Chapter 13: Solitude.

Leaving Beauxbatons was always a bittersweet feeling, while she was more than happy to come back to her family for Christmas; her favourite holidays, her school has been a home away from home for Fleur Delacour.

For the last four years, Fleur came to love and loath this place in equal measure. As it held some of her happiest memories, saddest experiences and greatest hopes.

Her first year had been one of joy and wonder, as she delved headfirst in the fascinating study of magic. Excellence was expected from her, as she was a Delacour, and she did not disappoint in the slightest. Great talent and peerless work ethics made her the uncontested best student in her year, achieving near perfect results in all her subjects.

She had made her first friends, her first steps out of the safety of her parental nest. And oh, did she shine in those days. The warm smile that was fixed on her face, the pride in the eyes of her father as she recounted her triumphs, the sweet embrace of her maman as she told her of the year she had; those thoughts never failed at drowning her heart in melancholy.

The second year in Beauxbatons was even better, her circle of friends had expanded as she continued to shine. Quickly earning the reputation of an exceptional student, especially in charms; something that only grew with time, regardless of all that changed.

It started in her third year, a gradual loss in popularity that eventually led to the confused young girl losing all her friends. She could not understand the reason for the ostracization, pushing the blame on her outstanding performance or an unlikely lack in social skills.

Yet it wasn't it, any attempt to hold back was fruitless, only acerbating the problem. All those she called her friend were now ignoring her at best, or actively antagonizing the oblivious young girl.

Fleur remained in the dark until last Christmas, where upon her return, her dear mother explained the reason of her plight; unjust as it was.

She knew of heritage, of course, such a thing was taught and explained to her since her childhood, her parents making sure that she was proud of being a Veela, and knew the blood in her vein did not make her any less than other witches.

When she was but a child, she could not understand the reasons behind her parent's insistence. She'd laugh at the way her mother pestered her with lessons and lecture on why there was no wrong in being a Veela, on how she should not loath that part of her.

Now she did, and oh how grateful she was.

She had hated that aspect of her being, infuriated at the loneliness it brought her. How could she accept that which cost her all of her friends? What pride was there in such a curse?

Yet time healed all wounds, and as she came back for her fourth year. She shed the bothersome naivety, freed herself from the constrains of misguided self-loathing, and returned stronger than ever.

A friend who thought the blood in her veins and the erroneous lies of bigots more important than the person she was truly was one she didn't need. The one she had called friends for all this time clearly were not worthy of the name, and so Fleur had neither want nor need of such people in her life.

She walked forward, lived her life and shone brighter than ever. Ignoring the inelegant, drooling boys who saw nothing but a pretty face. Disregarding the envious, insecure girls who were either consumed by jealousy or convinced she was but a sinful being whose life purpose was seducing their boyfriends; more of then not, they were both.

She looked ahead, advanced proudly with her head up high. She knew who she was, she knew where she was going…

She was Fleur Delacour; brilliant witch, cherished daughter, loving sister and proud Veela.

As she looked one last time through the windows of her room, at the snow-covered magnificence of Beauxbatons slightly hidden by the growing foxgloves she kept on the sill, her heart ached one more time.

She felt terribly lonely.

-BREAK-

As he left the safety of Rowena's enchanted room, Magnus expected a great many things; for it was the virtue of sensible men to foresee possible trouble and prepare for them.

And even though his heart and mind were shaken by the emotional rollercoaster that was his altercation with the legendary wizard that was Dumbledore; a moment that could very well have ended in an early doom. Magnus was still in condition to keep both of his strategical thinking and iconic elegance, two things he valued greatly.

But never did he predict that a worried McGonagall would charge it him with a speed he didn't associate with the middle-aged woman, yet instead of a fierce attack or ruthless sermon he might receive from the strict professor he admired so much, what he receives was a warm hug.

His mind went blank as all thoughts and plans were forsaken, the boy could not for the sake of himself understand what was happening.

The unfamiliar hold on him would have alarmed him, it should have been a revolting experience, it should have felt like the poison it truly was.

