Vedros
patreon
On The Hunt: Chapter 29
🕑 Added 2024-04-02 16:30:00 +0000 UTCHarry and Daphne left Gabrielle in the room and made their way over to the Headmaster’s office. It was still early and barely any student was out and about, leaving the corridors vacant for them to traverse.
Smiles of contentment were etched over their faces as they walked arm-in-arm. A massive burden had been lifted off their minds—one that had been subconsciously troubling them for quite a while now.
Gabrielle had given her assent to be a part of their relationship and only a formal talk with her father remained to confirm their betrothal and for her to assume the role of the lady of House Black in the future.
“How fitting it is,” Harry remarked amusedly as they walked, earning a glance from his betrothed. “For all that crap about being superior to everyone else, the purity of blood, that ‘Toujors Pur’ motto… all that bullshit they sprouted over the decades and for what? Their house will now be headed by a filthy half-blood and a half-breed, as they would have called us. How those bigoted pricks must be rolling in their graves.”
Daphne chuckled.
“I don’t think Sirius would mind it either, given how much he hates his folks’ guts, dead they might be,” she replied.
“Innit?” Harry grinned. “I bet you he would do a jolly dance around Grimmauld when he gets to know about it.”
“I’m not a fool to take you up on that, love,” she said, amused.
They reached the Headmaster’s office a few seconds later and the gargoyle leaped aside at the mere sight of them. Stepping up, they stood in front of the large double doors and Harry waited for them to be acknowledged.
Dumbledore’s voice came in seconds later and the door opened with a click. Harry pushed it open and held it for Daphne to enter, following suit after her and shutting it behind him.
The Headmaster had a calm smile on his face but they could detect the hint of curiosity in his eyes at the sight of them so early in the morning. Harry and Daphne immediately schooled their features, preparing themselves for what they were going to reveal. Both knew things could turn for the worse going ahead but they were prepared to bear the consequences, for there was no doubt in their minds. What they had done had been necessary, and even if Dumbledore did not approve of it, he had to understand.
“I must admit I did not expect to receive the pair of you so early in the morning,” Dumbledore started as they stood in front of his desk, their faces blank and giving nothing away. “Please have a seat. I feel this is going to be a long discussion.”
They sat down and Harry began without preamble. Daphne sat impassively beside him, her hands holding his as Harry explained what they had done to Umbridge the previous day, what they had discovered about her, Malfoy, and other pureblood houses and the vile practice they indulged in, and everything that followed.
“Narcissa Malfoy found us after we were done,” Harry said softly. “She was… broken after everything, said Lucius got the easy way out. She’s going to take the fall for their deaths.”
Dumbledore remained silent, merely listening with a grave countenance to him.
“Draco Malfoy got the Dark Mark,” Daphne took over and Dumbledore reacted this time. His eyes widened slightly as he stared at her. Daphne, with firm resolve shining through, continued, “He is dead as well.”
Dumbledore’s grip on the arm of his chair tightened, his eyes widening as he breathed sharply.
“It happened last night, and no matter what anyone has to say, I don’t regret it.”
“Miss Greengrass...” Dumbledore whispered.
“We can share all the memories you want if you’d like to see for yourself what made us do it,” she trotted on, uncaring of the old wizard’s reaction. She pressed her wand to her temple and pulled out the requisite memory, depositing it in the vial Harry conjured for her. Corking it, she placed the memory on the table as Harry followed suit, placing another vial beside it.
“These contain all the information you could need,” Harry said firmly. “I know what we did was extreme but I hope you will understand when you see why we did it.”
A loud knock was heard on the door to the Headmaster’s office and they turned around. Dumbledore let it open and in strode none other than Severus Snape with his black robes billowing behind him. The dour-faced wizard stopped in his tracks at the sight of them, sneered, and turned to the Headmaster who stared back gravely.
“Draco has been missing since last night, Headmaster.”
“That’s because he’s dead,” Harry replied without missing a beat.
Dumbledore released a deep sigh as Snape’s eyes widened. He slowly turned to regard the emerald-eyed wizard who stared back calmly.
