprised to be invited, looking almost smug that his presence was needed, typical of him. Harry had a moment of pity for the blond, knowing he wasn't all bad, but couldn't resist thinking he deserved whatever torment the girls had in mind. Afterall, he had probably riled the Delacour family enough to deserve their dislike in the first place.
"You called for me?" Lucius seemed to gloat, placing the hand that held his cane across his chest, the other crossed behind his back to bow in front of the two ladies-- if only slightly. More of dip at his waist, if anything.
Fleur's expression wrinkled as though she had smelled something appalling, turning her nose away in disgust and swaying her hand beneath it as though to bat the smell away discreetly. Gabrielle openly held her nose with her small gloved hand, pinching it shut with two fingers.
"Oui, ve require la accommodations, zumezzing close to 'Arry, I zink," Fleur mused, purposefully thickening her accent to such a degree that if Harry had not heard her speak before, he would have thought this was her real speaking voice. Was-- was she mocking him? Was she trying to make it difficult for Lucius? He knew that the French and the English occasionally didn't get along, but... really?!
Lucius blinked for a moment, not seeming to have expected this, but recovered quickly, ever the perfect host. His smile was almost greasy when he looked at the two fair-haired beauties, and Harry inwardly rolled his eyes.
"As you wish, my lady. I have rooms adjoining Harry's, let me show them to you. This way, please!"
Fleur sniffed, seeming to find everything about the whole thing repugnant-- whether it was his behavior or his home-- it was hard to say. She said no such thing out loud, but her mannerism made it clear enough.
Walking through the halls, the Malfoy Lord attempted to make small chat several times, boasting of the Manor and it's history, only to be met with cold stares. Gabrielle whispered quietly to Harry during the times when Lucius wasn't directly looking, further freezing out the eldest male from the group. Really, the wizard would never have expected Fleur to pull off such a stunt with such a straight face, but it turned out she could be very amusing.
When they arrived at the portrait to Harry's room, the hidden entrance that safely hid all the bastards of the Malfoy's, protecting them from harm, Harry was actually delighted to hear Lucius' speech again. 'Dig it in deeper,' he mused, wondering just how it'd blow over.
"This is both for the Mistress of the house and her offspring. Seeing as Harry is using one suite of rooms, you can use the other ---"
"...Juz vhat 're you implying? Zumezzing unzavory, Monsieur Malfoy?" Fleur airily asked, crossing her arms over her chest, speaking with an icy, winter voice. The way she spoke made the 'r' sound come out harshly through her teeth and nose, exhaled sharply. What was once a lovely voice was now a deadly purr.
"I... I beg your pardon?" Lucius stalled, glancing at the trio, then to the elf, wondering what he had missed. Perhaps Flue would save him? But no, the soot-elf seemed to find the detailed crown moulding fascinating.
"Vell, eizzer you zink of myzelf as your miztress-- zat iz, purhapz a whore?" Fleur's voice was like shards of ice, smooth and cold, sliding down the spine. Each word jabbed like a lance, aimed and stabbed through the Malfoy Lord.
Gray eyes widened and Lucius quickly began to backpedal. Fear was gripping him now. "No, I never would imply such a thing--"
"Zen purhaps you 're after mon petite sœur? She iz quite young, but purhapz you 'ope to train 'er. Maybe zat iz vhat you really like. Ze younger, ze better?" Fleur appeared to be examining her nails now, nails that looked to be growing into something like talons.
"I-- I think we'll find another room," Lucius whispered hoarsely, unable to find a way out of this.
Fleur lifted her nose higher, murmuring something in French to Gabrielle who clung tighter to Harry. The wizard, unable to understand the two girls, but clearly enjoying the game, protectively put his arm around the small girl. Hardly pretending confusion, he perfected a look of betrayal as he glanced at his blond guardian-- shaking his head in dismay. Somehow, his eyes seemed to judge the pureblooded man, his gaze begging the question, "Is this really what you're after? How disgusting."
Off they went, down many corridors and rooms, examining suites in blue, pink and royal purple. Each time, Fleur had something to say about it.