He hated this kind of physical contact, it always reminded the boy of less than glorious days. When he was small and weak and the failures of the foolish left him in the worst positions.

But it did not.

He relished in the safety and warmth the older witch provided him, letting go of his perpetually tense nerves, freeing himself from the emotional turmoil inside him as he held her tighter than he ever did.

It was the first time someone embraced him since the death of his grandfather, the thought hit him like Mike Tyson's scathing reply, but he could not bring himself to care. He simply enjoyed the moment, not willing to let this small respite escape him.

Dumbledore's intrusion on his minds, a probe beyond the simple passive reading he might have accepted. Flitwick's failure as his professor, head of house and current magical guardian; leading him to what could have been mind-rape, if he was not passably skilled in Occlumency. The mirror of Erised, and the fleeting dream it showed him….

All that trouble and pain and madness could wait, he was after all free from the imminent doom the headmaster represented.

The constant risk of the old wizard intruding his mind in an effort to determine his moral standing, as hypocritical as it was, was real thing. The more Magnus waited to settle the old man's doubt, the more likely he was to attempt a full, complete Legilimency on him; something his feeble defences would not resist.

He could barely discern the older witch's words, as she reassured him of her support, of her consternation at the risks the headmaster took to settle an unfounded doubt; even if she knew but a silver of the story.

"It will be alright, Magnus." Said McGonagall with finality "You have my word."

For once in his life, he chose to believe her.

The animagus took him back to her study, where plenty of tea was drank and her stern face all but melted away, as the boy before her recounted the events that transpired. Her emotions, tightly controlled and carefully measured as they were, went from worry to disbelief while passing various stages of consternation.

"To think that Albus would use it on a child…" Whispered the pale-faced witch, after hearing how he felt the mental probe, the foreign presence in his thoughts as the headmaster met his eyes.

"Use what professor?" Asked her worried student, Magnus needed not to fake it. For his worries stemmed from his teacher next words, the choice she would have to make.

Will she keep him oblivious? Will she deny the events? Magnus hoped more than anything that he could trust her; hiding his past as he does, he committed no sin by omitting highly personal information, which was fundamentally different from lying to him about such a horrifying thing.

"Magnus…" Minerva spoke, conflicted at the situation before her. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, between dimming the innocence of an already unfortunate child and lying to her protégé.

But in times of doubt, it was the duty of the honourable to stay true to their morals, no matter how painful it might be.

"…Do you know the mind arts?" Asked him the witch, her face falling with resignation.

And at that moment, Magnus knew, he truly knew that though his life might be plagued by much hardships, he could at least trust Minerva McGonagall.

-BREAK-

The mirror of Erised incident was the source of much changes in the life of one Magnus Arran, for better or worse.

He has never experienced such freedom; his new life being limited by the walls of an orphanage or the threat of Dumbledore's intrusions.

But as of now, he managed in extremis to navigate his way into a most favourable position. Painful and traumatising an experience as it had been, Magnus was not one to hide in delusions, and could therefor see the good in his tribulation; faithful to the laws of magic.

Of the ordeal, he gained the favour of the paragon of light, the man feared by the latest dark lord; Albus violate-your-mind Dumbledore. The older man's guilt at the length he took to prevent the rise of another dark lord was considerable, and coupled with the certitude of Magnus's ability and longing for what the supreme Mugwump saw as the most powerful magic, Magnus was now in the good boys list of the less rotund but equally magical Santa Claus.

His relationship with the guilty head of house was strained by the event, and with Magnus's personality, might never be truly forgiven. They would never be as close as they could have been, much to the half-goblin's chagrin, but maintaining a cordial relationship was well within the realm of the possible.

The greatest change was undoubtedly the overt mutual fondness he shared with a certain transfiguration teacher; who won the seldom granted trust of the young eagle.

It translated into an amelioration of the already rigorous discipline with which he practised the art of transfiguration, even if most would imagine it impossible.

Magnus had obviously mastered the whole first year curriculum up to a satisfying standard; which was deep understanding of the theories and enough familiarity to cast all spells in the first edition of Miranda Goshawk elegant recueille of spells with no incantation and the slightest wand movements.