“What did you just say?” Snape asked in a whisper as if disbelieving of what he had just heard.
“Malfoy is dead for being a Death Eater and partaking in one of the most heinous deeds known to humanity—the abuse and torture of a minor in every way imaginable,” Harry replied.
Snape and Dumbledore both jerked, their eyes widening, before Snape’s eyes narrowed into a thin glare.
“Do you have any idea what you’re talking about, you worthless brat!?” He hissed and Daphne immediately stood up, glaring.
“Talk to him like that again and I’ll forget you’re the head of my house and someone I should respect,” she snarled, her eyes narrowed.
Harry calmly reached forward and took her hand, getting to his feet.
“You don’t have to believe what we’re saying, Professor,” he said with as much calmness as he could muster. “The proof is here for you if you care to see. I don’t claim to know what the relationship between you and Malfoy was but he was a wretched, sniveling, raping, and abusive son of a bastard who deserved much worse. It was only because of his mother’s request that he was granted a quick death.”
Turning to Dumbledore, Harry continued, “And if you’re still thinking that they didn’t deserve it after watching those…” He gestured toward the vials. “Then I don’t think our ideals align at all, Headmaster. I’d be perfectly content if you’d wish for our paths to separate going forward.”
With a final nod, Harry took Daphne’s hand, pulling her closer. The blonde gave Snape a parting glare and followed beside her betrothed as they left the office, leaving two older wizards staring at the vials on the desk.
“Headmaster…”
“Severus…” Dumbledore said gravely. “If what they said is indeed true… I hope you’d forgive me if I do not empathize with you over their deaths.”
“I could not care less for Lucius,” Snape hissed, not even caring about the fact that Lucius was also dead. “But Draco… you said he’d… you said he’d be saved. That he could still be swayed away from that dark path.”
“There are limits to forgiveness, Severus,” Dumbledore whispered, picking up the vials. He flicked his wand toward the pensieve and levitated it over to the desk. “And there are limits to chances. Many get it, but not everyone deserves it.”
Snape stared back with a shocked look on his face.
“Come, Severus. I believe we need to see for ourselves what truly happened that forced their hands like this,” he said softly, pouring the contents of Harry’s vial into the pensieve.
XXXXX
Cornelius Fudge sat nervously in his office, fiddling with his bowler hat as he sat alongside Amelia Bones, the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Cuthbert Mockridge, the head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation.
Crouch’s departure had made them shorthanded but fortunately, the former head of the Goblin Liaison Office had enough experience after working under the DIMC’s umbrella for so long.
It was unfortunate that the first challenge in his new role came to be in the form of direct diplomatic tension with their neighbors across the Channel.
Mockridge exchanged a look with Amelia Bones who discreetly shook her head, He blinked in acknowledgment and continued staring at Fudge who looked a bit worse for wear.
“Are you all right, Minister?” He asked with a hint of amusement shining through his tone, not that Fudge noticed. He let out a startled breath, jerking slightly, and stared at the man before he nodded shakily, a tumultuous smile on his face.
“Perfectly fine, Cuthbert,” he nodded. “Just waiting for Lucius and Dolores to arrive. They don’t take so much time usually.”
Amelia Bones stifled a smirk at the remark.
Malfoy would not be replying or coming back anymore, and she did not care much for Umbridge to make it her concern. It was a bit weird that the woman who was truly at the center of it all had deemed it not worth her time to be present for such a crucial diplomatic meeting but all it did was reduce her credibility in front of those who mattered, and it was none of her business how deeper the hole she had dug for herself got.
Fudge, as expected, still had not received the information on Lucius Malfoy’s situation. He was as oblivious as ever, worrying about the upcoming meeting, and Amelia was in no hurry to inform him. Investigation was ongoing and as long as she did not receive a concrete report from her subordinates, it was well within her rights to keep the information to herself.
The clock chimed and right on cue, the door to the Minister’s office opened.