"Zis one iz too zmall, do you expect uz to-- to 'bunk' like common ruffianz?" She pronounced to a room that could by no means be called small, with it's queen-sized beds, adjoining sun room, and additional sitting room.
"I zuppose you are implying ve use ze blue becauze of the Delacour ties to ze French Minizter? Not very zubtle, nor an acceptable politican move! Non!"
The purple room she declared entirely too dark. "Zis has ze English Monarchy vritten all over it, how drab, how foncé! I need more light Monsieur Malfoy, how vill I read to mon petite sœur? You 're practically locking uz avay!"
Lucius was gritting his teeth at this point, clearly trying not to argue with the elder witch while Gabrielle tried her best not to give the game away and stifle her giggles. Harry was in awe of her performance, never having imagined she had it in her. Really, you ought not to judge to a book by it's cover, she was bloody brilliant.
Doing his best not to hex her, Harry was sure, Lucius smiled thinly. "Perhaps Mademoiselle Delacour should tell me what she is looking for? Since most of the Manor seems to be not to her liking..."
Lucius seemed close to cracking, so Fleur decided to take it a step further.
Tapping her chin, the silvery-haired girl glanced at the youngest two, her eyes dancing with delight before the cold and snobbish facade was back. For a moment, it almost seemed like Harry had imagined it. "Non, I zink I vould razzer ze first suite vith 'Arry. Ze von you originally showed-- eet iz ze closest after all." She paused, glancing coyly from beneath her lashes at a slowly reddening Lucius. "Az long az ve have an underztanding, oui?"
At this point, Harry was desperately trying not to burst, holding his breath and biting his lip. Feeling like a rib would crack under the stress of holding out. Lucius looked like he was about to develop a tick under his left eye, staring at Fleur and gripping his cane as though he wanted to hex her within an inch of her life.
However, he did not, and instead said in a tight voice, "As you wish, my lady. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have-- important matters to attend to. I shall see you all at supper."
With that, he quickly fled, retreating from the silvery-haired menace before he did something he might regret.
As soon as he was out of ear-shot, his boots no longer clacking against the marble floors, Gabrielle and Harry burst out laughing. Clutching at each other in order to remain standing, their laughter rang out loudly as Fleur smirked, looking quite proud of herself.
"Th-that was s-so masterful! He was... so... s-so mad!" Harry cackled, leaning on the smaller girl, his arms around her shoulders. "And since w-when is your accent so aw-awful?"
Fleur shrugged, looking rather pleased with herself, her eyes dancing like bright sapphires. "Zhey seem to expect it, vhy should ve not live up to it?" She tossed her hair over her shoulder and beamed.
The rooms where the girls were staying were indeed adjoining through a locked door in Harry's quaint sitting room. He recalled this from his first tour of the rooms, but hadn't been given the key at the times. Now, the girls called for Twiddles and were passed the key swiftly. Though either could lock it, bar entry and retain privacy, it was decided that the Delacours should retain the key in their possession.
The girls had gone to their room, pulling various items out of a bottomless bag Fleur had brought, similar to Harry's own. Expanded bags seemed to be common for wizarding luggage, he was told. Although the one Fleur brought was made of different material, perhaps with different spells woven into it ("Runes, 'Arry!")-- as it had two separate compartments. One specifically for Gabi, and one for Fleur. Naturally, this kept things very organized, but how they were able to tell the difference when reaching inside such a small thing-- was beyond him.
Indeed, inside Fleur's pocket was their own incense burner, making the wizard feel a bit better about his own condition. Though when he sniffed curiously at the cones, he found that while it was similar, it was an entirely different scent. His nose told him that while it was pleasing, it simply wasn't the same.
Not wanting to ask, he realized that while he was alike to the Delacours, he was still vastly dissimilar. It was a heavy feeling, this realization, but it didn't bother him as much as it might have a few weeks ago. Somehow, he still felt that he wasn't alone.
Overall, it was a good time. The Delacours and he spent most of the evening going through Harry's closet as well, remarking over some of the items Lucius had chosen with interest, or giggles and gagging. Fleur decided to produce her wand at some point (Rosewood with a Veela hair from their grandma'man), flicking it casually over the robes and altering the offending articles as she went.
