Chapter 13

Harry activated the Portkey with a murmur of the statement Narcissa had been given - "Liberté, égalité, fraternité" - France's national motto. Some Frenchie was having a laugh with that one.

A pull at his navel, and he appeared in a grand hall, wall to wall with white stone, carved and etched with wizards throughout history. The bustle of conversation all around, tapping feet on the shining wooden floor, and Harry was hit was a mass of stimulation. Men in tuxedos, women in cocktail dresses; Harry had expected it to be a gown affair, his eyes widening a little at all the flesh on display. It looked like every beautiful young woman in Europe was here, blondes, brunettes and redheads. He was suddenly glad Narcissa had drained his balls already.

"Lord Potter, a delight to have you join us." Jean Delacour. Fleur's father.

"Thank you for extending the invite. Forgive me for having my associate ask for one, I know it's a little gauche."

"Nonsense," Jean laughed, a booming sound that attracted attention. "Had I thought you interested, I would have made sure you were on the list for the last fifty of these blasted things."

"It's not usually my scene," Harry admitted. "But duty calls. Take pity on an uncultured Englishmen and tell me, in France, when does one talk business? After dinner? During?"

"After dinner, with a good bottle." Jean smiled.

"I'm sure you have plenty, but I did bring one." Harry ran one hand over the other, pulling out of nowhere the bottle he'd found in the Potter vault of Gringotts. "Tale tells that your great-grandfather gifted this to mine, and while I would not want to regift a treasured present, I would want to share such a wine with good company."

Jean took it from him with a whistle. "Now that is a red of reds." A delicately manicured hand took it from him.

"Now, he will rush through dinner, and I will be forced to make excuses for his absence." Appolline appeared, a small smile on her face. She was absurdly sexy, looking barely thirty, in a navy blue high neck chiffon dress, the lace mesh at the top giving the dress a little more sex appeal, the neck so high it almost looked like a collar. Veelas were so sexy it was like cheating, Harry thought.

They exchanged kisses on the cheek. "Thank you for what you did for my daughters, Lord Potter. Dumbledore may claim to have had security precautions, but you and I know better."

Harry nodded his head. "Please, call me Harry. It is nothing between former allies, and perhaps future ones too."

"The bonds between great Houses are never broken." Jean boomed out. "Come, Harry, my daughters will want to-"

"'Arry!" Harry was attacked by a blonde vision, a mass of hair, and he was thankful he only stumbled back a step before clutching her by the waist and settling her down - Narcissa had prepared him a little for being attacked by blonde sex kittens. Fleur rubbed away the lipstick she'd left on his cheek and beamed at him. "Look 'ow tall you 'are! I can't believe you are 'ere!"

"Fleur," His smile was wide. "How are you? You look divine." She did, wearing a mockery of an LBD, a little black dress with a halter-top tied around her neck, giving her a pseudo-collar and creating a window for her breasts to burst out - they barely hid her nipples. A cut up her thigh revealed a lot of leg, and Merlin, she was leggy. Like her mother's, her dress was cinched in tight at the waist, like a vintage dress for the wartime era. Veela's, it seemed, cared not for the Pureblood maxim of 'show breasts or legs, but never both'.

Her lips curled in delight. "I am thinking zat I need divinity to know how ze boy has become a man." She looked him up and down, and Harry was amused now to realize he matched the height of the tall Veela. Rituals were a wonder - it was a shame he'd had to learn so many of them from Tom's memories, rather than being taught them in school.

In another life, Harry would have been blushing, stammering, staring at the floor. But in this one, he'd just had Narcissa Malfoy bent over like a pretzel, holding her ankles by her head, as she begged him to cum inside her. So, rather than being shy, he simply smiled back at her, conscious her parents were watching.

"Ah, I had an experience that inspired me to grow up. And then after meeting you, I also fought the Dark Lord."

Silence, and then Fleur burst into laughter, and Harry was relieved to see her mother laughing too, who had a lovely, tinkling laugh. All class.

"Come, 'Arry, you simply must meet my friends. You can talk politics with Papa after dinner, but for not for too long, 'e will bore you to death." She shot a teasing smile at her father, who simply rolled his eyes and saluted Harry with a glass of wine.

"I will let my eldest give you the tour then, Harry. Make sure you say hi to Gabrielle at some point, she talks of little else-"

"'Arry!"