Cornelius Fudge straightened his bottle-green bowler hat, plastering an uneasy smile on his face as Jean-Luc Beaufort swept into the Minister's office. The French Minister for Magic cut an imposing figure, his slate-grey robes immaculately pressed, and his expression severe. Beside him strode Antoine Delacour, the diplomat's handsome features clouded with barely suppressed fury.
"Ah, Minister Beaufort, welcome!" Fudge extended a clammy hand. "And you as well, Monsieur Delacour. Please, have a seat."
Beaufort's cold stare bored into Fudge as he took the proffered chair, with Antoine following suit. Fudge cleared his throat, shifting his gaze to Amelia Bones and Cuthbert Mockridge who regarded him with thinly veiled disinterest.
"I trust you had a pleasant journey?" Fudge tried, his jovial tone falling flat.
"Spare us the platitudes, Fudge," Beaufort said, his lightly French-accented English clipped. "Where is my compatriot's daughter? Where is Gabrielle Delacour?"
Fudge swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. "I-I'm afraid the circumstances around Miss Delacour's... ah... disappearance remain unclear at present."
Antoine slammed a fist on the table, making Fudge jump. "My daughter was last seen unconscious with your vile Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge! That fetid woman has clearly had a hand in this!"
"Now, now," Fudge said soothingly, though sweat beaded on his brow. "Dolores has denied any wrongdoing most strenuously. I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation—"
"Do not test me, Fudge!" Antoine’s voice was a thunderous roar that seemed to shake the very rafters. "My daughter will be returned to us at once, or I shall view it as an act of aggression against the French Ministry! You will have soured relations for decades to come!"
Fudge's mouth worked soundlessly as he looked imploringly at Bones and Mockridge, but they remained unmoved, watching the spectacle with ill-disguised indifference.
"I... you have my assurances we shall make every effort—" Fudge stammered.
"Your assurances mean nothing!" Antoine spat. "We demand action! Restitution! Justice!"
Sweat pouring down his flushed face, Fudge knew he faced potential disaster, souring relations with France with no clear path to retrieve the missing Delacour girl.
He opened his mouth to respond, but Beaufort spoke first in a dangerously low tone.
"Need I remind you, Fudge, of the implications this situation could have on our trade agreements? On immigration between our countries?" His pale eyes flashed. "Madame Maxime herself may be forced to re-evaluate having British students attend Beauxbatons."
A muscle twitched in Fudge's jaw as he recognized the thinly veiled threats. Sweat stained the collar of his lime-green robes.
He looked desperately to Bones and Mockridge, but the stony-faced duo offered no assistance. Mockridge even inspected his fingernails with a bored expression.
"Now, see here," Fudge blustered, struggling to regain his footing. "There's no need for such rash actions. I'm sure if we cooperate fully with the investigation—"
"Investigation?" Antoine's lip curled in derision. "You throw us token gestures while that Umbridge woman runs unchecked! Where is your control over your own ministry?"
"Dolores Umbridge exceeds her authority far too often," Amelia said coolly, speaking for the first time. "As I've mentioned previously, Minister."
Fudge sputtered indignantly. "Now see here, Amelia! A bureaucracy as large as ours is bound to experience growing pains—"
"My girl lies missing, potentially gravely injured," Antoine cut across Fudge, his eyes shining with barely restrained anguish. "And you prattle about bureaucracies?"
An uncomfortable silence fell. Fudge recognized the dangerous situation, his political credibility hanging by a thread as the French officials looked murderous.
Clearing his throat, he turned a desperate look on Bones and Mockridge once more. "Surely... there must be some prudent first steps we can take to investigate? To demonstrate our commitment to resolving this?"
Fudge felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as Bones and Mockridge remained stubbornly unhelpful. Beaufort and Antoine's glares bored into him, their patience clearly wearing thin.
"Well?" Beaufort's silky voice sliced through the tense silence. "We're waiting for more than feckless dithering, Fudge. What concrete actions will you take?"