She seemed to approve of his choice of tunics, agreeing that they accentuated his slim form and drew the eyes down the lines of his body. Drawing the eye down without paying too much attention to his knobby knees (something he told her he had inherited from a Potter relative), was always a good thing in Harry's book. So they scoured the deep armoire for more clothes suited like them.
Several robes were reduced to ribbons, shredded or becoming sashes ("What in the world are sashes?!" "Ohh, 'Arry, you poor darlinggg ~"), others merely altered in colors or size, length, the general style. Fleur seemed to have a knack for hemming, stripping off the gaudy ends of things that would have rubbed or looked tacky on the boy, offending his skin or thoroughly swamping him. Somehow, she knew this and began to trim and mend robes, even combining several robes to create a new one altogether.
In the end, the wizard was feeling a bit more comfortable with his wardrobe, aware that he couldn't continue to wear one or two pairs of clothing to get by.
Flue had wandered off at some point, content that he wasn't needed. Harry had warned him that the other elves shouldn't give him a hard time or make him work unless he wanted to. After all, he was not a Malfoy elf anymore. The amused look he received in return was strange, but Harry hardly had time to consider it, swamped as he was in fabrics.
They dined on old, soft cheeses and sesame crackers, sliced and peeled grapes, pitted dates with fresh strawberries as a snack. Chatting about the Delacour home life, Harry sipped black tea, cold cranberry juice as a side for afters, feeling relaxed. Occasionally the girls would bicker, amusingly taunting one another with stories that they did not want anyone else to hear about. Though this was good-natured ribbing, the kind of sibling rivalry, you could tell there was a lot of love there.
When they had finished the small repast, the girls braided hair and spoke casually about society, discussing dining and ballroom faux pas. Harry's head was buzzing with knowledge, but he admitted it did sound rather glamorous to grow up in such a lifestyle. Hearing Gabrielle wistfully sigh, going on about what colors would be 'in' during the coming 'season', had him curious just what it would be like to be born in an upper-class family. But more than that, he wanted to belong to a family. Would the Potter's have been like this? He didn't know.
The girls wanted to see him again, specifically, they wanted to make plans for him to visit during the holidays. Fleur was remarking how wonderful Yule in France was, how her Ma'man and Papa could make the most lovely celebration of the rebirth of Soleil, at the beginning of winter. Harry didn't understand but admitted that it all sounded a bit magical when she went on about traditions extending years beyond and having nothing to do with Santa Claus. After all, he'd never truly gotten into that with the Dursleys. Fleur gently told him that she didn't understand why Hogwarts celebrated Christmas, seeing how it was a Muggle Holiday.
When dinner rolled around, the trio were loathe to leave the warmth and comfort of their rooms, having taken sanctuary in their joined solitude. But, dinner could not be avoided, and Fleur made a night of it. She tormented Lucius once more, lambasting his choices in their meal, and whenever he tried to salvage it or brought in the topic of the elves, she'd side-rail him. The poor things would shiver in fear, begging for permission to iron their hands, but the elder girl was absolute-- mocking the Lord of Manor with her silvery tongue. It wasn't the house-elves to blame, she'd lament. After all, one could not hold incompetence of a wizard against the help. They were only following orders, she tragically went on, patting the poor, gnarled hands of a kitchen elf. How were they to know what superior cooking was, if they had never been to France? If they are not taught, it is the Master's fault, the higher class, with higher means is truly to blame.
In the end, Lucius' wand was sparking and he seemed fit to spew-- though the entirety of the Manor seemed to have been charmed by the Delacour girls and had slightly warmed to Harry, himself. The teen agreed that if he had to leave his room, it was worth it to see Lucius go through such a horrid time.
Drinking his potion that night, Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face, feeling fit to burst. His heart was full, his cheeks were aching from all the smiling he had done and he felt... warm. Not simply from the roaring fireplace or the soft sheets, sweetly perfumed with incense, no... it was from inside, through and through.