For the second time, Harry was attacked by a mass of blonde hair, but this was one was a lot shorter and more teethy, glomping onto his leg.

"Hello, who's that?"

She stuck a pose. "Gabrielle!"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Never heard of her."

She hit him in the leg. "You pulled me out of the lake!" She said in French. Harry realized with a start that he understood what she was saying. He'd never learnt French, but, as his vision swam a little, the memories hitting him, Tom Riddle had. Tom had spent years in Paris, searching for a way to split his soul. He used to sleep in the depths of the Paris catacombs, in which there were numerous tombs of old French wizards. He'd even spent a summer at Beuxbatons, ostensibly as a teacher.

"What lake? I don't remember a lake." He spoke hesitantly, but what came out was perfect Parisian French, with the accent and all.

"You rescued me! Wait, you speak French?!"

Harry winked at the amused Appolline. "I'm always rescuing fair maidens, you'll have to be more specific."

"'Arry!" She wailed, but giggling as he scooped her up into his arms.

"Ah, now I remember. The loud girl at the tournament."

"How is it that you speak French so well, 'Arry? No translation spell could do the accent and your grammar is perfect." Appoline asked.

"I was learning last year," Harry lied. "But I was too nervous to give it a try - those Beuxbatons girls are a little intimidating." He smirked at Fleur. "I have a good tutor who insisted I spend many hours a day learning."

"Well, I am very impressed. I fear you may have little chance of escaping this party alive, once the young ladies of Europe learn about how eligible you now are." Appolline quipped.

"Don't worry, Mama, I shall protect him." Fleur looped her arm through his. "Come on, 'Arry, I want to show you off to my friends."

She led him away, only stopping to pout at her mother telling her to bring Gabrielle with her. Harry knelt down so Gabrielle could clamber up his back, looping her arms around his neck while he held her legs behind him. Fleur looked a little put out, but she led him through a throng of on-lookers out onto a huge balcony. Only out there did Harry realise how massive their chateau was; they were perched on the edge of a huge white limestone rock, looking out over acres and acres of the French countryside, olive trees and lavender fields, vineyards and road tracks, workers finishing for the day, illuminated by the hue of the dying sun.

Fleur giggled into his ear. "Provence. Who would live anywhere else?"

"Now I understand why you're so spoiled." He said with a teasing smile.

She slinked away from him, looking back at him with invitation as she joined her friends. In his ear, Gabrielle, who'd been chattering away incessantly, jumped off his back, running to a beautiful slim girl, a tan brunette wearing a white strappy sundress, looking very much at home.

As Gabrielle tugged at her hand, she turned to Harry, gesturing down at the little French girl. "Girls, aren't they fickle?" She said, in English.

"I never can make them stay." He agreed amiably in French, his words a little slow, as his brain worked to parse through a thousand memories. "Hi, everyone."

The group was a mix of six - three guys, smoking nonchalantly in the warm summer evening breeze. Two of them were tall and thin, like relaxed versions of Remus Lupin - he could see why they were relaxed, as they both clutched onto two pretty blondes - twins. The third was built like an Auror, muscled and broad. He clapped his hand onto Harry's shoulder, so hard he almost winced.

"'Arry Potter! I am a big fan! I did not know you speak the language of love!" He had the strongest French accent Harry had ever heard. Harry almost thought he was faking it.

"Only if you're a very lucky lady, or if I'm drunk, a handsome French man." Harry clapped his shoulder back. The man roared.

"Ah, I love the Eenglish! I am Jules, that there is Guillame, the man wiz ze misfortune to date Ines, and this is Hugo, who dates her much nicer sister, Juliette."

"What am I? Invisible?" said the tanned girl, stroking Gabrielle's hair. She held out her hand for Harry to kiss. "I'm Marie, Fleur's best friend." She was beautiful, with a model's long legs and an easy smile that Harry was sure had caused many a boy to fall in love.

"I thought I was Fleur's best friend." Gabrielle wondered, purring under Marie's touch.

"You're my best sister." Fleur ruffled her hair.

"I'll be 'Arry's best friend." Gabrielle bounced across to embrace Harry's leg.

"I do need more friends." Harry mused. "What will I get out of it?"

Gabrielle paused, uncertain, before her features cleared. "I can make you coffee in the mornings!"

"Deal." He held out his pinkie for her to shake.