"N-Now, let's not be too hasty," Fudge stammered, mopping his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. "I want to assure you both that the full resources of my administration—"
"Empty platitudes again!" Antoine exploded, shooting to his feet so forcefully that his chair clattered to the floor. "My daughter is missing under mysterious circumstances involving one of your highest officials, and you have the audacity to offer more meaningless promises?"
Fudge shrank back, his jowls quivering. Antoine loomed over him, fury etched into every line of his chiseled features.
"Unless you can produce Gabrielle Delacour safely within the next twenty-four hours," the French Minister said in a voice barely louder than a whisper, "I will have no choice but to publicly censure your entire ministry!"
Fudge's mouth worked soundlessly as he contemplated the catastrophic damage such an action would unleash on Britain's diplomatic standing. Sweat poured down his face as Beaufort continued, “My government, and by extension, every member of the International Confederation of Wizards, will view this as an unconscionable act! I will advocate for the harshest possible sanctions until the girl has been returned!"
Fudge finally found his voice, letting out a high-pitched bleat of protest. "S-Sanctions? But surely...surely that's an overreaction! I implore you both to see reason!"
Antoine glared, his face contorted with rage, eyes blazing. With a savage sweep of his arm, he sent a vase crashing against the wall, raining shards across the office floor.
"You dare lecture us on reason?" he bellowed, his remaining composure shattering. "After one of your own has quite possibly committed grievous harm against an innocent young girl? There will be consequences, Fudge! Make no mistake!"
The deafening silence stretched on, Beaufort and Antoine's hands still clenched tightly as Fudge trembled behind his desk. Finally, regaining some of his bravado, the British Minister squared his shoulders.
"I will not be bullied into rash actions based on unsubstantiated claims!" he blustered, though his voice shook slightly. "Your precious Gabrielle is also the accused party here! It was witnessed by dozens that Gabrielle Delacour violently attacked my Undersecretary in front of her entire class at Hogwarts!"
Fudge seized on this chance to turn the conversation, not letting anyone get a voice in. "According to multiple student accounts, your daughter inexplicably attacked Dolores Umbridge during a History of Magic lesson. Dolores was merely defending herself against an unhinged assault!"
Antoine opened his mouth to protest, but Fudge barreled on. "We have witnesses, Monsieur Delacour! While your daughter’s current whereabouts are admittedly murky, she will still face charges for her egregious actions!"
"This is preposterous!" Antoine exclaimed upon Fudge claiming Gabrielle assaulted Umbridge unprovoked. "We are well aware of Dolores Umbridge's reprehensible conduct that triggered the entire episode! What do you take us for?"
Fudge fell silent, his bravado deflating somewhat. Antoine leveled an accusatory glare at the British Minister.
"Do not insult our intelligence, Fudge. Multiple eyewitness reports state clearly that Umbridge deliberately antagonized and baited my innocent girl with vile, unforgivable slurs about her heritage!"
Bones frowned disapprovingly. "The testimony does suggest Undersecretary Umbridge acted with excessive prejudice toward Miss Delacour prior to the altercation."
"Excessive prejudice?" Antoine's lip curled in disgust. "Your wretched employee virtually entranced my daughter into a frothing rage through her hateful vitriol! Her actions were purposefully designed to elicit a prone response from a frightened teenager!"
Fudge swallowed hard, suddenly appearing much less self-assured. Undeterred, Antoine continued his heated tirade.
"And even after this loathsome instigation, witnesses state Umbridge escalated the conflict with further inflammatory language and distortion of history! She is just as much the aggressor in this incident!"
"Now, let's not make rash judgements without full evidence," Fudge tried weakly, but Beaufort cut across him in a furious burst.
"The evidence is clear, Fudge! We have ample eyewitness accounts and testimony that corroborate our position. Attempting to spin this as an 'unprovoked assault' is not only disingenuous, but shamefully ignorant of the facts!"
An unbearable silence fell, Antoine and Beaufort's chests heaving with barely restrained ire. Fudge seemed to deflate before their eyes, unable to offer any rebuttal.
Suddenly, a loud chiming noise shattered the tension as a Patronus soared through the wall and stopped before Amelia Bones.
The voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt emerged from the silvery lynx, and an urgent message began to play.
"Director Bones, this is a confirmation. We've corroborated the evidence pertaining to the full confession regarding the murders of Lucius Malfoy and his associates. It was Narcissa Malfoy herself who killed them, before then taking her own life."
A furious intake of breath filled the room as all eyes snapped toward the silvery creature. It continued, the disembodied voice laced with professionalism.
"Further investigation implicates Malfoy's entire inner circle was engaged in... unforgivable activities. Our investigation is still underway, but the bodies..." The lynx Patronus paused. "The manner of the murders was distinctly muggle. It is a theory that Narcissa Malfoy used a muggle handgun to carry out the murders in an act of insult to their pureblood heritage."
As the Patronus fell silent and dissipated, a stunned pall hung in the air. Fudge looked like he'd been struck, his mouth hanging open in horror.
Bones' expression betrayed no emotion, but there was a hardness in her eyes that was new. "It seems I must proceed to the scene immediately."
She turned back to the others. Delacour and Beaufort wore matching looks of disturbed grimness, temporarily distracted from their fury over Gabrielle.
Fudge appeared sickly, all the blood draining from his face as he slumped in his chair. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, utterly shell-shocked by this latest catastrophe.
"W-Why...?" he finally croaked out, shaking his head slowly. "The Malfoys were...were above reproach..."
Bones fixed him with a look that could blast through solid stone. "Do not be so obtuse, Fudge. We in the DMLE have known of Malfoy's proclivities for years. This cesspool of corruption has been allowed to fester for far too long under your administration's willful ignorance."
Fudge recoiled as if struck, sputtering desperately. "N-Now see here, Amelia! T-That's an outrageous accusation—"
"For which the writing has been on the wall," she drawled, staring him down. "You gave them free rein with your systemic coddling of the wealthy elite. This is the inevitable result."
As Fudge struggled for a rebuttal, Delacour's eyes glittered with a newfound sense of vindictive satisfaction.
"How profoundly tragic," the French diplomat said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "That a cretin such as Malfoy was allowed to become a pillar of your society—one who no one is surprised to know harbored such... reprehensible secrets beneath the surface. What else has your negligent leadership allowed to take root, I wonder?"
Beaufort's cold eyes bored into the shaken British Minister. "In the wake of such turmoil... such depravity implicating your closest circle... can you still maintain any credibility to reach an equitable resolution regarding Miss Delacour?"
Too shocked to respond, Fudge could only gape soundlessly, the world shifting unsteadily beneath his feet.
XXXXX
Parting ways with the minister after their business was concluded, Antoine Delacour apparated behind The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. Disillusioned, he climbed up the stairs to where he had been told to arrive.
He took the spell down as he strode into the private room, greeting his daughter with a warm hug.
"There she is, my fearless girl," he said fondly as she grinned back at him.
"I'm more than alright, Papa. Though I've still got no clue about this hush-hush secret mission of yours that everyone seems to know… everyone but me," Gabrielle replied, eyeing her companions.
Harry and Daphne, seated across from them, shared a conspiratorial look with Antoine.
"Well, your Papa had a rather productive meeting ambushing that incompetent buffoon," Antoine began with a sly smile.
Daphne scoffed lightly. "Do go on, Uncle. I'm sure that oblivious walrus didn't see the tsunami headed his way."
"You can say that again," Antoine chuckled, launching into a detailed play-by-play of the confrontation — Fudge's blustering denials, his escalating panic upon news of the Malfoys' grisly downfall, and the barrage of allegations regarding Gabrielle's horrific mistreatment.
"...and you should have witnessed Fudge practically dissolve into a puddle when I told him this debacle could jeopardize our entire economic and diplomatic relationship!" Antoine snorted. "I thought the wretched fool might actually soil himself then and there!"
Harry grinned wickedly, not even trying to mask his obvious glee at Fudge’s misfortune. "Brilliantly done, Monsieur Delacour. That should put even more pressure on that incompetent idiot. His days are surely numbered now."