The following day, rushing through his new and exhausting ablutions (set to task by Lucius), Harry dressed and met the girls in the sitting room for his lessons. They had a lengthy breakfast of blueberry crepes, hard-boiled eggs, and peppermint tea-- chatting while correcting manners and posture as they went-- though Gabrielle remarked that Harry was improving already. Not by choice, he did have a bit of incentive, seeing as Fleur tended to use similar spells as Lucius, and was just as wicked. Still, he found it much harder to be angry with her, making things go smoother.
With stomachs full and moods settled, Harry was instructed on the basic forms of dance. Curiously, he inquired about why it was necessary at all, only to be met with blank, cold stares. Fleur left the floor open to Gabi, who began a long spiel about dance and it's importance to their culture.
Apparently, Veela used dances to convey emotion. Everything from arousal, courtship, mourning, and anger. Not only as a Veela, but dancing was important to a pureblood because it was a form of class. If someone stepped on another's toes, it would get around that the person was less than appealing. A person could be seen as gormless, trodding on toes the same as being unable to properly hold a wand, as far as he understood it.
One could climb a social ladder, but more importantly, they also represented their family and the families connected to them through public gatherings. Now, Harry didn't care about his own status, but he did care about how people thought about his parents, about Remus or even Sirius-- and lately Severus. He could see why it might be important to at least make sure he could twirl properly, even if he was never a pro at it. Implying he didn't know what end was up of his own wand was also offensive.
This turned out to be a bit of a problem, however, as when he attempted to dance with Gabrielle, Harry turned out to be a bit too tall and constantly stepped on her gown or her toes. Shuffling her about, he attempted to have her walk on his toes with slightly better results, but it was an overall hassle. Bruised and desperate, the boy was beginning to think he'd never get the hang of it when Fleur stepped in.
Bustling about, skirts pinned at shin-level, she slipped into the smaller girl's position with an apologetic look to her sister. Soon, she was sweeping Harry across the floor, smoothly leading a waltz. Counting out loud in French, ("Un, deux, trios, tourner... Un, deux, trios, tourner... Un, deux, trios, tourner ~"). Her steps leading him three steps then turning, the pattern rhythmic and relaxing. Harry soon began to get the hang of steps, following after her feet. Back with his right foot, his left following, another step, again and then a spin. It felt a bit more like floating than the attempts he'd made at their tight-rope walking the day before. Strangely, without the pressure of leading, and being the smaller partner (he was shorter than Fleur), it was a lot more comfortable.
Later, after he'd had a few more dances with Fleur and getting the hang of it, he was able to pick it back up with Gabrielle. Sliding into the leading role with only slight difficulty, he spun her around the sitting room. Advancing was only slightly more difficult that retreating, he found, but the posture was generally the same. The steps were still the same, though he had to be reminded not to look at his feet.
It was a gradual thing, but he found himself relaxing with the calming presence of the two sisters. Maybe he wasn't a complete failure? Maybe he could do this.
The day ended up being a bit tiring, so they stopped for various snacks and breaks. Chatting with a lax sort of ease that Harry would not have expected to happen so fast. Really, he wasn't even this comfortable with Hermione, and yet here he was, talking openly with the two witches. Somehow they were like an open balm, settling into some of the cracks of his life without even trying. Was this what family was normally like? Effortless?
Another evening with Lucius had the riled wizard reminding the trio that tonight would be their last, that the following day they would be returning home. This would be so that the last two days would belong solely to Lucius and his tutelage. Harry had not realized that the week had been eaten up so fast, originally dreading it, but realized he would be sad to see it end. At least, with the girls. Lucius remained to be seen, seeing as he was an unusual figure.
A quiet night settled after that, curled up by the fire as Gabrielle read to the elder two. She was practicing, as Fleur had said. Reading aloud often worked on your confidence, and helped you enunciate. Soon it was Harry's turn, reading 'The Warlock's Hairy Heart', much to the amusement of the Delacours. They each took turns reading children's stories, poems, and limericks, musing about their meanings. Overall just enjoying each other's company before it was time for Harry's potion and the lighting of their incense and bed.