"A fine deal, but unfortunately Gabrielle rises at six or seven, and demands you wake with her."

Gabrielle glared at her sister. "You're just lazy. Fleur gets up in the afternoon."

Fleur tossed her hair back, silohuetted in front of the Provence sun. Harry thought he'd never seen anyone look so angelic. "I need my beauty sleep. Right, 'Arry?"

"You must sleep every hour of the day, for I've never seen such beauty." The words tumbled from his mouth easily, pausing Fleur in her tracks.

The group laughed. "It's difficult to make Fleur speechless." Hugo complimented him.

Marie giggled. "You didn't tell me he was this much trouble. I was expecting a boy."

"So was I." Fleur sipped from her wine.

"Sorry, we're being bad hosts." Jules realized. "'Arry, I'll get you some wine."

"No need." He pulled another bottle from nowhere. "This is a 2001 Chateau du Pompey."

The group was silent, except Guillame, who swore.

"Please, please, let me try it." Guillame gently shifted Ines from his chest, putting his hands together like he was praying.

"I'm guessing that's a good bottle." Ines said dryly.

"Is Krum a good Quidditch player?" Guillame quipped.

"Yes, Quidditch, that's clearly a better frame of reference. Boys." Ines rolled her eyes.

"A good wine is always better shared. Please, join me." Harry conjured up six glasses, a table, and six chairs, ignoring the glance Marie shot Fleur and the shoulder-shrug Fleur gave back.

"What about me?" Gabrielle tapped her foot.

"You'll share my glass, of course." Harry tugged her hair, pulling her onto his lap as the bottle poured itself into the glasses. "Forgive me," He told the group. "I'm a little bit of a show off."

"I knew that when you flew against the dragon." Gabrielle giggled.

"Or when you rescued my Gabby as well as your own 'ostage." Fleur added, placing her hand on his.

"Have you come to show off to French society, 'Arry?" Juliette asked, scanning the rest of the balcony. A lot of eyes were on them.

"No, but I'm not against it. I've come to recruit for the war I'm thinking of having." He said nonchalantly. That wasn't quite true. He'd come to part all the beautiful legs in France, hopefully starting with Fleur, but recruiting was sort of part of it.

Jules laughed as the rest of the table blanched. "A good fight, against the Voldemort, non?"

"Yes, a bit of rough and tumble. Maybe that doesn't translate well." Harry mused, just after saying it.

"We understand it." Juliette said, but she seemed a bit scared. "And is it your war, do you think?"

"I've fought him twice in the last few months. He definitely wants me dead, and the feeling is mutual. Don't really see anyone else capable of killing him." Harry cocked his head and looked her straight in the eyes. "So yeah, I'm thinking it's my war."

Marie took a sip of her wine. "Are you always this much fun, 'Arry?"

"Want to find out?"

She coughed out her wine, splattering red onto her sundress. "Fuck!"

Harry cracked up laughing.

"Taste of your own medicine, salope." Fleur said to Marie, giggling.

"Sorry." Harry said, clearly not apologetic. He waved his hand and the wine stain on her dress was gone.

"No, you're not." Marie said, crossing her legs and sitting further back, so her dress climbed up her thighs, revealing tanned, toned legs. "But that's okay. I did not expect a wandless magic-using, expensive-wine carrying, war-mongering teenager to start flirting with me. But now I have fair warning, which I did not receive from my best friend Fleur." She turned her glare on Fleur.

Fleur shrugged impishly, her bare feet reaching out under the table to rub against Harry's. "'Arry is a man of mystery, apparently."

"Whatever he is, I'll follow you into war if you've got any more of this wine." Guillame said, eyes closed in pure bliss.

Harry snorted. "I'll send you a bottle of something good, though it's not like this."

"It is great wine." Ines admitted.

Hugo kept smoking his cigarette, but he viewed Harry with interest. Jules was scanning the rest of the balcony, looking a little worried.

"Fleur, it's only a matter of time." Hugoo said.

"I know."

"What's only a matter of time?" Harry asked.

"The Veela princess is in attendance, along with some of her coven. Sophia. The Queen in all but her name, her mother's been on her death bed for years." Fleur's nose wrinkled in distaste.

"Oh?" He said, tone carefully unaffected. Veela Princess? Now that sounded right up his alley.

"She'll want to meet you, of course." Fleur rubbed her foot further up his leg.