“A little more expose in the press should do the job,” Daphne nodded. “It’s not as if he has any allies left now.”
Antoine gave an approving nod.
“By the time Bones got that bombshell of a Patronus, even that clueless stooge couldn't ignore that the game had swung irrevocably against him."
He sat back as a look of grim satisfaction etched across his features.
"Make no mistake — this is merely the opening salvo. Fudge's downfall was inevitable after years of emboldening those Death Eaters by appeasement and greed for both money and power. However…" Harry trailed off.
A meaningful silence fell over the private room. Harry met Antoine's gaze steadily as Daphne took his hand.
"We're ready for the true fight to come," Harry stated firmly, his green eyes flashing with resolve. "No matter how long or bloody, we'll see this through."
Antoine regarded the young man evenly and nodded. He did not know why, but whatever conflicts lay ahead, he had every faith they would emerge victorious together in the end.
"Indeed we shall, Mr. Potter," the man said solemnly.
With a roguish grin, he raised his glass alongside the three youths.
"But today, we celebrate our opening conquest. To Fudge’s downfall, and the first blow to the Death Eaters and their wretched master."
“I can happily toast to that,” Harry smirked as they all clanked their glasses together.
As they drank, Gabrielle suddenly grew pensive, a slight furrow creasing her brow.
"You know... there's something pretty important I wanted to bring up," she began, hesitating briefly before plunging ahead. "It’s about my veela heritage as well as my feelings."
Antoine arched an eyebrow curiously at his daughter. Her demeanor shifted, becoming almost shy in a way that was most unlike her usual vivacious self.
"That is a... delicate matter, ma puce. You know you can share anything with your Papa." He smiled warmly, trying to ease her discomfort.
Gabrielle let out a slow breath, seeming to steel her resolve as she met Harry's eyes meaningfully. The young wizard gave her an affectionate nod of encouragement.
"Very well.” She firmed herself. “The truth is… Papa… the veela inside me ...how do I say it... well, she has bonded to someone. As in truly."
A heavy pause lingered in the air as realization visibly dawned across Antoine's features. His gaze flicked between Gabrielle and Harry who sat stoically awaiting his response.
"I see..." Antoine said, at last, his voice carefully measured. "So this bonding... it's occurred between you and Mr. Potter, then?"
Gabrielle nodded, biting her lower lip. "Yeah. It happened sometime last year, probably after we left. We spent quite a lot of time together."
Daphne reached over to take Harry's hand reassuringly as Antoine processed this revelation, a myriad of emotions playing across his face. Surprise, confusion, and... indecision.
"You know Mr. Potter here is already betrothed to my beloved niece," he said carefully, inclining his head toward Daphne. "This... bonding… it would impede upon that commitment. How do you expect it to work?"
To Antoine's surprise, Daphne gave a serene smile, completely unruffled by his inquiry.
"I have no issues whatsoever with Gabrielle's veela nature and this bonding, Uncle. In fact..." She shared a meaningful look with Harry and Gabrielle. "We've discussed this possibility at length. I am perfectly fine with it."
Now it was Antoine's turn to appear utterly gobsmacked, his carefully composed mask slipping.
"You can't be serious? Some sort of... shared intimate arrangement?" He sputtered, a flush of color rising in his cheeks.
Gabrielle squeezed Harry's hand tightly, her eyes shining with a mixture of hope and pleading as she looked imploringly at her father.
"It's the only way I can be truly, genuinely happy, Papa," she said softly. "The veela magic is undeniable. You know that. I cannot find fulfillment alone or bound to someone else. Harry is my destined mate, but Daphne is just as crucial a part of this union."
Harry cleared his throat, keeping his tone level and respectful.
"If I may, sir? My circumstances are rather... unique in our society." He said, maintaining respectful eye contact with the man. “I am the heir to the Potters and the Blacks. Tradition and even the law dictates I'll require wives to preserve the family lineages and continue both ancestral lines unbroken. Daphne and Gabrielle understand the magnitude and responsibilities such a union would entail."