A headache was brewing the next morning, burning Harry's eyes and making them overly sensitive. It felt like someone was pulling his eyes out of his sockets, blasting his retinas with light. Squinting against the pain, Harry, fought to avoid any direct contact with sunlight or candlelight.
This newfound sensitivity did not help his last day, seeing as the girls were intending to teach him a bit about Veela magic. While he couldn't access it yet, nor did they know if he would ever be able to, Fleur insisted he smelled 'like fire'. This she assumed was from the Veela, though Gabrielle argued could also be from the Phoenix. The two had bickered for a bit, but Fleur had stubbornly insisted that the Veela genetics were the dominant of the two, assuring that Harry would have their magic first and foremost. Harry had done his best to stay out of the quarrel, not wanting to get caught up in it, naturally.
Thus he had borne witness to the lovely dance of Feu, one of the most basic and simplistic summonings of the fire element. It flowed around Fleur like wisps, dancing like halos of light at times, while others it could be controlled very carefully with concentration. Veela were not entirely fireproof, so one had to be careful as to not lose their grip.
When Harry had questioned her on this, Fleur had argued that while Veela weren't exactly flammable, they were... still capable of burning at extensive heat or if one was a novice. It was more like the flames were from one's heart or mind, she said. The flames were energy, thus could devour the same energy you were made of if they grew out of control. This, Harry agreed, made a bit of sense. After all, any sort of weapon deserved respect and control.
Various dances were observed, from the dance of the récolte, which was far more flashy than the first, to the dance of mating. A lovers dance, encouraged among families to strengthen the bond, was not sexual in the least. It was said to bring stronger fires to the nests of every Veela in the community, and moved very slowly in tandem with a partner, legs posturing stiffly on bent knees (a bit like flamingos, but far more elegant). Something about the hand movements reminded Harry of castanets, though feathers, golden bells, and gossamer fabrics were the only additions.
Overall, Harry found the culture beautiful and rich, something that the wizarding world probably took for granted. After all, the book he'd originally received from Hogwarts about Veela and other 'Magical Beasts' had such a tiny chapter about them. Gabrielle and Fleur were showing such an amazing life that Harry found he would be eager to visit, provided he didn't make too big of an arse of himself.
Both girls realized the deadline for their visit had come to an end, Gabrielle with wet cheeks and clinging tightly to Harry's altered robes. Fleur passed Harry the floo address, demanding he writes and visits often, anytime anything was needed, anything at all. Gabrielle simply clung to him, having to be extracted by her sister as they both kissed each of his cheeks (one with decidedly wetter kisses than the other) and headed for the Floo home.
Matching blue eyes watched him with a solid stare of fondness mixed with longing, neither wanting to go. But in the end, Fleur took the powder from the pot on the mantle and called out her destination for Home, whisking them both away in a whirl of green flames. And just like that, Harry was alone in the Manor once more.
Without their chatter, without their voices, their laughter-- it suddenly felt a lot colder.
"You'll miss them," Lucius decided, stating it plainly from the door. When he had appeared, Harry wasn't certain, but there was he was. The aristocrat was leaning against the frame as Harry exited the Greeting Room, the teen's head hung a little lower than usual.
"I will," He agreed, not feeling up to his usual banter. His eyes stung, though whether that was from this morning's unusual development, or from saying good-bye, he couldn't be sure.
Lucius stared curiously at him for a moment, then shifted his weight to his long legs, pushing off the wall. "Come, we only have two days before our time is over. You have learned a bit about pureblood society, and about your Veela heritage... now, you must learn about the Dhampirs, rather the Vampire coven we have come from. There isn't much time and we have much to cover, little Prince."
Harry blinked slowly, but followed after the blond. A nagging vision in his head reminding him of silvery blond curls that bounced, rather than the one that hung like smooth silk in front of him. Sashaying skirts rather than long robes, making a dull ache start to throb in his chest. Shoving the thoughts down, he straightened his spine and carried onward and forward, as he always had.

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[[ This was a considerably longer interlude, but necessary for development. Especially character development. Lucius' week has one more chapter, then we move on! Thanks to CDGaymer for noticing a mistake and helping me catch it early on ~
Hope you like. ]]
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