But there was nothing stopping him from using the great advantage that was the room of requirement, forsaking other libraries now that being raided by an angry Legilimens wasn't a likely possibility.

The was some advancement in his alchemical studies; in which he could only use the most basic of transmutations, his greatest achievement being a draught that cleaned the drinkers' teeth with remarkable efficiency, created through the transmutation of some salt and sulphur into a basic alchemical concoction.

Beyond that, he dedicated himself to development of his basics; building a good foundation for later magical growth was of a paramount importance. And studying more advanced pieces of transfiguration and charm work was no reason to relinquish studies of the simplest magicks.

Soon, Christmas knocked on the doors, as the now almost empty school entered an even more festive mood to accommodate those who had no one waiting for them.

It was a depressing thought Magnus had no time to entertain, as he made his into the owlery, where the school's messengers were made available to the students who possessed none.

The boy had no letter to send of course, but Christmas was a time of giving and he had a few presents to offer. He entertained the thought of buying a winged companion, a trusted messenger to share his life; that would undoubtedly be very different from what it once had been.

As he cast a glance to the castle highest tower, which was only magnified by jack frost's mischievous presence, the white coated school was a most sublime sight he'd love sharing with somebody, yet it was not his lot in life.

He was Magnus Arran; genius wizard, proud Ravenclaw and cheater of death.

And he felt awfully lonely.

-BREAK-

After a merry feast and good night of sleep, Hogwarts woke up in a bright new day. As the excited children and amused adults went to open their presents, some expected more than others; but all received a gift on that joyous morning.

As Magnus opened his own, left below the smallest of Christmas trees that was put in his room. He went through the chocolate he received from his friends, to whom he offered the same courtesy. He chuckled at the amount of poisoned sweets and jinxed gifts he received from some of the more passionate members of his house. And his smile only grew broader as he saw the book a certain wand-wielding highlander left him, hoping his own would yield the same result.

' A Codex of Conjurations from Athanasius Black ' Something he would undoubtedly enjoy.

And so would Professor McGonagall to whom he offered an enchanted self-refilling tea set, an exquisite piece Magnus charmed and transfigured himself.

Or professor Flitwick, who received a rather rare charm book from the room of requirement.

Or even professor Snape, to whom he gifted a study on some less than friendly magicks.

But the happiest of them all had to be Dumbledore, who for once, received a set of purple woollen socks.

-BREAK-

Yet while the world enjoyed the holiday, received gifts in mirth and carelessness. Some people were not blessed with the opportunity.

And as one more happiness was taken away from here, a gaunt faced man with the most savage appearance cackled madly. But he was not gone, oh no, he was not broken.

As crazed grey eyes looked at the skies, dimmed by the fool atrocities that were his wardens. Old elegance faded with his sanity, with his heart. All joy had long left him, as only a single knowledge kept him grounded into this world, giving him power to save his soul.

It was his innocence.

As the animagus used what little magic left in him to turn his skin, letting out a beast those monsters could not see, the grim for all his pain he endured could not help but suffer one more time.

He was Sirius black; Loyal friend, misjudged man and maddened avenger.

He felt horrifyingly lonely

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Hey, it's Uncle Sheo!

This chapter contained some of the biggest reveals yet, i had to do an awful lot of research to create voices and proper inner-narratives for all these characters. But i am now ready to write them without fear of disgracing those pearls.

Know that even the smallest details i wrote right here were carefully considered, i hope some of you will notice them.

Yup, Fleur Delacour for the win. She is an incredibly interesting character with outstanding qualities and background, but still vague enough for me to do my own twist on the proud Triwizard champion. The fact that i didn't like a bright, proud witch with ambition and skills becoming nothing more than a housewife for a man she barely knew, in a family that despised her for the better part of their relationship also contributed in my decision.

I remind you that this is a wholesome and sweet romance with no harem, cheating, slave-bonds or other bullcraps. Here is the house of fluff, accept it or begone.

Peace and Cheese!