Antoine's brow furrowed contemplatively as he nursed his glass of firewhiskey, absorbing the weight of this discussion. Daphne watched her uncle carefully, sensing his internal conflict.
"Please don't think we've arrived at this decision without considering every variable involved, Uncle," she said gently. "We have had many deep, meaningful discussions about what this would mean — the demands, the sacrifices, but also the sheer joy and love we already share."
She locked eyes with Antoine, her warm sapphire gaze shining with utter conviction. "Gabrielle is every bit the sister of my heart as Astoria is, just as Harry is the other half of my soul now. I could never deny their bond, nor would I want to. It simply... feels correct. Fated, even."
A silence stretched out as Antoine digested his niece's impassioned words. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face wearily.
"Merlin... you three have certainly toppled my evening with quite the bombshell to consider."
His gaze settled piercingly upon Harry, full of the protective concern only a father could muster.
"I hope you understand the enormity of what you're contemplating taking on, Mr. Potter," he said gruffly. "Bonding not just to one, but two remarkable young witches, each deserving of complete fealty and utter devotion. It's a responsibility I could hardly fathom shouldering myself."
Harry didn't flinch from the intense scrutiny, his jaw setting in firm resolution as he nodded soberly.
"You have my most solemn vow on that front, sir. Whatever challenges lie ahead... Gabrielle and Daphne are quite literally my world, my everything. I will spend every day striving to be worthy of their love and everything they entrust me with."
A reluctant half-smile tugged at one corner of Antoine's mouth as he watched the three younger people's hands intertwined together atop the scarred wooden tabletop, their eyes shining with hope and devotion. With a rueful chuckle, he raised his glass once more.
"Very well, then. Even after being married to a veela for decades and having two wonderful veela daughters, I still cannot claim to fully comprehend the intricacies of the bond that is clearly at work here, binding you three together in this way... but I know enough."
His keen eyes crinkled with a mixture of fondness and fatherly concern.
"It seems I'm simply left to accept the hands fate has dealt you. I propose another toast.” He raised his glass, a smile on his face as he regarded them. “To new beginnings, everlasting happiness, more than we ever could have imagined, and following our hearts fearlessly down whatever unconventional paths they may lead."
Elated, they all exchanged loving looks before raising their glasses as well, clanking them together as they drank.
“I shall get into touch with Lord Black shortly to discuss the betrothal,” Antoine remarked, smiling at his daughter who smiled brilliantly as she nodded. He reached out to gently stroke her hair, smiling.
Harry and Daphne exchanged a loving look, all smiles. The day had gone better than they had hoped. Whatever trials and tribulations lay ahead, they knew they would face them all as one, bonded together in shared hope, love, and trust.
XXXXX
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting an eerie, dancing glow across Voldemort's gaunt features. His lipless mouth was set in a hard line as he read the parchment grasped between his long, pale fingers.
Lucius, useless as he might have become, was still a capable wand in his ranks. The same could be said about the others who had been killed.
Voldemort's red eyes flashed with rage. A low hiss escaped through his snake-like nostrils as he crumpled the parchment. He forcefully suppressed his fury, calming himself with a deep breath. Rash action would only lead to more setbacks.
Rising from his chair, Voldemort glided over to the window and gazed out at the inky black night. His pale, distorted face was illuminated by the full moon.
"It seems the time has come sooner than I thought," he murmured, stroking the head of his dear familiar perched upon his shoulders. "For too long have my faithful servants lived in a waking nightmare, having every ounce of hope and happiness sucked out of their souls.”
Nagini hissed in agreement, her forked tongue darting out.
“Soon, Nagini…” he whispered, his malicious crimson orbs glinting malevolently under the moonlight. “Soon, my faithful will breathe free air once more… and after I they rejoin my side, the horror I unleash will make Azkaban's torments seem merciful.”
With a high, cold laugh that would chill the bones of any who heard it, Voldemort turned away from the window and stared at the carcass of the unfortunate elf that had carried the missive.
“Dinner, Nagini,” he said softly, and the massive snake swayed and slithered from his shoulders onto the polished wooden floor.
To be continued…