"All the women want my wine." Harry smirked.

She rolled her eyes, even as Jules snorted. "She just enjoys showing off. Perhaps you'll get on well."

They enjoyed their wine for a few minutes, casually talking about nothing at all, and Harry just relaxed, enjoying the evening warmth, the view, and the wine. This was the life. He closed his eyes. One day, he might live here, his every need met by a thousand women. His smile grew.

"Fuck it." Fleur's voice interrupted him as she stood up suddenly. "Come on, 'Arry. Let's get this over with."

"What?"

Fleur tapped her feet, looking irritated. "I'll introduce you to the bitch now, or her lackeys will just stare at me until I do."

"Fleur." Marie warned.

"I know, I know. I'll play the game. Come on, 'Arry."

Harry deposited a dozing Gabrielle into Marie's lap, grabbed his glass of wine and let Fleur's arm loop through his. She navigated him past a few tables of people clearly wanting to say hello, heading for a large central table just inside the huge French glass windows. The table was headed by the most beautiful woman Harry had ever seen; her long white blonde hair flowed all the way down to the floor and trailed across it, even as she sat, but that hair framed a delicate, unblemished face, a Nordic-looking beauty with startlingly blue eyes and lips that were peachy and bee-stung, like she was inviting a kiss that never came. Her red rosy cheeks, highlighting the lightest dusting of freckles, made it seem like she'd been sitting outside in the snow, instead of inside in a lovely heat.

Immediately, Harry slammed on his Occlumency barriers, just in time for the strongest of Veela auras to overwhelm it. They smacked against his walls and did nothing.

Around the table, Harry expected an array of young women, and so it was - all beautiful, some young, some of them a little older at thirty or forty, but all of them outstanding beauties. Amusingly, they seemed to differentiate themselves by their hair color, which were extreme; teal waves, purple shades of straight strands, pink shoulder bobs.

The table was dotted with a few men — good looking men in expensive robes, their smiles warm but their eyes cold.

"Your Highness," Fleur spoke when the eyes of the Princess landed on her. "Please allow me to introduce my friend, and fellow Tri-Wizard Tournament contestant, Lord Potter."

It would have been nice to get a primer of etiquette, Harry thought furiously, but thankfully the Princess extended a hand for him to kiss.

"It's an honor to meet you, Your Highness." Harry kissed her hand and retreated.

"Your French is admirable, Lord Potter." Even her voice was sweet, her smile light but lovely. She wore a purple cloak, covering her figure, which seemed slim and petite. "Yet I did not know you had ever stepped foot on our shores."

"This is my first time." He admitted. "But I am a man who loves to learn, and I hope to spend more time here."

She arched a delicate eyebrow. "Indeed?"

He smiled. "I'm hoping to find allies to fight a war back home."

The table erupted in titters, but the Princess's eyes never left his, her lips never wavering.

"Is it true that you fought Voldemort?"

"It is." Harry tilted his head to one side. "But had the fight continued, I would have lost badly."

"But he retreated?"

"He did."

"Why?" Blimey, she was intense, he thought.

"I'd already foiled his objective to murder one of Britain's foremost lords and injured his recruits. My allies were turning up in greater number."

"Then it was a victory, non?"

"I would say so."

"And you've had a number of these victories against the man?"

"Five, so far."

A mutter of disbelief spread around the table.

Harry continued. "Not all of them, when he was revived. When he was a shade, neither dead or alive, he would possess people or objects, using magic most vile." Harry made sure he spoke clearly, carefully. "I would foil his plans, leaving him unable to revive himself in full, and I would call those victories, too."

The Princess nodded her head. "Quite right, too. A gallant knight, who understands his fortune, and who understands victories and defeats are sometimes one and the same. You must come to the Riviera, soon, Lord Potter, and make an audience of the Veela court."

Harry smiled politely. "And would I find them an agreeable audience?"

The table tittered again.

"Lord Potter," The Veela's lips twisted. "I suspect there isn't a woman in the world who wouldn't hear what you had to say. Whether she would agree with it, is, how do you English say? Another story?"

"Then I shall choose my words most carefully."

She tilted her head in that peculiarly royal way, and with a smile and a nod, Harry turned to leave, willing to call that a success. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to fuck her senseless, but an invitation to the Veela court seemed like a start.

Then, a voice from behind interrupted him, gruffly.

"Boy is having fantasies, by the sound of it." A man's voice, not deep, but cultured.

Fleur shook his head at him, but Harry wasn't going to let it slide. He turned to see the man at the Princess' side, staring right at him. The man had foppish blonde hair and high cheekbones.

"Excuse me?" Harry said evenly.

The Princess looked amused. "My cousin and France's most premier duellist, Lord Pierre Du Pont."

"And I said, sounds like the boy is having fantasies." The man sniffed. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Harry smiled back at him. "No problem. I hope to meet you on the duelling circuit, one day, I hope to tour it, next summer."

Pierre snorted, taking a big gulp of his wine. "I'm sure Europe's best will be no issue for you, if you've beaten Voldemort so many times."

Harry made to reply, but Fleur beat him to it. "'Arry is no fantasist. 'Arry won the Tri-Wizard Tournament, don't you remember? Dumbledore trains 'im personally!"

In his mind, Harry winced. This was karma for bragging exactly that to Susan and Hannah, all for a handjob.

The Princess laughed. "Lord Potter is no doubt an admirable wizard, but 'e was only competing with a half-Veela and a Quidditch playing boy."

Fleur growled.

"No offense." The Princess added, smirking at Fleur's rage. "But Lord Potter must know that a half-Veela does not offer…how shall I say? The same…experience."

Fleur opened her mouth to say something, but she was interrupted by Pierre. "Well, if you are Dumbledore's student, then maybe you are worth my time. Come on then," Pierre stood, the chair screeching against the floor as he pushed it back. "Show me how I match up to Voldemort."

"Perhaps your skills are wasted against a student still in Hogwarts, Pierre." Jean said, making Harry realize he'd drawn an audience, including Fleur's parents and what seemed like the entire party.

"Nonsense. Voldemort's vanquisher, five whole times! I should be shaking in my boots." Pierre taunted. "Do you accept my duel, my Lord?" He mocked.

"Forgive me," Harry inclined his head to Jean. "I don't wish to make a crass spectacle out of your soiree, in your home."

"Then let me be the crass one," Pierre shouted, clearly a little drunk. "I, Pierre Du Pont, do challenge you to a duel."

Fleur's hand on his shoulder was incredibly tight. This, he thought, was her fault, though he knew he was being unreasonable. Now he had no way to get out of this.

"I accept."

The tables were cleared, six wizards conjuring a runic arena to protect the audience. All the while, the Princess watched, sipping her wine.

"Sorry, 'Arry. I don't know how that escalated." Fleur said into his ear.

"It's fine." He said tersely. "Anything you can tell me about him?"

"She wasn't wrong. 'E's famous as France's best duellist. Du Pont came third in the European tournament last year. Right-handed, favors Transfiguration." She recited.

He stared at her.

"What? I wanted to join the circuit myself, but Papa wouldn't let me." She shrugged her shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Beat him, for me, 'Arry. Zen I will be your, how do you say, fangirl?" For a moment, she tugged at his ear with her teeth, her hot breath making him shiver, and then she was gone, just a flouncing dress and those impossibly long legs. Such a cocktease.

Harry concentrated, slipping into his mind, using his Occlumency to search his memories. Still too many, he was far away from having them organized. Tom had duelled, plenty of times, often setting it up just like he had at the graveyard, giving an opponent their wand back just so he could show his dominance. And while Harry was powerful, and he had his parlor tricks, his wandless magic, he was still far from powerful enough. He'd only bonded two women.

He couldn't beat this man on power alone.

And while Harry could boast a huge array of spell knowledge, it was spells he hadn't performed himself, spells that required power he didn't have. Tom's knowledge of magic was encyclopedic but that didn't help him when he hadn't taken the time to truly practice, to index those memories.

And he wouldn't be able to beat him on speed, not if he was a professional duelist. Taking Tom's memories hadn't given him his wand speed. That took training, experience and rituals. Harry had done some rituals to improve his body and reflexes, but he still had some way to go. That left only one avenue. Tricks. Knowledge of an uncountable number of duels and every sneaky way to win, using spells found in the most common of Hogwarts' textbooks.

If he was going to win, it wasn't going to be pretty.

He let his reverie break as one of the other Lords spoke, announcing the duel. And, as Harry cycled his breathing, watching Pierre from across the arena, watching the man narrow his eyes, the countdown began.

"Trois, deux, un."